MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #83 I Walked with a Zombie 1943 & Isle of the Dead 1945

I WALKED WITH A ZOMBIE 1943 

As I embark on the modest yet ambitious “150 Days of Classic Horror” project, I aim to delve more deeply into the remaining Val Lewton films that have yet to be explored in my work – Bedlam, Cat People, The Body Snatcher, and Isle of the Dead. I’m drawn to the shadows and subtleties that have made his work a touchstone for generations of cinephiles and scholars alike. To cover these films extensively isn’t just an academic exercise—it’s an act of cinematic devotion, a way of tracing the delicate threads Lewton wove between fear and beauty, suggestion and revelation. His films are not simply stories; they are poems in motion, each frame layered with meaning, mood, and unspoken longing. In the more extensive continuing series, (refer to the link above where I cover I Walked with a Zombie, The Ghost Ship, The Seventh Victim and The Leopard Man) I want to move beyond the surface chills and explore the artistry of Lewton and his collaborators: the directors who shaped the atmosphere, the actors who breathed life into haunted characters, the cinematographers who painted with shadow, and the composers who underscored every heartbeat of dread. These films deserve a careful, thoughtful analysis, for they are not only milestones in horror but also windows into the anxieties and desires of their era. To understand them fully is to appreciate the power of cinema to unsettle, to enchant, and to reflect the world’s complexities back at us through a glass darkly.

Val Lewton’s I Walked with a Zombie: A Hypnotic Dance Between Colonial Shadows and Gothic Desire

In 1943, Val Lewton—Hollywood’s poet of the unspeakable—crafted I Walked with a Zombie, a film that transcends its B-movie trappings to become a haunting meditation on colonialism, cultural dislocation, and the fragility of reason. Directed by Jacques Tourneur, whose collaborations with Lewton (Cat People, The Leopard Man) redefined horror as a genre of psychological suggestion, the film transforms Inez Wallace’s pulpy article about Haitian “zombies” into a dreamlike trance of repressed desires and historical guilt. With its chiaroscuro cinematography, Roy Webb’s primal score, and a narrative steeped in the legacy of slavery, I Walked with a Zombie is less a horror film than a séance, summoning the ghosts of a past that refuses to stay buried.

The story unfolds through the eyes of Betsy Connell (Frances Dee), a Canadian nurse whose wide-eyed idealism masks a quiet determination. Hired to care for Jessica Holland (Christine Gordon), the catatonic wife of sugar plantation owner Paul Holland (Tom Conway), Betsy arrives on the Caribbean island of Saint Sebastian—a name heavy with martyrdom—to find a world where the line between science and superstition blurs like sweat on skin. Jessica, once Paul’s vibrant bride, now sits motionless in a tower, her condition unexplained by Western medicine. “There’s no death here,” Paul tells Betsy, his voice dripping with colonial fatalism. “Only life that shouldn’t be lived.” The plantation, a relic of the Dutch slave trade, is haunted by the specter of Ti-Misery, a statue of Saint Sebastian repurposed as the figurehead of a slave ship, its arrow-pierced body a silent witness to centuries of exploitation.

Tourneur and cinematographer J. Roy Hunt cloak the island in shadows that seem to breathe. The sugarcane fields, shot in ethereal moonlight, sway like a chorus of restless spirits, while the houmfort (Vodou temple – meaning “abode of spirits” In Haitian Vodou, the hounfour is the sacred space where rituals, ceremonies, and veneration of the spirits (lwa) take place, pulsing with the rhythm of drums that echo the island’s fractured heartbeat. In the film’s most iconic sequence, Betsy leads Jessica through these fields at night, past animal skulls and hanging hides, to seek “better doctors” at the houmfort.

The walk is a descent into the subconscious: the camera glides alongside them, the wind whispering through cane stalks as Darby Jones’ Carrefour—a towering, silent guardian with eyes like polished obsidian—emerges from the darkness. His presence, neither fully human nor wholly supernatural, embodies the film’s central tension: the white characters’ fear of the “primitive” and the Black community’s resilience in preserving their traditions under colonial rule.

In the garden of the Holland estate stands Ti-Misery, the sorrowful figurehead salvaged from a slave ship, arrows bristling from its wooden flesh. It is both relic and warning, a mute witness to centuries of suffering. The moonlight glances off its face, catching the anguish carved there, and the air around it seems to shimmer with the weight of unspoken history. This is the island’s true heart: a place where beauty and pain are forever entwined, and every shadow is thick with memory.

There is the unforgettable midnight procession through the sugarcane fields, where Betsy, in her pale nurse’s dress, leads the somnambulistic Jessica on a pilgrimage for hope. The moonlight weaves silver threads through the whispering cane, and the air is thick with the pulse of distant drums and the hush of the wind—a world suspended between waking and dream Animal skulls and ritual talismans hang like omens in their path, and then, from the shadows, Carrefour appears: an imposing watchman, his eyes wide and unblinking, as if he is both gatekeeper and ghost. The very earth seems to hold its breath as the women pass, the scene unfolding with the logic of a half-remembered nightmare, each footfall a step deeper into the island’s mysteries.

At the houmfort, Betsy witnesses a Vodou ceremony that Tourneur films with a documentarian’s curiosity and a surrealist’s eye. The Vodou ceremony unfolds in a fever of rhythm and color. The dancers move in trance-like unison, their bodies answering the call of the drums, while the congregation’s voices rise and fall like a tide.

While the houngan (priest) slashes Jessica’s arm with a saber, when she fails to bleed, the crowd gasps: “Zombie!” This moment crystallizes the film’s critique of the colonial gaze. Jessica’s condition—a product of Mrs. Rand’s (Edith Barrett) desperate invocation of Vodou to stop her from destroying the family—becomes a metaphor for the zombification of Black bodies under slavery. The film doesn’t romanticize Vodou; instead, it frames it as a lived resistance, a language of power that the Hollands dismiss as “superstition” even as it dismantles their illusions of control.

The camera lingers on faces caught between ecstasy and terror, and when Jessica’s bloodless arm is revealed, the word “zombie” ripples through the crowd like a chill wind. The ceremony is both spectacle and sacrament, its power undeniable, its meaning layered with centuries of resistance and longing.

Elsewhere, the restaurant scene becomes a stage for another kind of ritual: Sir Lancelot’s calypso song, with its sly lyrics, exposes the Holland family’s secrets to the island’s gaze. The music is gentle, almost mocking, and the words cut deeper than any knife, turning private shame into public lament. The Holland brothers’ faces flicker with anger and humiliation, and the air is charged with the knowledge that nothing can remain hidden for long.

Finally, the torchlit climax by the sea: Paul’s half-brother Wesley, driven by guilt and grief, carries Jessica’s unresisting body toward the surf, the flames of the villagers’ torches flickering in the night. Carrefour follows, implacable as fate, and the waves close over the doomed lovers. The scene is at once an exorcism and a requiem, the island reclaiming its dead, and the past refusing to be laid to rest.

Each of these moments is woven from shadow and suggestion, from the poetry of what is seen and what is only felt. Lewton and Tourneur conjure a world where every breeze and every silence carries meaning, and where the boundaries between the living and the dead, the beautiful and the damned, are as thin and fragile as moonlight on water.

The performances are studies in restraint. Frances Dee’s Betsy oscillates between Florence Nightingale resolve and trembling vulnerability, her crisp nurse’s uniform a stark contrast to the island’s humid sensuality. Tom Conway, Lewton’s recurring leading man, plays Paul with a weary magnetism, his colonial guilt masked by a sardonic wit. Yet it’s Darby Jones’ Carrefour—wordless, spectral, and endlessly imitated—who lingers in the memory, a monument to the film’s unspoken subtext: the Black body as both feared and fetishized.

Roy Webb’s score is a character in itself, weaving calypso melodies (courtesy of Sir Lancelot’s haunting vocals) with dissonant strings that mirror Betsy’s unraveling sense of security. The film charts her psychological journey from confident professionalism to a state of deep uncertainty and emotional vulnerability. At the outset, Betsy arrives on Saint Sebastian with a sense of purpose and optimism, but as she becomes enmeshed in the island’s mysteries and the Holland family’s tragic history, her rational worldview is steadily eroded. The failure of conventional medicine to cure Jessica and Betsy’s subsequent decision to seek help from the Vodou houmfort marks a pivotal moment where her “professional carapace is shattered, and she enters a liminal state”. She is shaken by the island’s atmosphere, the eerie rituals, and the supernatural possibilities that challenge her belief in science and order.

The music peaks in the climax, as Wesley Rand (James Ellison), Jessica’s tormented brother-in-law, carries her body into the sea, pursued by Carrefour. Their deaths, framed against Ti-Misery’s arrow-riddled form, offer no catharsis—only the grim acknowledgment that the sins of the past are as inescapable as the tide.

Lewton and screenwriters Curt Siodmak and Ardel Wray infuse Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre with a postcolonial ache. The mansion’s secrets—a madwoman in the attic, a brooding patriarch—are reframed through the lens of racial and cultural collision. When Mrs. Rand confesses to using Vodou to “kill” Jessica, she embodies the film’s central irony: the colonizer’s reliance on the very traditions they despise.

I Walked with a Zombie was dismissed by some critics as schlock, but its legacy lies in its audacity. Lewton, working under RKO’s constraints, turned a sensational title into a poem of light and shadow, where horror emerges not from monsters, but from the rot festering beneath imperialist façades. In an era when Hollywood reduced Black cultures to exotic backdrop, the film grants them a gravity that still feels radical. Tourneur’s camera doesn’t exploit; it observes, finding in the houmfort’s flames and the cane fields’ whispers a truth more unsettling than any zombie: that the real horror is the silence of history, and the stories we refuse to hear.

ISLE OF THE DEAD 1945

Whispers Among the Cypress: Shadows and Superstition on the Isle of the Dead

In the haunted hush of Isle of the Dead (1945), Val Lewton’s gift for conjuring dread from the unseen and the unspoken reaches its most elegiac form. Directed by Mark Robson, who had apprenticed under Robert Wise and Jacques Tourneur within the Lewton unit, the film unfolds like a fevered meditation on mortality, superstition, and the thin, trembling veil between reason and terror. Lewton, ever the poet of shadows, draws from an Arnold Böcklin painting for his title and from the horrors of war and plague for his atmosphere, creating a work that is as much a lament as it is a ghost story.

The film is set during the Balkan Wars of 1912, on a desolate Greek island whose marble tombs and cypress silhouettes seem carved from the very marrow of myth. General Nikolas Pherides, played by Boris Karloff with a stony, haunted gravity, arrives with American war correspondent Oliver Davis (Marc Cramer) to visit the grave of his long-dead wife. The island is already a place of the dead, but soon becomes a prison for the living as a mysterious plague—called septicemic fever—descends upon the small group sheltering in the villa of Swiss archaeologist Dr. Albrecht (Jason Robards Sr.).

Boris Karloff moves through Isle of the Dead like a figure carved from ancient stone, his presence both commanding and mournful, as if he carries the weight of centuries within his bearing. As General Pherides, Karloff’s every gesture is measured, his voice a low, deliberate rumble that seems to echo from the crypts themselves. There is a haunted dignity in the way he surveys the island’s marble tombs, a man who has seen too much death to believe in easy comfort, yet who clings to order with a desperate, almost childlike tenacity. His eyes, at once cold and searching, betray the slow unraveling of certainty as superstition seeps into the cracks of his rational mind. In moments of doubt and fear, Karloff’s face becomes a landscape of sorrow and suspicion, the stern lines softening into something achingly human. When he succumbs at last to the very terror he sought to banish, it is with a tragic grandeur that lingers long after the final frame—a performance that feels less like acting than like an invocation, calling forth the restless spirits of both the living and the dead. This is where Boris Karloff’s true mastery lies—summoning a quiet ache from deep within, he delivers a performance so nuanced it shimmers at the threshold between reason and terror, inhabiting a narrative that trembles with both intellect and dread.

Lewton and Robson paint the island not just as a setting, but as a state of mind: the air is thick with the scent of cypress and decay, the moonlight is cold and pitiless, and the marble mausoleums cast shadows that seem to move of their own accord. The cinematography by Jack MacKenzie is a study in chiaroscuro, each frame sculpted from darkness and uncertain light. The camera lingers on the faces of the trapped guests as fear and suspicion take root; the villa becomes a crucible where rationality and superstition are forced into collision.

As the fever claims its victims, the group fractures along lines of belief and doubt. Dr. Drossos, the Greek military doctor, insists on quarantine, while Pherides, a man of rigid discipline and secular faith, finds himself increasingly drawn to the island’s folklore—particularly the legend of the vorvolaka, a vampiric spirit said to rise from the grave and spread pestilence. The superstitious housekeeper, Madame Kyra (Helen Thimig), fans these fears, her whispered warnings and furtive glances fueling the sense of encroaching doom. The American, Davis, clings to his journalistic detachment, but even he is not immune to the island’s spell.

At the heart of the film is Thea (Ellen Drew), the young Greek woman whom Madame Kyra accuses of being a vorvolaka.

Ellen Drew, who brings a heavenly vulnerability to her role as Thea in Isle of the Dead, was a versatile actress whose career spanned both film and television. Among her other notable roles are Betty Casey in Preston Sturges’ Christmas in July (1940), Huguette in If I Were King (1938), and Sofia de Peralta in The Baron of Arizona (1950) alongside Vincent Price. She also starred opposite Bing Crosby in Sing You Sinners (1938), George Raft in The Lady’s from Kentucky (1939), and Dick Powell in Johnny O’Clock (1947). Drew’s beauty was the kind that seemed to catch and hold the light—a delicate, sculpted face framed by soft waves, her eyes deep and expressive, with both longing and resolve. On screen, she radiated an ethereal grace, a gentle yet magnetic presence.

Thea’s luminous innocence and quiet strength stand in stark contrast to the mounting hysteria around her. Drew’s performance is all trembling vulnerability and quiet dignity, her wide eyes reflecting both terror and compassion. As the deaths mount and the survivors grow ever more desperate, Thea becomes both scapegoat and symbol—a living vessel for the group’s collective dread.

Karloff’s Pherides is a portrait of authority undone by the very forces he seeks to control. His transformation from stern rationalist to a man possessed by fear is rendered with tragic inevitability. The moment when he, convinced of Thea’s supernatural guilt, stalks her through the crypts with a lantern, his face gaunt and wild-eyed, is one of Lewton’s most chilling set pieces. The crypt itself is a masterpiece of set design and lighting: marble slabs gleam in the darkness, and the air is thick with the silence of centuries. The suspense is almost unbearable as Thea, entombed alive by Pherides’ paranoia, claws her way out of her marble prison, her white dress torn and her eyes wide with terror—a living ghost staggering into the moonlight.

The supporting cast is a gallery of haunted souls: Jason Robards Sr. as Dr. Albrecht, the humane skeptic; Katherine Emery as Mrs. St. Aubyn, whose own brush with premature burial years before has left her fragile and haunted; and Skelton Knaggs as the consumptive Andrew Robbins, whose death is marked by a wind that rattles the shutters and a silence that presses on the heart. Each character is drawn with the economy and empathy that mark Lewton’s best work, their fates entwined with the island’s inexorable pull.

Leigh Harline’s score is a mournful tapestry of strings and woodwinds, weaving Greek motifs with the universal language of unease. The music swells and recedes like the tide, underscoring the film’s rhythms of hope and despair. The script, by Ardel Wray and Josef Mischel, is spare but eloquent, its dialogue laced with philosophical inquiry and fatalistic poetry. “Laws can be wrong and laws can be cruel, and the people who live only by the law are both wrong and cruel.” In Lewton’s world, death is everywhere: in the wind that rattles the olive trees, in the shadows that pool around the crypts, in the fear that turns neighbor against neighbor.

The film’s climax is a symphony of terror and release. Mrs. Mary St. Aubyn is “resurrected” from the crypt—not in a supernatural sense, but because she was mistakenly entombed alive due to a cataleptic trance. Mary St. Aubyn, who suffers from catalepsy (a condition causing death-like trances), is believed to have died during the plague quarantine on the island. Despite her fears of premature burial, the others—except for Thea—think she is dead and entomb her in the family crypt. This act is driven by the mounting panic, superstition, and the threat of plague, with the General and Kyra convinced that supernatural forces (the vorvolaka) are at play.

As the sirocco winds finally arrive, signaling hope for the end of the plague, it is too late for Mary. She awakens in the tomb, driven mad by her ordeal, and escapes. In a state of insanity, she returns to the house, kills Kyra (who had tormented Thea with accusations of being a vorvolaka), and stabs General Pherides (who is already showing signs of the plague) as he attempts to kill Thea. Ultimately, Mary flees and leaps to her death from a cliff. The tomb is both literal and symbolic—a triumph of life over superstition, but also a reminder of how easily fear can turn the living into the dead.

Pherides, consumed by his own demons, succumbs to the plague, his authority and certainty dissolved in the moonlit ruins. The survivors emerge, changed and chastened, as dawn breaks over the cypress groves—a fragile hope trembling on the edge of despair.

Isle of the Dead is filled with atmosphere and suggestion, of the horrors that bloom in silence and shadow. It is a meditation on the limits of reason, the persistence of myth, and the ways in which fear can become its own contagion. Lewton, with Robson as his sensitive collaborator, crafts a work of haunted beauty—a requiem for the dead, and a warning to the living. In the end, the isle is not just a place, but a state of being: a liminal space where the living and the dead, the rational and the irrational, are forever entwined in a dance as old as time.

#83 Down, 67 to go! Your EverLovin’ Joey formally & affectionately known as MonsterGirl!

MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #68 THE GHOST SHIP 1943 / THE LEOPARD MAN 1943 & THE SEVENTH VICTIM 1943

A Symphony of Dark Patches- The Val Lewton Legacy 1943

SPOILER ALERT!

As I continue my exploration of Val Lewton’s remarkable legacy at The Last Drive In, having already written about The Seventh Victim, Curse of the Cat People, and The Ghost Ship, I’ll be working on an upcoming feature that will delve into four more of his atmospheric and thematically rich works: Cat People 1942, I Walked with a Zombie (1943), Isle of the Dead (1945) and Bedlam (1946).

Each of these films, though distinct in setting and subject, showcases Lewton’s unparalleled ability to fuse horror with social commentary, psychological depth, and a painter’s eye for shadow and suggestion.

Val Lewton’s 1943 RKO horror cycle –The Ghost Ship 1943, The Leopard Man 1943, and The Seventh Victim 1943-stands as a masterclass in psychological terror, moodiness, and narrative innovation, each film distinct yet bound by Lewton’s signature sensibility: an insistence on suggestion over spectacle, the power of the unseen, and a fascination with the darkness lurking in the human soul.

As embodied in these three films, Lewton’s legacy is one of transformation: of B-movie budgets alchemized into works of poetic terror, of genre conventions into vehicles for philosophical inquiry. Working with a repertoire of collaborators-directors, Tourneur and Robson, cinematographer Musuraca, composer Roy Webb, and a recurring troupe of actors, Lewton’s productions are marked by their psychological acuity, visual sophistication, and a willingness to leave horror unresolved, lingering in the shadows and the mind.

Val Lewton’s Shadowed Visions: The Haunting Trilogy of 1943:

In The Ghost Ship, The Leopard Man, and The Seventh Victim, Lewton created not just horror films, but meditations on fear, power, and the mysteries that haunt us all.

Lewton’s 1943 films thrive on paradox-constraint breeding innovation, silence screaming louder than spectacle. His collaborators, writers plumbing Freud and fate, cinematographers sculpting light into emotion, elevating pulp into poetry.

Richard Dix’s Captain Stone, Dennis O’Keefe’s everyman guilt, and Jean Brooks’ ethereal despair are not mere characters but vessels for universal fears. These films, though dismissed in their time, now pulse with relevance, their themes of isolation, authoritarian rot, and existential dread resonating in an age of anxiety. Lewton’s legacy is etched in the shadows he so masterfully conjured, proving that true horror lies not in the monster revealed but in the darkness we carry around with us.

In the dimly lit corridors of 1940s cinema, Val Lewton carved a niche where shadows whispered and the unseen terrorized, crafting this trio of films in 1943 –The Ghost Ship, The Leopard Man, and The Seventh Victim– that redefined horror through psychological nuance and atmospheric mastery. These works, though distinct in narrative, are bound by Lewton’s signature alchemy of suggestion, existential dread, and a profound understanding of human fragility. Each film, a chiaroscuro of fear and introspection, reveals Lewton’s genius for transforming B-movie constraints into meditations on power, alienation, and the darkness within.

THE GHOST SHIP 1943

The Ghost Ship, directed by Mark Robson and shot with spectral elegance by Nicholas Musuraca, is a study in authority gone awry and the terror of isolation at sea. Robson’s direction, while perhaps less flamboyant than Tourneur’s in other Lewton productions, is perfectly attuned to the material’s psychological focus.

The film immerses you in the claustrophobic world of the Altair, a merchant vessel helmed by the enigmatic Captain Will Stone (Richard Dix).

The story follows Tom Merriam (Russell Wade), a young idealistic merchant marine officer who joins the crew of the Altair under the seemingly benevolent command of Captain Stone. From the moment young officer Merriam steps aboard, the film tightens like a noose, blending maritime routine with mounting unease.

At first, Stone appears to be a model of paternal authority, imparting philosophical lessons about leadership and camaraderie at sea, and what begins as mentorship soon devolves into tyrannical paranoia as Merriam begins to suspect Stone is dangerously unhinged.

As the voyage progresses, Merriam witnesses a series of increasingly suspicious and fatal incidents: -an impression confirmed by a series of mysterious deaths that the superstitious crew attributes to a curse.

A crewman’s death during a botched medical emergency, another crushed by an anchor chain after crossing the captain, and the general sense of dread that pervades the ship. He becomes convinced that Stone is not only dangerously obsessed with his own authority but may also be a murderer, using the power of his position to eliminate those who threaten his control.

Stone, initially a paternal figure, reveals a philosophy steeped in authoritarian zeal, justifying control through a warped sense of duty. Nicholas Musuraca’s cinematography- a dance of shadows and stark light- transforms the ship’s hull into a labyrinth of moral decay.

The film’s tension is heightened by the crew’s superstitious belief that the ship is cursed, and by the isolation that renders Merriam’s warnings futile, leaving him to fend for himself with his fear and desperation. His attempts to expose Stone’s madness are met with disbelief and hostility, leaving him increasingly alone and vulnerable.

Robson and Lewton, working with a lean script by Donald Henderson Clarke from a story by Leo Mittler, (and with significant input from Lewton himself), craft a suspense drama where the true horror is psychological: Stone’s descent from idealist to tyrant, his authority morphing into a spiritual and existential threat.

A swinging chain becomes a pendulum of doom, its erratic movements mirroring Stone’s unraveling psyche, while the mute Finn’s (Skelton Knaggs) haunting voiceover pierces the silence like a dirge.

The film’s use of single-source lighting, shadow-drenched sets, and the haunting narration of Finn who is mute creates a mood of mounting dread, culminating in a claustrophobic showdown in the darkness of the ship’s hold.

The climax erupts in a brutal struggle in the darkness of Merriam’s cabin, as Stone, knife in hand, finally snaps and attempts to kill the young officer, only to be stopped by Finn, whose own presence and voiceover add a spectral, fatalistic undertone to the film. The Ghost Ship’s terror lies not in specters but in the banality of tyranny, as Stone’s descent into madness culminates in the knife fight drenched in primal desperation. Here, Lewton interrogates the seduction of power, framing the sea as a void where humanity drifts anchorless.

Withdrawn from circulation for decades due to a plagiarism lawsuit, The Ghost Ship has since been recognized for its compact, complex portrait of madness and its almost spiritual take on the dangers of unchecked power.

Richard Dix delivers a chilling and nuanced performance as Captain Will Stone, embodying a man whose authority slowly transforms from a steady anchor to a tightening noose of obsession and madness. At first, Dix’s Stone appears composed and even paternal, eager to mentor the young third officer, but beneath his calm exterior lurks a deep insecurity and a need for absolute control. As the voyage progresses, Dix masterfully lets Stone’s facade slip, revealing flashes of paranoia, rigidity, and an unsettling belief in his own infallibility. His descent is marked by small, tightly controlled gestures and a simmering intensity, never tipping into melodrama, but instead letting the menace build in his silences and cold stares. Dix’s portrayal is that of a man isolated not just by the sea, but by his own delusions, his authority twisted into something both pitiable and terrifying. His performance anchors the film’s psychological tension, making Captain Stone’s madness feel both inevitable and a deeply human study in how power and isolation can corrode the mind.

Some of the key scenes: In the suffocating blackness of the ship’s hold, a newly painted anchor chain hangs like a coiled serpent, gleaming and sinister in the lamplight. When a gale rises, the chain thrashes and lashes against the hull, a living embodiment of chaos barely contained. Captain Stone, unmoving and eerily serene, watches from a lighted window as the crew grapples with the writhing metal-his authority as cold and unyielding as the iron links themselves. The chain becomes a chilling metaphor for Stone’s fractured mind, caught between order and the abyss.

Later, the anchor chain scene takes on a fatal gravity. Stone orchestrates the death of a dissenting sailor named Louie by locking him in with a descending anchor chain, showcasing Dix’s ability to convey both the captain’s chilling calm and his unraveling psyche.

Louie, one of the more outspoken sailors, is sent to supervise the chain as it’s stowed in the loading compartment. As he signals for the chain’s descent, the door behind him is quietly locked. The chain begins its ponderous, inexorable drop, the clanking metal drowning out any cries for help. In the dim, claustrophobic space, Louie is buried alive by the relentless weight of the chain, a death as silent and implacable as the captain’s authority. The rest of the crew only finds his lifeless form after the deed is done, the horror of the moment underscored by the cold indifference of steel and shadow.

That anchor chain scene is mesmerizing and deeply unsettling to me- there’s something so striking and shockingly brutal about watching a man slowly, helplessly buried alive by cold, unfeeling metal, all while the rest of the world carries on above, oblivious to his fate—the poor soul.

Another striking moment comes when the ship’s doctor is unable to operate on a crewman with a burst appendix. The young officer Merriam, pressed into action, must take over the surgery himself. The captain’s chilling detachment and insistence on protocol hang over the scene, and his authority is now a palpable threat rather than a source of safety. The sickbay becomes a stage for Stone’s psychological unraveling, every flicker of light and shadow sharpening the sense of nihilism.

Cinematographer Nicholas Musuraca stands as one of the true architects of film noir’s visual identity; his work behind the camera helped define the look and feel of classic film noir. Works that include genre landmarks like Stranger on the Third Floor (1940), The Spiral Staircase (1946), The Locket (1946), Deadline at Dawn (1946), and the quintessential noir, Out of the Past (1947). Not to mention the atmospheric horror of Val Lewton’s Cat People (1942).

Noirvember – Freudian Femme Fatales – 1946 : The Dark Mirror (1946) & The Locket (1946) ‘Twisted Inside’

Musuraca’s signature style is unmistakable. His cinematography is defined by a masterful use of chiaroscuro, where deep shadows and sharp beams of light carve the frame into stark, expressive compositions alive with both possibility and threat. Musuraca’s cinematography transforms RKO’s standing ship set into a claustrophobic labyrinth of shadow and menace.The film’s use of single-source lighting and shadowy, confined spaces amplifies the sense of entrapment and moral ambiguity, while Roy Webb’s score and the contrasting calypso songs sung by Sir Lancelot on board provide moments of eerie levity amid the gloom.

Throughout, Lewton’s direction and the film’s noir-inspired cinematography use single-source lighting and deep shadows to evoke a world where menace lurks just beyond the reach of reason. The ship itself becomes a floating prison, each corridor and cabin heavy with the weight of unspoken fears, the darkness pressing in as tightly as the captain’s grip on his crew.

These scenes, especially the anchor chain’s deadly descent, capture the film’s unique blend of psychological horror and poetic fatalism, making The Ghost Ship a haunting meditation on authority, madness, and the thin line between protection and destruction.

The Ghost Ship (1943) stands as one of Val Lewton’s most psychologically charged and atmospheric films, a seafaring thriller that eschews the supernatural in favor of a tense, slow-burning study of authority, paranoia, and the darkness that can take root in isolation. The nearly all-male cast and the absence of romantic subplots further intensify the film’s focus on power dynamics, conformity, and the dangers of unchecked power. Parallels to the rise of fascism and the psychological toll of war are unmistakable.

THE LEOPARD MAN 1943

If The Ghost Ship is a tale of authority and the dark psychology from oceanic isolation at sea, The Leopard Man, directed by Jacques Tourneur and adapted by Ardel Wray and Edward Dein from Cornell Woolrich’s novel, Black Alibi is a meditation on fate and the lurking predatory instincts within ordinary life-where fear prowls the shadows of the everyday, and the boundaries between human and beast blur beneath the surface of a seemingly civilized town. The story is transformed from a pulpy premise into a haunting exploration of fear, guilt, and the duality of human nature.

The film transplants Lewton’s signature shadowy anxieties to a sun-baked New Mexico border town, where it unravels as a proto-slasher draped in existential ambiguity.

The story begins with a brash nightclub promoter Jerry Manning (Dennis O’Keefe) who borrows a black leopard to bolster his lover Kiki Walker’s (Jean Brooks) act, hoping to outshine her rival, the fiery dancer Clo-Clo (Margo) and it unleashes chaos when his publicity stunt goes awry. Maria, the fortune teller played by Isabel Jewell, warns Clo-Clo about impending danger (“something black” coming for her). When Clo-Clo startles the leopard with her castanets, the animal flees into the night, setting off a chain of deaths that fracture the town’s fragile peace as the leopard escapes, it ignites a wave of paranoia, coinciding with a series of gruesome deaths and brutal murders that blur the line between animal savagery and human depravity.

The film fractures into glimpses of fragility and moments of defenselessness, each victim-a girl locked out by her mother, and a dancer stalked through barren streets, Consuelo, and a local woman who is trapped inside a cemetery after visiting her father’s grave, another apparent victim of the leopard, etched with tragic intimacy. Tourneur, alongside cinematographer Robert De Grasse, wields sound and shadow like weapons: the echo of claws on cobblestones, the suffocating darkness behind a door, the silent scream of a victim unheard. Dennis O’Keefe’s Jerry Manning, a man haunted by his complicity, becomes a reluctant detective in a world where guilt is as pervasive as fear.

The first victim, Teresa (Margaret Landry), becomes an emblem of the film’s chilling restraint: Tourneur and cinematographer Robert De Grasse use shadows, sound, and off-screen violence to maximum effect, most memorably in the harrowing scene where a young girl, locked out of her home by her mother for forgetting cornmeal, is pursued through the shadowed streets by the sound of claws on cobblestones. Her death occurs off-screen, marked only by a scream and blood seeping beneath a door- killed just beyond her mother’s reach as she listens in horror. It’s a sequence that distills Lewton’s genius for evoking terror through suggestion.

Following the doomed victims in self-contained vignettes, the film’s structure was ahead of its time and is now recognized as a precursor to the American serial killer film.

The film’s brilliance lies in its ambiguity: Are the killings the work of the animal, or a human predator hiding in plain sight? The Leopard Man subverts expectations, its true horror lying not in the beast but in the realization that monstrosity wears a human face—a revelation that would echo through decades of horror to come.

While some contemporary critics found the film uneven, modern reassessment hails its taut pacing, visual inventiveness, and its almost noir-like meditation on fate and fear.

Tourneur and cinematographer Robert De Grasse craft a world where light and darkness duel for dominance. The New Mexico setting, with its adobe walls and arid landscapes, becomes a character in its own right, its sunlit exteriors contrasting with the suffocating gloom of alleyways and cemeteries. The film’s most potent weapon is sound-the click of castanets, the growl of an unseen beast, the eerie silence of a locked gate-each a harbinger of doom. When Clo-Clo, lured by a lost $100 bill, meets her fate in a moonlit arroyo, the camera lingers on her trembling hand, the castanets still clutched in her grip. It’s a moment of poetic brutality, underscoring the film’s theme of fate and the inevitability of violence.

At its core, The Leopard Man is a proto-slasher, structured around sketches of vulnerability. Each victim, their stories intertwining like threads in a morbid tapestry. The killer, revealed to be Dr. Galbraith (James Bell), a curator obsessed with the town’s violent history, embodies the film’s exploration of repressed desires. His confession that Teresa’s mauling awakened a latent bloodlust mirrors Lewton’s fascination with the darkness lurking beneath societal facades. The climax, set against a Catholic procession commemorating a colonial massacre, merges past and present sins, as Galbraith is cornered amid chanting mourners and flickering candles.

Jean Brooks and Dennis O’Keefe anchor the film with understated performances, their guilt and determination reflecting the moral ambiguity of Lewton’s universe. Margo’s Clo-Clo, all smoldering allure and defiant pride, stands out as a symbol of resilience in a world where women are painted as both predators and prey. Yet the true star is the atmosphere– a suffocating blend of noir aesthetics and Gothic melancholy, elevated by Roy Webb’s haunting score.

Initially dismissed as a B-movie curio, The Leopard Man has been reevaluated as a pioneering work that prefigured the slasher genre and modern horror’s psychological depth. Lewton, ever the alchemist of anxiety, uses the leopard as a metaphor for uncontrollable fear, while Tourneur’s direction, a dance of shadows and silence, transforms budgetary constraints into artistic triumphs. The film’s legacy lies in its refusal to provide easy answers, leaving audiences to grapple with the same question that torments Jerry and Kiki: Is the true monster the beast, the man, or the collective complicity that allows evil to thrive? In Lewton’s world, the most terrifying forces are those we cannot see- and those we dare not confront within ourselves.

THE SEVENTH VICTIM 1943

The Seventh Victim, Mark Robson’s directorial debut, is perhaps the most existential, enigmatic, and nihilistic of Lewton’s 1943 trilogy, which I’m focusing on here.

In The Seventh Victim, Lewton’s gaze turns even more inward, probing the abyss of the human soul. Scripted by Charles O’Neal and DeWitt Bodeen, the film follows Mary Gibson (Kim Hunter, in her first screen role) as she searches for her missing sister Jacqueline (Jean Brooks) in a shadowy, labyrinthine occult underbelly of Greenwich Village where her sister Jacqueline languishes under the thrall of the Palladists, a Satanist cult veiled in bourgeois normalcy.

The trail leads her into the orbit of the Palladists, a secret society pledged to nonviolence but committed to driving traitors to suicide. Not unlike Lewton’s other films, The Seventh Victim contains no overt supernatural element; its horror is existential, rooted in despair, alienation, and the seductive pull of death.

Robson and Musuraca drape the film in chiaroscuro gloom, echoing the influence of European expressionism and film noir. The narrative, fragmented by studio cuts, is dreamlike and unsettling, building to a climax that is both ambiguous and devastating: Jacqueline, hounded by the cult and her own death wish, takes her own life off-screen, the film ending with the sound of a chair falling and a neighbor’s whispered longing for “just one more moment of life.” Mimi’s character, played by Lewton regular Elizabeth Russell, is a striking counterpoint to the film’s themes of despair and suicide. While Jacqueline (Jean Brooks) is drawn toward death, Mimi expresses a poignant desire to keep living.

Kim Hunter’s character in The Seventh Victim is Mary Gibson, a sheltered and earnest young woman whose journey drives the film’s emotional core. Fresh out of boarding school, Mary has a gentle, sincere, and quietly determined style that is modest and unassuming, marked by innocence rather than sophistication. Yet beneath that innocence is a quiet resilience; as she searches for her missing sister Jacqueline in the shadowy maze of New York, Mary’s persistence and empathy set her apart. She is driven by a deep longing to reconnect with Jacqueline, hoping to save her from whatever darkness has claimed her life. Mary seeks not just answers, but the possibility of healing and redemption for her sister, even as she’s drawn into a world far more bleak and complex than she ever imagined. The rest of the cast- Tom Conway as Dr. Judd, Isabel Jewell, and Hugh Beaumont- contributes to the film’s sense of haunted community, each character adrift in a world where evil is banal, and hope is fleeting.

Musuraca’s camera paints a world of shadowy melancholy, where rain-slicked alleys and candlelit rituals frame Jacqueline’s existential torment. Her longing for death, poised between a noose and poisoned wine, becomes a silent scream against life’s futility, a theme echoed in the film’s infamous conclusion: the chair’s crash and a neighbor’s wistful sigh.

The Palladists, with their hollow dogma, mirror postwar anxieties of hidden evils, while subtexts of repressed sexuality and identity ripple beneath the surface. Jean Brooks’ performance, a spectral blend of resignation and defiance, anchors the film’s exploration of despair, making The Seventh Victim less a horror tale than a requiem for the lost.

The Seventh Victim unfolds like a shadowy descent into the underworld of despair, its central metaphor-the hangman’s noose suspended in an empty, dimly lit room-looming over the film as both a literal threat and a symbol of the inescapable pull of death. Val Lewton and director Mark Robson craft a cinematic labyrinth where every corridor and clock tick becomes a reminder of time slipping away, and every character seems to wander, ghostlike, through a city that offers neither refuge nor redemption. Jacqueline, the film’s tragic center, drifts through life as if already half-claimed by the grave, her voice rarely heard, her agency stripped away until she becomes less a person than a vessel for existential anguish and the numbing chill of depression.

Lewton’s Greenwich Village is a modern Dantean underworld, a place where the search for a missing sister becomes a spiritual journey through sin, penance, and the hope dashed by no salvation.

The cult of the Palladists, with their pacifist facade and insidious psychological cruelty, externalizes the internal struggle of suicidal ideation: their whispered urgings to Jacqueline to end her life echo the relentless, destructive voices of depression itself. The infamous scene in which a poisoned chalice is pressed upon her, the day’s light shifting as the group takes turns persuading her to drink, becomes a ritualized dramatization of despair, the cult acting as the personification of every dark thought and voice that seeks to erode the will to live.

The film’s final passages are as poetic as they are devastating. Jacqueline’s encounter with her neighbor Mimi – a woman dying of tuberculosis who longs for one more night of laughter and life- serves as a mirror to Jacqueline’s own longing for oblivion.

When Mimi leaves for her last dance, the camera lingers on the empty chair and the noose, and the sound of the chair’s fall is the film’s closing punctuation: a stark, unblinking acknowledgment of the tragedy of self-destruction. As Jacqueline’s voice repeats the line from John Donne-“I run to death, and death meets me as fast / And all my pleasures are like yesterday”– the film crystallizes into a dark, existential fable where death is not a monster but an ever-present shadow, a seductive promise, and, for some, tragically a final act of agency.

In The Seventh Victim, Lewton does not sensationalize horror; instead, he renders it with the quiet, inexorable force of a tide pulling souls into darkness, making the film not just a tale of cults and murder, but a haunting meditation on loneliness, mental health, and the fragile boundary between longing for life and surrendering to death.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #39 Curse of the Demon 1957

If you truly held a gun to my head and forced me to give you my top ten classic horror films of all time, Curse of the Demon would be on that list!

Directed by Jacques Tourneur, Curse of the Demon (released in the UK as Night of the Demon) is a standout classic British horror film from the 1950s adapted from M.R. James’s short story Casting the Runes is a standout horror film from the 1950s.

This atmospheric and chilling tale of skepticism, supernatural forces, and psychological tension stars Dana Andrews as Dr. John Holden, Peggy Cummins as Joanna Harrington (Professor Harrington’s Daughter), Maurice Denham as Professor Harrington, and Niall MacGinnis as the sinister Dr. Julian Karswell. The cinematography, handled by Edward “Ted” Scaife, beautifully captures the eerie mood of the story, blending suspenseful shadows and light to create a striking visual landscape of dread and paranoia.

The story begins with the mysterious death of Professor Harrington, who had been investigating the enigmatic Julian Karswell (Niall MacGinnis) and his mysterious cult of followers.

The plot follows Dr. Holden (Dana Andrews), a skeptical American psychologist who travels to England to investigate a satanic hellbound cult led by Karswell. After the mysterious death of Professor Harrington—who sought to expose Karswell—Holden becomes entangled in a supernatural curse. Karswell secretly passes Holden a parchment inscribed with runes that mark him for death within three days unless it can be returned to sender! As Holden dismisses the supernatural as superstition, strange and terrifying events begin to shake his skepticism.

The opening scene, in which Professor Harrington is pursued and killed by a towering, smoke-shrouded demon, is a hauntingly atmospheric sequence that sets a chilling tone for the entire film. It begins with Professor Harrington, visibly shaken, rushing home after a desperate plea to Julian Karswell to lift the curse placed upon him. As night falls, Harrington’s car pulls into his driveway, and the quiet English countryside becomes a stage for terror.

The first sign of something unnatural is a strange, high-pitched squeaking sound—an eerie, otherworldly noise that seems to emanate from the trees. Suddenly, a glowing cloud of smoke materializes in the distance. It billows and churns unnaturally, illuminated by an unearthly light, throwing sparks as it moves closer through the woods. The sound grows louder and more chaotic, resembling a cacophony of screeching metal or broken wheels grinding against stone—a dissonant soundtrack to impending doom.

Out of this swirling inferno emerges the demon itself, a towering, grotesque (or not so grotesque if you think like me) figure with smoking limbs and glowing eyes that pierce through the darkness. Its massive claws and jagged features are both monstrous and mesmerizing, a vision of primal terror brought to life. The beast’s movements are slow but deliberate, each step accompanied by earth-shaking thuds that reverberate through the forest, leaving trails of billowy, hellish smoke. Its fiery presence casts flickering shadows across the trees, creating a nightmarish interplay of light and dark.

Harrington’s panic is palpable as he stumbles toward his car in a futile attempt to escape. The demon pursues him relentlessly, its immense size making it seem inescapable. The tension crescendos as Harrington’s car swerves wildly down the road before crashing into power lines. In his final moments, tangled in sparking cables, Harrington looks up to see the demon looming over him. Its immense form fills the frame as it reaches down with terrifying inevitability. Its giant mitts smashed his pathetic frame underneath its massive weight.

Jacques Tourneur’s direction combines foreboding sound design with striking visuals to create an unforgettable introduction to the film’s supernatural odyssey. The demon’s appearance—controversial for its explicitness—remains one of the most iconic moments in horror cinema, vividly capturing the terror of being hunted by an unstoppable force from beyond.

One of the most evocative and exhilarating scenes takes place during the Halloween party. The children’s gala in Curse of the Demon is a masterful blend of unsettling charm and creeping menace. Set at Julian Karswell’s sprawling country estate, the scene initially feels disarmingly cheerful. Karswell, dressed as a clown complete with macabre makeup, performs magic tricks for local children, conjuring puppies and handing out candy. His doting mother makes ice cream, adding to the idyllic atmosphere. Yet, beneath this facade of joviality, there’s an undeniable tension that hints at Karswell’s darker nature.

The party takes a sinister turn when Karswell decides to demonstrate his supernatural powers to the skeptical Dr. Holden. With a smug smile, he summons up a wind demon, a sudden whirlwind—a feat he describes as “a medieval witch’s specialty.” The storm disrupts the festivities, sending chairs flying and children screaming as they scramble for safety indoors. This moment is chilling not only for its display of Karswell’s command over dark forces but also for the casual ease with which he wields them. His glib remark to Holden—“We don’t have cyclones in England”—adds an eerie humor to the scene.

The juxtaposition of Karswell’s clownish appearance and his dangerous abilities creates an unsettling contrast. While he appears genial and harmless on the surface, his cold seriousness emerges in moments like his comment about Snakes and Ladders: “I’m not [a good loser], you know. Not a bit of it.” This subtle menace underscores his true nature—a man who is both playful and terrifyingly ruthless.

Shot in broad daylight, the scene is a testament to Jacques Tourneur’s skill at creating Gothic horror without relying on nighttime settings or shadowy castles. The bright surroundings only heighten the unease, making this sequence one of the film’s most memorable moments. It perfectly encapsulates Karswell’s character: outwardly charming yet deeply threatening, a modern sorcerer playing with forces far beyond his control.

There is also a chilling scene where Dr. John Holden visits Rand Hobart, a man left in a catatonic state after encountering the dark supernatural forces at work. Hobart, played by Brian Wilde, is confined to a mental institution, his mind shattered by fear after being cursed by Julian Karswell. The scene is steeped in tension and dread. Hobart sits motionless, his face pale and his eyes wide with terror, as his face beads up with terror that seeps out of his pores as sweat, as though he is perpetually reliving the horrors he has witnessed.

The room is stark and clinical, but it cannot mask the oppressive atmosphere of fear that surrounds him. Holden, ever the skeptic, approaches Hobart with a mix of curiosity and disbelief, determined to extract some rational explanation for the man’s condition.

When Hobart is placed under hypnosis, the scene takes on an even more unnerving tone. His voice trembles as he begins to recount his experience, describing how he was “chosen” to die after receiving a parchment inscribed with runes—an object identical to the one Holden himself now possesses. Hobart’s fear escalates into hysteria when he sees Holden holding the cursed parchment, believing it is being passed back to him. In a moment of sheer panic, Hobart breaks free and leaps through a window to his death. There’s also a séance where Harrington’s spirit warns Holden with the now-famous line, “It’s in the trees! It’s coming!”

Another standout scene is the climactic train confrontation between Holden and Karswell. Holden cleverly returns to Karswell the cursed parchment, leading to Karswell’s dramatic demise at the hands of the demon he had summoned. The demon rips Karswell to shreds like a rag doll and leaves him in a broken pile on the railroad tracks. The truth is left in the hands of Holden, who comes to terms with the fact that some things are better left unknown.

The film’s production was marked by behind-the-scenes creative disagreements, particularly over whether to show the demon on screen. Tourneur preferred subtle psychological horror, leaving the demon’s existence ambiguous, whether it was real or imagined—something inspired by working with collaborator Val Lewton in the 1940s for RKO. However, producer Hal E. Chester insisted on showing the demon explicitly, which led to tension during the production. The demon appears twice—at the beginning and end—adding a visceral element that polarized critics but ultimately became iconic in horror cinema. I for one, am happy to see the demon realized on screen.

With its unforgettable sense of atmosphere and outstanding performances, particularly by MacGinnis as the diabolical Karsell, Curse of the Demon remains a masterpiece.

5 Movie Monsters in Search of an Existential Crisis: AntiFilm School Presents the 3rd Annual Halloween Horror Movie Spooktacular!

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #33 Cat People 1942 & Curse of the Cat People 1944

CAT PEOPLE 1942

Cat People (1942) is a groundbreaking supernatural horror film that redefined the genre with its psychological depth and atmospheric storytelling thanks to the masterful storytelling by Val Lewton. Directed by Jacques Tourneur and produced by Lewton for RKO Pictures.

Val Lewton, a producer-auteur known for his meticulous oversight of every aspect of his projects, collaborated closely with Tourneur to create this new kind of horror film—one that relied on suggestion and atmosphere rather than overt scares. Lewton and Tourneur pioneered a revolutionary approach to horror filmmaking, employing suggestive imagery, chiaroscuro lighting, and masterful use of sound and silence to create an atmosphere of dread and terror through implication rather than explicit violence or supernatural manifestations, establishing a new paradigm that would influence generations of filmmakers.

Jacques Tourneur played a crucial role in shaping the visual style of his films, including his masterpiece, Out of the Past. He employs a masterful use of shadows: Tourneur went beyond standard film noir techniques, using shadows not just decoratively but as fundamental storytelling elements. He created beautiful compositions where shadows defined and redefined mood. Tourneur frequently employed “corridor” style shots, often shooting directly down paths or hallways to create long perspectives. He alternated these with lateral tracks featuring masked foregrounds, creating a rich visual mix. He also focused on “unofficial” architecture, like projecting awnings, to create unique compositions and emphasized complex textures in backgrounds, using elaborate wallpapers, moldings, and grillwork. Tourneur skillfully manipulated lighting to enhance the mood, using soft shadows for intimacy in romantic scenes and darker, more oppressive shadows for tense moments, particularly in the pool scene where an unseen predator stalks Alice, Cat People’s ‘good girl’ noir-like heroine. Tourneur’s visual style often left threats ambiguous, allowing viewers to draw their own conclusions.

Cat People tells the story of Irena Dubrovna (played by the intoxicatingly beautiful Simone Simon), a Serbian émigré in Manhattan who believes she is cursed to transform into a murderous panther if she experiences romantic or sexual passion. Her fears lead to a tense love triangle with her husband, Oliver Reed (Kent Smith), and his co-worker, Alice Moore (Jane Randolph), as well as sessions with the skeptical psychiatrist Dr. Louis Judd (Tom Conway). Lewton aimed to create a film that consisted of psychological depth, an intelligent horror film that explored themes of sexual repression, jealousy, and the clash between science and superstition. Lewton ultimately decided to set the story in contemporary New York, involving a love triangle between a man, a foreign woman with abnormal fears, and a female office worker desperately in love with Oliver.

Val Lewton wrote “The Bagheeta,” a short story that appeared in the July 1930 issue of Weird Tales Magazine. This story was one of Lewton’s early works in the horror genre, published before he began his career at RKO Pictures. “The Bagheeta,” which featured a legendary panther-woman hybrid in the Caucasus Mountains, served as inspiration for Cat People (1942).

The script was written by DeWitt Bodeen, who drew inspiration from myths about cats and curses, as well as Algernon Blackwood’s short story “Ancient Sorceries.” Lewton initially considered basing the film on Blackwood’s 1906 short story which featured a French town inhabited by devil-worshipping cat people. Bodeen researched cat-related literature, including works by Ambrose Bierce and Margaret Irwin. Lewton contributed heavily to the screenplay, ensuring its thematic complexity and subtlety.

Studio directive: RKO executive Charles Koerner gave Lewton the title Cat People and instructed him to develop a film from it. Koerner felt that werewolves, vampires, and man-made monsters were overexploited, suggesting that “nobody has done much with cats.”

Cinematographer Nicholas Musuraca, who contributed his keen photographic eye to some of the most extraordinary film noirs, brought the film’s shadowy visuals to life, employing chiaroscuro lighting and inventive framing to evoke fear through implication rather than explicit imagery. This approach gave rise to iconic moments like “The Lewton Bus,” an early example of a jump scare that has since become legendary in horror cinema.

The mythology behind Cat People blends Balkan folklore with Freudian psychology, portraying Irena’s transformation as both a literal curse and a metaphor for repressed desires. The film also subtly critiques xenophobia through its depiction of Irena as an “exotic” outsider whose cultural beliefs are dismissed or misunderstood by those (Anglo/Christian) around her.

Despite being made on a modest budget of $135,000, Cat People became one of RKO’s most successful films of the 1940s. Its minimalist yet sophisticated approach influenced countless subsequent horror films and elevated the genre’s artistic potential. Though initially conceived as a B-movie, it has since been recognized as a landmark in cinematic history, earning preservation in the National Film Registry in 1993.

CURSE OF THE CAT PEOPLE 1944

The Curse of the Cat People (1944) is another of Val Lewton’s psychologically geared supernatural thriller directed by Gunther von Fritsch and Robert Wise. The film follows in the shadow of Cat People with Amy Reed, the six-year-old daughter of Oliver Reed, and his new wife Alice, who lives in Tarrytown, New York. Amy is an imaginative and lonely child, often escaping into fantasies to cope with her isolation. Her life changes when she meets the ghost of her father’s deceased first wife, Irena, who becomes a maternal figure to her. Meanwhile, Amy befriends an eccentric elderly woman, Julia Farren (Julia Dean), and her troubled daughter, Barbara (Elizabeth Russell), leading to a complex exploration of reality, fantasy, and the power of love and acceptance.

Begin ‘The Bagheeta’: Val Lewton’s fantasy/ reality world of Curse of The Cat People: fearing the female/feline monster and the engendering child. Part I

Val Lewton’s Curse of The Cat People (1944) “God should use a Rose Amber Spot!” Seeing the darkness thru the ‘Fearing Child’ and ‘The Monstrous Feminine’ Part II

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Postcards from Shadowland no. 17 🌀 The Twilight Zone edition

“Five Characters in Search of an Exit” Season 3 Episode 14-Stars William Windom, Susan Harrison, Murray Matheson, Kelton Garwood aired December 22, 1961 Teleplay by Rod Serling.
“The Sixteen Millimeter Shrine” Season 1 episode 4 aired October 23rd 1959-stars Ida Lupino and Martin Balsam, Jerome Cowan, Ted de Corsia and Alice Frost as Sally. Written by Rod Serling
“Black Leather Jackets” Season 5 Episode 18 aired January 31st 1964-stars Lee Kinsolving, Shelley Fabares, Michael Forest, Denver Pyle, Tom Gilleran, Michael Conrad and Irene Hervey.
“Elegy” Season 1 Episode 20 aired on February 19th, 1960 directed by Douglas Heyes and written by Charles Beaumont. Stars Cecil Kellaway, Jeff Morrow, Don Dubbins and Kevin Hagen
“Eye of the Beholder” Season 2 Episode 6 aired on November 11th, 1960 directed by Douglas Heyes and written by Rod Serling. Stars Maxine Stuart, William D. Gordon, Jennifer Howard, George Keymas, Joanna Heyes, and Donna Douglas -revealed
NOVEMBER 11: Twilight Zone episode ‘Eye of the Beholder’, written by Rod Serling. makeup by William Tuttle. Originally broadcast on November 11, 1960. Season 2, episode 6. (Photo by CBS via Getty Images)
“Nothing in the Darkness” Season 3, Episode 16 aired January 5th, 1962. Stars Gladys Cooper Robert Redford and R.G. Armstrong
“Nightmare at 20,000 Feet” Season 5 Episode 3 aired October 11th, 1963 directed by Richard Donner written by Richard Matheson, Starring William Shatner, and Christine White

“The Howling Man” Season 2 Episode 5 aired November 4, 1960 directed by Douglas Heyes written by Charles Beaumont and Rod Serling. Stars John Carradine, H.M. Wynant, and Robin Hughes

“It’s a Good Life” Season 3 Episode 8 aired aired November 3rd, 1961. teleplay by Rod Serling based on a short story by Jerome Bixby. Stars John Larch, Cloris Leachman, Don Keefer, Bill Mumy as Anthony, Alice Frost as Aunt Amy, Max Showalter, Jeanne Bates, Lenore Kingston and Tom Hatcher.

“A Most Unusual Camera” Season 2 Episode 10 aired December 16, 1960. Starring Jean Carson, Fred Clark and Adam Williams written by Rod Serling
“Little Girl Lost” Season 3 Episode 26 aired March 16, 1962 directed by Paul Stewart and written by Richard Matheson. Stars Sarah Marshall, Robert Sampson and Charles Aidman
“Living Doll’ Season 5 Episode 6 aired November 1, 1963 written by Charles Beaumont and Rod Serling. Stars Telly Savalas, Mary LaRoche and Tracy Stratford

“The Midnight Sun” Season 3 Episode 10 aired November 17, 1961 Written by Rod Serling. Stars Lois Nettleton, and Betty Garde
“Mirror Image” Season 1 Episode 21 directed by John Brahm written by Rod Serling. Stars Vera Miles, Martin Milner, Joseph Hamilton and Naomi Stevens
“Mr. Garrity and the Graves” Season 5 Episode 32. Aired May 8th, 1964 directed by Ted Post, with a teleplay by Rod Serling. Stars John Dehner, Stanley Adams, J. Pat O’Malley, Norman Leavitt, Percy Helton and John Mitchum
“Mr. Denton on Doomsday” Season 1 Episode 3 aired October 16th 1959 written by Rod Serling Stars Dan Duryea, Martin Landau, Jeanne Cooper, Malcolm Atterbury, Ken Lynch, Arthur Batanides, Robert Burton and Doug McClure
“A Stop at Willoughby” Season 1 Episode 30 aired May 6, 1960 directed by Robert Parrish written by Rod Serling. Stars James Daly, Howard Smith and Patricia Donahue, Jason Wingreen, and Mavis Neal Palmer.
“Nick of Time” Season 2 Episode 3 aired November 18, 1960 Written by Richard Matheson and Rod Serling Stars William Shatner and Patricia Breslin
“Night Call’ Season 5 Episode 19 aired February 7, 1964 Directed by Jacques Tourneur written by Richard Matheson and Rod Serling. Stars the great Gladys Cooper, Nora Marlowe and Martine Bartlett.
“Nightmare as a Child” Season 1 Episode 29 aired April 29, 1960 written by Rod Serling. Stars Janice Rule, Sheppard Strudwick and Terry Burnham as Markie
“Twenty Two” Season 2 Episode 17 aired February 10, 1961 Directed by Jack Smight written by Rod Serling from Famous Ghost Stories- Stars Barbara Nichols, Jonathon Harris, and Fredd Wayne
“One for the Angels” Season 1 Episode 2 aired October 9, 1959 Written by Rod Serling. Stars Ed Wynn, Murray Hamilton as death, Dana Dillaway as Maggie
“A Penny for your Thoughts” Season 2 Episode 16 aired February 3, 1961 Written by George Clayton Johnson and Rod Serling. Stars Dick York, June Dayton, Dan Tobin, Cyril Delevanti, and Hayden Rorke
“People are Alike All Over” Season 1 Episode 25 aired March 25, 1960 Stars Roddy McDowall, Susan Oliver and Paul Comi
“Long Live Walter Jameson” Season 1 Episode 24 aired March 18, 1960 Written by Charles Beaumont. Stars Kevin McCarthy, Edgar Stehli, Estelle Winwood and Dodie Heath
“Queen of the Nile” Season 5 Episode 23 aired March 6, 1964 directed by John Brahm written by Charles Beaumont and Rod Serling. Starring Ann Blyth, Lee Phillips, and Celia Lovsky

“Spur of the Moment” Season 5 Episode 21 aired February 21, 1964 directed by Eliot Silverstein written by Richard Matheson. Stars Diana Hyland, Marsha Hunt, Philip Ober and Roger Davis.
“The After Hours” Season 1 Episode 34 aired June 10, 1960 directed by Douglas Heyes written by Rod Serling. Stars Anne Francis and Elizabeth Allen
“The Dummy” Season 3 Episode 33 aired May 4, 1962 directed by Abner Biberman teleplay by Rod Serling. Stars Cliff Robertson, Frank Sutton, George Murdock, John Harmon and Sandra Warner.
“The Fear” Season 5 Episode 35 aired May 29, 1964 directed by Ted Post written by Rod Serling. Stars Hazel Court and Peter Mark Richman
“The Grave” Season 3 Episode 7 aired October 27, 1961 Written and Directed by Montgomery Pittman Stars Lee Marvin, James Best, and Strother Martin, Elen Willard and Lee Van Cleef
“The Hitch-Hiker” Season 1 Episode 16 aired January 22, 1960 Teleplay by Rod Serling based on a radio play by Lucille Fletcher. Stars Inger Stevens, Adam Williams, Lew Gallo and Leonard Strong as The Hitch-Hiker
“The Invaders” Season 2 Episode 15 aired January 27, 1961 Directed by Douglas Heyes written by Richard Matheson. Stars Agnes Moorehead in a completely dialogue-less performance.
“The Lonely” Season 1 Episode 7 aired November 13, 1959 Directed by Jack Smight written by Rod Serling. Stars Jack Warden, John Dehner, Jean Marsh and Ted Knight
“The Man in the Bottle” Season 2 Episode 2 aired October 7, 1960 directed by Don Medford written by Rod Serling. Stars Luther Adler, Vivi Janiss, and Joseph Ruskin
“The Masks” Season 5 Episode 25 aired March 20, 1964 Directed by Ida Lupino written by Rod Serling. Stars Robert Keith, Milton Seltzer, Virginia Gregg, Brooke Hayward and Willis Bouchey
“The Monsters are Due on Maple Street” Season 1 Episode 22 aired March 4, 1960. Written by Rod Serling. Stars Claude Akins, Barry Atwater, Jack Weston, Jan Handzlik, Amzie Strickland, Burt Metcalfe, Mary Gregory, Anne Barton
“The New Exhibit” Season 4 Episode 14 aired April 4 1963 Directed by John Brahm written by Charles Beaumont and Rod Serling. Stars Martin Balsam, Will Kuluva, Margaret Field William Mims
“The Shelter” Season 3 Episode 3 aired September 29, 1961 directed by Lamont Johnson written by Rod Serling. Stars Larry Gates, Joseph Bernard, Jack Albertson, Peggy Stewart, Sandy Kenyon, Michael Burns, Jo Helton, Moria Turner, and Mary Gregory
“Time Enough At Last” Season 1 Episode 8 aired November 20, 1959 Directed by John Brahm and teleplay by Rod Serling based on a short story by Lynn Venable. Stars Burgess Meredith as Henry Bemis
“To Serve Man” Season 3 Episode 24 aired March 2, 1962 Teleplay by Rod Serling based on a short story by Damon Knight. Stars Lloyd Bochner, Susan Cummings and Richard Kiel
“A Passage for Trumpet” Season 1 Episode 32 aired May 20, 1960 Directed by Don Medford written by Rod Serling. Stars Jack Klugman and John Anderson
“Walking Distance” Season 1 Episode 5 aired October 30th, 1959 directed by Robert Stevens and written by Rod Serling. Stars Gig Young, Frank Overton and Irene Tedrow and a young Ronny Howard
“Two” Season 3 Episode 1 aired September 15, 1961 directed by Montgomery Pittman written by Montgomery Pittman and Rod Serling. Stars Elizabeth Montgomery and Charles Bronson
“Third from the Sun” Season 1 Episode 14 aired January 8, 1960 Teleplay by Rod Serling based on a story by Richard Matheson. Stars Fritz Weaver, Edward Andrews, Joe Maross, Denise Alexander and Lori March
“What You Need” Season 1 Episode 12 aired Deccember 25, 1959 Stars Steve Cochran, Ernest Truex, Read Morgan and Alrene Martel
Season 1 Episode 1 aired October 2nd 1959. Written by Rod Serling. Stars Earl Holliman, James Gregory, and Paul Langton,
“Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up?” Season 2 Episode 28 aired May 26, 1961. Directed by Montgomery Pittman written by Rod Serling. Stars John Hoyt, Jean Willes, Jack Elam, Barney Phillips, John Archer, William Kendis, Morgan Jones, Gertrude Flynn, Bill Irwin, Jill Ellis and Ron Kipling

Your EverLovin’ Joey saying The Last Drive In is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge!

Postcards From Shadowland No. 14

12_angry_men_1957
12 Angry Men (1957) Directed by Sidney Lumet Lee J. Cobb, E.G. Marshall, Jack Klugman, Edward Binns, Jack Warden, Henry Fonda, Joseph Sweeney, Ed Begley, George Voskovec… also stars John Fiedler, Martin Balsam and Robert Webber
Broken Blossoms
Broken Blossoms (1919) Starring Lillian Gish as Lucy the girl.
C cigarettegirl
The Cigarette Girl from Mosselprom (Moscow) 1924 Directed by Yuri Zhelyabuzhsky -starring Yuliya Solntseva as Zina Vesenina- the cigarette girl
Christmas Holiday
Christmas Holiday (1944) Directed by Robert Siodmak-starring Deanna Durbin & Gene Kelly
Curse-of-the-Demon-2
Curse of the Demon (1957) Directed by Jacques Tourneur-Starring Dana Andrews, Peggy Cummins and Niall MacGinnis
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Diana Dors as Eunice Higginbotham in My Wife’s Lodger (1952)
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Directed by Lew Landers Harry Woods is Borno in- Call of the Savage (1935)
Hi Dante's Inferno devil
L’Inferno 1911, Dante Alighieri “A Divina Comédia”, Directed by Giuseppe de Liguoro.
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The Sea Hawk 1924 Directed by Frank Lloyd
Hodiak and Bankhead in Lifeboat
Alfred Hitchcock’s Lifeboat (1944) cinematic stage play with the vast scope of the Ocean and the claustrophobic air of desperation. Brilliant performances by Tallulah Bankhead and John Hodiak looking his hunkiest best…
Ingmar Bergman's Virgin Spring
The Virgin Spring (1960) directed by Ingmar Bergman-disturbing journey of revenge
J Gilda
Gilda (1946) directed by Charles VIdor and stars the magnificent Rita Hayworth in the title role Gilda Mundson Farrell, here dancing with Glenn Ford. A film noir classic
Last Tango in Paris
Last Tango in Paris 1972 directed by Bernardo Bertolucci-stars Marlon Brando and Maria Schneider as a pair of angst filled lovers whose relationship is based on sex & death
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Man Made Monster 1941 starring Lionel Atwill as the deranged Dr Rigas
monsieur Verdoux
Monsieur Verdoux 1947 directed by and starring Charles Chaplin-brilliant dark comedy of murder and anti-conformity.
Night of the Hunter Gish & Co.
Charles Laughton’s oneric fable of childhood terrors, the bonds of friendship and the plight of Love vs Hate… Beautifully filmed- starring Lillian Gish as Rachel Cooper and Robert Mitchum as the diabolical Harry Powell in Night of the Hunter (1955)
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Jane Eyre 1943 directed by Robert Stevenson starring Peggy Ann Garner is young Jane.
Plunder Road
Plunder Road (1957) directed by Hubert Cornfeld, perhaps one of the most edgy crime story film noirs headed up Gene Raymond and Elisha Cook Jr.
Robert Ryan in The Set Up
The Set-Up (1949) Robert Ryan stars as boxer Stoker in Robert Wise’s extraordinary noir film centered around the boxing ring and a down on his luck fighter that still has a lot of fight left in him. One of my favorite film noir classics, much to do with Ryan’s performance and Milton R. Krasner’s cinematography…
saboteur norman-lloyd-
the Wonderful Norman Lloyd in Alfred Hitchcock’s Saboteur 1942
Seconds
Rock Hudson is psychologically and physically spun around on his head in Seconds 1966 by John Frankenheimer- A story about that precious commodity… one’s identity
Seeds of Sin 1968 Andy Milligan
SEEDS (1968) Directed by Andy Milligan- it’s seedy and low budget and the perfect exploitative indulgence…
Shack Out on I0I
Shack Out on 101 (1955) different styled film noir starring Lee Marvin as Slob.. directed by Edward Dein and co-stars Terry Moore and Frank Lovejoy
ship of fools
Stanley Kramer directs this incredible ensemble of actors in Ship of Fools (1965) Here showing George Segal, Michael Dunn and Lee Marvin
somwhere in the night john hodiak
John Hodiak tries to remember in Somewhere in the Night (1946) -a taut amnesia themed noir with great characters. Directed by Joseph L. Mankiewicz. Here with Fritz Kortner as Anzelmo or Dr Oracle.
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Street With No Name (1948) starring Mark Stevens and directed by William Keighly -This film noir also stars Richard Widmark and Lloyd Nolan…
sunrise
Sunrise (1927) directed by F.W. Murnau starring Janet Gaynor and George O’Brien-Beautifully filmed silent masterpiece
t-nightbirds
Nightbirds 1970 Andy Milligan’s gritty cult journey about two miscreants in London.
Terror From the Crypt
Terror in the Crypt aka Crypt of the Vampire 1964 directed by Camillo Mastrocinque based on the Karnstein saga with Adriana Ambesi and Ursula Davis and the immortal Christopher Lee
The Fiend Who Walked the West
The Fiend Who Walked the West (1958) directed by Gordon Douglas and starring Hugh O’Brian and a really psychotic Robert Evans.
The Scavengers 1959
The Scavengers 1959 starring Carol Ohmart directed by John Cromwell -an obscure film noir also starring Vince Edwards
The Secret Garden Margaret O'Brien
The Secret Garden 1949 starring Margaret O’Brien and a wonderful cast Herbert Marshall, Dean Stockwell, Gladys Cooper, Elsa Lanchester, Reginald Owen, Brian Roper, Aubrey Mather isobel Elsom and George Zucco fill out this fantasy drama directed by Fred M. Wilcox
the seventh sin
The Seventh Sin (1957) directed by Ronald Neame and Vincente Minnelli starring Eleanor Parker and Françoise Rosay Françoise Rosay as Mother Superior
The Soft Skin 1964 Francoise Dorleac
The Soft Skin 1964 Françoise Dorléac directed by François Truffaut
The Stranger 1946
The Stranger 1946 directed by Orson Welles
the terrible_people_1
The Terrible People (1960) directed by Harald Reinl adapted from the story by Edgar Wallace stars Joachim Fuchsberger
The Wild Boys of the Road thirty three
The Wild Boys of the Road 1933 directed by William Wellman
The Young One 1960
The Young One 1960 directed by Luis Buñuel starring Key Meersman as Evalyn. Also stars Zachary Scott and Bernie Hamilton
The-Exterminating-Angel
The Exterminating Angel (1962) directed by Luis Buñuel
The-Twilight-Girls
The Twilight Girls (1957) by André Hunebelle
To Kill a Mockingbird Jim and Dill
To Kill a Mockingbird 1962 directed by Robert Mulligan -John Megna as Dill and Phillip Alford as Jem. adapted from Harper Lee’s masterpiece

See you soon… Your EverLovin’ MonsterGirl!

A Symphony of Dark Patches- The Val Lewton Legacy 1943

This post is a feature…As part of the CLASSIC MOVIE HISTORY PROJECT BLOGATHON hosted by the fantastic gang over at- Movies Silently, Silver Screenings & Once Upon a Screen– Visit these wonderful blogs during this historic event and fill your head with a collection of fascinating movie memories.

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From Dreams of Darkness-Fantasy and the films of Val Lewton by J.P. Telotte:
“{The audience} will populate the darkness with more horrors than all the horror writers in Hollywood could think of… if you make the screen dark enough, the mind’s eye will read anything into it you want. We’re great ones for dark patches.” – Val Lewton

Swimming pool scene Cat People '42
Jane Randolph as Alice Moore in Val Lewton’s Cat People 1942 directed by Jacques Tourneur.
Bedlam
A scene from Bedlam (1946) directed by Mark Robson.

During the 1940s Val Lewton and his ‘Lewton Unit’ used the essential vision of fantastic darkness to recreate a very unique style of horror/fantasy genre, one which challenged Hollywood’s notion of the tangible monsters Universal studios had been manufacturing. Lewton, while working at RKO Studios, produced an exquisite, remarkable and limited collection of films that came face to face with a ‘nightworld.’ Lewton used our most deepest darkest psychological and innate fears that dwell within the lattice of shadows of our dreams and secret wish-fulfillment.

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“Our formula is simple. A love story, three scenes of suggested horror and one of actual violence. Fade out” -Val Lewton

Lewton worked at MGM between 1926 and 1932 and then served eight years under David Selznick. He had published nine novels and a number of short stories. In addition he produced regular radio show versions of MGM films. He also had ties in the industry as his aunt was the very influential silent actress Alla Nazimova.

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the great stage and silent screen actress Alla Nazimova-Val Lewton’s very influential aunt…

But Lewton had left his mark with Selznick and in 1940 rival company RKO was interested in hiring him..It was actually Selznick who negotiated Lewton’s contract.

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“My task is to initiate a programme of horror pictures to be made at the comparatively low cost of 125,000 each. Which should compete successfully with Universal horror films. Which cost anywhere from 300,000 to a million dollars. I feel I can do this quite easily and the Universal people spend a lot of money on their horror product. But not much on brains or imagination.”-Val Lewton

Frankenstein-Meets-The-Wolf-Man-1943

Lewton put together a team of collaborators with whom he would work closely. He chose Mark Robson to edit. Robert Wise and Lewton worked together on Citizen Kane and The Magnificent Ambersons. DeWitt Bodeen had worked with him during his time with David O’ Selznick was to write the first screenplay for Cat People. His old friend Jacques Tourneur whom he became friends with while working on A Tale of Two Cities. was brought on board to direct. He chose Nicholas Musuraca as his director of photography and Roy Webb to compose the musical scores. They all worked on countless RKO films. It was Lewton’s intention to create quality pictures though he was constrained by a low budget. Jacques Tourneur had said that Lewton was an idealist who had his head up in the clouds and would come up with impossible ideas. However for Tourneur, his feet were planted firmly on the ground, yet somehow they complemented each other perfectly, Tourneur claims it was a very happy time in his life, and that Lewton’s gift to him was the filmic poetry that he was able to carry with him forever.

Jacques Tourneur is perhaps one of my favorite directors, with his use of shadow and all together dreamy lens of the world, he’s responsible for one of THE best classic horror films Curse of the Demon & film noir tour de force Out of the Past.

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Jacques Tourneur directs Robert Mitchum and Jane Greer in Out of the Past 1947.
Niall and Cat
Jacques Tourneur’s moody horror with Niall MacGinnis and cat Curse of the Demon 1957.
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Part of the Lewton Unit- image from the documentary The Man in the Shadows from top left Roy Webb composer, Val Lewton, Nicholas Musuraca Cinematographer, Mark Robson editing/directing, DeWitt Bodeen writing, and Robert Wise-director.

“Horror is created in the mind of the spectator. It’s necessary to suggest things. In all my films you never saw what caused the horror. I saw people screaming in the theater when there was a young girl in a swimming pool, but you never saw the black leopard. The lights blaze up at the end. And there’s Simone Simon. Something has definitely happened. -Jacques Tourneur

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Jacques Tourneur looking over the film sketches.
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Jacques Tourneur on location for Berlin Express 1948.

“Lewton gave us something quite different than what’s known as Hollywood craftsmanship you can say that he presented us with a parallel world in which everything feels both real and a little unreal-familiar but strange. The characters and the viewer slip into a mysterious, troubling gray zone. Where real life and dream life come face to face. And where beauty and destruction merge. Lewton and Tourneur really created a new kind of cinematic beauty”-from The Man in the Shadows Val Lewton documentary

The Golden Boy in Bedlam
the golden boy from Bedlam

Learning from his last employer Selznick he made sure to supervise absolutely every aspect of the film’s production, from casting, set design, costumes, direction, and editing. He even rewrote every script himself without taking credit or under a pseudonym. In this way he developed his own visual style of storytelling, having prepared each detail before shooting.

“My feelings are generated, however by more than my gratitude for that first opportunity. They come from the warm and highly stimulating creative experience I had working with Val. He taught me so much about directing and filmmaking in general…Val Lewton was one of that fairly rare species, a truly creative producer. As such, he was able to achieve an outstanding reputation for the high quality, unusual and interesting “B” pictures he produced at RKO Studios starting in the early 1940s” Robert Wise, March 1994

Robert Wise behind the camera
Robert Wise behind the camera
Wise, Robson & Lewton
Robert Wise, Mark Robson & Val Lewton

“I remember him staying up until all hours of the night working on screenplays. He enjoyed having his hand in the writing. I used to that that he went out of his way to pick inept writers so that he’d have to redo their work. He used to write on a Royal typewriter;he used only two fingers but he was very fast. He’d talk out the different parts as he wrote them and, since my bed was just on the other side of the wall, I’d fall asleep listening.”Nina Lewton Druckman from the Reality of Terror by Joel Siegel

Robert Wise was part of the Lewton Unit, one of my favorite directors who would go on to direct some of the most outstanding films in a variety of genres, from musicals like West Side Story 1961, and Sound of Music 1965, to Lewton’s Curse of The Cat People 1944 and The Body Snatcher 1945, noir masterpieces, Born To Kill 1947, The Set Up 1949 and The House of Telegraph Hill 1950, I Want to Live! 1958, Odds Against Tomorrow 1959, to sci-fi and Gothic ghost story masterpieces Day the Earth Stood Still 1951, The Haunting 1963, and The Andromeda Strain 1971.

Day The Earth Stood Still
Michael Rennie and Gort in Robert Wise’s Sci-Fi masterpiece The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951)
The Set Up
Robert Wise’s boxing noir The Set-Up 1949

Lewton drove himself very hard trying to achieve something beautiful and of high quality. He and his team were given a very small budget, a cast of veritable unknowns, and evocative titles that were sensationalist and lurid in nature and did not truly represent an accurate account of the narrative. There were no gruesome fiends nor even evidence of malevolent forces at work in his ordinary everyday environments. Yet RKO’s studio head Charles Koerner dictated such titles as Cat People 1942, Curse of the Cat People 1944, Bedlam 1946, Isle of the Dead 1946, The Body Snatcher 1945, I Walked With A Zombie, The Ghost Ship, and The Leopard Man in 1943 and The Seventh Victim.

“If you want to get out now, Lewton told Bodeen, I won’t hold it against you.”

Continue reading “A Symphony of Dark Patches- The Val Lewton Legacy 1943”

Postcards From Shadowland no. 9

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The Testament of Dr. Mabuse 1933 Fritz Lang
Ace In The Hole
Ace in The Hole – Billy Wilder
Aroused 1966
Aroused 1966 Anton Holden
Bayou 1957
Poor White Trash aka Bayou 1957-Harold Daniels
Blues in the night
Blues in the Night 1941-Anatole Litvak
Edward G Robinson-Little-Caesar with Douglas Fairbanks jr. and Glenda Farrell
Directed by Mervyn LeRoy-Edward G Robinson is Little-Caesar (1931) with Douglas Fairbanks jr. and Glenda Farrell
Experiment in Terror Ross Martin as Red Lynch
Experiment in Terror – Blake Edwards directs -Ross Martin as Red Lynch
Gene Tierney Tobacco Road 1941
Gene Tierney Tobacco Road 1941 directed by John Ford
George Pujouly  Brigitte Fossey Forbidden Games Jeux interdits 1952 René Clément
George Pujouly Brigitte Fossey Forbidden Games (Jeux interdits) 1952 directed by René Clément
Granny-The Southerner
Granny-The Southerner-Jean Renoir
Jeux Interdits
Jeux Interdits
knock on any door
Knock On Any Door 1949 Nicholas Ray
Lena Cabin in The Sky
Lena Horne-Cabin in The Sky 1943- Vincente Minnelli
Lon Chaney in He Who Gets Slapped
Lon Chaney in He Who Gets Slapped 1924 Victor Sjöström
Modern Times Charlie Chaplin
Modern Times Charlie Chaplin 1936
Never Take Sweets From A Stranger
Never Take Sweets From A Stranger 1960 Cyril Frankel
Night of The Demon-Tourneur
Curse of The Demon- 1957 Jacques Tourneur
Peter Lorre in The Man Who Knew Too Much1956
Peter Lorre in Alfred Hitchcock’s The Man Who Knew Too Much 1956
Rashomon
Rashomon 1950 -Akira Kurosawa
Repulsion
Roman Polanski’s Repulsion 1965 Catherine Deneuve
The Cobweb
The Cobweb-1955- Vincente Minnelli
The Last Laugh-letzte mann and emil-jannings in
The Last Laugh 1924-with emil-jannings directed by F.W Murnau
the sweet smell of success
The Sweet Smell of Success 1957-directed by Alexander Mackendrick written by Clifford Odets
Viva Zapata with Marlon-Brando and Jean Peters-
Viva Zapata 1952 with Marlon-Brando and Jean Peters-Elia Kazan directs

Val Lewton’s Curse of The Cat People (1944) “God should use a Rose Amber Spot!” Seeing the darkness thru the ‘Fearing Child’ and ‘The Monstrous Feminine’ Part II

Begin ‘The Bagheeta’: Val Lewton’s fantasy/ reality world of Curse of The Cat People: fearing the female/feline monster and the engendering child. Part I

This post continues from Part 1 at the link above!

And now, Part II

FANTASY as REALITY, REALTY as FANTASY – From page 112, Chapter 7, J.P Telotte Dreams of Darkness

The Curse of the Cat People (1944)

The child per se makes us uneasy, ambivalent ; we are anxious about the human propensities concentrated by the child symbol. It evokes too much of what has been left out or is unknown, becoming easily associated with the primitive, mad and mystical. – James Hillman ” Abandoning the Child” in Loose Ends.

The evil little girl in Master of the Macabre Mario Bava’s Kill Baby Kill (1966).
The embodiment of evil in a little blonde girl from Federico Fellini’s segment Toby Dammit of 1968’s Spirits of The Dead.
In stark contrast to those two iconic evil imps of horror (above), Amy Reed is not supposed evil incarnate, but she does threaten the equilibrium of the ‘normal’ world her father inhabits.

To continue with this blog post about one of Lewton’s very precious stories, less dark than his others, and dealing with childhood, the fears of and by children.

All of Lewton’s works dealt with subject matters that forced us to push the boundaries of ‘the familiar.’ They challenged us to face a darker, more mysterious reality of the natural world and the incomprehensible landscape of the human psyche.

Curse of the Cat People (1944) acts as a cinematic continuum to Lewton’s Cat People 1942, featuring Simone Simon once again as the alluring and sensual Irena Dubrovna Reed, who may or may not have belonged to a race of beings that could shapeshift into the physical form of a large cat or black panther when sexually aroused.

The symbol of Irena synthesized the fear of women’s sexuality, sexual freedom, the women’s body, and often the correlation that is made with women’s emotional existence and madness. What is engendered in Cat People (1942) is far less about a woman who can morph into a predatory feline and more about the collective fear of ‘The Monstrous Feminine.’

Amy lashes out at the little boy who has crushed her beautiful friend, the butterfly. Fear the woman/child.

While Amy is not Irena’s biological daughter, Amy is truly more of a progeny to Irena and the mystique she embodies because they are both alienated figures who are frustrated and misunderstood. Who stand outside the social community which is pumped from the veins of ‘rational’, normative thoughts and behaviors. Amy is the figure of ‘The Fearing Child,’ an innocent who not only has ‘power’ but can wreak havoc in our ‘normal’ world.

Both characters are imaginative and rely on their senses. They are more connected to the natural world, to the darkness, which is associated with feminine energy, and less intellectual, which is considered a masculine marker. They are considered emotional, irrational, and dangerously unpredictable. The character of Oliver Reed is just as frightened and, moreover, threatened by his six-year-old little girl as he was of his beautiful and tragic wife Irena, who was more a victim than ever, the ‘monster’ she was perceived to be.

In Cat People, Curse of the Cat People, I Walked With A Zombie, The Leopard Man, The 7th Victim, and Isle of The Dead, there aren’t concrete Monsters as in Universal films, as in Frankenstein’s creation, Dracula, or The Wolf Man.

Universal’s Bride of Frankenstein 1935 Literal monsters in a corporeal world.

RKO studio heads had a mistrust of Lewton’s creative vision, his unconventional approach to some esoteric subject matter, or volatile subjects such as a woman’s sexual desires. Lewton, rather than using literal lumbering, fanged, or hairy monsters, used the powers of suggestion and shadow to tell the story.

Irena emerged from Lewton’s shadow world in Cat People 1942.
Little Amy is lost within the emerging shadows of the old dark house in Lewton’s Curse of The Cat People 1944.
Barbara Ferran always placed by a door like a bystander, she is bombarded by Lewton’s shadows.

Lewton disliked mask-like faces that were hardly human, the kinds of images that were expected from the horror genre he was infiltrating. Lewton liked to reveal the monsters that were lurking in the subconscious primitive recesses of our own imaginations. Shadows become the monster in these films, they are the mysterious layer that surfaces in world that only makes sense in the light of day. And Amy draws the shadows to her…

They do not have scary faces, they are quite human and in fact ordinary. He takes the ‘familiar’ and inverts it, subverts it, rattles the soundness of an accepted experience, and turns it into either an illusion, a nightmare, or a fit of paranoia. He taps into our childhood fears and sets those fears on the frightened characters in his shadow plays. Usually, the thing they fear is uprooting their own personal desires and the fear of coming face to face with them.

The tragic and tormented Irena in Cat People 1942.

Oliver couldn’t handle Irena’s sexual desires, nor her desirability; it triggered too much of his own primal urges, and so he demonized her, a fragile girl in a foreign country who believed in folklore from her very ancient set of beliefs handed down for centuries.

Oliver Reed has a fear of foreign Objects!-Cat People 1942.

A story which quite often itself was ambiguous as to whether the threat was real or imagined. RKO wanted to be in competition with Universal, so they added footage of a menacing Panther, which was inserted into several scenes of Cat People.

Continue reading “Val Lewton’s Curse of The Cat People (1944) “God should use a Rose Amber Spot!” Seeing the darkness thru the ‘Fearing Child’ and ‘The Monstrous Feminine’ Part II”

Val Lewton’s “I Walked With A Zombie” (1943) Elements of Jane Eyre, Colonialism and The Synergy of Sound

Val Lewton’s Masterpiece on a low budget for RKO. Directed by Jacques Tourneur and story by Curt Siodmak

Jo Gabriel’s “Sway” appears on my album The Amber Sessions

I will be doing a major feature on the work of Val Lewton in the coming months, his masterworks in shadow are some of the most evocative films ever screened.

MonsterGirl (JoGabriel)