Films, the condensed form of popular literature, are how we know the
classic horror novels best. (In other words for the modern
generation, it was Karloff that made Mary Shelley famous and Bela Lugosi
that made Bram Stoker a household name.) But even then these primitive
adaptations didn't educate most people on their parent novels; in their
memoriam Dracula wears a black cape and Frankenstein's monster has bolts
in his neck. It is in the most recent decade that moviegoers
call for authentic film versions of the original work, with "Mary
Shelley's" Frankenstein starring Kenneth Branagh and "Bram Stoker's"
Dracula with Gary Oldman to appease the reader. Now both titles appear on
recommended reading lists for schools all over the country where no horror
once existed. Knowing the full story intended by the author
now allows us to look back with a different eye at the old
horror films.
Many of these date back to a time when both the content and length of a
horror production were constrained, forcing a director to choose which
parts of the novel were safe or practical to include. And
yet as we look at them now there are very clear "gaps" in the director's
intention for the story, hints and implications of things not fully
explained in the film but point to material found in the original text.
Dracula is the epitome of the use of implied horror in a movie.
"What's that running across the lawn? Looks like a huge
dog!" is exclaimed instead of simply filming a dog running. Not once is
Lugosi shown actually biting someone and there are no fangs or teeth marks
in the film.
At the end, the last
line of the picture is Dr. Van Helsing saying he won't join the two lovers
because he has some things to take care of. Nothing more is
said, although the reader of the novel knows this means disposing of the
dead Count by removing the head and filling the mouth with garlic. Since
Dracula isn't shown being staked through the heart the actual climax is
him descending the stairs with the girl and striking down the disobedient
Renfield for betraying him, then the picture ends with Mina's beau
escorting her back up the staircase once the Count has been dispatched.
In watching several of these films one gets the impression the
director wasn't completely sure how to end it and had multiple options. (The
Mummy ends with Karloff not being thwarted by humans but the statue of
the goddess Isis who strikes him down with lightning.)
In the 1922 relic
Nosferatu, Count Orlock is feared by the public not as a vampire but
as the bringer of a plague, based on a real epidemic in Bremen in 1838
spread by rats. In the movie the Count goes to Bremen accompanied by rats
and he himself looks like a rat. In Phantom of the Opera,
along with Lon Chaney there is an additional mysterious figure who reveals
himself briefly as Inspector Leroux, a man who has been studying the
Phantom. For reasons unexplained he wears a hat that looks something like
a fez. This alone indicates that he represents the character
of the Arab who is present in both the original story and the Webber
musical as the only person who knows the Phantom's true identity.
Why do filmmakers leave
in these scraps of a larger story? Because the suggestion of
horror can be as frightening a tool as horror itself. In his final scene,
Lon Chaney keeps the encroaching mob at bay by pulling his fist out of his
coat making them think he has a concealed weapon. Then he
reveals his open hand and in the instant before they seize him laughs as
if to say "I frightened you with nothing!". No matter what the film, a
viewer must be led to think there is something more, and if he or she
doesn't know what that is, all the better for horror.
