James Whale

  • Hell’s Angels (1930)

    Hell’s Angels (1930)

    (On Cable TV, April 2021) For movie buffs and viewers of Martin Scorsese’s The Aviator, his 1930 war epic Hell’s Angels doesn’t need much introduction: It was Howard Hughes’ ambitious fusion of his interests in aviation and moviemaking and (perhaps apocryphally) the movie in which he realized the use of clouds in filming exciting aerial sequences. The film’s famously long production process straddled the silent and the sound era, meaning that the film aesthetically feels a bit weird, especially in its use of title cards for the German dialogue. It’s hard to avoid comparisons with that other WW1 aerial war film Wings — both in topic matter and in approach, although Wings is probably the best overall film. What Hell’s Angels does have going for it, though, is spectacle. Even for modern viewers, the film’s action sequences still pack a punch. Stuff blows up real good, to borrow a phrase (oh, that zeppelin sequence!) and the aviation footage does look exciting—considering that three people died filming it and Hughes himself got seriously injured flying one of the scenes, you have to appreciate the result. Jean Harlow shows up in her feature film debut, and she’s directed by the noteworthy James Whale, whose next films would be classic Universal Monster movies. The Pre-Code nature of the film (especially coming from Hughes, a known huckster) can be seen in unusually frank dialogue and sexual refences. All of this boils down to a film that still holds quite a bit of thrills and interest even today — it’s clearly an early sound film, but you can see (especially in the colour sequences!) how it was pushing the envelope of what was possible at the time and how it was meant to be a blockbuster from the get-go. Hell’s Angels, despite its significant narrative shortcomings, completely deserves its reputation as an essential film of its era.

  • The Invisible Man (1933)

    The Invisible Man (1933)

    (archive.org streaming, November 2019) Compared to other inaugural titles from the classic Universal Monsters stable, it has proved surprisingly difficult to find a way to watch The Invisible Man—it doesn’t play and isn’t as available as the other monster movies. But there’s always a way, and I’m almost glad I waited a bit because it’s perhaps the film that strays furthest from what we expect from classic movie monsters. With Dracula, The Werewolf, the Mummy, the Creature from the Black Lagoon or Frankenstein, the story is the one you remember from other adaptations and the characters all have redeeming moments of humanity, restraint or compassion. But The Invisible Man is different: he’s certifiably a homicidal maniac, and that bonkers quality is honestly unnerving. Unlike the other monsters, this one doesn’t blink at causing mass death—invisibility has removed his moral compass, and that makes him far more dangerous than his contemporaries. (Accordingly, it may help explain why it’s a monster often skipped or entirely redefined by Halloween myth-making and other comic takes on the characters such as the Hotel Transylvania films—well, that and the lack of any visual identifiers, I suppose.) This 1933 original film doesn’t hold back when it’s necessary to clearly depict what a monster he is—as a Pre-Code production, the film becomes surprisingly intense at times and having Claude Rains in the main role is an undeniable asset even if only for his voice. (Then there’s a funny performance by Una O’Connor, who also shows up in the same director’s Bride of Frankenstein and exemplifies this film’s brand of dark comedy.)  Some good directing from James Whale and still-amazing special effects complete the package. If you think you don’t need to see The Invisible Man because you think you know (from the Wells novel, from later adaptations, from popular mythology) how it’s going to go or it’s going to be stale material from the 1930s—please reconsider: it turns out that Paul Verhoeven’s crazy-psycho take on The Hollow Man was a lot closer to the original than anyone remembered.