Film #115: Mystery of the Wax Museum

Mystery of the Wax Museum has an fascinating pedigree. Released in 1933, it was one of the only horror movies to be shot in two-strip Technicolor (the majority of Techicolor films were three-strip--cyan, yellow, and magenta). A precursor to Andre De Toth's more famous 1953 3D classic House of Wax, Mystery was believed for years by film historians to be lost. When faded prints of it were rediscovered in the late 1960s, its mythic reputation of a great, forgotten horror film suffered in comparison to then-contemporary horror movies like The Masque of the Red Death and Black Sunday. Yet, years later, it has regained its standing as one of the genre's most atmospheric offerings.

In it, Lionel Atwill is Igor, the New York waxworks sculptor whose maimed hands--received in an earlier London waxworks fire--now force him to only instruct lesser artists in his craft. Suddenly, people and corpses from the morgue begin disappearing, just as Igor starts turning an ugly eye to his assistant's fiancee, Charlotte (Fay Wray). This arouses the suspicions of Charlotte's roommate, wisecracking reporter Florence (Glenda Farrell) and sends her snooping into Igor's work, thereby stumbling on his evil plot to open yet another grand wax museum just like the one in dear old England. This beautiful, essential shocker was helmed by Warner Brothers' house director Michael Curtiz, later the director of Casablanca and The Adventures of Robin Hood. With Curtiz behind the camera, one knows they're in good hands, and even in the horror genre, he doesn't fail us (even without the 3D, this one's superior to Vincent Price's 1953 starrer, which is unfortunately kind of a bore). Atwill is superbly slimy (especially with that horrific makeup), and we get another chance to take in Fay Wray's lovely presence, sans that big monkey King Kong. What's not to like?

Film #114: Vanya on 42nd Street

It's Anton Chekov's naked sadness that finally makes Louis Malle's Vanya on 42nd Street so superlative. However, the trouble with doing the play on film is that with the excitement of a live performance absent, the picture might seem dull to audience members who aren't in step with this pure-bred brand of Russian fatalism. That's why Malle's choice to record one of Andre Gregory's many private-audience-only run-throughs of the play is so assuredly inspired.

In a way, this is a documentary, because, indeed, for a few years in the early 90s, Gregory staged private showings of the play--done simply for the benefit of the artists involved--in the then-run-down 7th Ave/42nd Street Amsterdam Theater (now, of course, owned by Disney and the home of the stage versions of The Lion King and Mary Poppins). Gregory's troupe performed in their street clothes (we see them all arriving at the theater behind the film's opening credits). They perform on a sparse stage, with only the most basic of set dressings and props (like the occasional "I Love NY" coffee cup, for instance). According to the Wikipedia entry for the film "At the time Vanya on 42nd Street was filmed, the theatre had been abandoned for over ten years and was in a state of severe disrepair. Rats had chewed through much of the stage rigging, thus making the stage unusable. For the film production, some rows of seats were removed and a small platform was built for the cast and film crew." Nets were ever set up to catch any falling plaster! Now, thanks to Disney, this great theater--once a Ziegfeld holding--is back up to snuff. But, thanks to Malle, we still get to see its once decaying beauty, too.

The casting here is superlative. Wallace Shawn, a well-loved character actor in a rare lead, is reunited with his My Dinner With Andre team (that's another movie I like!). Now, under the shared direction of Gregory and Malle, he blossoms fully as the perpetually unhappy, unloved Vanya, living in the home of his brother, the respected Professor Serebryakov (George Gaines). Vanya now despises the professor (whom he once idolized), but sticks around because he's in love with his young wife Yalena (Julianne Moore), who continually dismisses Vanya's desire. Meanwhile, the homely Sonya (Brooke Smith) is in love with the alcoholic country doctor Astrov (Larry Pine), who never notices her because he's too carried away by Yalena's beauty.

With this cast in control, Chekov's language becomes almost contemporary, and even the most inattentive person can become wrapped up in the story's raw emotions (David Mamet provides the translation of the play's text, and the movie almost never strays from it). Shawn is a mess of nerves, wonderfully whiny and shattered by his wasted youth. Moore is resplendent and completely believable as a lady who knows not what her beauty does to those around her. And Brooke Smith forever has a place on my radar for her incredible showing as the disappointed but always hopeful Sonya; wherever Smith shows up, whether in a small role in things like Trees Lounge or in larger ones in movies like the brilliant reality show spoof Series 7: The Contenders, I'm there (she's now a regular as Dr. Erica Hahn on TV's Grey's Anatomy). Vanya on 42nd Street goes down as not only a journey into the bleak winter of Chekov's soul, but also as a steadfast tribute to the dedication of actors like these.

Film #113: The Outfit

Just look at this cast! Robert Duvall, Robert Ryan, Timothy Carey, Joe Don Baker, Karen Black, Richard Jaekel, Henry Jones, Bill McKinney (one of the villainous hillbillies in Deliverance), Sheree North and a very young Joanna Cassidy (maybe best known as the fleeing stripper replicant in Blade Runner)! They're all milling about in this blood-drenched 1973 gangster film that has Duvall and Baker as thieves who have contracts put out on their heads after they knock off a mob-owned bank. Ooops! Sleepy-eyed psychotronic movie staple Timothy Carey (The Killing, The World's Greatest Sinner, Poor White Trash) lands one of his meatiest mainstream roles as the henchman assigned to rubout the duo. Ryan, meanwhile, appears in his pentultimate performance (his last film was John Frankenheimer's epic 1974 adaptation of Eugene O'Neill's The Iceman Cometh). Though you may have never heard of it before, The Outfit has a great deal going for it. It's written and directed by John Flynn (who did the memorable Taxi Driver-flavored, Paul Schrader-penned revenge movie Rolling Thunder with William Devane and Tommy Lee Jones). The film's adapted from a pulp novel by the legendary, late Donald E. Westlake (Oscar-nominated for his 1990 screenplay The Grifters). It reunites two more cast members from Kubrick's The Killing (Elisha Cook and Marie Windsor, so gloriously at each other's throats in the Kubrick movie), and it's loaded with 70s-L.A. flavored cameos from the likes of jazz great Anita O'Day and Hollywood columnist Army Archard. Plus, the movie's exciting as all get out! It's a must.