Plan 9 from Outer Space (1959)

The history of American cinema is full of great movies that earned great recognition due to the impact of their artistic achievements or technological innovations, that in time resulted in fame for their makers. "Plan 9 from Outer Space" is an exception to this, given the fact that the fame that earned for its creator, Edward D. Wood Jr. was that of being the "Worst Director of All Time". Released in 1959, "Plan 9 from Outer Space" was an independent movie that went unnoticed upon release until in 1980 was discovered by film critics Michael and Harry Medved, whom labeled as "The Worst Movie Ever Made" because of the enormous amount of errors and technical problems the film had. Nevertheless, in spite of this, "Plan 9 from Outer Space" has a strange appealing that makes it different from many other awful film: it has a heart. The cinema of Ed Wood is naive and incompetent, but owner of an extraordinary charm. "Plan 9 from Outer Space" is the legacy of a man whose love for cinema was bigger than his own artistic skill, and that was willing to anything to complete his movie.

According to the film's narrator, the Amazing Criswell (as himself), "Plan 9 from Outer Space" is the true account of the facts of the fateful day where a group of extraterrestrial beings arrived to Hollywood in a flying saucer. It all begins in a funeral, where and old man (Bela Lugosi) mourns the loss of his young wife (Vampira). In the meantime, what seemed to be a routine flight for pilots Jeff (Gregory Walcott) and Danny (David De Mering) becomes a close encounter with the flying saucer. The saucer lands on the cemetery, and at night, the gravediggers are attacked by the reanimated corpse of the old man's wife. The very next day, the old man gets killed in a traffic accident, and during his funeral, the dead bodies of the two gravediggers are found. Inspect Clay (Tor Johnson) from the local police begins his investigation in the cemetery. At that moment, pilot Jeff feels uneasiness about his encounter with the flying saucer, and confesses to his wife that the army required him to keep quiet about it. Soon Inspector Clay faces the reanimated corpses of both the old man and his wife, and becomes part of Plan 9 from Outer Space.

Written, directed and produced by Ed Wood himself, "Plan 9 from Outer Space" is a bizarre mix between the kind of science fiction stories that dominated the 1950s and the classic gothic horror films that were a huge part of Wood's childhood. So, "Plan 9 from Outer Space" has the typical plot of alien invasion spiced up by reanimated corpses and Bela Lugosi unexplainably dressed as Dracula. The narration by Criswell gives a sensationalist tone to the story, presented as the "true account" of the survivors of the tale, in an attempt to mimic the tone of veracity in police procedural shows like "Dragnet". However, this effort proves useless by the outlandishly bizarre plot, not to mention the ridicule dialogs that verge on absurdity that Wood has given to his characters. "Plan 9 from Outer Space" also mimics the pacifist message of films like "The Day the Earth Stood Still" (1951), where the alien invasion comes with the purpose of stopping the human race before it becomes dangerous. The most interesting thing in Wood's screenplay is perhaps the clear anti-statist message the film has: for Wood, the government knows a lot more that what we think.

As mentioned before, the fame of ·"Plan 9 from Outer Space" has its origin in the incompetence in which the film was crafted, as director Ed Wood doesn't seem to care much for matter such as continuity and coherence between his material. So, there are moments in which sky can change from day to night and vice-versa, the actors vary in their dramatic intention (if any), and special effects are done without care and in the lowest possible quality. Nevertheless, it's also clear that Wood knew pretty good what cinema could make, as he is able of portraying a car wreck using only sound, and creating entire sequences mixing what was show on set with archive footage. Wood knows how cinema works, he simply does it with extreme carelessness. Whether this had been the result of low budget or if its in fact an excess of overconfidence, or perhaps a combination of both, is something we can't really know. What can be appreciated is the great interest of Wood in telling an epic story despite having low resources, and his determination to do it no matter what (to the point of substituting Bela Lugosi when the horror icon passed away).

Bela Lugosi having a main role (the last of his career) in "Plan 9 from Outer Space" is another fact that has contributed for the film's unquestionable cult status. At the beginning of the 50s, Lugosi found himself working in countless B-movies to sustain his addiction to painkillers. Meeting Ed Wood, a young filmmaker who considered himself a big fan of Lugosi, meant a brief return to starring roles for the legendary Hungarian actor. Bela Lugosi shot with Wood a couple of scenes for a move that would never be finished, due to Lugosi's untimely death. However, that footage would end up as part of "Plan 9 from Outer Space" (albeit without sound). To finish Lugosi's role, Wood hired Tom Mason, who makes a poor impersonation of Lugosi by hiding his face with the cape. Acting, like everything else in "Plan 9" is careless and tacky, though some performers, such as Gregory Walcott do try to make the effort to get a good result. Tor Johnson, Vampira, Dudley Manlove and the Amazing Criswell complete a bizarre cast that's certainly unforgettable, though perhaps for the wrong reasons.

And that's probably the best way to describe "Plan 9 from Outer Space", an unforgettable movie for all the wrong reasons. Everything that Wood wanted to make poignant, ends up as ridicule, and what he wanted to be thrilling, results in absurd fun. Involuntarily, Wood has created an entertaining horror movie that has become a fun genre icon. The reason behind this is precisely the naiveté and utter incompetence in the film's craftsmanship, since probably if the movie was correctly done the story may end up as just another boring run of the mill sci-fi film. And that's something really interesting, as even when the film is plagued of problems, "Plan 9 from Outer Space" is never boring. An achievement that many other films, better done and with bigger budgets, can't say they achieve. It's difficult to consider "Plan 9 from Outer Space" a good movie, yet curiously, it's even more difficult to label it as a bad one, as even when probably the result is far from what director Ed Wood desired when he conceived it, what "Plan 9 from Outer Space" really achieves is probably more worthy.

"Plan 9 from Outer Space" is a movie with a charm quite difficult to explain, as it's images convey a strange fascination. In the movie one can find cheap effects, exaggerated overacting, an absurd screenplay and an weird work of editing, and yet, in the end everything works in such a way that the film remains entertaining from beginning to end. Tim Burton's movie, "Ed Wood" (1994) is a testament of the fascination produced by "Plan 9 from Outer Space". And that's because in away, the making of "Plan 9 from Outer Space" englobes the pain and the glory of making movies, of gathering the talent and resources of a bunch of people (as big or little as they can be) to give life to a dream, to a vision. Ed Wood's vision, a man whose soul was in film despite his talents saying otherwise, is paradoxical in the sense that it completely fits that old statement that the movie is so bad that it's good.

5/10

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Pociąg (1959)

After World War II ended, the reconstruction of Poland began, and it was during this period of reformation when the occupying Soviet authorities instituted a communist government in the country. This movement found great resistance, but in the end, the People's Republic of Poland was proclaimed in 1952. However, despite its problems, Poland was one of the least repressive states of the Soviet Bloc, and particularly in 1956, the regime was actually liberal. In this period a group of young Polish filmmakers took advantage of the liberal changes and began to tackle important topics regarding their own national character as Poles. This group was named the Polish Film School (Polska Szkoła Filmowa) and had Andrzej Wajda as its leading figure. However, Wajda wasn't the only important filmmaker of the group, another of these innovative directors was Jerzy Kawalerowicz, whom in 1956 released "Cién" ("Shadow"), which reflected entirely the style of the Polish Film School. Two years later, Kawalerowicz made the ambiguous thriller "Pociąg".

"Pociąg" (literally "Train", but titled "Night Train") begins at a crowded train station, where the passengers are getting ready to depart. A man, Jerzy (Leon Niemczyk), dressed in a suit and wearing sunglasses, rushes to the station and gets a first class ticket for the overnight train to the Baltic Sea cost. Jerzy is decided to spend a time alone, and so he becomes enraged when he finds a young blonde woman, Marta (Lucyna Winnicka) already occupying it. Jerzy wants to throw her out and calls the inspector, but the girl refuses to leave, as she seems to be on the run from something, Before the police is called, Jerzy prefers to forget everything and lets her stay. A young man, Staszek (Zbigniew Cybulski) is desperate to talk to Marta, but she ignores him constantly; however, the young suitor doesn't seem to be what truly worries the mysterious woman. Soon the train departs, and rumour arises that a fugitive, a man who has killed his wife, is on the same train. And everything points to Jerzy as the main suspect.

Written by director Jerzy Kawalerowicz and Jerzy Lutowski, "Pociąg" is at its core, a thriller in a very Hitchcocknian vein, complete with a striking blonde surrounded by mystery. However, what the writers actually do is to employ this formula to construct a microcosm inside the passenger car, a microcosm that extends beyond Jerzy and Marta, and includes the relationships between everyone in the cart, from the two priests on a pilgrimage, to the lawyer and his wife, so eager to escape from her marriage with anyone who cares to listen to her. Even the lives of the train workers are explored briefly. Certainly, the search for the murderer is only the MacGuffin for the real drama, the psychological turmoil that consumes the two melancholic souls that share the same compartment. Two different, yet strikingly similar beings on their way to the sea. On their way to meet their fate. The notion of individuality is explored in the story, as both Jerzy and Marta feel like outcasts in their car, seemingly uninterested in belonging to society anymore.

This feeling of alienation is perfectly represented in the stylish visual design that director Jerzy Kawalerowicz employs in "Pociąg", which involves a claustrophobic atmosphere of dread beautifully captured by the black and white photography of Jan Laskowski. Working within the small space that the train car allowed him, Kawalerowicz employs tight shots to enhance the overwhelming sensation of claustrophobia that the story has. The black and white photography is used to enhance this, with Laskowski using light and shadows to draw the world in which Kawalerowicz' characters unfold. Andrzej Trzaskowski's music is another element that enhance the desolation in which these group of characters live, as the jazzy score has a powerfully melancholic sound. It's remarkable the way that director Jerzy Kawalerowicz keeps things moving in order to avoid tedium; from the dynamic camera-work that seems to flow through the car, to the smooth rhythm in which the plot unfolds, Kawalerowicz shows in "Pociąg" a great understanding of visual narrative.

As mentioned above, it's not really the plot but the characters what make "Pociąg" a different kind of thriller, and so the performances of the cast become instrumental for the film's success. Fortunately, the cast is of great quality, and with a couple of exceptions, it can be said that it rises up to the challenge. Leading the cast is Leon Niemczyk as the mysterious Jerzy, whom despite his initial desire of being left alone, gradually becomes to open up and show his true self. Niemczyk may not look like a good choice for the role, but as this change takes place in his character, he truly improves his performance. However, the real wonder is without a doubt Lucyna Winnicka, who plays the equally secretive Marta. In a truly complex and ambiguous character, Lucyna displays a wide range of emotions and delivers a masterful performance as the young woman lost in the world. It's also worth to point out the great job that Teresa Szmigielówa does as the Lawyer's wife, never losing any chance to seduce Jerzy.

An apparently atypical film from the Polish Film School, "Pociąg" may seem to lack the political consciousness that became so related to the group's style, however, the fact that "Pociąg" works like an American thriller doesn't mean it avoids the themes that the group explored. In a way, Kawalerowicz uses the night train to represent the Polish society as a while. An allegory of its times, the group of passengers doesn't really accept neither Marta nor Jerzy, to the point that they eagerly jump to the conclusion that Jerzy is the murderer. The individuality of these two characters, expressed in their rejection of society, only makes them suspects of foul play, to the point that their scorned lovers, Staszek and the Lawyer's wife, arrive to the conclusion that there is an illicit affair between them. Ambiguity is a key element in "Pociąg", and one that director Kawalerowicz plays masterfully. Certainly, at times it can get tiresome, particularly as it slows down by the middle part, but all in all, it's a very rewarding film.

Complex, ambiguous, and yet so beautifully crafted, "Pociąg" may be considered a it too Hollywoodish amongst the Polish films of its time, however, director Kawalerowicz certainly exploits the limits and conventions of the genre in a quite interesting and clever way. After the years of the Polish Film School, director Jerzy Kawalerowicz would become worldwide famous thanks to his work in "Matka Joanna od aniolów" (1961) and the superproduction of "Faraon" (1966), however, his early work already shows the great skill and knowledge of cinema language that Kawalerowicz would later display. As a thriller, "Pociąg" results an enormously entertaining film, as a political allegory, a remarkable achievement.

8/10
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De dødes tjern (1958)

To global audiences the name of Norwegian writer André Bjerke may not be entirely familiar, but in his native country, Bjerke was one of the best known artists and intellectuals of the twentieth century. A prolific writer and translator, Bjerke was a man of many talents, including being a renown chess master and a TV personality; however, his best work was when writing crime fiction. His mystery novels (written under the pseudonym of Bernhard Borge), particularly those starring psychoanalyst Kai Bugge are ranked amongst the best in Norway, and are based on the concept of using psychology to solve crimes. The second of these novels, "De dødes tjern" is the one considered as his masterpiece, and since its publishing in 1942 has enjoyed of great popularity in Norway. "De dødes tjern" also became the very first of Bjerke's novels to be adapted to cinema, though this would only happen until 1958, with director Kåre Bergstrøm at the helm. The resulting film was Norway's first full-fledged entry into the horror genre, and still is considered a masterpiece. And not without a reason.

"De dødes tjern", known in English as "Lake of the Dead", is the story of 6 friends and their trip to a cabin located deep in the Norwegian forest. The group includes crime writer Bernhard Borge (Henki Kolstad) and his wife Sonja (Bjørg Engh), lawyer Harald Gran (Georg Richter) and his fianceé Liljan Werner (Henny Moan), literary critic Gabriel Mørk (André Bjerke) and psychologist Kai Bugge (Erling Lindahl). The group expects to find Lilja's twin brother Bjørn at the cabin, but when they arrive, they find no sign of him and the cabin apparently abandoned. Lilja gets the feeling that something is seriously wrong, and when they find Bjørn's dog dead and some of his clothes near the lake, everything points out to a suicide, which becomes specially creepy when officer Bråten (Øyvind Øyen) recalls the story of the house: years ago a man named Tore Gråvik killed his sister and her lover before drowning himself in the lake. It is said that his ghost still haunts the cabin, and the anniversary of the murders is just three days away.

Adapted by director Kåre Bergstrøm himself, "De dødes tjern" is essentially a tale of horror and mystery in which the characters try to figure out what really happened to Liljan's brother. Officer Bråten thinks it was a suicide, while Harald Gran is convinced it was a murder. Bugge and Mørk agree with the suicide theory, though both come from very different ideas: the psychoanalyst attempts to discover what took Bjørn to kill himself while Mørk begins to consider the possibility that it was actually the spirit of Tore Gråvik what possessed Bjørn to fulfill his curse. Since his wife is more concerned about caring for Lilja's mental breakdown, the cowardly though good natured Bernhard ends up in the middle of everything, no longer sure if he should trust his friends or not. And the joy of the story is precisely that through Bernhard, each theory begins to be dissected, and what Bjerke and Bergstrøm ultimately achieve in "De dødes tjern" is to explore a clash between both science and magic.

Nevertheless, while the story is certainly a captivating piece, the real highlight of the film is how director Kåre Bergstrøm manages to make it both hauntingly beautiful and increasingly terrifying at the same time. With a brilliant work of cinematography by Ragnar Sørensen, Bergstrøm transforms the Østerdal forests into a nightmarish world in which the characters, isolated in the cabin, enter to the dark side of the human soul as they begin to unveil what exactly happened there. Mystery is a key element of "De dødes tjern", and director Bergstrøm keeps a quite appropriate ambiguity through the film, borrowing elements from film noir and supernatural horror to create a haunting atmosphere of uncertainty, where every answer brings another question to the mystery. As in french director Jacques Tourneur's 1957 masterpiece, "Night of the Demon" (of which this movie bears more than a passing resemblance in tone), the horror of the uncertainty is exploited to the max, in a subtle and classy way in which atmosphere is everything.

Another highlight of "De dødes tjern" is the great work of acting done by a that makes the most of such a great screenplay. Leading the cast is Henki Kolstad, playing Bernhard Borge, who's basically the audience's eyes as the mystery develops. While certainly a relatively simpler man than his intellectual friends (to whom he is a foil), Kolstad keeps his performance restrained and natural, never overacting, not even when his character demands him to be a bumbling fool. Bjerke's perennial detective, Kai Bugge, is played with great conviction and dignity by Erling Lindahl, who adds a certain degree of malice to his Bugge, in tone with the film's ambiguity. Writer André Bjerke himself plays the cynic Mørke, and while he is certainly one of the weakest links, his work is not really bad, if only, a bit overacted. Henny Moan delivers a remarkable performance as Liljan, in a challenging role due to her character's emotional breakdown. The beautiful Bjørg Engh plays Bernhard's wife Sonja, and actually makes of her character a strong woman thanks to her screen presence.

Visually breathtaking, "De dødes tjern" is a brilliant exercise in how the correct use of atmosphere can truly enhance a horror film, as while there is nothing particularly graphic, the movie never fails to be an unsettling work of art; and its use of light and shadows, sounds and silences truly show the talent of director Kåre Bergstrøm. Of great interest is the natural and believable way the characters behave, as they always remain true to their beliefs. And what they believe becomes the central point of the movie, as each one of them has a conception of the truth, and solving the mystery also becomes a way to find out who was right. Certainly, there's a lot of things to praise in Kåre Bergstrøm's horror film, but sadly not everything is perfect. The film hasn't aged that good, and this is obvious not in its outdated special effects (which are overshadowed by the film's greatness), but in its talky conclusion in which everything is explained in a long monologue (akin to "Psycho"). It's certainly a product of its time.

Haunting, eerie, and yet so beautifully poetic, "De dødes tjern" is an unfairly forgotten gem that truly deserves to be better known outside its native Norway (where as written above, it's considered amongst the best Norwegian films ever made). After all, it's really interesting to watch the recurrent concept of a group of people in a secluded cabin to receive a Gothic treatment, particularly when its done with such care as this one. With its haunting Gothic atmosphere, brilliant cinematography and its cleverly written screenplay, Norway's first foray into the horror genre ends up being a true masterpiece of filmmaking. In Tourneur's "Night of the Demons" it's said that evil "it's in the woods", this Norwegian classic takes that statement literally.

9/10
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Abismos de Pasión (1954)

With the release of his controversial yet highly influential feature length debut "L'Age d'Or" in 1930, Spanish director Luis Buñuel had already cemented his place amongst the surrealist movement of his time. Unfortunately, the film was banned due to the protests it generated, so Buñuel began to think about the next film. For his next project, he began to work with writer Pierre Unik in an adaptation of a famous novel: Emily Brontë's "Wuthering Heights". Sadly, the project never took off and instead, Buñuel and Unik began to work in the documentary "Las Hurdes". More than two decades later, Buñuel was now in Mexico working with producer Óscar Dancigers, who had helped him to return to filmmaking after years in exile. In 1954, Dancigers was preparing a comedy starring Irasema Dilián and Jorge Mistral, but the project was suddenly canceled. Still with Dilián and Mistral hired, Dancigers gave Buñuel the chance to make a film if he used those actors in the lead roles. It was in this conditions that Buñuel resurrected his "Wuthering Heights" project.

Titled "Abismos de Pasión" (literally "Depths of Passion"), the film begins in a rich but deteriorated estate located in the Mexican dessert. It is the house of Eduardo (Ernesto Alonso) and Catalina (Irasema Dilián), who live there with Eduardo's sister Isabel (Lilia Prado). Not entirely a happy marriage, the wild temperament of Catalina doesn't seem to get along with the quieter, calm personality of Eduardo, whose biggest passion is entomology. Still, there is relative peace at the household, until one day Alejandro (Jorge Mistral) returns. An orphan raised along Catalina and her brother Ricardo (Luis Aceves Castañeda), Alejandro had ran away tired of being constantly humiliated for his lack of status. Now a wealthy man, Alejandro has returned to buy Ricardo's estate and to see Catalina again. A deep passion exists between Alejandro and Catalina, a passion not unnoticed by Eduardo, who feels threatened by the presence of Alejandro. And this is only the beginning of Alejandro's vengeance.

Like most adaptations of Brontë's classic, "Abismos de Pasión" is focused only on the first half of the novel, though the condensation is far more extreme: it's dedicated only to the events after Alejandro/Heathcliff's return to the estate. Adapted by Buñuel himself, Arduino Maiuri and Julio Alejandro (in his first collaboration with Buñuel), "Abismos de Pasión" is "Wuthering Heights" stripped to its bare bones, to the core of its passion. The past is only mentioned, the future, merely hinted at, what truly matters in "Abismos de Pasión" is the present, in which Alejandro is back and has taken by storm the household of Eduardo/Edgar and Catalina/Catherine. While it could be argued that the script represents only a fraction of the novel, in fact what the writers have achieved is a perfect cinematic summarization of the core themes of "Wuthering Heights". This allows a pretty good development of the characters, not only of the two leads, but also of the microcosm that inhabits the estates.

Perhaps the most striking aspect of Buñuel's vision of "Wuthering Heights" is how little it's actually changed from Brontë's novel, and still, it's undoubtedly a Buñuel film. There's truly a perfect marriage between Buñel's idiosyncrasies and his profound respect for the source (explicitly stated in a disclaimer at the beginning). The tone Buñuel conveys is one of depressive decadence, reflected in the stark atmosphere of the Mexican desert. As if it was a limbo, the characters live in the forgotten estate just existing, that is until Alejandro arrives, triggering the passions of both Catalina and Isabel. Without taking sides, Buñuel presents his characters without any sympathy or or apparent romanticism, showing them as the cruel monsters that they are. This is another aspect in which his "Wuthering Heights" rings true: it's a gathering of wicked people, and nobody, neither rich nor poor is free of sin. As in "L'Age d'Or", the theme here is the destructive force that results from repressed passion.

Unfortunately, it's in the cast's performance where "Abismos de Pasión" has its fatal flaw, more specifically, in the lead cast. As written above, Buñuel had no word in the casting as it was imposed to him, and in fact, perhaps with a little more of time dedicated to work it out the result may had been improved. Unfortunately, one element that Buñuel rarely enjoyed in his career was time, and it shows. As the capricious Catalina, Irasema DIlián rings true in intention and presence, and she is indeed a beauty that lights up the darkness of the desert. Unfortunately, the Polish actress is simply unable to hide her heavy accent and ends up lacking verisimilitude as sister of Ricardo and childhood friend of Alejandro (both speaking without accent). As the Heathcliff character, Alejandro, actor Jorge Mistral has some good moments, though he lacks the presence required to carry such a role, and unfortunately, he ends up greatly overshadowed by the supporting cast, who truly rise up to the challenge.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the supporting cast is made up of Buñuel's regulars (or soon to be regulars): the impossibly beautiful Lilia Prado (of "Subida al Cielo") plays Isabel, Ernesto Alonso (of "Ensayo de un crímen") is Eduardo, and Luis Aceves Castañeda (also of "Subida al Cielo") is Ricardo. The three of them are remarkable in their turn, but most particularly Alonso, whom makes a terrific work at making his Eduardo/Edgar a frail effete, in love with Catalina, but unable to match Alejandro's passion. This unevenness in the cast is the Achilles' heel of "Abismos de Pasión", as the difference between the lead and the supporting cast is so abysmal that's impossible not to notice it. It's tragic, as it spoils the experience of what could had been one of Buñuel's most symbolic and visually arresting films. While he keeps faithful to Brontë's text, visually the movie is full of Bulñuel's touches, from Eduardo's bug collection to Alejandro's servant reciting the darkest passages from the Bible, not to mention the mysterious behavior of Ricardo's mute son Jorge (the Hareton equivalent).

Despite its flaws, Luis Buñuel achieves in "Abismos de Pasión" the movie that perhaps gets closer to Brontë's spirit in terms of tone and atmosphere. In "Abismos de Pasión" Buñuel seems to understand that Brontë's novel is not Austen, it's raw, harsh, and cruel. There's wild passionate violence in its words, and Buñuel manages to translate it to images in a more accurate way that Wyler did in his polished 1939 version. It's for these reasons that it's so tragic that the cast involved has failed in their performance. A weak couple of lead actors and a heavy Polish accent undermine the foundations of what could had been a masterpiece, and leave it as only as a merely good film. Fortunately, a merely good film from Buñuel is still far more enjoyable than a merely good film from anybody else.

7/10
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La Ilusión viaja en Tranvía (1954)

Having left his native Spain when Francisco Franco became dictator, director Luis Buñuel found himself unable to continue the promising career he had started in France. Luckily for him, he met producer Óscar Dancigers, who offered him to make a film in Mexico. Working for hire within the Mexican film industry, the surreal artist learned to make movies with commercial purposes with low budgets and tight schedules. Nevertheless, this didn't mean that the artistry of Buñuel's craftsmanship was lost in those movies done on commission. 1953's "La Ilusión viaja en tranvía" is probably one of the best examples of this, as it was originated with a purely commercial purpose: Servicio de Transportes Eléctricos, Mexico City's main Tramway company had suffered a lot of bad press due to the tragic collision of two trams (with many casualties) so, the management wanted a comedy film about tramways for public relations. Clasa Films, one of Mexico's biggest studios, took the job and hired Luis Buñuel to direct the film.

"La Ilusión viaja en Tranvía" (known in English as "Illusion Travels by Streetcar") is the story of two friends, Juan Godinez (Carlos Navarro) and Tobías Hernández (Fernando Soto "Mantequilla"), better known as Caireles and Tarrajas respectively. Caireles is a mechanic of streetcars, while Tarrajas is a driver, both live in a poor neighborhood in Mexico city. One day, near Christmas, they are informed that their Streetcar, no 133, will be decommissioned, which upsets both friends. That night, they go to a Christmas party and get drunk, and the two friends decide to take Streetcar 133 for a last night ride. Caireles and Tarrajas ride the streetcar through the city and begin to take passengers without charge, but as the next day begins and their drunkenness fades, the two friends realize that they'll get in trouble if they don't take the streetcar back. Weird situations take place as Caireles and Tarrajas try to take the streetcar back, and in the process, Caireles will fix his problems with his girlfriend, the beautiful Lupita (Lilia Prado).

As written above, the story of "La Ilusión viaja en Tranvía" was provided by Clasa Films, specifically by producer Mauricio de la Serna, though it was adapted to the screen by two of Buñuel's main collaborators: Luis Alcoriza and Juan de la Cabada (along José Revueltas and Mauricio de la Serna himself). The result is a light comedy clearly designed to entertain, but that also has certain touches of irony and social commentary. At its most basic, it's a simple adventure in which the two antiheroes, Caireles and Tarrajas find bizarre and funny situations in their trip across the city. Practically a road movie but enclosed within the city tramway lines, the film is of a somewhat episodic nature, but what elevates it from the rest is the great development its characters has. In "La Ilusión viaja en Tranvía", the journey is besides the point, what truly matters are the relationships between the characters: Caireles and Tarrajas' friendship, their enmity with the company and old worker Papá Pinillos, and of course, the romance between Cairles and Lupita.

While "La Ilusión viaja en Tranvía" was a work done for hire, the film is staggeringly similar to Buñuel's own "Subida al Cielo", and in fact it feels like a more polished and accessible version of that previous film. Like in most of his Mexican films, the commercial constrains of the project brings out the best of Buñuel's craftsmanship, and "La Ilusión viaja en Tranvía" showcases the master at the top of his game. However, the fact that this film is purely a comedy certainly allowed him to display his taste for irony and his sharp humor. Despite clearly not being his most personal work, there are several touches of his typical obsessions, particularly his jabs at the Church (most prominently the pastorela scene) and the sexualization of Lilia Prado's legs (incidentally, Prado also appeared in the aforementioned "Subida al Cielo"). While a comedy prone to absurd, the film's atmosphere is one of touching realism, with cinematographer Raúl Martínes Solares making a truthful portrait of life of the working class in Mexico City of the time.

As written above, the characters are the heart of the film, and the cast makes the most of this in their performances. Leading the cast as Caireles, Carlos Navarro is pretty good as the down on his luck mechanic who seems apparently unmotivated to make anything with his life. Navarro manages to make a charming rogue of a role that could had been easily an unlikeable character. However, the highlight of the film is comedian Fernando Soto "Mantequilla", who makes the most of his role as Tarrajas. With great charm and skill, Soto steals every scene he is in, showing a vibrant energy and dignity that makes his role more than a mere bumbling sidekick. In fact, there's a certain subtlety that refrains him from being an overacted archetype. And subtlety seems to be the key, as Lilia Prado's performance as Lupita is also subtle in her sensuality. If in "Subida al Cielo" she was a lustful temptress that represented wild desire, in this movie she is the voice of reason that unwillingly ends up in the middle of Caireles and Tarrajas' wild ride.

Agustín Isunza completes the main cast as Papá Pinillos, a retired streetcar worker who is decided to stop streetcar 133 out of loyalty to a company that has forgotten him. In fact, the four characters represent different sides of a sector of Mexican society that seems, like streetcar 133, on the verge of oblivion as the city progresses. The four are working class antiheroes, perhaps they are disenchanted, ignorant, angsty or old, but still, they are the people. It is in this aspect where the magic of "La Ilusión viaja en Tranvía" is, as Buñuel conveys the harsh aesthetic of "Los Olvidados" with the most heartfelt tone of comedy. It's still an exploration of the working class and their tragedies, but trading the cruel pessimism for a certain dose of tenderness that while odd in a Buñuel film, still feels strangely honest in its delivery. Interestingly, for a film made with the idea of give good name to the Tramway company, it does make the company a faceless villain, as Buñuel sides unabashedly with the working class.

Often considered a minor film in Buñuel's canon, "La Ilusión viaja en Tranvía" is one of the best movies he did during his Mexican period. While it certainly lacks the familiar touch of surrealism that his better known French films have, there are elements in the film that makes it particularly valuable. For starters, the time capsule quality the movie has, as it brings back a Mexico City captured in time like few movies of its period does. Also, there's Fernando Soto's brilliant comedic performance, but most importantly, the most remarkable asset of the film is big heart it has, as "La Ilusión viaja en Tranvía" is a film in which Buñuel allows himself to be tender. It could be argued that this is because of the commercial intention of the movie, but whatever had been the cause, "La Ilusión viaja en Tranvía" is a film that oozes magic, nostalgia, and yes, illusion.

8/10
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Él (1953)

Celebrated as one of the most original and influential oeuvres in the history of cinema, the filmography of Spaniard filmmaker Luis Buñuel is a work rich in symbolism and artistry. Certainly, most of the praise focuses on the works Buñuel did in his late career, during his "French periods", dismissing the films done during his Mexican tenure. Nevertheless, while his career in Mexico was marred by low budgets, rushed deadlines and a big necessity for making commercial hits, it was also the period in which the master of surrealism cut his teeth, perfected his style and developed his very particular idiosyncrasies. In short, the period in which Buñuel grew from the young talent of "Un Chien Andalou" to the Surreal artist of "Le Fantôme de la liberté". Within the constrains of the Mexican film industry, the Spaniard master found the way to produce several of the most remarkable Mexican films ever done, and one of his most personal films was a dark melodrama titled simply "Él".

In "Él" (literally "He", but better known in English as "This Atrange Passion"), Arturo de Córdova plays Francisco Galván, a wealthy and respected man who meets an attractive young woman Gloria (Delia Garcés) at Church. Gloria, while somewhat attracted to Francisco, informs him that they can't speak to each other again. Francisco decides to follow her, but then he discovers the reason behind her words: she has a boyfriend, Raúl Conde (Luis Beristáin). Luckily for Francisco, Raúl is an old friend of his, so it doesn't take him much to orchestrate a way to woo Gloria away from Raúl. Gloria falls in love with Francisco, and the two get married quickly, nevertheless, Gloria's married life isn't the happiness she was expecting, as she begins to discover slowly that behind the exterior image of moral rectitude and impeccable behavior, is hidden a dominant and extremely jealous man. Francisco's jealousy begins to reach paranoid levels, and Gloria decides to escape from her situation.

Based on the autobiographical novel of the same title by Mercedes Pinto (which chronicled her first husband's mental problems) and adapted by Buñuel himself and Luis Alcoriza (his regular collaborator), "Él" is a sharp study on paranoia and mental degeneration, superbly crafted with a healthy dose of the writers' typical witty black humour. Nevertheless, "Él" is not only a tale about madness, as its multilayered screenplay conveys most of Buñuel's familiar thematic obsessions. Francisco is a wealthy churchgoer who has made for himself a public image of respectability and dignity. Nevertheless, this image is extremely fragile, as the slightest familiarity that Gloria could have with another man triggers in Francisco a violent jealous rage. The screenplay hints that Francisco's jealousy is the result of his repressed sexuality, having dedicated most of his free time to the Church (another of Buñuel's favourite targets). But still, Francisco is far from a simple insanely jealous character, being in fact, a pretty complex and human character.

The film also explores a pretty interesting visual narrative structure, being divided in three sections that allow to dissect the marriage of Francisco and Gloria. The first part details Francisco's courtship and culminates in their marriage, then the film flash-forwards several years into the future and finds a distressed Gloria meeting Raúl again, to whom she confesses her problems in a long flashback that makes the second part of the film. The final part returns to the present (and to Francisco) and details how advanced his madness is and the events that take place once he has found that Gloria has met Raúl again. Skillfully, the master unfolds his tale with a very smooth pace, and treats his subject matter not as a drama, but as a tale of suspense. "Él" is perhaps as close as Buñuel ever got to making a proper horror film. Visually, the movie is a joy to watch, thanks to the remarkable work of cinematography by the legendary Gabriel Figueroa, who captures the oppressive atmosphere of Francisco's household with striking angles and an expressionist touch.

Mexican actor Arturo de Córdova, a famous star of the Golden Age of Mexican cinema, delivers in "Él" one of the best performances in his career, leading the cast as Francisco Galván, the paranoid husband of Gloria. A popular leading actor of film noirs and complex melodrama, De Córdova was no stranger to playing charming gentlemen with tortured minds, having honed his craft in Mexican classics such as "Crepúsculo", "El Hombre sin Rostro" and "En la palma de tu mano". Nevertheless, it's in Buñuel's "Él" where he achieves perfection, delivering a performance that it's both captivating and repulsive, displaying a range that goes from the highest subtlety to the most violent outbursts. As Gloria, Delia Garcés is equally as impressive, playing the loving wife who has to suffer the irrationality of the man she thought was perfect. In Gloria's meetings with Raúl, Garcés manages to portray the humility and dignity of a woman who feels betrayed by herself and the world.

Perhaps the weakest link is precisely Luis Beristáin as Raúl, whom gets easily caught between the two towering performances of the lead actors. Nevertheless, this isn't really a big deal, given that the story revolves completely around Francisco and Gloria. Wickedly disturbing, but without losing entirely its black humour, "Él" is a powerful deconstruction of the machismo of society, with Francisco having first idealized his future wife Gloria, only to later accuse her mercilessly and irrationally of being an unfaithful wife when they are finally married. For Buñuel, this has its roots in the Church as an institution, as the religious Francisco tries to reconcile his preconceived ideas of woman as a saint and as a sinner, with no middle-ground in between. His unrealistic ideal of perfection gets tarnished when he lets his sexual desire to take over, and thus he proceeds to control by force everything he can, particularly when he feels weak or defeated.

One of the most personal films Buñuel ever did (in fact, he claimed it was the film where he had put the most of himself), "Él" is a masterful depiction of jealousy and paranoia, as well as a testament to the talents of both De Córdova and Garcés. Mixing perfectly comedy, drama and suspense, Buñuel crafts in "Él" a vivid portrayal of mental degeneration. Unnerving, thrilling, and yet delightfully funny, "Él" is a work that manages to work on multiple levels. Knowing that Alfred Hitchcock was a fan of Buñuel, one wonders if the revered British filmmaker got some inspiration from the film while developing his own masterpiece, "Vertigo". Like "Los Olvidados", "Él" is one of Buñuel's Mexican films that rightfully deserves more recognition as a masterpiece of cinema.

9/10
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El Bruto (1953)

Forced to leave Spain when Francisco Franco became a dictator, celebrated filmmaker Luis Buñuel found in Mexico a home and a new opportunity to make movies again. Nevertheless, the movies he had to do in the Mexican industry were far from the experimental surrealism of his initial output, as the Spaniard master had to learn how to make commercial films. Nevertheless, in 1950 the master would return to form with "Los Olvidados" a masterpiece of Mexican cinema that proved that the young maker of "Un Chien Andalou" was still alive and kicking. Sergio Kogan, one of the producers of "Los Olvidados", hired Buñuel to make a film for his wife Rosita Quintana, and the result was "Susana", which began a partnership between them which would also produce two more films: the urban melodramas "Una Mujer sin Amor" and "El Bruto". Starring Pedro Armendáriz and Katy Jurado, "El Bruto" is a film that, while apparently average at first, it actually has a lot of Buñuel's political ideologies hidden beneath its ordinary construction.

"El Bruto" (literally "The Brute") begins with a conflict between the poor tenants of a building and their landlord, Don Andrés Cabrera (Andrés Soler). DOn Andrés wants to sell the land, but his tenants don't want to be evicted. Their leader, Carmelo (Roberto Meyer), encourages his neighbors to fight for their rights. Don Andrés' wife Paloma (Katy Jurado) advices him to simply leave them leaderless. To this effect, Don Andrés calls Pedro (Pedro Armendáriz), a strong worker at Don Andrés' slaughterhouse who is nicknamed "Bruto". Tall and strong, but a tad dimwitted, Pedro is a loyal worker for Don Andrés, whom he considers his mentor, so he accepts the mission that his boss has given him: to scare Carmelo away. Pedro faces Carmelo and beats him, but the frail and sick Carmelo dies from his injury. Don Andrés hides Pedro in his home, where he'll face the seductive Paloma, who becomes quite interested in him. To further complicate things, Pedro will fall in love with Meche (Rosa Arenas), not knowing she's the daughter of the man he killed.

Written by Buñuel himself and his regular collaborator Luis Alcoriza, "El Bruto" is by all accounts, a fairly typical urban melodrama of passion and betrayal. Nevertheless, it's actually a multi-layered story that hides several of Buñuel's deeper and most complex idiosyncrasies. Not only "El Bruto" lets loose Buñuel's most Marxist views by having the working class Pedro serving as a pawn of the bourgeoisie, it explores the conflict of Pedro as a pawn of Paloma's desire and specially, of Pedro as a pawn of his own biggest flaws: lust and ignorance. Pedro could be a working class hero, but his sexual desire takes him first to live with a "family of leeches" (his girlfriend's family), to become Paloma's boy toy, which will result in greater problems for him when he discovers love with Meche. The love triangle between Pedro, Andrés and Paloma has certain Oedipal echoes, as its implied that Andres' tutorship of Pedro has had more to do with hidden familiar relationship rather than a purely altruist impulse.

Buñuel's work as a director is remarkable, and while the low budget is notorious, he makes the most of what he's got and carefully builds up the story, unfolding each element of the story skillfully, showing his domain of the visual narrative. The strength of "El Bruto" is in its storyline, and Buñuel gives enough space to develop the characters and enhance the story's impact. In terms of style, "El Bruto" is closer in tone and atmosphere to his 1950 masterpiece "Los Olvidados", as there's an amount of harsh realism in his depiction of life in the slums that his more surrealist pieces lack. This is not to say that the master's touches of surrealism are entirely absent, but in "El Bruto", they are more carefully concealed, kept dormant until the climatic ending, which has a pretty "Buñuelian" moment of surrealism in its epilogue. Cinematographer Agustín Jiménez offers a polished and stylish work that gives the film a noir visual look that's perfectly fitting, as in fact, "El Bruto" works as a film noir of the slums.

The cast is another of "El Bruto"'s greatest strengths, as it includes several of the best Mexican actors of all time. Leading the cast as Pedro is the legendary Pedro Armendáriz, who delivers a remarkable performance as the strong but not very brilliant hero of the film. A famous lead actor, Armendáriz plays a complex figure in "El Bruto", a pawn of forces bigger than himself, belittled by his difficulty to fully understanding his world. Pedro is not an idiot, but his naiveté and ignorance makes him someone easily manipulable. Yet as good as Armendáriz is, it is Katy Jurado whom as Paloma delivers the best performance in the film. Jurado's sensuous and voluptuous figure, coupled with her commanding screen presence makes her an ideal femme fatal, and not only shows her power manipulating Pedro, but also her older husband, Don Andrés. Played by Andrés Soler, Don Andrés is an equally complex character, on one side a ruthless businessman who cares little for the working class, yet he is also shown as a loving son and loyal friend.

This complex duality is the other running theme in "El Bruto", where nothing is really black and white. Each character in the film seems to have two sides, as if Buñuel was stating that despite the appearances, no villain is entirely bad, and no hero is entirely good. Meche, the young daughter of Carmelo, is perhaps the only character whose entirely "pure", as if she represented the grace that Pedro requires to stop being Bruto and become a full man. Once again, duality is present in Pedro as Bruto, because Pedro, dimwitted as he is, knows that Bruto is not a nice name. He is fully aware of his limitations, and begins to resent being seen as nothing more than a brute. As much as he desires Paloma's sexual favors, deep down he knows he is not seen as Pedro, but as Bruto, a thing made to be used. And this is Buñuel's at his most Marxist, as he presents the working class as a property of the bourgeoisie, represented by Don Andrés (heir of an "old money" family) and Paloma (a social climber). His awakening and quest for redemption become the core of this melodrama.

Often dismissed as being one of Buñuel's most ordinary and commercial efforts, "El Bruto" is actually one of the best movies from his Mexican output. While the film has notoriously low production values, there's a lot to enjoy in "El Bruto", as it's one of the films that most represent Buñuel's political leanings. Certainly, the film lacks the visual impact of "Los Olvidados", the charming irony of "Él" and the sharp criticism of "El Ángel Exterminador", but still, this minor gem about an oppressed man looking for his place is an impeccably done urban melodrama. In fact, this severely underrated film just proves that the world of director Luis Buñuel is stretched beyond his better known works in surrealism.

8/10
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Una mujer sin amor (1952)

In 1951, Spanish director Luis Buñuel returned to the spotlight when he won the Best Director Award at the Cannes film festival for the Mexican film "Los Olvidados". Nevertheless, while this success allowed him greater control over his future projects (reflected in 1952's "Subida al Cielo"), the Spanish filmmaker still had to work within the constrains of the industry, an industry dedicated to its audience. The same year Buñuel released the surreal comedy "Subida al Cielo", he also made a more traditional melodrama dedicated to satisfy the commercial demand. That film was "Una mujer sin amor", which went on history as the movie that Buñuel disliked the most amongst all the film in his career. Certainly, the film's origins weren't really the best, as producer Sergio Kogan (who had previously employed Buñuel in "Susana") wanted to have another hit and asked Buñuel to simply copy André Cayatte's film version of Guy de Maupassant's "Pierre et Jean". Naturally, Buñuel didn't, and the result was perhaps the least Buñuel of the Buñuel films.

In "Una mujer sin amor" (literally, "A woman without love"), Rosario Granados plays Rosario, a young and beautiful woman married to an old antiquarian, Don Carlos Montero (Julio Villarreal). Their marriage is difficult, as Don Carlos is a dominant man, prone to scolding both his wife and son Carlos (Jaime Calpe). One day he is particularly harsh with his son, and the boy runs away from home, being found the following day by an engineer named Julio Mistral (Tito Junco). Don Carlos and Rosario are very grateful, and soon Julio becomes friends with the Montero family. Rosario and Julio begin an affair, as she confesses that she has never loved her husband, having married Don Carlos just for his money. Julio tries to convince her to run away with him to Brazil, but she refuses. Twenty years later, Carlos (Joaquin Cordero) and his younger brother Miguel (Xavier Loyá) have graduated from medical school, but suddenly, the Montero family receive the news that Julio has died in Brazil, and left all his money to Miguel. Carlos, begins to unveil the secrets of his mother.

As written above, "Una mujer sin amor" is a new version of Guy de Maupassant naturalist novel "Pierre et Jean", adapted to the screen by Jaime Salvador with dialogs by Buñuel's regular collaborator Rodolfo Usigli. Taking "Pierre et Jean"'s storyline as the basis, Salvador builds up a traditional melodrama centered in the person of the Mother. In Mexican melodrama, the figure of the sacrificed mother became a recurrent archetype, as an idealized moral center willing to suffer the misdemeanors of both her husband and her children due to her incommensurable love. An archetype that Buñuel turned upside down in "Los Olvidados" with the character of Pedro's Mother. However, in "Una mujer sin amor" the archetype is played seriously and becomes the focal point of the film in a consummately traditionalist manner. Not as a parody, not as a satire, but for real, a classic family melodrama of the most refined variety. But still, beneath the reverential traditionalism, the story lends itself to certain touches that makes it stand out amongst the rest.

In purely technical terms, "Una mujer sin amor" is impeccable. The greater production values allowed Buñuel to create one of the most lavishly realized films of his Mexican period. Gunther Gerszo's production design shines through the camera eye of seasoned cinematographer Raúl Martínez Solares, which works efficiently in the upper-class urban atmosphere of the story. Buñuel's visual narrative is at its best, as within the constrains of the melodrama genre, he succeeds in crafting a film with a strong identity of its own. It is certainly a typical melodrama, but one that stands out by the undeniable level of its craftsmanship. And yet, as traditional as the film is, it has its particularities. For starters, the story moves away from the brother's rivalry and remains focused heavily on the mother, Rosario. While Carlos drives this second half of the film, it's always Rosario's story what's being told. Not for nothing the title changed from "Pierre and Jean" (the sons in Maupassant's story) to "A woman without love".

As the woman without love of the title, Argentine actress Rosario Granados is remarkable as the sacrificed Rosario, a woman torn by a complex mixture of feelings: her regret for having married Don Carlos without loving him, her love for Julio, and her love for her sons. A woman with a lot of love to give, but who opts to repress her bigger love, her love for Julio. As in her previous film with Buñuel ("El Gran Calavera" in 1949), Granados once again displays a natural talent and strong screen presence. More experienced now, Granados also showcases a certain bittersweet subtlety that distances her from classic mother figures of Mexican melodrama. As her son Carlos, the young Joaquín Cordero is a highlight of the film, easily overshadowing Xavier Loyá, who plays his younger brother. As the elder Don Carlos, Julio Villarreal is delightful, building up a character that can go from nice to hateful in a whim. Titu Junco is sadly the weakest link, as his tenure as the engineer Julio isn't really a satisfying one.

Impeccably done, and beautifully looking, if "Una mujer sin amor" has a flaw is precisely how typical it ends up being. The fact that it's a work by the master of surrealism Luis Buñuel, only enhances the feeling that the film lacks that spark that the legendary Spanish filmmaker puts in his surrealist works. Certainly, "Una mujer sin amor" tackles themes that had been previously explored in countless melodramas, not only Mexican, but in general. In this aspect, there's nothing new, nothing fresh, no groundbreaking narrative structure, no outlandish visual style. Not even the black humor, so characteristic of Buñuel is present here. As it is, it's by all accounts just a film done for the paycheck. Nevertheless, it wouldn't be fair to dismiss "Una mujer sin amor" as quickly as Buñuel himself does, because within its genre, "Una mujer sin amor" is a film full of great style and a classy atmosphere. Certainly not what is expected from Buñuel, but it even makes a case for the independence of women, with Rosario's final speech taking a jab at traditionalism.

Closer in spirit to the cinema of Alejandro Galindo than to Buñuel's own filmography, it's not hard to see why Luis Buñuel dismissed "Una mujer sin amor" as his worst film: it's certainly the one that has less of his idiosyncrasies. Nevertheless, while its decidedly commercial purpose may overshadow its artistic value, the merit of "Una mujer sin amor" is the high level of craftsmanship that Buñuel had achieved by that point in his career. After having learned the hard way how to make commercial films for the Mexican industry, and having returned to glory with his masterpiece "Los Olvidados", the genius of Buñuel was now unleashed and found its way to shine even in the most typical and traditionalist story lines. It's impossible to deny that many directors would be proud to have "Una mujer sin amor" as their worst film.

7/10
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Die Nackte und der Satan (1959)

After World War II, cinema in Germany, like many other industries, entered into a difficult period of reconstruction during the occupation of Germany by the Four Powers. The Federal Republic of Germany, or West Germany, had now access to cinema from around the world, and the American industry saw this as an opportunity to conquer the new market. Another problem for the film industry of West Germany was the fact that most of the country's film infrastructure, the legendary UFA studios, were in East Germany. Still, by the 1950s the film industry of West Germany kept a slow but consistent recovery, though it mainly produced what was soon called the Heimatfilm ("homeland film"), a very German genre of family dramas. The great popularity of these films gave the impression that the cinema of West Germany was a very provincial industry, though there were exceptions. An notable exception to this norm was "Die Nackte und der Satan", an offbeat horror film with a distinctive style echoing the glory days of German Expressionism.

In "Die Nackte und der Satan" (literally "The Naked and the Satan", but known in English as simply "The Head"), Michel Simon is Dr. Abel, a famous surgeon who has developed a serum that keeps alive dead tissue. However, Dr. Abel isn't that well and requires a heart transplant. His team, comprising Dr. Ood (Horst Frank) and Dr. Burke (Kurt Müller-Grad), is set to perform the operation. Unfortunately, things go awry with the transplant, but Dr. Ood decides to keep going. Dr. Burke protests but is murdered by the sinister Dr. Ood, who then proceeds to decapitate Dr. Abel in order to keep his head alive with his serum. The mad Dr. Ood is decided to help Irene Sander (Karin Kernke), a young hunchbacked lady he desires. To do it, Dr. Ood will perform a head transplant using the technology developed by Dr. Abel, who witness everything, horrified as he finds himself without a body. Lilly (Christiane Maybach), a dancer at the Tam-Tam bar, is the selected candidate to become the new body for Irene.

Written by Victor Trivas (who also penned Orson Welles' "The Stranger" and was nominated for an Academy Award for it), "Die Nackte und der Satan" certainly has an outlandishly grizzly premise. With its themes of head transplant and the isolation of a living head, it's difficult not to compare Trivas' story to the cult classic "The Brain that Wouldn't die" (1962); however, there's a great difference in tone between both films, as unlike its American counterpart, Victor Trivas' "Die Nackte und der Satan" is played as a more serious affair. The theme of degenerate human experimentation resonates strongly, with the duality of having the beneficial healing of Irene being grounded on the vicious actions of Dr. Ood. Duality is also present in Lilly, a beautiful model with a dark past akin to the classic archetype of a femme fatale. There's also, a greater emphasis on eroticism in the story that's surprisingly daring for its time, making of "Die Nackte und der Satan" a sexually charged thriller underneath its horror visage.

Also directed by Victor Trivas (who had not directed a film since 1935), "Die Nackte und der Satan" has a decidedly somber atmosphere, enhanced by a visual aesthetic that's reminiscent of the years of German Expressionism. This is not surprising, given that collaborating with production designer Bruno Monden was Hermann Warmm, the man responsible for the striking look of classics of the movement such as "Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari" and "Der müde Tod" (not to mention Dreyer's "Vampyr"). Through the camera of Georg Krause (another veteran of German cinema), director Trivas creates a moody piece that feels delightfully straight from a pulp novel. Despite their relative low budget, Trivas and his crew achieve in giving the film a dark beauty that fits nicely with its bizarre premise. Like the screenplay, Travis doesn't play his story for cheap thrills, and opts for a serious, darker approach that gives the movie an unsettling tone, enhanced by the surprising (considering the low budget) visual effects by Theo Nischwitz.

The cast in "Die Nackte und der Satan" is actually good, with Horst Frank delivering a strong, retrained performance as Dr. Ood. Crtainly, the character is the archetypal mad scientist of horror films, but Frank doesn't let himself loose with it and instead begins to build up the raving madness of Dr. Ood with welcomed subtlety, until the climatic ending. In her debut, Karin Kernke is for the most part good, as Irene, though oddly, she seems to lose her edge when her body is revealed. German sex symbol Christiane Maybach is quite natural and vibrant as Lilly, channeling bits of Marlene Dietrich's hardened persona in her persona. Nevertheless, perhaps the greatest surprise in "Die Nackte und der Satan" is to see legendary French actor Michel Simon (famous for Renoir's "La chienne" and "Boudu sauvé des eaux", as well as Vigo's "L'atalante") playing the kind Dr. Abel, reduced to just a head by Dr. Ood's evil. Simon is effective, though certainly his work is limited due to the real paralysis he suffered at the time of shooting.

In many ways, "Die Nackte und der Satan" feels out of time, not in tune with the cinema of the 1950s, but imbued by the atmosphere of a bygone era. The expressionist set design, the pulp novel atmosphere, the amorality of the characters, the theatrical acting; by all accounts the film could had been done in 1931. The presence of Michel Simon, Warmm and Krause just seem to confirm this, and this plays like a double-edge sword for the film, as while it gives the movie a nice ominous atmosphere, it also gives it an archaic visual look, as if it was a movie released 40 years too late. Nevertheless, this is not to say that the film is entirely stuck in the past, but it's definitely not exactly avant-garde anymore. Also, the fact that the film was done with a limited budget also plays a major role in the final result, as the film's shortcomings are enhanced by the lack of production values. Though production designer Hermann Warmm was not unfamiliar with budgetary limitations, the visual look is a tad cheapened by this.

In the end, it's hard not to think about "Die Nackte und der Satan" as something other than as an offbeat curiosity. With its heavily expressionist design and the ominous atmosphere it conveys, "Die Nackte und der Satan" is an interesting discovery for fans of German Expressionism. The serious approach that director Trivas takes on the story, results in a quite different film that could be expected given its strange premise, and actually plays like an intellectual version of one of those Mad Scientist horror films of the 30s. Decidedly a truly atypical entry in the cinema of west Germany of the 1950s, "Die Nackte und der Satan" is a tale of grizzly body horror that feels frozen in time. A bizarre curiosity, old fashioned perhaps, but bizarre indeed.

6/10
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Poster of the French release.

The Thing from Another World (1951)

To most people, the name of John W. Campbell may not exactly ring a bell; however, Campbell was probably one of the most influential persons in the history of American science fiction. As the editor of the legendary "Astounding Stories" magazine, Campbell changed the name to "Astounding Science Fiction", and began to publish new young writers such as Lester del Rey, Robert A. Heinlein and Isaac Asimov; essentially shaping up what later was known as the "Golden Age of Science Fiction". Nevertheless, Campbell wasn't only a skilled hunter of new talents, he was also a prolific writer himself, using both his name and the pseudonym Don A. Stuart. Campbell's novella "Who Goes There?", published in 1938, is perhaps his most famous work, not only because of its literary qualities (it's considered one of the finest American sci-fi novellas of all time) but also because of its film adaptations. The first of this adaptations is the 1951 classic "The Thing from Another World", a movie produced (and perhaps directed) by none other than Howard Hawks.

"The Thing from Another World" begins when a North Pole base, Polar Expedition Six, requests an Air Force resupply crew. Captain Pat Hendry (Kenneth Tobey) is sent to the place, taking amongst his crew a reporter, Ned Scott (Douglas Spencer). As they arrive, they are greeted by Doctor Carrington (Robert Cornthwaite) and Doctor Redding (George Fenneman), whom inform them the reason of their request: a strange flying object crashed near their base, and they need to go and investigate. Pat's crew and the scientist travel to the crash site and discover that what crashed in the ice is actually a flying saucer. While they try to uncover the spaceship, the crew accidentally destroys it with the explosives, however, not everything is lost, as a frozen body is found in the ice nearby. The group excavates the body and take it back to their base, still in the large block of ice. A storm hits the base and leaves them without communication, and the strange being that was found at the crash site, begins to wake up.

Adapted by prolific scriptwriter Charles Lederer (though Ben Hecht and Howard Hawks himself also had uncredited but major participations), "The Thing from Another World" diverts significantly from the novella, and changes the basic nature of the monster. While in Campbell's story the monster was able to imitate humans (providing the suspense and paranoia), in Lederer's screenplay the Thing is an intelligent humanoid being with cellular structure related to vegetation. With this change, the story is less about the monster, and more about the social interactions between the crew and the scientists, particularly on the subject of how to deal with the Thing. On one side, the scientists of Dr. Carrington want to preserve the Thing alive, while Captain Pat Hendry wants to destroy it. Lederer takes the side of the soldiers, reflecting the general distrust of science that was felt after the Hiroshima nuclear bombs, and to a lesser extent, the Cold War paranoia, which was typical of sci-fi horror films of the Atomic Age.

Where "The Thing from Another World" shines is in the classy work of directing it has, which is by all accounts quite Hawksian. Though credited only as producer, there's some weight in the claim that it was Hawks and not Christopher Nyby who directed the film. And even if it wasn't Hawks, at least he had considerable input in Nyby's work. What is true is that "The Thing from Another World" is an action packed horror film that certainly plays the right notes and elevates its subject matter above the typical sci-fi fare. As written above, the tension in the film is entirely based on the friction between the human characters, and to this effects Nyby (or Hawks) put considerable weight in developing them and the difficult relationships between them. While they are essentially the basic archetypes of 50s science fiction (All-American soldier, mad scientist), a good effort is done in fleshing them out, and this is instrumental for the success of the film. Nyby and Hawks manage to make their monster a believable threat, something that most monster movies attempt and sorely miss.

Leading the cast as Captain Patrick Hendry, actor Kenneth Tobey delivers a good, restrained performance as the leader of the soldiers. Carrying the movie with his strong presence and natural charm. Subtle in his approach, there's a certain weight that he gives to his performance that makes his character feel trustworthy. Certainly, Tobey fits the classic 1950s hero role proficiently. Nevertheless, the film's highlight is Robert Cornthwaite, who plays Hendry's nemesis Dr. Carrington. Giving his role a calculated dose of malice, Cornthwaite makes a masterful depiction of a man driven by his obsession (knowledge) to the point of amorality, endangering the lives of everyone else. There's a bit of Melville's Captain Ahab in Cornthwaite's performance, and it's commendable the way he manages to portray his character's intelligence with minimal gestures. Margaret Sheridan plays Carrington's secretary and Hendry's love interest, and while her role is certainly limited, her work is pretty effective.

There's no doubt that "The Thing from Another World" is a classic of its genre, as amongst the countless sci-fi horrors from the 1950s, it has a certain class in its craftsmanship that elevates it above the many "creature features" that were produced in that era. Few horrors from the period manage to influx a premise like this (the vegetable monster) with the amount of gravitas the film has (1954's "Them!" would be another example). But certainly, for all its virtues, "The Thing from Another World" is not a film that has aged well, not only in terms of its technical merits, but also regarding its political ideology, which is clearly a product of its time. The film is fully imbued with the idea of treating any outsider as an enemy, and that military action should have more weight than any scientific approach (Dr.Carrington, embodies all the negative aspects of liberal and scientific views). In a way, it's the diametrical opposite to George A. Romero's 1985 film "Day of the Dead".

30 years after the making of "The Thing from Another World", director John Carpenter directed a remake of the film, more faithful (in plot and tone) to Campbell's classic novella. While this is perhaps a case of a remake proving itself superior to the original, Howard Hawks place as a classic sci-fi horror of Cold War remains unquestioned. While it does have several shortcomings and time hasn't treated it well, its enormous influence over science fiction cinema can still be felt. Though nowadays it's can feel dated and even archaic, Hawks' "The Thing from Another World" can still be an enjoyable film to watch, mainly because if had one element that no very few "creature features" of the same period had: class.

7/10
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The Manster (1959)

Ever since first published 1886, Robert Louis Stevenson's popular novel "Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde" has served as inspiration for numerous works dealing with the concept of "split personality". Beginning with the 1887 stage play (by Thomas Russell Sullivan), the classic novel has been adapted dozens of times, all with different degrees of faithfulness to the source story. However, perhaps the most interesting versions are those that are not exactly typical adaptations of Stevenson's novel, and instead opt for a different angle that often carries only the splitting of the personality. Examples of this are 1963's screwball comedy "The Nutty Professor" and the comic book "The Hulk". Amongst this kind of versions is a Japanese American co-production realized in 1959 titled "The Manster", a tale of horror and science fiction which has earned a reputation as a schlocky camp classic due to its tacky special effects. However, it also has some pretty interesting elements that elevate it from being the typical monster on the loose story.

In "The Manster", Peter Dynley plays Larry Stanford, an American foreign news correspondent who has spent the last few years working in Japan. Tired of being far from home, there's nothing that Larry would want more than to return to his wife Linda (Jane Hylton), so he is eager to finish what will be his last assignment: an interview with the reclusive scientist Dr. Robert Suzuki (Tetsu Nakamura). Larry travels to the volcano where Suzuki has his laboratory, and soon becomes friends with him. However, what he doesn't know is that Suzuki has found him to be the perfect candidate for his ultimate experiment in evolutionary change. Dr. Suzuki drugs Larry and injects him with his new formula. When the reporter awakes, he doesn't remember anything, and eagerly accepts Suzuki's invitation to spend a week of vacation with him and his beautiful assistant Tara (Terri Zimmern). Vacationing with Suzuki, Larry soon forgets about his wife, and enjoys a life of alcohol and women. However, he is also changing physically, and something horrible is growing in his shoulder.

Written collaboratively by director George P. Breakston and William J. Sheldon, "The Manster" is by all accounts, a pretty much typical horror story of the 1950s. There's the general distrust of science that was common in Atomic Age horror, reflected in the science fiction origin of the monster, and in the person of Dr. Suzuki, who fills the "mad scientist" role. However, there are also certain elements that make it quite atypical for its time. For starters, the frank depiction of sex and violence the story has which, while by no means graphic (at least not for modern standards), it's certainly there: an uncontrolled sexual libido is the first thing that awakes in Larry as his transformation begins. Larry has been, in his words, "a good boy" all the years he has been in Japan, but after meeting Suzuki, he becomes a frequent visitor in brothels, and begins an affair with Tara. And this is related to the other element that sets the film apart from the rest: its "Jekyll and Hyde" theme makes it work as a thinly-veiled allegory of alcoholism.

Directed by George P. Breakston and Kenneth G. Crane, at first sight "The Manster" looks also typical in its execution, which is certainly quite simplistic; however, the directors also make some really good choices. To begin with, there's a real care in its portrayal of the Japanese culture. In "The Manster", it's more than just an exotic location, it adds up to the feeling of isolation and loneliness that the lead character begins to experience (the scene at a Buddhist temple is specially haunting). The sombre black and white photography by cinematographer David Mason is actually pretty good, and actually closer in spirit to film noir; something that's particularly appropriate, as the film deals with themes a bit more lurid than the usual fare. The degeneration of Larry is well-handed, for the most part, and the personality change the character undergoes isn't that far fetched. It's only when the remarkably poor special effects appear on the film when "The Manster" shows why it earned its camp classic reputation.

The acting is just slightly above the average, though for the most part the performances are good. As the lead character, Peter Dyneley makes an acceptable job in his portrayal of Larry Standford. Initially a somewhat stereotypical All-American husband, as Larry descends into his life of debauchery there's a good chance for Dyneley to showcase his talents, and often he does. Certainly he is not a great actor, though within his limitations Dyneley doesn't make a bad job. As Dr. Suzuki, Tetsu Nakamura is pretty mediocre, though his role is certainly the most clichéd in the film. Now, as his assistant Tara, the alluring Terry Zimmern is perhaps the film's highlight. Strangely, Zimmern never did any other film and vanished from the spotlight, so "The Manster" remains a testament of what could had been. The rest of the cast is pretty average, though Jerry Ito shows some passion at playing the typical detective a film like "The Manster" must have. Unfortunately, he receives the worst lines in the film.

And bad lines of dialog is a common flaw in "The Manster", which despite having a particularly original angle to its storyline, can't avoid resorting to common places and clichés in its screenplay. And this includes its ending, which is of a moralist nature, though this is hardly a surprise, considering the overall theme the film has. This double face, on one side a lurid tale full of eroticism, and on the other a moralistic story of the Atomic Age, is certainly fitting for a horror tale about a split personality, though one wonders how much would had helped a better constructed climax. Because the ending does feel unfortunately rushed and somewhat incoherent, a huge contrast to the first half, which chronicles Larry's degeneration with such a great care. It feels so different in tone and pacing that is as if the directors had been forced to do it just to meet the deadline. And of course, the film's great bane: it's incompetent special effects. It's true, "The Manster" can't help but looking awfully schlocky with those cheap make-up effects.

Certainly, it's difficult to talk about "The Manster" without discussing the camp value of its silly effects. It's certainly one of the most notorious aspects of the film, and one of the most unintentionally funny as well. Nevertheless, beyond its trashy visuals, "The Manster" is still a sombre tale. As a metaphor for the destructive effects of alcoholism (or any drug in general) the film makes pretty good points; and as a sci-fi tragedy, the movies does work nicely if one gets past its cheap visual look. More ambitious than its budget allowed it to be, "The Manster" is by no means a great film; however, despite its many obvious flaws, this offbeat "Jekyll and Hyde" tale is certainly worth a watch.

6/10
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House of Wax (1953)

The year of 1952 is widely considered as the beginning of the so-called "Golden Age" of 3-D filmmaking, as it was during that year when "Bwana Devil", the first color stereoscopic feature in 3-D was released. It proved to be a hit, and the enormous success of this new way of achieving 3-D prompted Warner Bros. Pictures to prepare a similar movie to compete in this trend. And to do it, it would resurrect a movie that in its time, also was the flagship for a technological advance: the two-strip Technicolor thriller "Mystery of the Wax Museum". So, 20 years after the release of Michael Curtiz' Technicolor murder mystery, Warner Brothers Pictures decided to make a brand new version of the movie using the new 3-D technology that was beginning to be very popular. Titled "House of Wax" and directed by André De Toth, the movie would not only become the most successful 3-D movie of its day, but also the first one with stereophonic sound and, probably its most important achievement, the film that would fully introduce the legendary actor Vincent Price to the Horror genre.

The plot actually follows very closely the original's storyline, although of course, with several important changes. In 1910s New York, Prof. Henry Jarrod (Vincent Price) is an unnaturally talented sculptor, whose wax figures are of an amazing beauty and realism. However, his refusal to make sensationalistic exhibits to attract more people to his Wax Museum enrage his financial partner Matthew Burke (Roy Roberts), so Burke decides to burn the place with Jarrod inside in order to collect the insurance money. Several months later, it is discovered that Prof. Jarrod survived, albeit badly hurt and with his hands and legs useless, but with the intention of reopening his "House of Wax" with the aid of a deaf mute student named Igor (Charles Bronson). At the museum's opening, a young woman named Sue Allen (Phyllis Kirk) makes a shocking discovery: the figure representing Joan of Arc looks extremely like her best friend Cathy (Carolyn Jones), who was just recently murdered by a mysterious stranger. It would be up to her to solve the mystery of this new house of wax.

Written by Crane Wilbur, the plot is essentially the same as in the original, being also based on Charles Belden's story and play; however, unlike the play and the original movie, Wilbur chooses to focus on the horror element of the story, transforming the whole tale of mystery into a classic Gothic story, almost in the style of Universal's horror films of the 30s (the movie is set in that decade). The main change in the narrative is that this time there is no mystery about who is committing the murders, the classic "whodunit" pattern of murder mysteries here is inverted in the so-called "howcatchem" and places the villain under the spotlight almost since the beginning. With this change, Wilbur makes the story a new kind of beast and really enhances the suspense, drama and darkness of the story. And since the mystery is no longer a subject of importance in the story, the characters and their relationships become a bit more developed as they become the center of the story, allowing the actors (specially Vincent Price) to showcase their talents.

Director André De Toth was probably the best suited to adapt Crane Wilbur's script to the screen, being already renowned by his psychological take on the films noir and westerns he crafted during the 40s. De Toth's take on the script is elegant and classy, yet with a certain touch of grittiness in the creation of the murders, and an ominous Gothic atmosphere very much in tone with the focus on horror that Wilbur gave to the script. With lavish set designs and an excellent use of color (wouldn't be hard to see it as an influence for the vibrant style of the British Hammer films), De Toth creates a beautiful film to look at with his usual brilliant use of cinematography (by Bert Glennon and J. Peverell Marley) that even without the 3-D effect still looks wonderful. His use of 3-D is notable in its originality and most importantly, on its subtlety (although there are two or three moments are obvious campy gimmicks to show off the 3-D). While the movie certainly loses some of its impact on TV, it's still a marvel of production design, with a great beauty to look at.

The cast is one of the film's best features, starting with Vincent Price, who after this movie his career would take him from being a reliable character actor to become an icon of the horror genre. In the role previously played by Lionel Atwill, Price creates a far more sympathetic character, as his unusual charm, suave screen presence and ease of word simply take over the screen and make the character very likable, despite having such a dark past. Price easily steals every scene he is in, and makes of Jarrod an unforgettable horror villain. Phyllis Kirk has a character meant to replace the wisecracking reporter of the original story, and while the character is transformed from determined adventurer to damsel in distress, Kirk's performance makes her very sensible and real, and far less weak and passive than what a role like hers could had been. A young Carolyn Jones (whom later would be famous in the TV series "The Addams Family") appears as Sue's friend Cathy Gray, and despite having very short scenes she showcases her great beauty and promising talent in a wonderful way.

With its gloomy atmosphere, gritty murder scenes and the unforgettable Price, "House of Wax" has truly enough to be rightfully considered as a classic of the genre. Sadly, the film loses a lot of its impact without the 3-D technology, as it leaves some of the most notorious 3-D scenes (particularly near the intermission) as obvious gimmicks that serve to no purpose other than to showcase how good the 3-D visuals look. I'm sure than on a 3-D projection the same scenes are wonderful, but without the technology, they really lose their magic and make blatant what should just be enjoyed seamlessly. While there are 3-D films that can be enjoyed on normal projections, those gimmicky scenes in "House of Wax" ruin the pace of an otherwise thrilling ride. Despite that tragedy, the film holds up very well, and regarding to how it compares to the original, the interesting thing is that despite having the same plot, "House of Wax" is a completely different experience due to its more horror-oriented plot.

And that would be the key of this remake: it's a different take on the story. Instead of being a rehash of a proved hit, De Toth's film opts for creating a new exploration of the story. Curtiz' film is modernist and sleek, De Toth's style is Gothic and ominous. A different style makes a different film. And that's something that many producers of remakes seem to forget, that a remake is the chance to try something new. A definitive must-see for horror fans, "House of Wax" may not feel the same without the impact of its 3-D visuals, but it still is a very influential film with superb direction, wonderful visuals and the excellent work of its cast. In the end, both "House of Wax" and the original "Mystery of the Wax Museum" make for an excellent double-bill where one can discover the excellent results of remakes done right.

8/10
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