Castle set design


I've never understood why the set design for the foyer and stairs of the castle/mansion in this movie are so "spare." Does anyone have background stories about the set design?

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I cannot find much online about the set design, except that it was done by Russell A. Gausman, who worked on no less than 739 films, including Shadow of a Doubt, Touch of Evil, Harvey and Spartacus. The art direction was by Jack Otterson, who worked on Wolfman, Saboteur, The Killers and Secret Weapon.

Son of Frankenstein sets were clearly inspired by German Expressionism as seen in silent films such as The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. SofF sets were very spare and angular, with extreme shadows. There was a giant, rustic, rambling staircase, an outsize fireplace and massive, low ceiling arches.....very surreal. All of this added to the sense of fear and foreboding .....really creepy stuff!

You will also note many things (including the character Inspector Krough and the famous giant knockers!) that were later parodied in Mel Brooks' Young Frankenstein....very funny!

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The set design is striking because it looks so BAD. Very minimalist, modern, etc. ... and we are supposed to think this is the gothic Castle Frankenstein as seen in the first two movies?? Somebody really goofed.

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There was an inconsistency in art direction among the first five films that could be inferred as (pardon the pun) by design.

Exteriors of the Frankenstein ancestral chateau are never seen in the '31 film, but it's clearly set squarely in a village of Bavarian style, as evidenced by the Baron's stepping out onto a balcony to greet celebrants in the village street below on the day of Henry's wedding. The interiors are of generic and vaguely European opulence, heavily paneled, carpeted and draperied.

By the '35 film, it has become more remote, reached on horseback or drawn cart over a bridge (presumably spanning a moat?) and through a courtyard. Only these limited exteriors are seen, but it appears distinctly more castle-like, and the now more spacious interiors feature the Gothic design to which you refer, with stone floors, leaded windows and many arches.

By '39, the village, castle and interiors have taken on the stark and spare Expressionism to which lisajohn referred, by way of a fanciful, storybook medievalism in which Hansel and Gretel might not have looked out of place. My reaction to them is quite the opposite of yours: of all the various films' "looks," it's this imaginative one I most prefer. As Wolf's wife Elsa says, "It all seems so unreal," and it does.

In the opening scenes of the '42 film, "Castle" Frankenstein has finally become fully worthy of the designation, complete with turrets, battlements and vine-covered stone walls.

I can guess only that each film was intended to impart its own individual visual style, distinct from the others.


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Odd how that worked. In the 1931 original the baron resides in the village, however given the time frame, which is from a period when barons were still barons, held real power, it makes sense that he would have a village residence. It's convenient, a good place to do business from, as it appears to be the place where the baron conducts his "affairs", so to speak, with the village and the common folk generally.

The change in the 1935 film is likely due to Henry's being ill and bedridden. Events occur shortly after the first film, with the death of the old baron mentioned due more to the death of the actor who played him than necessity. I've always "guessed" that what appears to be the change in residence was in actuality another chunk of Frankenstein family real estate, much larger, more opulent, not for the general public to visit but rather a retreat for family and friends only.

As to the 1939 castle, well, then things get dicey as to how to explain matters: maybe it's the original Frankenstein abode, the one they lived in several centuries back, the one that put them on the map, as it were: a literally Medieval fortress, it was maybe where they had to fight off warring tribes or families that wanted to claim what became their "territory". I can't determine the age of the castle,--and it may have been the second, not the first, built on the foundation of an even more primitive fortress--and an even more literal one, without "amenities" of the one we see in the film.

All is speculation, of course, and based on reasoning that I seriously doubt the Universal people gave much thought to one way or the other. It could be that the 1935 mansion no longer existed on the back lot or had been altered beyond recognition by the time the third film in the series was made. Also, SoF's director Rowland Lee seemed to have ideas of his own as to how to make a Frankenstein picture, very different from those of James Whale. Lee's castle really sets the tone for the entire film.

I love the look and feel of the 1939 film. This is not something that happened overnight. In years past my ranking, such as I rank things, was that the first film in the franchise was the best, the second, second best, the third, very good, but not in the same league as the others, with the rest of the series way below the "lofty" levels of the first three. Now I've grown tired of the disjointed plotting and Camp humor of Bride even as I admire its set pieces, which are some of the best in the series, while Son literally towers above it for its visual qualities, its excellent script, director Lee and screenwriter Wyllis Cooper utilizing linear storytelling technique, which gets the job done well and efficiently. I still find the first film the best, for its Gothic qualities, its seriousness, its air of genuine tragedy, its starkness, however, Son, a totally different sort of film, and not a logical "follow up", and a stand alone classic in its own right.

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I bump into you in the nicest places!

The change in the 1935 film is likely due to Henry's being ill and bedridden. Events occur shortly after the first film, with the death of the old baron mentioned due more to the death of the actor who played him than necessity. I've always "guessed" that what appears to be the change in residence was in actuality another chunk of Frankenstein family real estate, much larger, more opulent, not for the general public to visit but rather a retreat for family and friends only.
Good enough theoretical workarounds, although contradicted somewhat by visuals and events in both films. You'll recall that the '31 film shows Henry recovering in the same home, while the '35 film "rewinds" a bit and picks up the story at the windmill fire. The old Baron is still around, as evidenced by the Burgomaster's instructions: "Ride as fast as you can to the castle and tell the old Baron Frankenstein we are bringing his son home." Henry is soon seen being brought over the bridge and through the courtyard. I really don't recall the old Baron being mentioned again in the course of things, alive or dead.

One wonders how much Frederick Carr's passing brought to bear on the script, as other characters being encored - the Burgomaster, little Maria's father (Ludwig in '31; inexplicably changed to Hans in '35 and with a wife not in evidence before) and, not least, Elizabeth - have been recast. And of course, Victor's apparently taken a hasty powder. A decent enough thing to do under the circumstances, and if I had to guess, anything further having to do with the old Baron was dispensed with simply because he'd complicate the storyline (and would probably have had Pretorious thrown out on his ear even if he'd been played by another actor).

As to the 1939 castle, well, then things get dicey as to how to explain matters: maybe it's the original Frankenstein abode, the one they lived in several centuries back, the one that put them on the map, as it were: a literally Medieval fortress, it was maybe where they had to fight off warring tribes or families that wanted to claim what became their "territory".
Well, I'll tell ya: that could serve as an explanation for what's left of the laboratory tower now being on family property and right across the ravine from that original abode. Although that would contradict the info in the note from Henry that Elizabeth reads in '31: "I am living in an abandoned watchtower close to the town of Goldstadt." Which brings us to...
I seriously doubt the Universal people gave much thought to one way or the other.
...which probably sums it up.

And the inconsistencies kept on comin.' Wolf's brother Ludwig's Visaria home in the '42 film is an English-looking manor house on flat ground at the edge of town (looking inside and out very suspiciously like "Talbot Castle" in The Wolf Man), but in the '43 film has also become castle-like and is now on a steep hillside just below a damn dam, dammit.

And while it's all fun to pick apart, it seems clear nobody busted a hump (what hump?) about those details or much gave a damn, either.


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Yes, and it's good to get away from the heavy weather on some of the other IMDB boards of late. It's rather odd and paradoxical that it would be about an old horror film.

Indeed, Doghouse, re Henry being taken straight to that other residence at the start of Bride. James Whale and the still Laemmle controlled Universal could easily have fix things so as to make for a smoother transition, especially as they literally began to second film where the first one left off, and did a fine job of it at the windmill. All they had to do was a fact check as to where Henry was at the end of the '31 flick but maybe Frederick Kerr's death threw them and they took a WTF attitude. Still, there were double features in 1935 and the suits might have given that a thought but I guess they didn't.

The placement of the watchtower in the Frankenstein series changed, and this has been discussed on other sites I've gone to at unbelievable length  as to how to explain the "moving watchtower". Then there's the matter of the "invisible castle", absent from the first two films, it seemed to have grown or been built between Bride and Son, but then this is the Big U world, not the real world. Mel Brooks, wisely, took his style from the last of the Big Three Frankenstein pix, and he did well by it. That country estate in Ghost looking suspiciously like the Talbot abode does rather throw one off, especially as it's next to the village with the arch so prominently on display in Frankenstein31.

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Inconsistencies and all, I'd have to say that, on balance, I'm grateful that each of the films imparts a style and mood all its own, rather than an assembly line approach evident in film series such as Tarzan, Andy Hardy or Sherlock Holmes, which so quickly became nearly indistinguishable from one another.

Backing up a bit to a comment about Bride in your earlier post, I have to say also that, of the first four (which I isolate from the later "monster rally" sequels), it's the one I revisit least frequently of the group. Although it was the very first one I saw (as part of the "Son Of Shock" package), I was only five, so any recollections were foggy, and I didn't see it again until after Ghost, A&C Meet, Son and the original (in, I believe, that order), and when I finally did see it again as though for the first time, its whimsical tone was just too cute for me, and I've never been able to fully warm to it. It still feels to me like something of an outlier, and for Whale humor, I prefer the drier, more mordant examples of other of his efforts, such as The Invisible Man and The Old Dark House.


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Yes!  Those first four films in the Frankenfranchise do benefit from different main sets, the addition of some, the abandoning of others, as after the first film we never saw the baron's village residence again; nor, to the best of my recollection was there a trip to the mountains, or hills, more properly, where Henry met the monster, and which constitute an emotion unto themselves (they may reappear, or some of them, in Werewolf Of London's early scenes in Tibet, not sure).

The windmill appears once in its entirety, intact, in the first film, and we see what's left of it (not much) in the second. That edge of town castle seen early in Bride never appears again in a film in the franchise, or if it does it was redressed and changed beyond recognition. The watchtower blows at the end of the same film, though at least the lower level survives. Then there's the charming and cozy blind hermit's hut in the same film, cruelly burned down, even as it was an accident.

That Gothic castle where what was left of the watchtower moved over to in Son is a one off, never, so far as I can recall, to be used again in a major Uni horror (do correct me if I'm wrong). Nor, I believe, is the train station revisited in any later films in the series. The issue of where the Frankensteins actually live, their original residence, is confusing, as I don't believe the village was given a name in the first film, nor in the second, that I can remember. By the third I believe the town is actually called Frankenstein,--am I mistaken?--but when Wolf, wife and their son, that's the end of it in the series.

After that we move into is it Visaria or Vasaria territory, a topic hotly discussed on a rival site that I'll leave aside for the time being. One of them,--I believe that it's the first--was where Ludwig lived, and it couldn't have been much more than walking distance from his ancestral village. But then things got a bit surreal in Ghost, didn't they? First off, Karloff's quitting the role of the monster and Lon Chaney, Jr. filling his shoes. Chaney was a bigger, more formidable man than Karloff physically, and quite a bit younger.

Ygor and the monster's entry into this new village where Ludwig resides is in itself an exercise in the surreal, as it's clearly the same village as in the first two films, and I think the third as well, right down to that unmistakable arch that Ygor & Friend pass under early on. So it's sort of like "back to the beginning", but not quite. Closer to "lower budgeted feature". Ghost is the first in the series to not really stand out visually. Talbot manor makes a fine home for Ludwig, complete with underground laboratory, yet it's a too familiar sight, and the film lacks the Germanic vibe of the first three, really feels more British than European. Then there's the business of the former Inspector Krogh morphing into an evil scientist, some dental work to make Ygor sound more normal (a big mistake IMO), the brain switching business. Well, it was a fun series for a few films, and like nearly all series, quality control was not maintained.

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(they may reappear, or some of them, in Werewolf Of London's early scenes in Tibet, not sure).
There were some shots done on soundstage for the Tibet sequence involving Yogami's nighttime attack on Glendon, but the opening scene was done at Southern California's Vasquez Rocks, seen in dozens of films and TV shows but probably best remembered (and most iconically enduring) from the Star Trek episode, "The Arena."

That edge of town castle seen early in Bride never appears again in a film in the franchise, or if it does it was redressed and changed beyond recognition.
It wouldn't surprise me to learn that always-budget-conscious Universal employed that set in another production or two before it was struck, but I doubt it survived much beyond the BOF shoot, as I'm nearly certain that it - like all the sets in that film save one - was constructed on a soundstage. The mill, graveyard, various woods, the hermit cottage exterior and so on were all stagebound. Unless I miss my guess, the only scenes shot on actual exterior sets were those in the village after the monster breaks out of jail, and possibly Henry's arrival at Pretorius' garret.

Then there's the business of the former Inspector Krogh morphing into an evil scientist, some dental work to make Ygor sound more normal (a big mistake IMO)
Agreed. Lugosi's fine TGOF, but it just ain't the same Ygor we got in SOF. He's also better-groomed and attired, having replaced his blacksmith apron with a natty jacket, and he's developed grammar and a vocabulary quite beyond his original me-Tarzan-you-Jane syntax.

Compare from SOF -

"There was great storm. He was standing under tree when lightning strike...I find him and bring him home," or "Eight men say Ygor hang. Now eight men dead. All dead!"

- with this from TGOF:

"You, the great Dr. Bohmer, who taught Frankenstein everything he knows. How would you like to be the leader of your profession in this state? The head of the medical commission? The regent of the university?"

Like the film itself, the '42 model is sleeker and more streamlined than the '39, but a lot of the personality has been engineered out...along with the humor: "He say you tell him monster walk again. He came to see. Monster walk, Benson run, run, run!" and "I scare him to death. I no have to kill him to death!"


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Yes, Lugosi was fine in TGOF, but the larger vocabulary and absence of prosthesis or whatever it was he held in his mouth demystified Ygor to a degree that he lacks the menace of the coarser looking, laconic and often cryptic character we came to know and fear in Son. Still, that aside, Ygor is still up to his dirty tricks in TGOF. Chaney's good but not Karloff, while I've always found the casting of the two doctors peculiar, find it difficult to distinguish Atwill from Hardwicke in some scenes.

The Vasquez rocks are famous and featured in many classic films and TV shows. They're at the Borgo Pass in Dracula, may make a guest appearance in Gunga Din. Aren't they still there? They really ought to be made a national historic landmark for their yeoman service in countless movies over the decades. Bronson Canyon and Griffith Park are two other places like that. The studio back lots are, sadly, mostly gone, or altered beyond recognition. I believe that Disney is one of the few that's keep reasonably intact. Universal does those tours but have been tearing down sound stages left and right over the years.

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I've always found the casting of the two doctors peculiar, find it difficult to distinguish Atwill from Hardwicke in some scenes.
Oh, I haven't: Atwill's the one who's awake.

No, that wasn't very nice, was it? Seeing it for the first time at, I dunno, eight or nine, I wasn't at all familiar with Hardwicke, and his phoned-in performance was all I had to go by until being exposed to his really fine - and more lively - work in films like Stanley and Livingstone, On Borrowed Time and A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur's Court. I probably felt the same about Ralph Bellamy's rigid, straight-arrow characterizations in this and The Wolf Man until seeing things like The Awful Truth, Tradewinds, His Girl Friday or Sunrise At Campobello.

Bellamy would sometimes relate an anecdote or two about how little seriousness with which he and Hardwicke regarded this film in particular and, by contrast, it invokes the willingness of other performers to take an opportunity and run with it. Claude Rains, for example, was in the midst of a long period of roles in truly prestigious productions at other studios, but he brings his usual full measure of gravitas and subtlety to Sir John Talbot, with never a hint of any "playing down" condescension toward the material, imbuing it with his customary sincerity and commitment.

The Vasquez rocks are famous and featured in many classic films and TV shows. They're at the Borgo Pass in Dracula, may make a guest appearance in Gunga Din. Aren't they still there? They really ought to be made a national historic landmark for their yeoman service in countless movies over the decades.
Sure, and they'll outlast us all. They're indeed both a state park and on the National Register Of Historic Places.

Although both Dracula and Frankenstein list it as a filming location, I've satisfied myself that it actually wasn't (while having no proof to offer). The carriage scenes early in Dracula consist more of painted glass shots than live action, and I truly can't spot anything therein that tips the use of those distinctive formations. The Frankenstein listing is specified as a location for Henry's climactic confrontation with the monster, which is obviously incorrect for those clearly soundstage-shot scenes (complete with "stretch marks" on the cloudy sky background, which have become so familiar that I now view them with some affection).


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I can well imagine that Hardwicke and Bellamy didn't take their Uni horror assignments too seriously. Actually, those films look good on their resumes inasmuch as they spreads their names around. They were probably regarded as low rent, pay the bills pictures for these actors at the time but as the years went by they likely helped broaden their appeal somewhat, or recognition anyway.

Yes, Claude Rains is as serious in The Wolf Man as he was in any Bette Davis picture, and, as to mood, more serious than he was in Casablanca. Nor did I get the sense that Warren William felt that he was slumming; or if he did he didn't let it show. His career was in decline but he remained the consummate professional.

I don't recall the Vasquez rocks in Frankenstein31, but maybe. The soundstage mountains with their "stretch marks" in the sky are now, for a veteran viewer, a pleasing and familiar sight when revisiting the film. In addition to that, would that picture be without the howling dogs, their voices echoing off the studios walls? Artifice is a huge part of the charm of those classic movies, regardless of genre.

Those early scenes in Dracula are eerie and difficult to pinpoint as to locale. Things happen so fast in the film, even allowing for its glacial pace, that no sooner does the innkeeper say "nosferatu" than does Dwight Frye enter the coach that will eventually take him to Dracula's castle. I believe the rocks are there when the coach stops. It's where Frye is standing, or that's what it looks to me.

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I probably shouldn't lay too much at the feet of Bellamy and Hardwicke as, according to one of Bellamy's stories, that attitude extended to director Erle Kenton as well. As it goes, Kenton was preparing Ankers for a scene: "Okay, Evelyn, here's the mood I want: the monster's on the loose, you and your father are in danger, the villagers are storming the house and you're fed up!"

Bellamy said he and Harwicke nearly ruined the take with the giggles they were trying to suppress.

I'm pleased you singled out Warren William; I considered doing so myself. After spending a decade playing both heroes and cads with a delicate combination of insouciance and ebullience that seemed to come naturally to him (as in the Lone Wolf series he was doing at the time at Columbia), he underplays in TWM with a studiously casual sobriety that's quite credible for the characterization of a medical man.

Artifice is a huge part of the charm of those classic movies, regardless of genre.
So true! I can scarcely imagine a more spot-on observation. I'm tempted to remark on Whale's occasional practice of tracking his camera past "stage walls" from one room to the next (I guess I just did), as though winking slyly at the audience.

I've just finished reading Greg Mank's book on Lugosi and Karloff, which quotes extensively from contemporaneous reviews of their films, and it's almost startling to read how shocking and horrific they were regarded in their time, in spite of any artifice. I suppose that very aspect encouraged surrender to the moods and atmospheres they so nicely conjured.



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Now that is hilarious . First laugh of the day, and it's still early. Did Erle Kenton really say that to Evelyn Ankers? What a novel way of coaching an actor for a scene. Of course one only has Ralph Bellamy's word for it, but I believe it, and less for my faith in Bellamy the Truth Sayer than because of the way Universal worked; that's the way they got things done.

Poor Warren William, a man not destined to live a long life. He had such a short time at the feast,--like for what--two years? Maybe add another. He was a pre-Code star who didn't make the transition. Family fare just wasn't for him. Try to picture Warren William bouncing Shirley Temple on his knee. Not quite a male Mae West, he suffered, more than Miss West, who was a top star, for similar reasons: as a type he simply went out of fashion.

It's to the actor's credit that he hung in there, in lesser films, some of them quite good, he wisely picked up on the Lone Wolf when Columbia made the offer; and into the 40s he showed considerable flexibility. If a good thing came his way he went for it, whether it was Lillian Russell or The Wolf Man. Had William's health held up and he'd lived at the very least three score and ten he might have enjoyed a comeback as a character actor, maybe lucked out with a TV series.

Thank you for the compliment, btw, Doghouse. The more I watch old movies, even TV shows,--I just finished watching a good Twilight Zone--I'm struck by how much the artificiality of films worked in their favor for so long; for most of the last century, actually. It's only comparatively recently that movies have sped up and become more MTV-like; and now CGI has changed everything. The delivery systems (so to speak) have changed also, as one can have one's own little Bijou or Rialto in one's living room, or, streaming, on one's pc.

Yes, horrors, which look nowadays,--the old ones--like Halloween parties for grownups, caused women to faint in the aisles or run out of the theater screaming in terror! . In some films I can sorta-kinda see it: the 1931 mystery with horror trappings Murder By The Clock is one such that can give you goosebumps. Dracula plays as awfully sedate to me, though Renfield's cackling and ordering of spiders and flies for dinner can get under one's skin. Frankenstein has some real fright moments, especially that first one-two-three shot introduction of the monster, ending in a close-up.

Freaks is less terrifying in the usual sense that a horror film is than deeply unsettling at some unconscious level: it's uncanny, surreal, and as the end nears, oneiric. It plays more like a dream or a nightmare than a movie. Paramount made a few horrors grislier than the Universals, with the none other than Erle Kenton helmed Island Of Lost Souls, which I saw for the second time in its entirety a few months back, and a fine print it was; and some of its scenes are still, shall we say, with me.

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Had to paraphrase Bellamy's story from memory, but those were the broad strokes. He'd add that it became a years-long running gag between he and Hardwicke whenever they encountered one another. One would say, "How are you," and they'd then laughingly bellow in unison, "I'm fed up!"

I guess it's fair to say Production Code enforcement took the edge off the kind of material available to Warren William, but I don't know that I'd characterize that period of his career quite so bleakly. Between the Perry Masons, a couple of Philo Vances, the Lone Wolfs and routine programmers at studios all over town, he worked steadily into the '40s, easing into character roles befitting his maturity, and there were interspersed some quality projects like Imitation Of Life, Cleopatra, Madame X, Arsene Lupin Returns or The Man In the Iron Mask, managing to keep him chugging along fairly well until he approached his untimely passing.

As it happens, we're in the middle of a Lone Wolf that got interrupted only because hubby got sleepy last night, and we may finish it over coffee this morning after he's up.

Returning at least to the film, if not the specific topic, of the host board, it occurs to me that William, with his authoritative bearing, might have made a serviceable Insp Krogh had Atwill not been available, although I can't imagine anyone who could have equaled Atwill's baroque incisiveness, not to mention the inventiveness and precision with which he executed all that wonderful "arm" business.

Bride backers can have its eccentricity and florid, rolling-R extravagance, for all of me (to quote Minnie), but I consider Son the most satisfying thespian buffet of the entire series.




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Warren William was certainly gainfully employed post-1934, it's just that the wind seemed to have gone out of his sails after that. Maybe I exaggerated: these things take a while. In those days the world moved, by today's standards, at a snail's pace. Even going back to the 70s, think of how quickly McLean Stevenson's star fell after he quit MASH. It wasn't overnight, but it was pretty darn quick.

William,--admittedly, a very different case--fell a bit more gracefully. It's not like it was over for him overnight, but his status diminished a bit with each passing year; and indeed, his age was a factor, too. Another factor may well have been the more benign looking and acting Melvvyn Douglas, whose often jovial personality was a better fit for the post-Code Hollywood; and I don't think it's too much of a stretch to call him a "replacement Warren William".

Total agreement on SoF as the best acted film in the Frankenstein series. Would anyone argue? Yes, the earlier pictures featured Dwight Frye more prominently, and in similar roles, but Lugosi's Ygor more than made up for that; and he rose to co-star status, something Frye (inexplicably, to me) was never able to do. Atwill was hard to beat as Krogh, stealing his every scene with Rathbone,--and how many people have done that?--and the smaller parts players, from Edgar Norton to even Ward Bond and Clarence Wilson, weighed in nicely.

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Another factor may well have been the more benign looking and acting Melvyn Douglas, whose often jovial personality was a better fit for the post-Code Hollywood; and I don't think it's too much of a stretch to call him a "replacement Warren William".
An admirably apt observation. Indeed, it was in the aforementioned Arsene Lupin Returns that William played, albeit with his customary charm and joie de vivre, the supporting role of FBI man turned P.I. and Douglas the starring one of the dashing (and now former) jewel thief, teaming up to smoke out whoever was impersonating Lupin (and employing his M.O.). To Catch A Thief, anyone?

Yes, the earlier pictures featured Dwight Frye more prominently, and in similar roles, but Lugosi's Ygor more than made up for that; and he rose to co-star status, something Frye (inexplicably, to me) was never able to do.
According to the Mank book (and I'd heard it elsewhere as well), Lugosi's role called for only one week of work at $500 and Rowland Lee, so incensed at how shabbily Universal was treating the actor, reportedly exploded, "Those goddam sons of bitches, I'll show 'em: I'm gonna keep Lugosi on for every day of the shoot." The picture was apparently rewritten on the fly not only to accommodate beefing up Ygor, but to remedy deficiencies in the script as delivered (including, incredibly, the notion that the Monster wished Peter's brain transplanted into his skull and his intention to perform the surgery himself!!!).



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Thanks, Doghouse. Although Melvyn Douglas was sort of Warren William Lite my sense is that he was hired on by Columbia and Metro as a kind of younger, looser, less formal William Powell, who was a huge star at the time and who left no "successors", so to speak, though from a generational standpoint Douglas was a good fill-in for Powell. In more serious roles he was more down to earth than Powell, however in comedy I think that Powell's light touch was sublime (though Douglas was good, too, there was a "clubman" quality to him that strikes much as a little smarmy at times).

I know that Lugosi story, and apparently the Uni suits, still relatively new to the studio that they had only recently acquired two or three years earlier, wanted to keep the SoF budget down. The ruse, if that's what it was, worked beautifully, as the movie is maybe the most logical of the series, such as the word logic can be applied to a Frankenstein picture. Radio writer Wyllis Cooper was in his way as gifted as John Balderston, and his script for the movie is both witty and at times eloquent, even moving ("one does easily forget, Herr Baron, an arm torn out by its roots...").

Although SoF went over budget and p!ssed off the studio execs they liked the results, as from what I've read it was the most financially successful of the entire Frankenstein series. I cannot vouch for the truth of this, however I read this at another site, a place crawling with journalists, amateur and professional, and the occasional industry insider. This seems unlikely to me but I find it difficult to argue with people who know their onions about grosses. The thing is, the 1931 film was reissued many times, with its most famous reissue I believe from just a year prior to SoF's release, but maybe that's not counted.

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Joe Dante once wrote that in 1939, Warren William thought he was getting what looked to be a great gig with long range potential as he tested for The Hound of the Baskervilles and was told that he had the inside track. There was just one more actor to be tested - guess who?

Still, he did do a Whale film that year and he did start his own sleuth series in The Lone Wolf Spy Hunt which co-starred Ida Lupino who was in the second Rathbone Holmes film.

I watched Kenton's three Frankenstein-series films in the last two weeks as I recently got the BluRay copies of the entire Universal Frankenstein series. I had seen the first three films recently and passed on Franky Meets Wolfie so that I can watch it with my grandson on my next visit. He loves that movie.

It ain't easy being green, or anything else, other than to be me
  

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I think I've heard that about William being up for Sherlock, but I can't see him knocking it out of the ballpark as Rathbone did. At least William got a series, if less iconic than the Holmes one.

It's interesting how Erle Kenton's career evolved. It seems that Island Of Lost Souls won someone over at Universal when they revived the horror cycle several years later. Kenton was a craftsman if nothing else. One can't blame him for what Uni gave him. He wasn't a hack. Jean Yarborough was a hack.

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Kenton at least can claim journeyman status but yes, Yarbrough was a hack. However, in his defense, his Abbott and Costello films are about on a level with the ones that Kenton made. He went on to do 52 episodes of their TV series so the team likely preferred his working methods.

Also, do check out Yarbrough's Shed No Tears (1948) which is on YouTube so you can watch it on your PC. I've got a user comment on the film's page and as you can see, I'm quite positive about this minor gem from Eagle-Lion.

Kenton's unheralded entry would be Party Wire made just before Jean Arthur hit the big time and containing a very sympathetic and benevolent Victor Jory.



It ain't easy being green, or anything else, other than to be me
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telegonus & doghouse

very interesting discussion of actors which is surprising considering the original topic of the thread.

I have a couple of reactions

Cedric Hardwicke--I agree that he was flat in GOF. But he certainly didn't give indifferent performances in all his Universal horror efforts. He was downright terrific in my judgement in The Invisible Man Returns, and the best thing about Invisible Agent. Interestingly, in both of those he played the villain. While Agent was a stereotyped Nazi role, in Returns he did a turn he did perhaps better than anyone--what I would call a repressed villain. His smooth gentlemanly behavior is a screen for what lurks underneath and which he is desperately trying to conceal. This type of role was his forte--think The Hunchback of Notre Dame--as a good man in other movies, he was just sort of dull.

Warren William--his career did start downhill about the time the code was introduced, but I don't think there was a cause and effect. No one had better opportunities in 1933 (Gold Diggers of 1933, Lady for a Day) or 1934 (Imitation of Life, Cleopatra). His career should have been heading into high gear. Age? He was younger than Powell or Colman or Baxter, all of whom were peaking or had their peaks ahead of them. What happened? William was certainly capable, but I think he was just too stagy and affected. It was surprising to me to learn he was from Minnesota. There was nothing about the common man. or Midwesterner, about him. He seemed more suited for classical roles like Julius Caesar or D'Artagnon than for example a western, but even there his performances seem just okay. He never is as striking as Rathbone.

As for Powell or Douglas, they were gifted at comedy. Can't say I have ever seen William be in their class in this type of role. I can't picture him in My Man Godfrey or Ninotchka. Douglas was polished, but still seemed an average guy. William's formal delivery distanced him too much. In a way he learned how to play the stage matinee idol too well. I think he would have done better over the long run if he kept a touch of the cornfield in his accent.

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Thank you, 398 . I wish we could have more discussions like this, on all the message boards: no flaming, good manners, everyone knows what he's talking about so there's no need to show off, etc.

As to Cedric Hardwicke, I've seen him play benign well, though refined villainy seemed to bring out the best of him as an actor. Prior to his coming to Hollywood he played Allan Quartermain in King Solomon's Mines, a quirky bit of casting, to say the least, and while I don't think anyone would claim he shines in the role, personally I like his performance. He was also good in The Ten Commandments as the aged pharaoh. At his best, Hardwicke's line readings were exquisite. He did not, however, have a good "movie face", and he was short and bland looking, lacking in the distinctiveness of an Edmund Gwenn or a Leo G. Carroll. Yet he was knighted, and on stage he was a star. In films he never quite "took".

I agree with every word you wrote about Warren William. What often came across as snarkiness came too naturally to him, even in sympathetic roles. He was the ultimate city slicker. Melvyn Douglas did have that common touch. Odd when you think of the kinds of roles he often played and his dapper, mustached appearance. I think that William came off as more,--how to put this?--wolfish, hungry, greedy, ambitious. He had, in his early years on screen especially, a somewhat raffish quality that Douglas never had. Powell was capable of projecting similarly and yet he possessed vastly more charm than William, and he knew when to stop. Another thing about Warren William: I've read that he drank. A lot. Whether or not he was an alcoholic I can't say but if his drinking in any way interfered with his acting, even just a little, it might have lost him a couple of plum roles.

William was a bit long in the tooth to begin a lengthy starring career when Warners signed him on circa 1931, though he did rise and shine fairly quickly. Luck wasn't on his side long term for if nothing else health reasons. I think of the careers of actors similarly "age challenged" when they began in films: Charles Bickford and Raymond Massey. Neither became a major star, though Bickford had a good run as a diamond in the rough leading man-character star along the lines of George Bancroft for a few years. Massey was in and out of American and British films throughout the 30s, then signed with Warners, where he remained for over a dozen years, mostly in distinguished characters roles, with the occasional villain thrown in for good measure. Like Bickford, Massey did better as he grew older. Neither actor won an Oscar, though both were nominated; and at ages when one might have thought they might have retired, both signed on as regulars on TV series. Luck plays a role in all our lives more than we care to admit, and Bickford and Massey had it, William didn't. With better health, I can imagine a clean and sober Warren William enjoying a late comeback in character parts of the sort Louis Calhern specialized in during his years at MGM.

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telegonus

Cedric Hardwicke--"dull" was a poor choice of words for me. Hardwicke was a superb craftsman as an actor. I think he lacked the "colorful old geezer" personality of someone like Edmund Gwenn or C. Aubrey Smith among the Brits, or Walter Brennan among the Americans. But he was always competent, and as you pointed out, did well in a more or less sympathetic role in The Ten Commandments.

It is an interesting point that William basically began his movie career in 1931 while the three I mentioned, Colman, Powell, and Baxter, were active in the silent era. That might explain the difference. They were forced to learn how to act to the camera. This might well have diffused what otherwise would have been a too stagy technique. William popped up after the coming of sound when Hollywood was looking for stage actors and perhaps no one considered changing him at all. I think his style is stagy. I never heard about the drinking, but if he had that problem, it might explain why his technique evolved less than some of his contemporaries.

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I think that William came off as more,--how to put this?--wolfish, hungry, greedy, ambitious. He had, in his early years on screen especially, a somewhat raffish quality that Douglas never had.
Before I happened to see your remarks here, I read and replied to 398's above, and made a similar observation about what I called William's "dark side," so we must be glomming onto the same thing.

With better health, I can imagine a clean and sober Warren William enjoying a late comeback in character parts of the sort Louis Calhern specialized in during his years at MGM.
That's a lovely thought, and one it's a shame wasn't to be made manifest. I can very readily imagine it.


Poe! You are...avenged!

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Greetings, 398. Nice of you to work your way through all that, and to take the trouble to express interest and add your thoughts. Oh what a tangled thread we weave when first the topic we do leave (and I'm a habitual practitioner of going off on tangents).

I've been considering your remarks on Warren William vis-a-vis the Production Code, and arguments both for and agin' can be made about any effect on his career trajectory. As I pointed out earlier, and as you've affirmed, his opportunities had certainly not immediately dried up, but there's something in the comparisons drawn to players like Powell, Colman, Baxter and Douglas.

One aspect that perhaps sets William apart from them was his, well, for lack of a better term, I'll call it his "dark side," as typified in a film like Skyscraper Souls. In the early years of talkies, I can't recall any of those others dabbling in characterizations not exhibiting at their cores qualities of earnest, do-the-right-thing integrity and honor, or which betrayed anything from caddishness to cold-blooded ruthlessness, as some of William's did. Call it "the George Sanders Effect," if you will: once cornering the "cad" market, roles of that nature seemed to be those in which he was most successful and memorable.

Age? He was younger than Powell or Colman or Baxter, all of whom were peaking or had their peaks ahead of them. What happened?
That's rather surprising, isn't it? Costar Joan Blondell once remarked about him, "He was an old man even when he was a young man." There's something in that, too. Even in more heroic roles like Perry Mason and Michael Lanyard, there was, for all the insouciant vitality at which I hinted earlier, a jaded, been-around-the-block world-weariness to them.

Rathbone's another interesting comparison. His previous onscreen villainy proved no detriment to success and acceptance as a very heroic and dashing Sherlock Holmes (which in turn worked no hardship on his later screen villains). But there's perhaps another difference from William: Basil's baddies were more commonly extravagant in their malevolence than William's anti-heroes.

And as you say, Rathbone was simply a much more striking personality, enabling audiences to like him equally at either end of the good/evil spectrum, and him to breeze easily from Sir Guy to Sherlock or to Richard, Duke Of Gloucester from Wolf von Frankenstein.

And look at that: I at least got us back to the film if not the topic!


Poe! You are...avenged!

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Hi ya Doghouse-6

"Wolf von Frankenstein"

I think we might have different takes on old Wolfie.

My take is in the "Wolf was a villain" thread.

Would be interested in where you think I went wrong.

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I don't know that I'd say you went wrong anywhere.

Reading your remarks, we seem to be in accord as to the extent of Wolf's carelessness, negligence and, insofar as his concealment of his involvement from Krogh, his complicity and culpability, and I can't think of too much else to add to mine in earlier posts on the thread.

One thing of which I wasn't aware when I wrote them was the amount of day-to-day rewriting the script underwent all through production. With a shootable script completed beforehand, there might have been more time to give serious consideration to the moral and legal implications of Wolf's actions, giving it even more dimension, but it seems to have gotten lost in the shuffle (and the rush).

As it was, they were left with the uncomfortable framing of Wolf as sympathetic (arriving as earnest and well-meaning innocent) and ultimately heroic (saving the day at the climax) figure, which glossed over any real thematic exploration of what went between.




Poe! You are...avenged!

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A nice old thread I've bumped into here at a very late time of night, or rather morning. I really don't see Wolf as villainous. He comes under Ygor's spell early on; however, unlike his bro's dealings with Dr. Praetorious Wolf owes nothing to the grizzled old shepherd, with whom he had no prior dealings.

Henry strikes me as more (unintentionally) malevolent in his inability to extricate himself from dangerous (to himself as well as others) experiments and relationships. He had a bond with Praetorioius, while Wolf had no such connection with Ygor, though Ygor had some "goods" on Wolf just because he was a Frankenstein and Ygor knew where some bodies were buried.

For all this analysis of plot, themes and relationships, the pleasures of SoF are as much visual and literary: superb dialogue, less confusion and obfuscation than in earlier Uni horrors, but then this was a different studio from the Laemmle owned one, and the movie reflects this change as much as it reflects on the changes in the fortunes of the Frankenstein family.

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Hi, tel!

Just stumbled upon this "nice old thread" m'self, and I'm reminded what fun it was.

As regards any villainy or malevolence in Henry, Wolf, Ludwig or their footstep-followers Mannering, Neimann and Edelmann, each is seized to some degree by obsession that, from the beginning, was made part of "the Frankenstein mystique."

"My work. Those horrible days and nights. I couldn't think of anything else." - Henry. "I'll not be halted by anything till I'm the complete master of this living, breathing, intelligent creature my father dreamed of creating." - Wolf. "I have replaced an evil brain with a good one...I've restored the good name of Frankenstein." - Ludwig. "I can't destroy Frankenstein's creation. I've got to see it at its full power." - Mannering. And so on.

Still, it's really only Ludwig among the entire group who ultimately acts from beneficially well-intentioned motives, but even he dithers for some time, allowing the creature to live until he settles on his final course of action (whether by visitation by an actual ghost or merely from his own imagination). And yet, there's still a fair measure of ego involved.



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I was thinking the same thing.

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