Review #898: 'The Raven' (1935)

After the phenomenal success of 1931's Dracula and Frankenstein, the names of Hungarian Bela Lugosi and Englishman Boris Karloff adorned nearly every poster Universal released in their horror range for the few years that followed. Despite Lugosi playing the central figure in many of these films, he always found his name overshadowed by that of Karloff, who was enjoying roles outside of the horror genre while Lugosi found himself typecast to his utter dismay. 1935's miniature The Raven (it runs at just an hour and 1 minute) is a prime example of this, despite Lugosi appearing in nearly every scene and delivering one of his best performances as a raving-mad doctor.

When Jean Thatcher (Irene Ware) is seriously injured in a car crash, her father Judge (Samuel S. Hinds) and fiancé Jerry Halden (Lester Matthews) call upon the services of highly-skilled surgeon Dr. Richard Vollin (Lugosi). Vollin successfully nurses Jean back to health and becomes enamoured by her, though his advances are discouraged by her father. Vollin is approached by fugitive criminal Bateman (Karloff), who wants the doctor to perform plastic surgery on him to hide his identity. Still enraged at Judge for denying him the woman he loves, Vollin disfigures Bateman and promises to fix his face, but only if he assists in a plan to exact vengeance using various torture devices inspired by the works of Edgar Allen Poe.

Like Roger Corman's 1963 film of the same name, The Raven bears little resemblance to the work of Poe. Lugosi's deranged doctor is a fan of his work, pondering whether Poe's work was a reflection of the man himself, and keeps the bust of a raven as his talisman. Lew Landers' The Raven instead is a rather suggestively grisly horror, with characters being trapped in famous Poe devices such as the shrinking room and the pendulum, and was so extreme for its day that it flopped at the box-office and led to a ban on horror in the UK. By today's standards, it's wonderfully daft and incredibly fun, never feeling rushed despite it's slim running time. Outside of Dracula, this may also be Lugosi's best performances, although it came just before Universal's change of management and the start of Lugosi's tragic mainstream career decline.


Directed by: Lew Landers
Starring: Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, Lester Matthews, Irene Ware, Samuel S. Hinds
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #572: 'Bordertown' (1935)

Former crook Juan 'Johnny' Ramirez (Paul Muni) manages to work himself out of his Hispanic slum and become a lawyer. Encouraged by his mother, he sets up his own office and faces his first court case after wealthy socialite Dale Elwell (Margaret Lindsay) crashes her car into the cart of one of Johnny's poor neighbourhood friends. Crushed and embarrassed by Dale's white, costly lawyer Brooke Manville (Gavin Gordon), Johnny attacks him, getting himself disbarred. Vowing to make something of himself in the world, Johnny hitches a ride over the Mexican border, becoming a bouncer and advisor for club owner Charles Roark (Eugene Pallette), eventually earning himself a partnership through his wits and business know-how. But Roarke's bored wife Marie (Bette Davis) has other ideas and sets her sights on running her own club, and seducing Johnny to her cause.

This Warner Brothers vehicle for star Paul Muni uses racial stereotypes - of which would be highly condemned nowadays - to portray a damning indictment of the American system and the idea of 'The American Dream'. When Muni is humiliated in court by Manville, he resorts to his fists, something that ethnic minorities back in 1935 no doubt had to do to survive in their slums. It is common knowledge that America, self-declared land of the free, has a brutal history of racial oppression, and Bordertown is impressive in its bravery to tackle a subject when the Hollywood system itself was guilty of neglecting black or ethnic actors. It also dawns on Johnny that America is ultimately ruled by money, and if you rely on honesty and simply doing the right thing, you'll ultimately left licking the shoes of the rich man.

Yet for all it's promise, Bordertown is ultimately rather dull. Muni, one of the finest actors of his generation (and an actor now unfairly left in the shadows of the likes of Cagney and Bogart), is thoroughly unconvincing as Johnny, wildly over-acting and never looking comfortable in make-up and with a dodgy accent (Muni was Jewish). Davis, however, is a revelation in what is perhaps a smaller role than the poster and billing would suggest, puffing smoke through her nostrils like a dragon in one of her early scenes, embodying the icon she would later become. But Bordertown tends to shuffle along aimlessly, passing over a late plot development and fizzling out into nothing, arriving far too late in the day for me to really care.


Directed by: Archie Mayo
Starring: Paul Muni, Bette Davis, Margaret Lindsay, Eugene Pallette
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #337: 'Crime and Punishment' (1935)

Classic Russian literature is a wealth of psychological intentions, brimming with historical depravity and conversely elegance. Poverty and degradation was rife during the 18th and 19th centuries. This depth of psychological characterisation can most certainly be found in one of Russia's greatest writers, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and particularly in (in my opinion) his greatest work, Crime and Punishment which was published in instalments in 1866. (This publication is also one of my favourite books of all time).

The book (and of course this 1935 film) follows Raskolnikov (Peter Lorre), a lauded graduate of criminology, who is witness to the depravity and selfishness of the culture around him. After seeing a young woman, Sonya (Marion Marsh), being ripped off by an old female pawnbroker (Mrs Patrick Campbell), he sees it as his duty to remedy the problem by murdering her. With his credentials as a master criminologist, Raskolikov believes he can commit the perfect crime. Unfortunately his actions do not go as he had planned, and the time spent after the murder he is overcome with paranoia.

It seems appropriate that this film was produced in the 1930's, during the Great Depression. The poverty and hypocrisy redolent in that decade were found in the Russia of the novel. Peter Lorre plays a fantastically paranoiac, and sweaty character, his facial contortions perfect instruments of doubt, scared awkwardness, and justified anguish. Raskolikov's path leads him to the chief of police, Porfiry (Edward Arnold), and his guilt begins to unravel.

This film was an incredibly low-budget affair, which hampers the director, Josef von Sternberg's, usual visual flares (in films such as The Blue Angel (1930) and Shanghai Express (1932)). This film was produced under Columbia Pictures, as Sternberg's previous employers, Paramount, had ended his contract with them. However, whilst it is technically flawed, and is largely unimaginative in the art department, it is still a beautiful film to watch. Certainly not the greatest adaptation of Dostoevsky, it does carry a great performance from Lorre, and packs in some of the psychological tension produced from the narrative.


Directed by: Josef Von Sternberg
Starring: Peter Lorre, Edward Arnold, Marian Marsh
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Marc Ivamy

Review #108: ''G' Men' (1935)

Lawyer Brick Davis (James Cagney) is a fresh-out-of-school law graduate with no clients. When his old friend Eddie Buchanan (Regis Toomey) stops in town, he approaches Davis to become a 'G Man' - a member of a newly formed federal force that uses brains combined with brawn to make the perfect law enforcement. Davis isn't interested, but when Buchanan is shot dead by a gang of organised thugs, he joins up instantly, and begins to distance himself from his criminal clients. Upon arrival at the FBI recruitment centre, he knocks heads with his newly-appointed mentor Jeff McCord (Robert Armstrong) who dislikes the amount of law graduates they are getting. When the gang that Davis left behind start to cause mayhem on a federal scale, Davis uses his knowledge and experience to bring the gang to justice.

With all the Pre-Code mayhem that was taking over the cinemas back in the 1930's, people began worrying about the flattering, anti-hero portrayals that the criminal underworld were getting. Films such as the 1932 version of Scarface (1932), and The Public Enemy (1931 - also starring Cagney) both showed them in a flattering light, so G-Men wanted to make the law cool again. Cagney's Brick Davis is very much like the villains portrayed in these films - he's ambitious, tough, intelligent - but he's also moral. The criminals, however, are portrayed as pure scum, and (in a quite shocking scene) capable of killing women without thinking twice. More of an FBI propaganda film than a film noir or a crime film, but it's easily watchable. Yet apart from a couple of bloody good shootouts and the odd surprise, the film never really grips and it does lack the usual bite from Cagney.


Directed by: William Keighley
Starring: James Cagney, Margaret Lindsay, Ann Dvorak, Robert Armstrong
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie