THE BODY SNATCHER: Blu-ray (RKO, 1945) Shout!/Scream Factory
In the early
1940’s, RKO Studios took a gallant leap of faith to make the sort of ‘prestige’
pictures that could rival anything A-list Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer turned out en
masse. Unfortunately – or fortunately, depending on one’s point of view – their
investment was in Orson Welles. With the early withdrawal of Citizen Kane (1941) from theatrical
release, to appease William Randolph Hearst, and, the absolute commercial implosion
of Welles’ follow-up, The Magnificent
Ambersons (1942), RKO quickly realized it could not sustain this model in
healthy competition. Worse, war-time rationing, the end of the company’s
lucrative Astaire/Rogers’ musical franchise, and a shake-up in management, all
conspired to downscale the studio’s output considerably. In the middle of this
crisis, the newly installed management made an even more daring and unorthodox
decision: to woo 38-year-old Val Lewton, a lowly story editor with the Selznick
Co., to their stables with the promise of his own indie unit, affording Lewton
a certain amount of autonomy. In hindsight, this would prove one of the
greatest bind faith gestures in Hollywood lore. For Lewton, who began his
career as a minor author, working for Metro’s New York publicity department,
before migrating over to Selznick, where he famously derided Gone with the Wind as “a ponderous piece of trash”, was now
raring to go.
The RKO contract
came with several codicils: first, Lewton, to be paid no more than $250 per
week (equivalent to approximately $4,052.15 today). Second, a fairly stringent budget on which to
make his bones – barely $150,000 per picture (or $2,431,287.10 today). Finally,
no movie to go beyond 75 minutes; an ideal run time to maximize daily
screenings – and hopefully, profits. To all this, Lewton agreed. However, he
was less enthusiastic with the studio’s decision to basically give him a title
on which he was then expected to craft a plot. And who could really blame
Lewton? The studio’s offerings, Cat
People, and, I Walked with A Zombie,
seemed to portend of some very low expectations; C-grade schlock to fill seats
at the matinee. Ah, but RKO did not anticipate Lewton’s verve for turning
vinegar into wine. And thus, the Lewton ‘horror’ cycle, starting with Cat People, was born: psychologically
complex – thanks to Lewton’s own fascination with psychoanalysis, slightly romanticized,
and, superbly scripted, featuring minor players and rising stars (not yet
classified as such), and some, already considered Hollywood has-beens. Lewton
was given his run of the RKO back lot and borrowed heavily on its illustrious
past in free-standing sets to add visual cache to his masterpieces. He also had
a knack for instinctually knowing how to cast his directorial talent; his two
greatest finds from this period, Jacques Tourneur and Robert Wise.
Wise’s
involvement on The Body Snatcher (1945)
was not a foregone conclusion, despite having already proven himself a skilled
editor, and furthermore, adept at performing edits and re-takes on Welles’ Ambersons
(some argue, to the picture’s ever-lasting detriment), Wise also illustrated, he
could be trusted to implicitly follow studio edicts without fail or temperament
– something of a ‘yes’ man in good standing with the front offices. But the
picture almost did not get assigned to Wise. The
Body Snatcher is very loosely based on Robert Lewis Stevenson’s short story;
Lewton, writing under the pseudonym Carlos Keith, co-authoring with Philip
MacDonald. While Stevenson’s story hinged on the fantastic, Lewton’s
reincarnation became more a cautionary tale, morality-based, and emotionally intriguing,
as it illustrated the gradual debasement of a basically good man, led to
self-destruction by his own ambition. Discarding Stevenson’s epilogue, the
filmic Body Snatcher begins, though never returns, to the profound
realizations of one Donald Fettes (Russell Wade), who aspires to be a great
physician like his idol, Dr. Wolfe 'Toddy' MacFarlane (Henry Daniell). MacFarlane’s
aim for medical exceptionalism comes at a high price; namely, his unholy
alliance with the disreputable, cab man, John Gray (Boris Karloff), who has been
procuring ‘subjects’ for MacFarlane by digging up fresh cadavers at the
graveyard. When newly deceased bodies become unavailable, Gray resorts to
murder to keep MacFarlane in corpses.
The Body Snatcher was a blessing for Boris Karloff; billed
as ‘the magnificent’ by Universal,
and forever immortalized as the Frankenstein monster – and later, the mummy.
But by mid-decade, Karloff’s reputation had distinctly cooled. Indeed, he was
thought of as only an oddity, not an actor. Although he possessed one of the
truly striking visages of the century, distinctly angular and obviously not suitable
for leading man parts, Karloff was equally passed over for any character parts
outside of playing ghastly ghouls. And although Karloff here is playing a very
evil man, he is nevertheless, fallibly human, distinctly flawed and of the ‘then’
current century. All told, Karloff would make three Lewton classics (Isle of the Dead, also in 1945, and, Bedlam, in 1946, being the other two).
For decades thereafter, Karloff would fondly consider The Body Snatcher his finest of this trilogy. And Lewton, perhaps
more than any other producer, admired Karloff ‘the actor’, afforded plum parts relying less on grotesque make-up
applications to amplify his physical starkness. In Stevenson’s novel, the
character of John Gray is practically incidental to the plot, featured only in one
brief exposition as ‘one’ of the many corpses fit for the good doctor’s
dissection. Lewton’s rewrite, of course, makes Karloff’s brooding and sinister
cab man the heavy. Yet, despite this, and other alterations to the original
text, Lewton and Wise immeasurably succeed in making Karloff’s killer all too
empathetic, sad and tragic. The producer/director also capture the historical
authenticity of Stevenson’s vintage Victoriana; a haunted dreariness in Robert
De Grasse’s noir-ish cinematography, celebrating the sets built for The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1939, with
a few inserts of the real Edinburgh to kick start our journey). Incidentally, the main set, Dr. MacFarlane’s stately
manor, is a hold-over from Jacques Tourneur’s classic clunker, Experiment Perilous (1944).
The Body Snatcher is set in 1831, one year after real-life
body snatcher, William Burke has been hanged on testimony from his accomplice,
William Hare in exchange for immunity from prosecution. Rather uncannily, in
another part of town we find the optimist, Donald Fettes, a vicar’s son, eager
to become an assistant to Dr. MacFarlane. Fictitiously, the renowned anatomist
and lecturer is referenced as being the one-time assistant to Dr. Knox – for whom
the real-life Burke had resorted to a series of murders, merely to supply his
benefactor with fresh corpses for dissection. Presumably in the name of science, Fettes is
assigned by MacFarlane to pay the cabman, John Gray for a body to continue
their important work, studying human physiology. This practice is distasteful to both men,
particularly since Gray is not trustworthy, acquiring ‘subjects’ by whatever
means necessary, simply to fatten his own wallet.
The Body Snatcher opens with a medical crisis: Mrs.
Marsh (Rita Corday) seeking a cure for her paraplegic daughter, Georgina
(Sharyn Moffett). MacFarlane believes a risky surgery will allow the girl to
walk again, but emphatically refuses to perform the operation due to his commitments
at the university. Meanwhile, MacFarlane’s protégé, Donald Fettes informs him
he cannot continue his studies. He has no money. In reply, MacFarlane offers
Fettes apprenticeship as his lab assistant. Fettes is ecstatic. However,
sometime later, MacFarlane and Fettes are threatened by Gray, who promises to
reveal MacFarlane's ‘dark secret’ if he refuses to operate on Georgina. Fettes
makes his reluctant pilgrimage to Gray’s home to asks him to procure another ‘specimen’
for their dissection, as more ‘research’ is needed for Georgina’s operation. On
his way, Fettes passes a blind street singer (Donna Lee) and offers her a coin;
startled, disgusted, and inadvertently implicated, when he later discovers Gray
has delivered the body of the same angelic singer to their laboratory – after
having applied his grisly handiwork beyond the fresh exhumations at the
graveyard.
Fettes accuses
Gray of murder; their conversation, overheard by MacFarlane’s other assistant,
Joseph (Bela Lugosi). MacFarlane mildly
threatens Fettes. After all, in the eyes of the law, he could easily be
considered Gray’s accomplice. MacFarlane now operates on Georgina. And although
the girl recovers quickly, she is still unable to walk. Disheartened, MacFarlane goes to the inn to
console himself. Alas, Gray appears, taunting MacFarlane with exposure of his
dirty secret yet again. Joseph attempts to blackmail Gray. But he pays with his
life for this miscalculation as Gray now returns Joseph’s body to MacFarlane as
‘a gift’. MacFarlane’s housekeeper, Meg Camden (Edith Atwater) informs Fettes how
Gray admitted to graverobbing, using Burke and Hare as his cover. However, the real
perpetrator has always been MacFarlane. Presumably, having had a change of
heart, or perhaps, merely fearful of reprisals for his part in these crimes,
MacFarlane offers Gray an ample bribe to simply disappear. While the sum is
ample, Gray not only refuses to accept it, but cruelly insists MacFarlane will
never be rid of him.
Driven into a
blind rage, MacFarlane bludgeons his nemesis to death. In the meantime, Fettes,
unaware of MacFarlane’s latest crime, meets with Mrs. Marsh and Georgina. Stirred
by the sound of horses nearby, Georgina wobbles to her feet to see them. Both
startled and elated by this revelation, Fettes hurries to inform MacFarlane of
the good news. Regrettably, Meg insists MacFarlane has already gone to sell
Gray's horse and carriage. Fettes finds a rather morose MacFarlane at the inn,
unable to reach him as he tells Fettes they must rob a freshly dug grave
together tonight. Seeing no alternative, Fettes aids in this latest exhumation,
despite a hellish storm. Loading the body into Gray’s carriage, Fettes and MacFarlane
drive on. Only now, MacFarlane is haunted by Gray’s voice ringing in his ears. Nervously,
he demands Fettes stop the carriage so he may inspect the body they have just
dug up. But when MacFarlane peals back the burial shroud he is terrorized by
the sight of Gray’s lifeless body staring back at him. Forcing Fettes into the
storm, the horses, suddenly spooked, the carriage takes off down the road with
MacFarlane desperately trying to regain the bridles, impeded by Gray’s limp and
heavy remains knocking into him as the carriage is jostled over rough terrain. The
cab breaks loose and topples into a steep ravine, killing MacFarlane. As Fettes
makes his way down to the wreckage, he finds MacFarlane’s body lying next to a
cadaver – not Gray, but an unknown woman. Our story concludes with a quote from
Hippocrates, “It is through error that
man tries and rises. It is through tragedy he learns. All the roads of learning
begin in darkness and go out into the light”, Lewton, adding stature to all
that has gone before this penultimate tragedy.
The Body Snatcher is a potent and very macabre
thriller. We are given a treatise on morality in science; the complex struggle
of MacFarlane’s conscience pitted against self-serving vanity and ego – the
contradictions of a basically ‘good’
man, brought down by his own ability to ‘look
the other way’ while Gray scrounges about with dirty fingernails through
the freshly laid earth, or worse, to procure even more bodies for study.
Applying a time-honored principle in the picture-making biz, the character of Donald
Fettes is humanized – made over as ‘the hero’. Although Lewton and Wise have
otherwise retained the bleakness in Stevenson’s prose, they have made Fettes unusually
amiable by contrast – the one figure spared his tortured sanity and to escape relatively
unscathed. Yet even then, Lewton draws a queer parallel between Fettes and Gray
– each benevolent in their own way toward the paralyzed Georgina Marsh (a
creation of the MacDonald/Lewton screenplay with no counterpart in Stevenson’s
novel). Another similarity between Gray and MacFarlane; Gray’s medical future, revoked
for taking the fall for MacFarlane’s crimes.
In the movie,
Meg Camden (a character with no counterpart in the novel) is secretly revealed
to be MacFarlane’s wife as well as his housekeeper. Yet she sides, not with her
husband, but Fettes, who is offered a reprieve from all this moral turpitude. Nor, in the book, does MacFarlane pay the
ultimate sacrifice for his wicked crimes against humanity. In fact, Stevenson, concludes
the story with an aged MacFarlane, briefly returning to Scotland. Arguably, the
best scene in The Body Snatcher remains
the gruesome murder of the street singer; Robert Wise, holding his camera in
long-shot on the blind girl, blissfully obtuse to her imminent demise as she
proceeds – singing – through a large stone archway, softly pursued by Gray’s
carriage. Both disappear into the murky fog just out of camera range; the slow
clip-clop of horses’ hooves momentarily paused and then, the singer’s song
suddenly snuffed. It is a potent, understated, though no less blood-curdling
scene. But the biggest shocker comes at the end; Karloff’s half-naked corpse,
painted in a reflecting make-up to add luster to its grotesque display each
time the sky is ripped open by lightning; Karloff, loosely knocking against
Daniell’s terrorized and rain-soaked MacFarlane. Between these two scenes, Lewton, Wise, and,
the cast, fatten Stevenson’s tale with subplot rather than subtext – much of it
unnecessary. The scenes of burgeoning courtship between Mrs. Marsh and Fettes
are deftly played with great sincerity by Russell Wade and Rita Corday. But
these interludes stall, instead of delaying our suspense. And Karloff, though menacing,
lacks subtlety. At times, his John Gray
is so overwrought it becomes increasing difficult to imagine Gray as ever
having possessed the same high ideals and ambitions as either MacFarlane or
Fettes; qualities, Fettes is spared at the end – sadder, but wiser for having
known these two medical monsters.
Until recently, The Body Snatcher has always arrived on
home video via scans derived from film stock many generations removed from the
original camera negative. Working closely in conjunction with Warner Home Video
(the custodians of Lewton’s RKO horror catalog), for the first time anywhere,
the original camera negative has been utilized as the source of a major 4K restoration.
The results are nothing less than astounding. What was once a murky, dull and
unrefined image, bursts forth herein with remarkable clarity, subtly nuanced
textures and a gray scale that is reference-quality. For those never having
experienced the movie before, I feel a sense of envy, as Shout! Factory’s new-to-Blu
represents Lewton’s masterpiece as never before. A lot of love and care has
been applied to produce an image that will surely never disappoint. And for
those who only know The Body Snatcher
from all the aforementioned incarnations on home video, prepare to be dazzled. Image resolution will blow you away, and film
grain is utterly gorgeous. The audio remains DTS mono and is quite adequately
represented. Better still, Shout! has sprung for a new featurette: You’ll Never Get Rid of Me: Resurrecting ‘The Body Snatcher’. Ported over
from the previous DVD are Robert Wise/Steve Haberman’s audio commentary, as
well as the full-length documentary: Shadows In The Dark: The Val Lewton Legacy.
Bottom line: as a devout Val Lewton fan, you simply must own this disc. Now,
can we have Warner and Shout! conspire on a new image harvest of Lewton’s I Walked with a Zombie (1943)
and The 7th Victim
(1943). Pretty please. I’m aging rapidly.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
4
VIDEO/AUDIO
5+
EXTRAS
5
Comments