THE STRANGE DOOR: Blu-ray (Universal-International, 1951) Kino Lorber

The preeminent reasons to see director, Joseph Pevney’s The Strange Door (1951) are a bone-chillingly and ghoulish feat of acting by Charles Laughton, Boris Karloff’s heroic/tragic bit part as an ever-devoted servant, and, Richard Stapley (a.k.a. Richard Wyler) – an actor, most today have probably never even heard of, but who not only cuts a dashing figure as the romantic rogue herein, but enjoyed significant triumphs as a writer and actor on both sides of the Atlantic – and, managed to do it all under two names! Add to this, a superb adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s lurid tale, re-scripted by Jerry Sackheim, and, superlative production design from Bernard Herzbrun, Nathan Juran, and, Eric Orbom, and The Strange Door emerges as a grandly amusing noir/thriller/Gothic horror movie with lavishly appointed accoutrements; Irving Glassberg’s gorgeous cinematography, showing off all of Universal-International’s formidable trappings to their very best advantage. To discover Charles Laughton chewing up the scenery, with a devilish glint in his squint, and malice in his manner, is no great surprise. Laughton, who possessed a pork-like visage with all the male beauty afforded a tub of mud, and perhaps, an innate bitterness for not having been born of the more robust masculine ilk, nevertheless, made the absolute most of his limited physical appeal with monumental acting talent, becoming one of the most celebrated English character actors to make the successful leap across the Atlantic into America movies. And Laughton, herein playing to sheer madness of the supremely diabolical stripe as Sire Alain de Maletroit, is wonderfully menacing; a perverted puppet master, hell-bent on derailing his niece, Blanche’s (Sally Forrest) happiness, simply because her late mother preferred his statelier brother, Edmond (Paul Cavanagh) to him in their youth.

It is perhaps a little disappointing that Boris Karloff – once billed by Universal as ‘the magnificent’ – is a little something less than in The Strange Door; second-billed (under Laughton) but given the rather thankless part of Voltan, a loyal subject in this wicked household. Karloff only sporadically turns up in the plot, but proves the valiant lynch pin in the third act when all hope appears to be lost. And Karloff in a minor role is far more impressive than most actors in a major one.  In The Strange Door, he is afforded the opportunity to play against type and our expectations of him. He is the good guy…well, sort of – and much more so than Richard Stapley’s Denis de Beaulieu, who begins our tale as the carousing/womanizing rake in full progress, falsely accused of murder, imprisoned in Alain’s castle, and forced into a marriage, presumably, of inconvenience that turns out to be anything but. What spares Denis from becoming a disreputable sort we instantly dislike, is Stapley’s chiseled good looks. While most actors attired in flouncy pirate shirts, their hair swept back into a modest pony tail, would absolutely disappear beneath the costuming or simply become effete, Stapley exudes a sort of rugged masculinity despite the clothes.  

And herein, we pause momentarily to pay homage to the nearly forgotten Stapley – a full-blood descendant of Sir Richard Stapley, prominent in antiquity for ratifying King Charles I’s death warrant. Stapley made his acting debut at fifteen, thereafter playing juvenile leads until he was spotted by Sir Laurence Olivier. His stage prospects might have taken off, except WWII intervened. So, Shapley became a flyer. After the war, he wrote his first novel and set sail for America with letter of reference from John Gielgud and Cathleen Nesbitt to the legendary Broadway stars, Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne. Under Lunt and Fontanne’s patronage, Stapley’s states-side aspirations blossomed. He bounded from noteworthy stagecraft into an MGM contract, appearing in minor roles in their most recent adaptations of The Three Musketeers (1948) and Little Women (1949). The Strange Door catches Shapley at a crossroads in his profession. By far, it presents him as an emerging presence - the romantic lead – something Metro’s offerings never aimed to do. And, in hindsight at least, it paved the way for opportunities to become a much admired ‘action’ star, in movies like Fox’s King of Khyber Rifles (1953), and, Columbia’s Charge of the Lancers (1954). There is so much more to Shapley’s legacy; too much, in fact, in indulge in this review at any length: numerable guest spots on various TV shows, a triumphant return to the stage, many more movie appearances, a spate of popular TV commercials, and, even his own highly-praised, though regrettably short-lived TV show, The Man from Interpol (played under his stage name, Richard Wyler).  Shapley was a hell of a renaissance man; a writer of several short stories, as many novels (one, optioned for pictures) and an actor who could hold his own opposite Hollywood’s heavy hitters. Somewhere in between, he also found time to collaborate on a score for a failed musical adaptation of Sunset Blvd. and race motorbikes professionally with then reigning champions, Mike Hailwood, Phil Read, Jim Redman and Luigi Tavieri.

The Strange Door begins with a sinister plot afoot. French aristocrat, Sire Alain de Maletroit arrives at a tavern on the counsel of his three henchmen, Corbeau (William Cottrell), Renville (Morgan Farley) and Talon (Michael Pate) who have prescreened Denis de Beaulieu for a terrific fate. Denis, slightly inebriated, is wenching his way through a series of reluctant bar maids when Alain orders his men to stage a fight. During this outbreak, Denis is led to believe he has murdered Corbeau with a pistol, fleeing the scene and pursued on horseback by torch-bearing citizens, out for his arrest. Finding – or perhaps, led to – the front door of de Maletroit’s castle, Denis quickly realizes he has been taken prisoner. Alain has plans for this young rapscallion. He will wed his ‘orphaned’ niece, Blanche or face the gallows alone. Bitterly reluctant to consent to de Maletroit’s offer, Denis soon realizes he has no choice. Ensconced in an upstairs bedroom, Denis is afforded stylish new clothes, a comfortable room and all the adjacent luxuries a son-in-law might expect. But something is remiss. By candlelight, Blanche sneaks into Denis’ room to forewarn him he must find a way to escape before it is too late. Alain is up to something terrible. But what?

Also, the house is haunted by echoes of terrible screams, silenced in the dungeon beneath. Here, we are introduced to Alain’s brother, Edmond (Paul Cavanagh), imprisoned twenty long years for having stolen the affections of Alain's childhood sweetheart, who died in childbirth. The daughter, Blanche, is unknowing of her father’s torture. Indeed, she has believed Alain’s claim she is an orphan. Meanwhile, spying on these developments, the servant, Voltan – who is ever-devoted, though powerless to prevent Edmund’s incarceration – nevertheless, provides him with food stolen from Alain’s dinner table, and also, fosters sincere hope that someday Edmund will be set free. Knowing Alain much too well, Edmond has faked his own psychosis, merely to stay alive as a figure of aberrant amusement for his mentally deranged brother. Outwardly, Alain is merely malicious. Inwardly, however, he is most assuredly mad and emphatically determined to ruin Blanche. It now becomes clear Alain hopes to deflower the innocent by betrothing her to a wicked debaucher who will ravage her sexually and thereupon wreck her reputation among ‘good’ society. Alas, Alain has underestimated Blanche’s fidelity and Denis’ nobility. Despite his outward appearance as a drunken cad, Denis possesses a noble soul and is sympathetic to Blanche’s plight. Secretly, the two conspire to secure his escape from the castle.   

To derive pleasure from pain, Alain retreats to the dungeon to inform Edmond of his daughter’s pending marriage to this disgraceful ne'er-do-well. After his departure, Edmond asks Voltan to murder Denis before the wedding can take place. However, as Denis has illustrated unanticipated redemptive qualities, he and Blanche have already begun to fall in love. Thus, when Voltan arrives with dagger in hand, Blanche instead pleads for him to help Denis escape. Regrettably, their skulk through the guard’s quarters is foiled. Denis is taken by force back to his room and Alain proceeds to stage a lavish wedding for the couple. At the ceremony, Denis is reunited with Count Grassin (Alan Napier). Denis quietly explains the danger he is in and Grassin promises to send his carriage to collect him and Blanche after nightfall. Feigning drunkenness once the last guest has departed, Denis is carried up to the bridal chamber by Talon and Corbeau. However, once Alain’s henchmen have gone, Denis reveals to his new bride he is as sober as a judge. With all speed, the two prepare, with Voltan’s aid, to make their way to Grassin’s waiting carriage. At first, all seems to go according to plan. The carriage pulls away from Alain’s castle. Alas, too late, Denis discovers Grassin has been murdered by Talon. Now, trapped and taken to a nearby graveyard, Denis and Blanche are recaptured by Corbeau and Renville. Talon shoots and wounds Voltan, who collapses near a tombstone.

The unhappy newlyweds are taken by force back to Alain’s castle, escorted into its dimly lit dungeon where Blanche finally meets her father for the first time. Imprisoning all three in the same cell, Alain activates the castle’s waterwheel, a diabolical contraption drawing the heavy cement walls of the cell closer together until, presumably, they will crush Denis, Edmond and Blanche to death. Departing with a sense of supreme satisfaction, Alain is unaware Voltan has managed to return to the castle. Despite his weakened condition, Voltan subdues, then kills Talon, Corbeau and Renville. He struggles with Alain, who stabs him in the back, but managing to tear loose the key to the cell from the chain around Alain’s neck, before tossing his former master into the icy waters just below the waterwheel. Alain’s body momentarily jams the gears and prevents the walls from closing in any further. In his weakened state, Voltan struggles to remain conscious as he lumbers through the labyrinth en route to the cell. With the last few breathes left in his body, Voltan passes the key to Denis who unlocks the cell door moments before Alain’s body dislodges from the gears and the walls permanently close in. At daybreak Edmond, rightfully restored as master of the house, begins to renew the castle with the aid of his servants. He informs Denis he may choose for himself his future; either to remain with Blanche or depart abroad. Having truly fallen in love with his wife, Denis declares his heart shall remain where, arguably, it has always been. With gratitude, Edmond nods his approval and closes the ‘strange’ door that first led this scallywag to his unlikely destiny.

The Strange Door is a conventional, but exceptionally atmospheric melodrama, immensely aided by some wonderful performances and fantastic production values that elevate its charm.  Charles Laughton is at the top of his game here; joyously, to exude a deviant, if self-gratifying dread as he schemes to dismantle the rightful dynasty of this ancestral home. And Laughton, who could play anything any way, is reigning in his theatricality. Inadvertently, this makes Alain’s madness all the more terrifying. Particularly, in the penultimate sequence, where Alain struggles with contemplative fear and self-loathing, haunted by the physical similarities between Blanche and the woman whom he obsessively loved but was never his to possess, Laughton’s demented aristocrat runs the gamut in wild-eyed and paralytic insanity. Richard Shapley’s dashing Denis de Beaulieu is the perfect counterpoint to Laughton’s addictively watchable grandstander. In physical contents alone, as well as acting style, these two are polar opposites, a nice contrast to augment and show off each characters’ personality conflict. Depending on one’s point of view, Boris Karloff is either wasted or delivers a credible turn as the slightly askew servant who would as easily murder as save a life, simply from blind devotion. Whew! Glad he is on the right side! Were his Voltan aligned with Laughton’s Alain, there would be no stopping either’s psychological derailment. Sally Forrest is a token offering; comely, but forgettable and given precious little to do. The rest of the cast all play their parts with considerable ease. The Strange Door is not as well-known, or even as well-regarded as other horror classics in the Universal canon. But it is, most assuredly, deserving of our renewed respect as a bona fide classic of the genre. There is a lot here, folks – and much of it is Grade ‘A’ entertainment, guaranteed to impress.

Kino Lorber’s Blu-ray of The Strange Door is afforded a mostly satisfying 1080p transfer. While age-related artifacts do exist, and, there are one or two instances of horrendous gate weave, the overall condition of these B&W elements is very good. Irving Glassberg’s cinematography reveals a moody magnificence that is, with a few minor exceptions, shown off to its very best advantage. The gray scale exhibits wonderful tonality with clean whites and very deep blacks. Film grain appears indigenous to its source. Contrast is solid. The DTS 1.0 mono sounds great, with no apparent hiss or pop. Extras are limited to a fact-laden audio commentary by Tom Weaver, David Schecter and Dr. Robert J. Kiss – well-worth the price of admission. We also get trailers for this and other product being peddled by Kino Lorber. Bottom line: The Strange Door is a worth your time. The Blu-ray is good, if not perfect. Recommended.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

4

VIDEO/AUDIO

3.5

EXTRAS

1