THE CAT AND THE CANARY: Blu-ray (Paramount, 1939) Kino Lorber

 Elliott Nugent’s remake of a remake of a perennial chestnut in the ‘locked room’ murder mystery vein, The Cat and the Canary (1939) is today considered a classic. If for no other reason, it remains an atmospheric – if predictable – ‘little gem’ of the ‘dark old house’ vintage that, along with the literary masterworks of Agatha Christie, became something of a main staple in Hollywood film-making for at least a decade’s worth of happy hauntings thereafter. Most owe their pedigree and nod to this delightfully paced cinematic translation of John Willard’s moodily magnificent play, previously made as a 1927 silent, presumably lost to us for all time. Mercifully, the ’39 version has survived, its reputation anchored to the indestructible career of the legendary Bob Hope. Chiefly remembered now for his unerring devotion to entertaining America’s Armed Forces around the world, and, as the most revered host of the annual Academy Awards, from their infancy to the glory years in live telecasts (serving as MC a record 19 times from 1940 to 1978), many have quietly forgotten Bob Hope, in his prime, was a main staple of virtually every field in showbiz, from Vaudeville to radio, and then, with a flourish of activity in the movies, bookended by his debut in The Big Broadcast of 1938, and ending 5 decades later with 1972’s Cancel My Reservation.

It was always something of a tongue-in-cheek, bittersweet nudge with Hope, for all his contributions to the big screen, Oscar famously eluded him. Hope glibly referred to the Academy Awards as ‘Passover’ at his house (*although he was awarded the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award by AMPAS in 1960, and then received his own ‘honorary Oscar’ 6 years later).  A quick perusal of Hope’s cinematic legacy bears out the real/reel reason for his perennial absence from the list of nominees. Not for lack of talent, most certainly – and decidedly, not for lack of trying either. Yet, although Bob Hope provided a very bright spot of diverting pleasure for the war-weary and beyond, immensely popular with then contemporary audiences, in retrospect, Hope’s pictures – while effortlessly executed, and stylishly served up, are hardly noteworthy as ‘fine art’ of the garden variety AMPAS loves to bestow little gold/bald guys. Nor do any of Hope’s programmers usually provide anything more or better than the opportunity for him to rifle off a litany of choice one-liners in rapid succession, more or less, playing Bob Hope under a thinly disguised ‘character’ nom de plume.

In The Cat and the Canary, Hope is rechristened Wally Campbell, a radio host and distant cousin to a deceased millionaire whose reading of the will some 10-years afterward is cause for consternation among his competitive surviving heirs. The picture’s pedigree arguably pales to Paul Leni’s set-aside and lost 1927 smash hit; the one to have kick-started an entire cottage industry of like-minded fluff and nonsense, not to mention a slew of thinly veiled ‘remakes’ to populate the late silent and early sound era. Prior to this direct remake, the property was resurrected in 1930 as The Cat Creeps. Since then, it has been remade in 1978 under its full title and parodied even further as 2009’s Dark and Stormy Night. The formula is quite simple, though nevertheless effective. Take one gloomy Gothic manor, preferably isolated and in a state of semi-disrepair. Gather together a small cohort of affluent and enterprising ‘guests’ for the weekend. Introduce a ‘mad killer’, and, conclude with ‘the big reveal’. What fits between these ‘connect the dots’ either augments the fear factor by elevating the promise of real/reel danger or repopulates it with some clever repartee between the central characters as fate, and, the ghoul of the piece, picks off survivors, one by one – leaving the hero and his leading lady to survive, embrace and live another day.

The success of The Cat and the Canary paved the way for other comedians to favor ‘dark old house’ comedies, including Bud Abbott and Lou Costello – who made a career from this sub-genre after 1941’s Hold That Ghost – and, Messers Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy, who cropped up ghost-hunting in A-Haunting We Will Go (1942). The Cat and the Canary even had an unofficial re-remake in 1953 - Scared Stiff, costarring Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin. Bob Hope’s rising star necessitated certain changes to Nugent’s version; chiefly, shifting the focus, dead-centered on the ingenue who inherits, now concentrated on Hope’s whimsical romantic flop, played with strict sincerity in 1927 as the guy on the side. And, with Hope in the driver’s seat, the barometer effortlessly slips from chills to chuckles. In hindsight, the picture’s irrefutable strengths remain Hope, and the rom/com chemistry between him and co-star, Paulette Goddard as the doe-eyed but sexy, Joyce Norman, set to inherit everything. If the Walter DeLeon/Lynn Starling screenplay falters periodically (and…it does), the nimble missteps are saved by Hans Dreier/Robert Usher’s exquisite production values, moodily lit and photographed by Charles Lang in wonderful B&W.

The Cat and the Canary gets off to a spooky start, the introduction of a decaying Southern mansion nestled in a remotely accessible Louisiana bayou, and the elegant – yet, ever-threatening Miss Lu (Gale Sondergaard) peering out a window as the family’s slightly menacing solicitor, Mr. Crosby (George Zucco) arrives to execute the Last Will and Testament of Cyrus Norman. While DeLeon and Starling suggest the wily old millionaire was carrying on with Lu, and Lu herself infers as much, owing to Hollywood’s self-governing Code of censorship, the affair is never entirely spelling out. Nevertheless, everyone except Joyce is suspicious and mildly resentful of Lu. Arriving by a skiff, paddled by a Native American guide (George Regas), Crosby soon discovers the Will locked away in Cyrus’ safe and the copy provided to him earlier do not match up. Someone has altered the original. Meanwhile, the eager survivors begin to assemble. Joyce is the most genuine. Others include Fred Blythe (John Beal), Charles Wilder (Douglass Montgomery), Cicily Young (Nydia Westman), Aunt Susan Tilbury (Elizabeth Patterson, who played the same character in 1930’s The Cat Creeps), and, last but not least, Wally Campbell. As everyone assembles for the reading, a gong echoes seven times in the distance; Miss Lu, inferring an ominous precursor – only seven of the eight prospective family members will survive the night.

Mr. Crosby drops a bombshell when he reveals Joyce is the sole heir - on one condition. She must remain sane and alive for the next 30 days. If some evil befalls her, a second proviso has already been prepared to establish her successor. As there is no retreat from the mansion, Miss Lu prepares rooms, forewarning ‘the spirits’ are not in favor of such an arrangement. Meanwhile, a roving security guard forewarns of a murderous escapee from the nearby mental asylum, known only as ‘the Cat’ (William Abbey). As everyone settles in for the night, Crosby finds Joyce in the library. And while he tries to warn her about something, a false front behind some book shelves opens, with a mysterious hand smothering and dragging Crosby beyond its secret panel. No one except Wally believes Joyce. Amid skepticism and allegations, Miss Lu provides Joyce with a clue from the late Cyrus that she and Wally then use to unearth the hiding place of a priceless diamond necklace. Joyce puts the valuable jewelry under her pillow. Alas, after falling asleep, the same murderous hand reaches from beyond yet another secret compartment in the wall, to terrify and seize the jewelry. Hysterical, Joyce’s fears are assuaged by Wally, who locates the movable wall panel and uses it to open a secret passageway. There, Crosby's lifeless remains are discovered.

Wally leaves to fetch some liquor, but then hears a sound coming from Cyrus’ room. Discovering another hidden corridor, Wally explores further. Meanwhile, Joyce sees the door in the parlor open. Wally calls out and Joyce follows the sound of his voice, the trap door shutting tight behind her. Forced to explore, Joyce walks past a darkened crevice concealing the security guard. The Cat also bypasses the guard. Alas, in attempting to ambush the Cat, the guard is ruthlessly stabbed to death. Now, the Cat pursues Joyce, who has found an exit leading outside. The Cat chases Joyce into a nearby shed, threatening her with a knife. But Wally arrives in the nick of time, addressing him as "Charlie", having unearthed the killer’s real identity from the second part of Cyrus’ will.  Charles menaces with a knife, even as he begins to strangle Joyce. However, fate intervenes. Miss Lu kills Charles with a rifle. As daylight begins to flicker, Wally and Joyce tell their story to newspaper reporters. Having since fallen in love, they unofficially announce their engagement.

The Cat and the Canary is blessed by some truly outstanding art direction; the studio-built interiors, very impressive, even at a glance. Director Elliott Nugent falls back on some obvious theatrics to add flavor to the piece – inexplicably flickering lights and candles blown out by the wind, a black cat that does an awful lot of prowling but has nothing to do with the plot. The unease is palpable, if predictable – the movie’s best moment, its climactic showdown in the cobweb-adorned shed between Charlie and Miss Lu. The ‘big reveal’ of the Cat’s true identity is a bit underwhelming, despite Charles Lang’s exceptional use of light and shadow to evoke a sense of dread. It is perhaps regrettable that the picture’s selling feature is not suspense, rather comedy, for which Bob Hope delivers some charming zingers. When Lu suggests ‘the spirits’ are about, Hope’s Wally swats back, “Can you put some in a glass with a little ice?” When asked if he believes in reincarnation of the dead, Wally dolefully suggest, “You mean like Republicans?” But perhaps the funniest line in Hope’s arsenal comes when Cousin Cicily asks if ‘big, empty house’ frighten him, to which Wally replies, “Not me, I used to be in vaudeville.”  It is a genuine shame none of the other players in this mystery/farce rise to a competitive level of entertainment. The dispensation with George Zucco’s Crosby at the outset of the picture deprives us of his brooding charisma, while Gale Sondergaard is all but wasted; her sole purpose to appear, then disappear, then reappear within a single scene, barely uttering two lines of dialogue at once.

Somewhere along the way the ‘who’ in this ‘whodunit’ becomes inconsequential, or rather, pointless to our appreciation of the antics arising from Hope’s playful badinage, mostly rattled off for the benefit of the audience – breaking the fourth wall with oodles of his bon vivant’s self-deprecating charm. Apart from the film’s climax – still played for pure chills – the rest of the picture is undeniably a glib retread that never takes itself, or the presumed ‘terror’ too seriously. In an industry generally prone to buying up successful Broadway shows and then completely rewriting them for the screen, The Cat and the Canary stays remarkably close to its 1920’s source material, its only exception, the seismic shift from horror to comedy to benefit Hope’s persona. Hope’s fledgling career, seemingly wasted on disposable fluff, was decidedly rescued by producer, Arthur Hornblow Jr.’s resurrection of Willard’s play as a star vehicle, ever-so-slightly refurbished to suit his talents; Hope, allowed to explore his innate brashness unabated. The other updates here are to the character of Miss Lu, a.k.a. Mammy Pleasant in the play, although even then, cast as a white woman, and relocating the action from a manor house near the Hudson River, to an isolated swampy island somewhere in the Louisiana bayou. Otherwise, The Cat and the Canary plays pretty much as it did on the stage – and perhaps, that is part of its problem. Regardless, this flick was a smash hit, enough for Paramount to dust off The Ghost Breaker – an even more careworn chestnut, pluralized as ‘The Ghost Breakers’ (1940) and costarring Hope and Goddard again to even greater effect.

The Cat and the Canary arrives on Blu-ray via Kino Lorber’s alliance with Universal Home Video. And while sporting a tired old Uni logo from some years ago (proof, Uni has done nothing to upgrade the video master for this hi-def debut) the results also speak to Uni having performed some basic restoration work on the movie, ‘back in the day’. So, what’s here looks pretty darn good, if just a tad soft.  Overall, image quality is very pleasing, with an exceptionally nuanced gray scale and lots of fine detail. Grain, however, is nonexistent – Uni’s affinity for applying DNR during the DVD era, likely to have remained intact here. The B&W image isn’t waxy, but it does appear homogenized and smooth, belying the actual texture of vintage film stocks. Contrast is also just a tad anemic, although, when viewed in a darkened room the results are quite pleasing. The 1.0 DTS audio sounds solid too. Extras are limited to a newly recorded and thorough audio commentary from Lee Gambin who covers aspects of the production and the careers of all of its principle players. There are also trailers for more ‘mystery’ themed product Kino is trying to peddle. Bottom line: The Cat and the Canary is atmospheric fluff, pitched to the considerable comedic styling of Bob Hope. An enjoyable movie, if as unremarkable. Blu-ray looks solid. Judge and buy accordingly.

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

3

VIDEO/AUDIO

4

EXTRAS

1