BY HANK REINEKE
Though Vincent Price would eventually garner a well-deserved
reputation as Hollywood’s preeminent bogeyman, it was only really with André De
Toth’s House of Wax (1953) that the actor would become associated with all
things sinister. In some sense the
playful, nervously elegant Price was an odd successor to the horror film-maestro
throne: he was a somewhat aristocratic psychotic who shared neither Boris
Karloff’s cold and malevolent scowl nor Bela Lugosi’s distinctly unhinged
madness or old-world exoticism.
His early film career started in a less pigeonholed
manner: as a budding movie actor with a seven year contract for Universal
Studios in the 1940s, the tall, elegant Price would appear in a number of semi-distinguished
if modestly-budgeted romantic comedies and dramas. His contract with Universal was apparently
non-exclusive, and his most memorable roles for the studio were his earliest. In a harbinger of things to come, Price would
register his first genre credit with Universal’s The Invisible Man Returns (1940),
a curiously belated semi-sequel to the James Whale 1933 classic. Though a satisfying B-movie vehicle, Price’s star
turn as the mostly transparent Geoffrey Radcliffe would be difficult work; it’s
an imposing task to make an impression when you’re only physically present for less
than half of a film.
More rewarding and noteworthy was his role as the
vengeful Clifford Pyncheon in Universal’s free adaptation of Nathaniel
Hawthorne’s brooding thriller The House of the Seven Gables (1940). That same year Price took a second memorable
turn as the effete, wine-imbibing Duke of Clarence in Rowland V. Lee’s Tower of
London. Purportedly a historical drama, Universal couldn’t help but play up the
horror-melodrama elements of Richard III’s grisly ascent to the British
throne. The scene when the Duke of
Clarence meets an ironic fate at the hands of the conniving, merciless and
bloodthirsty tag-team of Basil Rathbone and Boris Karloff is, without doubt, one
of cinema’s great exits.
Though the actor would tackle all types of roles for his
next employer, 20th Century Fox, he had begun his transition from leading man
once-removed to a roguish sort of character actor, one short of neither charm
nor avarice. In 1953 the actor’s career
would be forever changed when he accepted the role of the mad Professor Henry
Jarrod in House of Wax, Warner Bros.’ colorful 3-D remake of Michael Curtiz’s The
Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933). The
success of the sinister House of Wax inspired that film’s freelance producer,
Bryan Foy, to – essentially – remake the same film for Columbia Pictures within
a year’s time. Unlike Universal or
Warner Bros., Columbia seemed less eager to embrace and invest long-term in 3-D
technologies, and The Mad Magician was one of the studio’s final rolls of the
dice in that format.
Bryan Foy had began his show business career in
vaudeville so it was only natural that both House of Wax and The Mad Magician share
the greasepaint, steamer trunks, velvet curtains and theatrical back stories of
the producer’s youthful experience. As he
had with House of Wax, Foy again tapped the talent of his favorite scribe, Crane
Wilbur, to write what was essentially a House of Wax pastiche. Wilbur was a seasoned pro who could knock out
a quick copy that still had integrity; both of the Victorian-era horror films he
would craft for Foy stylishly unraveled in thrilling fashion with neat twists
and memorable dialogue. In a wise move,
the German born John Brahm, an undeniably brilliant director of moody,
atmospheric thrillers and melodramas – mostly for 20th Century Fox - was
brought on to direct.
The most notable returnee was, of course, Vincent Price,
now typecast and expected to again menacingly wield his distinct brand of on-screen
villainy. With his stagey, Shakespearean
acting style having been honed early in his career, Price’s performances occasionally
teetered between outright flamboyance and devilishly morose… perhaps even a bit
hammy. That said, the actor’s refined
mannerisms and theatrical gesturing was refreshingly different from the common
brutishness of the usual cinematic heavies. His characters tended to be tortured souls as well; his villains were conflicted
but not unsympathetic individuals driven to madness by life’s travails and treacheries.
In House of Wax and The Mad Magician, the actor similarly
plays the part of a maligned artist. In
both films, his protagonists hide behind a series life-masks created solely for
the purpose of deception. As sculptor Henry
Jarrod in the former film, the devoted artist sees his beloved wax figures go
up in flames due to the actions of an unscrupulous business partner; Jarrod’s
scheming, unsentimental associate is not at all interested in the artist’s
creations. He’s only interested in the
swift collection of ill-gotten monies from his insurance fraud scheme. In The Mad Magician Price similarly portrays Don
Gallico, a low wage, belittled designer of magic tricks and illusions. Gallico
is the creative energy behind successful owner Russ Orman’s (Donald Randolph) respected
theatrical magic factory Illusions, Inc. Tired of seeing his boss farm out his very personal creations to more celebrated,
famous magicians – most notably the egotistical and scheming Great Rinaldi
(John Emery) – Gallico optimistically and dreamingly pines of someday being
recognized as a great stage magician himself.
Gallico is certain that day is not far off. In an attempt to attract attention to his own
talent, the magician tests a self-produced illusionist show in a cozy theater
in Hoboken, New Jersey. This engagement
is merely a step stone to his ultimate dream of securing a coveted booking on
Broadway and 44th Street. While his most
recent and exciting illusion, “The Lady and the Buzz Saw,†pushes the envelope
of high tension to an anxious extreme, Gallico is certain his work in progress –
an escape-artist illusion involving a gas-fueled 3500 degree inferno dubbed
“The Crematorium†will be the vehicle to bring him stardom at last. But Gallico’s dreams are soon dashed when the
well-heeled Orman, who years earlier had unsentimentally stolen away the
illusionist’s gold-digging wife (Eva Gabor), informs him to carefully read the
fine print of their business contract. In
a nutshell, Orman owns all of Gallico’s intellectual properties: contractually his inventions are not his
own. Needless to say, this soul crushing,
career-ending turn of events does not bode well for the briefly self-satisfied
Orman… and others.
The Mad Magician shares obvious thematic elements with House of Wax but also with two of Brahm’s own earlier and highly regarded suspense-mysteries for 20th Century Fox. The landlords who are instantly suspicious of their mysterious, reclusive rooming house renter share many commonalities with those who rented a flat to The Lodger (1944), Brahm’s gripping Jack the Ripper mystery. Don Gallico’s disposal of his first victim in a pep-rally blaze was pretty much lifted from the fiery Guy Fawkes Day fate of one victim in Brahm’s Hanover Square (1945). Though it would follow the splashy Warnercolor House of Wax by a year, The Mad Magician is more of a slow burn: photographed in black and white, the film seems to have common style Brahm’s moody B-movies of the 1940s. This monochrome wash is actually one of the film’s strongest points, and one suspects the idea to lens the decidedly grim proceedings in stark black and white was as much an artistic decision as a consideration of budget.
Brahm is also more restrained than De Toth in his use (or, perhaps, misuse) of 3-D gimmickry. The 3D effects in The Mad Magician are intentionally more subtle than those in House of Wax: it’s obvious that Brahm is trying to not bring attention to the novelty of the 3-D experience at the expense of the storytelling. If you’re really interested in the more exploitative aspects of 3-D, Twilight Time has generously included two deliriously low brow and outrageous Three Stooges shorts from 1953: Pardon My Backfire and Spooks! as extra features on this set. Though The Mad Magician was first published digitally in 2012 as part of Sony Pictures’ “Choice Collection†MOD program, Twilight Time’s stellar new Blu-ray release is the one to get.
If interested, I would suggest not dawdling in obtaining a copy. This issue of The Mad Magician is part of Twilight Time’s “Limited Edition Series†of only 3,000 units. This Blu-ray of the original 1954 film offers the film in an 1080p HD transfer, with a 1:85:1 widescreen ratio and an English-language 1.0 DTS-HD MA audio. The set also includes a number of original supplements such as an isolated music track of Arthur Lange and Emil Newman’s magnificent score, an audio commentary by Davis Del Valle and Steven Peros, the aforementioned pair of Columbia’s Three Stooges shorts, and the film’s original theatrical trailer. The set also includes the behind-the-scenes “making of†documentary Master of Fright!: Conjuring the Mad Magician. This short includes – amongst others - secondary source testimonies by film historians (C. Courtney Joyner, a screenwriter of low-budget action films), documentarian Ted Newsom (Flesh & Blood: The Hammer Heritage of Horror), and short-subject filmmaker Michael Schlesinger. There is also the expected booklet with informative liner notes by Julie Kirgo.
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