Lon Chaney Jr. and Bela Lugosi in The Ghost of Frankenstein (1942).

Many of the featured players of the Universal Studios era of the Golden Age of Horror were gone by the 1960s and 1970s, so many of the on-camera reminiscences from this era are left to be re-conjured by surviving family members. Hoping to put a rest to the rumors that his father was not on good terms with Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi Jr. contends any suggestions of a rivalry between the two were professional and not personal. As early as the mid-1930s Karloff was getting the better paying and more interesting roles. Bela was often toiling in a series of mystery-horrors for such cheapie studios as Monogram. The younger Lugosi admits his father had paid dearly for passing on the opportunity of portraying the monster in the first Universal Frankenstein film of 1931. As the script called for the monster to be mute throughout the feature, the prideful Lugosi thought his acceptance of the role would be a “misuse of his talent.” He would later regret his decision, as it was one that would seal his fate - during the course of his working life, at the very least - as a second-tier boogeyman to “Karloff the Uncanny.” The role of the Monster was eventually consigned to Karloff, whose masterful performance in both the original and two sequels (Bride of Frankenstein and Son of Frankenstein) made the sinister Englishman a bona fide worldwide star.

As might be expected with any documentary series of ambitious scope, there is a bit of accommodation made for the sake of inclusivity. The episode celebrating the cinematic legacy of Robert Louis Stevenson’s “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” (first published 1886), is presented somewhat chronologically with mentions of various rare silent shorts and a deeper look at John Barrymore’s more famous silent version of 1920. The most celebrated version is the 1931 Paramount version with Fredric March, a film shot very much in the tradition of the two recent Universal features, but for which March received an Academy Award – the first such honor to be bestowed upon a Hollywood horror film.

It’s also here that the filmmakers tenuously stretch the definition of films encapsulating a Jekyll/Hyde formula. They suggest such films as diverse as Universal’s Black Friday, Monogram’s The Mad Monster, The Hideous Sun Demon, and Jerry Lewis’ The Nutty Professor - amongst others - are kindred spirits. While I concede these tales are allegorical to the original Stevenson novel, they’re original works in their own right. Let’s face it; a monster movie without a mad scientist lurking about and causing mayhem is hardly worth watching. The most fun moments of the Jekyll and Hyde episode belong exclusively to the Brits. The first features the beautiful Martine Beswick complaining that producers at Hammer Films were continually pushing her to bare more of the bountiful gift that was her body than had been mutually agreed upon when signed on for Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde. Christopher Lee took the producers at Amicus to task for their retention of every original name of every major and minor Stevenson character in their feature I, Monster. That is, of course, for Lee’s principal character, whose name was changed from Jekyll and Hyde to Marlowe and Blake for no apparent reason.

There are, very welcomingly, interviews with a lot of old hands from Hammer Studios. As one might expect, this set’s segment celebrating the legacy of Baron Frankenstein was largely dedicated to the memory of Peter Cushing. The skeletal and genial actor would famously appear as the maniacal and obsessed Baron in six of the seven Frankenstein features produced by Hammer 1957-1973. Lee offers that his very old and dear friend and colleague brought a “decadent elegance” to the role, suggesting that, to three generations of cinemagoers, Cushing was the one and only Baron Frankenstein. Thanks to the advent of home video, I’m sure that yet another generation or two can be added to that total… there was, simply, no one better in that role. The filmmakers also point out that beginning in the 1950’s, stateside independent producers would “Americanize” the Frankenstein film legacy for the teen market. Though Dr. Frankenstein were originally of European descent – a Baron, no less - A.I.P, Embassy Pictures and many other low-budget programmers chose to bring such “Made in America” creations to the screens of drive-ins across the U.S.A. Who wouldn’t want to catch a midnight movie with a crass title like I Was a Teenage Frankenstein, How To Make a Monster, or Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter?

Though Christopher Lee’s introductions and occasional appearances throughout tie the narrative line together, each episode is stitched together with brief interviews of film technicians and actors, excerpts from still photographs and no shortage of scenes excised from free-use trailers. If a particular film is particularly old or has fallen into public domain status, there’s a good chance we will be treated to an extended showcase of moments from that film. Sadly, these extended segments of public domain films – most very familiar to obsessive fans - tend to drag down the pace of several episodes; you get the uneasy feeling they’re mostly included to pad the running time and allow the writers a lengthy lunch break. Having said this, should you choose to go forage a snack from the kitchen during one such extended interlude, you do so at your own peril. There’s a very good chance you might miss a brilliantly inserted snippet of celebrity gossip or a backstage technician’s erudite observation.

Much to the filmmaker’s credit, there’s nary a then-surviving member of the horror film fraternity who doesn’t offer commentary throughout the set. You can check out this film’s IMDB extensive cast list to see who is on hand here to share a memory or two, no matter how brief. These interviews, to me, are the most illuminating part of the set. As mentioned earlier, Karloff and Lugosi (and Chaney, Atwill, Zucco et. al.) were already long gone and unable to contribute, but remembrances of the “Golden Age” are shared by such veterans as Turhan Bey, Peggy Moran and Nina Foch. In the case of Karloff’s biography, the team behind the documentary’s production has made good use of snippets of vintage television footage sourced from such programs as the Carol Burnett Show, Route 66, Thriller, and This Is Your Life. Footage excerpted from Lugosi’s semi-famous shipboard interview of December 1951 is also used, as is a scene from Hollywood On Parade where Bela puts the bite on American sweetheart, Betty Boop.

Originally, and perhaps more sensibly, conceived as a documentary of two hours, a decision was made along the line to expand the material sale to the British television market. While new and old fans will surely be schooled in many facets of classic horror lore, it must be said some episodes are better researched and written than others that serve mostly as nothing but clip shows. The series definitely benefits when writer-producer-horror historian Ted Newsom jumps aboard and helps more knowledgeably guide the ship. It is a pity that the set has not been afforded an HD transfer to Blu. After a few episodes I had to abandon watching these documentaries on the 56” set in the living room – image quality varies wildly from acceptable to mildly blurry to near headache-inducing. The set appears slightly less compromised on the 27” small format flat screen in the bedroom. I also found the set not terribly conducive to binge-watching. There are several re-uses of Lee’s voice-over commentaries and plenty of double and triple dips of familiar trailer and archival footage… the repetition does get tiring after a bit. I’d suggest playing an episode or two of 100 Years of Horror as a prelude before settling down for your Saturday night monster movie.

(The DVD set includes a digital download version.)

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