Son of Ingagi

TO LET: Unique property at 1313 Wellman Road. Includes hidden laboratory, lurking monster. Perfect starter home for defenceless couple... It's a fixer-upper alright but there's a solid structure beneath 1940's SON OF INGAGI...

Most modern audiences approaching Son of Ingagi will know it's widely considered to be the first Black horror movie, having been penned by African-American 'race film'-maker Spencer Williams and performed by an all-Black cast. Cinema historian Tananarive Due considers its genre secondary to the film's purpose, arguing that it was "really meant to confront so many negative stereotypes about black people in cinema but using horror, which was a very popular genre, to present us just being ourselves". While this is true, the film still notches up what feel like a couple of horror firsts, making it possibly even more of a landmark than its reputation suggests.

Newlyweds Eleanor and Robert Lindsay (Daisy Bufford and Alfred Grant) have inherited a big old house that once belonged to Dr Jackson, a woman thought of as the local witch. The Lindsays always liked her but, thanks to her mysterious death, they now find themselves facing all kinds of strange occurrences in her old home. It turns out the doctor had a skeleton in her closet... or, more accurately, a 'wild man' from Africa in her basement lab. And just before he killed her, he'd imbibed a secret formula that not only apparently drove him into a murderous rage but also imbued him with superhuman strength! Let's hope comedy cop Detective Nelson (played by writer Williams) can sort things out and prevent more deaths - or at least keep track of his disappearing sandwiches... Priorities, man!

1974 was the big year for 'hider in the house' horror, finding a voyeuristic killer occupying a secret room in the TV movie Bad Ronald and calls coming from inside the house! in the early slasher Black Christmas. It continues to impress me, then, that Son of Ingagi was playing with this notion so effectively four decades earlier, and I can't think of an earlier example of the trope. 

Where later films have played up the killer's ingenuity and twistedness, Ingagi keeps it fairly simple: its bogeyman, named N'Gina, awakens whenever a gong is struck and leaves his lair to prowl the house. With race films simultaneously ahead of the curve in terms of representation, but possibly playing catch-up in other respects, he comes across as something like the child of Universal's Frankenstein monster from nearly ten years prior: brutal and fierce, but misunderstood and ultimately somewhat tragic. 

Similar discrepancies add further interesting wrinkles, beginning with the two protagonists, whose freedom from the stereotypical constraints of the period makes them a joy to watch - but who (as Due suggested above) don't enormously act like they're in a horror film and aren't, for example, terribly troubled by the piles of bodies turning up in their home. But even this feels miles ahead of the subservient cowards Black actors had to play in other Old Dark House movies. 

Diversions more typical of the time come in the shape of a couple of seemingly off-the-cuff musical numbers (courtesy of the excellent Four Toppers) and, less enjoyably, an extended skit towards the end involving the aforementioned sandwiches. But, just when you're thinking the film has lost its way at a crucial point, a genuinely gruesome shooting ushers in a climax full of fairly strong stuff. The amount of blood spilled certainly raised an eyebrow from me, anyway, and is nicely foreshadowed by a stylish moment earlier on, in which the camera lingers on a splatter of spilled ink in the aftermath of a murder. (In fact, this entire sequence, featuring eyeballs in extreme close-up and that oozing pool of black, prefigures the famous shower scene of Psycho.)

Flashes of such originality, then, coupled with the uniquely progressive feel of a race picture, make Son of Ingagi a very rewarding watch. Don't worry if you've never seen nor heard of 1930's Ingagi - this has nothing to do with that apparently hard-to-find film - and instead prepare for one of the most offbeat entries in an already offbeat genre.  

RATING: 🕸🕸🕸

The Monster Walks

The guests have gathered, the will's been read, the clock strikes twelve... and someone's DEAD! It's time to light a lantern and dust off your hiking boots as we prepare to keep pace with 1932's THE MONSTER WALKS...

Clocking in at an hour, this low-key Old Dark House movie won't trouble your little grey cells with extraneous twists or suspects but plods along purposefully, with some eerie touches and a capable cast. 

It's a dark and corny night, and the curtains billow at the window of the room where Dr Earlton lies dead in his bed. Attorney Herbert Wilkes (Sidney Bracey) has arrived to read the will, while a small party of relatives and servants wait to find out what they'll inherit and who they'll have to kill to get their hands on it. Also in the house - but locked up in a cage in the cellar and not very happy about it - is the doctor's pet chimp, Yogi. "What makes him scream so?" asks the dead man's brother. "That's because of the corpse in the house," replies servant Hanns, relishing every word. "He remembers his dead master."

Of course not everyone is happy with the outcome of the will, which leaves everything to the doctor's daughter, Ruth - or alternatively to his brother in the event that anything happens to Ruth. (So she can't make a will of her own?) And, sure enough, that night, something does happen to Ruth, involving a hairy, ape-like hand emerging from a secret panel behind her bed and reaching for her throat! 

Let's leave the plot there, as we're already halfway through, and reflect instead on the players - thankfully the kind of bunch who can make standing around and talking worth sitting back and listening to. While the stilted dialogue isn't always on their side ("Someone has made a second desperate attempt on Ruth's life!") these pros work near-miracles smoothing off some of its rougher edges. There's the commanding Martha Mattox from the original The Cat and the Canary, reprising her stern housekeeper bit with the addition of a few layers; Mischa Auer as her grown-up son, Hanns, who's all towering hair, dangling limbs and bitterness; and Willie Best as Exodus the driver, who's frankly insulted by the so-called comic relief he's asked to deliver here, but who remains a welcome addition to any cast. 

I mentioned eerie touches earlier and, despite a fairly bland approach to the old house setting, I do think it provides the chills in places, especially during a quiet scene at the halfway mark... Following the stroke of midnight (filmed in thrilling real time!) a gruesome-looking hand slowly pulls a door closed and extinguishes a candle. It's as simple as that, but perfect nightmare fuel to my mind. The killer's 'alibi' (you'll know it when you see it) is also a terrific little detail and not given nearly enough screen time.

I was also delighted to hear one character exclaim "Pshaw!" - something I've come across in print before but never had the joy of hearing! All in all, while I may be being a tad generous with my cobweb rating below, it's refreshing to see an Old Dark House quickie that plays to its strengths and manages to carve out a niche simply by taking itself seriously.  

RATING: 🕸🕸🕸

The Gorilla

He MURDERS without mercy! But always sends a quick note beforehand to make sure you're available... So don't be dismissive if you receive a missive from... THE GORILLA! 

I consider 1939 a turning-point in the history of Old Dark House movies, mostly due to the success - and subsequent influence - of The Cat and the Canary, released towards the year's end, in November. The formula was of course nothing new, but the competence and care with which it was delivered redefined the horror-comedy genre in the same way that Scream would fifty years later. Audiences clearly relish the unique thrill of laughing one minute and facing genuine suspense the next - and the trick worked then as it does today, resulting in a raft of imitators and variations on the cat-and-canary theme between 1940 and 1944.

This is really all a long-winded way of saying that, since it was released six months before The Cat and the Canary, The Gorilla is not one of that film's descendants (although it was based on a 1925 stage play inspired by the success of 1922's The Cat and the Canary on Broadway). Instead, The Gorilla feels a bit like a transition piece, taking the surfeit of silliness that marks immediate predecessors like Sh! The Octopus and marrying it with some of the high-Gothic production values of films just over the horizon, such as Hitchcock's Rebecca (1940). The result is, well... interesting! 

I've nothing against its stars, the three Ritz Brothers, who carved out a four-decade career in comedy, but even they were unhappy with the script of this one, according to accounts. You can see why. They barely get a decent gag between them, leaving the door wide open for Patsy Kelly (as scared-but-sarcastic maid, Kitty) to steal the whole thing, with a one-note but still genuinely funny performance. 

Well, almost steal it... Surprisingly, Bela Lugosi comes close with his slyly deadpan turn as Peters the butler. I don't know whether it's the humour vacuum left by the Ritz Brothers or the fact that Bela wasn't usually given much space to fill on the funny-front (or perhaps both) but he certainly makes the most of everything offered to him here. It's funny when he treats the Ritzes as idiots and it's funny when he acts all creepy and suspicious, and because these are the lion's share of what he's required to do... it's all funny! It's even funny when a frightened Kitty practically jumps into his arms for protection. How often did anyone expect that of Bela Lugosi?

This is also a film that ticks a big box for me by having a good opening scene. With Old Dark House movies, it's important to feel that fix of cosy fear early on: in The Gorilla, the camera flies up to the roof of the house (prefiguring Dario Argento's similar cinematic gymnastics in Tenebrae) to witness the arrival of the killer, before swooping back down to a bedroom window to visit an unsuspecting victim reading a book in bed. The mansion set has quite a luscious texture, and is lit as if under constant attack by crawling shadows, while a realistic storm grumbles in the background. 

Also working in The Gorilla's favour (at least during its first half) is its plot. Although it's never really investigated fully, the basic idea of an unknown, monstrous killer sending notes to those he intends to murder (at midnight!) is a nice set-up, and neatly paired with the parallel story of two relatives coming together to discover they're joint beneficiaries in a will - assuming each survives. An early, drawn-out suspense scene finds the entire cast awaiting the hour of twelve to find out if the villain keeps his promise... It's appropriately play-like, a touch eerie, and a suggestion of what might have been achieved if the film had kept its focus. 

Sadly, it doesn't. Not only are there at least three Ritz Brothers too many to keep track of, but a repetitive round of secret passage-hopping at the climax makes everything seem simultaneously shallow and overly complicated. Still, none of this is somehow quite enough to kill it and, if you focus on Bela, Patsy and the rather gorgeous production, The Gorilla holds various charms in its hairy arms. 

RATING: 🕸🕸🕸

The Living Ghost

Is he dead? Is he alive? Or is he caught in a waking nightmare too terrible to describe? Grab yourself a cup of cocoa and a stethoscope as we prepare to examine 1942's THE LIVING GHOST!

Oh, what to do with this one? Is it an Old Dark House movie? Is it even spooky? The title isn't really helping matters (and neither are those ghost-themed opening credits) because here we have a more-or-less straightforward whodunit, complicated not by supernatural elements but by a dash of pseudo-science involving paralysed brain cells. 

Let's try and untangle a couple of other things too: the source of the mystery here isn't actually a murder (at least, not to begin with) but a kidnapping, leading to a sort of zombification deal whereby the victim - he of the paralysed brain cells - loses the ability to think and speak for himself. (I know, we've all been there.) Zombies were all the rage in early 40s cinema but tended to be linked with voodoo rather than science, which gives this an interesting angle. But does it lead to anything we'd class as zombie horror? Well, interestingly, yes... I'll explain more in a moment, but the main reason I'm including The Living Ghost in our Old Dark House canon is because of an extended plot detour that, as in The Ghost Breakers, comes a little late in the game but definitely takes us into scare territory.

So, who's had their brain cells paralysed and why? Over at the Craig mansion, reporters are clamouring at the door for news on the whereabouts of wealthy old Mr Craig, but it seems that none of the gathered relatives know anything about anything, other than the fact that he's vanished. Ex-detective Nick Trayne (now working, bizarrely, as a 'professional listener' dressed in full swami garb) is called in to investigate, but it's not long before Mr Craig reappears - not dead, not injured, not even reduced to an ear in an envelope, but sitting in his armchair in some sort of trance, barely able to blink, never mind explain what happened. 

Nick determines to get to the bottom of things, aided by Mr Craig's young secretary, Billie, who's perhaps worried she'll be out of a job if normality isn't restored sometime soon. Of course, along with their requisite sleuthing, you can expect romance to blossom between this generationally-mismatched duo...

The Living Ghost takes place primarily at two different locations: the bright and pleasant Craig manor (where most of the suspects reside and much of the mystery unfolds) and the derelict 'house on Blakely Road' (as it's referred to in a sort of running joke). The latter is the film's actual Old Dark House, which Nick and Billie explore in a splendid sequence set during a raging storm, with flashes of lightning like nearby explosions practically blasting the actors off their feet. Also roaming the house is another zombified victim - one who's been programmed to kill! The comparatively genteel nature of the rest of the film only adds to the effectiveness of this passage, which also prefigures those famous scenes in 70s gialli like Deep Red, in which protagonists find clues (and worse) in creepy old buildings. 

Putting a dampener on things, however, is that aforementioned romance between the leads, which is rammed in like a shoe on a sandwich and looks about as appetising. It's not really the fault of either actor: Joan Woodbury is lively and fun as Billie, while James Dunn (Nick) went on to win an Oscar just three years later for his work in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. It's just clear that the writers hadn't seen any of the four Thin Man films released by this point, or at least hadn't learned anything about making 'banter' sexy and smart. Instead, Nick's come-ons come off as near-unbearable to modern ears, and the way he 'tests' their relationship borderline abusive. I know you can't judge older films as if they were released recently, but I've seen enough from the 40s to spot the worst offenders - and unfortunately this one's up there!

Thankfully, such moments are relatively brief, and other faces among the cast offer some diversion. Minerva Urecal fills the doomsayer role perfectly ("Hate and death are in this house... If you're wise you'll leave right now!") and the roguish yet dapper George Eldredge is enough to set the heart of any modern hipster a-flutter. The whole thing is clearly influenced by 1939's The Cat and the Canary and its ilk, which if you're anything like me will make it essential viewing. Just be ready to close your eyes and think of Bob Hope! 

RATING: 🕸🕸

The Rogues Tavern

Do you hear the howling in the night outside Red Rock Tavern? Is it the wind? A wolf? Or is it... DEATH?! Find out, if you dare, as we visit 1936's apostrophe-free THE ROGUES TAVERN...

The first three times I attempted to watch this film, I ended up asleep within minutes - which is some sort of personal record, it has to be said, and not one I'm proud of. But, let me stress, this has little to do with the film, the pace, or the eight glasses of wine. The Rogues Tavern simply has such a cosy, comfortable opening that, should you pop it on any later than 10pm, I'm convinced you'll end up drooling down your silk pyjamas too. 

The Red Rock Tavern is all booked-up for the night, its windows rattling as stormy winds whistle outside. In the warmth of the lobby, the guests are gathered around a roaring fire (shown in such loving detail, you can practically feel the heat oozing off the screen). The camera dodders woozily around the room, introducing us to the various parties gathered in the glow of the flames. There's the strikingly beautiful Gloria, reading fortunes for her friend, Mr Harrison, in the cards. (What's that? The ace of spades? Oh, I'm sure it's nothing...) Then there's the smartly-dressed Bill and Mason, toasting their toes at the hearth. (It seems they've each been summoned to the hotel by a mysterious letter but, don't worry, I'm sure it's nothing...) And over at the desk are the establishment's elderly proprietors, Mr and Mrs Jamison, who are busy bossing about Bert the bellhop, when suddenly the door blasts open, admitting a gust of wind and giggly lovers Jimmy and Marjorie. 

They're looking for a justice of the peace, a quickie marriage and a bed for the night, preferably in that order. What they're not looking for, despite being a pair of detectives, is a murder mystery to solve. But that's exactly what they're in for - and you too, if you're still awake - as, over the course of this blustery night, guests start turning up dead, the phone line is cut, and bars descend over the windows, trapping everyone inside...

The first half of The Rogues Tavern does a sterling job of setting up this scenario, with frequent killings, clues that suggest a wild dog on the loose, and that ever-howling wind providing an unnerving ambience. As for our sleuths, Wallace Ford's rather bullish sexism hasn't dated well but Barbara Pepper is a charm and actually gets to do some of the more interesting stuff, whether or not that was the way it was intended.

Where things come a little unstuck is around the point they should be really taking off, unfortunately, as we hit a midpoint lull that's difficult to explain. The carefully built tension just seems to hang there; a few minor but key revelations are trotted out in dull fashion; and it looks like we're heading towards a flat finale, with Ford assembling a group of suspects who were mostly in his presence at the time of the latest murder anyway, meaning they can't be guilty. Thankfully, everything perks up considerably as we head towards the real climax, the nature of which I don't think you'll see coming! It's a mad little treat, rounding off a film that doesn't quite hit the mark but, thanks to its atmosphere, proves more than satisfactory. 

RATING: 🕸🕸🕸