One antique horror short and a trifecta of lost features

La Folie du Docteur Tube, released 1915 in France, was directed by cinematic pioneer Abel Gance. It seems to fall within the parameters of sci-fi horror, and features a mad scientist who creates a white powder causing hallucinations. He gives the powder to a dog first, then his assistant, a boy in the lab, himself, two young ladies, and their fiancés. The two couples are so upset by these distorted images, a fight breaks out, and it’s up to Dr. Tube to restore order and peace.

These crazed sights, which appear like images from a funhouse mirror, were created with distorting lenses.

Albert Dieudonné, who started acting in 1908 and went on to play the title role of Gance’s 1927 epic Napoléon, appears as one of the young men.

Mortmain, which premièred 29 August 1915 and went into general release 6 September 1915, is one of the all too many lost films of the silent era. It was based on Arthur C. Train’s 1907 novel of the same name, which was originally released in serial form on The Saturday Evening Post on 2 June and 9 June 1906.

This was one of the very first entries in the alien hand subgenre of body horror, in which one’s hands act of their own volition, as if they’re possessed or transplanted from another body.

Dr. Pennison Crisp (what an unfortunate forename!) proves limb-grafting is possible by showing friends and students a cat with a grafted paw. His buddy Mortmain, a rare art collector and talented musician, is very impressed.

Meanwhile, Mortmain is deep in debt to banker Gordon Russell, the ward of his fiancée Bella Forsythe. Predictably, Gordon is also in love with Bella. (This might be a lost film, but I’d bet dollars to doughnuts he’s old enough to be her dad, seeing as he’s her ward. That trope creeps me out so much!)

Gordon makes Bella’s brother Tom disgrace himself and forces Mortmain into bankruptcy. Flaggs, who works for Gordon’s lawyer, overhears Mortmain saying he’d like to kill Gordon. Mortmain then learns Gordon was murdered. This news so shocks him, he faints and hurts his hand.

Dr. Crisp has to amputate, and grafts on Tom’s hand. Tom agrees to this macabre operation because he’s suspected of the murder and offered $10,000 for his hand. He dies during the surgery, but Mortmain survives, and gradually goes insane as Flaggs bankrupts him and Bella is afraid to be touched by him. The transplanted hand also goes nuts.

Then Mortmain wakes up from the fog of anesthesia, and sees Tom’s hand choking Flaggs. It was only a dream!

The Head of Janus (Der Janus-Kopf), also lost, premièred 26 August 1920 and went into general release 17 September 1920. It starred the incredible Conrad Veidt and was directed by the legendary F.W. Murnau. This was an unauthorized adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Just as with Murnau’s unauthorized screen adaptation of Dracula two years later, names were changed.

Dr. Warren (Veidt) buys a bust of Janus, the two-headed Roman god of doorways, for his girlfriend Jane Lanyon (Margarete Schlegel, who escaped to England with her Jewish husband and son in 1935). When Jane refuses the gift, Dr. Warren is compelled to keep it in his own home.

This bust proceeds to transforms Dr. Warren into Mr. O’Connor, and whips him up into a rage. While acting as Mr. O’Connor, he storms over to Jane’s house, kidnaps her, and drags her back to his lab.

Dr. Warren is really ashamed and horrified when he comes back to himself and realises what he did. To prevent this from happening again, he attempts to sell the bust at auction, but it’s already too late. The bust has him under such hypnotic power, he buys it back himself.

During his second transformation as Mr. O’Connor, he runs amok, committing wanton acts of violence in the streets. Just like in all other versions of this famous story, there isn’t a very happy ending.

Béla Lugosi appears as Dr. Warren’s butler.

The House of Whispers, our final lost film this year, released October 1920. It tells the story of Spaulding Nelson, who moves into an apartment his uncle vacated due to phantom screams and whispers. While investigating, Spaulding meets neighbour Barbara Bradford. Her sister Clara is going crazy from the constant sound of her dead husband Roldo’s voice.

It turns out Roldo’s still alive and in league with Henry Kent, architect of this House of Whispers. This house is full of secret passageways enabling him to access all the apartments. When Spaulding finds the secret doors, he’s arrested for murdering actress Daisy Luton.

Spaulding flees via one of the passageways, where he finds and captures Roldo (the real murderer), Roldo’s first wife Nettie Kelly, and Henry Kent. Nettie confesses what really happened, and Clara is granted a divorce so she can marry her fiancé. Spaulding also marries Barbara.

Quintuple antique horror from Monsieur Méliès

As always, my yearly October salute to vintage horror films celebrating landmark anniversaries kicks off with grand master Georges Méliès. This year, I’m fêting four films from 1900 and one from 1905 (respectively 120 and 115 years old). Obviously, the horror/fright element is nowhere near comparable to that in a more modern horror film, but we need to judge films by the standards of their era. Retroactively applying modern sensibilities to things from bygone eras is an exercise in foolishness and obliviousness.

The Cook’s Revenge (La Vengeance du Gâte-Sauce) released sometime in 1900. Due to the nature of the cinematic industry in its infancy, we don’t always have exact dates or even cast lists. This film was long believed lost, but finally resurfaced in Manosque, France.

A saucier (Méliès) attempts to kiss a waitress in the kitchen, and she drops a stack of plates from shock. To avoid being blamed, he jumps into a cupboard to hide and leaves her looking like the guilty party. After she’s fired by the head waiter, things quickly go from bad to worse. The saucier is beheaded when the head waiter closes the cupboard door, and the macabre horrors keep increasing.


The Misfortunes of an Explorer (Les Infortunes d’un Explorateur ou Les Momies Récalcitrantes), also from 1900, survives only in a fragment of about 20 seconds. An English explorer (Méliès) enters a sarcophagus in an underground tomb and inadvertently unleashes a ghost. This ghost then becomes a vengeful goddess who summons three Ancient Egyptian monsters who attack the explorer and seal him inside the sarcophagus. The goddess presently sets it on fire. When she stops the fire, the explorer escapes.


The Rajah’s Dream (Le Rêve du Radjah ou La Forêt Enchantée), another 1900 entry, was available in a hand-coloured print like about 4% of Méliès’s other films. These prints fetched a higher price when sold to film exhibitors.

A Rajah’s sleep is disturbed by a butterfly, which he tries to catch in vain. After he gives up and returns to his bed, he magically finds himself in a park. The chair he tries to sit in keeps vanishing out from under him and moving all around, before turning into a dead tree, a monster with moving arms, a demon, a boxer, and finally a parade of lovely ladies.

The Rajah’s hopes of romantic fun are dashed when the ladies transmogrify into an attempted beheading party!

The Wizard, the Prince, and the Good Fairy (Le Sorcier, le Prince, et le Bon Génie), our last 1900 film, features a prince who visits a sorcerer. Presently the magic tricks commence—a vanishing table, a cauldron transmogrifying into his sweetheart, the lady vanishing. The prince wanted more time with his girlfriend, and tries to kill the sorcerer with a sword.

In revenge, the sorcerer turns the prince into a beggar and summons a crowd of women in bizarre, creepy costumes. The prince begs them for his life, and he’s finally able to leave with his sweetheart, while the sorcerer is locked in a cage.


The Black Imp (Le Diable Noir), from 1905, exists in two different versions. It’s the story of an imp who makes mischief in a hotel room, jumping about and making things appear and disappear. He makes even more mischief when a respectable lodger (Méliès) arrives, though the imp is now hidden from view. His antics reach their height when the bed is set on fire. Everyone is shocked when he reveals his presence.

A voyage into the Sun

Released 29 October 1904, Le Voyage à Travers l’Impossible (Voyage Through the Impossible) is a sequel of sorts to director Georges Méliès’s 1902 classic Le Voyage dans la Lune. This time, the intrepid explorers and their mad scientist leader travel to the Sun. Like the former, it satirizes scientific exploration.

As some might surmise from the title, it’s partly based on Jules Verne’s 1882 fantasy play Journey Through the Impossible. Méliès loosely interpreted the concept, however, seeing as the explorers in Verne’s story travel to the centre of the Earth, a distant planet, and the bottom of the sea, not the Sun.

At 374 meters, this was Méliès’s longest film to date. Le Voyage à Travers l’Impossible was one of the most popular films in the early years of the twentieth century.

Like many other Méliès films, this too was hand-coloured. Unlike other Méliès films, however, this one appears to have no spoken narration which goes along with it. The summary is derived from his own description.

The Institute of Incoherent Geography wants to embark upon a world tour like no other, one which shall “surpass in conception and invention all previous expeditions undertaken by the learned world.” Prof. Daredevil speaks first, but his plan is soundly rejected as out of date.

Next to speak is mad engineer Mabouloff (Méliès) (called Crazyloff in English-language materials, seeing as maboul means “crackpot” and “crazy” in French). He proposes an impossible voyage taking advantage of “all the known means of locomotion—railroads, automobiles, dirigible balloons, submarine boats…”

His proposal is met with most enthusiastic approval, and the society immediately begins preparing for this crazy voyage.

The voyagers and their required equipment take a train to the Swiss Alps, where the adventure truly begins. The first proper leg of the journey transpires in Auto-Mabouloff (which kind of resembles a golf cart), which takes them through the Alps.

Sadly, the car crashes while trying to cross the summit of the Rigi. Mountaineers come to their rescue and rush them to hospital.

Upon recovering, our intrepid travellers take a train which attempts to climb a second Alpine summit, the Jungfrau. This time, they’re successful, thanks to dirigible balloons tied to the train. Their journey takes them all the way into space and eventually the Sun, where they crash-land.

The intense heat is too much to bear, and the travellers climb into an icebox they conveniently brought. All, that is, except Mabouloff, who’s horrified to presently open the icebox door and find his friends frozen in a huge ice block. Luckily, the fire he starts with help from some straw soon revives them.

Everyone relocates to their submarine, which lifts off from a solar cliff and travels back through space, finally landing in the ocean depths. After several minutes underseas, a boiler causes an explosion, and the travellers are spewed into the air.

They land at a seaport, along with the submarine wreckage, and triumphantly return to the Institute of Incoherent Geography. They’re welcomed back with a grand reception.

Méliès also filmed an optional epilogue, sold separately, which starts in Mabouloff’s study. There he’s criticised by the Institute for losing so much precious transportation equipment during this impossible voyage.

Mabouloff lays out a plan for recovering the equipment—a magnet to collect the lost car in Switzerland, the train in the Sun, and the submarine underwater. This magnet works just as proposed, and a celebratory banquet is held to laud Mabouloff.

The epilogue was believed to be lost till the 1970s, when Méliès scholar John Frazer found it in the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences’s archives, along with other negatives from Star Film’s New York office. Despite this, a 2008 Méliès filmography lists it as lost.

Happy 100th birthday, Broken Blossoms!

Broken Blossoms, released 13 May 1919, was based on British writer Thomas Burke’s 1916 story “The Chink and the Child,” from his collection Limehouse Nights. All the stories are set in and around London’s Chinatown in the Limehouse district, in the East End. A second story from the collection, “Beryl and the Croucher,” was turned into a film in 1949, No Way Back.

In contrast to many of D.W. Griffith’s other films of the 1910s, Broken Blossoms is a small-scale production instead of a grand, sweeping, lengthy epic with a huge ensemble cast. It tells a heartrending, intimate story of marked visual contrasts.

The première at NYC’s George M. Cohan Theatre, during the D.W. Griffith Repertory Season, featured moon lanterns, flowers, and gorgeous brocaded Chinese draperies.

Critics and laypeople alike loved it, to the tune of $700,000 ($10,412,843 today). However, many were deeply disturbed by the depiction of child abuse, some so much they left the theatre to vomit. Griffith himself took several months to edit it, so disturbed and depressed was he by the subject matter.

In 1996, Broken Blossoms was chosen for inclusion in the U.S. National Film Registry at the Library of Congress. The film is widely regarded as one of Griffith’s finest, and one of the great treasures of film history.

Owing to the strict anti-miscegenation laws of the time, Lillian Gish and Richard Barthelmess were unable to have any love scenes. Even when both actors were white in real life, they were legally barred from kissing onscreen if their characters were in an interracial relationship.

Cheng Huan (Richard Barthelmess) sets out from China with a pure heart and soul full of love and idealism, little realising what ugliness and cruelty await him. He “holds a great dream to take the glorious message of peace to the barbarous Anglo–Saxons, sons of turmoil and strife.”

Prior to his departure, Cheng interferes in a fight between foreign sailors, trying to tell them not to do unto others what is hateful to themselves (a maxim found across almost all religions). His message of peace and love is received with violence and mockery, but that makes him even more determined to spread the word.

London’s notoriously seedy, impoverished East End is a shocking wakeup call to this gentle-hearted, sensitive Buddhist missionary. A few years after his arrival, he’s nothing but another poor shopkeeper, and his “youthful dreams come to wreck agains the sordid realities of life.” To try to cope with the ugly real world, Cheng smokes opium and gambles.

Meanwhile, boxer Battling Burrows (Donald Crisp) is raising his daughter Lucy (Lillian Gish) as a single dad. Battling, “a gorilla of the jungles of East London,” is violent outside the ring too, and an alcoholic. It really speaks to how desperate Lucy’s mother must’ve been to relinquish her to Battling.

Battling’s manager rightly complains about his drinking and womanizing, but Battling keeps his anger in check for the sake of his career. He saves the release of his rage for Lucy, his personal punching-bag, who’s too passive and weak to stand up for herself or escape.

Lucy is warned by both her married friends and prostitute friends not to follow in their footsteps, since their lives have been nothing but sorrow and misery since starting down those respective paths.

Cheng has been admiring Lucy from afar for awhile, struck by her fragile, haunted beauty amidst the muck and mire of Limehouse.

Battling’s manager finds him womanizing at a bar, and the ensuing lecture sends Battling into a rage. At home, he unleashes his rage upon Lucy with a whip.

Severely wounded and half-conscious, Lucy escapes after her father departs for training across the Thames, and collapses on the floor of Cheng’s shop. Cheng shows her the first gentleness she’s ever known when he cleans her wounds.

Cheng carries Lucy upstairs to his flat and tenderly nurses her back to health, beautifully decorating the room as befits a princess. He also gives her gorgeous clothes and renames her White Blossom.

Troubled waters start brewing when one of Battling’s friends comes to Cheng’s shop. While Cheng is out getting change, he hears an odd noise from upstairs and goes to investigate, finding Lucy asleep in bed.

Battling is horrified to learn Lucy is living with a Chinese man, and races home to get his revenge after the big fight. The concluding scenes are some of the most powerful, heartbreaking, and unforgettable of cinematic history.

A horror story of illusion and magic tricks

Premièring November 1929 at NYC’s Little Carnegie Theatre, The Last Performancce was Conrad Veidt’s final Hollywood film until WWII. Due to his heavy accent and lack of fluency in English, he had to return to his native Germany. Soon after the Nazis rose to power, he escaped to England with his Jewish wife.

Like many other films of the late silent era, this one too had a hybrid version with sound effects, talking sequences, and a soundtrack.  Today, only the silent version (with Danish intertitles) survives. Very embarrassingly, one of the English translations renders “you’re” as “your.” Nails on a chalkboard! Where was the proofreader!

Magician Erik the Great (Veidt) falls in love with his assistant Julie Fergeron (Mary Philbin), who’s on the cusp of her eighteenth birthday. Julie is stunned to find a love letter backstage, which includes a marriage proposal. (In real life, Conrad was 36 and Mary was 27, though Conrad is made up to look MUCH older.)

Erik is looking forward to an upcoming tour of America, Julie’s birthday, and his wedding, but the happy mood crashes when he discovers a thief, Mark Royce (Fred MacKaye), in his hotel suite. Erik gives him the choice of going with the cops or joining the magic act. Since Mark was “only” helping himself to Erik’s food instead of purloining material possessions, Erik is somewhat sympathetic to him.

At Julie’s insistence, Erik invites Mark to join the act as Buffo’s assistant. Buffo Black (Leslie Fenton) is Erik’s apprentice. Very predictably, Julie and Erik fall in instalove.

Also rather predictably, Buffo has feelings for Julie. He can’t believe Julie and Erik are soon to marry, and thinks Erik is a fool for believing Julie actually loves him. (Since the first two-thirds of the film speed by without much of any character development, it is hard to see why Julie agreed to marry Erik, even reluctantly.)

At Julie’s eighteenth birthday party, Buffo discovers Julie and Mark in an amorous situation and arranges for Erik to catch them in the act. Erik is understandably heartbroken, but puts on a false front of cordiality by announcing Julie and Mark’s engagement in front of all their guests at the banquet.

But if Julie and Mark believe Erik’s graceful reaction to being cuckolded, they’ve soon got another think coming. Erik has macabre revenge in mind, and he’s bound and determined to pin the blame on someone else.

The Last Performance received mixed reviews. Some felt it were over-directed and overacted, with lacklustre camera work, while others praised Veidt’s wonderful acting, the great imagination of director Paul Fejos (né Pál Fejös), Mary Philbin’s charm, great photographic effects, and the narrative development.

The last third of the film has incredible pacing and dramatic tension, which I wish were the case for the preceding two-thirds. I would’ve liked more development of the characters and their respective relationships instead of rushing through them till that pivotal moment when Erik discovers the betrayal. An extra half-hour or so would’ve strengthened the story.

But as always, Conrad’s acting is incredible. He had such an expressive face and eyes, able to say so much without saying a word.