Semper rewrote the story. Patrick was intrigued. One day, perhaps, we will film it. Semper also asked Patrick to send along the slasher script. Patrick did. Semper looked at it and asked Patrick’s opinion. Patrick admitted that he did not care for the script or for doing a slasher film to begin with. Semper agreed and thought that the script was something he had seen a million times. Semper  asked the inevitable question: “What kind of movie do you want to  make?” They both agreed on an old school monster movie, preferably a comedy horror.

Within a short while, John Semper wrote the first draft of the “Creeporia” script, without a contract in hand. A budget was formed and, although not a Hollywood budget, it was considerable for an Indiana-based film. Semper’s script called for 47 different monsters and a musical number.

In addition to being a producer, I was given the position of casting director. So the hunt for 47 monsters was on and, unknown to me, this would lead to a cameo by local horror host Sammy Terry and an intensive hunt for a new actress to portray Creeporia.

It was search that would lead us to the Harp Twins: Camille and Kennerly Kitt.

In regards to John Semper^[1], Patrick Greathouse asked the question, “Why partner with the Asylum House?”

I put this question to Mr. Semper. “I liked my conversations with both you and Pat,” he responded. “You dig deep into films and so do I. Pat seemed to enjoy comedy-horror and we bonded over that. I was impressed with all of the resources at hand. Pat prepared a video guided tour of your standing sets and props. I could begin to envision that with all of those resources, and also the makeup talent, we might be able to pull off a halfway decent film for very low dollars. The script was easy. I tried to keep it limited to the resources Pat had on hand. ”

Naturally, the script was not entirely limited to the Asylum House location. Six additional locations were required. We secured those locations over the course of a year in pre-production. We needed a restaurant and found one in Miss Betty’s Dinner Theater in Trafalgar, Indiana. It is run by a bona-fide golden girl named Betty Davis, AKA Miss Betty.

The Historic Hannah House, in Indianapolis, is a haunted attraction with which The Asylum House has a good working relationship. The Hannah House perfectly served the script’s needs for the “Mason Q. Arkham” wax museum scene. The equally historic Fountain Building in Fountain Square would be the home of our big dance number and laboratory scene.

“Creeporia” has been a blessed project in many ways.  It seemed for every setback we had, an opportunity opened. Clearly, the production was going to need a bigger budget than what we immediately had available on hand. A local businessman had expressed interest in investing in the project. Several months into pre-production, that potential investor backed out. Shortly after he did so, another source of capital opened for us. A year previous, The Asylum House had put in a bid in for an extensive mural job at the Veteran’s Hospital. Patrick and I worked several months fine tuning our bid package, submitted it, only to be told that the Hospital could not raise the needed budget at that time. A year later, our bid was accepted, and the income from that job would be beneficial for our post-production needs.

In addition to being a producer (mainly, a pre-production producer), I also had been assigned the position of casting director. John Claeys, an Asylum House veteran who has designed and built many of the attraction’s sets, was tapped for Art Direction, Assistant Director and the role of our Mad Genius Professor. Claeys, a true blue eccentric who channels the elder Peter Cushing when he acts, was aptly cast.

Over the year, Patrick and I began filming auditions for 47 monsters. For the pivotal role of antagonist Mason Q. Arkham, we landed another Asylum veteran in the actor Tristan Ross. Ross had been the Asylum’s “Sweeney Todd” for years, until the Tim Burton/Johnny Depp film soured the part for him. Since then, Ross had been a memorable Mr. Edward Hyde inhabiting Claeys’ Elysium.

The auditions were a mixed blessing. We conducted and filmed them at the Mass Avenue Comedy Sportz, an improvisational comedy club. Several Asylum actors volunteered to assist us. Predictably, every attractive girl who came into audition was met by crowds of volunteer co-star actors with raging libidos who acted like they had never seen a female before: “Patrick, get these guys the hell out of here!”

One of my assistants was a short, squat actor from the Haunt who told me: “Man, I have to play the werewolf character, Wolfgang. I am really into the werewolf culture. It is my life’s destiny to play a werewolf.” We had a few decent auditions for the werewolf part, including said assistant, but none that were particularly striking. One potential actor read for several parts, and I wanted him to read for Wolfgang. I asked the assistant to give the actor the Wolfgang sides. A short time later when the candidate took the stage, I asked him to read for the part. “Your assistant told me that I couldn’t read for Wolfgang because the part has been filled.” Scratch one assistant and any idea of a short, squat lycanthrope.

Michael Davis, from Comedy Sportz, and Randy Cox, an Asylum House actor, were exceptional enough that they were cast in multiple roles. Michael plays Count Blablabla/Cy Clops/Dr. Creepogari, while Randy Cox tackles Harvey Goodwill/Assistant Director. Liberty or Death Production’s  James Mannan as Cannibal Hector, Noah Kinsey as Rhett Butler, Kayla Gill as Heather, Randy Buschard as Freakenstein, and Tyler Pittman as horror aficionado boy Johnny were all standouts. Mark Carter had recently taken over the role of horror host  Sammy Terry from his legendary father. Sammy makes a cameo in the film, and Mark also took the role of Blink Nightingale (without makeup).

As busy as we were, Patrick and I both agreed to cameos: Patrick appears as a waiter in the restaurant scene, myself as a business partner in the opening. My performance art character; BlueMahler, was also given a silent cameo for our Hollywood backlot scene, filmed at Lafayette Square Mall.

John Semper on casting: “Casting went well. I cast some actors who seemed very close to the type of character they were going to play, and others who seemed very talented. Consequently, I found much of what I was looking for. There were only a few actors whom I wanted who turned us down, but I was able to figure out replacements, even having two actors double-up and perform more than one role.

I didn’t want to cast out of L.A. L.A. performers—in fact LA people in general—can be somewhat cynical and jaded. I wanted a set full of bright, energetic people with a good sense of humor. No sourpusses, downers or snarky whiners allowed.  The only people I brought in from outside Indy were the talented jazz singer Elaine Miles, who, along with my wonderful composer, John Chiodini, helped write a new song for the project. I wanted her to be the one to perform it, which she does beautifully in the role of Elaine, the Brain That Wouldn’t Die.

I brought in professional New York choreographer Melanie Baker, whom I also cast in a small role. She choreographed our big dance numbers, and she did a wonderful job. She worked with Lynn Herrick and her local Indy dance company, The Dance Refinery, all of whom did a great job.

From LA, I brought in Rachel Halsey to do makeup and make the girls seem even more beautiful than they already are (if that’s even possible). Rachel is a true artist and I knew I needed somebody of her high-caliber to work on the faces of our lead actresses who would be on camera throughout the entire film.

Josh Baker came in from Chicago to play the male lead in our film, and he is hilarious. The twins [Camille and Kennerly Kitt] found him. They have great judgment, because he was perfect for the role. But that was it for the outsiders. I really wanted to draw the cast and crew from the pool of talent in Indianapolis. I liked the fresh, creative energy that they all brought to the table.”

As we were coming close to filling out the majority  of the roles, Patrick called me with the news: “The actress playing Creeporia needs to be replaced.” The resulting search was something akin to an Indiana version of the Scarlett O’Hara hunt. After auditioning seemingly countless actresses, there were two that had potential, but Semper was patient and selective, not wanting to commit to either.

Then, I received a communication from twin actresses: Camille and Kennerly Kitt. They wanted to audition. When I looked at their resume and checked out their site, I discovered them to be trained in the arts, erudite, performing harpists who were developing a following. The best actors in the horror genre are rarely fans. Boris Karloff, Vincent Price, Peter Cushing, and Barbara Steele were all educated, genteel, and had an appreciation for the arts. I saw those qualities in the Kitts bios and their Harp Twin videos. I forwarded their email onto Semper, who encouraged me to audition them.

Camille and Kennerly Kitt on their musical background: “We started playing the piano when we were children and began playing harp a little before high school. We both loved the harp and thought it was a magical instrument. We had to convince our mom that we were serious about learning harp because she was worried it might just be an overly expensive whim. We proved we were serious about learning it by earning the money for our own harp. We walked dogs, baby-sat, did office work, etc. From the start, we knew that we wanted to play duets, so we earned the money for a second, pre-owned harp. We were classically trained and have degrees in Harp Performance from a Conservatory of Music. However, even then we knew we wanted to play contemporary music (which is rather frowned upon in a Conservatory). Since we couldn’t find contemporary music arranged for one harp (let alone two!), we began arranging all of our own music. We even put our pop and rock adaptations into our Conservatory recitals. We knew that we wanted to make a career our of being a contemporary Harp Duo, but we also knew that we would have to create our own niche. it is always a bit intimidating to strike out on an unknown path, but we were determined to show that we could take harp where it has never gone before. We have never sought an agent for anything; so everything that we have down, we have done ourselves.”

The twins came into acting belatedly: “We have always loved acting and we try to fit media projects into our harp performance schedule. We’ve been in several commercials, including a National commercial for the Toshiba Thrive Tablet and a Chupa Chups lollipops commercial for Japanese television. We have been in several short films as well as several feature films.^[2]. Our first feature film was the 2011 film Politics of Love. After that we had roles as ‘The Marcelli Twins’ in Blacktino (2011).”

I was enthusiastic about the twins enough that, secretly (don’t tell Semper) I rehearsed them over the phone for a couple of days, sent them links to the Creeporia site/web series, dialogued with them and made suggestions. After a few days, Camille and Kennerly made an audition demo themselves and overnighted it to us. Upon seeing it, Patrick and I both felt we had our Creeporia, but that was for John Semper to decide.

Semper on casting Creeporia: “The biggest question mark was finding somebody to play Creeporia. It’s a tough process, because Creeporia has to be both beautiful and funny, which isn’t an easy combination to find. And by beautiful I don’t just mean pretty. There are a lot of attractive women in the world, but to hold your attention on film for an entire movie, an actress has to have an uber-beauty, a hyper-real, transcendental quality of beauty that really stands out. The original Creeporia had that, but she and I ran into creative differences, and she wasn’t available to perform in this project. Fortunately, we stumbled upon the twins, and they had it all. Their audition demo showed that they were beautiful and funny. The icing on the cake was that they were also smart. Being genuinely intelligent really helps when you’re trying to make a low-budget production like this. As a director, you need to have actors do things quickly and understand what you need without a lot of explanation. It’s always better to work with smart people, and the twins are brilliant. They’re so smart, that at times, when I was really fatigued and out of it, it seemed like they were directing ME! We could not have made this film without them. Once we found them (or to be precise, they found us), we were good to go.”

Camille and Kennerly on being cast: “When we initially sent in our resume and photo to be considered, we were not expecting to audition for the role of Creeporia. We were very surprised when we were sent Creeporia sides to audition. Since we weren’t interested in just one of us landing a solo role, we did the sides together-both of us playing the role of Creeporia. We sent in a tape and didn’t hear anything for a long time. It was months later when John Semper called us and told us that we were being offered the role of Creeporia and that he was actually adapting the script to incorporate the fact that there were two of us. It was very exciting. When we first read the script we loved it!

We thought that Creeporia was such an interesting and unique character and spirit and John had created a fascinating and eclectic assembly of monsters to surround her. ”

Another stroke of luck for us was that The Asylum House had its best season ever that year. We would start shooting on November 1st, the day after the haunted house season’s end. The profits propelled us forward with the required budget. Unfortunately, the mural project, which was necessary, had to be manned by me. This pulled me away from being on location full-time during the shoot. I had been helping develop this project for over a year, but now I was forced to make the mural (and my schoolwork) top priorities. As disheartening as this was, it was an essential prioritizing. As I was unavailable during shoot, local Larna Smith was chosen for line producer. Make-up artists Don Trent, Phil Yeary, Jennifer Ring, and Steve Stephens had the daunting task of creating 47 monsters. Trent, with assistance from Yeary, and Patrick, created the films masks and costumes. The Twins’ mother, Diane Elaine Carlson, assisted her daughters.

Semper, Camille Kitt, and Kennerly Kitt all showed up a few days before filming, early enough to experience a trip through The Asylum House.

Camille and Kennerly Kitt: “We actually arrived in Indianapolis for filming right at the culmination of the Halloween season. We went through the horror house and it was definitely the largest and most elaborate that we had ever seen! It was wonderful to see the essence of what The Asylum House is before we started filming “Creeporia.” Everyone there is so talented and it was fun to see The Asylum House transformed into the Creeporia Universe.”

1. John Semper bio [↩]
2. Here are Camille and Kennerly‘s identical IMDB filmographies [↩]

On casting choices: The thing that I did in casting, which I tend to always do when I’m casting nonprofessionals, is that I chose people who I thought were very close in personality to the characters that I wanted them to play. I wasn’t always looking for actors who could deliver brilliant performances that are outside of their comfort zone. Often times, all I needed was someone to be reasonably comfortable in front of the camera, being a slightly exaggerated version of themselves.

..

On actors: We had a few really strong actors. Michael Davis is a very strong actor, a lot of experience in improv comedy. Randy Cox is a strong actor. These were actors who played multiple roles because I could tell from their auditions that they could handle it. The thing about the girls [Camille and Kennerly Kitt] is that they were perceptive.

Some of the other actors who auditioned were horrible. Some people couldn’t even read, let alone act. So, it was a breath of fresh air when I came across these two young talents who could find the nuances in the dialogue and understand where the jokes were.

Jim Mannan is a good, strong actor. The plus to Jim is he that was also a dedicated worker. He was one of the most professional people on the set, in that he was required to be on set for a very long time and never complained. He just had a fantastic demeanor and dedication to the film.

Tristan Ross: I could tell was a very strong actor and, therefore, I felt very comfortable handing him a significant role. I am happy with what he did, but word reaches me that he is less than appreciative of having been in this film, which I think is a shame, because I think he did a good job.

When you guys originally sent me the audition tape for Mark Carter (Sammy Terry), [executive producer] Patrick [Greathouse] was trying to sell me on the idea of Mark being the male lead. I didn’t see that in Mark. What I saw in his performance was a kind of larger than life personality that would be perfect for the game show host, Blink Nightingale.

Mark is really funny and this character needed a lot of room to expand. I couldn’t tell from the audition tape whether or not Mark had great acting chops (it turns out that he does), but I could tell that there was a comfort in front of the camera and that there was a big personality.

Patrick first started talking to me about Sammy Terry, and Pat was obviously very excited about Sammy Terry, but I didn’t grow up in Indianapolis. I didn’t have a clue who Sammy Terry was. In fact, the first time I laid eyes on Sammy Terry was when Mark was in the makeup for those extra scenes.

I didn’t originally write Sammy Terry into the script. So when I decided that Mark should play the game show host that was just based on seeing the audition tape. It was a perfect fit. That is an example of casting close to a kind of personality and ending up richly rewarded. Mark so completely threw himself into that role that I think he is one of the high points of the film.

John Claeys (Mad Genius Professor) is an interesting situation. In the bowels of his living situation there; that building, down in the basement where he works his art director magic, one night he shot a video audition as the Professor. He so perfectly nailed it that I didn’t care whether he could act or not.

Quite frankly,  I don’t think John is a very strong actor. I think he would have to agree with that. But, he saw himself playing that character and his audition tape convinced me that, yes, there was so much in that character that was him that it would be worth casting.

Now, I will say this: It was difficult with John because he isn’t particularly good at memorizing lines. I don’t think he got through a single run of his lines without screwing it up once. But, I come from the world of post-production, so I think like an editor. This, by the way, saved us.

I tend to think in terms of bits of film that I know I am going to use in a certain way down the line. I knew how I could edit John. I knew when I had enough of a take to use. By a combination of John really throwing himself into the role, making a lot of mistakes, but still really throwing himself completely into the role, and then me knowing how to cut around the mistakes, I think, again, that John’s performance is one of the strongest in the film.

On working with Alfred Eaker (as an actor in a cameo): Alfred was impossible. The dressing room wasn’t warm enough, there weren’t enough people catering to his needs. You were just a total prima donna (laughter).

First of all, we shot you twice. I had to come back to Indianapolis to re-shoot you, which actually had nothing to do with you. You had just had surgery. You were like at death’s door. We got you out of your hospital bed, we got you out of your death-bed and you delivered a brilliant performance, which, of course, will be your last (laughter). You were fine to work with.

This is how much I appreciate what you did: You guys opened the movie. You have one of the first lines of the movie. Of the first ten lines, about five of them are yours. I am very happy with the opening, especially after we re-shot it. I should point out that the re-shoot had nothing to do with the actors and everything to do with a particular cameraman from L.A., whom we had hired for just a couple of days.

On working with Executive Producer Patrick Greathouse: Here is one of the things that makes Pat one of my favorite producers and puts him in the same league as Jim Henson and Stan Lee: the best producer on the planet is the guy who basically is just going to leave you alone, let you do your thing, and support you every step of the way.

The only two other producers that I have worked for, who did that for me, were Stan Lee and Jim Henson. In my universe that puts Pat in an elite group. So, whatever shortcomings he might have exhibited, he is up at the top of my list. He continues to be supportive. I had a wonderful time working with Pat and I think the product reflects that. If I had any difficulty working with Pat, then it wouldn’t have been easy for me to work on the project and the project might not have gotten finished.

On the two local cameramen and a cameraman from L.A: We needed a cameraman for a couple of days because our regular cameraman, JD Brenton, wasn’t available for those days. Someone recommended a hotshot cameraman from L.A. I did not know him.

The problem with out here (L.A.) is that, yes there are a lot of talented people, but there are also a lot of posers; people who come out here to reinvent themselves as something they really aren’t, they’re pretending to be specialists.

The reason that happens is because L.A. is a place where you really can lie your way to the top. There have been a number of situations where writers have been found to have lied on their resumes; they have gotten elevated to a high position in the Writers Guild, or whatever Guild, and then one day somebody starts pouring through their bio and realizes that a good percentage of it is made-up. There is a lot of that out here.

Basically, you are what you tell people you are. So, you get a lot of sociopaths who succeed very well out here. That breeds more sociopathic behavior. People look at that and see that it succeeds. Some of the top people out here, with names that you would know, are horrible sociopaths. They’re liars, cheaters, and that’s the way things are out here.

The thing that I felt about that cameraman (from L.A.); he was kind of legend in his own mind and when it came to the practical business of doing his job, and doing it well, and making people comfortable—he wasn’t good at that. It was bruising his ego that I was in charge and he wasn’t, which is something a director should never have to deal when dealing with a cameraman. It was bruising his ego that this was not his film and he was very obvious about it. He made me very uncomfortable, he made the actors uncomfortable. He was parading around like he was in charge, which caused extra work for a number of people, and then the bottom line; with all this grandstanding and pomposity, he wasn’t a very good cameraman.

He was so busy parading around and pretending to be something that he forgot to actually be it. He didn’t really understand the camera very well. He made a number of mistakes that created problems for me in editing. That’s why I had to come back to Indy and re-shoot, to fix his mistakes.

That’s what I expect from L.A. and that’s why I wasn’t too excited about bringing L.A. people to Indianapolis. I figured in Indianapolis you would have good, talented people who are free of this kind of attitude and that’s exactly what happened.

Our primary cameraman JD Brenton was fantastic to work with. He was constantly suggesting things, never got in my way, always supportive of what I was trying to accomplish. If he suggested something and I didn’t like it, he didn’t take it personally. There was no ego involved. He also happened to be really talented and I might point out that when we started he didn’t really know that particular camera we were using either. Even with that, he learned it very quickly. He adapted to the situation and he ended up being a tremendous help.

J.Ross Eaker also did a fantastic job. At first he wasn’t going to work on the film. You talked him into it. He came in, showed no ego. He worked long hours without complaint. Again, this is why I did not want to cast out of L.A.

The cameraman from L.A. lived up to all my worst nightmares. The Indianapolis people were good, solid, get the job done.

You have to understand, when I arrived in Indy, I hit the ground running. I was dealing with jet lag. Pat, in his zeal, had scheduled the first shoot for 5:00 a.m because we had to be at this building at six in the morning. Now that was 2:00 a.m my time. So I had to do a lot of the early production just flat-out being dead tired. So it was very important to me that people be helpful, and not be a hindrance.

All the Indy people; you, Pat, Ross, JD, everybody stepped in and made my adjustment to the new time zone much easier to deal with. I think that blue-collar attitude, which the Twins (from Chicago) also had, just handles reality better. It’s a better work ethic.

In L.A. people get spoiled. They get paid way too much money to do far too little. You get rewarded for being a diva and parading around as a character version of yourself; all the things that cameraman brought to the table, whereas I got surrounded by a hardworking group in Indy. It was cold in that building, yet nobody bitched, nobody whined. This required a tremendous amount of dedication. The girls had that in spades. A lot of times, by the evening (because we shot all day) the girls propped me up. They would remind me of things that I had forgotten to shoot. They always knew their lines, were spot on with their acting. They were a Godsend.The whole production was blessed in a way. Everything fit very nicely (except for that L.A. cameraman). There was no negative energy.

On the make-up artists:  I think the make-up people worked harder than any of us. By the end of the production they were really tired of me because they worked harder than they expected to. There was a little bit of grumbling in the make-up room, but very little. Don Trent is a master at his craft. Don, Phil Yeary, Jen Ring, Nicole Fernandez; they were the unsung heroes.

On the Wolfman: The Wolfman make-up was the most elaborate make-up. There is this phenomenon that kicks in when you’re an actor and you have to wear make-up like that: You start to feel claustrophobic.

Jim Carrey, when he did the Grinch, they had to hire a person to be his companion. Because, you tend to feel completely removed from everything that’s going on around you when you are in a costume like that for hours. We didn’t have the luxury of being able to treat our actors that way.

Randy Cox, who was originally supposed to be the Werewolf, came to me on the one day that he was wearing that make-up, he was fanning himself with his hand, and going: “I don’t think I… this make-up, this make-up, I don’t know if I can…” He was really kind of out of it. I was busy because that’s the day we were shooting at Miss Betty’s, so I was all over the place. We had been shooting all day. Then at night, we had the big restaurant scene with all the extras, so I couldn’t pay attention to him. After that day, he went away and never came back. I don’t hold that against him.

Fortunately, and this is another example of how this production was blessed, the guy who [choreographer] Melanie [Baker-Futorian] had found to play the werewolf in the dance, also wanted to play the werewolf in the movie. When she found out we had lost our werewolf she said: “How about Drew?” We brought Drew [Andrew S. Phillips] in. He was young, he was energetic and I know that make-up drove him crazy too, but he could handle it. He also had a dancer’s body. He brought all this wonderful dancer’s body language into this character that enhanced the make-up.

Even though Randy couldn’t continue, because of the make-up, that actually worked out well because we got someone who was better suited to playing that character.

On John Semper as the voices of Bonaparte, Batty, and Maurice: That had nothing to do with vanity. When I was doing the web series, I didn’t want to have to round-up actors. So, I just decided that I would do the voices of Creeporia’s characters who live in the crypt with her, and I knew that I could.

Lord knows I have been around enough voice-over people, I’ve been in a lot of voice-over recording sessions, I’ve seen Mel Blanc perform on several occasions, including one of my scripts for The Jetsons. So, I know how to do it.

On the Production: Pat, bless his heart, is one of those guys who, and this is what I love about him, he sees no limits. If you said to him, “Pat, I just bought an airplane, and we need to get it into this building,” Pat’s a guy who will go,” well we could remove the roof and we could just take the building wall down, and we could get a 4 wheeler to drag the airplane.” It’s amazing the stuff that he’s ready to tackle.

So, the big picture: Pat is phenomenal. The small picture, I think, tends to elude Pat a little bit. I don’t think he really understood what would be required on a day-to-day basis as far as the production was concerned. Originally we were going to shoot in summer. I had a feeling that he wasn’t ready yet, even though he was painting things, moving things, removing walls, putting up dividers, doing all this amazing stuff, I just had a feeling, from a practical point of view, that he wasn’t really ready.

So, it got put off until November. Delays are, sometimes, really a Godsend. We’re having delays now in getting this film done. I know that it disappoints people, but the fact of the matter is that every time this project has been delayed, it ends up benefiting the project.

Had we made this film in the summer, we would not have had enough money. But, because it got delayed until November, then all of a sudden, the financial picture changed and we were able to spend more money on the film, which made it better. I think the same thing is going to happen with release of the film. It’s disappointing in this era of instant gratification that it wasn’t ready within a month after we shot it. But, as far as distribution is concerned, I think the delay is going to have this film ready at exactly the right time, and I stand by that. The beginning of next year is exactly the time for this film to be getting out to the public.

The challenge for me is that sets would literally be ready the day we were supposed to shoot in them. I had no preparation in terms of blocking, we were changing the schedule on an hourly basis. Things got so out of whack that at one point I said, “Let’s just stop. Let’s not do anything. Let’s all get a good night’s sleep, let’s all sleep in the next day, let’s just gather our wits about us.”

There were a couple of times that had to happen. It was a real trial by fire. Because literally, I would walk into a set and see what Creeporia’s living room was going to look like. Let’s put the camera over here and I would make it up on the spot, how I wanted to block things out. And, again, that’s where my post-production experience came in handy. I couldn’t do any elaborate camera moves. I’m not really big into elaborate camera moves anyway.

All this steadycam stuff that you see on TV drives me crazy. It would have made our production even more complicated than it already was. When I look at some of the scenes and you see Creeporia’s interior; it all looks very well put together, and orderly, and very much the environment it is supposed to be. I know that literally inches outside of the edge of the frame there was dirt and cables, crates; just chaos! But, we would somehow be able to get the camera view just perfect.

To give you a really great example of the lack of preparation and the amount of luck that we had: Melanie was rehearsing the dancers for the dance number. I had no idea where we were going to shoot the big dance number. It was supposed to be on a Broadway-like stage. I had no idea where we were going to shoot that.

As we got closer and closer to shooting I thought we would have to knock down some of the walls of our sets and just shoot it here in the sound stage. But even then, even knocking out walls, there just wasn’t going to be enough room and the crappy carpet was on the floor and it really looked awful. How are people going to dance on this? I had no idea.

The weekend rolls around and we were supposed to be shooting the dance number the next week. Pat calls me and says: “John Claeys called and he wants us to come over, look at this house, and look at the stuff he’s got hanging on his walls and everything.

So the girls, their mother, and I pile into the car and we go to John Claeys’s building. We are looking at this amazing display of “Claeysiana” that he as all over the place. It’s like stepping inside of his brain, which is an amazing experience; very talented guy. And then he says “I want to show you where we’re going to shoot the laboratory scene. It’s down in the basement.” He lives in a building that is a very old building, and he’s refurbishing it for the guy who owns it.

As we’re walking from his apartment to the basement, he walks us across this balcony,  I look down and I see this theater. I asked about it and he says, “Oh, this building used to have a theater in it, we’re refurbishing it, and we still have events here.”

It’s like a little Broadway theater. I turn to Pat and I say,”Why didn’t you tell me this was here?  This is exactly where we need to shoot the musical number! Why don’t you see if you can get it?” So, he talks to the guy and, again, this is the beauty of Pat: this is what we need, and Pat says “OK, let me see if I can get it for you.” He did, he was able to rent it for one day and literally days before we’re scheduled to shoot the dance number, I had the theater. But, that’s how this whole production went! But, when you see the film, it will look like we rented this Broadway theater, just as if we had planned it months ago!

Elaine Sarah Miles was somebody I knew prior to writing the script, so when I wrote the script, I knew that I wanted her in it to sing a song.

I am a big musical fan. People make these kinds of low-budget films, but they never put music in it, they never put musical numbers. So I am going to throw everyone out of whack and put a musical number in it.

Elaine and John Chiodini offered to write a song. I like to throw people off-kilter. I thought if we make this low-budget film and there’s this big MGM musical number in the middle of it, everyone’s going to go: “Oh, damn, I wasn’t expecting that!”

I’ve known Melanie Baker-Futorian for many decades and I asked her if she would do the choreography and she said: “No!” She didn’t think she could it, but I convinced her. Her issue was leaving behind the stuff she was doing in New York, and this was an unknown quantity. But, this is the way Mel does things and I love it; she throws herself into things 100 %.

As a sweetener, I threw in the business of her playing Nikki Finkenstein. She was excited about that. While she was there in New York, she choreographed the whole number and sent it to me.

Before she even came out, Lynn Herrick, the head of the Dance Refinery in Indianapolis, went to New York, met Melanie, and so by the time Melanie came to Indy, she was old friends with Lynn, fit right into the dance studio, and immediately started working with the dancers. That’s the kind of work ethic Melanie has.

The main number she did all herself. I made a couple of suggestions for the “We’re Cowboys” number, which Melanie choreographed in Indy. She incorporated my suggestions, refined her choreography, and it worked out really well.

Elaine and Melanie brought in a tremendous wealth of talent. Elaine was one of the few people I brought in from L.A., but that’s because I knew Elaine very well.

The other person I brought in from L.A. was make-up artist Rachel Halsey. I knew she was brilliant at make-up. But, again, I had to convince her. Getting people to get on an airplane and fly out to Indianapolis is not the easiest thing to do. She agreed to come in for a few days and teach the girls their make-up. And, again, we couldn’t have gotten through this without Rachel’s talents. Because you’re staring at these faces throughout the entire film. Creeporia is practically in every scene and she has to look spectacular or else we’re not going to want to be with her. Rachel took those cute little freshly-scrubbed faces and turned them into something really gorgeous and sexy and beautiful. Rachel’s contribution was phenomenal.

On Post-production: I always knew I would have animation in the film because, again, it’s something people wouldn’t expect and it would be a cost-effective way to do something fun and unusual. It has nothing to do with the fact that I come from the world of animation. People are going to say, “Oh, he does cartoons, that’s why there’s animation in the film.” That’s not true. The reality is there are things that I wanted to have happen in this film that we couldn’t afford.

One of those things is chase sequences. Every comedy movie should have a good chase sequence. So, the bottom line is that every time we had a chase sequence, that was going to be animated. Once I commit to using animation, it opens up to other things. I always knew I was going to have an introduction, a kind of back story that would open that movie and that would be animated.

James Sanders, myself, and Todd M. Coe were the three animators. Again, timing. You introduced me to Todd Coe and I made him my chase sequence guy. Todd animated the chase sequences.

Then, an old friend of mine called me out of the clear blue from Boston and wanted me to meet this young animator. People do this all the time; ask me to meet someone who is trying to get their career started and give them advice. I always say yes. I know how important that was when I first arrived in this town.

One of the first people who took me under their wing was Walter Lantz, the creator of Woody Woodpecker. When you are driving around the Valley with Walter Lantz, who arrived here in 1925, and he’s showing you the Valley from his perspective, you can’t beat that! It’s an education you can’t buy. So I always do that when people call me.

This old friend of mine called me, his name was Arnie, and he asked me to talk to this young guy. I arranged lunch and met this young, black animator named James Sanders. We hit it off really well and I brought him into the film. That opened up possibilities for me. James handled some new stuff I thought up, including a Creeporia flashback scene. So, I got two brilliant animators due to timing.

I wanted to have a fairly elaborate animated opening. I tackled the whole opening credit sequence myself. I wanted to do a credit sequence like the Pink Panther where it lasts a long time and revolves around animated characters doing interesting things that are very much thematically related to what goes on in the movie. The opening is huge, like a short film in and of itself. I am also animating the big, climactic scene at the end.

I gave Todd Coe a lot of leeway. I let him come up with stuff on his own. Again, it’s similar to the way guys like Henson and Stan Lee were with me: this is what I absolutely need. Now, how you execute it, is up to you.

Todd came up with designs, ran them past me, they were all quite brilliant. He did it his way then I gave him notes as to how I needed to have it fixed and changed. I try to be a good producer because if something doesn’t work, I will tell you what I want instead. Lousy producers are guys that bark “Oh, I don’t like that! I want something better.” I have worked for those guys.

Todd’s wife, Ally, turned out to be a Godsend because she understood Adobe After Effects. I had a whole bunch of things I needed done in After Effects and she did them. They were a dynamic duo for me.

I got James set up with the exact same software Todd was using and he turned out to be fantastic to work with. They were all nice, no egos.

On “Creeporia” as a series:  I had no idea what this film was going to look like, what the sets were going to look like, what the acting was going to be like, etc. So it was very hard for me to say what this was going to be.For lack of a better example, I called it a movie.

We were shooting a feature-length script. When I wrote the script, it was long. I always write long. Then, when the twins were going to be in it, I wrote even more to take advantage of the fact that I had twins. So, there’s a whole sequence that I added while taking nothing out. I knew going into this that it was going to be long. Doing the animation added even more, with sequences telling the back story of Creeporia. In turning the opening into an animated sequence it got long, the chase sequences added length.

There’s a certain expectation that people have when you say something’s a movie. They’re expecting something that costs millions of dollars. We didn’t have millions of dollar and, simultaneously, we had something a lot longer than 90 minutes. So I always knew I was going to wait. It would tell me what it was, not me telling it what it was.

When it all got put together, I didn’t see million dollar movie quality, but it is excellent TV quality; far better than much that is on the air. So, it’s not a movie, it’s a TV show, and the definition that popped in my head was comedy horror soap opera.

If you say soap opera people expect a certain quality. We exceed that. Your criticism of what you see in a movie or a TV show is directly related to your expectations. If you walk into a movie house and the movie exceeds your expectations, you are going to give it a good review.

If the movie falls short of your expectations, you’re going to give it a bad review. So, I wanted people not to expect movie quality, but soap opera quality. The reality is that it’s better than soap opera quality. It’s actually a pretty damn good TV show.

Distribution is changing literally by the hour. All this video-on-demand has reached a point of maturity that makes it a very viable way for programming to be delivered. This wireless internet delivery of TV is being delivered into TVs that you actually buy. It’s all happening right now. That’s where I always wanted “Creeporia: to be delivered. We’re finishing this right when it needs to finished and when fate steps in, you just need to get out of the way and let it happen.

On where “Creeporia” is going: I want “Creeporia” to be self-sustaining. I want to make enough money off this to roll into another project and this time everybody gets paid what they’re worth. To be able to do this again, to bring back a lot of the people who worked on it the first time; that’s my goal. I am in the middle of writing a couple of Creeporia books. I want to continue the Creeporia franchise, kept it going, so that people know and like the character.

I suppose Elvira might be something of a prototype, but I want it to be bigger and better than Elvira. I want to take Creeporia and put her in really funny movies. My idea of funny movies are the best of Mel Brooks, or Monty Python. If I could make a movie with Creeporia in it and it would resonate like Holy Grail, that is my Holy Grail.

That takes me to this thorny problem of audience. I have gotten in a little bit of trouble with the girls over the issue of whether or not this movie is “family friendly.” I have had to do a lot of thinking about this. I have done hours and hours of entertainment that is family friendly. I’ve done Disney cartoons, I’ve done “Alvin and the Chipmunks,” “The Smurfs,” “Scooby Doo,” and “Jay Jay the Jet Plane.” But, this is not that. “Creeporia” was designed to be funny. My audience is the same audience that would turn toMonty Python and the Holy Grail or Life of Brian or Young Frankenstein.

If I tune in on any episode of “Vampire Diaries,” that’s on regular television, I’m going to see the supernatural, bloody beheadings on regular television, watched by kids. I don’t do any of that in “Creeporia.” So I do regard “Creeporia” as being family friendly.  But, that’s not my priority. My priority is to make people laugh.

On weird movies: One of the things I want to do is go out and shoot a bunch of films that are closer to the spirit of The Saragossa Manuscript (1965) or my favorite Ingmar Bergman film, The Magician (1958). I grew up on that kind of cinema.

It’s funny because I was trying to defend the trailer to the twins, and they hated the trailer. JD too, he was a little confused by the trailer. This is the burden when you are known for doing young kid shows, everybody expects you to continue doing that. But, when you look at my movie, Class Act (1992), it’s a sophomoric high school comedy.

I made the trailer for “Creepoira” and I kept trying to explain to people, it’s like Satyricon (1969). But, the first problem is nobody knows who Fellini is anymore, which is amazing to me! It’s like talking about the Bible and someone asks: “What’s that?” How can you not know Fellini?

Here I am talking to the twentysomething girls and I’m saying I wanted the trailer to be like Fellini’s Satyricon. Silence. I explained who he was and said: “Satyricon was a really bizarre film that out-Fellinied Fellini.”

When I was working in a movie theater and the trailer for Satyricon came on, everybody was blown away. We didn’t know what it was. All we knew is we had to see it. That was my goal with the “Creeporia” trailer. I only wanted to establish a couple of things. It was funny, silly, a lot of weird stuff going on, and I’m not going to tell you what the movie is about. If you want to know, you’re going to have to come and see it.

I suspect this was a huge disappointment to them because they wanted to see a trailer that told their story of their character. But, that’s not what I wanted to do.

I grew up with Fellini’s Satyricon. The trailer for Last Tango In Paris (1972) showed you a still photo of Brando, a still photo of Schneider, that fantastic saxophone music by Barbieri, and that was it. You didn’t know anything about it, you just knew you had to see it, and that’s the world I come from. Fellini, Bergman, Mario Bava, this is my nirvana. Al, you get that! You understand that!

On Future Films: I want to make smaller, quirky films, very talky, because I like dialogue. I like wordplay. I have succeeded in the world of commercial filmmaking. Now I am going to make movies that are personal, quirky, and out of my head. And I will probably never make a dime.

The Final Word: You were all great fun to work with. Pat and the girls are excellent, and I think the girls are frustrated with me right now, but I still love them. You can’t get through this business without upsetting people, but you just have to stay focused.

I had so many people upset with me when I made “Spiderman: The Animated Series.” So many detractors. Yet people are still looking at that series and people are still loving it. That’s because you put all your time, energy, and focus into the product itself and make it as good as you can make it. That’s what we did with “Creeporia.” All the other stuff will fall by the wayside.

Years from now when people are seventy or whatever, their grandkids are going to say; “Oh you were in ‘Creeporia’?” It will all make sense then. I won’t be here, but I’ll be smiling down.

*Executive producer Patrick Greathouse wished to add: “Thank you one and all.”

Interview with Camille and Kennerly Kitt: The twin stars of the upcoming “Creeporia.”

On the experience of filming “Creeporia”:

Filming “Creeporia” was a blast even though the days were long and often stretched well into the night. It was wonderful to work with [director] John [Semper], the production team, and cast. It was like a month long monster party.

John was generous enough to let the two of us decide which scenes each of us would take for filming. However, before going into filming, we decided that we both needed to know every single line in the script – even though it is a monstrously (pun intended) large and dialog heavy script and we were splitting the role of Creeporia for most of the film. That way, either of us could easily jump into any scene and we were essentially interchangeable. There are even scenes where we’re switching off playing Creeporia!

We knew that John and the crew had a huge job with this film and we thought it was important to do everything in our power to make our part of the filming process go smoothly. We kept track of which scenes were filmed and which weren’t – so we were also essentially our own script supervisors! We knew the scripts backwards and forwards and we think this in-depth knowledge of every aspect of the script translated into us really “being Creeporia”. It feels like an eternity since we filmed “Creeporia,” so we have been anxious for the film to come out for quite some time.

On where “Creeporia” might go:  

Since we’re not producers or editors, our job was done when we completed filming and we’re not sure what is in store for the film! We’re excited to see what might be ahead for Creeporia. We have heard talk of a “Creeporia 2,” so we’re hoping that becomes a reality!

On their recent partnership with Youtube and future projects:

We recently had the opportunity to partner our YouTube channel.

This was never one of our goals for our YouTube channel, since we primarily started it to share samples of our performance repertoire with potential clients and people who had already seen us perform live, but we’re very excited to take this next step. Our YouTube fan base grows significantly every day: we have well over 5 million total views and we will reach 25,000 subscribers very soon. It’s wonderful that our music is reaching so many people and we think that this is just the beginning. We have several potential feature film projects for the future, but due to confidentiality, we can’t say more at this time.

In the documentary Looking for Charlie Bowers, film archaeologist Raymond Borde recollects buying a box of silent film reels marked “Bricolo” from a gypsy.  Borde was unable to identify the films or the filmmaker, but found the films quite unique.  The character in the Bricolo shorts was clearly patterned off of Keaton, but the gags were highly surreal, mixing animation with live action.  The search for the identity of Bricolo took Borde to the Belgium Royal Film Library and the Annecy Animated Film Festival.  Still, no one could identify the films.  Borde searched the exhaustive reviews of “Midi Minuet Fantastique,” which lead to a dead end.  Finally, Borde discovered a 1928 reference to Charley Bowers as Bricolo in a “Meric Cinematographers” ad in Mareilles.  From there Borden contacted Louise Beaudet of the Montreal Film Library.  Beaudet knew Bowers as the animator of the “Mutt and Jeff” series.  Together, Borde and Beudet contacted the Library of Congress and struck gold.  With much material, including press releases and hundreds of photographs, they were able to positively identify Bowers as the Bricolo of the reels.

Bowers life story proves as fascinating as his films and the discovery of his films.  Charley Bowers joined the circus as a tightrope walker at the age of five.  From there he worked as a jockey, cowboy, horse trainer, theatrical performer and caricaturist for newspapers.  In 1916 Bowers took on the role of producer, opened his own studio, and began producing a series of animated shorts with a small, ragtag team of animators.  In 1924, Bowers began producing shorts which mixed live action with animation, casting himself as the lead.  Bowers character was called Bricolo by French critics of the time.  Bizarre animated objects and puppets were part of the animated sequences.

Borden discovered a late 1930s reference to Bowers by Surrealist Andre Breton.  Breton had only seen Bowers’ short “It’s a Bird” as an introduction to a feature film.  Breton was surprised by the film and listed it as an important surrealist film in “The Surrealist Almanac.”  Borden discovered that Breton’s admiration for Bowers was shared by the avant-garde poet Rafael Alberti.

Bowers died, destitute and obscure, at the age of 57 in 1946, following a long illness.  Although he made hundreds of animated short films, along with the live action shorts, only fifteen of his films survive.  These were restored and distributed by Lobster Films in France.  This indispensable collection of Bowers films is on the two-disc set Charley Bowers, The Rediscovery of an American Comic Genius.

Like all great surrealism, Bowers film are imaginatively and aesthetically provocative.  Recurring obsessive themes permeate Bowers shorts.  “Egged On” (1926) and “Say Ah-h!” (1928) both feature unbreakable eggs.  In “Egged On” Charley is an inventor and has the great idea that unbreakable eggs will make him his fortune and allow him to marry his cousin (!).  The Egg Shipping company is interested in his invention so his cousin lets him build his machine in daddy’s barn.  Charley builds a huge machine that looks like something out of a Dr. Seuss cartoon.  The eggs come out rubbery, so the Egg Shipping Company comed out for a demonstration.  Alas, Charley can’t find any eggs; after a desperate search, he finally finds some.  Charley lays the eggs on a Model T Ford which incubates them and out hatch baby Model Ts.  This is slapstick surrealism at its maniacal best.

“Say Ah-h!” begins with Charley being chased by Cleo the Ostrich.  Charley (looking a lot like Harry Langdon here) has stolen Cleo’s egg, and he throws it to his famished employer, who cannot break it.  Finally, a farm hand shoots the egg, ruining it.  The farmhand orders Charley to produce another egg.  Charley feeds Cleo cement mix.  Cleo lays an egg.  The egg escapes Charley’s grasp and hatches a fully grown cyborg like ostrich.  The hatchling wears pants, has a feather duster for a tail and eats everything in sight, including metal objects.  The hatchling escapes, scares the hell out of everyone, dances the fox trot to a record and hatches a couple of eggs which produce more baby cyborg ostriches.  The title indicates that the surviving reel of “Say Ah-h” is the second part; the first part is lost and the second half, presented here, is badly decomposed.

“It’s a Bird” (1930) also features a metal-eating bird.  This is only sound film that Bowers himself appears in.  Charley is employed as a “breaker and a loser” at a junkyard.  His job is to break up the cars and” lose” the pieces someplace.  Charley’s finding his job difficult when he runs out of places to “lose” the car parts, that is, until he hears of a metal eating bird.  A local professor tells Charley how to find a metal eating bird, which you naturally find under a rock.  The bird looks like a prototype of the dodo bird from a Porky Pig cartoon.  A worm volunteers to help Charley capture the bird by getting himself painted up in metal paint.  The trap works, and Charley takes the bird back to the junk yard, where it gorges on car parts.  The bird lays and egg, and tries to eat its own egg.  However, the egg hatches and out comes a Model T Ford.  Charley has a great idea: “We will start our own car line!”  The bird laughs, “I only lay one egg every hundred years.”  The ending is abrupt and surreal.

“He Done His Best” (1926): Charley is an inventor again, with ambitions to get married.  His prospective father-in-law puts him to work in the restaurant he owns, but when his co-workers discover Charley is non-union, they all quit.  This leaves Charley alone in the kitchen and  he accidentally blows up the restaurant in his overworked zeal.  To make amends, he rebuilds the restaurant and invents a machine that will do all the kitchen work, from cooking to washing dishes.  This allows for all kinds of surreal stop-motion animation, of course.  White-gloved mechanical arms slaughter chickens, cook them, bake cakes, open cans of carrots.  The machine is a huge success, but Charley finds the guests he is serving are guests at the wedding of his girlfriend to another man, ending the film in a moment of pathos.

In “A Wild Roomer” Charley is an inventor yet again and stands to gain his late grandfather’s inheritance if he can come up with an invention within 48 hours.  If Charley fails, the money goes to Charley’s uncle, who looks like a cross between the classic horror stars Karloff and Lugosi.  Again, white gloved arms do all the work, although the purpose of the machine is not really clear, other than perhaps to pamper its owner.  The arms make a doll, which comes to life.  Amusingly, the doll is embarrassed to find itself naked (shades of Adam and Eve?) and so momma machine makes it a dress.  The doll then has a romantic interlude with a squirrel, hops atop it and rides off.  Uncle is trying to stop the invention process so that he alone can inherit all the money.  Charlie drives the 8 foot high machine (looking even more like Dr. Seuss invention) out into the streets and, naturally, havoc follows.  As inventive as the films are, Bowers inability to capture a wider audience is by now quite clear.  Bowers was so invested in the animated, surreal gags, that he neglected to develop his own on-screen Bricolo persona in an identifiable way, like Chaplin, Keaton and Langdon did.

In “Now You Tell One” the Liars Club is having an annual get together.  One member tells of elephants on the Capitol building, and the stop-motion animation for this looks like something akin to Ray Harryhausen to come.  However, the lies lack imagination, so a senior member goes out in search for a great liar.  He finds Charley trying to blow his head off in a cannon.  Charley is taken back to the club.  He is introduced as Bricolo, so great a liar that even the King of the Gullible would never believe him.  Charley tells the club how he invented a potion that will graft together any two objects and make them grow.  Pineapples and apples grow into a combined plant, as do cucumbers and squash, straws change into a hat, seeds into shoelaces, and the handle of a wheel barrel grows a Christmas tree.  Charley happens upon a pretty girl with cute legs who is stressed out over a huge problem with mice.  Charley grows her some cats, but like the sorcerer’s apprentice, the magic gets away from him and soon her house is overrun with cats.

In “Many A Slip” (1927) Charley is trying to invent the no-slip banana peel.  He finds there is a slipping germ which causes banana peels to be slippery. Another machine and additional chaos.

The rest of the films in this collection are lesser entries.  These include some live action animated shorts, purely animated shorts, and stop-animation shorts.  Oddly enough, Bowers greatest film is possibly “There It Is” (1928), which was not included on this set, but has to be purchased separately within the “More Treasures from the American Film Archives” (which you will probably have to take out a second mortgage just to purchase).  Of course, there had to be a snag, and even Bowers posthumous legacy is at the mercy of 21st century marketing strategies that try to squeeze every penny of out collectors.  That complaint aside, Charley Bowers, The Rediscovery of an American Comic Geniusis a “desert island” collection

With this 2011 Warner Archive Release, most of Erich von Stroheim’s “personally directed” films have been released with the inexplicable, frustrating exclusion of his legendary, mutilatedGreed (1924).   Only von Stroheim could have taken Franz Lehar’s 1905 giddy operetta “The Merry Widow” and turned it into a silent fetishistic melodrama.  The Merry Widow stars Mae Murray and John Gilbert.  Murray’s screen persona alternated between virgin and vamp . Here, she is the virgin who becomes the much sought after prize.  Despite having unique on-screen charisma, Murray, one of early cinema’s true divas, was among those who could not make the transition to sound, and her off-screen life was not afforded a happy ending.  She married a real-life Prince who forced her to leave MGM, then divorced her, and took custody of their children.  Years later, Murray, homeless, was arrested for sleeping on park bench in NYC.  She died, forgotten and in poverty, in a nursing home in 1965.  Gilbert’s decline into alcoholism is, of course, far better documented.

Quite surprisingly, The Merry Widowwas a critical and box office success for von Stroheim.  The film was so successful that it was remade in 1934 by Ernst Lubitsch (as a musical, replete with the Lubitsch touch, starring Maurice Chevalier and Jeanette MacDonald) and in a best-forgotten 1952 version starring Lana Turner.  Despite a studio mandated, ill-fitting happy ending, von Stroheim’s silent version is, predictably, the most bizarre.  The director added much to the story, stamping it with his idiosyncratic touch and causing the film to go considerably over schedule and over budget. The previous year’s Greed had nearly bankrupted the studio and sent producer Irving Thalberg to the hospital.  After The Merry Widow, von Stroheim would not direct a film for three years.

The story is aptly set in the fairy tale kingdom of Monteblanco (visually realized by the lush cinematography of Oliver Marsh and surrealistic mattes).  Prince Mirko (Roy D’Arcy) is heir to the throne . Second in line is Mirko’s womanizing cousin, Prince Danilo (Gilbert).  Enter the American chorus dancer Sally O’ Hara (Murray) whose legs are immediately noticed by all the attending males.  It is the first of many such scenes with burning gazes.  Baron Sadoja (Tully Marshall) is the elderly perv who bankrolls the kingdom.  Sadoja’s gaze focuses on O’Hara’s feet, and von Stroheim takes the route of delirious excess in visualizing the Baron’s foot fetish (one orgy-like fantasy sequence glides over rows of shoes, a scene that outraged Thalberg.  The director nonchalantly explained that the character had a foot fetish, to which the producer replied, “And you have a footage fetish.”)  Mirko envisions O’Hara as a Venus de Milo torso and, he will only home to her arms when,  they are adorned with jewels.  Danilo’s leer fixates instead upon O’Hara’s bee-stung lips.  He objectifies her, but after pulling a bit of prankster deception on her he later feels guilty for his lust for a sincere maiden.  He quickly proposes to her, and then he cowardly jilts her after the King and Queen persuade him not to marry a commoner.  Devastated, O’Hara rebounds by marring Sadoja who, after merely kissing his wife’s shoulder in the bridal chamber, falls in the ultimate climax of death.  Now widowed and the wealthiest woman in the kingdom, O’Hara becomes the booty.  Mirko and Danilo duel over her.  Danilo loses, but survives with a minor wound (!) Of course, being an MGM production, a happy ending is called for, and it nearly wrecks the film.

Mirko is von Stroheim’s sadistic Prussian antagonist, a part the director relished and understandably wanted to play himself.  Unfortunately for von Stroheim, Thalberg rejected the director as actor, prompting the casting of D’Arcy.  D’Arcy’s florid portrayal reaped praise aplenty from critics and audiences, turning him into a villainous star.  Unlike his co-stars, D’Arcy survived sound but his acting style was stylistically baroque and dated quickly, relegating him to “B” films and serials, such as Shadow of the Eagle (1932) opposite John Wayne and Whispering Shadow (1933) oppositeBela Lugosi.  Contemporary audiences may find D’ Arcy’s acting dated, but appealing in its otherworldly expressions (overt leering, a seemingly frozen, malevolent grin).  It is easy to see how he walked away with the film.

Part of von Stroheim’s excesses in the filming included costly Prussian underwear, worn by D’ Arcy underneath his costume (and therefore never seen) merely to get the actor in the right mood.  Still, it’s hard to sympathize with Thalberg’s sense of frustration.  Having worked with von Stroheim numerous times, Thalberg knew the his penchant for opulence and, rightly, felt the film needed this director’s brand of genius.  Von Stroheim’s own comment, comparing his Merry Widow to Lubitch’s more conventional remake, is telling: “Lubitsch shows the king on the throne first, then in the bedroom.  I show him in the bedroom first so you know what he is when you see him on the throne.”

Years later, upon meeting von Stroheim, Orson Welles complimented him by assuring the director that he was “ten years ahead of his time.”  Von Stroheim retorted, “twenty.”  Seen today, von Stroheim’s films certainly stem from silent film stylization.  However, his uncompromising sense of vision and aesthetic commitment show von Stroheim as stillbeing ahead of his time.  Of all von Stroheim’s films, the director liked this one least, feeling that he had compromised too much with Thalberg.  In a way, he was right, but regardless, the director’s surreal hedonism personally soaks the film, albeit in a subdued light.  No serious film student should bypass the works of Erich von Stroheim, and The Merry Widow is the essential starting point to a richly unique oeuvre.

Although it has been predictably labeled a “horror” film by more than a few dull and lazy commentators, Victor Sjöström‘s The Phantom Carriage owes more to Charles Dickens and the literary world of supernatural dreams than it does contemporary, cheapened genre categories.  In October of this year, The Phantom Carriage received its long overdue Criterion release.  A telling clue to the film’s artistic merits can be heard in the academic commentary by historian Casper Tybjerg.  Another valuable and revealing extra in this Criterion edition is an excerpt from a filmed interview with Ingmar Bergman in which the director discusses the influence that Sjostrom and The Phantom Carriage had on his own art. A video essay by historian Peter Cowie, and an accompanying written essay by Paul Mayersberg (screenwriter of The Man Who Fell To Earth) round out a typically impressive Criterion release.

According to the Scandinavian myth, the last person to die on New Years Eve is doomed to be the dreaded coachman for the grim reaper’s chariot until the following New Years Eve.  The director himself plays protagonist David Holm, and Sjostrom’s acting is strikingly contemporary in its naturalness, quite the reverse of what we think of in regards to histrionic, stylized silent film acting.  Holm, an alcoholic, is killed on New Years Eve and, at the stroke of midnight, it is he who is drafted to be Death’s charioteer.  An old acquaintance of Holm’s happened to have been death’s previous coachman and, like Jacob Marley in “A Christmas Carol,” he warns Holm of a spiritually bankrupt state.  Indeed, Holm’s life has been one of decay and shocking cruelty, but Sjostrom does not resort to oversimplification.  Although Holm has become a sadistic caricature, moments of human warmth still surface, ebbing towards regret and eventual redemption.  Compared to Holm, Ebeneezer Scrooge is the stuff of sainthood.

Comparisons to Dickens are apt, but Sjostrom’s film casts an even more complex and lugubrious milieu.  The movie is based on Selma Lagerlof’s novel “Korlarlen” and, in contrast to the expressionism popular during the period, Sjostrom opts for a naturalistic setting.  While The Phantom Carriage does not take the easy route of escapist fantasy for adolescent boys, that does not mean it is lacking in intensity.  One scene clearly seeded Stanley Kubrick‘s idea for Jack Torrance in the unsettling “Here’s Johnny” scene from The Shining (1980) .

The cinematography, by Julius Jaenzon, is exquisitely haunting.  Jaenzon’s use of double exposure in the ghostly carriage holds up impressively for a 90 year old film.  The Phantom Carriage was released the same year as Charlie Chaplin‘s groundbreaking The Kid.  Both films are, rightly, considered spiritually progressive, humanist films of the silent era.  However, Sjostrom’s film does not fall into the maudlin sentiment that occasionally mars Chaplin’s premiere feature.

Along with Chaplin’s The Great Dictator, The Phantom Carriage is one of the most important releases of the year.  Sjostrom’s influential classic is also among the most long-awaited Criterion releases of early cinema.

Wallace Worsley made five films with silent movie icon Lon Chaney. Lamentably, two of those, Voices of the City(1921) and The Blind Bargain (1922), are lost. The Ace of Hearts (1921) survives, but their most famous collaborations remain The Penalty (1920) and the epic Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923).  It is for these two films Worsley, an otherwise undistinguished commission director, will be remembered, if at all.  The Penalty was Chaney’s first starring role, and the film justifiably made him a major star.

The plot of The Penalty is beautifully absurd, operatic, and addictive.  An injured young boy has been unnecessarily mutilated by a young Dr. Ferris (Charles Clary).  A seasoned colleague arrives and tells Dr. Ferris that amputating the boy’s legs was not at all necessary, but the veteran promises to remain silent about the malpractice.  The bed-ridden boy hears the conversation and tells his parents what has transpired.  However, the boy’s revelation is dismissed as delirium cause by a contusion.

Twenty seven years later, the boy has become Frisco’s criminal master-mind, nicknamed the Blizzard.  Chaney’s performance as the Blizzard is a tour-de-force that was achieved through a painful pulleys, belts, leather stumps, and a harness which strapped his legs behind him.  Because of the extreme contortion and discomfort to the actor, Chaney’s scenes were filmed in short takes.  His performance is amazing.  He swings, pulls, and climbs with such robust, Tex Avery-like vigor that the illusion is feverishly complete.  Only Douglas Fairbanks could exude as much screen energy, but while Fairbanks grinned his way through elaborate stunts, Chaney invited you to see him sweat and even laugh with him through his pain.

The Blizzard runs a complex syndicate which local law enforcement cannot penetrate.  Desperate, officials send an undercover agent, Rose (Ethel Gray Terry) into Chaney’s lair.  The criminal is abusive, misogynist, seedy, and initially lacking in sympathy.  There is a dark, latent sexual undercurrent between the Blizzard and Rose.  Only music calms the Blizzard, and Rose serves as his feet, pushing the pedals of his piano while he plays.

The Blizzard is part Ahab and part Dr. Mabuse, plotting an elaborate (and far-fetched) revenge against the entire city (which involves utilizing the straw man communist menace.  The fifties was not the first Red Scare era, and Worsley’s earlier Ace of Hearts projected a similar paranoia).  Among others, his vast net of revenge seeks to catch the doctor who maimed him.  The Blizzard is also part Milton’s Lucifer who, after the fall, rises to become Master of Hell.  Chaney literally becomes Satan when he answers an ad to model as the Prince of Darkness, for Dr. Ferris’ sculptor daughter Barbara (Claire Adams).  Chaney’s malicious charm bleeds through when he offers to pose “if there’s enough of me.”

The Blizzard intends to blackmail Ferris into mutilating Barbara’s fiancee, Dr. Allen (Kenneth Harlan). He lusts after Allen’s legs and wants them for himself.  It would be horrific, except that Allen is so suburban, so unimaginative, so insensitive, so belittling of his fiancee’s artistic ambitions, and so downright annoying that you almost find yourself rooting for the Blizzard’s plan to succeed.

A hackneyed conversion mars the last act of The Penalty, and the film descends into pedestrian moralizing.  Tod Browning would have allowed the misfit villain’s crimes to go unpunished in a far more guilty, callous, and affluent society.  There is also some unintentionally hilarious inter-titles and unintentional surrealism which, here, simply doesn’t work.  In the right hands, The Penalty could have been one of the silent screen masterpieces, but Worsely’s direction fails to rise above the script.

An even more vivid example of Worsley’s flat-footed direction is in their collaboration, The Hunchback of Notre Dame(1923) which propelled Chaney into superstardom. Seen today, especially in light of the vastly superior 1939 remake (directed by William Dieterle and starring Charles Laughton), the silent version of the Victor Hugo classic falls far short of its potential.  If Worsley was out of his element in small, dark territory, he was even more out of his element in epically budgeted, dark literary territory.  In both The Penalty and The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Chaney secures his credentials as an auteur actor, trumping the director and scripts.  Both films are essential silent cinema, but they wouldn’t register at all without the Man Of A Thousand Faces.

 The Penalty is part of Kino’s superb “American Silent Horror Collection.”

The Monster (1925) is part of  the extensive Warner Archive Collection 2011 releases.  This film, directed by Roland V. West and starring Lon Chaney, goes a considerable length to prove the adage that “there is nothing new under the sun.”  Essentially, The Monster is the precursor for the tongue-in-cheek old-dark-house-with-malevolent-horror-star-as-host movie.  Considerably later,Vincent Price and William Castle visited The Monster‘s familiar territory in the House on Haunted Hill (1959), a film that has become the stereotypical example of the genre.

Director Roland V. West revisited The Monster territory again in the following year’s hit, The Batand, yet again with sound in The Bat Whispers (1930) (for which he is most remembered—well, he may actually be best remembered for giving  a deathbed confession that he murdered his girlfriend Thelma Todd). The Monster is the least known of West’s dark house trilogy and, although it is the weakest of the three, it retains interest for several reasons.

The Monster is an oddity in the way it uses star Chaney.  Chaney’s body of work goes a considerable distance in debunking his reputation as a “horror” actor.  The few horror films Chaney appeared in are more aptly described as bizarre, densely psychological melodramas. The Monster, however, could serve as a prototype for a genre celebrity in a B-movie parody.  Chaney’s Dr. Ziska is strictly cartoon horror.  He could romp with Baron Boris in Mad Monster Party (1967), or brew up a Gossamer with Bugs in Hare-Raising Hare (1946).

Hick amateur Johnny (Johnny Arthur) has just gotten his detective license in the mail, just in time to try and solve a local whodunit disappearance.  Johnny, the local nerd, has his eye on Betty (Gertrude Olmstead) but she’s on the arm of the local jock hero.  If only Johnny could solve the case and win the girl.  This setup leads the three teens to the local spooky house run by Dr. Ziska, a mad surgeon running a former sanitarium.  Ziska is aided by caped ghoul who rolls imagined smokes and, with the aid of a mirror, plays saboteur to cars on lonely back roads.  Ziska is also assisted by the hulking mute, Rigo.

Trap doors, laundry shoots, secret basements and an electric chair are the props in West’s dream-world.  Chaney’s Ziska is surprisingly foppish with smoking jacket, a flapper-like quellazaire, and a wayward eyebrow.  Ziska wears a menacing grin at all times, making him a possible first member of a Grand Guignol Three Stooges which might include Lionel Atwill and Bela Lugosi in their lean salad days.  Foppish or not, Ziska is man enough to get aroused when he straps poor Betty to the table.  With Rigo’s Frankenstein monster-like presence, about the only thing missing is a Vampirella to play opposite Ziska’s Dr. Deadly.

The Monster is not great cinema, its not the best West, best Chaney, or best Old Dark House movie (James Whalewould deliver that seven years later), but it is silent pulp and, in the right mindset, it can take you back to the days of milk duds and acne.

He Who Gets Slapped (1924) is part of the 2011 Warner Archive Lon Chaney collection, and in this film Chaney gives one of his most natural, assured performances—in no small part due to director Victor Sjostrom,  who also directed Chaney, with Norma Shearer, in the following year’s Tower Of  Lies (unfortunately, yet another lost film).  Victor Sjostrom is something of an icon.  He was a favorite director of stars Greta Garbo and Lillian Gish, and his masterpiece,The Phantom Carriage (1921), was a considerable influence on Ingmar Bergman.  After the coming of sound Sjostrom retired from directing to return to his first love of acting, but he still served as mentor to the young Bergman; Bergman repaid the favor by casting Sjostrom in the extraordinarily beautiful role of Dr. Isak Borg  for Wild Strawberries (1957, possibly Bergman’s greatest film).

After seeing the films Sjostrom had made in Sweden, Producer Irving Thalberg  recruited Sjostrom to Hollywood.  He Who Gets Slapped was the first film the director made at MGM, and it proved to be a lucrative endeavor for all concerned.  Sjostrom was one of the few directors respected by both Louis B. Mayer and Thalberg.  He Who Gets Slapped is based off the 1914 play by Leonid Andreyev.  The resulting film looks, thinks and acts far more European than anything Hollywood studios had produced at that time.

It is a tale of degradation, humiliation, pathos, and sacrifice.  Thankfully, it is a film in which we do not find ourselves rooting for the Donald Trumps or Paris Hiltons of the world.  Chaney is the destitute but prolific scientist Paul Beaumont, so dedicated in his work that he, inevitably, is rendered the oblivious fool.  Beaumont’s filthy rich patron is the Baron de Regnard (Marc McDermott).  Regnard has been helping himself to Beaumont’s selfish wife Maria (Ruth King) and additionally plans to steal the fruit of Beaumont’s scientific labors.

The world of Paul Beaumont comes crashing down when Regnard presents Beaumont’s work, as his own, to the Academy.  Beaumont tries, in vain, to convince the Academy of the theft, but they take the side of the affluent Regnard as opposed to the unknown, poverty stricken Beaumont.  Beaumont is belittled  by his patron’s betrayal, by the mocking laughter of the academy, by the discovery of his wife’s infidelity, and, finally, by Regnard’s humiliating slap to his face.  It is a slap which Beaumont now obsessively echoes in repetition every night.  On the road to the discovery of his Magnificat, Paul becomes ‘HE.’

The clown He Who Gets Slapped (HE) is soon the rage of the Paris circus.  Underneath HE’s face paint is the former Paul Beaumont, who repeats that cruel moment of humiliation again and again and again, every night, in performance.  Audiences make a star of the clown who gets slapped one hundred times a night.  HE is in love with Consuelo (Norma Shearer- who soon became Mrs. Irving Thalberg), the beautiful bareback rider, but she is in love with Bezano (John Gilbert, the original inspiration for the doomed star of  A Star is Born ) which, of course, means unrequited love for HE.

HE expresses his love for Consuelo, who, in believing HE is joking, laughs at him.  HE takes the laugh, but HE cannot take the return of the Regnard, who has conspired with Consuelo’s father, Count Mancini (Tully Marshall) to take Consuelo’s hand in marriage.  To lift the lowly and scatter the elite calls for nothing less than Biblical justice, in the form of the animal kingdom.

Chaney’s HE is one of his most masterful portrayals.  Chaney resembles a character straight out of a Flannery O’ Connor narrative.  His pathetic desperation, dementia, humility, and redemptive dignity are fully intact.  Oddly, Chaney is best known for his roles in two Universal features, The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923) and Phantom of the Opera(1925).  While Chaney’s acting was indisputably superb in both of those epic films, the movies themselves are flawed by unimaginative directing, leaving one to wonder how much better they might have been if Chaney had been under the helm of a director like Sjostrom or Tod Browning.

He Who Gets Slapped is not without its flaws.  The intrusive vignettes focusing on the romance between Gilbert and Shearer (no doubt the result of producer Thalberg, who wanted to highlight the sex appeal of his soon to be wife and matinee idol Gilbert) are of considerably less interest than the main story.  Despite being saddled with THE Hollywood studio, Sjostrom’s work here is innovative and often surreal, making him a superb collaborator for Chaney.  This makes the loss of their second collaboration, Tower of Lies (1925), all the more tragic.  Still, the official release of the long-buried He Who Gets Slapped is one of the most welcome of the year.

Robert Wiene’s 1924  film, The Hands of Orlac is the first of several film adaptations of Maurice Renard’s story of a concert pianist who hands are amputated and replaced with the hands of a murderer.  Of the remakes, the most notable is unquestionably Karl Freund’s 1935 Mad Lovewith an all star 30′s cast of Peter Lorre, Colin Clive, Francis Drake, and Ted Healy.  Freund’s cinematographer, Gregg Toland, also filmed Citizen Kane (1940) and critic Pauline Kael famously noted the considerable visual influence Freund’s film had on Welles.  Peter Lorre also starred yet another version of the story, The Beast with Five Fingers (1946) which allegedly was (anonymously) written by Luis Buñuel (doubtful) and Curt Siodmak (much more likely) and directed by Robert Florey.

Mad Love shifted the primary focus from cursed hands to mad scientists and unrequited love.  While that film has its admirers, it is not an example of Expressionist film. As compared to its counterpoints in painting and in music, Expressionism really only existed in the art form of silent film.  The Hands of Orlac conjures up the hands of Expressionist painter Egon Schiele and composer Arnold Schoenberg.

Conrad Veidt‘s performance can only be described as expressed inner rhythm.  His acting, like the greatest of silent actors, is a visceral dance.  Later, Veidt proved to be as naturalistic an actor as Hollywood required (i.e, his next to last role as the Nazi Major Strasser in Casablanca, ironically, one of several Nazi roles played by the staunchly anti-Nazi actor who had been targeted for assassination in Hitler’s Germany); still, Veidt is, justifiably, remembered  for his earlier, eminently stylized acting.  His Orlac is almost the text book essence of Weimar Cinema (even if it was an Austrian production) and justifies the actor’s claim that “I never got Caligari out of my system.”  The hallucinatory fever billows in the veins of the actor’s brow.

Alexandra Sorina’s performance is a suitable match to her co-star and their scenes together are, often, erotic, but in a way one might find eroticism in a canvas of Emil Nolde. Wiene’s style is far more subdued here than in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920). The exaggerated sets echo Orlac’s distorted vision and the film itself is ominously paced like a somnambulist walk.

Kino International included Paul Leni‘s 1924 Waxworks in its German Horror Classics collection.  While the usual Kino craftsmanship has gone into remastering and merchandising, the inclusion of Leni’s breakthrough film is a bit of a misclassification.  Waxworks is not a “horror” film.  It is representative of what may possibly be the most experimental period in the medium of film: German Expressionism.  This style exploded with Robert Wiene’s Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920), which turned out to be an even more influential film than D.W. Giffith’s Birth of a Nation (1915).

Leni was among the apprentice filmmakers and artisans profoundly influenced by Caligari. That inspiration came to fruition in the anthology film Waxworks ( screenplay by Henrik Galeen, also responsible for Golem-1920 and Nosferatu-1922). Leni’s breakthrough film is no mere carbon copy of Caligari.  Indeed, Waxworks is something of a yardstick for what an anthology film should be.  William Dieterle (later an esteemed director whose credits include 1937′s Lifeof Emile Zola, the superior 1939 remake of Hunchback of Notre Dame, and 1940′s Dr. Erlich’s Magic Bullet) plays several characters, including the poet hired to write an article about wax figures of historical tyrants in a sideshow museum.  This framing sequence segues into a fantastic, carnivalesque omnibus.  In the first segment, Emil Jannings play Al-Raschid.  In this introductory Caliph vignette, Leni’s design work with Max Reinhardt is at its most impressive and expansive.  The ambiance is, paradoxically, both larger than life and remarkably introverted.  Fanciful, intricate roads wind and turn, leading to the Caliph’s aberrant belfry.  Gloom-laden canvases, crackling signs, and a towering wheel are remnants of a spidery, crepuscular  bacchanal.  Caligari‘s design is comparatively static next to this fluid, humorous, and transcendental Arabian tale.

Conrad Veidt gives a harrowing, anemic performance as Ivan the Terrible.  Angular and clammy, this segment is a paranoid fable which ends with a stark, memorable scene of the scourged despot forever turning the hour glass, convinced of his fate (death by poisoning).  Leni’s use of Eastern Orthodox iconography, inhabiting a shadowy world, is refreshingly and expressively idiosyncratic.  Helmar Lerski’s cinematography, which proved to be a considerable influence on Eistenstein, aggrandizes Ivan’s maniacal state.

The Jack the Ripper finale has been much discussed and is more a sketch than a climax. Werner Krauss plays the infamous Whitechapel serial killer who dominates the shadows, blade in hand, awaiting the poet and his lover.  This surreal whisper was originally intended to lead into a fourth narrative based off Vulpius’ “Rinaldo Rinaldini.”  Although the dreaded captain’s wax likeness can be seen in several scenes, budget restraints forced that narrative to be deleted.

After Waxworks, Hollywood beckoned.  Considering what was to follow in Hitler’s Germany, Leni’s departure from his homeland may have saved the Jewish artist, but, most cruelly, fate prematurely deprived him, and us, of his life and art.

Paul Leni’s credentials as an avant-garde painter and art director served him well.  A Jewish German refugee, he came to the United States in 1927 at the invitation of Universal Studios.  His first film for them was the old dark house melodrama, The Cat and the Canary (1927), a critical and box office hit.  Leni and Universal followed up with The Man Who Laughs (1928) and his final film, The Last Warning (1929), which was released shortly after his untimely death from blood poisoning at 44.  Due to his brief life and career, Leni remains the most enigmatic of the silent horror mavericks (at least, that’s the pedestrian label often attached to him).  Where his career might have gone is almost impossible to assess.  Universal desperately wanted a follow up to their immensely successful version of Victor Hugo’s Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923) and they thought they had it with Leni at the helm of Hugo’s The Man Who Laughs.  Despite lavish production values and artistry, however, The Man Who Laughs was a disappointing box office failure, partly because it was released just as that new invention called “talkies” was taking hold.  Today, The Man Who Laughs is rightly seen as a landmark, influential film and vivid example of exported German Expressionism.

Set in 17th century England, Conrad Veidt (another Jewish German refugee) is Gwynplaine , the young son of a recently executed political revolutionary nobleman. Gwynplaine is kidnapped by gypsies and, as punishment for sins of the father, he is forever maimed when his kidnappers carve a hideous grin into his face and abandon him to the elements of a violent snow storm.  In a scene worthy of D.W. Griffith’sWay Down East (1920), or William Beaudine’s grimSparrows (1926), the child Gwynplaine comes upon the corpse of a frozen mother cradling her still living, blind infant daughter, Dea.  Gwynplaine takes the babe in arms and finds sanctuary for them both.

Years later, Gwynplaine is the freak star of a traveling sideshow.  The grown-up Dea (Mary Philbin of 1925′sPhantom of the Opera) is in love with Gwynplaine and is, incredibly, unaware of his deformity.  Eventually, Gwynplaine discovers his noble heritage and, now that the political tide has turned, he is tempted by rank and the possibility of a duchess for a wife in Olga Baclanova (of 1932′s Freaks).

If Veidt’s Gwynplaine seems eerily familiar to contemporary viewers, that may be because he was (reportedly) a considerable influence on The Joker as created by Bob Kane and Jerry Robinson (although even the late Heath Ledger’s incarnation of the arch villain seems comparatively one-note when experiencing Veidt as the original role model). Like Lon Chaney (who was Veidt’s only real competition in the field), the actor willingly endured excruciating physical pain to realize his role.

Veidt is supported by an excellent cast.  Philbin evokes a vivid pathos as the loyal Dea (that pathos may have been a genuinely latent quality, given that she was, like Jackie Coogan, a young star who was victimized by mercenary parents who milked her for all she was worth).  Baclanova is also superb as the bewitching and genuine temptress who is erotically fascinated with the freak.  She nearly leads Gwynplaine astray in a smoldering (for its time), emotionally complex, and fetishistic scene which could have made Tod Browning smile.  Baclanova’s acting as the Duchess surpasses her later role for Browning in Freaks, and we can readily identify with Gwynplaine’s conflict of loyalty.

Like a true expressionist master, Leni utilizes multifarious compositions to convey human angst, pity, fear, torture, eroticism, and aspiration.  The film’s only real flaw is the studio-mandated happy ending, which does not entirely convince.  Amazingly, this was the only compromise made by Leni; otherwise, The Man Who Laughs may be the most genuinely authentic German Expressionist film made in the good old U.S.A.  It often seems like a melodramatic Rafael Sabatini tale filtered through an expressionist lens.  It is a psychologically interior film, simultaneously unsettling and mesmerizing.  The history of essential silent cinema cannot be discussed without its inclusion.