James Whale | Bride of Frankenstein / 1935

little monsters

by Douglas Messerli

 

William Hurlbut (screenplay, adapted from Hurlbut’s and John L. Balderston’s adaptation of the novel by Mary Shelley), James Whale (director) Bride of Frankenstein / 1935

 

Whale’s Bride of Frankenstein confirms what we all suspected after watching his Frankenstein, that the monster survived the mill fire. But this time around, having truly discovered his métier, Whale—at first resisting the directorial assignment—clearly determined to just have fun, creating a kind of homosexual hoot, which any gay man born before 1970 would have immediately recognized as pure camp.

      By framing this sequel within the context of Lord Byron’s friendship with the Shelleys (Byron, one should recall, was self-admittedly bisexual), wherein Mary picks up the tale with the end of the first film, Whale also allows himself to weave in, throughout Bride of Frankenstein, a tale of—if not of homosexuality—at least of bisexuality. 

       Although this film finally sees the recovered Henry Frankenstein (once again Colin Clive) married to his Elizabeth (this time, Valerie Hobson), who helps in his redemption from his former evil ways, he is “tempted”—or perhaps we should say blackmailed—to return to his black arts by his former philosophy teacher, Doctor Pretorius (played with gay relish by Ernest Thesiger). Pretorius, it is clear, is homosexual, urging his student to “'Be fruitful and multiply.’ Let us obey the Biblical injunction: you of course have the choice of natural means; but as for me, I am afraid that there is no course open me but the scientific way.”

      The homunculi Pretorius has created have been “spawned” and grown, not sewn together from dead corpses as Henry’s monster has been, and they represent—the King, the Queen, and the Ballerina—figures that might be in the imagination of just such a “sissified” being. No soldiers, boxers, or ordinary workers are contained in his cabinet of curiosities. Gay film historian Vito Russo has described him as a “gay Mephistopheles.”              

 

     Not only is the evil Pretorius able to convince the newly married Henry to return to his dark past, but, being in love with death itself, meets us and befriends the monster within a crypt, using the monster himself as a tool to convince Henry to join him in creating a “mate” for the Frankenstein monster, and thus assuring that two males will spawn the female “bride,” a fairy fantasy to be certain.

     We discover that the monster, with the brain of a 10-year old, does not really know anything about sexuality, particularly through the hermit scene, where the monster discovers his first “friend,” in the form of a blind man (O. P. Heggie), who offers him the holy sacraments of  bread and wine—while praying to God for the monster’s visitation—as well as introducing his new guest to the delights of smoking, the latter of which the monster particularly enjoys—once he is rid of his fears for the fire it requires to ignite it. But, once again, society intrudes in the form of two passing hunters, who, reasserting his dread of fire, burn down the hermit’s hut in their attempts to rid the world of this “monster.” 

     When he finally gets a glimpse of his bride—whose heart, the movie hints, may have been Henry’s, assuring that she too is now another of Pretorius’ “friends”*—he is confused by her appearance, as she is horrified by his. In short, we know that the monster has no comprehension of sexuality, which Elsa Lanchester’s memorable screams and hisses seem to confirm. She is as repulsed by the monster just as he is confused about what his bride might mean to him.

    Whale, does not stop there, however. This time around his cardboard Tyrolean characters are truly crazies, led by the miraculous cackling of the Frankenstein servant, Minnie (Una O’Connor). His previously “aroused” peasants are now a kind of mob out to get not only the innocent monster (who has, in this film alas, killed a great number of people—a disturbing fact for the Hays Office), but its creators, both the unwilling Henry and his devious mentor, Pretorius. Yet it is, finally, the monster himself—who admittedly prefers death to inhabiting life with this woman—who destroys himself, his bride, and Pretorius by pulling the lever which will blow up the laboratory to which they have retreated.

     In so doing, the monster, in fact, allows the continued existence of his God, reversing the myth of Wagner’s the Ring cycle. In Whale’s fantastical version of the Shelley story, it is the sinful humans who allow the Gods, whatever their destructive infatuations, to continue to live. And in the mad Valhalla of Frankenstein-land the hierarchical worlds (of both the Frankensteins and the idiot Burgomaster) survive. In Whale’s films even the most absurd of hierarchical society is preserved, just as the little monsters in all of us are forever destroyed. Did I say forever?

 

*Whale historians have denied that the director ever intended this, but the movie certainly suggests it when the monster carries her away, and Pretorius’ assistant Karl, soon after, brings him a “fresh” heart.)

 

Los Angeles, October 20, 2016

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (October 2016).

Jirō Kawate | 福壽草 (Sono ichi - Hana monogatari: Fukujusō) (The Scent of Pheasant’s Eye) / 1935 [in Japanese only]

a time before gender

by Douglas Messerli

 

Raizō Hagino, Jirō Kawate, and Nobuko Yoshiya (screenplay), Jirō Kawate (director) 福壽草 (Sono ichi - Hana monogatari: Fukujusō) (The Scent of Pheasant’s Eye) / 1935 [in Japanese only]

 

Jirō Kawate’s 1935 film The Scent of Pheasant’s Eye, which is taken from Nobuko Yoshiya’s fiction 花物語 (Tales of Flowers) (1916-1924), is available only in Japanese, so I have relied almost entirely upon commentary by Antti Alanen (from 2013) and Aaron Gerow, both of whom relate the plot, although only briefly, and comment on its lesbian content.

      As Alanen summarizes the film’s source material: “The 52 stories of romantic female friendships [in Tales of Flowers] were very popular with female students of the day.  Yoshiya was a prolific and commercially successful writer who is considered a pioneer in lesbian literature.  Her same-sex (dosei-ai) romances were considered acceptable because they depicted lesbianism as a phase on the road to a culturally acceptable heterosexual marriage.

      The “Pheasant’s Eye” of the English title is a flower “Adonis ramose,” a fairly rare yellow bloom found mostly in central and northern Japan.

      The plot is summarized as follows:

      

“The Scent of Pheasant’s Eye tells the story of a high school girl called Kaoru Sakamoto (Naomi Egawa) who falls in love with her sister-in-law Miyoko. Her crush actually develops before she has even met her brother’s new wife.  It is an arranged marriage and the "sisters" only meet on the wedding day. A romantic young girl, Kaoru and her friends are the kind of girls who would be likely to read Nobuko Yoshiya’s novels and fantasize about their ideal romantic partner. As the friendship blossoms between Kaoru and Miyoko, Kaoru grows jealous of any affection Miyoko shows Kaoru’s brother. 

 

    Kaoru’s schoolmates and family act as foils for her moody behaviour. The drama of any romance is kept light with comedic moments such as the slapstick scene where the two young ladies are being photographed together in nature and the photographer falls into the water. The physical comedy in the film shows the influence of the American silent greats like Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, and Harold Lloyd.  

     The lesbian love affair is suggested via the female gaze and evocative mise-en-scène, but no direct dialogue. Miyoko is equally flirtatious with her husband as she is with his sister, causing the latter to indulge in jealous temper tantrums.”    

     Critic Johan Nordström adds: “Fukujuso is a compelling melodrama that surprises with its potent homoeroticism, especially considering its year of production."

     Aaron Gerow argues that “after reading the short story [that his finds Fukujuso] is bolder if not more “queer” in its depiction of same-sex relationships than its source. The original story, published in Shojo gaho in 1916, is written in exquisite and considerably polite Japanese, and presents the tale of Kaoru, a teenage girl who lost her mother at an early age and is so delighted she will be getting an “older sister” (onesama). It is hard for her to understand this woman is entering the household as the wife of her older brother.”

     He continues, “What struck me as most significant about its difference was the film's depiction of Kaoru’s love for Miyoko. In the novel, Kaoru is in some ways the epitome of the shojo, or young adolescent woman, which thinkers ranging from Otsuka Eiji to John Treat have theorized as a sort of third sex, a gender not confined to the male-female patriarchal dyad, as if living the time before sexual difference is recognized. Kaoru in the original story is so pure that she just cannot understand why the servants are calling the older sister ‘Mrs.’ (okusama)—as if she cannot comprehend that such a relationship between a man and a woman exists. The narration augments this by tying its perspective to that of Kaoru, and never suggesting the marriage until Kaoru starts hearing the word ‘okusama.’ 

     In the film, however, Kaoru is aware of the marriage from the start, and the film makes sure we are as well. Yet her reaction is still strong if not stronger over losing this “sister” to a man: she rips up a photo of the couple and runs out of the house when her brother asserts his position. It is as if Kaoru is less the shojo than a mature woman who loves Miyoko with full knowledge of sexual difference. For added spice, the film shows Miyoko passing her wedding ring to Kaoru on her deathbed.”

      Alanen is particularly impressed with Kawate’s cinematography: “The unusual framings of dialogue and action seem fresh and innovative for the time.  By the mid-1930s in the USA, the classical Hollywood style had largely been standardized and this film would have broken all those rules. It seems surprising that this film has remained hidden from international scholarship for decades. The cinematographer is Asakazu Nakai (中井朝一, 1901-88), who went on to become a frequent collaborator of Akira Kurosawa.”

      All are puzzled that this film has not received more attention both in Japan and, in particular, in Europe and US.

 

Los Angeles, September 19, 2023

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (September 2023).

Richard C. Kahn | Children of Loneliness (aka The Third Sex) / 1935 [Lost film]

playing sexual chess

by Douglas Messerli

 

Howard Bradford and Richard C. Kahn (screenplay, based on a novel by Radclyffe Hall), Richard C. Kahn (director) Children of Loneliness aka The Third Sex / 1935 [Lost film]

 

Richard C. Kahn’s 1934 film The Third Sex is described in some sources as an “exploitation film about homosexuality.” But this apparently lost film, seems to at least aspire to be a kind of Magnus Hirschfeld-inspired study of various sexual differences which are obviously perceived as “problems” by psychoanalysts and other authorities whose advice seems to be based on little personal knowledge of homosexuality. The story is based on a novel (Well of Loneliness) by the famed lesbian author Radclyffe Hall.

    One figure, Elinor Gordon (Luana Walters), who was frightened sexually by a man as an infant, confides to her psychoanalyst that she is considering yielding to the advances of her attentive and affectionate female roommate, Bobby Allen (Jean Carmen). 

      The psychoanalyst advises her to get rid of her roommate, who works in the same law office as does she, and to marry a football player. In other words, to rid herself of any desires and play at “normalcy.” She apparently does rebuff her roommate’s attentions and travels with her lawyer employer, Dave Warren (Allan Jarvis), to the country house of the senior partner, John Grant (John Elliott). Elinor falls in love with Dave, but Grant’s daughter Judith (Sheila Loren), meanwhile, is romantically interested in an artist acquaintance, Paul Van Tyne (Morgan Wallace), who without her knowing is a homosexual.

At one point in the film Paul takes her to a café filled with same sex couples. “What sort of people are these?” she asks, to which he responds, “These are the children of loneliness, nature’s tragic mistakes.”

       After his secret sexuality if discovered, Paul commits suicide, the way of all gay flesh of the day.

 

Los Angeles, March 1, 2021

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema and World Cinema Review (March 2021).

Florent Médina | Eva / 2016

a transformation

by Douglas Messerli

 

Florent Médina (screenwriter and director) Eva / 2016 [10 minutes]

A seemingly shy boy, Gabriel (Eddy Wonka) for reasons unexplained has come to have sex with transgender prostitute Eva (Emanuele Arioli). With a record in the background, they briefly “tango” their way to the bed as she undresses him, he bending to kiss her. But when it comes time to insert his penis he apparently cannot get an erection, and sits up, she also rising in frustration, insisting that it’s no big deal. A lot of boys like him don’t know what they really want.

    She’s convinced it’s her penis that has put him off, but Gabriel attempts to reassure her that isn’t the reason, even though he cannot explain his own emotions or sexual attractions.

   But when he spots her artificial breasts, he becomes fascinated, she explaining how to put them on, and finally, pasting them on him. Still fascinated by her makeup and appearance, she recognizes that he would like to put on a dress, and helps his chose one, putting some eyeliner on as well.

    It is clearly time to leave, he explains and goes to pay her. But when he takes out his billfold, she spots a picture, which she asks it see. It’s his mother. And immediately she claims that he knows what will make it perfect, as she pulls out a dark black wig, so different from her own red curly wig, and places it on his head. In some respects, he has become his mother, who we sense he obviously had a close attachment.

     He insists, however, that he must go, and attempts again to pay her. But she asks if she might have the photograph instead.

     This evocative short by French director Médina gives evidence of a young man desiring sex who has chosen the transgender prostitute not because he is sexually drawn to her, but because he is drawn to the gender into which Eva has transformed herself. Surely, he too is fascinated by that transformation and we can only imagine that in the future he will also try to discover himself sexually through just such a dress, wig, and makeup.

     Eva realizes, surely, that she has satisfied this angel far more fully than if he had shot his wad of cum into her ass.

 

Los Angeles, May 5, 2024

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (May 2024).

Lino Escalera | Espacio 2 (Space 2) / 2001

illicit sex

by Douglas Messerli

 

Lino Escalera (screenwriter and director) Espacio 2 (Space 2) / 2001 [27 minutes]

 

Viewing Spanish director Lina Escalera’s 2001 film Space 2 for the first time 23 years later, reiterates my long-held belief that the films of the first decade of the of the 21st century were more complex in terms of dialogue and cinematic structure and far sexier that the vast majority of the films that came thereafter. One might almost see these first few years of a new century as a transition period between the still basically underground and dissonant LGBTQ world in relation to the normative heterosexual one of 1990s to the far greater acceptance of and assimilation of the dominant culture by the LGBTQ community in the late teens forward.

     Oddly, however, it is neither the structure nor the dialogue (of which there is very little) that makes Excalera’s film so interesting. The plot might truly be summarized in a couple of sentences. A young man Rober (Javier Coromina), involved in a gay monogamous relationship, is sorely tempted by a young man he meets on his rail trip home, Chico (José Vicente Moirón), but at the very last moment sends temptation packing. He and his companion Daniel (Juanjo Marfinez), however, are both feeling confined by the sexual restraints of the relationship, and by the end of the film have done something about it, participating, each in their own way, in an upstairs warehouse orgy.

 

   Even the concerns of this film seem more “adult”-oriented than many of our current short films, which remain locked into issues of teen bullying, coming out, and basically assimilating gay culture into the major culture’s more embracing norms. These men are decidedly gay and sexy. And most of the characters in this film, as the few women who have attended the film’s later party clearly attest, are heavily into gay-only sex. There is no coyness about the three central figures of Escalera’s film.

     The only problem they have, and against which both the furniture designer Robert and the real estate connected Daniel chaffe, are the new norms that their relationship have imposed. These young men clearly love one another, but they are attractive young men who also feel the pulls of the open sexuality akin to the pre-AIDS world. If there is any question about this, Escalera devotes the first half of his film to the almost addictive cruising of Rober and Chico as they encounter one another while waiting for the train, both carefully averting each other’s gaze as they simultaneously clearly indicate that they like what they are seeing.

      Within the train they carefully calculate one another’s interest by a continued game of staring and looking away, as well as Chico, clearly the aggressor in this case, moving about in space before finally sitting across from Rober. At the first stop he rushes to exit, almost testing his theory that Rober will follow whether or not it’s his stop.

      Rober cannot resist and follows him on a long trek beside the tracks until Chico leads him to an old empty long shed, the perfect isolated spot to engage in what used to be gloriously described as “illicit sex.” The two can hardly wait as they almost literally crash into each other’s bodies with male lust, going through the sexual actions of fellatio even while fully dressed. In this world there is no place of condoms. Chico can hardly wait for cock, and when, at the very last moment, Rober—clearly suffering for it—abstains, the other can only express righteous anger as Rober scurries off.

     Back at home, sitting it his hot house, Rober so impulsively and so violently masturbates—erotically responding to Chico’s anger—that he hurts his hand in the process. When Daniel returns home, he finds his lover showering and not at all in the mood for love. Even later apologies later don’t quite cover up his feeling of entrapment. And he is even more disconcerted to discover that Daniel has accepted an invitation to a party that evening with a friend who Rober does not know, Santiago.

       By the time they have arrived at the party, which takes place in a large warehouse Santiago has just purchased and which he plans to convert into apartments, it is clear to Rober that something may be going on between Daniel and Santiago. In fact, the moment he goes to fetch a drink, Daniel disappears, and, although he shows up soon again with Santiago, he goes off with him again. This time, Rober finally discovers through a woman who has been left alone while her who friends have also disappeared that apparently a wild sex party is occurring on the next floor. As he stands, determined to check it out, she attempts to hand him a flashlight which he’ll need to find his way.

      Rober, however, has already begun to climb the stairs. Whether or not he finds his way to whatever it is he might be looking for among the brief glimpses Escalaera provides of us intertwined naked bodies is unclear. What is obvious is that both men need some space.

 

Los Angeles, May 5, 2024

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (May 2024).

Joseph Barbera and William Hanna | Baby Puss / 1943

milquetoast tommy

by Douglas Messerli

 

Webb Smith (story), Joseph Barbera and William Hanna (directors) Baby Puss / 1943

 

Dressed up by the owner’s daughter and grand-daughter as a baby, Tom is shoved into a crib and threatened if he dares to leave it with a good dose of castor oil. Obviously, the girl is playing out the imaginary role of a rather unkind mother, who solves everything by stuffing a bottle of milk into her “baby’s” mouth. Not that Tom doesn’t enjoy the milk and the total relaxation that living the life of a grown-up baby permits.

     But Jerry, the mouse, watching his sissified sparring partner, can only mock the now infantilized cat. He challenges his retired frenemy by darting into a doll’s house, a challenge Jerry cannot resist, finally joining a doll in bed to hide out from his challenger’s eager hand. He exits the doll house as Mae West, intriguing Tom for a moment before he resumes the chase, suddenly ended by the return of his “mommy,” who forces him back into bed.

     Irritated by the passivity of his new “babydoll” roommate, Jerry calls in the toughs from the street, mean street toms who, immediately perceiving the situation, bully and take over Tom’s entire body, stripping him in order to talcum his behind, stick him into a new diaper and stick him with the diaper pin, afterwards stuffing him into a pair of rubber panties, as in the next instant Jerry and the now cool cats perform an entire number, using Tom’s whiskers as a string section to accompany the routine of another gay icon, Carmen Miranda.

    In short, they turn him into a tortured queer. Only the return of his miniature “mother” sends them scurrying off. Disturbed by the mess they have left behind, and blaming everything on her “baby” Tom, she proceeds to feed him castor oil, which sends him to the window to vomit it up. Jerry laughs in derision until some of the leftover oil drips down into his open mouth, forcing him to join up with Tom at the window.

     Since gay references were not permitted in most feature films of the 1940s, the animators often filled the void, bringing in a number of LGBTQ stereotypes and situations that they’d begun in several of more mean-spirited 1930s works. In this film, the gay associations and gestures simply provide a good dose of humor, although the street cats’ treatment of Tom certainly suggests homophobic bullying.

     Just in case you’ve forgotten, the word “puss” refers not only to a cat, a woman, and a female vagina, but to a “weak, timid, or unmanly” male.

 

Los Angeles, January 1, 2023

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (January 2023).

Gary Halvorson and Sonja Frisell-Gianni Quaranta | Aida / 2009 [The Metropolitan Opera live-HD broadcast production]

buried alive

by Douglas Messerli

 

Giuseppe Verdi (composer), Antonio Ghislanzoni (libretto, based on a French scenario by Auguste Mariette),  Sonja Frisell-Gianni Quaranta (director), Gary Halvorson (film director) Aida / 2009  [The Metropolitan Opera live-HD broadcast production]

One of the aspects of Aida that interviewer / singer Renée Fleming suggested several times in the intermissions of Verdi's great opera was that, despite the huge size of the cast, except for the scenes in court and the triumphal march of Act 2, Scene 2, the opera is an intimate work, centered around a love triangle of the characters Aida (Violeta Urmana), Radamès (Johan Botha), and Amneris (Dolora Zajick).

     What particularly struck me this time through the opera was not only how truly intimate most of the work was, but how psychologically isolated each of these figures are from one another, despite the fact that their every action has enormous effect on the others.

 

   In few other operas do the major characters sing so many arias consisting of what we might describe as internal dialogue. In Se quel guerrier io fossi!...Celeste Aida, Radamès sings of his love and the beauty of Aida to himself, terrified that Amneris might get wind of it. Amneris sings of her need to discover the name of Aida's lover, and later describes her plots to expose her slave.  Aida, who secretly is the Princess of Ethiopia, sings of numerous things she cannot share with others, her love of her country, the identity of her lover, her father, and herself. Radamès' desire to lead the Egyptian military into victory can also only be expressed in private thoughts. Like Eugene O'Neill's 20th century drama Strange Interlude most of the characters of this 19th century opera spend a great deal of time in soliloquy. Without these private interludes, in fact, there would be no story left to tell. For the public events of the opera, Radamès' victory over the Ethiopians, his plea that the captives be saved, and his reward of marriage to Amneris, are the forces that doom them all, and speed two of them to their death by being entombed alive.

     It is apparent from what I have just suggested, accordingly, that all three characters have lived buried lives long before the final scene from the very outset of the work. Radamès must hide his love and his ambition both as he tries to balance opposing forces, for his desire to be made general will mean destroying Aida's kin and perhaps even losing Aida's love. Rebuffed by Radamès in love, Amneris hides her sorrow while, at the same time, pretending deep friendship with Aida as she attempts to expose what she senses is a growing love between her and the general. Aida must hold nearly everything inside: her love of Radamès, her hatred of Amneris, the name of her father, even her own identity. Although all sing of their deep love for one another, because of buried secrets those loves are transformed into destruction, betrayal, and, ultimately, death.

     The numerous choruses of the Egyptian priests calling for war, vengeance, and punishment, although seemingly set apart from the deep loves of this trio, are psychologically played out by the three major figures of the opera. Each of these figures, in short, sweeps up the others into a kind of vortex that draws them into the void.

     By the final "real" entombment, strangely enough, Aida and Radamès are released. For the first time, hidden from all other eyes, they can openly show their love and, accordingly, are freed from the sorrows of their previously hidden lives. Amneris remains entrapped in life while feeling only death.   

 

Los Angeles, November 19, 2009

Reprinted from Green Integer Blog and USTheater, Opera, and Performance (November 2009).