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Over
the years critics have either praised this film for its dreamlike
atmosphere or slammed it as a ham-laden schlockfest. White
Zombie
is actually both laudable and laughable — I like it either
way. This was the very first zombie movie ever made, setting
the "rules" for all such films to follow until the
late 1960s, when George Romero established the post-modern pastiche
of flesh-munching over voodoo sorcery.
Haiti is the setting for director Victor
Halperin's tale of zombies and all-consuming (not to mention
overly melodramatic) obsession. Two young Americans, Neil (John
Harron) and Madeleine (Madge Bellamy), are to be married and
honeymoon on the island. The couple has accepted the generous
offer of Monsieur Beaumont, a rich plantation owner, to hold
the ceremony at his manor house. During a nighttime carriage
ride to Beaumont's they encounter the mysterious Murder Legendre
(Lugosi, in an indelible performance) and a group of his "workers"
— zombie slaves under
his complete control. Naturally, Neil and Madeleine scoff at
their native coachman's claim that Legendre's workers are actually
the walking dead.
When they arrive at Beaumont's house they
are met by Dr. Brunner (James Cawthorn), the long-time missionary
on the island who is to perform the service. When their gracious
host greets them it is readily apparent that Beaumont (Robert
Frazer) covets Madeleine himself; he lusts after and is obsessed
with her. Offering to hold the wedding on his estate was merely
a pretext to lure the young woman into his orbit. Somehow, with
the ceremony only an hour away, Beaumont must stop the marriage
and get Neil out of the way. In desperation he turns to Murder
Legendre (terrific name for a villain, n'est-ce pas?),
the sugar mill owner whispered to be a practitioner of the black
arts. In a memorable scene he visits Legendre's mill, where
he sees firsthand that the workers that toil there are indeed
zombies — the living dead. Their master, the Mephistophelean
Legendre, makes an offer the obsessed Beaumont cannot refuse...
White
Zombie ultimately
triumphs over its own self-inflicted injuries. Of course the
film suffers from the staginess that afflicts all early '30s
talkies, but much
of this is allayed by its more prominent use of a musical score
(something rarely done at that time) and the often fluid camera
of cinematographer Arthur Martinelli, which is drawn to Bela's
devilish gaze like the will of Legendre's hypnotized victims.
Many of the black and white tableaus presented in the film are
indeed dreamlike, almost ethereal. (One nicely-lensed moment
is humorously ruined when Silver, Beaumont's loyal butler, is
carried by the zombies to a torrential stream flowing by Legendre's
castle. As the zombies throw Silver into the water to his doom,
the screaming man holds his nose in preparation for the
dunking!)
It's admittedly strange to see misty breath
emanating from characters who are supposed to be in tropical
Haiti. And there's no getting around the fact that a lot of
the acting in White Zombie is dreadfully
overwrought — particularly Bellamy and Frazer — or just
plain bad (Cawthorn fumbles numerous lines). This isn't surprising
considering the principal actors just mentioned were all silent
movie stars. In a curious way it serves to demonstrate the contrast
between "bad" ham (the performers cited above) and
"good" ham: Lugosi, who sinks his teeth into the Legendre
role with theatrical gusto, his own resonant charisma infusing
the character with a sinister, hypnotic charm. Indeed, Lugosi's
evil voodoo master is every bit as compelling a portrayal as
his Count Dracula in the famous Universal film made a year earlier.
This is Bela at the height of his talent and celebrity. Any
Lugosi fan with a DVD player would be seriously remiss not to
have this film in their collection.
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| Roan
Group has compiled, from numerous sources, what looks like the
best available print of White
Zombie
for the DVD. (Don't expect it to be flawless — the movie is
70 years old, after all.) Picture is generally good, with sound
being somewhat more troublesome. Still, combined with the sepia-toned
reissue trailer (1952), two rare Lugosi interviews held 20 years
apart, and author Gary Don Rhoades' informative (if at first somewhat
halting) audio commentary, the disc is a solid presentation of
this horror classic. 5/15/01 |
