Creeping Horror (1933-46)Perfect Marathon for Enthusiasts of Classic Horror (Review)

Not all monsters are supernatural in origin, nor do they always have fangs and claws. Many would (fairly) assume that Hollywood wasn’t ready to accept that idea until audiences saw Janet Leigh get sliced up in a motel shower in Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960). Still, in reality, filmmakers were already depicting the human potential for violence and cruelty in horror for the screen up to a whole 30 years prior to the release of said shocking classic. Eureka Video’s latest collection of titles from the golden age of vintage terror, Creeping Horror, compiles four examples of ‘30s and ‘40s chillers that dared to tackle the evils that the everyday person is capable of – sadism, torture and murder are all on the menu here.

Murders in the Zoo (1933) is the oldest movie in the set, and somewhat of an outlier too – having been produced by Paramount rather than being a Universal horror title like the rest of the films featured here. The film tells the tale of Peter Yates (played by Hollywood comic veteran Charles Ruggles), a bumbling scaredy-cat reporter who, aiming to change the media world’s perception of him as a fool and a drunkard, takes a job as a press agent for the Metropolitan Zoo. As it happens, said zoo is home to the exotic collection of zoologist Dr Eric Gorman (character-actor and ‘30s horror legend Lionel Atwill), a deeply sinister individual who has the money and means to do away with any man who even so much as looks at his beautiful and long-suffering wife, Evelyn (another ‘30s star, Kathleen Burke) – and by means, I mean a menagerie of zoo animals!

Atwill is the star of the show here, his gripping and intimidating performance as a zoological sadist being the core of the film’s success – he’s cold, calculating and cruel, a control freak with a colonial mindset in all areas of life, performed superbly in every scene he appears in. I wish that the film spent more time focused on Atwill’s villainous antics than Ruggles’s comic relief – which is serviceable, and for the most part, doesn’t grate, but doesn’t enrapture in the same way that the film’s horror elements do. Murders in the Zoo was made in 1933, prior to the introduction of the Hays Code, and benefits greatly from that fact with a variety of delightfully ghoulish pre-code nastiness; maulings, poisonings and hideously swollen snake bites are aplenty, not to mention the memorable opening sequence in which Gorman is seen to stitch a suspected love rival’s mouth shut, the results of which we see in unexpectedly graphic fashion. It has its dry patches, but when Murders in the Zoo decides to show its wild side, it becomes a glorious beast in and of itself.

Atwill would return almost a decade later as a supporting player in Night Monster (1942), a minor entry in the Universal horror canon and the only real dud that Creeping Horror has to offer. Remembered largely for a brief turn from the original Count himself, Bela Lugosi, Night Monster follows a group of doctors who pay a visit to the home of Kurt (actor Ralph Morgan), the disabled patriarch of the eccentric Ingston family – and, with a killer on the loose, Ingston’s guests must unmask the culprit before their visit becomes a permanent stay. In short, it’s an uninspired riff on The Old Dark House (1932), albeit with far less character, a few more bodies, and a shonky occult element courtesy of a white man in a turban. The final reveal is, if predictable, conceptually fantastic, and an idea that I don’t believe I’ve seen played with since – but considering that the concept is only introduced in the final minute of an hour of sluggish and repetitive whodunit beats, I think it’s safe to say that the idea wasn’t implemented to its full potential. The Cat and the Canary (1939) this is not.

Thankfully, this is more than made up for by Horror Island (1941), an entertaining haunted-house romp that prioritises silliness over suspense to surprising effect – especially considering that this is in many ways the black sheep of Creeping Horror, being a fairly obscure title with no real names attached to it. With a cast of characters bearing names like “Thurman Coldwater”, “Sergeant McGoon” and “Stuff” (the latter being played by a man named Fuzzy Knight), Horror Island follows down-and-out fishing gear salesman Bill Martin (Dick Foran) in his attempt to make a fortune by staging a fake treasure hunt on a supposedly haunted island he inherited – only there may be real riches hidden in the fog-bound castle on Morgan Island, and a cape-wearing Phantom seems hell-bent on taking them for himself, and getting rid of anyone who stands in his way. It’s a light but deeply witty affair that makes great use of its gothic location, with plenty of antics involving trapdoors, secret passages and a crossbow-wielding suit of armour rigged to fire at unsuspecting visitors. It’s an unexpected delight, a thoroughly enjoyable and charming ensemble comedy romp, and a solid atmospheric mystery to boot.

The final title in the set, and my personal favourite, is House of Horrors (1946), a film which in itself is all the reason you need to purchase the Creeping Horror collection. A hidden gem from this lesser-appreciated era of Universal horror, House of Horrors is the story of Marcel De Lange (performed superbly by Martin Kosleck), a downtrodden sculptor who regains his will to live after discovering new inspiration in the face of a man he saves from drowning – a giant of a man, played by the iconic Rondo Hatton. When critics of De Lange start turning up dead, it becomes clear that his newfound friend, dubbed “the Creeper” by the authorities, might be more of an assistance to Marcel’s revenge on the art world than he had anticipated. Hatton, whose unique looks were a result of his acromegaly, stars here in his most famous role, a variation on one he played in the Basil Rathbone Holmes film The Pearl of Death (1944). He sadly passed away prior to the release of this film and its sequel, The Brute Man (1946), and after watching House of Horrors, it’s immediately apparent that Hatton should have been a star and household name alongside the likes of Karloff and Lugosi – he was a man with terrific screen presence. It’s a great film, and quite possibly a very clever spin on Jewish Golem mythology, though the Hays Code did admittedly scupper the film’s ending in regards to the nuance with which it could tackle its sympathetic “monster”. I hope more people will discover this film, and the legendary Rondo Hatton, through this new Blu-Ray release.

With each film being just over an hour long, Creeping Horror is perfect movie marathon material for enthusiasts of classic horror. The audio and video quality of the films themselves is largely consistent, although due to their age, some prints obviously exist in better condition than others (Night Monster is the most noticeably affected film by this) – I can only assume that the transfers Eureka have used are the same as those featured in the U.S. Scream Factory releases, which also explains the lack of featurettes and extras aside from trailers and stills galleries. On the plus side, each film is accompanied by a brand new audio commentary featuring the likes of Kim Newman and Jonathan Rigby, ensuring that the release isn’t too bare-bones compared to the rest of Eureka’s consistently high-quality output.

Robyn’s Archive: Creeping Horror (1933-1946)