Although it is certainly dated today, "The Black Cat" was sublimely ahead of it's time in 1934. Conseqently, it was derided by critics and enjoyed only middling success considering the star power involved. Many people, including some in Universal Studio's hierarchy, regarded the film as a nihilistic study in murder, Satan worship, sadism and even necrophilia.
Of course, what struck the masses as impudent seventy years ago seems audacious today. In many ways "The Black Cat" is a bold, striking piece of work that captures two of horror film's greatest players at the top of their game. Boris Karloff, with his new-wave hairstyle and snake-like eyes, personifies irredeemable evil. He fails to convince only when his character is forced into mock-congeniality. His most effective moments are not when he casts his sinister glare at Bela Lugosi or Jacqueline Wells, but when he plays the organ or stands outside amidst the windswept trees, enraptured by his thoughts of the Black Mass to come. Meanwhile, Lugosi, blessed with a sympathetic, almost heroic role, contributes one of his all-time best performances, an exquisitely measured portrait of a man determined to do right by the young couple he is forced by circumstance to protect, but doomed to die in the house of his most hated foe.
Fine camera-work and art direction, guided by Edgar G. Ulmer's helming, make this film striking to look at and brisk to sit through. The only real demerits are the obligatory romantic couple, peopled here by David Manners and the aforementioned Ms. Wells. Their acting and dialogue somehow strain credulity more than Boris and Bela's motivations ever could. Also, the weak comic relief provided by two quarrelsome policemen is brittle at best (although it's interesting to hear Lugosi speak in his native Hungarian in the scene), but both elements were, no doubt, concessions to the taste of 1930's audiences.
Like almost all of the early 30's horror films, "The Black Cat" is imperfect and antiquated. But, also like almost all of the early 30's horror films, it is unique, ingenious in it's way, and still worthy of discovery by a new generation.
Of course, what struck the masses as impudent seventy years ago seems audacious today. In many ways "The Black Cat" is a bold, striking piece of work that captures two of horror film's greatest players at the top of their game. Boris Karloff, with his new-wave hairstyle and snake-like eyes, personifies irredeemable evil. He fails to convince only when his character is forced into mock-congeniality. His most effective moments are not when he casts his sinister glare at Bela Lugosi or Jacqueline Wells, but when he plays the organ or stands outside amidst the windswept trees, enraptured by his thoughts of the Black Mass to come. Meanwhile, Lugosi, blessed with a sympathetic, almost heroic role, contributes one of his all-time best performances, an exquisitely measured portrait of a man determined to do right by the young couple he is forced by circumstance to protect, but doomed to die in the house of his most hated foe.
Fine camera-work and art direction, guided by Edgar G. Ulmer's helming, make this film striking to look at and brisk to sit through. The only real demerits are the obligatory romantic couple, peopled here by David Manners and the aforementioned Ms. Wells. Their acting and dialogue somehow strain credulity more than Boris and Bela's motivations ever could. Also, the weak comic relief provided by two quarrelsome policemen is brittle at best (although it's interesting to hear Lugosi speak in his native Hungarian in the scene), but both elements were, no doubt, concessions to the taste of 1930's audiences.
Like almost all of the early 30's horror films, "The Black Cat" is imperfect and antiquated. But, also like almost all of the early 30's horror films, it is unique, ingenious in it's way, and still worthy of discovery by a new generation.