In the last issue, we featured "Silent Horrors"--however, there was one classic silent horror film not accounted for--the silent flimic presentation of the Robert Louis Stevenson tale that matched...
By DAVID DUGGINS
"It wasn't like a man. It was like some damned juggernaut."
-- Robert Louis Stevenson
Once again I find
myself hanging out in the domain of the classics rather than the
traditional "B" movie arena, and you know immediately
that you're dealing with a timeless, essential theme when you
discover the literally dozens of times this novel has been
adapted for film. Some I know well. There's the 1931 version
starring Frederic March, the 1941 version starring 
Spencer Tracy (my favorite sound version -- they
went really easy on the makeup, leaving most of the
transformation to Tracy's consummate skill as an actor). There
are also films made in 1908, 1910, 1912, 1913 and three versions
lensed in 1920. These films are a part of the global horror
community, made by Americans, Swedes and Englishmen, to name a
few. And there are dozens more since these early incarnations of
the good Doctor, bringing him forward into 1996 (Mary Reilly) and
beyond.
Hey, Abbot and Costello met him, so you know he's been around!
We're paying tribute to the silents here, so we're talking the 1920 version starring John Barrymore. We're also revisiting the territory of the last guy I wrote about. It's a London backstreet instead of a Black Lagoon, but we're still looking at duality -- the man (or woman, in the case of Hammer's "Doctor Jeckyll and Sister Hyde") and the beast.
Really popular theme, this. Why is that? If I had the opportunity, the person I'd ask is John Barrymore himself, a man for whom duality has personal as well as professional significance, according to Diane MacIntyre's scholarly and energetic biography of the actor (www.mdle.com/Classic/Films). Don't worry, this isn't going to turn into a book report; but I'd be remiss if I didn't mention this reference. If you're a fan of the silents -- any genre, any star -- this site is a must.
So now, apart from being very obvious about who I'm ripping off, I'm going to break another rule. This is a quote of a quote, from the bio. It's Gene Fowler, a friend of Barrymore's who wrote a book about him in the '40's. This is how Mr. Fowler characterized John Barrymore:
Like his impetuous sire [actor
Maurice Barrymore] Jack was given to sudden exploits of 
generosity, and equally fitful moods of
self-centered arrogance. In Jack there was repeated the father's
complexity of hot-and-cold blowings, the quicksilver humor, the
chronic deafness to opinions of others, and a constant tragic
restlessness. Both father and son seem forever to be seeking
something - God knows what - some great intangible. Perhaps they
were searching for themselves. They were as angels in revolt
against a God too bountiful with gifts denied most other men.
Angels in revolt.
That's Dr. Henry Jeckyll all over. Go back to the original novel and see him through Stevenson's eyes, and you'll see that if nothing else: A maverick medical professional, with piercing intelligence and the kind of inquisitiveness that has driven creative men and women to the ragged edges of discovery -- and disaster -- time and time again. The "tragic restlessness" works too, the search for the Great Truth. What is the nature of man? Where is the dividing line between man and beast?
As a fiction writer, I love playing around with that theme. There is so much space in it, so much possibility. It's dark, open space, like night sky overhead. It's full of indistinct, shifting shapes that sometimes look like us ... and sometimes not like us at all.
Parallel and opposing images abound in the story, and in the films. One of the often-emphasized points is the physical -- the obvious choice for a visual medium. In the 1940's version, Edward Hyde is hideous, malformed, almost ape-like. This runs contrary to the eerie, subtle effect Stevenson achieves in his novel, with Hyde described as giving the impression of monstrosity without actually being so freakish as to draw stares in the street. "There is something wrong with his appearance; something displeasing, something downright detestable," Enfield tells his friend Utterson. But it's more his manner -- cold, sneering, arrogant -- that sets people off.
The latter approach is in my opinion far more effective, though it makes for less of a treat for make-up effects fans and those who like their horror cranked up like a rock n' roll record. I don't mean to sound disdainful of loud horror films; one of my favorite of all time is "Evil Dead 2," and you can't get a hell of a lot louder than that. But when the film has no sound at all, the more conservative approach works very well -- perhaps because the experience is closer to reading.
 |
| The "Great Profile"--John Barrymore |
So the silence itself adds a kind of weight to the transformation. Barrymore does wear effects makeup; but if you see the film and think it's overdone, remember to apply historical perspective. Films were still made in the tradition of live theater, shot with the camera in a stationary position meant to represent third row center of an auditorium. The makeup was exagerrated -- even when worn by actors in "normal" character roles -- so that facial expressions could be seen at the back of the house. Seen in this perspective, the makeup is very subtle, as is Barrymore's performance.
I didn't really answer the question I asked before: Why is this theme so compelling? Why is it done over and over again, continuing to draw audiences who never tire of seeing it in new guises?
I think we're drawn to it for the same reason Barrymore was drawn to it: Because we all feel that sense of division all the time. We're all fighting for control in the face of an increasing chaos, the feeling that nothing makes sense. Life doesn't make sense. Good people suffer for no reason. There is pointless hate, pointless cruelty, war over religion with origins no one even remembers ... and all of it seems to come from inside of us.
Pretty hard to deal with when you look in the mirror every morning, isn't it? Underneath your skin, under that tolerant smile you always give your boss when you really want to punch his lights out, is an Edward Hyde all your own.
And if you want something truly chilling -- something to keep you awake nights with all the lights on -- try this: Movies are allegory. They are exaggerated reality. The face of Henry Jeckyll is calm, placid and normal; the face of Edward Hyde is that of the Beast.
But inside us, where the Edward Hyde dwells, there is no difference between his face and our own.
Many thanks, David! Hopefully, the "Hyde" in all of us will just keep "hiding"...Cheers!
Article copyright (c) David Duggins.
