'Tis the season to celebrate a Merry Christmas...here at HORROR-WOOD, we also celebrate a "Scary Christmas," too. It's fitting, then, that we reveal the Yuletide tale of the Christmas Carol script that almost brought the Universal horror stars into a Dickens of a fix...
By DAVE DUGGINS
Artwork By Geoffrey Miller and Bill Chancellor
(With A Little Assistance From C. Dickens)
"It was my baby," says Bruno Biehl with more than a trace of resentment. "From start to finish, it was my concept, my project, my script. And Universal took it away from me."
The script to which he
refers was unearthed, dusted off and delivered to Universal
executives--for the second time in fifty years -- two weeks ago.
It received what might be politely referred to as "mixed
reviews." The script will be seen here, in part, for the
first time--but the movie will never be seen. Period. The
higher-ups at Universal (who have spoken on condition of
anonymity) have made it perfectly clear how they feel about
"that" script.
So what is this … thing, anyway? This evil celluloid creation birthed by the "mad genius" (Biehl’s own description) in the waning firelight of Universal’s classic horror years? It’s difficult to imagine anything emerging from that era being considered too awful--too horrifying--to ever see light of day.
The truth is that it’s worse than anything you could imagine. Worse than the dozens of Abbott and Costello films that tarnished the stars of the classic monsters for almost a decade after. Worse than the hundreds of retreads, the thousands of sub-Hammer ripoffs that plagued the Technicolor Sixties, worse than … well, worse than taking lunch with Herschell Gordon Lewis.
"It was a strong concept," Biehl asserts. "It worked. It was so misunderstood … those feeble studio heads at Universal could never get their little narrow minds around it. All they wanted was dollar signs. I was trying to create art." Robot Monster creator Phil Tucker couldn’t have said it better himself.
Written in 1947, A Universal Christmas Carol was a showcase for the audacious, misplaced ambition of a former key grip who spent his youth lugging huge metal scrims and adjusting cycs under the watchful and talented eye of James Whale. Biehl stood back, watched what Whale was doing … and decided to try it for himself.
But we’ve all seen the thousand and one variations on the theme, right? What could he have done that was so bad? What could he have envisioned that made Universal twice refuse him the right to use the licensed images of their immortal movie monsters?
* * *
Consider the opener. This scene was written as a teaser, incorporated into the synopsis that was meant to sell the project to Universal:
INT. MANSION--NIGHT
This is the home of EBENEZER SCROOGE. It is dark, vast, cavernous, old, with loose boards that rattle like castanets against the winter wind, shutters clapping ghostly hands against the eaves. LIGHTNING flashes outside the dormered window opposite Scrooge’s desk. His partner, BOB CRATCHIT, pores over accounts bookwork with only a dim oil lamp to see by. The room is cold, their breath rising in vaporous, ephemeral clouds to vanish into the inky darkness. Scrooge’s face is in shadow, seen in profile. His features are not visible, but the profile of his head is distinctive – and distinctly familiar. Another rattling sound--louder, tinnier--is heard. Scrooge speaks.
Scrooge: What is that ungodly noise?
Cratchit: It’s only me teeth, sir. Me chattering teeth.
Scrooge: Teeth? How can you afford teeth on what I pay you?
Cratchit appears about to answer, but sudden scuttling movement distracts him. The gleam in his eyes is feral, predatory, as he tracks the movment across the dimly lit surface of his desktop – a spider, searching for deeper shadows. It is quick, but Cratchit is quicker; with skill borne of endless repetition, his bony fingers drop to enclose the arachnid. With practiced care, he delivers it nimbly to his lips…opens…scoops the spider in…swallows.
Cratchit stares at Scrooge across his table in the strange light, smiling thinly.
Scrooge: Disgusting habit.
Cratchit: Free lunch.
Scrooge stands. In the somber halflight at the huge window, Scrooge stares off into the darkness. His face, seen from OUTSIDE THE WINDOW, is a vague smear of suffering, conflict, inner torment. His eyes sharpen, stare into the camera.
Scrooge: We … belong … dead.
Cratchit: Pardon, sir?
A third bolt of LIGHTING strikes the window. The glass shatters into a molten gold frieze, framing Scrooge’s face for an eternal instant.
Scrooge: Oh, nothing.
He lurches around, arms out, a strange human pinwheel, recalling a windmill … the windmill…
Sadly, Universal failed to see the wisdom in Biehl’s casting of Boris Karloff as Scrooge, and Dwight Frye as Cratchit:
Scrooge: Christmas! Boo, Humbug!
Cratchit: Pardon, sir?
* * *
Consider Scrooge’s first meeting with Jacob Marley, who appears to him as a ghostly face on Scrooge’s front door knocker. Biehl had George Zucco in mind for this role. This scene also introduces a totally superfluous narrator, intended to be the voice of Basil Rathbone, who makes only occasional (and inconsistent) appearances throughout the screenplay.
EXT. MANSION ENTRANCE--NIGHT
Scrooge recoils, although the expression on his face never changes. He is permanently stoic, but reaction shows in his body language -- he staggers backward, legs stiff and straight, and has a difficult time catching his balance with his knees permanently splinted.
Scrooge: It’s Jacob. Jacob Marley! Back from the dead!
Marley: Razor-sharp, you are. All you’re lacking is the deerstalker and the funny little pipe. I never understood the funny little pipe thing, but never mind.
Narrator: It’s a calabash pipe, you fool! Stick to the script!
Scrooge: Why are you here?
Marley: I’m a ghost. This is a ghost story. What do you want, indeed? I asked if there was a Mad Scientist, but it’s a ghost story.
Scrooge: No mad scientist?
Marley: No happy scientist, for that matter. Scrooge, my dear friend, I’m here to warn you.
Scrooge: Warn me?
Marley: Which word didn’t you understand? You’re slowing down, aren’t you? Been dead longer than I have, but you can still get decent roles. Look at me. What am I? A door knocker. I’m dead.
Scrooge (whisper): Dead.
Marley: Pardon?
Scrooge: We…belong…
Marley: Oh, that reminds me. That’s what I’m here to warn you of, my old friend. Be careful what you wish for, because you’re going to get it.
"There is such pathos, such tenderness in these scenes," Biehl asserts. "I wrote through several nights, not stopping, not eating, sleeping fitfully at my desk, dreaming scenes and waking to write them. It was a feverish, inspired time. It represents my best work."
* * *
Self-aggrandizing blather? Judge for yourself, as the Ghost of Christmas Past (to be played by Bela Lugosi) shows Scrooge a tender, tragic scene from his past, featuring his love that never was (Evelyn Ankers).
INT. UNIVERSE--?
Scrooge and the Ghost of Christmas Past (GOC PAST) sit in a strangely ornamented gold chair. A control panel attached to the chair is dotted with dials and buttons. Clearly visible in the center is a chronometer, across which times and dates fly. GOC PAST is dressed in his trademark black cape and whiteface. He smiles thinly, the picture of dignified composure.
GOC PAST: This night, you will see things no man has ever seen. You will see your own past illuminated by the light of present’s wisdom.You will look into my eyes, and…
Narrator: For heavens sake, this isn’t Monogram! Stick to the bloody script!
Scrooge: (pointing at the control panel): Nice gizmo.
GOC PAST: MGM backlot. Got it from Tod Browning. Do you think they’ll notice it’s missing?
The swirl of kaleidoscopic colors around them resolves into a flower-dotted field next to the edge of a peaceful pond. All is placid; the only sounds disturbing the silence are the light-hearted, cheerful chirpings of spring birds.
GOC PAST: Now, you will witness the folly and shortsightedness of youth. For it is here that you truly lost your innocence – the part of you that was fragile and free. When your blood was young and hot…yes, blood…blood is the life, Mr. Scrooge...
Narrator: The script! Don’t ad-lib!
GOC PAST nods sagely, sweeping his hand across to indicate a man and woman sitting on the opposite bank. We are able to see GOC PAST and Scrooge on the opposite bank, out of focus but still in the shot, between the TWO-SHOT TABLEAU of the man and woman. The man is obviously Scrooge himself, but a much younger version of himself. The woman (Evelyn Ankers) is speaking to him, but not looking into his eyes. Instead, she stares at the flower she holds in her hand. She tears petals from the stem, tosses them into the still water.
Woman: I just don’t understand you, Ebenezer. Don’t you want to spend time with me?
Scrooge stares at her, saying nothing.
Woman (sighing): All you do is work all day. All you seem to care about is money. Don’t you care about me, Ebenezer?
Scrooge is silent.
Woman: Won’t you even talk with me about it?
Scrooge watches the ripples that cross the pond.
The woman stands, throwing the flower into the water.
Woman: Oh, Ebenezer…we’re all out of flowers.
Scrooge stands. He lurches toward the woman. Scrooge lifts her into his arms, lifts her above his head and throws her into the water. On the other side of the pond, the present day Scrooge watches all of this without visible reaction.
GOC PAST: Even now, having seen, you have learned nothing. How many people get the opportunity to see their mistakes, rewind their lives, start it all again? Bah…I am done with you. But there will be other Spirits.
Scrooge: There is more of the gravy than the grave to you. You are a bit of underdone potato. Not to mention overcooked ham…
GOC PAST: Ham? Who are you calling a ham?
Narrator: Gentlemen! The script! Please!
* * *
Each of Dickens’ original apparitions was changed in the script, given a "face-lift," twinned with a counterpart from Universal’s popular pantheon. Biehl’s choice of Lon Chaney, Jr. for The Ghost of Christmas Present resulted in the following scene:
EXT. FLYING SHOT--NIGHT
Scrooge and GOC Present glide through a cloudbank, sailing the night skies like ravens. GOC Present seems to be a normal man, quiet, even contemplative, with nothing outwardly monstrous about him. Scrooge, forever impassive, seems unimpressed by his newfound ability to fly.
GOC Present: Some view, eh?
Scrooge: Cheap air fare.
GOC Present (rolling his eyes): You are making me angry, Mr. Scrooge. Don’t make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.
GOC Present reaches into his worn, filthy coat and produces a flask.
GOC Present: Here. Have a drink of this. Milk of Human Kindness. It will lift your spirit…brighten your soul…knock some of that graveyard dirt out of your underwear.
Scrooge: Boo, Humbug!
Narrator: Lon! You promised! Not before two o’clock!
But Scrooge drinks from the flask he is handed. A heavy weight seems to lift from his face, which is still somber, but more open somehow. A large drift of dark earth scatters from the right leg of his pants.
Scrooge: What is this?
GOC Present: Old family recipe.
The two descend from
their idyllic plateau, dropping lower and lower until unrefined
features of earth become the buildings and streets of present-day
London. Finally, they land in a run-down, poor section of town.
The houses are little more than tarpaper and wastewood shacks
clipped together with wire and rusty hinges.
GOC Present points toward a nearby window.
GOC Present: Look there.
INT. CRATCHIT’S HOUSE – NIGHT
Scrooge recognizes the people in the room.
Scrooge: Why, It’s Bob Cratchit and his family.
GOC Present: Surprised? Didn’t know they lived here, in this hellish section of town?See now, Ebenezer, what they really think of you.
The focus shifts to the Cratchit family; suddenly, Scrooge and GOC Present become translucent--visible to us, obviously invisible to TINY TIM (to be played by Donnie Dunagan--ed), Bob Cratchit and MRS. CRATCHIT.
Tiny Tim: Why don’t you just find another job, Father? There must be other jobs in London.
Bob Cratchit: Ah, bless you, Tim. If it were only so simple as in your eyes, in your child’s mind…
Tiny Tim: To heck with my child’s mind! There are other jobs in this town!
Mrs. Cratchit: Now, Tim dear, please don’t upset yourself. You know what the doctor said! Your dear father is doing his best.
Bob Cratchit: Rats…thousands of rats…millions…
Narrator: For goodness sake, Dwight—will you please follow the script!
Tiny Tim: God help us, every one!
GOC Present looks expectantly at Scrooge.
GOC Present: Well? What have you now to say for yourself? Do you see how your coldness, your hunger for wealth numb you to the reality of a family on the brink of starvation? Do you care for nothing? Nothing at all?
Scrooge: Nothing. At all.
GOC Present (wildly): Then you deserve your curse. As I deserve mine.
GOC Present throws open the curtain in the tiny room. The brilliant, blue-white rays of the full moon fill the small space. GOC Present screams, falls to his knees … begins to change. Begins the change, the change that rules him, tears him in half, makes him sane and insane, alive and dead. His fingers and ears enlongate; his body stretches and reshapes; his face stretches, nose lengthening, sharp canine teeth punching their way through elastic gums. He howls, snarls, spitting and sneezing blood as the transformation completes. Scrooge looks at him, something like pity in his eyes. Something like softness. He reaches out a hand to the man-beast. The Wolfman. He reaches out, and speaks…
Scrooge: Nice doggie.
Narrator: Where is that in the script?
* * *
The final scene is the real prize, with John Carradine as The Ghost of Christmas Future – the Grim Reaper himself.
EXT.—GRAVEYARD.
Two figures face each other across a vast plain of smoky ice. Low fog sweeps up from the fractured expanse; shreds of mist hang in the air like gauze. On one end of the plain stands Ebenezer Scrooge. At the other end stands The Ghost of Christmas Future. Scrooge already knows the figure well--the stark lines of his black cloak, the deep shadow concealing his face.
Scrooge: You taunt me, Spirit.
GOC Future: As I taunt all men. I reveal a choice detail of their own mortality. I choose someone close to them, perhaps. Someone random. I take…and leave them to live in fear.
Scrooge: You like to make men fear.
GOC Future: It’s better than Billy the Kid Vs. Dracula, believe me.
Narrator: That does it—I quit!
* * *
Somehow, that reference to the B-Movie Future, reminding him of his own movie career mortality, perhaps an echo of Horror Films Yet To Come (such as Frankenstein 1970), finally brought Scrooge to his senses. In the script, he repents, showers the Cratchit family with gifts, sends Tiny Tim back to acting school, and finally learns the true meaning of Christmas: ‘tis better to give than receive. And Universal learned the true meaning of giving, too, when they gave Bruno Biehl back his script, with the notation: "This script…belong…dead." And, as Tiny Tim observed as he departed for acting school, "God help us—everyone!"
Scrooge: Boo, humbug!
...And a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to our readers! Cheers!
Article copyright Dave Duggins/Poster Artwork copyright Geoffrey Miller/Cover Artwork copyright Bill Chancellor
