Long before the days of political correctness, Hollywood made a mint off the fears of Americans that sinister oriental forces were at work to undermine Western civilization.  These fears were fueled by the likes of author Sax Rohmer and his Fu Manchu novels.  As a result, just about any lead baddie worth his salt in Tinseltown played an evil oriental mastermind at least once.  Bela Lugosi was no exception, as you'll see in the following article which provides ample information concerning...

By JOE WINTERS

Even before the days of World War, Cold War and the War on Terror, the U. S. of A. already had its fill of enemies, both real and imaginary. Among the latter in the mid 1800s, the Chinese were among the most severely stereotyped in terms of not only physical appearance, but over the years as peasants, drug users, and sexual deviants intent on overrunning the white race.

In literature, this prejudice led to the emergence toward the end of the Nineteenth Century of Yellow Peril characters, those sinister Oriental masterminds who would stop at nothing to destroy the West and rule the world. From warlords and criminals to scientists and sorcerers, these portrayals would thrive throughout the first third of the Twentieth Century.

The ultimate Yellow Peril was Fu Manchu, created by writer Sax Rohmer (real name Arthur Sarsfield Ward). Fu first appeared in print in 1913 and would be followed by sequels and imitations, both in print and eventually in film. There was a pair of silent serials, The Mystery Of Fu Manchu (1923) and The Further Mysteries of Fu Manchu the following year. Paramount’s The Mysterious Dr. Fu Manchu (1929) was the first talking Fu with Swedish actor Warner Oland in the title role. He was back in two sequels, The Return Of Fu Manchu (1930) and Daughter Of The Dragon (1931), the latter co-starring Anna May Wong.

That same year, Oland went from playing lawless Oriental Fu Manchu to playing Oriental lawman Charlie Chan in a series of films until the actor’s death in 1937. Englishman Boris Karloff starred as Fu in MGM’s The Mask Of Fu Manchu (1932), an opulent and sometimes kinky adventure with Myrna Loy as Fu’s daughter.

During this time and after the major studios lost interest in the Yellow Peril, smaller studios continued to exploit the theme with such titles as Chinatown After Dark (1931) featuring a female Oriental crime boss. There was Law Of The Tongs (1931), Secrets Of Wu Sin (1932), Secrets Of Chinatown (1935), Captured In Chinatown (1935), Hong Kong Nights (1935), and more.

There was also The Mysterious Mr. Wong (Monogram, 1935), a role said to be intended at one point for Lionel Atwill, but going instead to that Hungarian master of menace, Bela Lugosi as the mad Manchurian.

According to the story, centuries ago on his deathbed the Chinese philosopher Confucius left a coin to each of twelve trusted friends. Whosoever possesses all twelve coins would rule the Chinese province of Keelat. In the present day, evil Fu Wong (Lugosi) is on his way to doing just that. From there, presumably, he would launch bigger plans.

But this is a Monogram picture, so we have to start small. From an herb shop in San Francisco’s Chinatown, Wong, disguised as friendly proprietor Li See, arranges the murders of eleven of the coins’ current owners. Some of those crimes are seen in the film’s opening montage. There’s a note attached to each body to insight rumors of tong wars. Competing with Wong for that last coin is a group of men led by Hi Tsung (Fred Warren).

Meanwhile, Wong confines an untrustworthy aide who has apparently failed to secure the twelfth coin. "A few hours with the rats will make him speak the truth." Reporter Jason H. Barton (Wallace Ford) doesn’t buy the stories about feuding factions of local criminal tongs. When not on the trail of hot news, Jay spends time sweet-talking newspaper switchboard operator Peg (Arline Judge).

When asked by his boss if he’s ever heard of a Chinaman named Wong, Jay replies "Have I ever ran into one who ain’t named Wong." That sort of racist humor runs throughout this and so many other movies of the period. The Irish didn’t have it so great sometimes either and are represented here by dumb beat cop McGuillicuddy (Robert Emmett O’Connor) who chimes in with such remarks as "There’s nothin’ noisier than a Chinaman when you want quiet, or quieter when you want information." At the scene of the murder of laundry man Sam Toy, McGuillicuddy refers Jay to Li See who seems to know everything that goes on in Chinatown.

Jay takes a laundry ticket message he found at Sam Toy’s and soon questions the evasive Li See. Next, Jay takes the message to be translated by Professor Chan Fu (Luke Chan). Li See/Wong sends an agent after Jay, who shows Chan Fu only half of the message. Chan Fu secretly reports to Hi Tsung. Later after snooping around Sam Toy’s laundry where Li See is also searching, Chan Fu is shot. Another interested party grabs the twelfth coin from its hiding place.

Jay is hanging out in the area, too, and spots Li See, and next Hi Tsung (whom Jay refers to as "High Strung.") Both men question Li See who continues to evade with his standard "Maybe so, I don’t know, maybe not." Jay is late for a date with Peg and cuts out, after which Wong gets the drop on Tsung and confines him to the "Dungeon of the Faithless."

At the restaurant where Jay and Peg are dining, the final coin literally falls into Jay’s hands from those of the murdered man in the next booth. Within moments of leaving, the couple narrowly escapes death by noose, knife and falling planter. Now fed up, Jay and Peg drop in on Li See’s deserted shop, where his kindly and tormented niece Moonflower (Lotus Long) shows the couple the way to Wong’s dungeon.

Wong shows up, has Jay and Peg bound for torture and escorts Moonflower back to her room. While his niece prays, Wong silently approaches her with knife in hand.

Fellow captive Hi Tsung introduces himself to Jay as the head of the Keelat Secret Service. While Wong and his men are away, during the movie’s most logic-defying moment, Jay finds a telephone hidden under a burlap bag. With his foot he lifts the receiver and contacts his boss to send in the cops. He pushes the phone back into hiding as Wong returns.

When Wong asks if they enjoy seeing him return, Peg replies "Delighted. Come in and cut yourself a piece of throat." In an effort to make them reveal the location of the twelfth coin, Wong prepares to go to work on Peg’s fingernails. The police rush in, shots ring out and Wong joins his ancestors.

Based on Harry Stephen Keeler’s The Twelve Coins Of Confucius, The Mysterious Mr. Wong was directed by William Nigh (1881-1955). Nigh’s previous accomplishments included directing Lon Chaney Sr. in the silent Mr. Wu (MGM, 1927). After directing and acting in a number of silents, Nigh focused solely on directing, became a frequent fixture of Hollywood’s Poverty Row and at Monogram directed 1934’s Mystery Liner and House Of Mystery, among others. From 1938 through 1940, Nigh directed Boris Karloff in five of the six Mr. Wong detective movies at the new Monogram. This Wong had no connection to the more entertaining Lugosi film. Karloff concluded his stay at Monogram with The Ape (1940), also directed by Nigh.

The director worked with Lugosi again for the studio’s Black Dragons (1942). (For more on Bela’s Monogram movies, dare to roam the HORROR-WOOD archives here and here.) William Nigh directed well over a hundred movies, including The Strange Case Of Dr. Rx (Universal, 1942) and the PRC-distributed old dark house comedy The Ghost And The Guest (1943).

As the wisecracking reporter, Wallace Ford (1898-1966) delivers just as he did as the wisecracking reporter opposite Bela for the first time in Night Of Terror (Columbia, 1933). Ford’s likeable comic timing helped perk up the dark doings of Freaks (MGM, 1932), The Man Who Re-Claimed His Head (Universal, 1934), One Frightened Night (Mascot, 1935), Two In The Dark (RKO, 1936), The Rogue’s Tavern (Mercury, 1936), The Mummy’s Hand (Universal, 1940), The Mummy’s Tomb (Universal, 1942), Murder By Invitation (Monogram, 1941), and as the wisecracking reporter opposite Bela for the third and final time in The Ape Man (Monogram, 1943).

Keeping up with Ford was Arline Judge (1912-1974), who was most active in the 1930s and 1940s, but stayed away from the horror genre until the end of her film career with an appearance in The Crawling Hand (1963).

After the busy and successful year of 1935, Bela Lugosi suffered from the temporary dry-up of the horror movie business, but during that time did play the Eurasian menace in the enjoyable Victory cliffhanger serial Shadow Of Chinatown (1936).

By the 1940s the Japanese had become the new Yellow Peril in cahoots with the Nazis. After the war, the Communists, whether Soviet or American, became the enemy. And eventually the Red Chinese embodied old time Yellow Peril fears with the newer Commie ones. Fu Manchu survived throughout, in a 1940 Republic cliffhanger serial and on television in the 1950s.

Christopher Lee portrayed Fu in five films from the middle through late 1960s, and Peter Sellers played the role (his last) for laughs (very few) in 1980. Larger than life incarnations of Oriental masterminds over the years have ranged from Ming the Merciless in the Flash Gordon comics and chapter plays to the Shadow’s arch enemy Shiwan Kahn, in comics as of 1939 and on the big screen in 1994.

The Mysterious Mr. Wong was, by comparison, a Yellow Peril footnote in filmdom. His poor torture chamber with stocks, hot irons…and telephone couldn’t compare with the best that MGM’s money could buy for Boris just three years earlier. But as almost always, you have to give Bela Lugosi credit for making the most of the meager trappings and coming through once again with two fun characterizations in one to the ongoing delight of his fans.

Thanks, Joe.  True, compared to Karloff's Yellow Peril orgy at MGM as Fu Manchu, The Mysterious Mr. Wong comes off as distinctly threadbare and shopworn.  But, despite its shabby set pieces, Wallace Ford's rapid-fire wisecracking, Arlene Judge's snappy rejoinders, and, most of all, Lugosi's masterful take on the sinister oriental combine to make this an entertaining little shudderer.  Once again, Lugosi rises above his material and that's why Monogram used him again and again.  That's not the highest of tributes, but, in the true mercenary world of Tinseltown, it was good enough to keep an actor working.

Article copyright © Joe Winters    

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