UNCANNY BODIES UNCANNY BODIES THE COMING OF SOUND FILM AND THE ORIGINS OF THE HORROR GENRE Robert Spadoni UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS BERKELEY LOS ANGELES LONDON University of California Press, one of the most distinguished university presses in the United States, enriches lives around the world by advancing scholarship in the humanities, social sciences, and natural sciences. Its activities are supported by the UC Press Foundation and by philanthropic contributions from individuals and institutions. For more informa- tion, visit www.ucpress.edu. A previous version of chapter 1 appeared as “The Uncanny Body of Early Sound Film” in The Velvet Light Trap 51 (Spring 2003): 4–16. Copyright © 2003 by the University of Texas Press. All rights reserved. The cartoon on page 122 is © The New Yorker Collection 1999 Danny Shanahan from cartoonbank.com. All rights reserved. University of California Press Berkeley and Los Angeles, California University of California Press, Ltd. London, England © 2007 by The Regents of the University of California Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Spadoni, Robert. Uncanny bodies : the coming of sound film and the origins of the horror genre / Robert Spadoni. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 978-0-520-25121-2 (cloth : alk. paper) isbn 978-0-520-25122-9 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Horror films—United States—History and criticism. 2. Sound motion pictures—United States— History and criticism. I. Title. pn1995.9.h6s66 2007 791.43'6164—dc22 2006029088 Manufactured in the United States of America 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 09 08 07 10987654321 The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of ansi/niso z39.48-1992 (r 1997) (Permanence of Paper).8 For my parents, Edward and Norma Spadoni “O friend and companion of night, thou who rejoicest in the baying of dogs (here a hideous howl bust forth) and spilt blood (here nameless sounds vied with morbid shriekings), who wanderest in the midst of shades among the tombs (here a whistling sigh occurred), who longest for blood and bringest terror to mortals (short, sharp cries from myriad throats), Gorgo (repeated as response), Mormo (repeated with ecstasy), thousand-faced moon (sighs and flute notes), look favourably on our sacrifices!” As the chant closed, a general shout went up, and hissing sounds nearly drowned the croaking of the cracked bass organ. Then a gasp as from many throats, and a babel of barked and bleated words—“Lilith, Great Lilith, behold the Bridegroom!” More cries, a clamour of rioting, and the sharp, clicking footfalls of a running figure. The footfalls approached, and Malone raised himself to his elbow to look. The luminosity of the crypt, lately diminished, had now slightly increased; and in that devil-light there appeared the fleeing form of that which should not flee or feel or breathe— the glassy-eyed, gangrenous corpse of the corpulent old man, now needing no support, but animated by some infernal sorcery of the rite just closed. H. P. Lovecraft, “The Horror at Red Hook,” 1927 Contents Acknowledgments xi Introduction 1 1 The Uncanny Body of Early Sound Film 8 The Shrinking of Personality 11 The Return of the Medium-Sensitive Viewer 13 The Complexion of the Thing 19 Shadows in Three Dimensions 25 A Modality 26 2 Ludicrous Objects, Textualized Responses 31 Films as Mirrors of Viewer Response 33 The Hollywood Revue of 1929 34 Two Ventriloquism Films 36 Svengali 40 3 The Mystery of Dracula 45 Real Emotional Horror Kick 45 The Mystery of Dracula? 48 The Vampire’s Hiss and the Madman’s Laugh 54 4 Dracula as Uncanny Theater 61 Figure 61 Ground 77 5 Frankenstein and the Vats of Hollywood 93 Strong Meat and Monster Food 93 Frankenstein and the Uncanny of Early Sound Film 97 Frankenstein and the Uncanny of Silent Film 112 From Modality to Monad 118 Conclusion 121 Notes 129 Bibliography 163 Films Cited 179 Index 183 Acknowledgments At the University of Chicago, the Program in Cinema and Media Stud- ies and the Department of English Language and Literature provided gen- erous funding support while I wrote this book. At Case Western Reserve University, the Department of English and the College of Arts and Sci- ences further funded the project, and my colleagues there gave me help- ful feedback on pieces and versions of the manuscript. For their assis- tance with my research efforts, I am grateful to Barbara Hall and Janet Lorenz at the Margaret Herrick Library of the Academy of Motion Pic- ture Arts and Sciences, Jan-Christopher Horak at Universal Studios Archives and Collections, Charles Silver and John Harris at the Museum of Modern Art Film Study Center, Karen Lund at the Library of Con- gress, Annette Marotta at the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts, Maureen Lasko at the University of Chicago Regenstein Library, the staff of the New York State Archives, Karan Sheldon at Northeast Historic Film, Kerryn Sherrod and Sarah Heiman at Turner Classic Movies, Daniel Edelson at Variety, Rakim Jihaad at Facets Multimedia, Frederick C. Wiebel Jr., and Claudine Adamec. Special thanks go to Ned Comstock at the Cinema-Television Library of the University of South- ern California for helping me make the most of a hectic research visit, and to M. V. Carbon at the University of Chicago Film Study Center for helping me get image captures from film. Donald Crafton and Yuri Tsivian provided thoughtful commentary xi XII / ACKNOWLEDGMENTS on a version of the first chapter. David Levin, Barry Grant, Jeremy But- ler, and Daniel Goldmark supplied much-needed advice at critical mo- ments in the process. Early in my research, George Turner spoke to me one morning at the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences library and shared his love of classic horror movies and also some great stories about their making and first receptions. (He also gave me driving direc- tions to Red Rock Canyon, where, “if you root around in the dirt a lit- tle, you can still find nails and bits of plaster from the Mummy set.”) It was only after our conversation that I discovered his wonderful pieces on the films in American Cinematographer. I am glad for the chance to have met George before his unfortunate passing in 1999. William Veeder read several early drafts and helped me clarify my writ- ing and thinking. James Lastra shared his expertise in film sound and helped me nuance and sharpen my arguments. Kevin Heffernan offered many useful suggestions on how to improve the manuscript. Tom Gun- ning’s faith, guidance, and insights, as well as the examples of his writ- ing and teaching, have made this book and a great many other things possible. Mary Francis at the University of California Press believed in the project and shepherded it into production with expertise and patience. Laura Harger, Steven Baker, and Kalicia Pivirotto provided invaluable help as well. Two anonymous readers for the Press offered their terrific suggestions. I also owe thanks to two departed friends. Kendra Morris talked me back into going to graduate school after I had talked myself out of it. I will miss her and always be grateful to her for helping me take the less certain path. James Fogarty and I watched Creature Double Features on many a Friday-night sleepover. My love of old horror movies began when his did. I will remember him and those special times when I think of these films. Michael Simeon and the late Ilona Simeon offered their love and sup- port in many forms, for which I am most grateful. My parents, Edward and Norma Spadoni, have encouraged me in my interests and pursuits from the beginning and have done a great deal to help me realize this book and other dreams as well. My children, Nora, Louise, and Matilda, good sports while their dad has been around less than he wanted to be, continue to give meaning to all my endeavors. Lastly, I am grateful to Diana Simeon for her love, inestimable support, superhuman endurance of what it took to get me here, and a life that makes it all worthwhile. INTRODUCTION It is the between that is tainted with strangeness. Hélène Cixous, “Fiction and Its Phantoms: A Reading of Freud’s Das Unheimliche (The ‘Uncanny’)” The two films that mark the dawn of the horror film as a Hollywood genre, Tod Browning’s Dracula and James Whale’s Frankenstein (both 1931), make a curious pair. When I first saw them as a child, I was at once awestruck by the creaky, majestic slowness of Dracula and disap- pointed to find in the film so little in the way of sensational action and monster effects. No monsters locked in mortal combat tumble through a laboratory about to be flooded with water from an exploded dam, as in Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man (Neill, 1943), and no vampire glides on a coffin-barge over misty waters toward his next bride, as in Son of Dracula (R. Siodmak, 1943). Instead, Dracula gives us a tuxedoed figure who speaks with a thick Hungarian accent and spends a lot of time glar- ing. Frankenstein at least had a real monster, and yet this film, too, ex- uded an ancient quality that set it a world apart from the other horror films I loved. In Dracula and Frankenstein we hear no “movie music,” and this registered to me not as an absence but rather as a scratchy pres- ence that suffused everything in the films with a tangible and delicious weirdness. There was something quintessential about these horror movies as horror movies. Their luminous gray worlds and yawning silences transfixed me.