Night of the Demon: If Hitchcock Had Made a Horror Movie...

Although made in the late 1950s, Night of the Demon (US: Curse of the Demon) owes its inspiration to producer Val Lew-ton's 1940s “B” horror films. Constrained by a low budget, Lewton knew he couldn’t afford to show a scary monster, so he made psychological thrillers like The Leopard Man in which the film’s menace was implied. One of Lewton’s directors was Jacques Tourneur, who would later helm the film noir classic Out of the Past and, of course, Night of the Demon.

According to legend, Tourneur’s original cut of Night of the Demon never showed the title creature. The producers felt it wasn’t creepy enough, though, and inserted two scenes with a gruesome two-horned, fanged demonic creature created by Wally Veevers. Whether the tale is true or not, the decision to show the demon works to the film’s advantage. The creature’s rare appearances make quite an impact and Veevers’ work is quite impressive.

The real star of the film, though, is Niall McGinnis, who plays devil cult leader Dr. Julian Karswell. At the beginning of the film, Karswell receives a visit from Professor Harrington, who has been investigating the cult. A frightened Harrington tells Karswell that he will stop the investigation and pleads with Karswell to “call it off.” Karswell notes that “some things are more easily started than stopped.” Later that night, a hideous demon kills Harrington.

John Holden (Dana Andrews), an American psychologist, and Joanna Harrington (Peggy Cummins), the professor’s niece, pick up the investigation. Holden, who doesn’t believe in the supernatural, pays a call on Karswell at the latter’s country estate. Karswell, sporting clown make-up, is giving a Halloween magic show for the local children. It’s my favorite scene and features such great dialogue as:

Holden: I see you practice white magic as well as black.

Karswell: I don’t think it would be too amusing for the youngsters if I conjured up a demon from Hell for them. Or for myself for that matter. As we’re not protected by the magic circle, we’d both of us be torn to shreds.

Holden: And you’d spoil the party.

Karswell: You’re so right…but how to make the point.

To do just that, Karswell summons up a wind storm (a medieval witch’s specialty, he explains later) that sends screaming children running inside the house—a scene that foreshadows a similar children’s party gone awry in Hitchcock's The Birds.

The film's most famous sequence, though, is probably Holden's late night trek through the woods. After an encounter at Karswell's country estate, Holden makes for a quick exit out the study door. Karswell politely advises him not to take the path through the woods, but the defiant Holden does just that--setting the stage for a chase very reminiscent of those in Lewton pictures like The Cat People.


A creature worth showing!

Night of the Demon was loosely based on M.R. James' short story "Casting the Runes." The witty screenplay was co-authored by Charles Bennett, who worked on early Hitchcock classics like The 39 Steps. He gives McGinnis almost all the good lines. When Karswell finds the skeptical Holden searching his study, the cult leader remarks about Joanna: “At least, she doesn’t have her head in the sand. She believes she can see. She can. She believes that she’s alive. She is. She believes that you will die tomorrow night. You will.”

Indeed, the film’s only weakness may be that Karsell is so much more interesting than Holden. It doesn’t help that Dana Andrews gives a bland performance as the disbelieving hero and the talented Peggy Cummins has very little to do. The film's second best performance is given by screen veteran Athene Seyler, who plays Karswell's mother. Their mother-son relationship is straight out of Hitchcock (who seemed to have a soft spot for his villains' mothers).

Sadly, Night of the Demon would be the last significant film for director Jacques Tourneur. He worked mostly in television in the 1960s, directing episodes of shows like Bonanza, Twilight Zone, and T.H.E. Cat. Still, his final two films weren't without interest: War Gods of the Deep (1965) was a bizarre, entertaining adventure film about an underwater city and The Comedy of Terrors was an amusing trifle written by Richard Matheson and starring Vincent Price, Peter Lorre, Boris Karloff, and Basil Rathbone.

As Tourneur's swansong in the horror genre, he couldn't have done better than Night of the Demon. I've often thought that if Hitch had made a horror film, it might have looked something like Night of the Demon. He probably would have wanted to avoid showing the title creature, too. I’d have to disagree, though, because, in close-up especially, that disagreeable demon is quite chillingly memorable.

The Leopard Man features "one of the greatest horror sequences ever filmed"

The accolade in the title of this review comes from director William Friedkin, who knows a little about creating horror (The Exorcist) and suspense (the chase scene in The French Connection). Of course, I didn't need Mr. Friedkin to tell me what I already knew. I saw The Leopard Man as a kid and that specific scene etched itself into my brain. Among classic film buffs, it holds its own against more famous sequences of implied horror like the rolling ball in Fritz Lang's M.

Are the screams behind the door a
childish ploy or a frightening reality?

The Leopard Man, though, is more than a one-tricky pony. It's a fascinating suspense film set in a small New Mexico town (atmospherically created on an RKO backlot). The catalyst for the plot is a black leopard that escapes during a foolish publicity stunt. When a young girl is found clawed to death, the leopard is blamed--but was it the killer?

Some critics have complained that The Leopard Man lacks the psychological complexity of Val Lewton's other RKO thrillers, such as The Cat People and The Seventh Victim. There may be some truth to that, but it makes up for any thematic deficiencies with an intriguing structure and three visually chilling sequences.

Clo-Clo cloaked in shadows.

Screenwriters Ardel Wray and Edward Dein break conventional narrative structure by shifting the story focus when characters interact. For example, after being introduced to castanets dancer Clo-Clo (Margo), we follow her as she walks down a shadow-filled street. She talks with the fortune-teller, playfully waves her hand through a ring of cigarette smoke, and smiles at lovers kissing. Then, as Clo-Clo walks past a young girl looking out the window, the plot shifts to that girl. Later, when Clo-Clo stops at a street florist, we follow another customer to the house where she works and, again, the plot shifts to follow different characters. In both instances, the new characters become murder victims. (Interestingly, Alfred Hitchcock used a slight variation of this same narrative device 17 years later in Psycho).

The end result of the film's unusual narrative is that it keeps the viewer in a state of unease by casting aside expectations. Director Jacques Tourneur plays with viewer expectations in other ways as well. In one scene, we follow Clo-Clo down a darkened street. We expect something bad to happen, but then she reaches the safety of her home. Tourneur gives the viewer a few seconds to exhale a sigh of relief before Clo-Clo realizes she dropped something valuable on the street and goes back out into the threatening shadows.

In addition to the almost constant state of unease, Tourneur tosses in the three chilling sequences mentioned earlier. The first--and the one mentioned by Friedkin--involves a girl sent by her irritated mother to buy flour. To say more would be spoil the impact...although the scene has been copied to the point that it may not be as disturbing to new viewers as it once was.

The second of the three scenes is classic Lewton, with a young woman trapped in a spooky cemetery at sunset. She hears a man outside the cemetery wall and asks for help. He leaves to get a ladder, giving us false expectations (again) that nothing bad will happen.

The final scene, during the climax, isn't really suspenseful. It is, though, visually unhinging with a contingent of hooded figures leading a column of men with candles as they march against a gray textured sky (again, amazingly, on the RKO backlot).

Everytime I watch Val Lewton's horror films, I seem have a new favorite. Last year, after watching The Seventh Victim, it moved into my top spot...replacing The Cat People. That said, the one that keeps coming back to haunt me is The Leopard Man. It's a unique, one-of-a-kind thriller and it does indeed feature one of the greatest horror sequences ever filmed. Plus, I just watched it.

Robert Mitchum faces his shadowy former life in "Out of the Past"

Jeff Bailey (Robert Mitchum) is living a quiet life, running a gas station in a small town. But then a stranger drives his car into town, and everything changes. It seems that someone from Jeff's past wants something from him, and so Jeff tells his girlfriend, Ann (Virginia Huston), about his shady past. Years ago, Jeff had been hired by Whit Sterling (Kirk Douglas) to find his lady friend, Kathie (Jane Greer), who had shot him and ran away with 40,000 of his dollars. Jeff tracks Kathie to Mexico, meets her in a bar, and the beautiful lady helps him forget all about bringing her back to the States. The two lovers are eventually forced to part ways, and Jeff soon learns that Kathie had returned to Sterling. Now, Sterling wants Jeff to do one simple job, so that they're square, but Jeff suspects that it might be a frame.

Jacques Tourneur, who'd directed some of the Val Lewton-produced films, Cat People (1942), I Walked with a Zombie, and The Leopard Man (both 1943), helmed this movie. Many of the Val Lewton movies were covered in shadow, with the terror merely hinted. This was for budgetary reasons, but it helped immensely to heighten the suspense. Tourneur employs a similar technique in Out of the Past (1947), in this case with a thematic purpose. All that Jeff has left behind is creeping back into his life. The shadows begin to represent impending doom for Jeff, so that it's not only a reference to the title, but is almost a literal interpretation of the man's "shady past."

When we first see Jeff, he's fishing by a pond, in the bright of day. By the time he tells his story to Ann, he's partially hidden in shadow, where he spends the majority of the film. When Jeff is introduced in the flashback, he is wearing a dark overcoat. It was a time when he was a part of the seedy underworld, and he fits right in with the disreputable Whit Sterling. The refurnished Jeff, the man who fishes and owns a gas station, is adorned in a much lighter trenchcoat. It hints at a change in the man, but this is immaterial when he is hiding in the dark, continually stepping into the shadows when trying to uncover Sterling's scheme. It's almost as if Jeff is stepping back into his old role. He must return to his past, become who he used to be, to expose the frame-up. Despite his new life with Ann, Jeff seems more comfortable as his darker self.

When Jeff sees that Kathie is with Sterling again, she comes to his room later to explain herself. Jeff tells her simply, "Let's just leave it where it all is." But even Jeff knows that cannot happen. This is why he goes to see Sterling without an argument, why he takes the job offered to him, knowing fully well it's more than likely a setup. It's a basic belief in penance. Jeff walks back into the past to face whatever consequence awaits him.

The lighting in Out of the Past helps shape the film's story and people. Heavy contrasts, like the infamous sequence in which Jeff walks down a hallway (after stealing evidence implicating Sterling), clearly express the world in which the characters reside. The brighter the lights, the deeper the shadows, and the easier it is to lose oneself in the dark. Cinematographer Nicholas Musuraca had worked with Tourneur previously on Cat People. He'd also photographed other Val Lewton movies, such as The 7th Victim (1943) and The Curse of the Cat People (1944).

Out of the Past was based on the book (and released in the U.K. as) Build My Gallows High. The novel and its adaptation were written by Daniel Mainwaring, both under the pseudonym, Geoffrey Homes. Mainwaring's dialogue is so sharp that a viewer might need a box of gauze handy while watching the film. The lines are witty, with a wry sense of the environment. In other words, most of the characters have accepted their lot in life, and their words are assertions of this reserved compliance. One of the film's best scenes involves Jeff's first meet with the potential victim. He arrives at the door, where Meta Carson (Rhonda Fleming) is posing as his cousin. The other man and Jeff share this bit of dialogue:

"Your, uh, cousin is a very charming young lady."

"No, he isn't. His name is Norman, and he's a bookmaker in Cleveland, Ohio."

The performances in Out of the Past are flawless. The lazy-eyed Mitchum is unparalleled as Jeff. His lines flow from his lips like water from a faucet. The beautiful Jane Greer is the quintessential femme fatale. Her performance is so strong and alluring that it's easy to see why Jeff is such a sucker for her. You want to see more and more of her, in spite of knowing what her presence means. Douglas is equally solid as Whit Sterling. He spends so much of the film smiling that you can't help but assume that his charm is genuine. In one incredibly effective scene, he approaches Kathie, and just as she enters the frame, Sterling slaps her. Greer's reaction makes you wonder if the slap was unexpected, but more than anything, it makes Sterling a terrifying menace. Even Fleming, in the small role as Meta, is noteworthy. In essence, she is the other femme fatale, but she is so appealing that her association with the bad guys is a trait that can readily be forgiven.

Out of the Past was remade in 1984 as Against All Odds starring Jeff Bridges and Rachel Ward. Greer played the mother of Ward, who was portraying Greer's '47 character. Paul Valentine, who made his film debut in Out of the Past as Sterling's crony, Joe Stephanos, also had a small role in the '84 remake.

Out of the Past is often cited as a prime example of the film noir genre. Tourneur's film is dramatically sound, and at times romantic, suspenseful, and just plain cool. So many separate elements come together to form a memorable film. And, just like Jeff and the movie's seemingly endless shadows, it's easy to lose yourself in a dark, somber world.