Would you say val lewton horror films are worth

Cat People - An early example of achieving the most with the least; a model for establishing mood with economy that would well serve RKO and its producers and directors of films noir later in the decade, not only for their visual signatures, but for their evocation of dysfunctional psychological states and senses of foreboding, dread and jeopardy. A modest masterpiece that delivers punches in settings as unlikely as an indoor pool, designers' drafting office or Manhattan bus stop.

I Walked With A Zombie - A rather dreary and doom-laden narrative is transcended by the atmosphere with which it's suffused, not the least of which is exemplified by a breezy island airiness that's nevertheless stifling and oppressive, and which is brought to fevered intensity in the scenes approaching and involving a voodoo encampment.

The Leopard Man - Brilliant set pieces - the nighttime cemetery meeting; the procession of the dead; the clicking of Clo-Clo's castanets and heels as she makes her way through darkened streets; the shadowy walk through an arroyo that culminates in one of the most alarming depictions of bloody death ever not seen on film - punctuate a tale of big-city natives probing violent deaths in a small rural town.

The Seventh Victim - An unconventional subject resides in the center of this urban nightmare encompassing mystery, obsession, innocence, vulnerability and trust. More great set pieces: the after-hours search of the cosmetics factory offices; the subway; a chilling shower scene years before Psycho's now more famous one. And for all the preoccupation with death and self-destruction, there's a warmth at its center as well, embodied by the mini-community providing Mary's support system, that counterbalances the malevolent forces surrounding sister Jacqueline, furnishing thematic as well as visual contrasts of darkness and light.

The Ghost Ship - Lewton's efficient economy enhances the claustrophobic sense of an escalating cat-and-mouse game between a new crew member and a dictatorial sea captain. While this one spends more of its running time as psychological study than overt thriller, there's menace aplenty, represented by that found in devices like a chain locker and a swinging cargo-loading hook, employed in ways that were unique to Lewton productions.

The Curse Of the Cat People - Like its predecessor, this is one of only two Lewton films to touch on the supernatural, and then in an oblique and interpretive manner. Connected to its forebear by only that along with its title and three principal characters, Curse is something of an outlier: a gentle examination of the secret worlds of children's imaginations.

The Body Snatcher - The first of Lewton's thrillers to be set in an historical rather than contemporary period, as were Boris Karloff's other two films for him, this is perhaps the most richly-realized of the bunch, and there isn't a weak moment in it. When Karloff isn't dominating the screen (charming one moment and ominous the next, in one of his three best performances put to film), costar Henry Daniell is (in a rare central role), and their scenes together are electric. As did Mark Robson and Jacques Tourneur in their Lewton assignments, director Robert Wise creates memorable, less-is-more moments, as in the methodical build-up to the street singer's unseen yet all-too-clear fate.

Isle Of the Dead - As with several of the others, superstition and obsession take center stage in a setting of atmospheric isolation. In this one, a deliberately-paced impression of creeping menace from within mirrors the plague without, from which a rigid Greek general seeks to protect the small group inhabiting a remote island during a 1912 war. The island's mist-shrouded beach, a gloomy burial crypt and windy watchtower are among the well-presented sets, the lighting of which greatly enhances their effectiveness in spite of their simplicity. Along with several listed above, sound design is of special note.

Bedlam - Another multi-faceted performance from Karloff and uncharacteristically explicit social commentary adorn this final collaboration of producer Lewton, director Robson, star Karloff and studio RKO, along with the most generous budget of any produced by the unit, although I daresay it could have looked just as good with only half the amount, given the team's amply-demonstrated resourcefulness and artistry. As well, a dark tone of mordant humor arising organically from character is perfectly aligned with what emerges as an observation of privilege, patronage and persecution, in which those most disadvantaged display stronger senses of humanity and justice than those in positions of power. Not new messaging even in 1946, but ever-relevant.


It may be discerned that, for the most part, the strengths rather than weaknesses of these films has been emphasized herein, but that's in keeping with my overall assessment of the Lewton unit's accomplishments: while some suffer from moments of unevenness, even the least of them offsets those with ones of rewarding cinematic brilliance; multiple metaphorical pearls await within each oyster. And each bears the identifiable creative stamp of Lewton's guiding hand, yielding numerous qualities for which to recommend it.