The year is 1904, and on the
grounds of Glencliff Manor a cat is hung to death before it can snatch the
oh-so-tasty canary that hangs above its head (surely not a metaphor?). The adolescent killer goes undiscovered. Thirty years later, the remaining relatives
of rich eccentric Cyrus West (the magnificent Wilfrid Hyde-White) gather on the estate to hear the reading of his
will. But there’s a catch. If the initial beneficiary is declared insane
or deceased (and old Cyrus know that his clan is predisposed to insanity, so
either way is a safe bet) within the next twelve hours (say, over night), a
secondary beneficiary will be named. Oh,
and a psychopath who thinks he is a cat has escaped from the local mental
institute. Let the games begin.
So goes the plot for this, Radley Metzger’s adaptation of John Willard’s 1922 play, The Cat And The Canary, arguably one of
the most famous examples of the Old Dark House subgenre. Generally speaking, they center on a group of
characters forced to stay in said house, and they get picked off one by one
until the killer is usually unmasked at the finale. Tonally, they are predominantly a mixture of
Comedy and Thriller (the 1939 version of this story starred Bob Hope, just to give you an
idea). They are also loaded with
characters almost all of whom have some deep, dark secret which makes them a
suspect at some point of another. The
Old Dark House is also considered quaint, even antiquated, not only because of
when it was prominent, but also because of when they are typically set (roughly
the same time periods, but generally accepted as the first half of the twentieth
century). This attitude is reinforced in
this film by the symmetrical, traditional compositions. But the real star of this type of film is the
house itself. It is loaded with sliding
bookcases, hidden staircases and rooms, and is gothic in the extreme. Characters will often be pulled offscreen
from behind some false wall as some other character occupies him or herself,
oblivious to the goings-on. Without the
mysteries of the house, these films wouldn’t be what they are, and they
wouldn’t be as fun as they are, the same as luchador films wouldn’t be the same
without luchadores.
The manor and its riddles are all
about the unknown, and its clandestine nooks and crannies reflect the
unraveling of the characters’ secrets.
The characters don’t even have to be inside the labyrinthine conduits in
the walls. So, as the Cat scurries
around behind the scenes, we discover things.
For example, Harry (Daniel Massey)
was on trial for accidentally killing a patient while he was intoxicated. Cicily (Olivia
Hussey) shot and killed an employer who allegedly attempted to rape
her. Of course, our hero Paul (Michael Callan) crows the most about
how bad a person he is, while actually being the lily-whitest of the
bunch. It should also be noted, that Callan is consciously channeling Hope in his delivery as the heroic
poltroon, but he really doesn’t hold much of a candle, to be honest. Metzger’s
(and cinematographer Alex Thomsen’s)
camerawork favors low angles and long shots (very often extreme long shots),
making the people small in frame. The
house looms over all of them, a reminder of their past mistakes, that which has
brought them to this state and formed their lives and livelihoods. Similarly, the Cat is the punishment for the
sins of the characters, as well as being a sinner. Essentially, the house is the mouth; the Cat
is its teeth.
I came to the work of Radley Metzger fairly recently, and I
think it bears stating that this particular entry in his filmography contains
absolutely no nudity (with the exception of a bit of Carol Lynley’s cleavage) or sex for those only familiar with his
name in the realm of erotic pictures.
Outside of the fantastic visual sensibilities the man displays (in what
few films I’ve seen), he also has a fascination (which I share) with film and
reality in a metatextual sense. This notion
is incorporated into The Cat And The
Canary, as well. Cyrus announces his
beneficiary at a dinner he hosts for the house guests. How does he do this, you ask (being the
decedent and all)? He filmed his part in
the dinner years prior, and this is projected (along with synchronized sound
via a cylinder phonograph) onto a screen at the head of the table. Cyrus is framed in such a way that, outside
of his being in black and white, he does appear to be present at the meal via
the magic of intercutting. He also
dictates the menu for the meal, controlling the reality of the characters from
the beyond by way of film. There is also
an absolutely marvelous piece where kindly, old housekeeper Mrs. Pleasant (Beatrix Lehmann) moves behind the movie
screen and appears onscreen, serving Cyrus with exceptional timing and
orchestration. Then, as she paces off
screen-left, she emerges back into the real world. She not only crosses the time barrier in this
way, but she also makes herself part of the film, and the film, because of this
interaction, once more lays claim to the reality of the story. During this scene, there are shots focusing
on the projector and phonograph in the foreground, while the actual humans in
the scene are blurred out in the background.
Cyrus may be onscreen, commanding their attention, but the true master
sits behind them, unnoticed as anything other than a machine, though without it
none of this would be possible. This is
further cemented by the instances when Cyrus will pick up and flip through cue
cards in the event the sound fails. In
other words, even if he can’t be heard, the film’s mastery of this world will
still be felt because he can be seen, and his confidence in sight over sound is
telling. Interestingly, Cyrus also
insists that he doesn’t want to be remembered forever, yet his recording of
himself for the future testify to at least some small nod to immortality. Ironically enough, the effort needed to
preserve film does mark its impermanence, and these films, having served the
whole of their purpose, will likely be discarded. Not immortality, but an additional thirty
years isn’t too shabby a number to tack onto a lifetime.
MVT: Metzger takes it, hands
down. I can’t speak for his oeuvre in
total, but from what I have seen, I’m shocked he isn’t recognized more widely
for his talent and skills as a filmmaker.
I suppose it’s part of the stigma of his work in pornography, and I
think it’s a damned shame, frankly.
Make Or Break: Watching the
dinner scene play out was mesmerizing for me.
Ostentatious? Maybe. But mesmerizing all the same.
Score: 7/10
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