House of Wax (1953)
The half-man half-monster who stalked a panic swept city for the beauties he craved for his chamber of horrors!
Year of Release: 1953
Genre: Horror
Rated: GP
Running Time: 88 minutes (1:28)
Director: Andre De Toth
Cast:
Vincent Price ... Prof. Henry Jarrod
Frank Lovejoy ... Det. Lt. Tom Brennan
Phyllis Kirk ... Sue Allen
Carolyn Jones ... Cathy Gray
Paul Picerni ... Scott Andrews
Paul Cavanagh ... Sidney Wallace
Charles Bronson ... Igor
Nedrick Young ... Leon Averill (uncredited)
Roy Roberts ... Matthew Burke
Dabbs Greer ... Sgt. Jim Shane
Summary:
By day he's a distinguished lover of art. By night he's a murderous monster who stalks the fog-shrouded, gaslit streets of New York City for his prey.
Vincent Price, in the splendidly wicked performance that established him as the gothic master of the macabre, is Professor Henry Jarrod, an acclaimed wax sculptor who goes from slightly wacko to completely deranged when he loses both his art showcase and the use of his hands in an arsonist's inferno. But the determined, flame-scarred Jarrod wastes no time in coming up with a unique way of rebuilding his House of Wax. Aided by Igor, he dips his hapless murder victims in wax!
Both critics and the public praise Jarrod's new works. But a lone voice cries murder when heroine Sue Allen discovers a wax figure with an uncanny resemblance to her mysteriously murdered friend.
Review:
House of Wax, remindin' us that locating your morgue on the second floor with only Victorian-era refrigeration technology at your disposal is likely to cause a stink.
And speakin' of places that'll punch your ticket, it is with great humility that I come before you all, here in the sight of Drive-In Jesus, to confess my sin.
This past Friday, I entered the Prime Creek Theater with the intention of watchin' the Barbie movie, and though I was bein' dragged against my will on the wrong end of an atomic wedgie at the time, I feel it necessary to repent and throw myself on the mercy of the internet.
I'd like to tell ya I had a good reason for bein' there, like, that I was expectin' a buttery handjob from Lauren Boebert or somethin', but the truth is I just plain lacked the courage to look Sadie Bonebreak square in the bra and tell 'er she'd hafta kill me before I'd consent to anything so disgustin'. I prolly woulda done just that except for the non-zero chance she mighta obliged.
Goin' into a hardtop's shameful enough, but I had some serious concerns about this whole Barbie business to start with beins that my personal research into the movie indicated that if I watched it I could be certain that:
A) my dick would fall off.
And B) that I'd then hafta spend the resta my life whinin' about the feminization of America through my nose.
I tried bringin' these concerns to Sadie's attention in the concession area but she failed to sympathize with my plight.
"So basically, everything'll be exactly the same except you'll stop pissin' on my toilet seat," Sadie scoffed.
"It's not too late to stop this. Look, your missus wants Barbie, right? Okay, let's compromise - I'll run down to the Videodome and grab Barbarian Queen. It's got a Barb and female empowerment too, right Billy?" I asserted, gesturing to the similarly trapped and miserable Mr. Hilliard.
"Uh, heow yeah. Pwuf Amavon boo--" he started to say.
"Stow it. We're doing this. She sits through our movies and we're gonna do this for her," Sadie growled, motioning toward Mrs. Sadie as she leaned over the candy counter and caused the teenager workin' there to forget most of his junior year.
"And we won't be providing any COMMENTARY," she added as she reached out and grabbed my bottom lip.
"Wha' 'bow fadow puppeh?" Billy asked.
"How 'bout I force feed you a box of Good & Plenty and chase it with a 32oz Diet Pepsi?" she threatened.
"I'ow be guh," Billy mumbled.
Thankfully we were the only ones there, so at least Billy and I'd still be able to show our faces at the Gutter Bowl afterward, but I was still concerned about the cinematic gender reassignment surgery drawin' closer with every passing preview until finally I panicked and tried the oldest trick in the book.
"I gotta go to the bathroom," I insisted.
"Me foo," Billy concurred.
"Hold it," Sadie snarled.
"What if my bladder Hindenbergs?!" I whined.
"YOU hold it, or I'LL hold it," she snapped.
"Sounds kinky," I winked.
"Yeah, but you won't like where I put the kink," she smirked.
Billy and I spent the next three previews with our legs folded up like we were applyin' for rooms in a Tibetan monastery until finally, it came - that dreadful, pregnant pause just before the studio intro swells and causes permanent hearing damage. But just when it seemed all hope was lost, it happened.
"Praise Drive-In Jesus, we are saved!" I shouted.
"Hawuhwoojah!" Billy cheered, hurling his popcorn tub into the ceiling fan and scattering its contents throughout the theater.
It was like tryna watch Comet TV while your antenna's up on the roof doin' the airplane spin - we're talkin' digital defragmentation hell.
"What's wrong?" Mrs. Sadie pouted, losin' an M&M down 'er blouse and into the valley of the shadow of flesh.
"Wrong?! By God, it's a miracle! Billy, get on the horn to the Vatican. Tell Francis to get somebody with a ridiculous hat out here, pronto! We gotta get this thing certified before the unbelievers sweep it under the rug!" I instructed.
I understand now that I had been temporarily possessed by the holy spirit of Samuel Arkoff and that Billy had no choice but to wedge my head down into the seat where Bambi Pankins always used to sit beside me in the years when the Grime Time was defunct. Woulda been so bad except nobody's steam-cleaned the seats since 1979 and Bambi never once wore underpants to the theater.
Now, as most of you well know, when the film breaks at the drive-in an audience has the freedom to express its displeasure by layin' on the horn like a corpse in a post-apocalypse flick; it's a tradition passed down from the Ford Roadster all the way to the Dodge Neon. But how, you may ask, does a guy lodge a complaint with the theater staff while trapped within the confines of an indoor moviehouse?
Well, one way I came up with, while Mrs. Sadie was actively denyin' the miracle she'd just witnessed and forcin' us to stay put until the issue was "resolved," was to fire popcorn kernels through a drinking straw directly at the anti-glare glass coverin' the projector, and while I cannot definitively confirm that my concerns had been addressed, I can confirm that the theater staff gets pretty uptight about it; doubly so if you substitute a chewed up Milk Dud and manage to stick it to the glass directly in front of the projector lens. The only major downside of this bein' that, for the practice to work, you actually hafta put a Milk Dud in your mouth and chew it.
Billy and I are "no longer welcome at the Prime Creek Theater," and the manager even went to the trouble of tackin' our mug shots to the wall of the ticket booth to prevent future entry, which's about like banning Liberace from entering the Playboy Mansion but I decided not to point that out since he was in the process of decidin' whether or not to call the cops at the time.
I did feel kinda bad that Mrs. Sadie didn't get to see plastic people starrin' in their very own movie like she'd hoped though, and since I couldn't shake the idea that I was somehow partially responsible for that I invited everyone back to the house to check out a suitable alternative. And really, who among us wouldn't trade Margot Robbie for Carolyn Jones, or Ryan Gosling for Vincent Price? Sometimes I think these people don't fully appreciate the way I look out for their best interests, but I didn't wanna say anything 'cause by the time I'd driven us all home Mrs. Sadie'd already won a wet t-shirt contest without ever turnin' on a spigot.
I almost lost it when she asked if this was the movie with Paris Hilton, but I was eventually able to get ahold of myself and calmly explain that Paris wouldn't be born for another 30 years and that in 1953 there woulda been too much risk of her bein' confused for a manniquin and bein' burned alive in the openin' sequence, which seemed to pacify her.
Anyway, I'm sure I don't hafta explain to you what a touchstone moment in history House of Wax is, 'cause without it we'da hadda wait another seven years before Roger Corman would call up Vincent Price and ask 'im if he could make like a smug, sadistic, aristocratic jerk five or six times, and who knows what mighta happened if some indoor bullstuff director had spotted 'im in the meantime and asked 'im to do somethin' with socially redeeming value. I'm not gonna sit here and tell ya it's a flick the likes of which the world had never seen, 'cause Mystery of the Wax Museum was about as grotesque as you could ask for back in 1933 and this version follows that one pretty close, but I did come away with a few bits and pieces that're unique to the remake, so let's run through a few of 'em real quick and I'll let you decide who knows more about wrappin' wax packs.
First, you may feel mankind has never been as stupid as it is right now, but 100 years ago insurance companies sold policies to wax museums. Second, in the 1900s you could pay a guy to sling his balls into people's faces without hangin' an Adults Only sign outside your establishment. And third, death is just an expensive trip to the car wash, and sometimes you get the hot wax whether you ask for it or not.
The movie begins with Vincent "Whole Balla Wax" Price gettin' hassled by his business partner (Matt) about their wax museum's bottom line while he's tryna fashion the perfect bust without the aid of underwire support. This goes on quite a while until Vince eventually gets concerned about the potential impact of the man's hot air on his creations and explains that he's invited a potential investor over for a tour before politely suggestin' that things might go better if Matt isn't hangin' around fillin' the air with fearomones. The would-be investor (Sidney) likes what he sees and promises to stay in touch, but Matt musta blown all his savings on emu futures or somethin' 'cause he decides to jack Vince's jaw and pour lantern oil all over the place and trigger the Joan of Arc sculpture. Matt's eventually able to claim the entire insurance payout despite Vince's body never turnin' up, but when he starts winin' and dinin' Morticia Addams with the proceeds this guy who looks like he's been bobbin' for McNuggets in the deep fryer strangles 'im, grabs the cash, and drops 'im down an elevator shaft with a noose around his neck so nobody'll think anything weird's goin' on. Unfortunately, this does not quell the Spamburglar's fury, so that night he sneaks into Morticia's room and wraps a tourniquet around 'er neck to see if it's possible to create a shade of white lighter than Eggshell, only while he's doin' that her roommate (Sue) catches 'im and the guy hasta chase 'er through the streets with a gait like he's got a live rat trap in his underpants until she escapes into a friend's house.
Then the short-order crook sneaks into the morgue and snatches Matt and Morticia's bodies 'cause its hard to meet new people when your face looks like the stuff that's stuck to the roof of the Domino's box after dinner, only the police basically throw up their hands 'cause every time the sketch artist tries creatin' a reconstruction based upon Sue's description the creator of the California Raisins files a lawsuit for copyright infringement. Next thing, Sidney receives a letter from Vince and is astonished to find 'im alive and medium well and seeking partnership for a new wax museum he wants to open. He can't sculpt anymore 'cause of the Jimmy Dean treatment his hands underwent in the fire, but he's got a lobotomized Charles Bronson and a walking DUI citation (Leon) to assist him, and this time around he's decided to put more emphasis on the cruelty mankind perpetrates against himself because he'll never be able to afford his health insurance premiums without appealin' to the lowest common denominator. Sidney goes all-in on mankind's desire to see itself at its worst and next thing ya know Vince's wheelin' 'imself around on openin' night providin' wry, grisly commentary for each exhibit like an arthouse Cryptkeeper. Meanwhile, Sue and Scott (the friend with the safehouse) wander around examinin' the wax buildups until Sue notices Joan of Arc's striking resemblance to Morticia and starts performin' a 24-point inspection on the chassis till Vince rolls over and explains that since nobody really knows what Joan looked like before she became a bag of Kingsford charcoal he just used the picture from Morticia's obituary.
After numerous attempts by Scott, the cops, and Dr. Laura Schlessinger to convince her she's just bein' a hysterical woman and that she'd feel a whole lot better if she quit thinkin' so much and went shoppin' for new kitchen appliances, Sue still maintains that the wax sculpture is Morticia, but chooses not to object when Vince offers Scott a gig in the museum so she won't hafta wear dark glasses for the rest of the week. The cops don't see the resemblance 'cause they can't seem to crane their necks above Morticia's mammular region, but they do recognize Leon as a bail-jumping lush and execute a warrantless search that turns up some serious bling with damning inscriptions that identify them as belonging to some of the misplaced cadavers. Then Sue goes to meet Scott at the museum after Vince sends 'im out to pick up the shipment of Play-Doh he's expectin' from the fun factory and she ends up wanderin' around in the dark until she climbs up Joan's pyre and pulls back a wig to reveal Morticia's golden locks just as Vince spots 'er and is forced to risk forfeiture of his disability benefits tryna chase 'er down before she can expose 'im as a serial killer welfare queen. This's probably our last chance to avoid spoilers, but you can imagine there's a reason Vince's been eyeballin' Sue like a hobo watchin' a rotisserie chicken for the last half hour, so you're prolly gonna wanna scope this one out in its entirety.
Alrighty, a mere three years into the decade and somebody finally strikes a decisive blow for horror in an era dominated by science fiction. Warner pretty well stayed outta the science fiction genre during the 1950s, producing exactly zero and distributing only a scant few (From the Earth to the Moon, and Teenagers from Outer Space). They would enter into a partnership with Hammer later in the decade and co-produce some of the most popular titles of the '50s, but I think they did their best work between 1953 and 1954 with House of Wax, The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms, and the sci-fi adjacent (but not dominant) Them! House of Wax would become a major hit in the weeks following its release, and you've gotta wonder how many crotchety old film buffs were hangin' around the theater lobby on openin' night gripin' about the way studios were nothing but money-sucking parasites tryna cash in on the phenomenal Mystery of the Wax Museum with an unnecessary remake, 'cause I imagine that had I'd been alive in 1953 that's prolly what I'da been doin'.
Whether the remake stood to improve on the '33 version is debatable, but there are two points in favor of that notion - the first being that Mystery of the Wax Museum was shot simultaneously in both color and black and white (with black and white prints going to theaters that couldn't afford the higher rental cost, thus making it inaccessible in its colorized form to some markets), and the second being the 3D gimmick. Of course, the novelty of 3D is another point of contention, as some believe the cheesy setups detract from the overall quality of the film, while others feel the unique experience makes up for anything the movie might sacrifice in order to achieve the effect, but ultimately I'm inclined to say that the flick's existence is justified due to the *potential* for improvement based upon those two factors. So the ghost of Andre De Toth can rest easy knowing he has the approval of my unwashed mass, though ironically, De Toth himself could never enjoy the same experience as movie-goers of the day as he was blind in one eye and couldn't see any of the 3D effects. Still, a hell of a job by a 2D visionary.
In any event, let's take a closer look at Vince's wares and decide whether they're high art or whether the House of Wax woulda been better off performin' Brazilians.
The plot is pretty faithful to the original script from Mystery of the Wax Museum, complete with the view that a woman could never be considered a suspect in a murder despite having been threatened with eviction by her landlord moments before *and* being the last person to visit the murder victim from whom she sought to borrow money mere moments before the murder. I realize it's a tired old complaint from a time before we figured out that women sometimes didn't do what we told 'em all the time, but it's still pretty amusing to watch the police take a statement from the person who should be considered the prime suspect and just send her home. It's unclear to me whether the big reveal was intended to be a shock or not, but it's still a very effective scene despite its complete lack of surprise. That said - it's a remake, and because audiences may well have remembered the end of the previous film, the decision to stick so close to the original script will have left little opportunity to fool anyone. Regardless, the action begins early, the story and its characters are given ample time to develop without dragging down the pacing, and for its day it's a pretty gruesome, original concept that still plays well 70 years after its original theatrical run.
The acting is exceptional, and although he had previously been given the opportunity to get sinister with his portrayal of Nicholas Van Ryn in Dragonwyck, this was the role that launched Vincent Price into horror superstardom and landed him roles in future genre titles like The Fly, House on Haunted Hill, The Tingler, The Bat, and the numerous Edgar Allan Poe adaptations he made with Roger Corman in the early '60s. Price shifts from good-natured artist to embittered victim seamlessly and delivers a nuanced performance that allows you to feel sympathy for him until he finally goes too far and trips your "two wrongs don't make a right" sensor. Carolyn Jones, Paul Picerni, the blacklisted Nedrick Young, and particularly Phyllis Kirk showcase their talents admirably in the supporting cast, but if you asked most people who starred in the movie they'd likely go on and on about Vincent Price and make no mention (positive or negative) about anyone else because Price's screen presence overshadows everyone else. Charles Bronson has a small part as the mute assistant, Igor, and although the film probably did next to nothing for his career prospects his gaunt, creepy appearance bolsters the flick considerably for a part that has absolutely no dialogue. Bottom line - there are no weak performances here, and it's one of, if not the best parts Vincent Price ever played in a career full of legendary roles.
Here's who matters and why ('sides the two big wheels, Vincent Price and Charles Bronson): Carolyn Jones (Invasion of the Body Snatchers 1956, Eaten Alive 1976, The War of the Worlds 1953, and The Addams Family tv series), Paul Picerni (Capricorn One, The Fearmaker, The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms), Angela Clarke (Nightmare Honeymoon), Paul Cavanaugh (Tarzan and His Mate, The Four Skulls of Jonathan Drake, She Devil, The Man Who Turned to Stone, Francis in the Haunted House, Bride of the Gorilla, The Son of Dr. Jekyll, The Strange Door), Dabbs Greer (Invasion of the Body Snatchers 1956, House IV, Sundown: The Vampire in Retreat, Evil Town, It! The Terror from Beyond Space, The Vampire 1957), Oliver Blake (Giant from the Unknown, House of Horrors 1946), Steve Carruthers (Tobor the Great, Them!, Bud Abbott and Lou Costello Meet the Invisible Man, Destination Moon, The Ghost Breakers), Dan Dowling (The Night the World Exploded, The 7th Victim), Frank Ferguson (Hush... Hush Sweet Charlotte, The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms, Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein), Darwin Greenfield (The Snow Creature), Stuart Hall (Seconds, X: The Man with the X-Ray Eyes, I Married a Monster from Outer Space, When Worlds Collide, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde 1941, The Invisible Man 1933), Mary Lou Holloway (Them!, Phantom of the Rue Morgue).
Plus: Jack Kenney (Invisible Invaders, Curse of the Faceless Man, Frankenstein 1970), Mike Lally (Coma, Mighty Joe Young 1949, The Mad Ghoul, The Return of Dr. X, The Hunchback of Notre Dame 1939), Lyle Latell (Chamber of Horrors, Beginning of the End, Indestructible Man, One Body Too Many), Philo McCullough (Chamber of Horrors, Attack of the 50 Foot Woman, The Night the World Exploded, The Ape), Jack Mower (The Return of Dr. X), Waclaw Rekwart (Mesa of Lost Women, Red Planet Mars, When Worlds Collide), Grandon Rhodes (Earth vs. the Flying Saucers, Revenge of the Creature, Them!), Riza Royce (The Bat), Sammy Shack (Whatever Happened to Baby Jane, M 1951, Bud Abbott and Lou Costello Meet the Invisible Man), Norman Stevans (The Swarm, Futureworld, Young Frankenstein, Hush... Hush Sweet Charlotte, X: The Man with the X-Ray Eyes, War of the Satellites, I Was a Teenage Frankenstein, The 27th Day, The She-Creature, Tobor the Great, Mighty Joe Young 1949), Larri Thomas (Earth Girls Are Easy, Curucu Beast of the Amazon), Phillip Tonge (Invisible Invaders, Macabre 1958), Side Troy (The Mummy's Curse), Jack Wise (Phantom of the Rue Morgue), Nedrick Young (Seconds).
And the ones who made their mamas proud: Frank Lovejoy (McGraw on The Adventures of McGraw, Brub Nicolai in In a Lonely Place), Phyllis Kirk (Nora Charles on The Thin Man), Carolyn Jones (Julie Rawlings in How the West Was Won), Paul Picerni (Dr. Dan Garret on The Young Marrieds, Lee Hobson on The Untouchables), Roy Roberts (Admiral Rogers on McHale's Navy, Captain Simon Huxley on The Gale Storm Show), Dabbs Greer (Reverend Alden on Little House on the Prairie, Coach Ossie Weiss on Hank), Frank Ferguson (Gus Broeberg in My Friend Flicka).
The special effects are few but surprisingly gruesome by the standards of 1953, with the killer's burn makeup coming off as particularly nasty - if somehow less revolting than the makeup from the 1933 version (that Mystery of the Wax Museum job is astounding given its age). Price also deserves a lot of credit for keeping his cool during the opening sequences in which the first wax museum burns because not only was there a *lot* of fire, but the fire had actually gotten out of control during the shot, and knowing that they weren't going to get another chance at filming the scene, Price (and presumably Roy Roberts) continued their fight choreography in order to get as much as they could in the can. The fire eventually burned a hole in the roof of the soundstage and singed Price's eyebrows, but even before you know all this there's already some sense as you're watching that this fire seems like it's becoming a problem and succeeds in building some serious tension due to the danger involved. Ultimately, you've got to keep in mind that this was both 1953 and a big budget (roughly $7,000,000 in 2023 dollars) picture, and as such, the effects were always going to be limited, but it should be said they did an excellent job of maximizing their return while working within the confines of what decent society would allow at the time.
The sets are phenomenal and instantly put the viewer in the precise state of mind they will need to get the maximum enjoyment out of a film that is, in most cases, decidedly older than the person watching it. Nearly all sets built for horror films between the 1930s and the 1960s have an inescapable charm that later films simply cannot recreate, and it's difficult to explain why because the truth of the matter is that they're never realistic representations of a building you'd see in real life. They're sets that never look like anything other than a set, and yet they have such a detailed, lived-in, occasionally decrepit appearance that they're somehow too perfect to be real. The first museum, with its warm, colorful aesthetic contrasts flawlessly with the second colder, stonier museum and its disorderly workshop while also drawing parallels between the man Price was and the man he's become. The exteriors are equally well-crafted, with Victorian-era architecture towering over the steam-shrouded streets - creating an aesthetic that can denote either menace or calm and then shift at a moment's notice as events dictate. They just don't make sets like this anymore, and although that's probably for the best given their dated appearances, you can't help but admire and appreciate the work that went into them.
The soundtrack is definitely of its time - grandiose, exuberant, and wont to overshadow everything happening on screen when the editor sees fit to impose it into a scene. I found the piece that accompanies the opening sequence that sees Price and Roberts arguing over the future of the wax museum a bit cheerful when it should be making clear that this Roberts fellow is going to be a problem, but in general, the string/woodwind scoring is appropriate. I'm not going to repeat my oft-repeated assertion that composers of this era were only just beginning to find their footing in a medium that, 25 years prior, either had no music at all or had a man sitting just off stage playing a piano along with the movie. Instead, I'll just say that you could exchange this score with those of The Horror of Dracula, or The Curse of Frankenstein, and no one but the hardest of hardcore Hammer fans would ever notice the switch.
Overall, on a technical level House of Wax may be the best horror film of the 1950s, although there are a few that I find more entertaining - such as Creature from the Black Lagoon, Them!, and The Fly, but in a decade largely overrun by science fiction flicks, you really can't do much better. A must-see for Vincent Price fans, and a good jumping-off point for anyone wanting to explore the deepest reaches of the genre without havin' to sacrifice a color picture. Definitely check it out.
Rating: 75%