Doctor at Large

The Mask of Fu Manchu (Charles Brabin, 1932)

Came to the shocking discovery that I had not seen Boris Karloff's turn as the diabolical Dr. Fu Manchu before. It could be because I might have mixed Karloff with another of his roles where he's caked up in highly problematic, ethnic make-up, like his private dick Mr. Wong, or more worryingly, the shite I tend to watch has given me brainrot and given me early dementia. My earliest introduction to the character of Fu Manchu were the Harry Allan Towers productions, starring none other than the legendary Christopher Lee as the moustachioed fiend. Loved the first two entries, but they got increasingly worse afterwards. Now, after seeing Karloff's portrayal of the evil genius in Charles Brabin's The Mask of Fu Manchu (1932), I'm kicking myself even more for the confusion, as it's the most outrageous pre-Hays Code films I might have watched thus far.

"I'm a Doctor of Philosophy from Edingburgh. I'm a Doctor of Law from Christ's College. I'm a Doctor of Medicine from Harvard. My friends out of courtesy call me Doctor."

The character of Dr. Fu Manchu was the creation of English author Arthur Henry Ward, under the unfathomably badass pseudonym Sax Rohmer. The Yellow Peril, a racially charged example of fear-mongering propaganda from the early 20th century, which implied violent retribution towards Western Imperialism, would appoint Fu Manchu as the chief architect of an epic race war. The mastermind would become the archetypal Bond villain well before Ian Flemming even put pen to paper. The success and popularity of Rohmer's books would result in numerous adaptations, ranging from radio programmes, episodic serials, and prior features such as The Mysterious Doctor Fu Manchu (1929). Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer studios would deliver the biggest budget and most mainstream effort yet, and it would star the great Boris Karloff, hot from his iconic role in Frankenstein (1931).

"May the curse of the gods descend upon him and is forever who dares enter herein! I don't like to mar the beauty of these doors, but I have my orders, it's got to be done. Mack, give me the axe!

The plot to The Mask of Fu Manchu concerns a British archaeological expedition searching for the tomb of the legendary Genghis Khan. They aren't the only ones looking for the conqueror's final resting place, however. The diabolical doctor seeks to possess both the scimitar and mask of Genghis Khan in order to prove to the horde armies of the East that he is the reincarnation of the ancient ruler. With both these artifacts in his taloned grasps, he'll be able to wage an epic war against the White race. With the news of the dastardly villain abducting, the expedition's leader, Sir Lionel Barton (Lawrence Grant), by Fu Manchu's goons (disguised as Egyptian mummies), British Intelligence agent Nayland Smith (Lewis Stone), arch nemesis of the fiendish mastermind, is dispatched in finding the legendary artifacts with the team and stop Fu Manchu.

 "I have brought you here for great tidings. I am the most unfortunate of men; I have no son to follow me. Therefore, in shame, I ask you to receive a message from my ugly and insignificant daughter."

Not unlike Steven Spielberg's Indiana Jones films, Fu Manchu's devilish torture chambers bring a horror element to what's otherwise a straight laced adventure tale. From being tied to a seesaw above an alligator pit, and to being caught in the middle of metal spikes, these ingeniously sadistic sequences make up for some of the film's obvious plot holes. Sir Lionel Barton's refusal to reveal the location of Genghis Khan's tomb results in him being strapped beneath a giant bell. Karloff utters with sadistic glee to the unfortunate captive, "Seems harmless, doesn't it? Just a bell ringing. But the percussion and the repercussion of sound ringing against your eardrums will soften and destroy them until the sound is magnified a thousand times. You can't move, you can't sleep. You will be frantic with thirst. You will be unspeakably foul. But here you will lie, day after day, until you tell." After what feels like an eternity of torturous campanology to poor old Sir Lionel, the sadistic doctor offers water to the unfortunate archaeologist. It's filled with salt, however. The rotter!

"He is not entirely unhandsome, is he my father?"

"For a White man, no!"

A great rapport exists between Karloff's Fu Manchu and his daughter Fah Lo Suee (Myrna Loy). Both play complete sadists experiencing joy whilst their victims suffer in agonising pain. When the film's rugged hero Terrence Granville (Charles Starrett) presents a fake scimitar to Fu Manchu, he is stripped of his shirt, hung from the ceiling and whipped to orgasmic ecstasy of Fah Lo Suee. Both Karloff and Loy were constantly receiving new dialogue to learn, even whilst in the make-up chair. This would subsequently result in their performances coming across as tongue-in-cheek, attempting to outdo each other. Their shared scenes are some of the highlights of the film. After Terrence's torture, Fah Lo Suee is caught by her father going to kiss the unconscious do-gooder. His hilarious response to her question over Terrence's attractiveness, hints at Fu Manchu possibly being attracted to him too.

"You will think as I think! See as I see! And do as I command!"

Constantly, the film visually impresses with its copious eye catching sets and exotic costumes. Despite how much it reeks of a mere exploitation film, The Mask of Fu Manchu is a surprisingly breathtaking film to look at. Both Karloff and Loy seem to be dressed in a different, patterned silk robe in every scene they're in. At one point, Karloff wears a ridiculous fruit-looking hat that's more fitting for Carmen Miranda, whilst delivering a speech full of hate to an army of Asian and Middle -Eastern fanatics. Favourite set design is the room where Terrence is humiliatingly wearing an adult diaper and strapped to an operating table. It's a vast room with Fu Manchu in surgical garments, administering a mind control drug to him. Standing on pedestals are black subordinates in loincloths resembling Oscar awards. This looks like it belongs in a science fiction set in the future. The sci-fi aesthetic can also be witnessed in another sparse room, featuring the previously mentioned giant metallic spikes. Further evidence, is the room which houses a powerful death ray, turning out to be ever so handy for the final moments in the film.

"Kill the White man and take his women!"

Undoubtedly, the most glaring issue in The Mask of Fu Manchu is its racist content. Ninety years later, it's equally as uncomfortable for lefty pearl-clutchers as it once was for authoritarian conservatives in the past. Horseshoe Theory in full effect. For this humble blogger, one who's watched a veritable smorgasbord of depraved films, and frequented the metaphorical Wild West of early 2000s Rap message boards, The Mask of Fu Manchu is a treasure trove of derogatory stereotyping and blissful ignorance, which could never realistically be replicated today (in the First World at least). Sure, Karloff in garish prosthetic make-up looks like an offensive caricature of an Asian; and yes, both Asian and other non-White racial stereotypes are also featured in the film. However, there's also a strong anti-White sentiment in the film that would even have Netflix execs deeming it extreme even for them, which at the very least, balances the scales for me. In true racial equality, it offends everyone equally. And even if it didn't, it still wouldn't compel me into spewing some obligatory defensive apology like the morons over on Letterboxd. I found the The Mask of Fu Manchu entertaining and funny — even when it pointed its finger at my own kind.

The Mask of Fu Manchu is an outrageous, yet amusing gem from the pre-Code era. Like one of Fu Manchu's concoctions, the fact that it's over ninety years old and still a potent mix of sex, sadism and racism, makes it cinematic gold for me. A very strong recommendation for any thick skinned fan interested in early Hollywood cinema. 

Early Dors

Yield to the Night (J. Lee Thompson, 1956)

J. Lee Thompson's part crime noir, part prison drama Yield to the Night (1956)* would cause a stir (no pun intended) thanks to its mistaken association with a true crime event which occurred a year prior. Thompson's soon to be wife Joan Henry, an author with first hand experience of the the penal system, would author Yield to the Night only for it to have a striking resemblance to the case of Ruth Ellis, the last woman hanged in the United Kingdom. Ardently opposed to capital punishment, Thompson abandoned the safety net of British post-war film entertainment, and delivered a gut-wrenching, judicial tale for the masses. Thompson would produce a powerful piece of art staunchly opposed to Great Britain's death penalty (which would not be fully abolished until 1969).

With such a serious premise, Yield to the Night's biggest surprise would be in its casting of the blonde bombshell Diana Dors. Described as Britain’s Marilyn Monroe (she loathed the comparison), the actress wasn't given much variety to flex her acting chops and would often be typecast into playing superficial eye candy. Her ravishing beauty, platinum blonde hair and shapely hourglass figure had unexpectedly been something of a curse. Therefore, Yield to the Night was a rare opportunity for her to show off her acting skills, along with proving to Thompson he was right to cast her. Her portrayal of condemned Mary Hilton, committing murder in the first degree before the film's opening title's even commence, and to then turn herself into a convincingly sympathetic and utterly tragic figure, makes Diana Dors an underrated actress. Her performance is a genuine eye opener. Prior to Yield to the Night, both Thompson and Dors were involved with The Weak and the Wicked (1954), another prison drama also penned by Joan Henry and based on her first hand experience being a jailbird. Dors would play a supporting role. The Weak and the Wicked's light and optimistic tone would lack the stylish grit and emotional weight inherent in its successor. Call it a dress rehearsal!

Yield to the Night's cold opening sequence has Dors travelling through central London. It's largely shot in oblique low angles, framing a sense of purpose and intensity. Our lead reaches her destination and brutally guns down a mysterious woman outside her home. We don't know who the victim is, or the motive for her premeditated murder, but we do know that our shooter is without a shadow of a doubt guilty of homicide. From herein, Yield to the Night splits into timelines: Mary Hilton in the present day, locked inside a prison cell and awaiting her execution; the other, is a series of flashbacks recollecting how she went from working behind a perfume counter to behind bars. Interestingly, it's the prison scenes which are my favourite parts of the film, and perhaps Thomspson's too, as much of the film's real commentary stems from this section — a bleak contrast to the melodrama told via flashbacks. 

Unpleasantly ghoulish are both the door with no handle in Mary's cell, which eventually opens to a room with gallows, along with a suicide watch light, continuously staying lit until it’s time for the prisoner's execution. With both of these elements being a constant reminder, it's little to wonder our film's lead undergoes so much mental anguish. Although confined alone in her cell, Mary is surrounded by a surprisingly friendly bunch of prison guards. They fuss over her constantly. A diversion of mindless chit chat, yarn spinning and card games to pass the time. It's akin to the locked up Medieval queen inside the Tower of London and with her loyal handmaidens. The dark irony of the staff keen to want Mary to be in a physically state before she's hung, is not lost in Thompson's satirical eye. Amongst these carers is MacFarlaine (Yvonne Mitchell), a sympathetic guard who finds Mary's plight all the more tragic as she befriends her. Mitchell's nuanced performance being another strong highlight.

Diana Dors undergoes an obvious physical transformation while locked in her cell. Her glamorous appearance and socially appealing persona from the outside world is replaced with the visage of a sullen woman in prison garms. Without any make-up, her face looks puffy with beads of sweat shining off her skin. Dark roots and unkempt replace her perfectly sculpted, blonde locks. Juxtaposing all this, is the process of hope turning into despair. A torturous scene is when the prison warden enters Mary's cells apparently holding a document. Much like Mary, the viewer is under the illusion this might be the urgent governmental reprieve required to save her. Alas, this is not to be. Yet, despite the oppressive doom and gloom, Mary's generally amiable persona remains unresolved. At one point she snatches a cigarette from one of the guards to avoid her getting into trouble when her superior walks in. Credit to Dors for displaying all this in her performance; proving that she really was an underrated actress in the long run.

The flashbacks aren't quite on the same level of quality as the prison scenes, sadly. They're perfectly adequate, of course, but the time jumps feel choppy in comparison to the torturously slow days inside the prison. Some unexpected humour comes from Hammer veteran Michael Ripper as a boisterous, drinking acquaintance admirably trying his best to score with Mary. More importantly, we meet Jim Lancaster (Michael Craig — for genre heads, better known as Charles Thatcher in the Ozploitation gem Turkey Shoot (1982) no less!!!) who wins over Mary's heart, and the incentive to walk out from a loveless marriage. And yet, Jim is utterly obsessed with Lucy (Mercia Shaw) —  a downgrade, in my opinion. Are you blind, mate? When he's dumped by the socialite, he hits the skids, while Mary's affections for Jim, aren't appreciated. Thus, both Mary and Jim become two obsessed individuals. Comically, Thompson's depiction of unreciprocated love and obsession feels akin to Danny Boyle's Glaswegian heroine junkies from the overrated Trainspotting (1996). Jim can't go on living without Doris, which in turn leads to him taking his own life. Biggest insult of all, is Mary reading his suicide note left behind — and it was meant for Lucy. It's the final insult to Mary and answers the questions raised during the film's opening sequence.

Not sure if Yield to the Night would rank in any top twenty prison films list if I were ever bothered to compile one. [There are way too many definitive films  —  Brute Force (1947), Le Trou (1960) The Great Escape (1963), Female Prisoner #701: Scorpion (1972), Porridge (1979), Scum (1979), Chained Heat (1983), Riki-Oh: The Story of Ricky (1991), Starred Up (2013) and Brawl in Cell Block 99 (2017), would possibly be major candidates.] Regardless, Yield to the Night is still an unquestionably compelling prison drama that has earned my appreciation, along with an increased respect for its star, Diana Dors.

Caught the last half an hour of Yield to the Night around 3am on Talking Pictures TV not too long ago. Obviously made a mental note of it on account of Diana Dors playing the lead in a women's prison film, along with it being directed by the mighty J. Lee Thompson - responsible for numerous gems from each respective decade in his career — Ice Cold in Alex (1958), The Guns of Navarone (1961), Conquest of the Planet of the Apes (1972) and the fantastic Charles Bronson thriller 10 to Midnight (1983) are just a few worth mentioning. Hence, this film curiosity turned out to be the most rewarding bout of insomnia since seeing Max Von Sydow running around in his boxer shorts and murdering folk in The Night Visitor (1971), also late night via Talking Pictures TV. Dors claimed Yield to the Night to be one of her best films. It's hard to argue with this opinion, given how great she is it and how successfully it drives its message home. As a child of the Seventies, I'm more aware of her as a bit part actress in classic British horror films from this era, namely Theatre of Blood (1973) and From Beyond the Grave (1974) along with various comedies. More recently, however, it's been an entertaining trip seeing some of her much earlier films like Tread Softly Stranger (1958) and Passport to Shame (1958), despite only being in supporting roles. Yield to the Night is easily the biggest standout from this era I've watched thus far and proof Dors deserved to be a lead in plenty more films. A strong recommendation from me.

* No online trailer available.

Diamonds Aren't Forever

Co-directors Hélène Cattet and Bruno Forzani, were two of the notable names who helped spearhead the neo-Giallo boom of the late 2000s and early 2010s. Admittedly, both Amer (2009) and The Strange Colour of Your Body's Tears (2013) were just as much surreal art house films as they were throwbacks to Italian thrillers of a bygone era. As a result, these two films were either lauded for their beautifully retro aesthetics by gif-making Tumblr bloggers, or heavily criticised for their incoherence by traditional purists. (For the record, I really enjoyed both of these films; despite making neither sense of them.) The duo expanded their appreciation for Italian genre cinema even further with Let the Corpses Tan (2017), which harkened to Spaghetti Westerns and Poliziotteschi films of the Sixties and Seventies.

 

Now they're back with another ode to the past with the bizarrely titled, Reflection in a Dead Diamond (2025). The synopsis reads:

When the mysterious woman in the room next door disappears, a debonair 70-year-old ex-spy living in a luxury hotel on the Côte d’Azur is confronted by the demons and darlings of a lurid past in which moviemaking, memories and madness collide.

Euro-spy films flourished after the success of the Bond franchise, so it's kind of a win for Cattet and Forzani in casting none other than Italy's very own Sean Connery, Fabio Testi, for their latest movie.

 

Reflection in a Dead Diamond | Trailer

Hélène Cattet & Bruno Forzani | 2025

The trailer looks suitably cinematic and stylish. I'm all in after seeing the rear projected driving scene featuring a masked latex person in a sports car. An obvious homage to Mario Bava's classic comic book caper Danger: Diabolik (1968).

Whether or not Reflection in a Dead Diamond is any good remains to be seen, but given all the awful slop around right now, this is definitely the potential gem to offer some respite.

In Darkness

The Descent (Neil Marshall, 2005)

The first real sign of a British horror renaissance came with Neil Marshall's action horror comedy Dog Soldiers (2002). It turned out to be one of the few lycanthrope themed movies post An American Werewolf in London (1981) that was actually any good. The low budget gem would serve as an appetiser to the Danny Boyle main course that was 28 Days Later — essentially the game changer which gave new life to zombie films. Marshall avoided the dreaded sophomore jinx by delivering his own masterpiece, with the subterranean horror The Descent (2005).

Dog Soldiers had trained men fending against a pack of werewolves; The Descent would follow a similar formula with chicks an all girl, extreme sports collective pitted against the horrors beneath the surface of the earth. Chicks with picks! Ingeniously, Marshall would utilise the dark horrors of a huge underground cave system as a metaphor for trauma, loss and grief. These elements would appear nuanced, initially, becoming increasingly evident throughout the progression of his film.

From The Descent's opening credits, showcasing three of its adventurous characters white water rafting, the audience is introduced to a secret affair. The scenes are short, but linger long enough to imply there is something going on between ultra sporty Juno (Natalie Mendoza) with the husband of Sara (Shauna MacDonald), our protagonist. This is also witnessed by Beth (Alex Reid), Sara's closest friend. We're barely given time to process this situation when a tragic car accident results with the fatalities of Sara's husband and young daughter, Jessica. Sara wakes from her hospital bed, calling for Jessica as she wanders a liminal corridor. The harsh fluorescent lights swiftly turn off as she runs from the darkness. If this isn't a metaphor, I don't know what is.

A year after the tragedy. The three women are joined by three more adrenaline junkies; Holly (Nora-Jane Noone), Rebecca (Saskia Mulder) and Sam (MyAnna Burning), for the latest adventure organised by Juno. This time, it's cave exploration in the Appalachian mountains (it's really filmed in the UK). Call it reckless stupidity, but Juno tricks the clique by taking them to a completely different cave than they were meant to be exploring. Worst of all, she couldn't be bothered to notify any park ranger or a non-party individual of their actual location, either. Therefore, should anything go wrong, a search and rescue team would be sent looking for them in the wrong cave. Genius.

The situation turns serious once the claustrophobic tunnel they've just crawled through collapses, blocking their entrance and possibly, their only exit. Their only choice, is to go further into the cave and search for another way out. As one would predict, events go from bad to worse for the party. From having to traverse across a subterranean ravine, to Holly's succumbing to a broken leg after a fall, to the hundreds of animal carcasses they discover which are littered everywhere. Meanwhile, Sara has apparently gone doolally to everyone when she spies a distant man in the caverns. Worst case scenario is when she turns out to be right, but also, the added bonus of an entire clan of subterranean denizens, nowhere near as likeable as Wombles, holed up with them. Have a guess what their dietary preferences are?

Dubbed as Crawlers, there isn't much suggestion in the film as to what they really are, but the prehistoric cave art is an obvious clue. During the behind the scenes feature, Marshall reveals that the Crawlers are the evolutionary outcome of those human ancestors who had remained in the caves. The design of these feral creatures is first-class. The has made them blind. Also, the lack of any sunlight has made their skin alabaster white and clammy — a bit like Scottish folk. Their hearing, is far more acute than ours; with almost bat-like ears. The creatures emit dolphin sounding clicks as a sonar to navigate, possibly to communicate with one another, too. Very reminiscent of the Predator species sound. Crawlers are also incredibly nimble and dexterous at clambering over the rock surfaces. The male species are bald and hairless, while the females Crawlers have long, black hair.

For a film that's set beneath our feet, The Descent has an immense amount of visual interest to soak in. For instance, there are a variety of different looking areas of all shapes and sizes within this cave system. From expansive areas full of stalactites and stalagmites, to frightfully claustrophobic enclosures. My favourite mise-en-scène is the gruesome pool of blood. These were of course produced in a studio, for obvious safety reasons. An additional benefit, is how atmospherically lit the film is, considering it's entirely set in dark caverns. The use of flares cast a red illuminating light to everything, making it literally look like Hell. Chemical light sticks provide a sickly green glow, while the aid of night vision from the digicam adds a layer of found footage horror, which was commonly part of the trend in the 2000s thanks to the worldwide commercial success of The Blair Witch Project (1999).

Considering the era it was produced, what's truly advantageous about The Descent is its writing. Marshall expertly balances the tight rope of giving enough information about his characters, without burdening them with unnecessary exposition which would drag and potentially suffocate his film. Also, given how its predominantly all female characters, it's a blessing they're not eye-rolling, invincible girl bosses, as is the norm today by lazy and uncreative screenwriters. Juno for instance, has all the hall marks of your typical girl boss, and yet, beneath her tough veneer, is a flawed individual, who serves the film as both a secondary antagonist as well as character being somewhat sympathetic whilst striving to redeem herself. In contrast, Sara develops from an unreliable protagonist and a possible detriment for the clique, to a fighter battling both her own personal demons as well as the very physical ones. This culminates in an intense, and personally speaking, a cruel resolution between Sara and Juno in the film. Making it all the more memorable in the film.

Perhaps the worst offence committed upon The Descent, is the US cut completely editing out Marshall's downbeat ending, ruining Sara's psychological plight which is both prominent and pivotal to the true ending of the film. In a swift and choppy sequence, Sara manages to burrow out from her hell hole and drives as far away as possible. The twist being, it was only a dream. Sara is still trapped down below in the cave. Envisioning her deceased daughter blowing out a birthday cake. Twisted respite before the Crawlers finally reach Sara. Unfortunately, the imaginary escape is seen as the official ending, as the inferior The Descent Part 2 (2009) adheres to the terribly American ending. It isn't enough that Sara escapes, but she foolishly returns to the same cave for the sequel!

 

As enjoyable as some of Neil Marshall's later films were  — I'm quite fond of his obvious Escape from New York, 28 Days Later and Mad Max mash-up, the ridiculous Doomsday (2008), he never hit the same high as The Descent before working on more TV orientated work. Therefore, it makes it all the more invaluable in proclaiming The Descent is one of the best horror films of the 21st century, which by default, makes it one of the best films in general for your genre biased host. Considering, Dog Soldiers already received some 4K UHD boutique love, is it too much to request the same treatment for Marshall's masterpiece? One would say, no!