All of a Sudden Moved By One I've Seen So Often ...

 

Werewolf of London Attacks on Lots of Levels

Werewolves are largely class-conscious, tending to come of landed gentry, this to enhance tragedy as visited upon a lycanthrope. Dr. Wilfred Glendon is an aristocrat who plays at botany as he can well afford to, a hobbyist whose manor is given over to exotic gardening and a laboratory where he will cultivate the “Mariphasa,” a flower which apart from blooming by moonlight, has little practical application other than to serve as temporary antidote to werewolfery, a benefit Dr. Glendon was unaware of over six month effort he made to locate the obscure plant. Dr. Glendon’s research does not appear to have been peer-reviewed, his inquiries made solo with little interest to share findings with an outside scientific community. He is rich enough not to care if the Mariphasa ever yields a penny or pound, a “Botanical Society” he chairs gathered at his home to admire plant oddities, members less intrigued by Glendon’s research than furtherance of their own social ambitions, several in fact relatives of his.

Dr. Glendon has a looker of a wife he ignores. She is preyed upon less by him in werewolf guise than by former beau “Captain Paul Ames,” (Lester Matthews) also born to status, exploring about in his plane and operating a flight school. Ames is a deeply unsympathetic character trying to snake another man’s wife by telling her how “horribly, miserably unhappy” she really is and pretending to care while wanting to score her because after all she is Valerie Hobson (scroll down), and he knows like everyone that she is neglected. “Won’t you tell an old pal how to help?” he asks, a deft opener line familiar to would-be seducers of married women, Mrs. Glendon giving him the go signal by replying “There’s been no fight in me since the night we broke things off.” These two have got coming whatever lupine assault they are liable to get. Dr. Glendon despite his distractions and humorless nature does not deserve intrusion upon sanctity of his home, what with realizing he is down with something dreaded and cannot seek or expect help. Are we drawn to monsters for how they suffer? Werewolves never arrive at their condition through poor judgment or recklessness. Fate finds them bitten and infected and that is that. Our sympathies are with lycanthropes and depending on one’s mood when watching, project ourselves upon their misery and isolation.

To Glendon impasse comes Dr. Yogami, “student and nurturist of plants,” formerly instructor at a “Carpathian University,” and played masterfully by Warner Oland. Dr. Yogami was the werewolf who infected Dr. Glendon and acknowledges as much. The pair are “lost souls” and nothing can relieve them but the prickly stem of the Mariphasa, which Glendon has and Yogami wants. Oland at one point steps forward to extreme closeup wherein he confides urgency of the crisis he shares with Glendon, gently laying hand upon the other man’s sleeve to indicate where he, in werewolf guise, inflicted the wound. Yogami is an intense melancholic, Oland’s performance beyond mere inhabit of the character. There was much of Yogami in Oland based on what I’ve read of this troubled man who died two years later after much of a lifetime tormented by alcohol and moods that saw him often disappear for reasons unaccounted. Warner Oland for me confers deep sadness upon all his parts save Charlie Chan.

Offscreen travail could and often did enrich what a player brought to parts, benefit that genius derives in compensation perhaps for being a bit mad. English ultra-talent Stephen Fry was once asked, if allowed to push a button that would exorcise demon that was his bipolar condition, would he push it? Fry said no. He recognized a deepest if frightful source of his extraordinary skills, these essential to keep no matter agonies that came with them. Not sure for what reasons Warner Oland suffered, but they ran deep, exhibited if unknowingly for our gratification, and I hope he got at least momentary relief, by performances unique and not capturable by others prior or since. Yogami will do what is necessary to possess the Mariphasa, but we understand his reasons and sympathize with acts needed to postpone damnation. Did Oland reveal himself through vessel that was Yogami? Intensity of his performance suggests so. 

Actor Henry Hull has been called stolid or too theatrical. For me, in this instance, he is neither. Dr. Glendon had problems well before embarking upon eccentric quest for the Mariphasa. Of what possible use was such a plant to mankind? --- yet his pursuit is single-minded, venturing into a “valley filled with demons” against which he is warned, but Glendon dwells in his own valley that is solitude, as do many researchers consumed by their interest, whether it be the Mariphasa or … old films like Werewolf of London? Glendon’s absorption in peculiar plants render him odd to wellborn peers put off by specimen that consume insects and frogs. Could any marriage flourish amidst this? Lisa Glendon married wisely if not well, choosing one of the “black Glendons,” a family of her class, and being practical, Lisa must and will marry within that class. Wilfred surely intrigued her initially, for doesn’t membership among aristocracy permit a man to pursue his own lights without regard to necessaries other men must labor to acquire? Such privilege as Wilfred is heir to gives him time, resource, and license to be the singular person he is, but what becomes of those able to live precisely as they please? We all have it in us to chase after one Mariphasa or another, friends/family to wonder why. Wilfred had the misfortune to find his, but who could have put brakes on him, other than fellow werewolf who is Yogami who understands Glendon more completely than anyone.

Werewolfery thus intrudes into lives of victims already given to addictive or at the least immoderate behavior. We want all of Mariphasas to bloom so both Wilfred and Yogami may find relief, but like with any substance abused, there is knowing that one, even a hundred, such flowers, can never be enough. Lycanthropy compels interest for being a most secret of sufferings, a reason I find werewolves uniquely believable among monsters otherwise fanciful. Wilfred achieves state of poignant grace when, alone and in throes of anxiety, prays “Father in Heaven, don’t let this happen to me again,” panic disorder writ largest, but are episodes we might experience so markedly different? Whatever … it is such moments that distinguish Werewolf of London for me. Wilfred’s powerful exit line is one any of us might summon when curtains descend: “In a few moments, I shall know why all this had to be.” Bravo to whoever penned such memorable farewell for this Werewolf of London.