The Mask of Fu Manchu (1932)

Who’s In It: Boris Karloff (Frankenstein) and Myrna Loy (The Thin Man)

What It’s About: Nayland Smith (Lewis Stone) tries to steal the treasure of Genghis Khan before Fu Manchu can get it and use it to recruit a world-conquering army.

How It Is: You gotta know going in that a Fu Manchu movie is going to be super racist, even before you consider all the white actors in yellowface. The Sax Rohmer novels were speaking directly to and capitalizing off British fears about Southeast Asia, so the very concept is that the West is under attack by the East and that white people are perfectly justified in doing whatever they need to do to protect themselves. Even with that basic understanding though, The Mask of Fu Manchu is uncomfortable to watch. It's summed up in a final scene where the white heroes encounter a Chinese servant and are afraid of him until he reveals himself to be an idiot. That's the only kind of Chinese person these characters are comfortable with.

It gets labeled as a horror movie because of Karloff, I guess. And I suppose that for Westerners at the time, the Fu Manchu stories did represent something that they were truly terrified of. But it's not a scary movie. It's really just a treasure-hunting adventure with a colorful supervillain. And unfortunately, it's only a mediocre one of those.

I do like that the damsel in distress is actually a dude in distress (Charles Starrett). And the sets and props around Fu Manchu's palace and the treasure are pretty fun. But none of the acting is good and  Karen Morley is especially horrible as the daughter of one of Nayland Smith's companions. A very simple plot and just the ugliness of the overall tone drag it down and make me never want to watch it again.

Rating: Two-and-a-half out of five warlord swords.

The Year in Movies: 1931 - Mystery and Horror

Dracula (1931)



It's tough not to compare Tod Browning's Dracula to Murnau's Nosferatu from nine years earlier. The ability to add sound to movies was a great reason to do a new version of Stoker's story (with all the proper rights, too, instead of sneakily changing the characters' names) and Browning was a good choice to direct it. His style is very different from Murnau's, but it's distinct and creepy and brings some beautiful atmosphere to Dracula.

But Murnau's version is actually scary and Browning's never is. Murnau's Count Orlok is a true monster, from his very appearance to his strange powers that Murnau so cleverly gives him through special effects. Browning's version - truer to Stoker's novel - is meant to be creepily charming. You don't realize he's a threat until it's too late. Which is cool, but Browning uses so little effects that even when Dracula is supposed to be frightening, it's mostly suggested by the way other characters are reacting to him.

That can be very effective sometimes, especially in the case of Dwight Frye's Renfield, who's easily the most chilling character of the film. Edward Van Sloan also adds to Dracula's menace as Van Helsing. The Van Helsing character is a giant weakness of Nosferatu, but I always have a lot of fun watching him work in Dracula, trying to first figure out who the vampire is (initially suspecting Renfield), then playing a game of wills against Bela Lugosi's monster.

I wish that Helen Chandler was a better Mina, though. Mina is the heart of any version of Dracula and it's important to get her right. Nosferatu gives her a tragically heroic role (renamed Ellen and played with full commitment by Greta Schröder). In Browning's movie, Mina is simply the MacGuffin; the object that the characters are all fighting over. She's not written very well, but she's played even worse by Chandler who never eases into the character and always reminds me that she's an actress playing a role. (Lupita Tovar is much better in the Spanish version that was shot simultaneously with Browning's using the same script and sets, but with a different director and cast. That's a different review, though.)

The movie is also dreadfully slow, but in spite of that and my misgivings about Chandler, I always enjoy revisiting Browning's Dracula for its mood and its cultural impact and especially for Lugosi, Frye, and Van Sloan. I should give a quick shout out to David Manners' John Harker, who's mostly nondescript, but has one great moment when he throws down his newspaper in disgust and leaves the room because of Van Helsing's crackpot ideas about shape-changing, immortal blood-suckers. Manners is visually pretty nondescript, but he's grown on me as an actor and I always seem to find something to enjoy in his performances.

The Sleeping Cardinal (aka Sherlock Holmes' Fatal Hour) (1931)



Unlike the silent Sherlock Holmes from 1922, this is a pretty good representation of Holmes and Watson. Holmes is smart and knows it, but his arrogance is gentler than in a lot of adaptations. Watson is always a step behind, but he's familiar with Holmes' methods and no fool. I liked these guys a lot.

I also enjoyed how much focus the movie gives to some of the supporting characters before bringing in the detectives. That helped pull me into the mystery.

M (1931)



Sort of Ocean's Eleven meets Silence of the Lambs with a gang of crooks teaming up to capture a serial killer/pedophile. Peter Lorre is super creepy and appropriately baby-faced as the murderer, but my favorite part is the cat and mouse game when the criminals have him holed up in an office building and he's working to get away from them. That section holds up next to any modern thriller.

And the film wraps up with a fascinating meditation on justice that had my son and I arguing about what the right thing to do would be. Nicely done.

The Maltese Falcon (1931)



It's been a long time since I've seen the original, so I can't compare the two versions, but I really enjoyed Ricardo Cortez as Sam Spade. He's a sleazy, but charming ladies' man in a way that Bogart can't possibly pull off. As interesting as that is, though, I couldn't really root for him the way I can with Bogart. And I kept missing Peter Lorre and Sydney Greenstreet.

It was sure great seeing Dwight Frye as a tough though. I love that guy.

The Black Camel (1931)



It's fun to see Warner Oland as Charlie Chan interacting with Bela Lugosi and Dwight Frye from the same year as Dracula. And The Black Camel a pretty good mystery story. But this is early days in the Charlie Chan series and it moves slowly. There are much better as the series goes along.

Murder at Midnight (1931)



Fun, if unbelievable and convoluted mystery about a murder that takes place during a party in front of witnesses. Once you know the relationships between the victim and the other characters, the broad strokes of the plot are predictable, but there were also a couple of twists that I didn't see coming.

Daughter of the Dragon (1931)



Aside from the problems of non-Asian actors playing Asian characters, I always enjoy Warner Oland as Charlie Chan. That doesn't make him a good Fu Manchu though. He's not threatening enough, though Daughter of the Dragon's script gives him a pretty good scheme to implement.

As the title suggests, it involves his daughter, played by Anna May Wong. She's great in the role, but the character has super shaky motivations for taking over her father's vendetta against an English family. And not just that, but she also has extremely good, personal reasons not to pick up that mission. But even though her struggle isn't really earned, the movie does some interesting things with it and there are enough pulpy elements to keep the story entertaining.

The Phantom (1931)



I usually have a high tolerance for slow-moving movies of the early '30s, especially if there's an old, dark house involved, but I couldn't finish this one. Without an interesting actor to latch onto or any sort of plot development that I haven't seen done better in countless other mystery/horror films, it became too much of a chore to keep going. Dull and unremarkable.

Frankenstein (1931)



Seen it a million times, but I'm still surprised at how scary and creepy it is. Not much faithful to the plot of Mary Shelley's novel, but very faithful to its themes.

My only issue is the way it rushes through parts of its final act. Everyone learns about the monster and processes that information really quickly. On the other hand, I'm not sure I actually want a slowed down version.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931)



The inventive camera work can be distracting, but the performances are so earnest and March's makeup is so effective that the movie is legitimately horrifying, even today. Miriam Hopkins is especially heart-breaking as Hyde's terrorized, primary victim. March's Hyde is easily the most monstrous of movie monsters from that era.

Sword and Sorcery Cliche No. 1: The Ming the Merciless Haircut [Guest Post]

By GW Thomas

I am currently re-reading John Jakes's entire Brak the Barbarian saga, and I was struck by an odd thought. Why do wizards in sword-and-sorcery always dress like Ming the Merciless? In "The Unspeakable Shrine," Brak meets his nemesis, Septegundus, the Amyr of Evil and high priest of Yob-Haggoth:

And from the black portal silently glided the Amyr of Evil upon Earth...The man was not of overwhelming stature. He was clad in a plain black robe with voluminous sleeves into which his hands were folded. His pate was closely shaven, his nose aquiline, his lips thin. His chin formed a sharp point, and the upper parts of his ears were pointed, too. His eyes were large, dark, staring, nearly all pupil. Very little white showed. He had no eyelids. Evidently they had been removed by a crude surgical procedure. Light pads of scar tissue had encrusted above the sockets which held eyes that never closed.

Septegundus is far from an anomaly. He is the stereotypical sword-and-sorcery wizard. Bald, weird-looking, powerful, with evil eyes. Compare him to Gandalf from The Lord of the Rings:

An old man was driving it all alone. He wore a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak, and a silver scarf. He had a long white beard and bushy eyebrows that stuck out beyond the brim of his hat.

Tolkien derived Gandalf's look from the Scandinavian tales of Odin who traveled in the guise of "The Grey God," a man in a wide-brimmed hat dressed in grey. The Ming stereotype is coming from a different lineage, the gothics.

The horror tradition in fiction begins in England with The Castle of Otranto (1765) by Horace Walpole. These novels, especially those of Ann Radcliffe, feature creepy houses, lost heirs, fake monsters, and a lot of shocks for shock sake. This tradition would eventually dissolve into other forms of storytelling, including detective and mystery fiction and the psychological horror tales of Edgar Allan Poe. Do they feature bald-headed wizards? Not really. Though Ambrosio from MG Lewis's The Monk (1796) is certainly the most influential of all gothic characters:

He was a Man of noble port and commanding presence. His stature was lofty, and his features uncommonly handsome. His Nose was aquiline, his eyes large black and sparkling, and his dark brows almost joined together. His complexion was of a deep but clear Brown; Study and watching had entirely deprived his cheek of colour. Tranquillity reigned upon his smooth unwrinkled forehead; and Content, expressed upon every feature, seemed to announce the Man equally unacquainted with cares and crimes. He bowed himself with humility to the audience: Still there was a certain severity in his look and manner that inspired universal awe, and few could sustain the glance of his eye at once fiery and penetrating. Such was Ambrosio, Abbot of the Capuchins, and surnamed, 'The Man of Holiness'.

So how did the bald look find its way into sword-and-sorcery? You can thank Weird Tales. You have to remember that sword-and-sorcery as Robert E Howard created it was half fantasy and half horror. He had to sell these stories to Farnsworth Wright after all, and WT was a horror pulp. In the stories that Howard wanted to sell to Adventure (Stories like "By This Axe I Rule" or "Kings of the Night") he drops almost all the horror trimmings, writing something closer to a Harold Lamb or Talbot Mundy tale. He was a professional and he wanted to crack more prestigious magazines.

So, Weird Tales is the gateway. Howard introduces Thoth-Amon in "The Phoenix on the Sword" (December 1932) and this evil Stygian priest doesn't bear the look (not yet, later in the Marvel Comics and the L Sprague de Camp pastiches he would get the buzz cut.) Even though Thoth-Amon didn't get much description, his activities are similar to another character, Fu Manchu:

Of him it had been fitly said that he had a brow like Shakespeare and a face like Satan. Something serpentine, hypnotic, was in his very presence. Smith drew one sharp breath, and was silent. Together, chained to the wall, two mediaeval captives, living mockeries of our boasted modern security, we crouched before Dr. Fu-Manchu.

Robert E Howard had written of his own version of Fu named Kathulos of Egypt in "Skull-Face" (October-December 1929):

The hands--but, oh God, the face! A skull to which no vestige of flesh seemed to remain but on which taut brownish-yellow skin grew fast, etching out every detail of that terrible death's-head. The forehead was high and in a way magnificent, but the head was curiously narrow through the temples, and from under penthouse brows great eyes glimmered like pools of yellow fire. The nose was high-bridged and very thin; the mouth was a mere colorless gash between thin, cruel lips. A long, bony neck supported this frightful vision and completed the effect of a reptilian demon from some medieval hell.

Howard, after Rohmer, is clearly working in a tradition descended from Otranto, with men reborn from Ancient Asia, whether China or Egypt, the cradle of mysterious wisdom and evil.

To make this even clearer, there are two major undercurrents in the gothics that truly pin down the evil wizard type. The first is that the underlying plot of gothic stories is about something from the past terrorizing the present. In Otranto, this is the specter of the giant knight who crushes Manfred's heir with a helmet, steps out of paintings, and ultimately destroys him. In later years this can be seen in horror fiction in any story in which an ancient object haunts a family like in "The Stone Idol" by Seabury Quinn, or in ghost stories like MR James' "Lost Hearts." In mystery fiction this is the crime that haunts the perpetrator such as the classic Wilkie Collins story The Moonstone (1868) or Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock tale, "The Adventure of the Crooked Man" (The Strand, July 1893). In the noir branch, it's the unknown crime in Cornell Woolrich's The Black Curtain (1941). In sword-and-sorcery (and other forms of fantasy), this is Bilbo's Ring or the ancient snake worshippers of Set, who harken back to the Snake Men of Prehistory. It can be any object, book, knowledge, god, or monster that returns centuries later. And that's our sorcerer buddy. He is either such a person, or works for such a deity, or possesses such an object. They buy into the idea that ancient power can make them powerful now. It is up to the barbarian hero to thwart such ideas.

The second theme that the gothics give us is the idea that old things are evil and new things are our savior. This is immediately evident when you look at the hero, Brak:

The mendicant seemed to hunch in fright cowed by the figure before him: the bigger man plainly was an outlander, a huge, yellow-headed giant whose hair was plaited in a single long braid that hung down his back. A glossy fur cloak and cowl around the barbarian’s shoulders reflected the torchglare dimly. The big man was naked save for this fur and a garment of lion’s hide about his hips.

Brak is young, well-maned, and virile. The female characters are usually voluptuous, fecund, and available. Villains such as Ariane are usually too beautiful, hinting at their deceit, and often prove to be withered crones or monsters when their magic is dispelled. The wizard is the exact opposite to Brak, old-looking, bald, and with eyes that contain evil powers. The baldness is important, for it is a sign of age, impotence and decay. In gothic texts, the authors often suggested that the Roman Catholic religion was likewise decrepit and oppressive; old, but evil. The gothics weren't anti-religion, just anti-Catholic, for the hero (no longer disguised as a peasant, returned to his true lordship) marries the heroine in a good Anglican church, with a bright future ahead. The evil, old dude gets his comeuppance and if he has time says something akin to "And I would have gotten away with to too, if it weren't for you meddling kids." This kind of shorthand works for all kinds of villains and comics certainly have had their share, such as The Red Skull in Captain America.

Lastly, to cement the point, let's consider Elric of Melnibone. Michael Moorcock created Elric as a kind of anti-Conan. Instead of strong, he is a weak albino. Instead of handsome, he is freakish. In fact, Moorcock uses many of the villain characteristics to create his anti-hero. He is haunted by his sword, Stormbringer, who must be fed souls to keep the weak body going. This sword is the object from the past that haunts his present, dooming his future. In many ways, Elric is the image of the sorcerer, not the swordsman. In some ways but not all. Elric is not bald but has a flowing white mane. He is also resourceful, able to have companions, and is capable of love. Moorcock created a hero who is halfway between the two types. This should not be surprising when you consider one of his influences was Mervyn Peake, who wrote the Gormenghast trilogy, undoubtedly the most gothic of the fantasy sagas. Unlike Tolkien, Moorcock is consciously choosing to work inside the gothic tradition, though bending and stretching it to his own ends. This opening of gothic elements helped allow sword-and-sorcery to evolve past the Howardian formula. Series like Gene Wolfe's The Book of New Sun and Samuel R Delaney's Neveryona play with these elements in fresh ways. (Though read any Conan novel by Robert Jordan, Leonard Carpenter, or others and you will find any number of baldies trying to resurrect ancient gods. Even worse, consider Skeletor from The Masters of the Universe! Alas, some like the formulas as is).

GW Thomas has appeared in over 400 different books, magazines and ezines including The Writer, Writer's Digest, Black October Magazine and Contact. His website is gwthomas.org. He is editor of Dark Worlds magazine.

The Door to Infinity: Mythos without Lovecraft [Guest Post]

By GW Thomas

I got my start in the Mythos business by playing Call of Cthulhu, a role-playing game in which private detectives, soldiers, dilettantes and hobos face off against cultists with one goal: to return the Great Old Ones to the earth. This fun blend of adventure and horror was created by Sandy Petersen and Gene Day and based on the works of H. P. Lovecraft.

The game led me to read virtually every story Lovecraft wrote. And what you don't find are adventures featuring private detectives, soldiers, dillentes and hobos facing off against cultists with one goal: to return the Great Old Ones to the earth. Lovecraft's protagonists are usually people much the same as Lovecraft himself: New England gentlemen, librarians and writers. A few stories - such as "The Call of Cthulhu" and "The Dunwich Horror" - feature "cultists," but usually in the background.

So what gives? Some of this is the gamification of the Cthulhu Mythos by Petersen. To make the game fun to play, you have to DO something. He included the 1920s Private Eye and other historical professions such as the Hobo and former veterans of WWI. But this was all the way in 1982. Did anyone ever try the Mythos adventure back in the day? Plenty of people wrote pseudo-Lovecraft including August Derleth, Robert Bloch, C Hall Thompson, Henry Kuttner, and Frank Belknap Long. And these were just the ones in Weird Tales. But did anyone ever write a Call of Cthulhu (referred to as CoC from now on) style story to inspire Petersen fifty years later?

Just one writer, a contemporary of HPL with a long list of credits all his own, Edmond Hamilton. The story was "The Door to Infinity" and of course it appeared in Weird Tales (August-September 1936), six months before HPL's death. Hamilton got his start in WT in August 1926 with "The Monster-God of Mamurth", a tale of an invisible temple and its giant spider god. Most of Hamilton's reputation in 1936 rested on his Science Fiction which included gigantic space battles, giving him the sobriquet of "World Wrecker Hamilton". So why would he write a CoC style tale?

The reason is simple. Hamilton was versatile. He wrote all kinds of Science Fiction and Fantasy for WT. He wrote Heroic Fantasy in "Lost Elysium" and "Twilight of the Gods", monster SF in "The Metal Giants" and "The Star-Stealers", lyrical Fantasy like "He That Hath Wings" (inspiring Angel of the X-Men), Animal SF in "Day of Judgment" (Kamandi before Jack Kirby), horror tales like "The Vampire Master" as Hugh Davidson, space opera in "Corsairs of the Cosmos", and every kind of fantastic story you can think of. Hamilton was a writer up for anything, even a Mythos romp.

"Door to Infinity" has two heroes, Inspector Pierce Campbell of Scotland Yard and handsome, young American, Paul Innis. Campbell and Innis have to track down the dangerous Brotherhood of the Door when they steal Innis' wife, Ruth. The agent of the Brotherhood is Chandra Dass, an evil Malay with plenty of henchmen. The two heroes are captured and sent to their deaths down a trap door to the Thames. Only Campbell's resourcefulness saves them, allowing the duo to chase Dass along the river and discover the secret headquarters of the cult in a limestone cliff. Once inside, posing as cultists, the two men find that the Brotherhood has several sacrificial victims, including Ruth, who will supply the energy to open a dimensional door. Paul Innis sees:

The spherical web of wires pulsed up madly with shining force. And up at the center of the gleaming black oval facet on the wall, there appeared a spark of unearthly green light. It blossomed outward, expanded, an awful viridescent flower blooming quickly outward farther and farther. And as it expanded, Ennis saw that he could look through that green light! He looked through into another universe, a universe lying infinitely far across alien dimensions from our own, yet one that could be reached through this door between dimensions. It was a green universe, flooded with an awful green light that was somehow more akin to darkness than to light, a throbbing, baleful luminescence.

Ennis saw dimly through green-lit spaces a city in the near distance, an unholy city of emerald hue whose unsymmetrical, twisted towers and minarets aspired into heavens of hellish viridity. The towers of that city swayed to and fro and writhed in the air. And Ennis saw that here and there in the soft green substance of that restless city were circles of lurid light that were like yellow eyes.

In ghastly, soul-shaking apprehension of the utterly alien, Ennis knew that the yellow circles were eyes—that that hell-spawned city of another universe was living—that its unfamiliar life was single yet multiple, that its lurid eyes looked now through the Door! 

Sax Rohmer

Out from the insane living metropolis glided pseudopods of its green substance, glided toward the Door. Ennis saw that in the end of each pseudopod was one of the lurid eyes. He saw those eyed pseudopods come questing through the Door, onto the dais.

The yellow eyes of light seemed fixed on the row of stiff victims, and the pseudopods glided toward them. Through the open door was beating wave on wave of unfamiliar, tingling forces that Ennis felt even through the protective robe. 

Campbell's trusty revolver takes out the web-wires and the door closes. A big shoot out and a fiery escape and there you have it. One quality CoC adventure.

Was this Hamilton's best work? No, CoC aside, the whole set-up reeks of Sax Rohmer and Fu Manchu. Campbell is Weyland Smith-fantastic and Paul Innis is too handsome and too American. Weird Tales readers in 1936 would have been quite familiar with Fu Manchu, since Rohmer had resurrected his 1917 character and had been writing new Fu's all through the 1930s: Daughter of Fu Manchu (1931), The Mask of Fu Manchu (1932), The Bride of Fu Manchu (1933), The Trail of Fu Manhcu (1934), and President Fu Manchu (1936). Rohmer's racism is also evidenced by the dastardly Chandra Dass.

What I find so interesting about this story is how close Hamilton comes to Lovecraft but does not cross over into the Mythos. Was this because Lovecraft hadn't invited him to join his circle? (I wonder what HPL's reaction to the tale was?) Was it because Hamilton had had no real interest in the Cthulhu Mythos? Did Farnsworth Wright, editor of Weird Tales request this tale? Perhaps Hamilton just got there on his own, for Wright never rejected any story by Hamilton in their twenty-four years of working together. Wright allowed Hamilton great freedom and the rewards were many. The tentactular beasties are squamous and eldritch enough for Lovecraft but in the end they are aliens coming from another dimension. The Mythos magic just isn't there. For us time-traveling back to the days of the Pulps, "The Door to Eternity" makes a great "what could have been". Who knows, I just might get that old box set out and chase some cultists around London or Arkham or even Hamilton's own Ohio.

Read "The Door to Infinity" at Project Gutenberg.

GW Thomas has appeared in over 400 different books, magazines and ezines including The Writer, Writer's Digest, Black October Magazine and Contact. His website is gwthomas.org. He is editor of Dark Worlds magazine.

The Awesome List: Bond hardcover art, Pirate's Lair, Project Pterosaur, new Chuck, and Sumuru

Bond Hardcover Covers

Remember those Bond hardcovers I mentioned earlier? The cover art for them is pretty darn sweet. I'm so getting these.

Pirate's Lair on Tom Sawyer Island

Disneyland has converted Tom Sawyer Island to a Pirate's Lair and Daddy B has the photo tour.

Project Pterosaur

Some folks do their best to make it embarassing to be a Christian. I shouldn't even link to this, but it's too much like a real life Professor Challenger not to.

"The goal of Project Pterosaur is to mount an expedition to locate and bring back to the United States living specimens of pterosaurs or their fertile eggs, which will be displayed in a Pterosaur Rookery... Furthermore, the rookery facility will establish a breeding colony of pterosaurs..."

All right, I don't care how nuts these guys are. That's just cool.

Chuck Returns... for a Bit.

NBC's announced the air dates for the last couple of episodes of Chuck this season, making me even more ticked that TV producers can't see reason and negotiate an end for the strike.

The Million Eyes of Sumuru

Lady, That's My Skull profiles Sax Rohmer's other Chinese villain, Sumuru. I can't find Million Eyes of Sumuru on DVD, but it's so going on my TiVo search. I might get the books too, but really it's Shirley Eaton as Sumuru that's driving my interest.

Tarzan the Fearless (and Fu Manchu)

I should've done a little reading up on Tarzan the Fearless before I watched it. I saw "Tarzan" and "Buster Crabbe" though and went, "Oooh! Cool!"

What I didn't realize was that I'd gotten a copy of the feature film version that had been made from the first four chapters of a twelve-episode serial. I knew that studios had a tendency to do that -- they did it with Crabbe's Flash Gordon serials and I've been warned against watching those versions -- but I didn't know that they'd done it here. Not until I started watching it anyway.

The movie opens with Tarzan's just swinging around and hanging out with Cheetah, then it cuts to a bunch of people trekking through the jungle trying to find this cute blonde's father, then it goes back to Tarzan who's now hanging out in a cabin with said Dad. That's where I started realizing that maybe this thing had been spliced together. A little while later there was a weird cut right after what would've been a typical end-of-episode cliffhanger and then the sudden introduction of a couple of bad guys who talked like they'd been scheming for a while (and I'm sure they had, only those conversations had been cut out). I gave up after that and didn't even finish, which is for the best since, like I said, it's only the first four episodes and ends in a cliffhanger.

Apparently, you can't get the 12-episode serial anymore, which is too bad because Crabbe is a charming Tarzan. It's annoying that he doesn't talk at all, but only grunts and pantomimes (at least in the parts I saw) and it's especially unfortunate that his loin cloth is a thong, but he's got a lot of personality and always looks like he's having fun. The girl (not Jane, so forget continuity) is also cute, and apparently there's an even cuter La-esque jungle priestess later on, but I never saw her. The plot (the girl's dad is captured by the jungle priestess' followers and needs rescuing) is classic Tarzan movie stuff too, so all-in-all I'm sorry I can't see the real version.

I also recently re-watched Boris Karloff in The Mask of Fu Manchu. Maybe I'm getting more sensitive in my old age, but I was more bothered this time by the racism than I was last time. I've typically been able to acknowledge this kind of thing as a product of its time and just enjoy the other aspects of it, but it's so prevalent in Mask that I had a hard time getting around it. Especially when Fu Manchu shows all of his Chinese followers a white woman and asks -- to thunderous applause -- if they'd like to kill all the white men and take their women. 'Cause, you know, all those Asian women just weren't doing it for them. But it wasn't just that. It was also the references to evil Chinese "gods" and strange Chinese science. I don't know, it just bothered me this time.

I'm interested in checking out some of Hammer's Fu Manchu films with Christopher Lee though. I'd like to see if 30 years made a difference in how pervasive the fear of Eastern cultures is in the films.