Bluebeard (1944)
Directed by Edgar G. Ulmer

Film Review

The indefinable bleak poetry of Edgar G. Ulmer's films reached its zenith in the films he made in the 1940s, in particular his films noirs which are now highly thought of and among the most unsettling of this era, despite being made on a virtually non-existent budget with an incredibly high turn around.  Bluebeard, although a period piece set in Paris of the 1800s, has as great a claim as any of Ulmer's films to be a film noir.  Its shadowy, doom-laden composition (to which the legendary cinematographer Eugen Schüfftan put his signature) and oppressive design lend it an aura of contained menace which permeates every scene, broken only by the flashes of horror which erupt when the killer shows himself and succumbs to his demonic impulse.  As a study in man's dual nature, the film is startlingly vivid and chillingly eloquent.

One of the more impressive films that Ulmer made for the Poverty Row studio Producers Releasing Corporation (PRC), Bluebeard owes its visual impact mostly to the imaginative set design (contributed by Ulmer himself), which employs detailed matte shots and false perspective with considerable artistry for such a low budget production.  It's not a realistic representation of 19th century Paris that Bluebeard offers, but rather that of a dark and dreamlike fairytale, crude but hauntingly expressive with some stark Gothic underpinnings.  You'd never guess that the film was shot in less than a week (typical of Ulmer's work for PRC).  The lighting and camerawork are not only supremely effective, they also include some dazzlingly inspired expressionistic touches, such as an extended flashback filmed entirely with skewed camera angles and, most weird of all, a slow tracking shot filmed at an angle in a way that not only conveys the mental derangement of the main protagonist but also places us at the centre of his warped being.

And who better to play the split-personality protagonist than John Carradine, a prolific character actor whose range of roles is the stuff of Hollywood legend?  Carradine is as well suited for playing the gentle and seemingly inoffensive puppeteer Gaston Morrell as he is the deranged killer that he becomes when the impulse to destroy takes over.  The actor cited this as one of his favourite roles and it's easy to see why - it allowed him to portray two completely different personas, each stemming from the same flawed yet believable character, an artist whose obsessive search for beauty has led him to surrender his soul, Faust-like, to the Devil that hides in each of us.  (Allusions to the Faust legend permeate the narrative in many subtle and not-so-subtle ways, and you wonder if Ulmer considered himself a latterday Faust, forever locked in an unbeakable pact with the less reputable of Hollywood studios.)  There's something inherently sinister about Carradine's understated performance that convinces us he is the fearsome Bluebeard well before we have reason to suspect as much, and when the mask of gentility falls to reveal the monster beneath, helped by some truly terrifying close-ups, the effect is not just shocking but something that is bound to induce nightmares.  Carradine was never this frightening in his horror films for Universal.

Bluebeard has a similar atmosphere and poetry to Ulmer's earlier horror masterpiece The Black Cat (1934), although, lacking the resources of Universal Studios, it hasn't the polish and visual impact of that film.  The pace of Bluebeard is lethargic in the character-led first half but soon picks up after the mid-point and builds to a gripping climax as the mystery is unravelled and the police net tightens around the killer.  As in virtually all of his films for PRC, Ulmer exploits the artistic freedom he has to the fullest extent and, in doing so, he crafts a distinctive entry in the horror genre that is as creepily unnerving as it is visually enticing.   It's also a film that eerily prefigures the psycho-thriller of a much later era.  Edgar G. Ulmer wasn't only a maverick apart in his own time, he was also ahead of his time.

Film Synopsis

Paris is caught in a grip of terror.  Several young women have been murdered, their bodies dumped in the River Seine, and the police search in vain to find the killer who has been dubbed Bluebeard.  Meanwhile, a failed artist Gaston Morrell earns a meagre crust entertaining crowds with his puppet show.  At one of his performances he meets dress designer Lucile, who agrees to make some new costumes for his puppets.  That same evening, Morel strangles his partner Renée when she questions him as to what became of all the models who posed for him.  One of Morel's paintings ends up being sold by art dealer Jean Lamarte to a duke, who promptly has it displayed at a public exhibition.  The fact that the woman in the painting was one of Bluebeard's victims immediately arouses the interest of the police.  The greedy Lamarte accepts a generous commission for Morel to paint another portrait, not knowing it is bait to flush out the serial killer.  Against his better judgement, Morel agrees to undertake the painting, but when he realises he has fallen into a trap he is forced to kill again.  Suspecting that Morel may be the killer, Lucile confronts him and he feels impelled to tell her the tragic story of his life.  Now that Lucile knows his secret, she too must die...