JAMES WHALE

by Michael Ferguson

James Whale was gay. There, I've said it. Forty-plus years after
his peculiar death, the truth can be told.

Then again, I'm only 57 years late with the news, because everyone
knew James Whale was gay in 1931, too, so put out your torches. In one of
the most refreshingly strange instances of classic Hollywood lore, we have
a celebrated director who did not live a double life. Whale was attracted
to men--usually much younger than he--and quite simply remained true to
himself throughout his remarkable stint in Tinsel Town. This is not to
suggest that Whale was either effronteries, flaming or at all considered
himself a pioneer or activist; he just lived his life, found a young man
with whom he fell in love and they purchased a house together in the
Pacific Palisades while he was being pushed by Universal Studios to do a
script titled THE RETURN OF FRANKENSTEIN.

James Whale was British-born into a devoutly religious family. His
father was a blast furnaceman, who made little to elevate his family out of
poverty in the Worcestershire countryside. Jimmy was an "artistic" boy
from the get-go, a thin, good-looking lad whose body wasn't made forward
labor. He found drawing delighted him and he was quite good at it. Being
the sixth of seven children, he couldn't count on his father's wages to
provide a proper education, so he reluctantly worked in a cobbler's shop
into his mid-twenties while contriving a way out of this bleak world.
World War I was the unlikely ticket. He joined the fray and was a
second lieutenant in France when he was captured in Belgium and spent 15
months in a prison camp. Forcibly idle again, this time he turned to his
fellow soldiers and organized POW theatrical productions. After his
release, he sold war sketches to the press and soon landed a job as a
newspaper cartoonist. Out and about and amongst those who traveled in
wider, more artistic circles, Jimmy immersed himself in theater by stage
managing, designing sets, and even acting the occasional role.

His stage debut came in 1919 in THE KNIGHTS OF THE BURNINGPESTLE,
followed by an appearance in a production of THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR,
which co-starred a strange-looking bird named Ernest Thesiger, with whom he
became very good friends. Thesiger was an overt homosexual, a dandified
priss with a wicked and witty tongue and Whale enjoyed his company,even if
he didn't share his manner.

The theater world enveloped young Mr. Whale and he found himself
meeting, acting with, or carousing with the likes of Elsa Lanchester,H.G.
Wells, Aldous Huxley, Evelyn Waugh and John Gielgud. Having joined the
Oxford Players, he came very close to even taking a wife, the exotic
designer Doris Zinkeisen, but their close friendship never took precedence
over his attraction to men.

With art imitating life, Whale was cast (and did set design) in the
1924 production of J.R. Ackerley's PRISONERS OF WAR, a drama detailing an
officer's love for a young soldier in a Swiss prison camp. Next came the
surprisingly nasty PORTRAIT OF A MAN WITH RED HAIR (1928), with a young
Charles Laughton as the title gargoyle who sadistically imprisons two
lovers in his clifftop house in order to mentally toy with and torture
them. Whale was cast as Laughton's son (even though he was a decade older
than Laughton) and thus began the two men's strained professional
relationship. Charles, a self-hating homosexual, found that Whale's ease
about his own sexuality was somehow off-putting, maybe even threatening.
He would often refer to Whale, who was now hiding his humble background in
the airs of new-found sophistication, as the "would-be gentleman."
With a couple of low-budget Grand Guignol plays under his belt,
directing jobs came his way, too. A man who voraciously ate up all the
experiences of his given trade, by both acting and designing, seemed a
natural choice for taking the reins. His first two shows were moderate
successes, but his third would catapult him to fame and glory.

He got the job because no one else wanted it. War plays weren't
money makers. So when along came a drama steeped in stark realism about
hero worship in the trenches, Whale stepped in and mounted JOURNEY'S END.
His cast included George Zucco, Maurice Evans, and a 21-year old Laurence
Olivier in the lead. Olivier, who years later would claim the role of
Stanhope as one of the best he'd ever had, complained to Whale at the time
that "there's nothing in it but meals."

Whale's powerful staging (no doubt drawing upon his own war
experience) and minutely-detailed set design gelled with a stellar cast and
the raw material to create a sensation...among the critics. Upon its
October, 1928 premiere, the audience received it so ambivalently that when
the papers came the next morning it sent cast and crew into shock. "The
Greatest of All War Plays!" declared the headlines. Hard-nosed critic
James Agate's radio review that night was a raving slobber of praise.
Before it caught fire with audiences, though, Olivier was whisked
away to do BEAU GESTE, and the production lost its theater. A wealthy
patron-of-the-arts who fancied artistic underdogs coughed up the cash to
find it a new home and into the role of Stanhope came a 28-year old named
Colin Clive. Clive proved so bad in rehearsals, so completely unnerved and
jittery, that Whale knew he had his man despite complaints from other
members of the cast. The playwright, R.C. Sheriff even encouraged the
shaking actor to take a shot of whiskey before beginning a rehearsal,and
this seemed to allow Clive to work, to calm him down a bit, even though
it's easy to see in hindsight how tragic a call that was for an actor whose
premature death was accelerated by his chronic alcoholism.

Clive's edgy, eminently watchable manner brought the piece toeven
greater heights as the play moved to an even larger theater and played
before standing-room only crowds. Whale was asked to come to America to
direct the show on Broadway, which he did with resultingly far less success
than in Britain, but by 1929 there were 14 companies doing JOURNEY'S END in
English and another 17 in translation worldwide. That kind of success can
only lead a young director to one place: Hollywood.

Contracted at $500 a week to work as a dialogue coach on a piculture
called THE LOVE DOCTORS (1929), Whale was wined and dined by several
studios. It was, however, when a Paramount assistant story editor named
David Lewis took him to lunch that Whale, in turn, took him to heart.
There was 14 years between them, but the bond was almost immediate and
James Whale now had even more reason to find success in America.
His wretched experience as dialogue coach on Howard Hughes' HELL'S
ANGELS (1930), which was re-written and re-shot at enormous cost to adapt
to the new age of movie sound, did prove an excellent training ground for
Whale, who knew virtually nothing about filmmaking. He would take every
bit of information he could, though, for he was now preparing to bring
JOURNEY'S END to the big screen.

JOURNEY'S END (1930) starred Colin Clive (nabbed from the stage
show, thereby effecting the box-office receipts) and David Manners and
represents an inaugural glimpse at the distinctive style he would bring to
all of his films, including his penchant for introducing characters in
darkness and having them emerge into light, his roving camera (all the more
noticeable here because much of the film is static), and his love of close-ups.
The success of the stageplay of JOURNEY'S END had led to
Universal's decision to do the film version of ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN
FRONT (1930), a major prestige hit and eventual Oscar winner. Carl
Laemmle, head of Universal, wanted James Whale at his studio and got him.
First up was WATERLOO BRIDGE (1930), a successful wartime tale of a soldier
and a prostitute that ends tragically for both. Bette Davis had a small
role and her later assessment of the director would be echoed by many who
worked with him: aloof, self-serious, demanding and therefore somewhat
unlikable. Still, with WATERLOO BRIDGE, his craft was growing by leaps and
bounds with imaginative camera use, tracking shots, overheads, and
inventive use of off-screen sound effects for atmosphere.

His next project was a gift to the promising filmmaker, yankedas
it was from Robert Florey and Bela Lugosi on a contractual technicality and
after a disastrous 20 minute screen test. FRANKENSTEIN, detailed later,
was cast with Colin Clive in the lead at Whale's insistence. "I chose
Colin Clive because he had exactly the right kind of tenacity to gothrough
with anything," Whale told the New York Times, "together with the kind of
romantic quality which makes strong men leave civilization to shoot big game."
His lover, David Lewis, reportedly suggested that Whale checkout
an actor named Boris Karloff, who he'd seen in THE CRIMINAL CODE, for the
role of the Monster. The rest is history.

In fact, the rest of Whale's genre outings are all history and
that's why I'd like to turn to his other lesser known works. THE KISS
BEFORE THE MIRROR (1933) is the tale of attorney Paul Lukas, called into
defend a friend who has murdered his adulterous wife, who then begins to
see similar clues of infidelity in his own marriage. ONE MORE RIVER(1934)
stars Colin Clive as a domineering man bent on destroying his estranged
wife through the divorce courts. The courtroom scenes are memorably filmed
using a roving camera that visually brings to life the static setting and
sets a precedent for courtroom dramas to come. REMEMBER LAST NIGHT?(1935)
is an alternately loved and vilified attempt at screwball comedy with
Edward Arnold trying to sort out a series of murders from a cast of
characters so drunk or suffering from hang-overs that no one seems to
remember or care about anything. If a Whale film deserves to be
re-discovered, it is probably this one. Whale also brought to the screen
SHOW BOAT (1936), starring Irene Dunne, Allan Jones and the classic
rendition of "Ol' Man River" by Paul Robeson.
The Laemmles eventually lost Universal, momentarily leaving the
director without a home, and then David Lewis began his role as assistant
producer under Irving Thalberg at MGM, where Whale was to direct original
choice Charles Laughton in that studio's GOODBYE, MR. CHIPS. The "new"
Universal nabbed him back before that would happen however.

The sequel to ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT, entitled THE ROAD
BACK (1937), was a controversial production and Whale was directing at what
the studio considered a mercilessly slow pace. On top of studio
intrusions, the Nazi's were unhappy with the production and the German
consul in L.A. sent "threatening" letters to the actors, saying that if
they continued to make this film, all of their past and future films would
be unwelcome in Germany. The actors protested and asked the U.S.
government to intercede. The consul backed off, but as far as the studio
was concerned, Whale was skating on thin ice. He refused to cut several
sequences and so they took it from him and hacked it to ribbons,removing a
scene showing a grotesque dwarf teaching boys how to goose-step in
preparation for a future war.

After Thalberg died, David Lewis went to Warner Bros. and no longer
had the power of influence he once had. Whale did THE GREAT GARRICK(1938)
at Warner's, an enjoyable comedic look at the egocentric actor David
Garrick. But that same year, close friend Colin Clive succumbed to
pulmonary tuberculosis after his dramatic plunge into alcoholism and Whale
was stuck making "B" films. He wasn't even consulted when the horror
revival hit and SON OF FRANKENSTEIN was put into production.
He began shooting the 1939 version of THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK
(which includes a young Peter Cushing in a small role), but was unhappy and
lagging behind schedule. With 9 days left to shoot, he was fired,though
his name remains on the picture. His relationship with Lewis had begun to
distance, yet Lewis drummed up GREEN HELL (1940) to keep the somber
director busy. "About five of the worst pictures ever made are all in that
one picture," said co-star Vincent Price of this silly jungle flick.

Fired from yet another film (Columbia's THEY DARE NOT LOVE-1941),
Whale was becoming quickly dispirited. David Lewis had enlisted in the
military, at age 40, and Whale was left alone. At a complete loss as to
what had happened, as to why his career was crumbling, Whale took solace in
painting. Fortunately, he had invested his money wisely--figuring early on
that all this wouldn't last and remembering from where he came--and so
lived in comfort, directing the occasional play, staging shows for the
enlisted men, and even directing a never-aired television film entitled
HELLO OUT THERE (1949).

At age 61, Whale went to Europe and met 25-year old Pierre Foegel,
with whom he fell in love and brought back as his chauffeur. Rejuvenated,
he directed PAGAN IN THE PARLOUR, a British stage play that opened brig and
died quick.

Back at home, having suffered theatrical failure after failure, he
re-invested in his social life, put in a pool (though he couldn't swim)and
began to hold legendary gay parties. While David Lewis was back and
assistant producing RAINTREE COUNTY, Whale suffered a nervous breakdown,
was hospitalized and received shock treatments.

On Memorial Day, 1957, he wrote a lengthy note in which he asked,
"Do not grieve for me--my nerves are all shot...the future is just old age
and pain." After a few drinks, he walked out to the pool and in a moment
as bizarre to contemplate as any moment he'd ever committed to celluloid,
he jumped head first into the shallow end, effectively knocking himself
unconscious and subsequently drowning.

Did James Whale, as has so often been suggested, really kill
himself because he had been blackballed by a homophobic Hollywood? That
would be the easy answer, though probably insupportable without a more
detailed look into his studio dealings. Certainly there was a time,when
he had attained success and was Universal's star director, that his open
lifestyle was overlooked in the face of box-office revenues, but I suspect
his homosexuality was only one factor of many in the rise and fall of the
golden age of horror's finest maestro.

In the end, he even directed his own suicide with a morbid,
Whale-sian touch; on the night stand, he left a book: Don't Go Near the Water.

FRANKENSTEIN (1931) - Whale screened THE CABINET OF DR.CALIGARI,
THE GOLEM, METROPOLIS and THE MAGICIAN before beginning to shoot this
classic horror film. At 70 minutes, it is an economically-designed
screenplay that codifies just what it is to be a monster movie, as the film
exists for no other reason than to thrill us in three acts: Creation,
abandonment, and search and destroy. Yet in its simplicity, it speaks
loudly to its issues of rejection, of parenthood and irresponsibility,of
the potential evils of having a child out of wedlock. Pictorially and
compositionally splendid in every way, it paints Frankenstein as a mad
scientist from the very beginning and a youthful, smooth-faced and even
somewhat handsome Clive is excellent throughout. It's hard to imagine
anyone else in the role, yet the studio heads wanted Leslie Howard and
Whale himself tested Bette Davis for Henry's wife. Whale's creation scene
is fast, to the point, and even matter-of-fact, though tellingly punctuated
after the 8 recitations of "It's alive" with a censor-imposed thunderclap
erasing the finish of Clive's line: "In the name of God, now I know what it
feels like to be God!" For all this, Henry is an incredibly amateurish
scientist. Having created this Monster (so beautifully played by Karloff),
he allows it to be tortured by Fritz, deprives it of light, allows it to
walk around unattended, and then chains it in the dungeon. The film is
slightly more sober than Whale's subsequent genre work, but it still holds
up well, and there's room for the occasional visual or verbal joke: for
example, after the "creation" sequence, the next time we see Clive he's
smoking a cigar. Was it good for you?

THE OLD DARK HOUSE (1932) - A longtime obscurity, this genre
classic is now available in reasonably good prints. Whale assembled a
superb cast, including Raymond Massey, Melvyn Douglas, Gloria Stuart,
Charles Laughton, Ernest Thesiger and Boris Karloff. Karloff, fresh from
his FRANKENSTEIN success (as an opening title reminds us), is mostly wasted
in the lowbrow mute brute role, perhaps in itself a dirty joke of Whale's,
who was said to be a little taken aback at all the press Karloff got over
FRANKENSTEIN. Ostensibly a black comedy, which 1930's audiences weren't
prepared to accept, this J.B. Priestley adaptation has several couples
stranded for a wild and rainy night at the cavernous mansion of the bizarre
family of Femm, represented with sardonic wit and skeletal frailty by
Ernest Thesiger and his curmudgeonly, hard-of-hearing sister, played by Eva
Moore (Olivier's mother-in-law at the time). The script is loaded with
witty barbs and dark slices of anti-religious and anti-social banter and
not very much happens in it except for conversation (the original story was
meant as social criticism, not mystery) until the family's most fearsome
sibling is set loose within the house. There are quintessential Whale
moments throughout, including the entire dinner sequence ("Have a
poe-tay-toe"), a game of shadow play, and a remarkably succinct outburst
from Laughton during which his pompous Mr. Porterhouse emotionally strips
himself with the moving tale of why he lost his wife to suicide.

THE INVISIBLE MAN (1933) - With stunning special effects by John P.
Fulton, here we have Whale's most unusually unfunny horror film. That
isn't to say there aren't laughs, it's just that the script (adapted by RC
Sheriff) hasn't been infused with them. Una O'Connor's inspired casting as
the innkeeper's hysterical wife begins the film in true Whale spirit. Her
nosiness combines with her sense of duty (to bring the bandaged stranger a
jar of mustard) and it results in the revelation of Whale's trademark
genius. For a split second, the intrusive Ms. O'Connor registers that the
lower 1/4 of her guest's face isn't there and then we get to look at the
amazing sight in profile, without fanfare, without prolonged leer. In a
film as laden and dependent on special effects as this one, Whale's
matter-of-fact approach to the fantastic elevates it to haunting heights.
Furthermore, the standard "he meddled in things men should leave alone"
passage comes in the first 10 minutes, not as the film's moral epitaph.
"E's invisible, that's what's the matter with 'im." Jack Griffin also lays
out his whole plan right there in the beginning: he'll rape, he'll kill,
he'll rule the world and "You've brought it on yourselves!" Of course,one
can't help wondering why William Harrigan doesn't just sock Griffin in the
head or whack him with a baseball bat while he's wearing his duds. There's
also no excuse for the infamous oversight at the film's climax where
Griffin is given away by shoe-prints (and not footprints) in the fresh
snow. Curiously, this made Claude Rains a star.

THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN (1935) - In FRANKENSTEIN, it was the shot
of the hunchbacked Fritz stopping to pull up his sock. In THE OLD DARK
HOUSE, it was the shot in the mirror when puritanical Eva Moore stops to
straighten her hair after berating Gloria Stuart's fleshy breasts and
objectionable vanity. These are trademarks of James Whale's genius: the
use of an unconventional convention that makes the weird seem weirder in
its normalcy. In BRIDE, it occurs when an old gypsy woman insists on the
whereabouts of the "pepper and salt" while the family nervously discusses
the Monster-on-the-loose. Though eventually chopped of 15 minutes (at the
director's approval), BRIDE is Whale's masterwork, a cruelly whimsical
black comedy set to a lush Franz Waxman score that reaches its zenith with
a splash of clanging wedding bells heralding the Bride. Lapses in logic
and continuity included, nearly everything about this film lends itself to
canonization, be it Thesiger's devilishly decadent Pretorius and his
coffin-top midnight snack, the cavernous sets, the overt religious allegory
(yes, that's "Ave Maria" you hear in the blind shepherd's hut), to
Karloff's painfully beautiful acting, John Mescall's gorgeous photography,
the greatest creation sequence ever put on film and the worst first date in
movie history.

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