Boris Karloff Blogathon: WURDALAK

Today marks the conclusion of Frankensteinia's Boris Karloff Blogathon, which I must say has been wildly successful in both quantity and quality of participation. The first entry I posted here was some scans of a comic adaptation of Die, Monster, Die! provided by Kimberly Lindbergs, who posted a companion-piece on the movie at her own blog Cinebeats. I wanted to do one more entry, on one of my favorite horror films, Mario Bava's The Wurdalak.

Wurdalak is, in my judgment, one of the greatest vampire films, and Boris Karloff, as the titular undead creature, is one of the greatest and most dreadful cinematic vampires ever. Unfortunately, a number of obstacles have hindered the movie and Karloff's performance from gaining the renown they deserve. As a short film and one-third of the Black Sabbath anthology, it doesn't really command its own identity the way a feature film would. The fact that it's an Italian co-production doesn't help, I'm sure. European films from that period (the Groovy Age, baby!) never dominated the horror genre the way they did the Western, and today only certain kinds of film buffs are even aware of first-rate directors like Bava and (classic) Argento.

Finally, Wurdalak is an odd vampire film, beginning with its eschewal of the very term "vampire" in favor of one less familiar. Unlike Murnau's Nosferatu, Universal's Dracula, or Hammer's Horror of Dracula, it isn't based on Bram Stoker's novel at all. It dispenses entirely with the conventions laid down by the latter two, of the vampire as Byronic, seductive, exotic aristocrat. Karloff's wurdalak is, on the contrary, an aging and beloved father and grandfather who has suffered an heroic death to protect his family. He returns to them tragically transformed, and begins to drag them into his horrifying fate. It's literally not a sexy role, in a subgenre that owes much of its appeal to erotic subtexts.

Karloff gives the performance of his life--just as he did in damn near every role he played (as Greg Ferrara notes, "Hell, he even gave his all in this lighter commercial!"). He absolutely nails, every step of the way, a pitch-perfect mockery of a homecoming, right down to his rage at being barked at by his favorite dog and an exquisitely chilling parody of grandfatherly affection for a young child.

Karloff's craggy, bushy-browed, mustachioed face also serves as a remarkable canvas for Bava's trademark gel lighting and dramatic zooms. Karloff delivers demonic expressions, uncannily tinged with hints of the good man Gorca used to be in life, and Bava works his directorial magic to transform them into something positively not of this world.

Karloff just had a way of being iconic, and Bava had a way of crafting searingly iconic images, and together they conjure some truly unforgettable moments. I leave you with one I find particularly haunting:

Karloff in WURDALAK from Curt Purcell on Vimeo.