Bats Aren't Bugs
The Bat (1959)
directed by Crane Wilbur
rating: 2 out of 5 cravats
on DVD from Netflix
Part of me thinks I might have queued up this 1959 adaptation by mistake, since those cranky completists at IMDb seem to prefer the 1926 silent film for atmosphere. They’re probably right, but let me offer a defense of director Crane Wilbur that doesn’t mention either Vincent Price or Agnes Moorhead, the film’s two stars. “The Bat” was a play that even Elizabeth’s grandmother remembers; apparently the effect of seeing a pair of clawed hands emerge from a bookshelf was considerable. But it’s a bizarre play that demands a quick wit in order to keep the action moving. *
Otherwise, one might get bogged down in the bank robbery and violent homicide that begin the film but don’t necessarily have much to do with the central mystery, which is the identity of a serial killer at large in a rural community. Two of the pairings – the writer and her personal maid, the bank president and his personal physician – suggest homosexual relationships. Moorhead certainly shows more skin than you expect her to, and why else would the president confess his crime to the doctor (or the doctor shoot the president) if not to engage in some Rope-like bout of sexual/psychological brinksmanship?
The Bat cares not for such prologue or character detail. Murder is his game. I’m not much for mysteries in the Ten Little Indians/Clue vein, as they tend to rely on British humor and British class conflict. There is nothing supernatural here, but everyone stays on her toes, playing smart and not letting shadows get the best of her. A sense of claustrophobia sets in, and at its best moments, The Bat is able to convey the childhood fear that something is right outside the door, or at the foot of the bed. So long as the sheets stay up around one’s head, one is safe until a parent walks in, or until morning – a long time from now.
* Incidentally, it's funny that the lone physical attribute of The Bat's costume, aside from a fedora, a black suit, and mask, is a set of claws.
directed by Crane Wilbur
rating: 2 out of 5 cravats
on DVD from Netflix
Part of me thinks I might have queued up this 1959 adaptation by mistake, since those cranky completists at IMDb seem to prefer the 1926 silent film for atmosphere. They’re probably right, but let me offer a defense of director Crane Wilbur that doesn’t mention either Vincent Price or Agnes Moorhead, the film’s two stars. “The Bat” was a play that even Elizabeth’s grandmother remembers; apparently the effect of seeing a pair of clawed hands emerge from a bookshelf was considerable. But it’s a bizarre play that demands a quick wit in order to keep the action moving. *
Otherwise, one might get bogged down in the bank robbery and violent homicide that begin the film but don’t necessarily have much to do with the central mystery, which is the identity of a serial killer at large in a rural community. Two of the pairings – the writer and her personal maid, the bank president and his personal physician – suggest homosexual relationships. Moorhead certainly shows more skin than you expect her to, and why else would the president confess his crime to the doctor (or the doctor shoot the president) if not to engage in some Rope-like bout of sexual/psychological brinksmanship?
The Bat cares not for such prologue or character detail. Murder is his game. I’m not much for mysteries in the Ten Little Indians/Clue vein, as they tend to rely on British humor and British class conflict. There is nothing supernatural here, but everyone stays on her toes, playing smart and not letting shadows get the best of her. A sense of claustrophobia sets in, and at its best moments, The Bat is able to convey the childhood fear that something is right outside the door, or at the foot of the bed. So long as the sheets stay up around one’s head, one is safe until a parent walks in, or until morning – a long time from now.
* Incidentally, it's funny that the lone physical attribute of The Bat's costume, aside from a fedora, a black suit, and mask, is a set of claws.
posted by NPK at 12:01 AM
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