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"The magic business," cinema by any other name, wonderment or fraud? Boxed lady and Gatling gun comprise the introductory feint, the conjuror (Robert Young) orchestrates the mise en scène like any good illusionist. "Shoot a woman in half? You do sell miracles, Mr. Morgan!" A little whodunit gives a tour of the netherworld, a demonologist (Frederick Worlock) found dead on a pentagram surrounded by black candles. The blonde on the run (Florence Rice) figures in the mystery, so do entranced mentalist (Gloria Holden) and affable escape artist (Henry Hull) and jealous telepathy expert (Lee Bowman). Disguises, trap doors and locked rooms drive the police inspector (Cliff Clark) up the wall: "Oh, why can't I get a nice, clean axe murder in the Bronx?" Tod Browning's last word on the tricks of the trade, the artiste suspended between "hanky panky and sidearm snookery," as Welles would have it, and the profound yearning for "the dark room we call the beyond." Disappearing acts to fluster waiters, haunted typewriters to misdirect authorities. "Death from the other world," murmurs the lofty clairvoyant made to shriek at her own invocation in the middle of a séance. A swift and vivaciously suggestive concoction, served up like astringent screwball. Explanation of the Siberian Dungeon Principle, running commentary from the hero's father (Frank Craven) on New York, "the only town I've been in that you can learn to hate in one day." Fake blood and contact lenses for the reveal, "well, I was a little confused before, but now that you've explained it I'm bewildered." Browning closes on a wink, and leaves the darkness behind the curtain for Nolan (The Prestige). With Astrid Allwyn, Walter Kingsford, William Demarest, and Harold Minjir. In black and white.
--- Fernando F. Croce |