The Big House (1930)
Directed by George Hill
An early example of the prison film genre, George Hill’s The Big House is bookended by a strong first act and an even better third one, but languishes in nearly forgettable mediocrity towards the middle. Wallace Beery, who was nominated for the Best Actor Oscar for his role as the hulking prisoner Butch, has a clear standout performance, especially when you consider that I had a very hard time spotting the difference between the other leads, Chester Morris and Robert Montgomery. The film’s final scene sees a damned intense prison riot (consider the time it was made), complete with tanks, doublecrosses, and a warden so bloodthirsty (Lewis Stone) that he seems to relish in the idea of killing inmates, regardless of how many of his guards are also killed in the process. At its peripherals, The Big House tells a decent story about the fine line between loyalty and savagery, but its middle stretch loses sight of the formula and brings the whole production to a crawl.
The Divorcee (1930)
Directed by Robert Z. Leonard
Norma Shearer shines in this otherwise middling pre-code melodrama about a pair of couples who marry and divorce for various reasons – including but not limited to guilt over a drunk driving disfigurement. The upcoming Hays Code would have certainly censored The Divorcee, but writers Nick Grinde, Zelda Sears (Gasp! A woman!), and John Meehan manage to sneak quite a bit of scandal and risqué behavior into a tight 84 minutes. When Jerry (Shearer) tells her cheating husband Ted (Chester Morris) that she’s “balanced the accounts” with his best friend Don (Robert Montgomery), you can almost hear future decency champions being born. The film’s rather wholesome ending brings things down a bit (I’d have liked to see Jerry become an independent, man-free woman at the end instead of caving to convention), but even that can’t spoil a reasonable time at the movies.
In the Mouth of Madness (1995)
Directed by John Carpenter
As a prodigious admirer of the writings of H.P. Lovecraft, along with the many works derived from the long-dead author’s extensive and oft-protracted prose, I must say that endorsing John Carpenter’s In the Mouth of Madness is a task I find most distasteful. Should a man such as I admire a piece of artistry simply because its parentage happens to contain greater works? No, I say – and I resent the assumption that it should. Carpenter, while often enjoyable and terrifying in equal parts, has failed to capture my imagination or hold my interest in his “tribute” to an author often considered the father of modern horror. Instead of expanding on the vast wealth of Lovecraft’s bibliography, Carpenter has turned his film into a commonplace cliché that offers neither insight into the mind of the author nor is frightening enough to be considered even a minor work of genre cinema. My advice: read a book instead.
James is a writer, skateboarder, record collector, wrestling nerd, and tabletop gamer living with his family in Asheville, North Carolina. He is a member of the Southeastern Film Critics Association, the North Carolina Film Critics Association, and contributes to The Daily Orca, Razorcake Magazine, Mountain Xpress, and Asheville Movies.