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685 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1990


One night in Hollywood during Yuletide of 1932, as Carroll remembered, Bela lost his cavalier cool: We were walking along Hollywood Boulevard, and in those days, the celebration for Christmas meant that every streetlight was decorated with a circle of lights and tinsel, with a star’s picture inside ... Lugosi looked up—and there, in a circle of lights, was a picture of Boris Karloff. And I’ll never forget Lugosi, looking up at that picture of Karloff, glaring at it, taking his cigar from his mouth. I’ll never forget the look on his face. And I’ll never forget the sound he made.... “Grrr ... arrgh!”
In January of 1956, seven months before he died, Bela went to see a revival of The Black Cat in Los Angeles with [his wife] Hope and some of his teenage boy admirers, and couldn’t contain his joy when he watched his own entrance. “Lugosi screams out,” remembered Hope, “so everybody can turn around and see who he is—‘OH, WHAT A HANDSOME BASTARD I WAS!’”
Bela himself later candidly spoke of his last weeks with Lillian and the aftermath: She gave me the shots [of morphine, to which he was addicted]. And she weaned me. Finally, I got only the bare needle. A fake shot, that’s all. I was done with it. Then she left me. She took our son. He was my flesh. I went back on the drugs. My heart was broken.
No work. Loneliness. Anguish over his lost Lillian. Reportedly few visits from Bela Jr. Vampira, who had worked with Bela on The Red Skelton Show, remembered Bela crying because he hadn’t received a card from Bela Jr. on Mother’s Day. That it wasn’t Father’s Day didn’t seem to assuage him. Alcohol. Narcotics. Bela Lugosi’s Hollywood career had become a classical tragedy.
Only a few nights before his death and less than a week before being buried in his Dracula cape, Bela Lugosi—purged of drug addiction, cursed by alcohol, cruelly humbled as few stars before or since—awakens in his Hollywood apartment in the middle of the night. His fifth wife, a 37-year-old blonde fan who had married him a year before and whom he plans (unbeknownst to her) to divorce, wakes up to find her twice-her-age spouse upset, lost, confused. He had been drinking heavily that night. “Karloff!” he tells her in his delirium, preparing to spruce up and dress. “Karloff! He’s in the living room!” In Lugosi’s tormented mind, the Monster he’d created had come to pay a midnight call. Few people ever experienced Karloff-inspired nightmares as did Bela Lugosi.
Lugosi will probably continue to rate more devotion, based on his iconic personality, his aura of Hollywood tragedy, sympathy for the underdog, and—certainly—his formidable talent. If Karloff has the edge in the best films, Lugosi continues to be more watchable in his worst; the Bela bottom-of-the-barrels are always more fun than Boris’s own turkeys.
Shortly after Karloff’s death, Christopher Lee—not an effusive man—wrote a letter that might have served as Karloff’s eulogy: Boris Karloff will truly never die. The impact that he made on the history of the cinema will last as long as films are made.... He had a tremendous sincerity and belief in what he was doing in front of the camera—he was a magnificently gifted actor with a very great range of emotions at his command. He was never cynical, never bitter and always grateful for every opportunity that came his way.... The two things that most impressed me about him as a person were his gentleness and his sense of humor.... Boris Karloff’s manners were impeccable and he was a man of very considerable moral and physical strength.... When one considers that for the last years of his life he was in constant pain from severe arthritis and could hardly walk, and could hardly breathe properly, due to the deterioration of the lungs, it never ceases to be amazing that this man could summon up the indomitable courage to make light of it all and continue working so willingly as he did….
Over the years, thousands of children wrote, expressing compassion for the great, weird creature who was so abused by its sadistic keeper that it could only respond to violence with violence. These children saw beyond the makeup and really understood.
—Boris Karloff
The true charm of Son of Frankenstein, its most classic feature, is that Karloff’s Monster, long separated from the holy Hermit of Bride of Frankenstein, has found in Bela Lugosi’s evil Ygor an almost perfect friend. True, Ygor cruelly uses the Monster for vengeance, yet they exist in the same fantastic, fairy tale realm: both horrific to the eye, both despised, both bitter, and—most of all—both children. With his merry eyes, gallows humor and that Hungarian baby talk (“ I scare him to death! I don’t have to kill him to death!”), scruffy old Ygor is an ideal companion for the lonely, unhappy, forlorn Monster who loves him. And this makes the most powerful scene of Son of Frankenstein, the Monster howling over Ygor’s dead body, all the more emotional—and heartbreaking.
There’s a superb gallows humor, and a fascinating fire of self-hatred in Karloff’s Body Snatcher, that boils in his final taunt to MacFarlane. It’s all there—Karloff is the Hyde to MacFarlane’s Jekyll, with dabs of Poe and Lovecraftian evil that make his classic, climactic apparition all the more horrific.
Bela Lugosi, after a false start of shooting in late 1954, was portraying Dr. Eric Vornoff in Edward D. Wood’s Bride of the Monster, his final starring role. For many, this is Bela’s finest hour. Frighteningly gaunt and drawn, he mixes his familiar flamboyance with a very profound bitterness that is almost painful to watch. An Ed Wood revamp of Alex Gordon’s The Atomic Monster (Gordon received no credit), the film has long been one of the darlings of the “Worst Films” crowd, with its rubber octopus whose limp tentacles the victims must pull around themselves, its feeble supporting cast (e.g., heroine Loretta King, who landed the female lead after investing money in the film, and hero Tony McCoy, whose father had taken over the financing) and the hulking, bald-domed presence of the “Super Swedish Angel,” Tor Johnson, as Bela’s servant Lobo.