Limnophilia: Lakeside Tales of Monsters and Poets and a Little Blue Mind Theory

 

Frankenstein's Monster (Boris Karloff) plays with Little Maria (Marilyn Harris) 

Irish poet and playwright Síomón Solomon at Quilca Lake (Co. Cavan) 

I.
 

Quilca Lake is a body of freshwater located on the outskirts of Mullagh, a small town in County Cavan, Ireland. The Anglo-Irish author Jonathan Swift once stayed nearby at the home of his actor pal Thomas Sheridan, where he wrote parts of Gulliver's Travels (1726). 

 

I know this not because I have ever been to Ireland - or particularly want to go to Ireland - but because my friend, the poet and playwright Síomón Solomon, lives about eight miles down the road in the historical town of Kells, County Meath, and he recently sent me a photograph of himself standing on the edge of the lake. 

 

I like the photo: not because I care very much for lakes - as a non-swimming thalassophobe [1] I do my best to stay away from deep expanses of water - but because it reminds me of a scene in one of my favourite films - Frankenstein (dir. James Whale, 1931), about which I'll say more shortly. 

 

First, however, I'd like to say something about the psychological pull exerted by lakes and other bodies of water for people who, like my friend, identify as limnophiles [2].       

 

 

II.    

 

Popularised by marine biologist Wallace J. Nichols, the concept of blue mind theory describes how aquatic environments positively alter brain chemistry and reduce stress. 

 

In other words, research seems to indicate that if you sit by a lake, for example, and quietly reflect upon the water, the brain enters a calm and mildly meditative state and the body releases lots of feel-good hormones.

 

This might not be the case with the sea, however, as oceans can feel vast, loud, and overwhelming (sometimes triggering anxiety). A lake feels much more reassuring and offers sensory softness; the gentle lapping of small ripples on the shore provides rhythmic auditory input that calms, unlike the crashing of waves.

 

Whether we need a marine biologist whose work mostly involves the study of turtles to tell us this, I'm not sure. Anyone who has ever been fishing at their local pond or river has probably come to the conclusion that bodies of water not only provide soft fascination but improve mental wellbeing.

 

In addition, there may be an evolutionary reason for this: early humans who settled near fresh water had a much higher chance of survival, so our preference for such might not just be because being near, in, on, or under water can make us happier.  

  

 

III.

 

Leaving the world of popular psychology behind, let us return now to Frankenstein and the controversial scene by the lake involving the Creature and Little Maria - an iconic (if tragic) encounter ... [3]

 

Those who recall the scene will admire the way in which director James Whale uses the lakeside setting to create a false sense of pastoral innocence before the horror unfolds. The Creature and Maria - who is strangely unafraid of her new monstrous friend - play a gentle game of tossing flowers into the water and watching them float, much to the delight of both.

 

Unfortunately, when the Creature runs out of flowers, he picks up the child and throws her into the lake, in the expectation that she will float too. Only she doesn't. And neither does she swim to safety. She sinks like a stone beneath the surface of the water and drowns, leaving a confused and visibly distressed monster to depart the scene. 

 

 

IV. 

   

Within the fictional universe of the movie, the lake in which Maria drowns is supposed to be located close to a village in the Bavarian Alps. Actually, it was filmed at Malibou Lake, located in the Santa Monica Mountains in California.

 

Interestingly, the young actress playing seven-year-old Maria, Marilyn Harris, was in part selected for the role because she was a strong swimmer for her age.

 

Unsurprisingly, the footage of Maria being thrown into the water was deemed too shocking by censorship boards in 1931 and the scene was cut in most theatre prints of the film. It was not fully restored until the 1980s.

 

The strange thing is, when I look at the black-and-white photo of Síomón Solomon by Quilca Lake, I can't help thinking of the scene in Frankenstein with Little Maria in all its horror and cinematic beauty (though this is not to suggest for one moment that he has drowned a child in the waters, or even tossed daisies on the surface). 

  

 

Simonstein and Little Maria by the Lake 

(SA/2026)

 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Thalassophobia - from the Ancient Greek θάλασσα [thálassa] 'sea' and φόβος [phóbos] 'fear' - is an intense fear of deep bodies of water, including lakes. Though related, thalassophobia should not be confused with aquaphobia, which is classified as the fear of water itself in its essential wetness and of drowning. 

 

[2] A person who loves lakes is called a limnophile and their deep affinity for lakes, ponds, and/or other freshwater bodies is known as limnophilia. Etymologically, we again go back to the Greeks for these terms - limnē (λίμνη) is Greek for lake. 

      It might be noted that whilst limnophilia implies a strong emotional attachment to (or fondness for) bodies of standing water, any erotic component seems to be lacking; those who get their kicks from sexual activity in or under water are termed aquaphiles within the kink community.  

 

[3] This scene from Frankenstein (1931) can be watched on YouTube: click here. 

 

 

The Bats Have Left the Bell Tower: Notes on the Life and Death of Bela Lugosi

Bela Lugosi lying in his coffin at a Hollywood funeral home 

Photo by David Katzman

 

 

I. 

 

On this night in 1882, a star was born: the Hungarian-American actor Bela Lugosi, best remembered as Dracula in the 1931 horror classic of that title (dir. Tod Browning); the story of the strangest passion the world has ever known.   

 

It was a role that he had previously played on stage in a 1927 Broadway adaptation of Bram Stoker's novel and one that both defined him as an actor and limited his future opportunities; eventually giving us a comic turn as the Count in Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (dir. Charles Barton, 1948). 

 

This pretty much signalled the end of his career as a serious actor and, addicted to morphine combined with worsening alcoholism, things quickly went from bad to worse and he ended up taking roles in the films of Ed Wood, a filmmaker famously described by critics as the worst director of all time. 

 

 

II. 

 

On August 16, 1956, the news was announced that Bela Lugosi had died, peacefully in his sleep, aged 73.

 

Amusingly, he was typecast to the very end; buried wearing his Dracula costume, including the cape. This was not at his prior request, but done on the instructions of an ex-wife, Lillian, and their son, Bela Lugosi Jr., believing that the old man would've liked it (I'm not entirely sure about that). 

 

Even more amusing is the story of how, when standing by Lugosi's open coffin, Peter Lorre turned to fellow actor Vincent Price and said: 'Do you think we should drive a stake through his heart, just in case?'   

 

III.

  

To be perfectly honest, I can't say I'm a fan: Lugosi certainly had on screen presence as Dracula, but I always thought his performance lacked a little bite. In fact, he didn't even wear fangs for the film, this only becoming a cinematic convention in the 1950s; think Christopher Lee in the Hammer version of Dracula (dir. Terence Fisher, 1958). 

 

And, as a child, I was always more enthralled by other Universal monsters; Boris Karloff's Frankenstein and Lon Chaney Jr.'s Wolf Man, for example. Lugosi's Dracula seemed a little too hammy for my tastes; not that his performance was unskilled, just that it was a little too theatrical and reliant on exaggerated gestures and a heavy foreign accent. 

 

Still, it doesn't really matter what I think: Lugosi has his star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame; Andy Warhol made a 1963 silkscreen print titled 'The Kiss (Bela Lugosi)', inspired by a scene from Dracula; and Bauhaus have immortalised the actor in their classic single 'Bela Lugosi's Dead' (Small Wonder Records, 1979): click here.  

On the Politics of the Mob

The angry mob confront the Monster (played by Boris Karloff) 

in Frankenstein (dir. James Whale, 1931)

 

'Madness is something rare in individuals - but in groups, parties, peoples, 

and ages, it is the rule.' [1]

 

 

I. 

 

The term mob was a late-17th century slang abbreviation of the Latin phrase mobile vulgus, referring to an excitable and disorderly crowd of people who would often seek out a target or scapegoat on whom they could vent their fury and frustration over some matter or other.    

 

Even as a young child, long before I knew anything about mass psychology, I had an instinctive aversion to the mob. 

 

I remember, for example, watching Frankenstein for the first time and - without feeling particularly sorry for the Monster - intensely disliking the torch-bearing villagers who formed an angry mob in order to hunt him down [2].    

 

I may not have had the language at ten-years-old to articulate how I felt, but I could see there was something far more frightening - far more monstrous - about mob justice (i.e., vengeance) than about the Creature in all his otherness.     

 

 

II. 

 

And today, when I do possess the language (and know a fair bit about mass psychology), I still don't like to see any individual - whatever crimes they are accused of - being intimidated and, on occasion, torn limb from limb or burnt alive by the mob (again, this doesn't necessarily mean my sympathies lie with them). 

And that's why I cannot support any populist political movement or join in with any act of indecent bullying. As D. H. Lawrence writes, any man or woman who would affirm their own starry singularity must refuse to identify with the baying mob. It is not sentimentalism: it is just abiding by one's own feelings no matter what [3]. 

 

It's unfortunate, therefore, that today politicians on all sides seem intent on making an appeal to the masses (manipulating their concerns, their fears, their insecurities, etc.) and, on account of this intention, are compelled to "transform their principles into great al fresco stupidities" [4] and start waving flags (which, to my mind, belong in the same category as burning torches and pitchforks).  

 

To paraphrase Voltaire: As soon as the mob gets involved, then all is lost ... [5]

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, trans. R. J. Hollingdale (Penguin Books, 1990), Pt. IV, §156, p. 103.  

 

[2] The famous scene of Frankenstein's monster being chased by an angry mob of peasants (eventually being trapped and burned alive inside an old windmill) belongs to the 1931 cinematic adaptation of Mary Shelley's 1818 novel; such a scene does not occur in the book.

      To be fair to the villagers, the Creature was responsible for the drowning of a young girl, Maria, whom he throws into a lake (albeit in playful innocence rather than with murderous intent). Click here to watch the formation of the mob. And here for the terrible conclusion to mob justice (what Jean-François Lyotard terms paganism).  

 

[3] See the famous 'Nightmare' chapter of Lawrence's 1923 novel Kangaroo in which the protagonist Richard Somers refuses under any circumstances to acquiesce in the vast mob-spirit that prevailed during the years 1916-19 when, in his view - thanks to the War - so many lost their individual integrity. 

      The Cambridge edition of this work, ed. Bruce Steele, was published in 1994. The long 'Nightmare' chapter is on pp. 212-259.     

 

[4] Nietzsche, Human, All Too Human, trans. R. J. Hollingdale (Cambridge University Press, 1986), Vol. I, Pt. 8, §438, p. 161.

[5] The actual line written by Voltaire reads: Quand la populace se mêle de raisonner, tout est perdu. It can be found in his Collection des lettres sur les miracles, Vol. 60D of his Œuvres complètes, ed. Olivier Ferret and José-Michel Moureaux (Voltaire Foundation / University of Oxford, 2018). 

      The original work of this title - a 232 page volume composed of various short writings from the period - was published in 1766.   

 

Triple Distilled Horror: In Memory of Vincent Price, Christopher Lee, and Peter Cushing

Three faces of horror: 

Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, and Vincent Price 

Photo by Terry O'Neill (1983)

 

 

Today is the birthday of both Vincent Price (1911-1993) and Christopher Lee (1922-2015), two legends of the cinema; as is Peter Cushing (1913-1994), who, coincidentally, was born on the 26th of May. 

 

Interestingly, the three men were not just professional colleagues, but very close friends on and off set, as this rather touching short video in which Lee talks about Cushing and Price with obvious affection demonstrates: click here.      

 

As their acting styles and the roles they played were very distinct, it's hard to say which of them I admired most, but - like the Carry On actors - each left an indelible impression on my imagination as a child who grew up watching Hammer horror films on TV in the early 1970s.  

 

And so, I wanted to publish this short post in their memory: if it's very easy to hate many actors, it's impossible not to love these three.

 

 

Notes 

 

Whilst Vincent Price and Christopher Lee shared the screen on only three occasions - and Price and Cushing appeared in just the one film together - Lee and Cushing were cast in over twenty films with each other and their collaborations were a significant feature of their careers: a full list of these films can be found here. 

 

All three actors can be seen in Scream and Scream Again (dir. Gordon Hessler, 1970) and House of the Long Shadows (dir. Pete Walker, 1983).

      The first of these films marks the second teaming - after The Oblong Box (1969) - of actors Price and Lee with director Gordon Hessler, although the iconic stars only share a brief scene in the film's climax, whilst Cushing, unfortunately, shares no screen time with either Price or Lee in his even shorter scene (essentially just a cameo appearance). Click here to watch the trailer. 

      As for House of the Long Shadows, a murderously funny British horror-mystery, it also starred the great American character actor John Carradine, who played Dracula in the Universal horror House of Frankenstein (1944), alongside Boris Karloff and Lon Chaney Jr. Click here to watch the trailer. 

 

 

Further Reflections on a Black Cat

Gino Severini: The Black Cat (1910-11)
Oil on canvas (54.4 x 73 cm)

Edgar Allan Poe's short story The Black Cat (1843) not only influenced many other writers, but also those working within the visual arts, including, for example, the Italian Futurist Gino Severini, whose painting above was included in the first Futurist exhibition, held in Paris, in 1912. 

But perhaps the most interesting work drawing inspiration from Poe's disturbing tale of alcoholism, animal cruelty, and domestic violence, is the 1934 film, The Black Cat,* directed by Edgar G. Ulmer and starring Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi (the first of eight films to pair the gruesome twosome).

Actually, despite listing Poe's name in the credits, Peter Ruric's screenplay (based on Ulmer's scenario) has no resemblance to the narrative events of Poe's story and the film gets its real inspiration from the life of Aleister Crowley, particularly Karloff's character, Hjalmer Poelzig, a mad Austrian architect with a penchant for chess and black cats, who comes to a grisly end shackled to an embalming rack and skinned alive. 
 
Although it was a box office hit, the film didn't much impress the critics upon its original release, who mostly found it, in the words of one reviewer, more foolish than horrible.

However, Ulmer's movie is now recognised as a bizarre and stylish masterpiece; one that unfolds with the crazy logic of a nightmare and brilliantly develops the psychological horror genre with its creepy atmosphere, sinister soundtrack and an emphasis on the darker (more perverse) elements of the human psyche; including the propensity for incest, sacrifice, necrophilia, and devil worship.

Click here for the trailer

Notes

* Not to be confused with the 1941 film also entitled The Black Cat, dir. Albert S. Rogell and starring Basil Rathbone, which also claims to have been inspired by Poe's short story and also features Lugosi in a cameo role.  

Readers might be interested in a sister post to this one, Reflections on a Black Cat (In Memory of Pluto): click here. 

This post is for Anna, the Italian dental nurse.