The Skelton In The Celluloid Closet

 Gilbert Gottfried appeared on the mighty Svengoolie a couple of times before his passing. During one of his visits, Sven asked Gilbert if he had a favorite Universal Monster, to which Gilbert replied, "Yes, Skelton Knaggs." It probably flew right over the heads of 90% of the viewing audience, but I knew that that little quip was dropped specifically for folks like myself.

Skelton Knaggs as Finn The Mute in The Ghost Ship, 1943; directed by
Mark Robson and produced by Val Lewton.

I watch a lot of movies. And while I watch a lot of all kinds of different films, I have a certain affinity for older American genre films from the 1930s through the mid-1960s. While not always the case, these pictures are by and large B-pictures, made quick and cheap to pad out double bills or to be distributed with other similar films made by the same studio to be sold as packages to drive-ins and movie houses. These pictures not only helped studios make money to help bankroll bigger productions (in the case of studios like Universal), but gave competent actors who perhaps struggled to find a way into the very cliquish Hollywood studio system, a place to actually find work. 

In turn these pictures allowed a number of quirky so-called character actors to rise to a certain prominence by regularly appearing in them and building a cult following. It was good for the actors and the studios, because it assured the former the likelihood of steady work, and the latter could put a Lionel Atwill or a George Zucco or a Tod Slaughter in a low budget horror or murder-mystery, and bank on the notion that name recognition alone would draw some people to the theater, regardless of how bad the thing turned out to be.

Skelton Knaggs (R) as X-ray in the film Dick Tracy Meets
Gruesome (1947). Pictured with Boris Karloff (L) and Ralph Byrd (C).

Sadly, not everyone who toiled in bit parts as creeps, killers or the second cowboy from the right, was able to find that kind of footing in the industry. One of those largely forgotten background faces belongs to one of my personal favorite supporting stars–Skelton Knaggs. 

Knaggs as Rudolph in Dick Tracy Vs Cueball (1946).

I'm not sure when I first saw Skelton Knaggs on the screen, I imagine it had to be in Universal's House Of Dracula (1945), because I was religiously devoted to the Universal Monster pictures as a kid, and endlessly watched and re-watched them whenever they appeared on AMC in the 1980s and '90s. At that time all eyes were on the titular creatures, so I doubt the nebbish, soft-voiced little villager named Steinmuhl really even registered when the Wolf Man and Frankenstein's Monster were romping around. I think the first time I really took note was in college, when I was on a Val Lewton kick. A number of his productions were being released on DVD as double features in the early 2000s, and the campus library had a number of them in stock. I knew who Lewton was at that point, had seen Cat People and The Body Snatcher, because both ran semi-regularly on AMC's Saturday afternoon creature feature programming in the early 1990s, but when I sat down with the 1943 feature The Ghost Ship, I had no idea what I was in for. What I found was a steadfast fixation with an odd performance by an actor that, as far as I knew at the time, appeared out of the fog for this film, and folded back into it when he was done, never to be seen again. And I was well entrenched in the Sinister Cinema and Something Weird video catalogs at this point!

Who the heck was this pockmarked little gnome of a man with a sinister leer and an oddly cool voice that fell somewhere between Peter Lorre and Sterling Holloway?

Knaggs as Steinmuhl in House Of Dracula (1945).

For context, this was around 2005; the Internet was definitely a household tool at this point, but still in relatively nascent stages compared to what it is today. IMDb was woefully incomplete, and movie chat groups seemed to be more abuzz over the announced potential for a Wolfgang Peterson Batman/Superman movie than minutia about long forgotten character actors from the golden age of Hollywood. Fortunately time and persistence occasionally pay off in the form of enlightenment, even in the case of this somewhat trivial matter.

Skelton Barnaby Knaggs was born on June 27, 1911 in Hillsborough, Sheffield, England. Apparently his family emigrated to the Canada in 1923, then on to the States in 1927, settling in New York. Skelton returned to London to study at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts, apparently some time in the 1930s, because he starts to appear in bit parts in British films in 1936, starting with an uncredited role in the thriller Everything Is Thunder. He continues to pop up in small parts, including with the previously mentioned Lionell Atwill (The High Command, 1938), in British features until 1939's Torture Ship, Knagg's first American film work. Between studying at RADA and taking mostly uncredited parts in movies, Knaggs appeared on stage, television, and allegedly on radio dramas. Skelton appeared in a comedy titled "Climbing" at the Embassy Theatre in Camden in January of 1937. There is a blurb in the October 15, 1937 issue of the British publication The Radio Times (p. 18), which lists Skelton as appearing in a television program called "The Happy Journey To Trenton And Camden" (below).

There is also note in the May 7th, 1937 issue of the The Wireless Radio World publication, that boasts Skelton Knaggs as one of a handful of new talent tapped for work on upcoming BBC radio dramas (below). I could not find any evidence of any existing radio programs that Skelton was featured in, but if anyone out there knows of any, please let me know. I'd love to hear them.

Based on the obituaries for both Skelton's father Harry, and brother Harry Cecil, we know the Knaggs family relocated to the Los Angeles area in 1940, perhaps fueled by Skelton going to Hollywood and getting work there. It appears he was still somewhat active on the stage between film gigs, as he appeared in the Henry Miller Theater's production of "Heart Of A City" in 1942, and James Whale's production of "Hand In Glove" in 1944 (both in New York City). Sadly, his luck in the American film scene didn't garner much better status than his British work, as nearly all of the roles he would get over the next decade and a half, ending with his death in 1955, were uncredited bit parts, usually as a cab driver, random villager or pub extra. 

The aforementioned The Ghost Ship is a standout performance, nuanced and empathetic. Shamefully, despite being the narrator of the film, the proverbial Greek Chorus that not only gives insight into what is happening between the lines of the script, but expounds on his own musings which, as a mute, he isn't able to voice aloud. Yeah, the movie is narrated by an internal monologue provided by a guy who cannot speak! That's bonkers! But it works! And he's not even credited on the poster! Even worse, a lawsuit over the screenplay effectively got the film pulled from theaters directly after it was released, and kept it out of the public eye for half a century, so audiences weren't really able to see Knagg's potential break out performance.

“There the sense of being constrained, of being unimportant—of having to strum up a hyperbole of gargoylish effects all in an instant that some- how still comport with the idea of ‘soul,’ of having to lay down intimations of depth across the flat signatures of sudden triviality—makes it Knagg’s most poignant and socially meaningful moment as a screen actor.” - Alexander Nemerov review of The Ghost Ship

 Had there been no lawsuit, would Skelton Knaggs now be a household name? Would a heavily stylized caricature of Skelton Knaggs pop up in those Hollywood-lampooning Merry Melodies shorts? Probably not on the latter, because The Ghost Ship's ill fated release wasn't until two years after "Hollywood Steps Out" premiered in 1941. Even though the film was shelved, studios and directors had to have seen it, or known about Knaggs's performance. How the hell did that not get him more offers or at least some clout in Hollywood?

Knaggs featured in the playbill for James Whale's 
"Hand In Glove" 1944.

Write up of Knaggs in playbill for "Hand In Glove".

Playbill credit for "Heart Of A City," 1942.

Bio for Knaggs in playbill for "Heart Of A City" 1942.

Skelton Knaggs returned to England one time, as far as I can tell, during his Hollywood years. In 1949 he returned to the UK to marry his wife Thelma, before bringing her back to California. Knaggs died from cirrhosis of the liver on April 30, 1955; he was only 43 years old. He was buried in the Hollywood Forever Cemetery. While we have the documented birth and death dates, and obviously the existing footage of his film work, Skelton Knaggs remains very much a mystery. What was the impetus behind the alcoholism that ultimately took his life? What was he actually like as a person, outside of the creeps and cowards he predominantly played in the blink-and-miss bit parts in low budget horror and crime pictures?

Perhaps we'll never know. I was unable to find any anecdotal information about the actor at all. I did find this nicely produced video biography which incorporates a lot more info on his family than I did with this post. When an actor is gone, their existing work becomes their legacy. In that regard, I highly recommend checking out The Ghost Ship (click link to be directed to streaming movie), the two Dick Tracy films Dick Tracy Vs. Cueball and  Dick Tracy Meets Gruesome. Despite not making the poster or credited with a leading role, Skelton is front and center for the whole picture, and even winds up being the hero of the film. While the Dick Tracy adaptations are quick, short matinee fluff, they give him some great slimy characters to work with.

Even Knaggs's grave marker is small and unassuming.

Will The Real Dr. Beecher Please Stand Up?

Another blast in Minnesota's perpetual snowstorm cycle kept me indoors yesterday, so I set myself up in front of the television with a 50s b-movie double feature. I suppose the folks over at MGM already knew when assembling the Midnite Movies double-feature disc of The Vampire (1957) and The Return Of Dracula (1958), what I stumbled upon watching it, thus rendering this whole article pointless and meandering in its minutiae breakdown, but that's what I do; so here we go.

The art of recycling isn't anything new in the world of entertainment. The Mayberry set from "The Andy Griffith Show" has been famously repurposed a number of times for "Star Trek", from "The Adventures of Superman", and so on. There's more info in this MeTV article. When you watch enough television from the same era, or movies produced by the same studios, especially low budget ones, you begin to notice familiar landmarks and objects popping up over and over again. For example the computers in Adam West's Bat Cave doubling as the sonar equipment in The Seaview on "Voyage To The Bottom Of The Sea" or as miscellaneous set dressing in "Lost In Space".

There was one small split-second shot in The Return Of Dracula that caused me to pause and consider if the two films had more in common than just shared space on a DVD. This shot below, of an establishing shot of a doctor's shingle near the forty-five minute mark.

Actor Robert Lynn plays a minor, uncredited character in the film named Dr. Paul Beecher. Now I wasn't as familiar with The Return Of Dracula as I was with the second feature, having seen The Vampire a number of times (it's kind of a favorite of mine). I hadn't seen The Return Of Dracula in probably ten years. But the shot piqued my interest, because I knew that John Beal, the principal actor and titular monster in The Vampire, played a doctor named Paul Beecher. Sure enough, as you can see below, we see Coleen Gray (Paul's nurse Carol Butler) walking past the exact same sign, in front of the exact same house!

Well, I hadn't even bothered to note the opening credits of the films, but sure enough, both were produced for Gramercy Pictures and distributed by Universal. Both films were directed by Paul Landres, who did a number of low budget genre pictures and directed quite a few episodes of television shows like "Flipper" and "77 Sunset Strip". Both pictures were produced by Arthur Gardner and Jules V. Levy of the Gardner-Lavin-Levy production team that produced genre pictures for Gramercy in the 1950s, as well as television shows like "The Rifleman", "The Big Valley" and "The A-Team". Both pictures were written by Pat Fielder, a screenwriter-for-hire who wrote dozens of television show episodes and four Gardner-Lavin-Levy produced Gramercy pictures: The Vampire (1957), The Monster Who Challenged The World (1957), The Return Of Dracula (1958) and The Fire Barrier (1958).

The Return Of Dracula came out a scant ten months after The Vampire, so Gramercy undoubtedly scrambled to pad out a feature fraught with time and financial constraints, as the pictures were reportedly received rather poorly and made poor box office returns. It's likely that Gardner and Levy were cranking out these little noir-horror thrillers to see if one would stick and recoup the losses from the previous one(s).  

Both films also feature great music by (and in the case of The Return Of Dracula, is improved by) Gerald Fried. If you haven't seen either film and you're a fan of 1950s b horror and science-fiction pictures, I definitely urge you check out The Vampire. It's similar in tone to the Sam Katzman-produced The Werewolf from the year before, mixing mid-century science-fiction elements in to explain the origin of the film's creature. This vampire in question's transformation is brought on by pill addiction and a reversal of the character to primitive instincts (similar to Arthur Franz in 1958's Monster On The Campus ) rather than needing sustenance to bring life to an undead body.

Trailer for The Vampire starring John Beal, Coleen Gray 

and Dabbs Greer

The Return Of Dracula, on the other hand, has all the thrills and suspense of a lackluster episode of NBC's Boris Karloff-hosted "Thriller". There isn't much there beyond Fried's score until you reach the end. Similar to the famous bathtub scene in William Castle's The Tingler, which came out the following year, we get a color insert used for the staking scene, which the trailer has the audacity to show, but in black-and-white!

Trailer for The Return Of Dracula starring Francis Lederer 

and Norma Eberhardt 

Color insert shot of staking scene, jolting enough to be effective

and probably the only really interesting thing about the film. 

Shocktober Silver Screams Day 2: The Brain From Planet Arous

I went with a decidedly more comic book art approach for Day Two's material, since 1957's The Brain From Planet Arous is kind of the penultimate schlock fest that people either knowingly or unwittingly spoof and reference when they're poking fun and cracking wise about "bad" movies from the 1950s. 

The film is a thick slab of atomic age cheese, but a helluva fun watch. John Agar, prince of the B's, plays a nuclear scientist who becomes possessed by a cosmic brain from the planet Arous. Gor, the brain in question, has a taste for world domination, and, after being introduced to Earth women vis a vis Agar's fiancee Sally (Joyce Meadows), becomes a big ol' floating mass of prurient interests. Of course another, kindlier brain is trying to stop Gor; his name is Vol, and he hides himself in Agar's fiancee's dog.

A lobby card featuring John Agar with his "possessed" foil-lined contacts,
the very same used by Gary Lockwood on the Star Trek episode "Where No
Man Has Gone Before."

The film was directed by Nathan H. Juran, a Jewish Romanian filmmaker whose family emigrated to the USA and settled in Minneapolis, where Juran studied architecture. He did eventually set up his own architecture office in Massachusetts, but the Great Depression forced him to try his hand at freelance illustration due to the construction freeze. He found work as an art director in Los Angeles and was nominated for Academy Awards for his work on John Ford's How Green Was My Valley (1942) and the 1946 film The Razor's Edge. He did win the award for How Green Was My Valley, but eventually moved out of the art department and into the director's chair for some Audie Murphy westerns and, eventually, landing a deal at Universal, directed some of the classics of 1950s b-cinema; most notably The Deadly Mantis, Attack Of The 50 Foot Woman, The 7th Voyage of Sinbad and 20 Million Miles To Earth (both with Ray Harryhausen!). 

Apparently Juran wasn't too thrilled with his horny world-enslaving brain picture, because he changed his name in the credits to Nathan Hertz. The film received more jeers than cheers, but found a new life in the fallout as a cult classic. You can see a neat press package from Howco International films at the great Zombo's Closet website.