Bluebeard (1944), set in Paris, has horrid musical accompaniment, a jarring mismatch of delicate French accents mixed with broad American Midwestern accents, and a wretched visual presentation due to the age of the film. Sometimes the audio reels drunkenly as the film wandered a little off-kilter through the projector. And the monologue at the end is, perhaps, more detailed than I strictly needed.
And we enjoyed it.
This is a John Carradine vehicle, and while today we may view him as one of the creepy patriarchs of horror films, he was a Shakespearean trained actor, and it shows in this film, as he takes his time in his role and develops a real, ultimately creepy character; the supporting cast, of whom I’ve never heard, were also nearly as good.
But it is Carradine, so this is a horror movie. Bluebeard is the name applied to a mysterious murderer, killing young women and throwing them in the Seine for the police to find. Carradine plays a puppeteer with a sideline as a painter; presently we learn that he painted a portrait of a woman, mad with fever, under his care, and the painting has won a major prize. But for the moment, he’s looking for a tailor to clothe his newest generation of puppets.
Unlike many of these old horror movies, there are motivations and subplots unexpected. The sûreté find that clues are sparse, but they are merely a paintbrush away from the killer, yet one little stitch could give the game away, both in the story and this review. A dealer is bilking the painter; the painter no longer wishes to paint in any case, but the lure of independence beckons; what can it all mean?
And the opera singing by the marionettes – my Arts Editor muttered, “They’re virtuosos!”
Perhaps not quite Recommended, but definitely worth your time if you’re inclined towards Carradine, horror, or just old films.
