THE FACE AT THE WINDOW (1939)
Stand clear; I'm about to use the word "unsung" several times in successive order. You know how I get with key words. I'm bound to pull a muscle one of these days trying to wield a particularly pernicious verb or an acrimonious adjective. In any event, this unsung melodrama stars unsung scream king Tod Slaughter as a lecherous booster of sorts. He offers to deposit a lump sum of gold into a struggling bank with one startling caveat - he wishes to bed the branch manager's daughter. That would be stressful enough, but there is also a serial killer dispatching innocent civilians, seemingly at random. Is there any connective tissue between this rash of murders and Slaughter's brazen courting of a naïve ingenue? More to the point, if Helmet released "Unsung" to radio today, would it become a hit? Yes and no.
I wasn't familiar with Face, but it's easy to see how a Victorian suspense piece could fall through the cracks in an era replete with major studio horror hallmarks. It's not exactly top-lined by name actors, and I'm led to believe that it was a low-budget production. Even so, it held my interest for a solid hour. There is no dip in quality beyond that point; the film only runs for 65 minutes. Technically, it counts as a monster romp, as our heavy is hypothesized to be a werewolf. I mean, he isn't, but still. Slaughter chews the scenery as the iniquitous Chevalier Lucio del Gardo. He is definitely the best thing about The Face at the Window. I enjoyed the twisty storyline, the shadowy sets, and Page Hamilton's riffs. Seriously, I can't believe that "Unsung" became a staple in spite of a fickle mainstream audience. Go figure.
Robert Z'Dar says, "Tell Dom to grow up. It's not the 90's anymore." Dom says, "Ouch, Robert. Ouch."
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