Hooptober... And Then There Were Nine

60th Kill

Throughout my life, as much as I love the classic horror stories, I never really had myself pegged as a Jekyll and Hyde fan in particular. But the more film adaptations I watch, the more I realise how fascinating this material is. And there are so many great films. To date, my favourites have been the more subversive riffs on the idea, like Hammer's brilliant gender-bending version, Dr Jekyll and Sister Hyde and Walerian Borowczyk's biliously hallucinogenic trashterpiece, The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Miss Osbourne. But this original 1920 adaptation by John S Robertson, starring John Barrymore, might just be the definitive work.

For a start, this is the deepest bit of character treatment I have seen for Jekyll himself. He's usually something of a cipher. A two-dimensional Victorian gentleman surrounded by pseudo-scientific gobbledigook. We'll usually get scenes where blokes with muttonchops stand around in drawing rooms and say (imagine fruity English accents) "I say, Sir John, it seems as though Jekyll has really outdone himself with that research on [nonsensical bullshit that means nothing] - one wonders if he's about to crack to the elixir of life... ah, there you are, Jekyll..." But here, Jekyll's scientific ability is deftly established before the film focuses more on his extreme virtue of the soul. And the interplay between characters shows that virtue to be a little unusual, almost a cause for his own social ostracism. He's too different from normal people, and it's this dawning self perception that leads him to experiment with the formula in the first place. This Jekyll is very deliberate in his descent into amorality - it's not an accident; he does it on purpose, to free himself from his own moral superiority.

But it's John Barrymore's performance that really knocked my socks off. As a kid, I had always seen Hyde as a genuine monster - that's how he used to be in cartoon representations: the man drinks the formula and he turns into a literal monster. It wasn't until I read Robert Louis Stevenson's book that I realised Hyde is nothing but a man - just a totally amoral one. So, although he remains a man in this version, I think it's Barrymore's astounding physical transformation - achieved largely through performance but credit must go to make-up and costume as well - that started the whole trope of Hyde being a physical monster. He is creepy as fuck in this movie, and the film doesn't hold back on the horror that he inflicts on other people. It's genuinely disturbing stuff.

This film is 82 years old and although the film print is pretty beat up around the edges, it's lost none of its power as a narrative work. I was surprised at just how riveting and dramatic and horrifying this film still manages to be. Fantastic.

Best Kill (may contain traces of spoiler)

Hyde, in the depths of his decay, finally attacks Jekyll’s father-in-law-to-be, George Carew - savagely beating him to death with his club-like walking stick. He finishes him off by seemingly biting him in the throat. It made me think how closely related in theme this story is to the archetypal werewolf narrative - the civilised man overcome with his native savagery. Tell me this image - Hyde right after he commits the murder - doesn't give you the chills!