Midnight much further.
Rather than applying the dark circles around the eyes that had become the stereotype for movie monstrosities, he had encircled them with orbits of bone, creating an effect of eyes staring from the empty sockets of a decomposed corpse. Beyond the mesmeric pull of the stare was a bloodless face, whose furrows and wrinkles had been darkened into an expression of jaded contempt. The thin black lips formed into a sardonic smile. They parted to reveal a set of teeth that, in such a hideous decaying face, were jarring in their perfection. He held this grin while the camera pulled back to reveal his hands, folded across his chest in the manner of a corpse.
Like Nosferatu, he had made the fingers long. But unlike Nosferatu’s rotting clawlike fingernails, Chaney’s were polished black and perfectly manicured into long points. Still grinning, he drummed his fingertips playfully against his chest to showcase the fingers, then lifted a hand and pointed toward his mouth.
Two fangs suddenly popped down—curved white needles like the fangs of a snake. He moved his finger to point directly at the camera.
“You, who try to steal what is left of my soul with your magic box. Come here.”
He beckoned with the finger.
The camera began shakily advancing. It stopped and steadied several feet short of Chaney and waited. “Leave your magic box behind,” he said. “I have an earth box that will give you a much more satisfying immortality than your little picture show. Come.” He beckoned again.
The camera jiggled slightly but kept running from the same spot. Seconds later the cameraman came into the shot, facing Chaney, back to the camera.
“Ah,” Chaney said to the figure, who was dressed in a cape. “I see you are already one of us. Good. A cameraman who can help me steal the souls of the living. Show the audience the eyes through which they will watch our race take over.”
The cameraman moved to stand beside Chaney, then spun around.
He was the sawtoothed vampire from London After Midnight .
Chaney put an arm around the man’s shoulders, then beckoned for the camera to come closer. It moved in until the two hideous faces filled the screen like masks from the Grand Guignol. The camera held on that disturbing image for several seconds, then inched ever closer until only their hypnotic eyes filled the screen. An iris fade-out began, stopping to hold on the demonic stares. In a blink the iris closed, the screen went black, and the evil cello note burst from the speakers. An instant later the final title came on:
The Beginning
Markov brought up the house lights and waited.
“Brilliant,” Quinn said. “Much creepier than Nosferatu. I think it’s the best makeup Chaney ever did. Scarier than his Phantom of the Opera, and that’s saying something. The scene where the Phantom was unveiled is one of the scariest moments in film history.”
“I know. I was at the premiere. You could hear thumping throughout the theater as kids flung themselves to the floor. Some people even fled the theater.”
A thrill coursed through Quinn. Markov’s statement reminded him that he was talking to the only living eyewitness to many of the pivotal moments in the history of horror cinema.
“Chaney’s Dracula would have been groundbreaking,” Quinn said. “The camera work was very sophisticated. Especially that lightning fast camera movement into a close-up of Chaney’s face.”
Pride brightened Markov’s somber visage. “I was the cameraman. Until the last moment when Tod took over so I could get into the shot.”
“That was you?”
“Yes. As I said, I was often Lon’s stand-in.”
“Very effective. In fact, the whole film was doing things that would have been groundbreaking. Sound, of course. Using those sudden musical notes to heighten the shocks. The dialogue was impressive as well. Very sophisticated. Chaney was a good writer. Those had to be the first words he ever spoke on-screen.”
“They
Rather than applying the dark circles around the eyes that had become the stereotype for movie monstrosities, he had encircled them with orbits of bone, creating an effect of eyes staring from the empty sockets of a decomposed corpse. Beyond the mesmeric pull of the stare was a bloodless face, whose furrows and wrinkles had been darkened into an expression of jaded contempt. The thin black lips formed into a sardonic smile. They parted to reveal a set of teeth that, in such a hideous decaying face, were jarring in their perfection. He held this grin while the camera pulled back to reveal his hands, folded across his chest in the manner of a corpse.
Like Nosferatu, he had made the fingers long. But unlike Nosferatu’s rotting clawlike fingernails, Chaney’s were polished black and perfectly manicured into long points. Still grinning, he drummed his fingertips playfully against his chest to showcase the fingers, then lifted a hand and pointed toward his mouth.
Two fangs suddenly popped down—curved white needles like the fangs of a snake. He moved his finger to point directly at the camera.
“You, who try to steal what is left of my soul with your magic box. Come here.”
He beckoned with the finger.
The camera began shakily advancing. It stopped and steadied several feet short of Chaney and waited. “Leave your magic box behind,” he said. “I have an earth box that will give you a much more satisfying immortality than your little picture show. Come.” He beckoned again.
The camera jiggled slightly but kept running from the same spot. Seconds later the cameraman came into the shot, facing Chaney, back to the camera.
“Ah,” Chaney said to the figure, who was dressed in a cape. “I see you are already one of us. Good. A cameraman who can help me steal the souls of the living. Show the audience the eyes through which they will watch our race take over.”
The cameraman moved to stand beside Chaney, then spun around.
He was the sawtoothed vampire from London After Midnight .
Chaney put an arm around the man’s shoulders, then beckoned for the camera to come closer. It moved in until the two hideous faces filled the screen like masks from the Grand Guignol. The camera held on that disturbing image for several seconds, then inched ever closer until only their hypnotic eyes filled the screen. An iris fade-out began, stopping to hold on the demonic stares. In a blink the iris closed, the screen went black, and the evil cello note burst from the speakers. An instant later the final title came on:
The Beginning
Markov brought up the house lights and waited.
“Brilliant,” Quinn said. “Much creepier than Nosferatu. I think it’s the best makeup Chaney ever did. Scarier than his Phantom of the Opera, and that’s saying something. The scene where the Phantom was unveiled is one of the scariest moments in film history.”
“I know. I was at the premiere. You could hear thumping throughout the theater as kids flung themselves to the floor. Some people even fled the theater.”
A thrill coursed through Quinn. Markov’s statement reminded him that he was talking to the only living eyewitness to many of the pivotal moments in the history of horror cinema.
“Chaney’s Dracula would have been groundbreaking,” Quinn said. “The camera work was very sophisticated. Especially that lightning fast camera movement into a close-up of Chaney’s face.”
Pride brightened Markov’s somber visage. “I was the cameraman. Until the last moment when Tod took over so I could get into the shot.”
“That was you?”
“Yes. As I said, I was often Lon’s stand-in.”
“Very effective. In fact, the whole film was doing things that would have been groundbreaking. Sound, of course. Using those sudden musical notes to heighten the shocks. The dialogue was impressive as well. Very sophisticated. Chaney was a good writer. Those had to be the first words he ever spoke on-screen.”
“They
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