Isle of the Dead (1945)
There is too much about this movie that applies. Boris Karloff — looking rather statuesque with black eye makeup and what appears to be curly blonde hair (kinda David Bowie, actually) is the cruel-to-be-kind general in a Grecian town. His first act is to order a rebellious soldier to shoot himself (“Who is against the law of Greece is not a Greek”). The next thing you know Karloff’s on an island cemetery, a doctor declares a plague, and they’re not allowed to leave. Sound familiar? Jason Robards Sr. (yes, the father of….as Albrecht, a Swiss archeologist) — and Boris Karloff —argue about whether to follow the doctor’s orders. Karloff says: “The doctor is the doctor. Do what he says.” Albrecht says: “We’ll make a wager, The doctor can use his science. I’ll pray to Hermes. We’ll see who is saved.” They go to shake hands and Robards notices: “You broke the doctor’s first order — no contact.” But Karloff is firm: "I’ll break no more of his orders.” He’s right. Karloff becomes the health policeman, yelling “No one may leave this Island!” a little too loudly. Later the handsome young Marc Cramer wants to kiss the beautiful young Ellen Drew (who are those actors? What happened to them?). Boris Karloff follows them into the woods until Marc lashes out: “There’s something more dangerous than septicemic plague — your own crazy thoughts.” Boris Karloff is an awful lot like Theresa Tam, Canada’s Chief Public Health Officer. In fact she somewhat resembles him. When they smile, it comes out like a grimace. What is it with Public Health Officials? Do they enjoy making us feel terrible and ruining our mental health? I used to think so. But after watching this movie I’ve decided it’s really not their fault. As Jason Robards Sr. says of the dead Karloff at the end of Isle of the Dead: “In the back of his madness, there was something good; he wanted to protect.” Ahh. Yes. Who knew it would take a 1945 RKO b-movie to explain COVID-19? Perhaps the writer — Ardel Wray, a woman who went on to write many horror movies and TV shows, and was somewhat of a writing legend in Hollywood — is the clue. This film is serious, thoughtful, business, with a dash of feminism thrown in — young Ellen Drew is not sure if she is the ‘Vivoliker’ — the evil female spirit causing the plague; thank God it turns out she isn’t. I’m going to say it now, I’m going to speak out against science; it’s about time someone did. Okay, objects do exist in reality — we need to know that a table is a table — and yes, where would we be without toasters? I’m not saying that science hasn’t done some good, but lately (during the last 200 years) it’s become somewhat of a religion. And instinct, magic, and intuition all have bad names. But there is something about us — called humanity — that can’t be created in a petri dish or poured out of a test tube. Kuhn and Foucault will both tell you: it’s almost impossible to think outside a paradigm when you’re smack in the middle of it. (But Einstein did.) Think of what science was like before Einstein’s theories were proven and accepted. We still lived in Isaac Newton’s world and gravity had nothing to do with time. Then, for a short while, two realities existed simultaneously because, after all, there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Well there's more truth in these old movies than in a single mindnumbingly tedious, and subtextually angry speech by Theresa Friggin’ Tam. But hey, I feel sorry for her, she’s caught in a trap not of her own devising, To dare to step out of the science ‘box’ is to be struck dead by facts (with religion, it used to be fate). A friend of mine is in love with someone who he hasn’t seen for a month because she won’t leave her house. She’s a writer and she sends him arty, befuddling, bewitching videos — very Russian, riddles wrapped in enigmas. He is defiant and will leave his house. But he’s noticed just the tiniest hint of discomfort in her emails (it’s tough reading emails for the slightest discomfort — but it can be done). And then yesterday yes, he saw her on the street. I’ll never forget him telling me how he felt, all the confusion, anger, love, hate, fear, etc. What was she doing on the street? Why did she go out? She was wearing blue muffler covering her mouth (of course). He said something very unthreatening, like ‘Here we are, this is strange isn’t it? Isn’t this the oddest experience you’ve ever had?’ It was something out of a movie. And she just said. ‘It’s the new normal’ and walked away. He asked me to analyse her remark for tone, and I said it’s angry, it’s an angry remark, you know it is —but she’s not angry at you he’s angry at ‘it.’ But unfortunately for her and all of us, like so many, she doesn’t want to be angry, she wants to be normal. And what are you supposed to do when there is a new normal, but normal is something you’ve aspired all your life not to be? This little scene was Romeo and Juliet. I have no doubt this so-called plague is going to break up families, and lovers, because I know that some people are on my side, some people are on my side but won’t say it, some people are not on my side, some people are doing what they are told, some people just love being normal, and finally, some people are fiercely furious that I am going outside. I know you’re still shocked that I’m crazy enough not to trust science. What am I, nuts? (Maybe. Is that a bad thing?) But can you understand that I might be willing to take a pill (and I do I take them, lots) but when it comes down to choosing between loving people and being ‘healthy’ I have to look all those scientists in the eye and say ‘Excuse me but you’ve created a false dichotomy. I simply refuse to choose between love and death.’ And I’m not going to be happy about putting my art on a friggin’ computer — I’m not happy about putting this on a computer. It’s just that if I didn’t I’d explode. And I curse all those artists saying ‘little did we know that all the time there was this tremendous resource, that we could reach out and touch people with digital technology.’ Well you can’t. You are not touching anybody unless you touch them. You have to be in the same room and smell their sweat, and lick their vagina, or yes, I’ll say it, their butt. That’s what it’s all about. Without that, you’ve forgotten what it means to be human. The monster lurking behind this movie — The Vivoliker — sounds an awful lot like The Vulvalicker to me. I wouldn’t put it past the writer of a totally feminist horror movie from 1945, unacknowledged by anyone— Adele Wray. I get the sense that she knew how important it was to lick a vulva (or the male equivalent of one) now and then. And I’m kind of afraid to ask. But If you saw the person you loved for the first time in a month on the street wearing the required mask would you speak to them? Would you do what love tells you and touch their arm? Or would you do what science tells you, and walk away?
