Happily, before leaving town for a long Thanksgiving weekend with my in-laws, there was time enough to watch another movie from the Boris Karloff Collection. This time, The Strange Door, which at first glance, bore an uncanny superficial resemblance to last weekend's The Black Castle. Creepy old mansion. Dark and stormy night. Evil and sadistic lord of the manor. Karloff in a supporting role as the timid but courageous servant.
But there the similarities ended. And at first, The Strange Door promised to be a bizarre and suspenseful film. I've never read Stevenson's story, upon which it was based, so I had no idea what to expect. Charles Laughton seemed disturbingly cruel and powerful. The early scenes promised a film in which nothing is what it seems. In which the lines are blurred between heroes and villains. In which the ending is completely and satisfyingly unpredictable.
Alas, it quickly transformed into a tale of bitterness and unrequited love. In which Laughton's character devised an elaborate and oddly long-term plot for revenge. Suddenly, he appeared weak and pathetic. I liked him better when he was just plain crazy.
There was, of course, the requisite happy ending. At least for some of the characters. It was entertaining. But it was no Black Castle.