Cat People (1942)
The first in a series of moody, literate horror films produced by Val Lewton in the 1940s, Cat People is an evocative example of how effective the ‘less is more’ approach to horror can be. Directed with effective restraint by Jacques Tourneur, the film is a masterpiece of mood and atmosphere. By electing to suggest the horror rather than show it outright, Cat People remains an eerily atmospheric and psychological chiller to this day. One of the first horror films to reference psychoanalysis, it plays out as a dark tale of sexual anxiety and coded lesbianism. It tells of Irena (Simone Simon), a young Serbian woman working as a fashion designer in New York City, who meets Oliver (Kent Smith), a draftsman in a ship building company. After their somewhat impulsive marriage, their relationship becomes strained when they fail to become sexually intimate. This is because Irena believes she is descended from a race of Satanic cat people, doomed to transform into a ravaging panther when aroused. Matters become further complicated when Oliver begins an affair with his co-worker Alice (Jane Randolph), and Irena’s confusion and jealously unlocks a side of her she had previously tried to suppress…
In 1942 Lewton was made head of RKO’s horror unit and executives pre-emptively supplied him with a list of lurid film titles, instructing him to produce a series of low budget horror films to compete with Universal's slew of monster movies. RKO hoped to capitalise on the success of films like The Wolf Man and pull themselves back from the brink of bankruptcy after Citizen Kane bombed at the box-office. Despite the crassness of the film titles he was handed, Lewton was quietly determined to produce work with artistic integrity and eventually defied all expectations by creating a collection of suggestive, psychological ‘terror’ films that became highly influential. He worked closely with several directors to helm these quiet chillers – giving Jacques Tourneur and Robert Wise their first big breaks - often co-writing or re-drafting screenplays uncredited or pseudonymously.
Cat People was written by DeWitt Bodeen, and the screenplay was extensively revised by Lewton. The pair researched various horror films and literature to try to offer something unexpected to horror-hungry audiences. Under Lewton’s guidance, director Tourneur opted to suggest the terror, rather than show it outright. This was not only due to budgetary restraints, but also because of the literate and intellectual approach to the subject matter – nothing could be scarier than the dark images conjured by the human imagination. By setting the story in contemporary New York City, Bodeen and Lewton sought to ensure the audience would relate to the ordinary, every-day characters and their lives, therefore ensuring a more frightening experience as hints of the supernatural begin to intrude upon the commonplace. The inclusion of a psychiatrist and psychotherapy also adds to the films modern approach to horror, and it’s not difficult to read Cat People as the story of a closeted lesbian, struggling with her identity and desires in the face of societal rejection. Implicitly, of course, as the Hays Code was in full swing by this stage.
In his book Monsters in the Closet: homosexuality and the horror film (1997), author Harry Benshoff suggests the films of Val Lewton in the 1940s, particularly Cat People, as it was written by Bodeen, who was gay, are suggestive of ‘a growing awareness of homosexuality, homosexual communities, and the dynamics of homosexual oppression as it was played out in society and the military’, and led to a much more nuanced, psychological depiction of monsters in cinema at this time. Benshoff also notes of Lewton's productions: ‘They feature no hulking monsters and few Transylvanian crypts: instead they dwell upon implied monsters and psychological horror. They focus on tone over shock effect, and feature complex and elegant literary designs that make them similar to finely crafted short stories.’ Throughout the story, Irena is ‘othered’; a European immigrant living and working in the States, speaking with an accent and of an ancient lineage with ‘strange’ cultural traditions and beliefs. When she tells Oliver about the legends of her hometown, and her belief that she is descended from a race of evil cat people, he dismisses her fears, infantilising her (at one stage he quips ‘you crazy kid’). His friends and colleagues, including Alice, with whom he falls in love and has an affair, are equally dismissive of Irena, belittling and patronising her. They see her as strange, ‘an odd girl’. This othering culminates in Irena becoming a figure of fear, a monster. As the story progresses, she begins to embody the trope of the predatory female and it’s soon clear that she is not to be considered the ‘heroine’ of the story.
A telling scene takes place in a Serbian restaurant where Oliver and Irena celebrate their marriage with a group of Oliver’s friends. Their table is approached by a mysterious woman (Elizabeth Russell) who has been watching Irena and greets her in Serbian, calling her ‘my sister’. This moment implies an awareness on the part of the strange woman that she not only shares and acknowledges a common heritage with Irena, but perhaps something else, something coded and hidden. Irena’s terrified reaction speaks of the fear of being associated with this woman in any way. This fear of association, suspicion and possible discovery of ‘corrupt’ or ‘forbidden’ desires would have resonated strongly with a gay and lesbian audience in the 1940s. Another moment which perfectly captures Irena’s quiet tumult and despair follows soon after this encounter. She is alone in the bedroom. It is night. Outside, snow quietly falls, quelling all sounds of the city. It is quiet and still. Oliver stands on the other side of the closed door, gently knocking and waiting. Irena moves to the door, but hesitating, she sinks to her knees. She moves to turn the doorknob and open the door but stops. She knows what he is expecting on their wedding night, but she withdraws into herself. Oliver quietly bids her good night. It’s in this moment that Irena seems especially haunted by social expectations which sit at odds with her own personal desires. In the stillness of the room, of this hermetically sealed moment, Irena can hear the panther in its cage in the zoo across the park.
While Bodeen and Lewton’s script features several scenes that rely on horror tropes – the scene in the pet shop when the animals go berserk after Irena enters, or the moment when Oliver and Alice fend off an attack by making the sign of the cross – they generally maintain a moody ambiguity. Is Irena really a were-cat? Or could it be that she is just a deeply conflicted young woman who is trying to resist desires - deemed by society to be unnatural - and trying to fit in and fight against her essential nature? The ambiguity, and refusal to depict any hinted-at transformations, ensures the film unravels as a seductive, psychological chiller not date-stamped by special effects. It is an elegant, sophisticated and hauntingly beautiful study of the horror of repression and a desperately conflicted individual, filtered through Freudian psychoanalysis. Not bad for a Creature-Feature B-movie! The scenes in which Irena discusses her issues with psychiatrist Dr Judd (Tom Conway) unfold in a moodily lit office, and when she is put under hypnosis, we are treated to a striking montage of dream-like imagery and animated cats. Judd tries to convince her that she must reject these thoughts and try to live a ‘normal’ life. Viewed today these scenes are suggestive of conversion therapy, where gayness is something to be fixed or cured.
The expressionistic cinematography courtesy of Nicholas Musuraca lights everything from below, giving the film a deeply moody look that fits the sombre tone perfectly. Roy Webb’s melancholy lullaby of a score accentuates the romantic and tragic aspects of the story. The contemporary setting and characters with everyday lives, jobs and problems ensures Cat People is a far cry from the overtly gothic, outlandish horror of Universal. The melodrama unfolds in cafes, plush apartments, brightly lit offices and noirish city streets and is punctuated by several stand-out moments such as when Alice is menaced while taking a dip in a deserted swimming pool at night. She is forced to tread water when ‘something’ prowls around the pool in the rippling darkness; while Musuraca’s expressionistic cinematography creates all kinds of sinister shadow-play and hinted-at menace. The technique of slowly building tension to a jarring shock, which turns out to be a false alarm, was first deployed in Cat People and soon became known as a 'Lewton bus'. A shadow-drenched stalking sequence, effectively cut together by editor Mark Robson, features Alice hurrying through a fog-shrouded Central Park (actually a sound stage) increasingly aware of a presence following close behind her. We cut between Alice’s increasing panic as she moves along the dark path from one pool of light to another, and Irena purposefully stalking after her, as Tourneur builds tension. When Irena’s footsteps can no longer be heard and the audience holds its breath for the 'inevitable' attack, something occurs that is now considered a basic staple of the horror genre, but back then, had never been attempted before. You’ll know it when you see it…
Cat People is a haunting, melancholy and strangely moving creeper.
