Call of Cthulhu
There have been many attempts made over the years to bring HP Lovecraft’s fiction to the big screen. Some of them have been more successful than others (oddly enough, what may be the most successful attempt—John Carpenter’s In the Mouth of Madness—wasn’t actually based on a Lovecraft story at all…), but none has managed to perfectly capture the feelings of dread and terror inspired by the author’s work. That changed back in 2005—not with a big budget effects-laden Hollywood extravaganza, but instead thanks to a short film put together by the HP Lovecraft society. The Call of Cthulhu is not only the greatest HPL adaptation to date, it’s an amazing cinematic achievement regardless of subject matter.
Running a scant 47 minutes, Andrew Leman’s The Call of Cthulhu is like a dream come true. A pitch perfect recreation of one of Lovecraft’s most infamous stories about the most terrifying of the elder gods, it puts the notion that Lovecraft’s fiction can’t be adapted to bed once and for all. Produced with loving care by the HP Lovecraft Historical Society, this modestly budgeted short film not only recreates one of the author’s most harrowing stories, it does so in a way that should be absolutely captivating to anyone who loves film.
The story deals with a young man’s investigation into bizarre happenings hinted at in his deceased uncle’s papers. An exploration of these events leads to a statue of the dread god Cthulhu, his cult of worshippers (who want nothing more than to bring the dark god back), and island expedition that meets with disaster. The written tale is recreated with a level of faithfulness rarely seen in film. There’s not a single moment in all of Leman’s film where I thought “oh, I wish they’d have included that”—because it’s all there. That kind of narrative fidelity is rare in cinematic adaptations of books.
However, what really sets The Call of Cthulhu apart from other contemporary Lovecraft adaptations is the way it’s filmed. This is a black-and-white silent movie. Don’t run away screaming—it’s way cooler than it sounds.
I was a little skeptical upon first learning that the film was silent—I have nothing against silent films in general (in fact, I love Nosferatu and several other classic silent movies), but I worried that this title was using the silent approach not so much for aesthetic reasons, but budgetary ones instead. I was completely wrong. What Leman has crafted is a film that evokes the time period of the original story. The decision to go without dialogue turns out to be one of the things that makes The Call of Cthulhu so amazing. The story is instead told through visuals—which are a wonderful mixture of traditional filming styles, models, what appears to be computer effects, and more.
Leman has aged the CoC so that it looks like it was shot during the 1920s. The film is not only black-and-white, but also aged and marked up so that it looks like something that’s been kicking around for several decades. It’s not an exact recreation of a silent from that era, but it’s very close—and that aesthetic decision gives the film a definite sense of ambience.
The film’s other success lies in the special FX. The period mood is retained here, through the use of camera tricks, elaborately crafted sets, the use of miniatures, and even a stop-motion animation Cthulhu. The film’s final set-piece, a showdown between a sailing vessel and the dread god himself, is one of my favorites. The scene is constructed with a miniature boat and a sort claymation Cthulhu. Most Lovecraft stories struggle with showing the unspeakable horrors of the author’s fiction—but Leman and company once again break with tradition, showcasing their Cthulhu in such a way that the audience gets a full-on view of the monster. It’s a really impressive recreation, too—even though he’s made of clay and animated in a herky-jerky fashion, Cthulhu is still large and intimidating. This is just one of many moments of breathtaking beauty and ingenuity from the film.
Some folks have complained about the acting in CoC, which strikes me as missing the point. Yes, it’s overstated and filled with broad movements and occasionally bug-eyed gesticulations—but it’s a silent film, so this sort of thing is required. What was more troubling to me was the fact that occasionally the title cards used to show the dialogue are pulled from the screen too quickly. I read fast—and there were cards that were on and off before I could finish them. I suppose that’s why they invented pause and rewind.
Minor quibbles aside, The Call of Cthulhu is still a brilliant film. I’ve only covered some of the high points in this review (I didn’t go into the music, which is excellent, for example), but I wanted to leave things for potential viewers to discover on their own. Trying to convince people to watch a black-and-white silent film is a tough sell, and no review will ever really do The Call of Cthulhu justice, but trust me when I say it’s a legitimately great piece of cinema—not a great piece of horror, or a great short, or even just a great Lovecraft adaptation. It’s bigger than that and the charm is really only apparent in the viewing. The film is currently viewable on Netflix’s Instant Watch service—give it a shot–worst case scenario, you spend 47 minutes on something you didn’t like.
Horror Geek Rating: 5 out of 5
Tags: Call of Cthulhu, DVD, elder gods, Film Reviews, H.P. Lovecraft, silent film
