The Phantom of the Opera, with Lon Chaney; Julian, Sedgewick, Laemmle; 1925
The Masque of the Red Death, with Vincent Price; Corman, 1964
And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.
—Poe, “The Masque of the Red Death”
The Black Cat (from Two Evil Eyes), Argento, 1990
One night, returning home, much intoxicated, from one of my haunts about town, I fancied that the cat avoided my presence. I seized him; when in his fright at my violence, he inflicted a slight wound upon my hand with his teeth. The fury of a demon instantly possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body; and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame. I took from my waistcoat-pocket a pen-knife, opened it, grasped the poor beast by the throat, and deliberately cut one of its eyes from the socket! I blush, I burn, I shudder while I pen the damnable atrocity.
When reason returned with the morning—when I had slept off the fumes of the night’s debauch—I experience a sentiment half of horror, half of remorse, for the crime of which I had been guilty; but it was, at best, a feeble and equivocal feeling, and the soul remained untouched. I again plunged into excess, and soon drowned in wine all memory of the deed.
—Poe, “The Black Cat”
Toby Dammit (from Spirits of the Dead), Fellini, 1968
In the end, he abandoned all other forms of wager, and gave himself up to “I’ll bet the devil my head,” with a pertinacity and exclusiveness of devotion that displeased not less than it surprised me. I am always displeased with circumstances for which I cannot account. Mysteries force a man to think, and so injure his health. The truth is, there was something in the air with which Mr. Dammit was wont to give utterance to his offensive expression—something in his manner of enunciation—which at first interested, and afterwards made me very uneasy—something which, for want of a more definite term at present, I must be permitted to call queer; but which Mr. Coleridge would have called mystical, Mr. Kant pantheistical, Mr. Carlyle twistical, and Mr. Emerson hyperquizzitstical. I began not to like it at all. Mr. Dammit’s soul was in a perilous state.
—Poe, “Never Bet The Devil Your Head”
Poe (Silvano Tranquilli), Alan Foster (Georges Rivière), and one Sir Thomas Blackwood (!!!) (Umberto Raho) discuss the macabre in Antonio Margheriti’s Danza Macabra, aka Castle of Blood, 1964
Let us admit, for the moment, that the “phantasy-pieces” now given are Germanic, or what not. Then Germanism is “the vein” for the time being. To morrow I may be anything but German, as yesterday I was everything else. These many pieces are yet one book. My friends would be quite as wise in taxing an astronomer with too much astronomy, or an ethical author with treating too largely of morals.
Poe, Preface to Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque, 1840
The Divine Edgar, the eternal father, without whom, etcetera, etcetera…born 200 years ago, January 19, 1809.
Glenn,
Did you happen to catch Stuart Gordon’s version of The Black Cat that played on the Master’s of Horror series on Showtime? Dreadful series, to which this is one of the better episodes, which isn’t saying much. It cast Poe as the main character, but is still one of the more faithful adaptations of the story. I don’t know if that’s saying much. It’s a far from perfect movie, but it does have some good elements. Jeffery Combs, who plays Poe, is rather good, it’s creepy and sad, and has a pretty kick ass ax killing.
I’m not the biggest fan of Argento, but did really enjoy his half of Two Evil Eyes. I think it’s more because he uses elements of various Poe stories to create something that is definately his own, more than just adapt a Poe story. It’s probably one of my favorite things he’s done.
The Simpson’s version of the Tell Tale Heart is pretty close to perfect, too.
I think I’ll read the Gold Bug to my son tonight.
Cheers.
Nice. Some day, I will visit Poe’s grave on Jan. 19, to see that mysterious ritual play out,