Chapter 14
The jury is most definitely out on film colorization, the process whereby black-and-white movies are imbued with color to present them in a pseudo-Technicolor format. Two-tone Technicolor has been around for a very long time (Mystery of the Wax Museum and Doctor X are two pioneering ’30s horror flicks shot in early color), as has color tinting (The Phantom of the Opera; Nosferatu). Colorization, on the other hand, only came to the fore in the 1980s when William Markle, after experimentation in the 1970s (several ’30s cartoons were issued in crude color), formed Colorization Inc., marketing a number of 1940s/1950s classics in the process, a process which in the long run turned out to be both costly and time-consuming. Turner Entertainment jumped on the bandwagon during the 1980s, but because of criticism in a lot of quarters (Turner’s less-than-spectacular handling of colorization, above all others, was singled out by the unbelievers, their videos ridiculed in the press), the whole colorization deal blew itself out in the late 1990s. It still continues today in lesser form, with greater emphasis given to enhancing color via the computer, and can be used successfully in color recovery, the method of restoring faded prints to their former glory. Atrickle of oldies-but-goodies are occasionally released as good quality, digitally spruced-up color issues, and many WWII documentaries and historical newsreel footage, as well as TV programs from the 1960s, have benefited from being screened in color, however unrealistic that color may still appear at times.
And that’s the crux of the matter — is the premise feasible that manufactured-in-a-lab computer color is so realistic that it can better a black-and white-oldie? The short answer is that sometimes it can in places, and sometimes it can’t. Take Howard Hawks’ The Thing from Another World as an example of how colorization used to come across. Turner released the color version in 1988 on VHS. Some scenes work — the long sequence on the ice as the team investigates the buried flying saucer is visually dazzling; an icy blue/gray sky, a bluish ice cap and a deep blue UFO aerofoil with a greenish tinge, contrasting smartly with the brown snow suits worn by Kenneth Tobey and company. Brightly lit, these tones perfectly convey an impression of intense cold, more so than the monochrome print. But back inside the Quonset huts, the fleshtones are the usual orange hues (the curse of colorization), the overall color-wash almost sepia, with a predominance of greens and browns, low contrast prevailing in the darker scenes. The images are fuzzy in some areas, and other shots remain firmly rooted in monochrome; briefly, perhaps, but they do.
Without doubt, it’s a novel way to view the RKO classic, in unaccustomed color, but is there any point to it all? Some may say it breathes new life into oldies and somehow modernizes them; others would argue that they shouldn’t be meddled with, that color, in fact, destroys the atmosphere, impact and style built up in the original black-and-white production. Then there’s that odd feeling of guilt. Should one actually enjoy watching a re-mastered color copy of a picture that has consistently entertained over a long period, but in monochrome (as the film’s cinematographer intended). Is it indeed sacrilege to think, and even state, that a colorized classic is, in some instances, more watchable in this format than in its former medium. After all, The Thing wasn’t earmarked as a color picture, so why go to all the bother of turning it into one. The arguments continue to rumble on, a conflict of differing thoughts and opinions on the subject; an act of cinematic vandalism on the one hand, a just reward for a movie that was originally intended to be made in color, on the other.
It’s true to say that techniques in this field have advanced dramatically in recent years with the advent of digital technology. Skin-tones are now much more subtle, colors and contrast brighter (putting to bed that flat, wishy-washy, early ’30s cartoon aspect, thereby adding depth), lighting more chromatically-corrected and fuzziness a problem dealt with effectively. The films look far more natural than they used to. However, the expense involved in color transference means that only around 150 colorized movies are out on the market, a figure that will not be greatly added to because of an overall lack of interest on behalf of the general public. Diehard buffs may welcome a colorized edition of Ed Wood’s Bride of the Monster into their collection, but the majority of cinemagoers nowadays couldn’t really care less (even if they have heard of the film in the first place). Among those 150-plus features, the majority are out-and-out classics — Casablanca, All About Eve, It’s a Wonderful Life, Angels with Dirty Faces, Way Out West, The Longest Day among the list. Only a handful fall into fantasy/horror/science fiction, including the mighty Kong (and King Kong in color isn’t the act of heresy that some people might imagine). Analyzing 12 of that handful will throw up some interesting observations and determine how these ’50s pictures, ranging from the essential (Invasion of the Body Snatchers) to the distinctly non-essential (The Killer Shrews ), have fared from colorization; shorn of their black-and-white origins, to be presented to fans in a drastically altered state. Have they been improved upon, or haven’t they? Let’s find out, and give them star ratings: One (poor), two (average), three (good), four (excellent) and five (exceptional.)
Note: Toho’s Godzilla was given a color treatment of sorts by Italian director Luigi Cozzi in 1977. Cozzi got his hands on the Americanized print, added newsreel footage from World War II and used color gels a frame at a time to tint various sequences. Released in some parts of Europe as Cozilla, online snippets show Godzilla plowing through a red-lit Tokyo that still retains, amid flashes of garish greens, blues and reds, monochrome images. It’s probably just as well for all concerned that this mockery has been unavailable for years.
RKO’s The Thing from Another World has already been commented on. As of 2012, both the Turner colorized video (1988) and double DVD set (2007), which includes the Turner version, are no longer commercially available. A blue RKO logo gives way to the title lettering in fiery red (nice, this), but from the opening scene inside the Anchorage Officer’s Club, it’s apparent that the scourge of this process manifests itself in the uneven flesh-tones — the cast all sport brownish-orange faces, giving them a cartoonish appearance; Margaret Sheridan’s green sweater looks swell, though. As previously stated, the “saucer on the ice” sequence really comes into its own — we can almost feel the penetrating Arctic cold emanate from the screen — and back at base camp, the alien is a sinister dark shape beneath the blue/green ice. Actually, the gloomy interior shots, although looking dingy with low contrast, probably suit the cramped settings more, the darker corners merging from brown to black. Unfortunately, once or twice, the color gives up the ghost and we are back in monochrome land. James Arness is green-tinted (green seems to be the preferred color choice for aliens and monsters), his tattered suit a dark blue, and the vivid blue/white electrical bolts that fry him to ashes really stand out. Regrettably, the print is slightly ill-defined around the edges, particularly annoying if juxtaposed with the high definition re-mastered black-and-white copy. To sum up, it’s an interesting exercise watching this legendary sci-fi production in a kind of color and if given a digital makeover, the results would have been dramatic to say the least. But this murky version doesn’t really do the film any justice, and seasoned addicts will probably stick to the original monochrome version that they have treasured all these years, consigning Turner’s effort to the backburner. Two and a half stars.
Turner did a real hatchet job on Invasion of the Body Snatchers (the 1988 video is now unavailable). The title lettering is the mandatory green (on a mauve background) and so are the alien pods, spewing out pink, foamy replicas. The general finish is crudely executed: Muddy greens, dingy blue skies verging on gray and brownish skintones (admittedly, Dana Wynter does look radiant in color). After 10 minutes, matters improve slightly, the night scenes almost approximate an early, unrefined Technicolor print, but again, a number of sequences have a habit of reverting to monochrome. The pivotal greenhouse segment, 42 minutes in, works well, the shiny green pods ejecting their frothy pink blanks, the greenhouse itself awash in deep mauves, but over the course of 80 minutes, Don Siegel’s suspenseful thriller looks uniformly substandard in its colorized dressing. Thank goodness for Siegel’s nail-biting direction, the ensemble playing, Carmen Dragon’s fabulous score and that classic final line to keep us going: “’Course it’s a nightmare. Plants from another world taking over human beings? Mad as a March Hare!” One and a half stars.
In 2007, stop-motion animation wizard Ray Harryhausen personally supervised the colorization of three of his mid-’50s movies for Columbia/Sony: 20 Million Miles to Earth, It Came from Beneath the Sea and Earth vs. the Flying Saucers. With one of cinema’s greatest special effects technicians at the helm, has the man himself made any headway in this process where others have fallen by the wayside? Let’s see. The latter film commences with standard white lettering over a stormy blue background and while it’s true to say that there are signs of real progress (flesh-tones are cleaner), the color appears very pale, almost “off,” bright exterior shots giving way to duller interiors. It could simply be that the predominant color range in Flying Saucers is green, silver and steel gray anyway: Green for the lab, silver and steel gray for the aircraft and UFOs and gun-metal blue for the aliens. The effect is one of blandness, and even the saucers’ attack on Washington doesn’t look any better colorized. Not one of the master’s more arresting achievements, Earth vs. the Flying Saucers is passable in black-and-white, a bit of a slog in color. Two stars.
The routine It Came from Beneath the Sea has never been declared a Harryhausen classic, hampered by static direction, a stodgy script and an inferior musical score. The fluorescent green lettering rolls and the stormy sea looks a treat in deep navy blue, contrasting nicely with the strong blue sky later on. The sub’s interior, with its gleaming hardware, is also well done. Blood-red sunsets look almost perfect, the skin-tones are pinker and the colossal octopus is (you’ve guessed it) a shade of dirty green with pink suckers. The color sheen livens up what is basically a mundane effort from Columbia (the Golden Gate Bridge interlude does look splendid), although it was a big hit when first released. Yes, It Came from Beneath the Sea turns out to be far more entertaining as a colorized feature. Three stars. 20 Million Miles to Earth finally hits the colorized jackpot. Did Harryhausen put that much more effort into this one, more so than the other two? We all know that the picture is one of his particular favorites, as it remains with many lovers of animated monster movies, and we now learn that it was originally to have been filmed in Technicolor anyway. Whatever the reason, this tale of a Venusian reptilian creature rampaging through Rome is an outright winner in the colorized stakes, almost akin to watching a different film altogether. A lovely color-balanced Columbia logo sets the right mood, and then we have standard white lettering over a blue/gray background. The opening shots paint a picture of sunny Italian villages and seascapes set against a blue Mediterranean backdrop, the returning spaceship a gleaming silver dart plunging into a glittering aquamarine ocean. (Has anyone noticed how closely the opening credits to 20 Million Miles to Earth resemble the opening credits to The Quatermass Experiment? Minimal, yet threatening, music, a cloud-filled sky and a rocket approaching Earth, bringing — what?) But the real bonus is the Ymir itself, now a vibrant, glistening green animal (its back ridges are gray, the skin stained brown in places) that leaps from the screen in mock 3-D (you won’t need those glasses!). Harryhausen has done his number one creation proud, presenting us with a new concept of how, frame-by-frame, one of monsterdom’s most mesmerizing ’50s creatures would have appeared on the screen in color. It looks magnificent, the imagery pin-sharp. The beguiling hatching scene is quintessential Harryhausen, the baby Ymir clambering out of its green-tinged egg-sac in front of an alluring Joan Taylor, resplendent in pink cardigan and blue dress. The battle between gray elephant and green Ymir really does stand out, bringing a new level of excitement to this 50-year-old sequence, as does the scaly monster stalking William Hopper and company among the ancient brown stonework of Rome’s Coliseum. 20 Million Miles to Earth is a treat, glorious in its colorized edition, almost faultless, to the extent that fans will be reaching for a copy of this rather than a monochrome DVD when they next decide to watch it. An unqualified success — five stars.
House on Haunted Hill is almost as good. Legend Films have turned William Castle’s popular gimmicky shocker into a somber-looking work of some distinction. Using state-of-the-art technology, the interior scenes (the entire action takes place at night) are saturated in deep mauves, browns and reds, with nigh-on-impeccable skintones, making the old Vincent Price vehicle shimmer like a 1940s sumptuously textured period drama. We can almost smell the mustiness and see the dust! Colorization adds to the picture rather than detracts from it, giving it a new lease of life. Four and a half stars.
And a new lease of life is what Legend has performed on Ed Wood’s Bride of the Monster; whether or not audiences think Wood’s low-rent horror farrago deserves this treatment is open to conjecture! But spruced up in color, Bride looks splendid, with its green title lettering, red/mauve octopus, gray-toned lab and richly dark night exterior shots lending it the muted, pastel air of an early ’30s Bela Lugosi horror feature, which of course it is — only made 20 years later! Colorization makes it possible to overlook Wood’s numerous shortcomings and say — “This ain’t as bad as I thought it was,” no mean feat indeed! Then it earns three and a half stars.
Legend has brought about a similar miracle with Wood’s notorious Plan 9 from Outer Space. The ultimate in poor taste has now mutated into something we have all come to love over the past 50 years, probably because decrepit filmmaking of the Ed Wood variety no longer figures in today’s super-glossy, ultra-polished and thoroughly sterile area of fantasy cinema. Plan 9 from Outer Space is living proof that any production can benefit from colorization, even movies such as this, Wood’s lasting testament to self-deluded greatness. What a huge difference color makes: Now we can see Vampira’s blood-red nails; the wires supporting the hub caps (sorry, flying saucers); the gray hair of the Lugosi stand-in (as opposed to Lugosi’s legendary black peak); the gaudy purple space outfits; the red curtains in the saucer’s cabin; the mauve mist in the cemetery and the true contrast between those badly edited day/night/day/night sequences. Yes, Wood would never have believed that his grainy old black-and-white vehicle has been given such a digitalized makeover that it elevates the picture from a grade Z to a grade B! It was popular enough to be a crowd-puller on wet Sunday afternoons in England circa 1962/1963. If presented in the expertly rendered job that Legend has bestowed upon it, Plan 9 might even have been afforded a national run on the circuits! Four stars. Richard E. Cunha’s Missile to the Moon is the ideal vehicle for the colorization procedure, being as daft as a brush, similar to an elongated Star Trek episode minus Kirk, Scotty, Spock and Bones. The lurid blue/yellow titles are a portent of things to come: dark green spacesuits; green (again!) rock-men; the moon’s bright blue sky; the aluminum-foil tunnel and the blue/green-skinned Moon Maidens. The Maidens’ subterranean home is decked out like Aladdin’s cave, a riot of golds, pinks, reds and silvers, the women’s outrageous sparkling trinkets and gravity-defying headpieces adding to the rich color tones. In fact, the colorization in this corny romp is positively gaudy! To cap it all, one of the decade’s fakest of fake spiders comes trotting out of its lair on visible wires, black-furred and red-faced. Legend has pulled it off again, making Cunha’s camp space opera a B movie of great satisfaction, rather than one at which to fire vitriolic darts. Four stars. W. Lee Wilder’s quickie from 1953, Phantom from Space, gets the ball rolling with yellow titles morphing into blue over a backdrop of blue swirling clouds, followed by grainy newsreel footage. A UFO (resembling a glowing white light bulb) has landed somewhere in Los Angeles and the authorities are anxious to track it down. When they do, the occupant is a humanoid figure dressed in a white spacesuit and wearing a diving helmet. Most of the movie’s running time takes place in a green-tinted laboratory where the invisible alien attempts to communicate with Noreen Nash (auburn hair, pink scarf, yellow coat and navy blue dress). After cops and scientists chase the being into an observatory, it reveals itself under the mauve beams of ultra-violet lamps as a bald-headed, naked, white-skinned creature with green eyes and lips. Unable to breathe in Earth’s atmosphere, it expires and vaporizes. A greenish color scheme seems to suit this long-forgotten cheapo, the earlier shots tinged in mahogany-brown, but it’s a bit hit and miss in the colorization department (the original print’s condition might have posed a few problems). Therefore, Wilder’s 73-minutes of schlock sci-fi, featuring a few flashes of imagination in the “invisible alien” segments, gets a three-star rating.
Why has Legend felt the need to colorize The Killer Shrews and The Giant Gila Monster? These HPC releases from 1959 encompass the worst traits to be found in ’50s B creature-features, both lacking in thrills, excitement, credible production values and up-to-standard monsters. Ironic, then, that in color, they look pretty cool. Both contain sharp exterior shots and faithful skin-tones, the pictures beautifully rendered in ’50s pastel hues to fit in with the times (especially the hot rods in Gila Monster). The Killer Shrews has bright green/yellow titles, The Giant Gila Monster a mottled mauve/green/ pink to match the skin of the magnified lizard. Unfortunately, audiences cannot ignore those lame beasties, color or no color (the oversized shrews are dogs covered in shaggy coats with fangs, and the giant lizard is a real lizard plunked amid model cars and buildings), so that, in a way, colorization becomes superfluous; no self-respecting fan would give either film a repeated look-in, however well they have been enhanced. Three and a half stars for both flicks, which, to be honest, they hardly merit.
Therefore, 20 Million Miles to Earth emerges as the outright winner, with Invasion of the Body Snatchers the loser. Colorization of old movies will carry on, pandering to those who nurse an itch for something off the wall in their collection, allowing them to pick and choose on a title according to their fancy. Maybe it is a marketing shtick, a passing fad as many have suggested, but it certainly doesn’t do any harm or dent a classic’s reputation, despite what some critics may think, as can be seen with 20 Million Miles to Earth. If handled properly with love and respect, the results can be astounding, propelling the picture into another dimension. And there’s no escaping the fact that such altered movies are fun to watch, flaws and all. But, as the opening to this chapter read, the jury is still very much out on this issue.
Lastly, here’s a list of 20 films I personally reckon would look tremendous in color (Digicolor? Compucolor?), if treated with due reverence:
The Alligator People
The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms
The Black Scorpion
The Black Sleep
Creature from the Black Lagoon
The Day the Earth Stood Still
The Fabulous World of Jules Verne
From Hell It Came
Frankenstein 1970
Godzilla
The Incredible Shrinking Man
It! The Terror from Beyond Space
Kronos
The Land Unknown
The Monolith Monsters
The Monster That Challenged the World
Night of the Demon
The Quatermass Experiment
Tarantula
Varan the Unbelievable
Up for consideration…
Unknown World