Most of Hollywood rallied together in order to drum up American support and morale during the second World War, one example being George Waggner, director of the anti-Nazi The Wolf Man; Sir Cedric Hardwicke; and Hungarian-born Peter Lorre combining their efforts to present America at its finest in Edwin Marin’s Invisible Agent. Considering the shear number of Universal Monsters which were spawning sequel after sequel at the time, the nationalistic finger was bound to fall on one of the figures of the Golden Age of Hollywood and since we couldn’t have a literal monster represent American pride, the duty fell to the sole mortal of the lot: The Invisible Man. However, due to the production’s over-the-top nature and premise, which the conscious viewer is unable to take seriously (though Marin and Co. obviously did), Invisible Agent cannot be seen as anything less than a sad, inadvertent comedy which dog-ears a propagandistic period in American history.
Frank Griffin III (Jon Hall), the grandson of Vincent Price’s character in Joe May’s The Invisible Man Returns, is operating a Manhattan printing press under the assumed name of Raymond. After Nazi agents attempt to obtain Frank’s inherited formula for invisibility, Frank denies the American government use of the chemical, stating that he considers it too risqué. However, after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, Frank breaks the door to Capital Hill down and insists upon having the invisibility agent used upon him in order to serve as a secret agent. Yet, with all espionage thrillers, matters become exacerbated once a beautiful female agent, Maria Sorenson (Ilona Massey), appears.
Screenwriter Siodmak, a former Nazi POW, pounced on the opportunity to give the National Socialists a taste of their own medicine as he chucks his textbook for Aesthetics 101 in the trash by having his hero, all American Hall, single- (and bare-)handedly fight off a barrage of Nazi special agents (with guns nonetheless), all in the opening scene. Of course, the bad guys had it coming to ’em, considering they’re creepy, sneaky, and will freely double-cross those within their own ranks for personal advantage (how else would you successfully mount a serious world threat?) as they light one cigarette off the last while breaking the fingers of their prisoners before asking the maimed individual to sign a release form stating he was properly taken care of and went unharmed (which they somehow manage to slide into their busy, tyrannical schedules between sessions of “treating women like dogs”). But we all know that the world has gone to Hell in a hand basket once Peter Lorre has changed his race to Japanese in order to commit hari-kari onscreen.
The Axis powers never stand a chance considering that the American agent keeps his word at every turn, even after promising to help a high-ranking Nazi official escape extermination; pauses to pneumatically hammer his patriotic spirit home with an impromptu Red, White, and Blue diatribe during a brief interlude between top secret tasks; all before declaring that he can’t tell any of the Japanese soldiers apart because “they all look they same.” However, I wouldn’t be entirely clear as to the point that Siodmak was attempting get across if it weren’t for the knowledge that a scene presenting the Fuehrer being kicked in the backside was excised from the final script.
In regards to the logistics of invisibility, the filmmakers finally realized that the easiest manner in which to reveal an unseen personage in lieu of a cure is cosmetic foundation or, in Frank’s case, the next best thing–i.e. not as feminine: cold cream. Furthermore, the revelation that a problem arises concerning translucent eyelids and sleep is breeched but nonetheless is inconsistently maintained as Massey tries to desperately awaken our hero from his much needed slumber yet, after removing his sunglasses, Frank continues to doze (thus reinforcing the idea that single-handedly thwarting the Nazi effort is exhausting). Lastly, considering no American would ever succumb to insanity, especially when upholding the American way of life, the volatile side effect of the invisibility agent promoted for three films is replaced by the less intrusive symptom referred to as narcolepsy, which–luckily–only manifests itself during moments of tactical reprieve.
Special Effects artist John Fulton was nominated for another Oscar but, to his discredit, did nothing which superceded his effects in A. Edward Sutherland’s The Invisible Woman as embarrassingly visible wires on levitating chicken legs and telephones glisten throughout the picture. But, I suppose that perhaps he was merely attempting to maintain the consistency of the film in that the characters’ accents wax and wane much like the courage of the German soldiers.
Edwin Marin’s Invisible Agent is one of the foremost examples of (poorly constructed and presented) propaganda via the arts. What results is the forehead-slapping realization that the creators chose the avenue of a Hollywood monster who, for over two-thirds of the character’s cinematic career, was depicted as a raving megalomaniac as their figurehead of freedom (which, in retrospect, is perhaps appropriately fitting). Yet, Universal quickly remedied this by positing a steadfast American who never wavers as he refuses to even allow an experimental chemical’s side effects to distract him from upholding the American way of life as the sadistic, self-serving enemy all but cowers in his wake. You stand warned.
-Egregious Gurnow
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- Teleconference interview with Mick Garris (Masters of Horror) - January 22, 2015
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