The Island of Dr. Moreau (1977)

The greatest power of science fiction is how it anticipates things to come. Sci-fi novels predicted such things as tanks, widescreen TVs and, most apropos to this review, genetic research long before scientists could ever glean the possibilities of their existence. One of the great forebears of sci-fi was H. G. Wells. Having read his major novels, I often wonder just how he could be so far ahead of the curve; it’s almost like he travelled forward in a time machine (oh wait, he wrote a novel about one of those too), saw all these wonderful, modern contraptions, and then jaunted back to his contemporary times to write them down. Though not his most popular or influential novel, The Island of Dr. Moreau has always been my personal favorite. Not because it’s his best effort (though it can stand shoulder to shoulder with his others), but because of American International’s 1977 film version. The movie really worked on me as a child, with its man beasts running wild in the isolated forest, ready to leap out at any second. Watching it as a man, I find it’s not very frightening, but it still has some power for entirely different reasons.

The movie opens with three men in a rowboat. Lost at sea, only two survive to land on the titular island. As the hero Braddock heads off to seek help, his crewman gets dragged off by unseen creatures, a number of which follow Braddock, who falls in a hole that’s obviously been set as a trap. He awakes to find Montgomery, a hunter who works for Dr. Moreau, a pioneer in the science of vivisection who fled into exile under the ridicule of his peers. Free of the scientific community’s restraints, Moreau has created a whole society of “manimals,” hybrid beasts that answer to their master’s Laws, or suffer in the House of Pain, their name for Moreau’s laboratory.

The film’s greatest strength is how closely its script adheres to the source material. Much of the dialogue about the Laws and the House of Pain are direct quotes from Wells, and even when the scenes and dialogue differ from the novel, they remain within the spirit of the text. The shift from vivisection to genetic research is seamless, because the results are still human/animal hybrids that become a society. At their epicenter is Moreau, an oppressive leader who has made himself into their God. Though his cause may have been noble once, he has corrupted it to give himself power over creation. In some sense, he is another variation of the archetypal mad scientist, but sharply delineated in both Wells’ novel and the film to make him stand out just a bit. In one of his more understated performances, Burt Lancaster carries the role with just a tinge of a wild gleam in his eye; repressing the wild energy that he brought to most of his roles, Lancaster plays Moreau as a man who teeters just on the edge of insanity, instead of being way over it.

The major problem with the film is that the manimals just aren’t frightening. Sure, they were scary when I was 10, and Moreau was on the late show at 1 a.m. But watching it recently, I concluded they’re just... cuddly. Though the makeup effects turn actors into convincing animal/human hybrids, the creatures do not look intimidating at all. The way they move, they don’t menace, and even when they growl, they are about as scary as a malfunctioning Teddy Ruxpin. It doesn’t help that the plot restrains their animal side until later in the film, but even when they revert to the more bestial in the film’s final act, the damage has already been done. If the manimals would have appeared more monstrous, I’m sure the movie would have scared me as much today as it did all those years ago.

The film only became frightening for me again when I stepped back and analyzed what it was saying. The theme of man tampering with nature and becoming God resonated strongly, as Moreau eventually turns on Michael York’s Braddock and attempts to turn him into a manimal. Moreau, the jealous God, wields his powers against Braddock when it becomes obvious that the young lady on the island, played by Barbara Carrera, finds Braddock more attractive because of his physical appearance, thus preferring the animal over the intellectual; later, when Braddock raises up his lifeless body before the manimals, it’s a mock crucifixion. The message is clear: Even when its intentions are noble, science can go dangerously awry when left unchecked in the hands of men who think themselves godlike. Looking through Braddock’s eyes, I found myself trapped on an island with, for all intents and purposes, a madman and a society of monsters, a scary proposition. The claustrophobic atmosphere and the stark score by Laurence Rosenthal plays nicely on themes of isolation.

In the hands of AIP, The Island of Dr. Moreau was never going to hold itself up against the greatest science fiction films of all time, and its snuggly manimals do little to help the cause. But the movie holds firm on the frightening ideas projected by H. G. Wells so many years earlier, ideas that seem ever so prevalent in a world of swine flu and genetically engineered hamburgers. And therein lies the true fright.

--Phil Fasso