"The Greek gods are more powerful than my science."
Most moviegoers dismiss Isle of the Dead (1945) as lesser Val Lewton. Indeed it's rough around the edges, thanks to production delays caused by budget constraints and Boris Karloff's health. Lewton and Mark Robson craft a creepy, atmospheric chiller that's not the sum of its parts.During the Balkan Wars of 1912, Greek General Pherides (Boris Karloff) retreats to an uninhabited island. An outbreak of plague leads Pherides to quarantine the island's visitors: an American journalist (Marc Cramer), two British subjects (Alan Napier and Katharine Emery), a Swiss archaeologist (Jason Robards, Sr.), haughty Greek Thea (Ellen Drew) and superstitious Kyra (Helen Thimig). Mundane fears give way to superstition, as the characters suspect a vorvolaka haunts the island.
Like most Lewton protagonists, Isle's characters walk the razor's edge between science and myth. General Pherides' materialism is tied to military ruthlessness; Thea resents him for a massacre of rebellious peasants. Kyra lights a pyre to Zeus and raves about vampire; Mrs. St. Aubyn's terrorized by cataleptic trances. "Man of science" Dr. Drossos (Ernest Deutsch) is among the plague's first victims. Pherides' faith in reason fades as the body count escalates; soon he pegs Thea as a possible vampire. Like Richard Dix in The Ghost Ship, his concept of authority becomes a license to oppress.
Lewton and writer Ardel Wray introduce interesting strands that don't come together. The cast are thinly sketched and broadly played, while the story takes ages to start. Robson's gloomy photography generates atmosphere, but little tension. The last act abruptly shifts into straightforward horror; a character's buried alive, then emerges a murderous psychopath. These scenes contain creepy visuals (water dripping on a coffin, the putative vampire, eyes glowing, moaning incoherently, emerging from their crypt) and a trademark stalking scene with blowing wind and shrieking birds. While effective, it feels less climactic than tacked-on.
Fortunately, Boris Karloff redeems much. If his unkempt hair seems unmilitary, he's successful portraying a stiff martinet who drives a subordinate to suicide early on. Karloff gives Pherides enough depth to earn our sympathy. Either he's going mad with paranoia or reacting naturally to an unnatural situation; either way, he sincerely tries protecting his charges. Karloff raises his stentorian voice but never gives into ham, keeping Pherides a compelling, strangely sympathetic villain.
Even flawed Val Lewton is still worth seeing, and Isle of the Dead has atmosphere and Boris Karloff to commend it. Still, its ragged production shows: conceived under less-than-ideal circumstances, it's a less-than-ideal movie.
