Cat People (1942)

I watched Cat People as both an aspiring screenwriter of the 1940s and as a tired middle-aged woman of now. And both of us came away, annoyed.

Cat People is a 1942 Supernatural Horror that routinely appears in lists of greatest scary movies. It’s October, the perfect time to settle in and watch a classic horror. The film has a cult appreciation of its limitations, because no one is claiming it is a great movie, but it is considered important within its genre, for its use of off-screen suggestion and eery shadows.

Reading about the film, it is clear that the title came first. Val Lewton a newly appointed producer at RKO was given the remit to make horror films. The title Cat People, according to Hollywood legend was given to him by Charles Koerner (head of studio) at an industry soiree.

Writer (DeWitt Bodeen), Director (Jacques Tourneur) and Producer (Val Lewton), given that prompt, read everything they could find about cats in literature and waited for an idea to coalesce. (This is often the way I work Take a prompt. Do some research. Find what resonates, some phrases, images, ideas and then let the story find me).

Tourneur said:

At first Bodeen wrote Cat People as a period thing but I argued against that. I said that if you’re going to have horror the audience must be able to identify with the characters in order to be frightened.

What they ended up producing was a love triangle, set in New York – a foreign girl, a ‘normal’ young man and the ‘normal’ young woman who has always loved him. (I don’t identify with the characters, maybe that’s why I wasn’t frightened).

That foreign girl is Irena (Simone Simon) plagued by a Serbian folk tale and belief that she is descended from the evil cat people of her homeland. On meeting Oliver (Kent Smith), she tells the tale. He finds it charming but easily dismissed and the courtship quickly escalates. But there is something strange about his wife. The pet kitten recoils in horror when in her company. A feline-looking woman approaches her at her wedding party and calls her sister The gift of a caged love bird dies in her hands. And she is obsessed with the pacing panther at the zoo.

Alongside Oliver and Irena the third side of the triangle is Alice (Jane Randolph). She is the faithful co-worker who has fallen for the indifferent Oliver. And, as catalyst, we have the mainstay of many 1940s melodramas, the lecherous shrink, Dr Judd (Tom Conway).

So, what annoyed my imaginary 1940s screenwriting persona?

She takes a gulp of hard spirit and lights a cigarette She likes the way the heat of whisky and the smoke mingle on her tastebuds. Because that’s the kind of woman she is.

“Look,” she says, “I write scripts, but find it hard to get a foot into the film industry. My scripts are good. And yet this is what they make?!”

“It’s weird, being here, in the 1940s, knowing that before the censors really took hold, we made films that could scare the bejesus out of you. Silent horrors where the screams couldn’t be heard. Monsters that hunted for sport. Freaks that would wrap their hands around beauty. Then the dullards in the Hays Office made us tame. They didn’t even let us reissue those old films. Originals got lost and there are cinema-goers who think Cat People is ground-breaking. There are cinema-goers who don’t know how badass a scary movie can be.”

I nod sagely because the weird truth is that here in the 21st century, I have more opportunities to watch a pre-code 1930s movie than a regular cinema goer in the 1940s. I have TV, the internet and streaming.

Another slug of whisky. My alter-ego paces as she talks. Wisecracks need movement in the delivery.

“If I had to write the script, my God, it would not be so dull. So much exposition, coming from an underwhelming actress. Why didn’t they use flashbacks and voice-overs and just get to the action quicker?”

More pacing.

“And it gets called a scare movie. But I was more scared watching Casablanca. Nazis are real monsters. Did you see Bette Davis scheming in Little Foxes? Have you ever been more chilled by Cary Grant in Suspicion?”

I nod. I agree. 1940s films could be scary without the supernatural. And in crime dramas they got around the censors in much more engaging and imaginative ways.

An artful wisp of smoke curls at her lip.

“And did you see how tepid that male lead was?”

“Yes, yes, I did.”

And this is what annoyed me most of all. Irena was sexy and frightened of her passion. And for all that tempestuousness and unpredictability she ends up with Oliver? A dull, plodding man, lacking spirit.

None of the film is written well or acted well. But I can forgive that as quaint or of its time. But I’m so fed up with boring men being seen as a prize that’s worth the effort of turning into a panther. I’m fed up with passionate women and their sexuality being seen as a threat. The subtext of this film was saying, to succeed women need to ‘calm down’. And nothing is more likely to irk me than the suggestion the problems of the world start with the angry energy of women.

Critics of the time didn’t much admire the film either. It slowly gained its popularity because of the portrayal of female sexuality (but also the demonisation of this). A naked Irena sits sobbing in the bath after the suggestion of a kill. Exotica and guilt in one shot.

But it isn’t murky enough; the ambiguity isn’t playful enough; meaning there aren’t enough terrors.

I love Pauline Kael’s backhanded take on it all:

For a brief period he (Lewton) revolutionised scare movies with suggestion, imaginative sound effects and camera angles leaving everything in the fear-fuelled imagination. But its only in the context of almost totally incompetent trash that Lewton’s minor kind of ingenuity can loom large.

It’s an historic moment. I can say that I’ve seen it and taken part in the culture (in much the same way I can say I remember when The Wombles topped the pop charts).

If you've enjoyed what you have read, consider subscribing to my writing on Vocal. If you'd like to support my writing, you can do so by leaving a one-time tip or a regular pledge. Thank you.