White Zombie: Bela Lugosi Stars in the First Zombie Film of All Time

After beguiling audiences with his mesmeric turn as Count Dracula, Bela Lugosi starred in this seminal zombie film as a calculating voodoo practitioner by the name of Murder Legendre. Legendre shares the Count's furtive magnetism, but Lugosi plays him with a little more clemency and a morbid sense of humor. He's the most notable asset here, but he's not the only reason to seek this production out.

It should be requisite viewing for any genre hound, if only because it's the first zombie film of all time. You must respect your elders. Fortuitously, White Zombie is more than just a novelty item. My first instinct is to weigh it against Universal's bough of time-honored monster movies, but it has more in common with silent works of German expressionism. The heavy make-up, the exaggerated mannerisms, the dependency on an enlivening score to keep the energy level from lurching...I was reminded more of F.W. Murnau than Tod Browning.

Of course, this isn't a setback. As a result of its expressionistic inclinations, the film lays claim to a dour, sullen mood that is only reinforced by the leaden B&W cinematography. I imagine that White Zombie looks spectacular on DVD, but I had to settle for a subpar VHS copy. The audio is muffled, the print bears significant grain and numerous scratches, and the blacks are washed out. It's hard to be objective about the poor quality. The film itself isn't liable for this particular reissue, but my senses felt deprived regardless.

The sloppy transfer stultified the viewing experience, and took me out of the film's overcast atmosphere on more than one occasion. I could still spot the slick production values, though. Director Victor Halperin didn't have the budget of Dracula, but he milked his scanty resources for all they were worth. The sets are impressive (although some are obviously sets), the few visual effects are well-harnessed, and every now and then, we'll get a wicked matte painting (Legendre's foreboding castle).

The acting is uneven. Naturally, Lugosi anchors the cast with his arresting presence. Legendre is a speaking role, but his trenchant stare would effortlessly compensate for a lack of dialogue. Just give me 90 minutes of him penetrating the camera with his acidic eyes, and I'd be entertained. Robert Frazer is solid as Beaumont, a plantation owner who borrows a dab of Legendre's "zombie potion" to swipe the woman of his dreams.

We're not really supposed to root for him, but we do anyway because the protagonists are anodyne, lackluster stencils. John Harron is a bit too theatrical as Neil, the distraught husband. His performance might have been outdated, even for 1932. Madge Bellamy is simply there as Madeleine, the hub of Beaumont's infatuation. She doesn't embarrass herself as a zombie, but as a damsel in distress, she doesn't garner much sympathy.

The living dead aren't fetid, decomposed mounds of drooling flesh, but they're definitely zombified. Soulless eyes, lumbering gestures, ashen skin...they wouldn't win in a fight with Romero's zombies, but they're pretty damn cool. The pace is steady, and I was never bored (although you could attribute that to the cursory running time of 68 minutes). The climax is masterfully composed, and seems as though it were extracted from a silent film. Everything is conveyed through elegiac imagery.

It's for this reason why White Zombie won't appeal to every horror connoisseur. If archaic films don't tickle your tastebuds, you won't find much to adulate here, but if you do enjoy examining the roots of the genre, you'd be remiss in passing this flick up.