The Ghoul was Britain’s first crack at countering the cataract of American horror films cooked up in the early ’30s. It’s apparent that they were trying to capitalize on one genre staple in particular, what with the casting of Boris Karloff and a storyline that involved Egyptian lore. It never burgeoned, and is just now hoarding recognition. Happening upon obscure films is a treat in itself, but it’s a windfall if I actually enjoy the film in question.
In the case of The Ghoul, I didn’t. It does have a few things to its advantage and I don’t see myself demanding a refund anytime soon, but given its propitious bearings, it’s somewhat of a disappointment. What should have been a simple fright flick wound up as a knotty, tedious mystery piece. Karloff’s immense talent is misappropriated, the characters bleed into one another, and the plot’s mythos is paradoxical.
Karloff plays Professor Morlant, an Egyptologist on his deathbed. He’s in possession of the Eternal Light, a scarab jewel that is said to grant immortality. He orders his servant to bury him with the jewel and contends that if the majestic nugget is pilfered, he will rise from the grave to claim what his rightfully his. Needless to say, the Eternal Light is promptly stolen from Morlant’s tomb. It doesn’t take long for the story to contradict itself.
How do these people define immortality? Morlant is dead and buried until someone embezzles the Eternal Light, so it must not have been doing its job. What good is this gem to its proprietor, and why is Morlant so intent on being buried with it? He doesn’t seem to benefit from it, and when you take the ending into consideration, his motive becomes all the more confounding.
Karloff gives a genuine performance, but his character isn’t brought to the fore. I was hoping that we would get to see him in action before Morlant croaked, but he merely puts in an appearance for one-third of the film. Even then, he’s consigned to tottering about and muttering just above a whisper. There are too many characters to keep track of, and it’s too easy to mislay your grasp on things.
Despite the untidy storyline, the acting is strong and the dialogue is sharp. There are quite a few pithy one-liners, although the imposed comedy relief is more irritating than alleviating. Said “relief” is dispensed by way of Kaney (as portrayed by Kathleen Harrison), a loopy women who is smitten with one of the shadier characters. Harrison’s performance is effervescent, but it’s idled away on an ungainly subplot.
Not everything is erroneous on a character level. The relationship between our two leads is refreshing. They’re cousins; this spares us the banal love angle that 98% of antediluvian genre films try to force into the narrative. We do get incestuous undertones, though…yippee? Anyway, the mood is mostly staid and the cinematography is crisp.
From a technical standpoint, it doesn’t leave much to be desired. I wish I could say the same for the listless pacing, the congested screenplay, and the dull game of “Who’s Got the Jewel?” that this film seems to love playing. Incidentally, The Ghoul was remade in 1962 as a comedy entitled No Place Like Homicide. Does it surpass the original? I can’t say that I care enough to find out.
