I’m of the opinion that stories are more satisfying within the historical context that they were originally created. For instance, Spider-Man works better as a character when inserted into the colorful counter-cultural movements of the 1960s, and Count Dracula loses a lot of the subtext that makes him so interesting when removed from the final […]
“We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity.”
With help from their talented editor and cinematographer David Robertson, the team developed what they would later refer to as the “Mythoscope” process – a technique through which the digital shoot would be converted into a realistic facsimile of vintage film stock, complete with lighting and composition that would have been popular during the 1930s. This process involved a mix of both painstakingly crafted sets and cleverly disguised locations, with the globe-trotting adventure actually being shot almost entirely within California on a shoestring budget.
This is especially remarkable when you consider that almost all of the effects were achieved in-camera. The sunken city of R’lyeh was actually built at three different scales in order to allow for more creative use of non-Euclidean geometry while also facilitating the stop-motion sequence towards the end of the picture, and that’s not even mentioning all of the eerie artwork that had to be hand-painted/sculpted before shooting. Of course, the stop-motion monster effects are probably the most famous element of this adaptation, with the flick’s Harryhausen/Richard O’Brien-inspired take on Cthulhu having become more famous than the movie itself.
In the finished film, which follows the 1928 story so closely that it even incorporates the original text into its intertitles, we accompany a series of nested vignettes about a mysterious cult and their eldritch God. These sequences are connected by an overarching narrative concerning a distraught protagonist going through the files that drove his deceased uncle mad. Naturally, this curious nephew soon begins to lose his own grip on reality as he slowly pieces together a cosmic puzzle and realizes that there are things man was not meant to know.
Right off the bat, the movie’s dedication to retro authenticity is remarkable, with very few details giving away the illusion. As a filmmaker myself with experience in replicating old-timey aesthetics, I’m aware of how hard it is to convincingly simulate aging film stock and early 20th century lighting/lenses without the aid of a sizable budget like in the case of David Fincher’s Mank. However, I’m pleased to say that Andrew Leman and his team managed to push their limited resources to the very limit here – to the point where I honestly think that the film might have fooled casual audiences if it benefited from a wider release.
This visual fidelity extends to The Call of Cthulhu’s aforementioned effects, with the final act featuring gorgeous lo-fi puppetry that -ironically enough- is actually a little too advanced for the era that the film is attempting to emulate. The climactic encounter with Cthulhu may not seem particularly scary for modern audiences, but the janky movements of the Great Old One’s tentacles add so much texture and charm to the experience that I think the movie is already worth watching for this sequence alone.
“The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.”
Of course, The Call of Cthulhu is faithful to its origins to a fault, with the adaptation becoming so lost in the original work’s convoluted web of stories within stories that it may be difficult for uninitiated viewers to follow what’s going on. This is exacerbated by the fact that Lovecraft’s prose valued depth over clarity – meaning that some of the intertitles are way longer and more complex than they needed to be.
And yet, some of the nuance present in the source material was inevitability lost in translation due to the very nature of film as a visual medium. Cthulhu is a lot scarier as a barely comprehensible description of an octopus-dragon carving than as a literal monster, so the adaptation unfortunately lacks some of the monstrous impact of Lovecraft’s original work.
I was never really bothered by this, as Leman’s team seemed to view the project as more of an experiment in simulating a film that might have been made rather than actually making a thrilling picture for current audiences. From the period-accurate orchestral score (courtesy of an incredibly talented ensemble of five composers) to lighting and set design that wouldn’t feel out of place in a legitimate example of German Expressionism, there’s a lot to love about this little passion project if you’re into film history.
Personally, I enjoy the movie in much the same way as I appreciate 2018’s faux cursed film Antrum – a similar exercise where filmmakers wished to pay homage to a bygone era of genre filmmaking. And much like Antrum, the obscure nature of Leman’s film also lends it an air of “lost media,” as one could easily imagine that this cursed silent picture was struck from history books due to the subversive nature of Lovecraft’s writing.
In the end, whether or not you enjoy HPLHS’s Call of Cthulhu mostly depends on your tolerance for aesthetic gimmicks and your opinion of the original short story. As a huge fan of the Cthulhu Mythos and a defender of creative teams willing to commit to a bit, it stands to reason that I adore this 47-minute experiment, though your own mileage may vary. However, whether or not you like the movie, I think it’s safe to say that this is the most faithful Lovecraft adaptation ever made, and it’s just as impressive now as it was back in 2005.
