Little B-pictures like this don't tend to have a lot going for them. There is much about Moonfleet to indicate it comes from the lower end of studio output – a now-obscure adventure novel as its source text, minimal sets, outdoor scenes on the back-lot, garish costume design and Fritz Lang in the director's chair. Not that Lang was a bad director – far from it – but he was never allowed to get his hands on anything prestigious during his Hollywood years, and his name in the credits is as good as sign of "cheap and cheerful" as any. However the great thing about movie-making is that inventiveness and flair cost nothing, and these are things Lang had by the bucketful.
The daunting and adventuresome spirit of the novel really seems to have inspired Lang, and from the offset he fills the screen with the kind of disturbing imagery that he always did so well – a nightmarish stone angel, hands appearing out of the earth, a hanged criminal creaking in the breeze, all shot with a painterly precision that heightens their macabre impact. Also integral to Lang's approach is the way he utilises the barren sets to create stark empty spaces in his shots. A great example is when Stewart Granger first appears. Lang has the camera track back, gradually opening out the space, which is all the more effective because the shots leading up to that moment had very close, tight compositions. Many of the compositions have some conspicuous empty space or distant vanishing point, and the whole picture acquires this desolate feel, as if we are a long way from law, safety and normal civilization. So what has this to do with the story? Well, it's very simple for feelings of fear and unease to flip over into ones of excitement. It's that fine line between the creepy and the thrilling that really brings the adventure plot to life. Lang even places us squarely inside the sense of danger with point-of-view shots in the scene where young Jon Whitely is hiding from the smugglers in the crypt.
One of the biggest holes in these low-budget productions was often the cast, but while none of the performances in Moonfleet is exactly outstanding, there is a good balancing out of adequate ones. Whitely, Granger and the ubiquitous George Sanders give restrained and naturalistic turns, each convincing and never too exuberant. Granger in particular keeps things at a steady pace, and succinctly shows his character's conflicting emotions through subtle changes in his face. On the other hand we have some gloriously expressive and theatrical performances from various bit players, keeping up that slight unworldly tone, but only in roles which are small enough that they do not threaten to unbalance the picture. The stand-out among these latter players is Alan Napier as the fire-and-brimstone pastor, who gets one brief yet riveting appearance.
Moonfleet also happens to be one of a number of pictures from the 1950s which it appears would later be reference points in the Indiana Jones movies of the 1980s. Specifically, the afore-mentioned crypt scene reminds me of the opening of Last Crusade, in which the teenage Indy spies on a gang of treasure-hungry hoodlums. The underground burial chamber is also reminiscent of the Venetian catacombs from later in the same movie. Although these similarities could be coincidental, it is perfectly believable that Moonfleet would fire the imagination of a nine-year-old Steven Spielberg and sear itself into his brain, all testament to the powerful imagery and keen sense of adventure that transcends its low-budget roots.
The daunting and adventuresome spirit of the novel really seems to have inspired Lang, and from the offset he fills the screen with the kind of disturbing imagery that he always did so well – a nightmarish stone angel, hands appearing out of the earth, a hanged criminal creaking in the breeze, all shot with a painterly precision that heightens their macabre impact. Also integral to Lang's approach is the way he utilises the barren sets to create stark empty spaces in his shots. A great example is when Stewart Granger first appears. Lang has the camera track back, gradually opening out the space, which is all the more effective because the shots leading up to that moment had very close, tight compositions. Many of the compositions have some conspicuous empty space or distant vanishing point, and the whole picture acquires this desolate feel, as if we are a long way from law, safety and normal civilization. So what has this to do with the story? Well, it's very simple for feelings of fear and unease to flip over into ones of excitement. It's that fine line between the creepy and the thrilling that really brings the adventure plot to life. Lang even places us squarely inside the sense of danger with point-of-view shots in the scene where young Jon Whitely is hiding from the smugglers in the crypt.
One of the biggest holes in these low-budget productions was often the cast, but while none of the performances in Moonfleet is exactly outstanding, there is a good balancing out of adequate ones. Whitely, Granger and the ubiquitous George Sanders give restrained and naturalistic turns, each convincing and never too exuberant. Granger in particular keeps things at a steady pace, and succinctly shows his character's conflicting emotions through subtle changes in his face. On the other hand we have some gloriously expressive and theatrical performances from various bit players, keeping up that slight unworldly tone, but only in roles which are small enough that they do not threaten to unbalance the picture. The stand-out among these latter players is Alan Napier as the fire-and-brimstone pastor, who gets one brief yet riveting appearance.
Moonfleet also happens to be one of a number of pictures from the 1950s which it appears would later be reference points in the Indiana Jones movies of the 1980s. Specifically, the afore-mentioned crypt scene reminds me of the opening of Last Crusade, in which the teenage Indy spies on a gang of treasure-hungry hoodlums. The underground burial chamber is also reminiscent of the Venetian catacombs from later in the same movie. Although these similarities could be coincidental, it is perfectly believable that Moonfleet would fire the imagination of a nine-year-old Steven Spielberg and sear itself into his brain, all testament to the powerful imagery and keen sense of adventure that transcends its low-budget roots.