From The Man They Could Not Hang to The Walking Dead, the pre-war era found Hollywood fixated on the idea of reviving executed criminals. The Monster and the Girl, however, stood alone as the only such film to transplant a convict’s brain into a gorilla.
Debuting 85 years ago today, this black-and-white curiosity was also the only film of its kind to give as much attention to as . When mild-mannered church organist Scot Webster (Philip Terry) is accused of murdering a gang member, the first half unfolds mostly like a standard legal thriller.
Flashbacks interspersed throughout the trial confirm he’s an innocent man framed by head mobster W.S. Bruhl (Paul Lukas) to serve two purposes at once: the victim was a former associate who needed elimination, and after Scot learned—horrified—that his sister Susan (Ellen Drew) had been forced into prostitution by the big-city gang, he quickly became a nuisance.
Since 1941 was still deep in the Hays Code era, The Monster and the Girl had to handle Susan’s predicament carefully. “Doing a little drinking, a little dancing, making the yokels happy” is how Bruhl describes her forced work. Even so, the film ran afoul of the censorship board, which objected to its themes of white slavery and the suggestion that juries could be controlled by criminal forces.
Despite its tight 64-minute runtime, director Stuart Heisler—whose eclectic resume ranges from the family-friendly canine film The Biscuit Eater to a Hitler biopic—finds time to develop Susan and Scot’s relationship. A candid flashback conversation cleverly establishes why Susan was so eager to escape small-town life, and why Scot, who’s fully content with his own life, feels such a strong need to protect her.
Susan’s guilt over how her big-city dreams led to Scot’s tragic downfall is also palpable, especially in the opening monologue where she speaks directly to the camera, dramatically emerging from a cloud of mist. “I’m Susan, the bad luck penny,” she claims. “I bought a million dollars’ worth of trouble… for everybody.”
Still, most moviegoers paid a quarter for the monster, not the girl. After a talkative, relatively grounded first half, the film finally embraces its outlandishness when Dr. Perry (George Zucco) asks Scot to donate his brain for an experiment supposedly meant to “help benefit the human race.” Thoroughly defeated after being sentenced to death row, Scot’s remarkably casual reply is: “Help yourself, mister.”
It’s never made clear exactly why transferring Scot’s brain into a gorilla would aid mankind. And unlike earlier mad scientist films, Perry isn’t portrayed as a maniacal villain—instead, he’s a benevolent MacGuffin. Yet this wild scheme allowed Paramount Pictures to make a rare foray into horror: Scot, now emboldened by his bestial new form, goes on a vengeful rampage to avenge his death and save his sister.
Again, Heisler is limited in what he can show: only one of the gorilla’s multiple killings is depicted on camera, with the rest revealed via police reports (“practically every bone in his body was broken”) that earn him the nickname “The Mangled Murderer.” But thanks to suspenseful, noirish cinematography by Oscar winner Victor Milner and a surprisingly convincing costume—especially by 1941 standards—his reign of terror still carries a fear factor, particularly in a tense nighttime sequence where he stalks his prey across the city’s rooftops.
An expressive performance from Charlie Gemora—who also played an ape in the 1932 chiller Murders in the Rue Morgue—brings unexpected pathos to an undeniably silly premise: whether the gorilla is watching over Susan as she sleeps, knowing he’s lost their sibling bond forever; or when Scot’s beloved dog seems to recognize his master despite his new form as a murderous primate; or when the gorilla’s quest for revenge inevitably ends in tragedy.
The Monster and the Girl remains a true one-off: a mad scientist movie that refuses to paint its scientist as mad; a monster flick that waits until the halfway point to even hint at a monster’s presence; a gritty crime drama interrupted by an 800-pound gorilla. No matter which genre it leans into, it’s always entertaining. A contemporaneous review with wonderfully verbose prose said it best: “A chiller-diller that will send fans of goose-pimply melodrama from the theaters amply satisfied.”
The Monster and the Girl is available on .