It is almost impossible to tell a story set in Victorian-era London without addressing the existence of the notorious Jack the Ripper, the serial killer who lurked the dimly-lit alleys and streets of 19th century England, preying on weak and helpless women who are unlucky enough to cross his path. Despite his complete anonymity, he left a profound impression on the culture, being one of the first widely-feared serial killers in history. His influence was so immense, people are still working to determine his identity, over a century later. Regardless of how convincing the evidence is, every supposed theory is merely the work of educated guessing, and it’s very likely we’ll never know the identity of this mysterious killer. As a result, the best works on the subject are often those that use conjecture to propose their own interpretation of his murders, such as The Lodger, the novel by Marie Belloc Lowndes, which was turned into two fascinating films, one by Alfred Hitchcock in one of his earliest directorial outings, and the other by John Brahm, the latter of which is the subject of today’s discussion. His version of The Lodger is an absolutely terrifying, disquieting psychological thriller that dives deep into the nightmarish horrors faced by ordinary people in Victorian London as they tried to avoid coming into contact with the terrifying Ripper, who they knew would most certainly have his way with them in satiating his bloody desires – and offering its own supposed conclusion to the story, it dares to be the rare kind of speculative fiction that is both thrilling and constructive, leading to one of the most enthralling thrillers of its era.

The Lodger is a masterful example of mounting tension and inciting purely thrilling fear in the viewer – while it may not compare with Hitchcock’s definitive version of the novel, it has its own merits that gradually build up throughout the film. Brahm was not a slouch of a director – he had a keen control of his craft, and could easily weave together a compelling story, of which this is certainly a perfect example. The key to the success of the film is how he carefully pulls together various stylistic and narrative threads and ties them together in a way that is both enticing and fascinating. How he manages this in such a short span of time (only 83 minutes for an entire crime odyssey seems oddly paltry) is a marvel, but is all the more reason to outwardly celebrate this film as the embodiment of what can be done with a strong story and the resources needed to realize some of the most intangible ideas. On both a thematic and narrative level, Brahm weaves together an enticing story that is never short of captivating ideas or thrilling moments, each scene layering on more meaning to this sinister and terrifying story that takes its inspiration from reality, but dares to add its own theories on the events, leading to a multimodal piece of storytelling that, despite being massively fictionalized, holds some degree of truth in how it addresses deeper issues relating to the fear that came about as a result of Jack the Ripper’s reign of terror, and the impact it had on the collective cultural psyche, the aftershocks still being felt to this very day.

It’s not always what we see on screen that scares us, but what is implied to be lurking in the shadows – and existing at the perfect intersection between psychological thriller and unhinged horror is The Lodger, which relishes in how it can capture the audience’s attention from the very first moment. Standing firmly at the forefront of this film is the cast, led by the formidable trio of George Sanders, Merle Oberon and Laird Cregar, all three of them turning in very impressive performances that carry the film. Cregar, in particular, is an absolute revelation – as one of the most promising young character actors of the period, he was remarkably adept at playing roles that were normally underwritten, infusing them with his particular brand of intense charm that would’ve been well-utilized had his life not tragically come to an end far too soon. Playing the role of the mysterious Mr Slade, who is revealed to be Jack the Ripper (using the popular theory that the killer was actually a well-known and respected physician), he is the sinister heart of the film, the character whose perspective we follow, even if we yearn to be liberated from his maniacal point of view. The entrapment we feel in accompanying Slade on this journey is part of what makes The Lodger so unforgettable – we grapple with having to see the world through the eyes of a vicious murderer, forced into a position of passive observer, a very effective choice that was quite rare for even the darkest films at the time (there had been works that used conflicted anti-heroes as their main characters, but rarely dyed-in-the-wool menaces like Slade). It only makes the brief moments where we encounter the valiant Inspector Warwick, played by Sanders, and the charming Kitty, masterfully portrayed by Oberon, all the more effective, since we get a brief glimpse into the good that exists in the world through their storylines.

The Lodger is a fascinating film and one that should be taken more seriously as an early entry into the psychological thriller genre – not many films produced in the 1940s offer the sheer amount of terror-fueled surprises as this one, especially in terms of how it actively refuses to have a happy ending (the resolution is still satisfying, but it’s not the kind of neat conclusion that we’d expect), and how it navigates some treacherous subject matter in the pursuit of a deeply captivating story that freely interprets the legend of Jack the Ripper through the guise of a pulp fiction detective story. The use of shifting perspectives (and the marvellous actors through whose eyes we see these storylines), absolutely impeccable filmmaking and strong writing all work in tandem to create an absolutely unforgettable film that combines historical drama with unhinged horror. It’s a well-made chamber piece with a sombre tone and a lingering sense of dread that never quite abates, peppered with moments of true terror that exist between the intricately woven mysteries that reside at the heart of this film. There are so many layers to this film, simply trying to analyse them on their own would take far too long, and distract from the bleak commentary that lurks just beneath the surface, ready to pounce on the unsuspecting viewer as we get even more immersed in this sinister version of the world that may be driven by fiction, but carries weight far beyond anything we can comprehend.