Over time, the premise established by Robert Louis Stevenson in The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde has become so taut and over-worn, it is a surprise anyone has been able to find a new perspective with which to approach this story, especially since it has been subjected to every conceivable genre coming from all corners of the artistic world. It is understandable, since the concept of a mild-mannered and brilliant scientist finds himself grappling with his identity as a result of questioning how far science can take the human psyche is something that can be applied to many different situations, with countless stories employing what has essentially become a narrative tool, an archetype that has its roots heavily within all parts of the global culture in one way or another. However, as exciting and compelling as many of these experiments may be, nothing quite compares to a work that centres itself within a more traditional perspective on the original text, which was the case for Rouben Mamoulian’s adaptation of the Stevenson class, a fascinating and well-constructed retelling of this story, which is put together with a lot of care by one of the great journeyman directors of his generation, someone who may not be regarded as too much of an authorial voice, but who certainly has more than enough merit within the industry to be considered extremely reliable, enough to elevate just about any material to a place where it is at the very least extremely effective and wildly entertaining. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is not the definitive film version of the novel (although that is up for debate, since there aren’t nearly as many direct adaptations of this story as one would imagine – it is actually more common to find films inspired by the text rather than overtly aiming to adapt it in a direct sense), but it does have a very unique perspective that makes it, at the very least, quite meaningful and artistically resonant, enough to qualify it as one of the more effective adaptations of a classic novel from this era.

Horror was undergoing quite a fascinating change during the period in which Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde were being produced – it came out the same year as Frankenstein and Dracula, meaning that it was created concurrently, rather than in response to these iconic films. There are many points at which they differ, which are highlighted the further we immerse ourselves in the world of this film. Mamoulian has a very particular style of direction that persists throughout his films, which is essential to break down the source material (or just the overall screenplay in the case of an original film) and condense it to a single idea – whether a specific genre, concept or just keyword, there is something that drives these films that sits right at the heart of the narrative, from which he builds the entire story. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde has a pre-packaged message already, so there isn’t much work needed to find nuance in the material. There is a sense of profound complexity that drives this film and keeps it so engaging and entertaining, but it is also quite important aware of the fact that it is a horror film, with the specific idea that the director and screenwriter Samuel Hoffenstein and Percy Heath seem to be drawing on being the sense of duality, and how the person who we see in the mirror may not be the most accurate depiction of who we are, taking it a few steps further and making us question whether our own reflection may become our greatest foe. To bring these ideas to life, the film draws on themes around the fear of the unknown – it isn’t quite a monster film, as these had only just started to infiltrate into the industry (although the moments in which the main character transforms into the villainous persona are some of the most frightening from the era), but it does play like one, with clearly-defined villains and a story that focuses solely on these aspects being right at the heart of the narrative, and the reason this feels so effective. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde do evoke a sense of pure horror, and even from a modern standpoint, there are several moments in this film that are deeply frightening, with the special effects being groundbreaking for the time, and still holding up today as well as they did nearly a century ago.

Part of the appeal of many of these early horror films is that, despite being genre pictures, they were still able to bring in some remarkable actors, since the era of the studio system meant that some of our greatest actors had to peddle their wares in unexpected genres from time to time, or else be in breach of their contract. There were certainly a formidable group of actors that specialized in horror (such as Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff, and several others that defined this period of terror), but it is always intriguing to see those not known for these kinds of films and how they adapt to the storytelling process as a whole, which is quite different from a traditional drama. Fredric March was objectively one of our greatest actors – a debonair performer that never relied on his dashing good looks and undeniable charisma that keep us invested in his characters, but rather in his immense expressivity, as well as the versatility that he embodied throughout his career. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is the kind of film that delivers exactly what it promises, and any actor fortunate enough to get the titular roles will have quite a challenge ahead of them. It is true that many actors could have played this role, especially since the majority of the Edward Hyde character has to do with the physical transformation (which is unquestionably terrifying, even if it isn’t traditionally the fuel of nightmares that we would see with the character in later iterations, many of which perhaps took it slightly too far, straying away from the sense of realistic duality evoked in Stevenson’s novel) – but only a gifted one would have been able to define the character in such a complex, spirited way. March is terrific, as is the entire supporting cast, which includes the effortlessly lovely Miriam Hopkins, as well as Holmes Herbert and Halliwell Hobbes, all of which fit perfectly into this world, being capable of playing these characters in a way that is complex, but not overly serious or dour, or as if they are masquerading with a sense of false confidence, which would not be appropriate in a film that really depends on the strength of March’s performance before anything else, which is why it is so integral that we acknowledge the unquestionable brilliance of this film as a whole, and the roles that reside right at its centre.

One of the great joys of revisiting these older films is that we are given the opportunity to reconsider them through a much more modern perspective, particularly in how many films produced during the 1930s and 1940s lend themselves to deeper readings, even if some of the conclusions drawn between them can be tenuous at the best of moments. It is surprising that Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde haven’t been subjected to quite as much scrutiny and over-analysis as some other horror films from this period, especially as part of the contemporary movement to view a lot of these films as being covertly queer in their sensibilities. At the time in which this film was made, the possibility of telling a story that even hinted at the most vague sense of sexual or gender-based deviation was immediately viewed as wildly inappropriate and was promptly dismissed. Mercifully, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was produced during the Pre-Code era, and while this was not the laissez-faire, “anything goes” period that some make it out to be, it was still a time when filmmakers were able to edge their way around these stories with slightly more subversive meanings hidden below the surface. It doesn’t take too much effort to figure out how this story in particular could be considered at least partially in favour of a queer reading – the idea of someone negotiating their identity while “transforming” into another being, one that only barely resembles their original form, does have some gravity in terms of contemporary issues – albeit I doubt anyone struggling with their identity will feel particularly enamoured with the idea of being compared to a psychopathic killer, but the matter is much more complex than just these narrative specifics, and some of the most interesting ideas have come from more finding alternative interpretations, which may be far-fetched, but at least start the conversation. The Pre-Code era allowed for more of these topics to be quietly examined, and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde does take advantage, even if it is not nearly as explicit as some of the other horror films produced during that time – but then again, perhaps this is the reason why this particular film hasn’t been quite as appreciated in comparison to others made at the time.

Conversations around horror cinema of the 1930s rarely gravitate towards mentioning Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in any significant detail, with its entire existence simply being to point towards either some of its more innovative use of makeup and special effects, or the fact that this is one of the rare horror-based performances to be award an Academy Award (a remarkable achievement that is doubly impressive when we realize how experimental these awards were before they found their footing) , which seems like an inappropriate reduction of what is an extremely compelling and deeply terrifying piece of unhinged horror, one that is carefully controlled enough to keep us engaged, but not so much that we ever lose sight of its more artistic merits as not only a great horror film, but an excellent literary adaptation. The gothic terror merged with a bleak, gritty realism that underpinned Stevenson’s original novel are present in every moment of this film, with the reconstruction of Victorian-era London being truly spellbinding (especially when we realize there are broad allusions to the story of Jekyll and Hyde, and the existence of Jack the Ripper, who almost haunts the entire production in an unconventional way), and the development of many of its narrative ideas being extremely impressive. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is a terrific film, the kind of early-stage horror that may not be as frightening as it is just quite unsettling – and with one of March’s most spirited performances, a director who is firmly in control of his craft, and an overall sense of authenticity that interweaves with the abstract elements to create a multilayered horror. It is slightly too preoccupied with dialogue and exposition, and the action is brief but memorable, and it all amounts to a fascinating, compelling and frequently quite disconcerting horror film about identity and the lengths to which we are able to transform, psychologically and physically, and the dangers that come along with such a process.