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If there is any classic figure from horror novels which actors aspire to play, I suspect that it is Dr. Jekyll and his animalistic id Mr. Hyde. Not only does the character allow for an actor to portray two distinct personas, but Mr. Hyde allows them indulge in both playing dark and naughty, and masking themselves underneath layers of makeup and costuming. It’s the chance to lose all semblance of themself in a role, and that’s probably why great cinema icons like Spencer Tracy and John Barrymore have tackled the role.
This 1920 version may not be perfect, but Barrymore’s central performance gives the film a great boost and goes a long way to making it a near-masterpiece. Sometimes great acting can sell a project better than anything else on its own. If Dreyer didn’t have Falconetti as the center of his Passion of Joan of Arc, that filmed would have buckled under its own adventurous artistry and probably wouldn’t be remembered as the great classic that it is.
A similar thing is going on here with Barrymore’s take on the Robert Louis Stevenson story. Director John S. Robertson is no Dreyer though, so he never creates as much atmosphere or visual splendor to work in tandem with the bravura performance that his star is giving, but he also never sinks the film. He smartly knows when to back off and let Barrymore go in fits of wild abandon, and he does manage to create two striking and memorably disturbed transformation scenes.
The first transformation scene has Barrymore twisting and contorting his body and facial muscles into Hyde without the aid of makeup. There is a cut to him appearing in full regalia, but that image doesn’t linger or unnerve as much as the sight of Barrymore’s actorly fits. It’s practically early-method in its intensity and commitment as he rolls his eyes to the back of his head, reaches out to the air and slams his body down on the floor. It’s riveting and alarming at how little regard is being kept for his body’s well-being as he risks injury to sell us on the idea of Hyde’s takeover.
The other transformation scene is more complicated and a vastly trickier bit of editing. As Jekyll sleeps in his bed, a giant white spider with the head of Hyde comes out from underneath his bed, crawls on top of him and they merge into one being for a brief second. And then Hyde is lying in the bed. The special effects work holds up after all of these years, and Hyde’s malevolent smile as he takes over sells the scene.
The duality at the center of story is typically simplified as two archetypes battling over dominance. Jekyll here is all good, he borderlines on the saintly in fact. He isn’t just a respected doctor, but a doctor who runs a free clinic for the poor. And his transformation into the monstrous Hyde is sold by the actor’s leering looks and willingness to look more like an animal than a man in his body carriage and physical gestures. His smile and eyes frequently give the impression of impending sexual violence while dressed up as the hunchbacked, balding, tattered and clawed Hyde.
The only thing that could have made Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde better was a director who could match wits and imagination with Barrymore. I wonder what could have happened if a German expressionist had taken the project into darker, more cerebral and surreal territory. It’s a little muzzled compared to a work like The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari or Nosferatu, but as a star vehicle, it soars. And it’s never less than captivating at every twist and turn.
