The 1930s became the creative peak of horror cinema, solidifying classic iconic actors and performances in what has become known as the golden age of horror--Boris Karloff as the reanimated corpse in Frankenstein; Bela Lugosi as the Satanic undead vampire in Dracula; Fredric March as the sexually repressed doctor in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde ; Boris Karloff as Im-ho-tep, Egyptian high priest, whose crime of stealing the secrets of immortality brought him wretched, decaying existence 3,700 years later as The Mummy ; Claude Rains as the dabbler in secrets of science better left alone in The Invisible Man; Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff as bitter, war-ravished adversaries battling to the death in The Black Cat; King Kong as the 7 th Wonder of the World, created via stop-motion animation by special effects wizard Willis O'Brien, etc.

 But what of the women?

Horror cinema is decidedly a male-dominated film genre that concentrates on theatrical recreations of evil: obsessive scientists, demented lunatics and soulless monsters.   But even if the spotlight shines brightest on the vile portrayals of evil, what of the victims, what of the beloved heroines?

While no female heroine challenges the throne occupied by men in the horror film genre, the women are not to be relegated to the dungeons of obscurity.   Where would Frankenstein be without his brides (Mae Clarke, Valerie Hobson and Josephine Hutchinson); where would Dracula/Count Mora be without his soulmate (Helen Chandler and Carroll Borland); where would Dr. Jekyll (the good) and Mr. Hyde (the bad) be without their women (Rose Hobart to serve the good; Miriam Hopkins to serve the bad); where would The Mummy be without his reincarnated princess (Zita Johann); where would the Invisible Man be without the love of his life (Gloria Stuart); where would those corrupted, diabolical chess players be without their female pawns (Lucille Lund and Jacqueline Wells); and what would King Kong have to beat his breast about if it were not for his screaming object of affection, Fay Wray?

Women in 1930s horror films were not always the innocent heroines and fainting dainties.   Who can ever forget Kathleen Burke's unbridled sexuality as the mutated panther woman in Island of Lost Souls or Myrna Loy as the nymphomaniacal/sado-masochistic daughter of Fu Manchu in The Mask of Fu Manchu?   Let's not forget the ghostly-white wisp of a woman the Bride of Frankenstein, a monster created to be the mate of Karloff, as enacted by Elsa Lanchester in herky-jerky motion with hissed screams and extended arms ready to enwrap the creator (Frankenstein), not the Monster.  

Even if the male icons were the legends in the making--Karloff, Lugosi, etc.--the women, less identifiable, less recognizable, became the impetus for the horror and its resolution, the actresses who helped make the male performances so classically memorable. For far too long the women remained in the shadows posing in provocative shots with their more easily identifiable male counterparts.

The era of the Scream Queen was born in the 1960s--sexy Raquel Welch fought dinosaurs One Million Years B.C.; icy-eyed beauty Barbara Steele burned her way into the retinas of audiences across the world in Black Sunday; blonde seductress Jane Fonda stripped for the camera in the credit sequence in Barbarella (and the movie went downhill immediately after those first few minutes); etc.   the brazen sexuality of this liberated era brought newfound attention to the female actresses in horror-fantasy-sci-fi cinema.   And while the costuming and performances were quite naïve and suppressed back in the 1930s, depraved sexuality was literally bursting loose literally right under the surface.   Miriam Hopkins, nude under the bedcovers, her tantalizing leg beckoning "come back, soon" to Dr. Jekyll; the always underdressed and predatory Kathleen Burke sizzling and seductive in Island of Lost Souls; Bela Lugosi as the obsessed surgeon who first saves the life of Irene Ware only to attempt his sexual conquest of her by preying on her gratitude to him (or so he hopes) in The Raven; the sexually solicitous daughter of Fu Manchu who attempts to seduce shackled white males and brainwash them at the same time, etc.

As the Scream Queens of the modern era began to garner attention and curiosity among movie fans, more and more people began to go back and study those performances of actresses in horror films of the 1930s, performances that often steamed and smoldered in a highly conservative and censored era of moviemaking, whose performances had to be slyly suggestive.   But female performers were much more than half-dressed (or undressed) bathing beauties, as became the norm during the 1960s and later.   In the 1930s, actresses were required to act and develop characters (no matter how undeveloped and clichéd they may be).   And in spite of their underwritten parts by Hollywood screenwriters, most of the women here remain know for all the right reasons-charisma, talent and star quality.

Gary J. Svehla