The Unholy Three (1925)

Director: Tod Browning
Writer: Waldemar Young, based on the novel by Tod Robbins
Stars: Lon Chaney, Mae Busch and Matt Moore

Index: That's a Wrap!

There are other legendary collaborations in the silent era, but the standout on the darker side of film was between Lon Chaney and Tod Browning. That didn’t technically begin here, as they’d made a pair of Priscilla Dean movies, The Wicked Darling and Outside the Law, at the turn of the decade, but this was where their partnership as lead actor and director started.

It spanned eight features over five years and I look forward to covering them all. Well, all of the ones still extant, at least. People claim that they’ve found London After Midnight often but, thus far, they’ve all been liars. Here’s to a true discovery soon! Check your attics, folks.

I’m especially fond of this film because it’s based on a novel by Tod Robbins, whose story, Spurs, was filmed by Browning as Freaks. Fans of that film will recognise Harry Earles as one of the trio of crooks who make up the Unholy Three, with Chaney and future Oscar winner Victor McLaglen. The stories aren’t related but do share a common theme in carnival life.

In fact, we start in a carnival, with the sights if not the sounds you know from Freaks. There are fat ladies, sword swallowers and conjoined twins. McLaglen is the strongman, Hercules by name, who we see bend a horseshoe with bare hands. Chaney is Professor Echo, ventriloquist, whose dummy is called Nemo; after he gives a performance, he hawks his pamphlets. Earles is Tweedledee, who’s touchy enough about his 3’3” height to kick a child in the audience who was picking on him, which sparks a brawl.

Behind the acts are barkers and pickpockets and the whole experience. We soon see some of the connections, as one pickpocket, Rosie, is working for Echo, and, at midnight, we see the trio who form the Unholy Three. However, the carnival isn’t where we stay for long because we quickly shift to O’Grady’s Bird Store to find out the latest scam.

Nemo is now old Mrs. O’Grady, who runs the place even though she’s stooped over with the arthritis. Fortunately, she has Hercules, a son-in-law, to handle any heavy lifting. Rosie is her granddaughter and Tweedledee is Little Willie, the literal baby of the next generation, though he smokes cigars in the back. Oh, and there’s Hector McDonald, a straightlaced young man who isn’t in on anything, just in case a patsy is needed to hang everything onto.

The scam is that Echo, as Mrs. O’Grady, sells the birds, who all sing wonderfully because of his ventriloquist talents. Of course, they don’t after they’re delivered, prompting complaints, but that’s just an excuse for a home visit from inoffensive Mrs. O’Grady. She proves that they sing after all, while Little Willie, wheeled in in his pram, checks out the valuables to see what can be stolen later, after dark.

It’s a worthy scheme as flamboyant schemes go, but there’s always a catch. In fact, this time there are a pair of them: Echo’s jealousy and Tweedledee’s impatience. They make a typical sale to a rich family, the Arlingtons, and Little Willie’s happy to see a valuable ruby necklace dangled into his pram to steal that night.

Problem one is that Echo loves Rosie but she loves Hector, who’s head over heels in return. When he refuses to leave them alone together, Tweedledee persuades Hercules to join him on the job without Echo. Problem two is Hercules murdering John Arlington, meaning that they find themselves in hot water with zero chance of withstanding police questions. Echo is also horrified as his partners in crime laugh about the murder. He’s a crook, but he’s not stupid and he’s not heartless.

And so the film changes again, with the long arm of the law stretching into O’Grady’s. They set Hector up for murder, of course, but there are many dynamics in play within the crew to shatter their common story. While it may not seem it, there’s quite a way to go and there’s a lot still to happen.

Ironically, given that McLaglen is the one to go on to win an Oscar, as Best Actor in 1935 for The Informer—he was nominated again in 1960 as Best Supporting Actor for The Quiet Man, as part of John Wayne’s stock company—he’s the weakest link in the chain. Partly that’s because Hercules isn’t the brains of the operation, but partly it’s because he’s the least noteworthy.

I adore Chaney as Mrs. O’Grady and he’s also good as Professor Echo. He gets the grand arc of story, of course. He tended to do bad things, sometimes in outrageous fashion, but got his comeuppance, often ironically, often through a sacrificial search for redemption. He and the lovely Mae Busch work that angle well here. He even wraps this film up with a sentimental note that’s right out of Charlie Chaplin.

I adore Earles too, even though this was his debut on film. He had vast experience in show business as part of the Dancing Dolls, a troupe comprised of four of seven children born into the Schneider family in Germany, but that was sideshow and circus work. He adapted quickly to film, though his thick German accent wasn’t optimal when sound arrived. He reprised this role in the 1930 sound remake, Chaney’s final picture, and all four Dancing Dolls would show up in Munchkinland for The Wizard of Oz, part of The Singer Midgets. Browning’s films were always his best opportunities.

Browning’s roots in carnival life stem from a cliché, but he quite literally ran away from home to join the circus. Initially a roustabout, he was a sideshow barker, a clown, a song and dance man—on Mississippi river boats, no less—a contortionist, a magician’s assistant and a blackface comedian. He even got to be buried alive as the Living Hypnotic Corpse, spending long periods in the ground for real, albeit with some sort of breathing gadget. No wonder his carnival stories feel so vibrant! He lived the life and he brought it to film. We start and end in the carnival here and, even when we aren’t there, there are elements, like the giant ape.

It’s large enough to take down Hercules and McLaglen was 6’3” and formerly a professional wrestler and boxer who fought Jack Johnson. However, the giant ape was really a three foot tall chimp shot with clever perspective angles. Hey, we’re in the carnival world here: we can’t ever trust what we see! That’s doubled here, as nobody, except poor Hector, is who they seem. Tod Browning loved to play with doubles and disguises and deformities.

I haven’t seen this in twenty years, and it’s been as long since I’ve seen the sound remake. Having thoroughly enjoyed this again, I ought to revisit it. Next up for Chaney and Browning, though, is The Blackbird next February.