Despite the absence of his typical tongue-in-cheek humor, B-series mogul Roger Corman manages to infuse this campy science run amok romp with a distinct sense of fun, using the Spectarama gimmick to great impressionistic effect, and having thespian Ray Milland deliver snappy lines of dialogue and succulent theatrics with equal ease. Of course, no real attempt is made to introduce actual sci-fi elements to the story, nor is the narrative particularly inventive, but there remains a solid effort from the undying master of American genre cinema and one of his key efforts as a director.
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| Oscar-winner Ray Milland gives a stern but affective performance as the titular tortured soul. |
In this typical cautionary tale against the excesses of scientific upheaval, Oscar-winner Ray Milland stars as Dr. James Xavier, a brilliant physician who recently developed eye drops allowing man to "see the whole wave spectrum". A pragmatic man at heart, Xavier is undeterred by the death of a test monkey, subsequently choosing to use the experimental medicine on himself. Immediately gifted with increased visual capabilities, depicted by the subjectively-framed breakdown of the light spectrum into its composing specs, he is soon able to see through opaque surfaces. Momentarily peering through the clothes of co-star Diana Van der Vlis and diagnosing heart diseases without using any tool, Xavier seems well on the path to becoming a superhuman. Unfortunately, the loss of his research grant puts a halt on his continuing experimentations, rendering him unable to control his endlessly growing power. It also pushes him toward the edge, prompting him to accidentally kill a fellow M.D. during an outburst of theatrics, and subsequently forcing him into exile. After a brief stint as as sideshow attraction, he ultimately returns to the city in search of funds to pursue his research. Unfortunately, his growing addiction to the medicine forces him into a tragic predicament that will eventually leave him blind. After all, "if thine eye offend thee..."
Not unlike many other Castle/Corman productions of the 1950s/1960s, this film focuses on one central gimmick: Spectarama. Used to convey Xavier's visual landscape, this "filming technique" proceeds exclusively from the use of campy subjective shots featuring various objects, usually fraught with shimmering special effects, delineated by a round frame meant to simulate the protagonist's iris. This technique is slightly overused throughout the film, a lazy crotch on which to ease the weight of the narrative, but it produces many intriguing effects, not the least of which is the sudden revelation of nude socialites or the imaginary cross-section of medical patients. It also allows for mesmerizing light play, such as when the screen is decomposed into shimmering specs of red, green and blue or when the Las Vegas neon signs create an impressionistic panorama of Sin City. It also allows Corman to showcase his legendary economy of means. In one such instance, we see the city through the eyes of Dr. Xavier, a collection of naked girders and construction sites meant to emulate the sight of skeletal architecture as exposed by the drug, prompting Milland to indulge in a sudden flight of lyricism about the "undone" nature of the city. This allows us not only to partake directly into the protagonist's plight, but also to enjoy an impressionistic spectacle exclusive to cinematic expression.
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| The Spectarama gimmick creates an impressionist account of the protagonist's experience. |
As for the Robert Dillon/Ray Russell screenplay, it is filled with snappy dialogue delivered with zeal by a cast of distinguished actors. The central love story is somewhat unconvincing and underplayed, but the interactions between characters always remain concise and evocative. Milland is appropriately endearing as the idealistic man of science opposite of Diana Van der Vlis, who provides a surprisingly strong female lead as another ambitious doctor. Aside from the two leads, the film benefits from the help of former comedian Don Rickles in one of his early roles. Casted as a cunning sideshow promoter, the balding middle-aged sensation alternates naive candor and petty wickedness with ease, creating a truly involving antagonistic character out of a dated "sideshow sleaze" archetype. Further distinguished cast members include veterans Harold J. Stone, Jon Hoyt and Dick Miller in a diminutive, but soulful part as a skeptic young heckler attending the performance of Xavier's psychic alter-ego Mentalo.
Pulpy by nature, the film does not delve into actual sci-fi themes, propelled as it is by the very hokey suggestion of "seeing radiation" and ultimately using the reference to God only as an opportunistic vector of dramatic power. Early in the film, fellow Dr. Sam Brant warns Xavier about the fact that "only the gods see everything" to which the latter replies: "My dear doctor, I'm closing in on the gods". Obviously, this exchange is meant to expose the irresistible lure of forbidden knowledge, but it also hints at the inevitable demise of Icarus who, after flying too close to the sun, lost his makeshift wings and died an all-too human death. In that sense, the wandering chapel setting used in the final scene perfectly sets the stage for Xavier's climactic self-abuse, reminding us that only God is meant to have Godly powers. As for the scientific elements contained in the narrative, they are tainted by a timely but irresistible candor that infuses the film with some definite lasting power as a cult item.
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| Former comedian Don Rickles admirably complements Ray Milland's performance by portraying an antagonistic con man. |
In the end, while Corman herein trades black humor for a potent sci-fi gimmick, thus brushing with the spectacular world of William Castle, he sacrifices none of his cost-effective production techniques, nor does he concede any terrain to sheer cinematic enjoyment. His narrative is constantly intriguing and each of his characters is absolutely picturesque. With plenty of spectacular visual effects to boot, The Man With X-Ray Eyes proves to be a prime example of b-series proficiency, not only as an economical staple of former Hollywood, but a true display of genuine movie magic.
3.5/5 Encompassing all of Corman's cost-effictive filmmaking savvy and knack for endearing storytelling, this simple gimmick film is a testament to the sheer enjoyability of cinema in the early days of television.
