The Unholy Three

This Lon Chaney vehicle, directed by the great Tod Browning, is the story of three circus performers who begin to thieve jewels. They open a shop that sells parrots as a front. Chaney, a ventriloquist, dresses up as an old woman, one of his cohorts a man posing as the old woman's son, and the third, a midget, as his infant son (one of the major reasons to see this flick is that the same midget, here named Tweedledeedee, also plays Hans, the midget who marries the acrobat Cleopatra in Browning's later masterpiece, Freaks; in this film he actually is seen smoking a giant cigar, which, in Freaks, his fiancee suggested that he shouldn't smoke). One other circus performer, a woman, knows about their plans. Chaney loves her, but she doesn't reciprocate his feelings. The Unholy Three also hire a young dufus to help with the store. In case they get into trouble, they can always pin it on that guy. The store also sports a chimpanzee, humorously filmed so that he seems as big as a gorilla (when it is to walk through a doorway, it walks through a smaller doorway, for instance, than the actors do).

The story of the film is very interesting. It can also can be quite funny, quite suspenseful, and quite pathetic, especially when Chaney is trying to court the young woman. There's at least one masterful sequence, where a policeman almost discovers the jewels the gang has stolen. They hide it in a toy elephant, which amuses the officer very much. The film also uses ventriloquism quite marvelously - I assume that a lot of the audience of this film in 1925 only knew of ventriloquism by second-hand knowledge - they just knew that ventriloquists could throw their voices, not knowing what it would actually look or sound like. In a silent movie then, you could take full advantage of the audience's ignorance. When Madame O'Grady (Chaney's aka) is trying to sell parrots that don't actually talk as talking parrots, she throws her voice to fool the customers. Browning actually shows that the parrots are supposed to be speaking by drawing speech bubbles on the film in front of the birds! The climax also uses ventriloquism wonderfully: Chaney throws his voice to a man who is on the stand, apparently testifying - he moves his lips, but Chaney supplies the voice. Of course, we know that's ridiculous, but only a few in 1925 would have scoffed. 8/10.

The Unholy Three is a magnificent piece of filmmaking. The actors really fit into their roles. The mixture of thriller, comedy and drama is perfect. Tod Browning shows his talents. This film deserves to be shown more. I saw it at the Umea Filmfestival this September with newly written live music that made a great movie even better.

How can one not love a Lon Chaney movie. His mastery of roles and his way of putting himself in the most awful physical contortions is historical. The old, "Too many cooks spoil the broth," is at work here. While these people were pulling off small crimes and picking pockets, things were reasonable. As soon as the loose cannon gets in and steals a valuable ruby, killing a man and harming a little girl, things go sour. The pet store front allows for all kinds of great visual delights. A midget playing a baby is also pretty bizarre. And, of course, we have the innocent man, who must be as dense as it possible to be, ignoring that strangest group of felons imaginable. Going around dusting the displays and keeping tabs on a gorilla they just happened to have. The finale is quite interesting and Chaney is superb. Just don't think too much as you watch it.

When I was a kid I was an avid reader of Forrest J. Ackerman's Famous Monsters of Filmland magazine, and it was there I first heard about the director Tod Browning. He and his work were prominently featured in the pages of FM, where the (still missing) London After Midnight was often lamented as the Holy Grail of lost films. There were also frequent references to The Unholy Three in both its silent and talkie incarnations. It took me decades to finally catch up with the silent version, and my response is kind of schizo; objectively, I'm aware that in a number of ways it's absurd, and yet it's great fun, and highly entertaining. And the main reason the movie works so well, I believe, is the sheer charisma of Lon Chaney.

Chaney and Browning worked together many times, but this was their biggest box office success. Despite the general impression to the contrary their collaborations were not exactly horror films. In fact, as far as I can determine not one of their movies featured any supernatural elements; even the vampire of London After Midnight turns out to be a police inspector in disguise. Most of the Browning/Chaney films are crime melodramas with bizarre details stirred into the mix, often involving people from the lowest rungs of show business, such as circuses and carnivals. Chaney's characters in these stories are often afflicted with an intense, unrequited passion for a young woman (most memorably and disturbingly in The Unknown), and his behavior and actions are affected by this obsession, usually to his disadvantage, sometimes fatally so.

By the time The Unholy Three was produced Browning had developed his recurring themes and motifs into a highly effective, time-tested formula. His directorial technique is stylish in an unobtrusive way: for special emphasis he'll highlight shadows thrown on a wall, forming a silhouette of the three title characters, but otherwise he generally avoids flamboyant touches. With a story like this, he doesn't need them. The synopsis has been outlined elsewhere, but briefly it involves a trio of crooks from the sideshow world: Professor Echo the ventriloquist (Chaney) who disguises himself as an old lady, a strong man (Victor MacLaglen), and a midget (Harry Earles) who masquerades as a baby. A pet store serves as a front for their activities. The trio is actually is quintet, as they are accompanied by a thief named Rosie (Mae Busch) and a bespectacled patsy named Hector (Matt Moore) who is somehow oblivious that his employers are, well, not what they seem. Hector takes everything in stride. It's perfectly normal to him that the pet shop where he works offers not only birds and rabbits but also a dangerous gorilla in a big cage. So hey, if Hector takes it for granted, why shouldn't we? The plot turns on a jewel heist that goes awry, in part because of Prof. Echo's jealousy over Rosie. However, in this film the story is secondary to the sinister atmospherics.

While it's Chaney's performance that drives the film the supporting cast is solid -- more so, I feel, than in the talkie remake -- and the characters' interactions have a "rightness" that persuades us to overlook numerous credibility issues. As in the best Hitchcock films, we're willing to ignore gaping plot holes in order to savor the set pieces. One of the most effective sequences features a police inspector who interrogates the trio in the wake of the jewel heist. He's unaware that the jewels he seeks are inside a toy elephant at his feet, a toy that supposedly belongs to the "baby." The scene is suspenseful and funny, and, for me, the sight of Harry Earles disguised as a baby is almost as creepy as anything in an out-and-out horror movie.

The unlikely twists increase to the point of craziness in the final scenes, yet the story follows the consistent internal logic of a deeply weird dream. It's no surprise this was such a big hit in its day. I was fortunate enough to see a newly restored print of this film at the Museum of Modern Art this summer, back to back with the talkie remake. The silent version in particular went over quite well, though admittedly there were chuckles when a title card glibly announces the outcome of Prof. Echo's trial. Afterward in the lobby viewers were enthusiastic about the film, and about Lon Chaney. Seventy-five years after his death audiences are still impressed with his magnetism. So here's a tip of the hat to Forry Ackerman, who saw the Browning/Chaney films when they were new, and was right about this one all along!

"The Unholy Three" (MGM, 1925), directed by Tod Browning, is the kind of movie only Lon Chaney could do best, playing a tough guy with a good heart, donning a disguise or two, and coming out with one of the film's famous lines, "That's all there is to life, folks, just a little laugh, just a little tear." In reality, it's a change of pace for Chaney from his previous efforts, playing a tough but sympathetic character in a crime drama.

The story features three museum freaks, Hercules, the strong man (Victor McLaglen), Tweeledee, the dwarf (Harry Earles), and Professor Echo, the ventriloquist (Lon Chaney), performing in a sideshow while Echo's girl, Rosie O'Grady (Mae Busch) goes through the crowd picking pockets. When Echo comes upon an idea of a get-rich-quick scheme, he, Hercules, Tweeledee and Rosie become partners in crime as THE UNHOLY THREE. They then open a store stocked with parrots that will not talk, but Echo, disguised as Granny O'Grady, the proprietress, arranges to have the parrots "talk" only in his presence. His gal Rosie acts as "Granny's grand-daughter," with Tweeledee is disguised as Rosie's infant son and Hercules as the "infant's" uncle. With the shop as a front, THE UNHOLY THREE rob the homes of their well-to-do customers, especially when they telephone to complain that the parrots they brought does not talk, thus, having Granny and the "baby" paying them a visit and casing the place for a possible late night robbery. Also working in the shop is Hector McDonald (Matt Moore), who becomes interested in Rosie but is unaware of the operation.

Watching Lon Chaney disguised as a sweet little old lady is priceless, almost reminiscent to Tod Browning's latter melodrama of the sound era, "The Devil Doll" (MGM, 1936) in which Lionel Barrymore appeared as an escaped convict dressed as an elderly woman to elude the law, a role Chaney would have done, I'm sure, had he lived. Chaney would play Echo again in his one and only talkie of 1930 bearing the same title. With both films readily available for viewing on Turner Classic Movies, one can see and compare both versions, in spite of some changes in parts in the continuity. Along with Chaney, midget Harry Earles also repeats his Tweeledee performance.

When "The Unholy Three" was presented on public television's 13-week series tribute to MGM, "Movies, Great Movies" in 1973, its host, Richard Schickel mentioned that this 1925 version was Lon Chaney's personal favorite of all his movies and one of MGM's biggest hits of that year. It's a grand performance worthy of the "master of disguises." Although a silent movie, one would wish to hear how the Echo character would throw his voice around to fool his customers. (Watch the 1930 talkie and find out).

Also interesting is seeing a young Victor McLaglen, the future Best Actor winner of 1935's "The Informer," still rugged but a little thinner; Mae Busch (famous for her variety of roles in several Laurel and Hardy comedy shorts and features for Hal Roach in the 1930s), usually playing a tough gal, here playing against type as a co-starring love interest; and Matthew Betz as Inspector Regan. Tod Browning's direction should not go unnoticed, with one interesting scene having Chaney discussing his future plans in forming THE UNHOLY THREE to his supporters, as presented on screen in silhouettes, looking something like a "film noir" crook drama of the 1940s.

The 1925 version of THE UNHOLY THREE, clocked at 86 minutes, currently includes the same orchestral scoring on Turner Classic Movies that was composed and originally chosen for the October 12, 1973, public television presentation of "Movies, Great Movies" a 13-week series tribute to MGM's 50th anniversary of its silent movies from the 1920s, as hosted by Richard Schickel. A worthy rediscovery to Lon Chaney's filmography of MGM successes (1924-1930). (***)