Cobra Woman

Cobra Woman was directed by Robert Siodmak just as he was embarking on his peerless string of black pearls: Phantom Lady, Christmas Holiday, The Strange Affair of Uncle Harry, The Suspect, The Spiral Staircase, The Killers, The Dark Mirror, Cry of The City, Criss Cross and The File on Thelma Jordon. And that's a bitter pill to swallow.

The movie harks back to styles of moviemaking which the noir cycle, which Siodmak was so instrumental in creating, was putting blessedly to rest: To Saturday-matinee serials and boys' stories like Treasure Island, to South Seas excursions like Rain and Red Dirt and White Cargo, to gaudy, escapist musicals. And yet Cobra Woman achieves an almost solitary stature; only Vincente Minnelli's Yolanda and The Thief, from the following year, challenges its reputation as a movie so wildly overblown it's unhinged.

There's little point in rehashing the plot, which centers on twins separated at birth: Tollea, a sweet native girl engaged to marry an American; and Naja, high-priestess of a snake cult that practices human sacrifice. Rightful heir Tollea is kidnaped so she can depose her evil sister and placate the Fire Mountain (a cheesy back-lot volcano). Supporting parts are taken by Jon Hall, Lon Chaney, Jr., Sabu and a loinclothed chimpanzee.

A thickly-accented native of the Dominican Republic, Maria Montez plays, sensibly, both twins (giving Siodmak good practice for Olivia De Havilland's similar dual role in The Dark Mirror). Cobra Island, her domain, in its outlandish costumes and grandiose sets, puts to shame those elephants-and-all productions of Aida staged in the Baths of Caracalla; this Technicolor nightmare gives a sneak-preview, in its prurient take on pagan excess, the cycle of Biblical epics that were just down the road for Hollywood.

But neither Cecil B. DeMille (in Samson and Delilah) nor Douglas Sirk (in Sign of the Pagan) nor Michael Curtiz (in The Egyptian) – nor even, for that matter, Minnelli (though he came closest) – could rival Siodmak's big set-piece: Naja/Montez performing the Cobra Dance. Clad in a snake-scale gown, she shimmies awkwardly for His Undulating Majesty himself, King Cobra, until he strikes at her (a mating gesture? Reptiles can be so ambiguous). She erupts into a frenzied spasm, hurling accusatory fingers at sacrificial victims who will then be made to climb the Thousand Steps to the angry maw of Fire Mountain.

It would be reassuring to write off Cobra Woman as some sort of failed allegory, about Fifth Columnists, or Free French vs. Vichy, or something; but no such evidence exists. The movie is what it is, and utterly astonishing.

Released in 1944, COBRA WOMAN was precisely the sort of escapist fare demanded by audiences seeking relief from the horrors of World War II--and over the years it has become something of a cult classic, a wild and riotous mixture of outrageous sets and costumes, ridiculous plot and dialogue, and faintly absurd performances. If you are seeking a mindless romp with tremendous camp appeal, look no further: this film is the goods.

Directed by Robert Siodmak, who go on to become a noted director of film noir, COBRA WOMAN concerns an innocent South Seas maiden (Maria Montez) who is to marry a sailor (Jon Hall)--but who is suddenly kidnapped and whisked off to Cobra Island, where she discovers she is actually the twin sister of the evil high priestess. Can Maria, Jon, a half-naked Sabu, a heavily made-up Lon Chaney Junior, and sarong-wearing monkey overthrow the evil priestess and return the island to peace? Well, maybe, if only Maria can lay hands on the priestess' cobra jewel! The plot is amusing in a silly sort of way, but it is really the style of the thing that makes it such a charming bit of fluff. The best way to describe it is as pure Hollywood: costumes and sets are a truly wild mixture of Arabia, the ancient Aztecs, South America, Carmen Miranda's hats, Dorothy Lamour's sarong, and Joan Crawford's shoulder pads, and Cobra Island comes complete with a bad special-effects volcano just for good measure.

The cast plays with a mixture of sincerity and inadequacy that is very entertaining. Maria Montez was a great beauty of the era and she wears the brilliance of Technicolor like a second skin, and if she clearly wasn't known for either acting chops or dancing skills... well, let's see YOU say lines like "I want that cobra jewel" with a straight face or squirm around in a dress that must weigh a ton without falling off your heels! Jon Hall is appropriate American Male and Sabu is, well, Sabu, and as a friend of mine recently said, "What were expecting? Long Day's Journey Into Night?" No, you won't find any deep meanings here, and thank heaven for it. This purely for the fun of it with no artistic ambitions and as many wild colors as Universal Studios could throw on the screen. So put your brain on hold, grab your cobra jewel, and settle down for some purely mindless pleasure! Gary F. Taylor, aka GFT, Amazon Reviewer

I once showed part of this film to a friend (now deceased.) who said testily that he'd seen it a long time ago. But once the Universal-International dancers' Cobra number got going, he said he was hooked and was literally rolling on the floor having forgotten how truly great it was! (This was, no doubt due to the consummate klutziness of these dancers!)

One Maria is great but two are truly great and maybe she and her costar Jon Hall should have been cast in the infinitely greater "Thief of Bagdad" which did at least have Sabu. (Now maybe these two couldn't really act but then neither could the actual leading couple in "Thief".)

A camp gem with the Queen of Technicolor.

"No drug-fevered brain could dream up the horrors of Cobra Island!" But, apparently, two Universal Script-writers could. This immortal camp classic stars the sublime Maria Montez as twin sisters - one Good, one Evil. Considering La Montez could not even play one part convincingly, her dual role is something of a stretch. She may not be able to act, but she does look gorgeous trying.

The action takes place on one of those Technicolor South Sea islands where a volcano is always rumbling, gongs are always banging for the next human sacrifice and a supremely irritating chimpanzee is always gambolling about in a pair of Paisley-pattern diapers. Lon Chaney Jr is on hand as a deaf-mute priest. Lucky man, he doesn't have to speak any of that dialogue!

As the aged Cobra Queen, Mary Nash looks a tad bewildered. Wasn't it only yesterday she was playing Katharine Hepburn's mother in The Philadelphia Story? Lo, how the mighty are fallen! Sabu beams away in his role as Hollywood's favourite racist/colonial stereotype. Jon Hall spends his time looking for excuses to unbutton his shirt and show off his muscular chest. I for one am not complaining.

Still, nothing and nobody can ever upstage our Maria. As the depraved sister Naja, she writhes about wickedly in her Cobra Dance - clad only in a floor-length silver lame evening gown, with matching silver f**k-me shoes. (Uncharted this island may be, but every drag-queen in the world seems to go shopping there.) And lest we in the audience harbour any lingering doubts about her acting skills, she follows up every speech with the deathless words - "I HAVE SPOKEN!"

The insipid good sister Tollea really is no match. In this part, Maria does little more than pose beside the nearest pond or palm-tree - gazing into the Technicolor sunset and dreaming of better scripts. (Believe it or not, Jean Cocteau offered her the role of Death in his film Orpheus, but couldn't afford her fee!) Yet it's fascinating to see director Robert Siodmak sketching out the schizo psychology he would explore fully in films like The Spiral Staircase and The Dark Mirror.

Appalling as much of it undoubtedly is, Cobra Woman may still be the greatest film of its kind...and if anyone can work out what 'kind' that is, please write and tell me.

This, for me at age 9, was not so much a film as an absolutely terrifying experience, the memory of which kept me awake at nights for weeks afterwards (seen on Tuesday 13 February 1945 at the Empire Cinema, Glossop). The jungle, the volcano with its flames reflecting on the faces of the actors, the snakes, the extraordinary and frightening costumes, the sinister drumming music, the bright colour with green costumes and orange flames, the terrifying and evil expression on the face of the Queen, Kado's blowpipe - all these made up a cocktail of complete terror, and I stayed in the cinema only because I was with friends and was ashamed to show my feelings. I was far too young to be aware of any niceties in the way of crudities of dialogue or acting technique, and the whole thing was simply an unbelievable cinema experience, which can never, never be forgotten. What a shame if this remarkable creation is lost to us for ever!