Universal’s First Horror Films

By Gary D. Rhodes.

Here is an amazing history, one far more enduring than, say, Paramount’s connection to the comedy genre or Warner Bros. to the gangster. The question of precisely when Universal horror movies began is equally as fascinating as it is complicated.”

In the 21st century, Universal Pictures remains famous for its horror films, from the failure of Alex Kurtzman’s The Mummy (2017) to the success of Leigh Whannell’s The Invisible Man (2020). Casting a much longer shadow are the original Universal Monsters of the thirties and forties, whether in the form of Blu-rays or merchandising, not just including the likes of Dracula and Frankenstein, but, even in the year 2023, more obscure characters like the title creature of Werewolf of London (Stuart Walker, 1935).[1]

Here is an amazing history, one far more enduring than, say, Paramount’s connection to the comedy genre or Warner Bros. to the gangster. The question of precisely when Universal horror movies began is equally as fascinating as it is complicated. Perhaps Tod Browning’s Dracula (1931) and James Whale’s Frankenstein (1931) deserve the credit, as they were responsible for the term “horror film” (and, by extension, “horror movie”) becoming the genre’s name.[2] While horror-themed moving pictures date to 1895, neither filmmakers nor audiences referred to them as “horror films” before 1931. At most the term “horror” – and others like “terror,” “spooky,” “eerie,” and “weird” – was used as an occasional adjective.[3]

Ever since the 1930s, journalists and historians have looked to films produced before Dracula for the origin of Universal horror, usually seizing on Wallace Worsley’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923) and Rupert Julian’s The Phantom of the Opera (1925), both starring Lon Chaney, the movie star and makeup wizard known as the “Man of a Thousand Faces.” For two reasons, though, Chaney was not a horror film actor: firstly, because the genre’s name hadn’t yet been adopted, and secondly, because his starring roles varied so much, including everything from gangsters to soldiers and clowns.

Nevertheless, original viewers of Chaney in The Hunchback and The Phantom believed those title characters were scary. “Horror, beauty, and interest have been fused into [The Hunchback],” one critic wrote in 1923.[4] Another praised The Phantom for its ability to “make the blood run cold” and give a “sensation of terror.” The same reviewer added, “Something is going to happen, and you are not exactly sure what, and in fear of its coming, you cower and shiver and quake at the unknown horror which seems just around the corner.”[5] Photoplay told readers, “Lon Chaney seems to delight in such horrible roles as [the Hunchback and the Phantom].”[6]

When Movie Action published its history of horror movies in 1936, the magazine identified Chaney as the genre’s first star, adding that his “greatest role” was as the title character in The Hunchback of Notre Dame.[7] The article also claimed that some viewers “shrieked and fainted” while watching the unmasking scene in The Phantom of the Opera.[8] That same year, the New York Times wrote:

[T]he Universal sorcerers cut loose, and in 1923 tried a feature with a central horror character. This was The Hunchback of Notre Dame, with Chaney as a particularly knobby Quasimodo. The first persons to be horrified by this film were the producers themselves. … The Phantom of the Opera, a 100 per cent horror film, did even better.”[9]

In the decades that followed, Famous Monsters of Filmland and other magazines heralded both films for their horror content. During the 21^st century, that perception continues, including in the form of action figures produced by toy companies like Sideshow and Super7. The Hunchback and The Phantom are Universal horror movies, even if they weren’t.

Exploring Universal’s horror output before Dracula and Frankenstein need not end with Chaney, particularly an investigation into what might have been the studio’s very first horrors. Universal mogul Carl Laemmle originally headed the Independent Moving Picture Company, which became best known by its acronym, “IMP” (sometimes rendered as “IMP”), the word evoking devilish imps of the type Georges Méliès brought to the screen in the early years of cinema. Laemmle used artwork of such imps in many of his nickelodeon-era ads. He was no more scared of devils or spooky stories than he was of the Motion Picture Patents Company, a trust that he openly defied.[10]

A brash and savvy businessman, Laemmle cofounded the Universal Motion Picture Manufacturing Company in 1912 to consolidate his growing power. After initially serving as its President, he became the sole owner in 1915.[11] Universal distributed IMP as well as that of such companies as 101-Bison, Champion, Crystal, Gem, Gold Seal, Joker, Nestor, Rex, and Victor. That meant Universal released such horror-themed and horror-adjacent films as 101-Bison’s The Death Stone of India (1913), The Werewolf (1913), The Legend of the Phantom Tribe (1914), and Monsieur Bluebeard (1914); Champion’s A Bum’s Hallowe’en (1913), Crystal’s Kelly’s Ghost (1914), A Midnight Scare (1914), and Oh, You Mummy (1914); Gold Seal’s The Bride of Mystery (1914), The Ghost of Smiling Jim (1914), and The Phantom Violin (1914); Joker’s Love and Spirits (1914) and A Narrow Squeak (1914); Nestor’s Owana, the Devil Woman (1913), Such a Villain (1914), The White Wolf (1914), When the Mummy Cried for Help (1915), and When the Spirits Moved (1915); Rex’s The Evil Power (1913), The Haunted Bride (1913) and The Stolen Idol (1913); and Victor’s The Ghost (1913), A Dangerous Experiment (1914), A Mysterious Mystery (1914), The Witch Girl (1914), The Cheval Mystery (1915), and The Weird Nemesis (1915).[12]

Laemmle oversaw the distribution of these films, and Universal at times shared production talent between companies; some of them were located on the East Coast, some on the West.[13] But IMP was Laemmle’s own company. As he wrote in 1912, “I’ve never felt quite so good in my life as I have over the many manifestations of good will and confidence made by exhibitors since I merged the ‘IMP’ with the Universal Film Manufacturing Company.”[14] Pursuing the first Universal horrors might well mean identifying the first relevant IMP released by Universal, the films that Laemmle produced and that Universal distributed.

The earliest possible consideration would be The Hindoo’s Prize, a one-reeler released on August 5, 1912.[15] IMP-Universal’s synopsis described it as:

A gripping, stirring story of the unceasing efforts of a band of Hindoos to affect the death of a pretty Hindoo girl on her return to her native heath. A thrill in every scene. Pathetic in its portrayal of the life of the Hindoo temple dancer, and brilliant in her rescue from prison by her American sweetheart.”[16]

Here was a storyline meant to frighten an audience, using another ethnicity to do so, a common approach of the era, including Indians, Asians, Native Americans, and African Americans, among others. Moving Picture World’s review importantly noted, “The object of the picture, which is to leave an eerie impression of deep, mysterious things behind the action, things not shown, is effectively accomplished.”[17] Unfortunately, The Hindoo’s Prize does not survive.

The following year, Universal released IMP’s The Yogi (1913). A synopsis published in The Bioscope explained, “The plotting of a fakir is rudely upset by a muscular son, who soon ‘upsets’ the scheme, and puts an end to the duping of his mother.”[18] Charles Graham played the fakir, Jane Gail his “hired assistant,” and Matt Moore the son. Describing it as a“satirical comedy,” Moving Picture World wrote, “We are shown the tricks by which [fakirs], yogis, and their like fool simple minded folk completely and get them in their power.”[19] A humorous precursor to films like Sinister Hands (Armand Schaefer, 1932), The Yogi doesn’t survive either.

Even more fascinating is Who Killed Olga Carew? (1913, aka The Blood-Stained Hand), a two-reeler starring Matt Moore and directed by Walter McNamara, best remembered for cowriting Traffic in Souls (1913) and for directing Ireland, a Nation (1914). IMP’s synopsis revealed the mystery of the title character’s demise:

[A photographer] remembers a scientific theory that was projected in one of the current periodicals relative to a picture being photographed in the eye of a dead person, and with the aid of one of the detectives he photographs the eye of the dead Olga Carew. When the picture is developed, he finds the faint shadow of a monkey in the center. This he carries to the court when it seems that Vera is about to be declared guilty. His evidence is introduced at the last moment. The judge realizes this, instructs the jury, and Vera is cleared. It was the monkey who carried revenge in his heart and plunged the stiletto into the woman’s breast.”[20]

In Motography, Mabel Condon reported, “Mr. Laemmle sat next to me in the projection room and pronounced it one of the best [Moore and his colleagues had] made.”[21] Moving Picture World told readers, “The film excites wonder.”[22]

Who Killed Olga Carew? continues to excite a minor degree of wonder, not only because it’s a lost film, but also because its script merged a false, antiquated theory about the human eye with elements of Edgar Allan Poe’s short story Murders in the Rue Morgue (1841). Who Killed Olga Carew? is probably best understood with the description that Motion Picture News gave in 1913, a “scientific mystery story.”[23] After all, when Universal had writers adapt Poe’s story for Murders in the Rue Morgue (1932), it became necessary for them to add a new character, the mad scientist Dr. Mirakle, to increase the horror content.

Whatever one makes of the aforementioned trio of films, IMP’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1913) cannot be ignored. Robert Louis Stevenson’s novella Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1886) became very popular in America, even more so once Thomas R. Sullivan adapted it for the stage, particularly when Richard Mansfield  portrayed the title roles.[24] Selig Polyscope’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1908) was the first film adaptation, followed by Theatrephone’s experimental “talking picture” Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1908), Great Northern’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; or, A Strange Case (1910), and Thanhouser’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1912). These were in addition to Selig Polyscope’s A Modern Dr. Jekyll (1909).[25]

Given the crowded field of competitors, it’s somewhat surprising that Laemmle proceeded. Herbert Brenon – later renowned for Peter Pan (1924), Beau Geste (1926), The Great Gatsby (1926), and Laugh, Clown, Laugh (1928) – directed the IMP version. King Baggott starred in the title roles; Jane Gail played his love interest. Universal released Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in March 1913, months before Olga Carew?[26] To help in its promotion, the company offered three and six sheet posters to exhibitors.[27]

Moving Picture World published the only review to appear in the industry trade press:

It is seldom that one man or one woman dominates a play or a picture. In these two reels King Baggott holds the center of attention all the way. In his portrayal … the leading man of the IMP Company outdoes himself. It is a forceful characterization, and shows much care and study. In the periods when Mr. Baggott depicts Mr. Hyde, the horror of it holds you. It may be said, and said in cold blood, that Mr. Baggott has done nothing for the screen that will rank higher as an artistic piece of work than will his exposition of Mr. Hyde….[28]

While giving the bulk of the credit to Baggott, MPW also told readers, “It is through the means of the dissolving process that the transformation is made peculiarly effective. You see the change from the man of good to the man of evil right before your eyes.”

Thankfully, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde exists. Two reels in length, it remains impressive. Baggott’s performance as Jekyll is somewhat restrained, particularly when compared to James Cruze’s in the Thanhouser film. As Hyde, Baggott’s crouched gait, claw-like hands, and protruding teeth probably struck period audiences as scary and uncanny. The film also offers an early example of the type of art direction that helped make Universal horror movies so distinctive in the thirties. Some of the atmosphere comes from intertitles like “In the dead silence of the night, Dr. Jekyll plans to set free his evil self.” But most of it results from sets, particularly Jekyll’s laboratory, as well as from props, specifically the two bust statuettes atop Jekyll’s bookcase, symbolizing his duality. The film also features a miniature church bell. The editor intercut a shot of it tolling with the discovery of Jekyll’s corpse.

One newspaper in 1913 heralded Baggott’s performance, arguing it “compares favorably with the work of the late Richard Mansfield in the same character.”[29] But that article reads more like publicity than an objective review. While IMP-Universal’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde may have been successful in some measure, it does not register heavily in either industry trades or newspapers of the era. It was one of Universal’s inaugural horror-themed films, but its box-office returns might have been disappointing, if only due to the fact the story had already onscreen so many times. For that matter, Kinemacolor released its own version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1913) less than six months after the IMP.

Sometimes the first (or second or third or fourth) film in a sequence is not the most important. The House of Fear (1915, starring Frances M. Nelson, Hobart Henley, and Allen Holubar; see top image), IMP-Universal’s next horror-themed film, generated more attention and excitement than their Dr. Jekyll or its predecessors. Sadly, The House of Fear has been nearly forgotten, even by ardent horror fans, despite the fact it was it noteworthy at the time for several reasons. The fact there were two other moving pictures with the same title – Lubin’s The House of Fear (1914) and Gold Rooster’s The House of Fear (1915) – has further obscured the IMP-Universal version.

Stuart Paton, best remembered for 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1916), wrote and directed The House of Fear for Laemmle, its story proving influential on stage plays and films of the twenties. A young lady named Margaret (played by Frances M. Nelson) inherits a fortune, much to the chagrin of an uncle who receives nothing (played by Howard Crampton, who had appeared in IMP’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde). That narrative conflict returned most famously in The Cat and the Canary, a 1922 stage play first adapted to the screen by Paul Leni at Universal in 1927.

In The House of Fear, the heiress stays at the uncle’s home. He and his evil butler Nick (Allen Holubar) make various attempts on her life, planning to literally scare her to death. Universal Weekly, the company’s house organ, described Nick as a “beast-man,” a “half-witted degenerate” who possesses “superhuman strength.” He “takes much delight in creeping about the house”; one scene finds him “snarling” and “foaming at the mouth.”[30] A small number of surviving photos show Holubar in makeup, but unfortunately, they aren’t closeups. They show that he wore a widow’s peak but aren’t detailed enough to see much else. Moving Picture World praised his “grotesque and horrible appearance,” and specifically referred to his “boar’s tusks among his teeth.”[31] Building on Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The House of Fear furthered Universal’s reliance on makeup to generate horror.

According to Robert Grau’s 1914 book The Theatre of Science,

Hardly a week passes but that the Universal is in a position to announce some coupe de maître of sufficient importance to set the industry on ear.”[32] The third reason The House of Fear deserves renewed focus is its use of nighttime cinematography. While many earlier films had been shot at night, The House of Fear relied on camerawork, film stock, and panchromatic twin arc lights to achieve far greater results than had probably ever been achieved.[33]  As Julius Stern, Universal’s Eastern Studio Manager, raved, “When Mr. Paton brought in the other day some splendid ‘night photography’ scenes in The House of Fear, most of the studio workers who saw the first print gasped in amazement.”[34]

Mainstream newspapers publicized the nighttime footage. One article called it a “new innovation in filmdom, and to the Universal belongs the credit of having first achieved the so called impossible in motion photography.”[35] The House of Fear’s cinematographer Eugene Gaudio warrants much attention, not only in the lineage of Universal horror, but in the history of American cinematography.

A fourth reason to remember The House of Fear is due to its publicity, particularly a stunt arranged by Paul Gulick, the company’s publicity manager, possibly at Laemmle’s direction. Hanford C. Judson, was one of a few journalists who accepted a special invitation to attend a shoot:

[T]he reason of our going was that the picture was going to be taken out of doors in the darkness, against the brightly lighted windows of a dwelling – a thing not tried successfully before – as was to make clear not merely the outlining of the figures, but their faces – the story depends on the spectator’s recognizing the individual faces and seeing the emotions and characters of them.

We stood across the road where Eugene Gaudio, the IMP camera man, had placed his instrument. After the director had looked over his house and disposed of one or two of his electricians who wanted to look out of the windows, he shouted, ‘Come out.’ The door slowly opened, a flood of light behind it silhouetting the outline of the girl, her piteously disheveled hair falling in long curls around her shoulders, and as quickly closed. The moon, that the electrician had taken up the tree, its light hidden from us by its tin hood, now beamed effulgently on the girl’s frightened face. She was fright to her fingertips and greatly appealing as she crept softly across the piazza and darted away to the left; but she wasn’t to escape. Now the bright door opened again, and what issued from it will be seen later by spectators on the film and they will also see how the hero (Hobart Henley) of the tale came in time to see the girl taken back through the door, the hag holding it open for them to bring her in, and how he caught Boar’s Tusks looking through the window and how he brought the cops.

These scenes were taken and taken again. Twelve solemn notes, by distance mellowed, came from a church tower in the valley. The newspaper men stood in the frozen grass.”[36]

Universal had specifically scheduled the shoot at midnight to garner appropriately spooky publicity.

Paul Gulick made certain the posters featured eerie artwork, hiring Austrian artist and cartoonist Harry S. Bressler to sketch Holubar in his makeup. Universal also prepared advertising copy for newspapers. The word “horror” didn’t appear, but similar words did:

‘For utter weirdness, this Three-Reeler is in a class by itself.’[37]

‘Blood Curdling! Soul Stirring! Fear Inspiring is The House of Fear.’[38]

‘It’s a startling and gruesome story of an attempt to scare an heiress to death.’[39]

‘This picture surpasses Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, a play known to every one [sic] by the dual character role of its principal.’[40]

‘[O]ne of the finest and most gripping photodramas the Universal has ever produced.’”[41]

Some ads drew attention to the cinematography, as in the following example, “Much of the picture was made at night and is a wonderful piece of night photography.”[42] Yet another mentioned, “Noteworthy is the fact that the greatest invention of modern times, night photography, has been utilized in the making of several wonderful night scenes.”[43]

In her review for Moving Picture World, Margaret I. MacDonald praised The House of Fear:

Attaining the goal which was evidently set, this picture will most surely please lovers of the sensational. It is rife with thrills that are thoroughly legitimate, inasmuch as causes and effects have been given their proper places and relationships. The more especially pleasing points of the production are the rather startling photographic effects which have been secured, and the clever manner in which the members of the cast have handled the roles allotted them. … It also cannot be denied that the atmosphere of the picture stays with one, and that the sets for appropriateness and general effect are most commendable. … The flashback system has been employed to a large extent, by which method some moments of intense suspense have been secured.” [44]

MacDonald added another detail that sheds light on the film’s story, noting that it relied on flashbacks to create “moments of intense suspense.”

The House of Fear proved successful enough that Paton made two more “mysteries” (as Julius Stern called them) for IMP-Universal within ninety days of its release.[45] The Black Pearl (1915), a two-reeler, told the story of an “occult jewel [which] can only be possessed by one showing supreme faith.”[46] The Bombay Buddha (1915), a three-reeler, was about the theft of a Hindu idol. Moving Picture World praised its “mystic atmosphere.”[47] Both mysteries featured The House of Fear’s Frances M. Nelson, Hobart Henley, Allen Holubar, and Howard Crampton.[48]

Given this film history, perhaps we should now consider King Baggott and Allen Holubar to be the first Universal monsters, Matt Moore to be Universal’s first horror hero, and Jane Gail and Frances M. Nelson Universal’s first horror heroines. And given that he directed more than one horror-themed film, perhaps Stuart Paton was Universal’s first horror filmmaker, a reason to herald his career far above and beyond 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Universal horrors thus began with a band of Hindus, a murderous monkey, Jekyll, Hyde, a beastly butler, and an imp. Maybe.

Or perhaps The House of Fear was not yet a home. Perhaps these early films were just building blocks towards the architecture of Universal’s eventual house of horrors, one not completed until the 1930s. Perhaps Universal’s house of horrors is not unlike the Winchester House in San Jose, California, always under construction, not to stave off ghosts, but instead to provide them safe haven, yesterday, today, and forevermore, if not with Russell Crowe playing Dr. Jekyll in Universal’s unproduced Dark Universe, then with some yet undiscovered actor, starring in some yet unwritten role, all for the sake of scaring an audience to death. Production commences on a date not yet scheduled, perhaps at midnight.

Endnotes:

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[1] In 2023, Super7 released a Werewolf of London action figure.

[2] “’Horror Film’: How the Term Came to Be,” Monstrum, Vol. 1, No. 1 (April 2018), 90-115.

[3] Rhodes, Gary D. The Birth of the American Horror Film (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2018). 

[4] Quoted in “All Baltimore Critics Acclaim The Hunchback of Notre Dame,” Universal Weekly, November 17, 1923, 16.

[5] Quoted in “The Movie Critics Agree That,” Universal Weekly, June 13, 1925, 36.

[6] “The Phantom of the Opera–Universal,” Photoplay (May 1925), 45.

[7] “Masters of Horror,” Movie Action (February 1936), 110.

[8] Ibid., 110.

[9] “Vampires, Monsters, Horrors!,” New York Times, March 1, 1936, X4.

[10] “The IMP Company,” Moving Picture News, May 20, 1911, 10.

[11] Robert Grau, The Theatre of Science (New York: Broadway Publishing Company, 1914), 49.

[12] Rhodes, The Birth of the American Horror Film, 272, 201, 220, 379, 257, 167, 196, 290, 166, 342, 178, 167, 261, 201, 196, 177, 166, 271, 174, 316, 283, 154, 293, 292.

[13] “Universal Issues Strong Program,” Moving Picture World, July 15, 1912, 1036.

[14] Advertisement, Moving Picture World, June 22, 1912, 1157.

[15] Advertisement, Moving Picture News, August 3, 1912, 35.

[16] Advertisement, Moving Picture World, August 10, 1912, 508.

[17] “The Hindoo’s Prize,” Moving Picture World, August 17, 1912, 674.

[18] “The Yogi,” The Bioscope, November 20, 1913, 7.

[19] “The Yogi,” Moving Picture World, July 26, 1913, 430.

[20] “Who Killed Olga Carew?”, Moving Picture World, November 15, 1913, 780.

[21] Mabel Condon, “Sans Grease Paint and Wig,” Motography, December 13, 1913, 438.

[22] “Who Killed Olga Carew [sic],” Moving Picture World, November 22, 1913, 970.

[23] George D. Proctor, “Oh, It’s an Interesting Life!,” Motion Picture News, November 8, 1913, 20.

[24] Rhodes, The Birth of the American Horror Film, 51.

[25] Rhodes, The Birth of the American Horror Film, 318-319.

[26] Advertisement, Moving Picture World, February 15, 1913, 637.

[27] Advertisement, Moving Picture World, February 22, 1913, 739.

[28] George Blaisdell, “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (IMP),” Moving Picture World, March 1, 1913, 899.

[29] “King Baggott, Monarch of Hearts and Arts,” Duluth News-Tribune (Duluth, Minnesota), May 18, 1913, 11.

[30] “Girl Kills Beast-Man to Save Sweetheart,” Universal Weekly, 15, 19.

[31] “The House of Fear,” Moving Picture World, January 23, 1915, 517; Hanford C. Judson, “In Search of the House of Fear,” Moving Picture World, 1388.

[32] Grau, 50.

[33] “Universal’s New Lighting Effect,” Motography, December 5, 1914, 771.

[34] Julius Stern, “Reminiscences of a Studio Manager, Part II,” Moving Picture World, June 12, 1915, 1764.

[35] “Novel Photography Effects in IMP-Universal Photo Play,” Montgomery Advertiser (Montgomery, Alabama), January 24, 1915, 24.

[36] Judson, 1388.

[37] Advertisement, The Decatur Daily (New Decatur, Alabama), March 23, 1915, 2.

[38] Advertisement, The Courier Gazette (McKinney, Texas), February 23, 1915, 8.

[39] Advertisement, The Daily Republican (Rushville, Indiana), April 5, 1915, 3.

[40] Advertisement, Adrian Daily Telegram (Adrian, Michigan), February 6, 1915, 2.

[41] Advertisement, Chickasha Daily Express (Chickasha, Oklahoma), January 29, 1915, 6.

[42] Advertisement, Yorkville Enquirer (Yorkville, South Carolina), March 30, 1915, 5.

[43] Advertisement, The Billboard, January 2, 1915, 51.

[44] Margaret I. MacDonald, “The House of Fear,” Moving Picture World, January 9, 1915, 200.

[45] Stern, 1763.

[46] “The Black Pearl,” Moving Picture World, March 13, 1915, 1668.

[47] Margaret I. MacDonald, “The Bombay Buddha,” Moving Picture World, March 27, 1915, 1914.

[48] At Universal, Paton subsequently directed The Mansard Mystery (1915), a two-reeler with Howard Crampton, and The Voice on the Wire (1917), a fifteen-reel serial. An advertisement in The Moving Picture Weekly (July 14, 1917) described The Voice on the Wire as follows: “It’s a powerful mystery play that none can solve. … The ghostly ‘voice’ over a disconnected telephone – a cloaked figure – the rivalry between the chief of detectives and a scientific investigator – the fascinating love thread that weaves in and out all the story are the ingredients that tickle the curiosity of the fans” (3).

Gary D. Rhodes, Ph.D., filmmaker, poet and Full Professor of Media Production at Oklahoma Baptist University, is the author of the forthcoming Vampires in Silent Cinema (Edinburgh University Press, January 2024), Becoming Dracula – Vols. 1 and 2 (with William M. [Bill] Kaffenberger, BearManor Media), Consuming Images: Film Art and the American Television Commercial (co-authored with Robert Singer, Edinburgh University Press, 2020), Emerald Illusions: The Irish in Early American Cinema (IAP, 2012), The Perils of Moviegoing in America (Bloomsbury, 2012) and The Birth of the American Horror Film (Edinburgh University Press, 2018), as well as the editor of such anthologies as The Films of Joseph H. Lewis (Wayne State University Press, 2012) and The Films of Budd Boetticher (Edinburgh University Press, 2017). Rhodes is also the writer-director of such documentary films as Lugosi: Hollywood’s Dracula (1997) and Banned in Oklahoma (2004).