WILLIAM CRAIN:
HORROR'S FIRST BLACK DIRECTOR
Inevitably, any discussion of the career of director William Crain will link the man with 1970's Blaxploitation.
Understandably so, seeing how his most famous film, Blacula, also carries one of the most infamous, and some say completely ridiculous, titles to have ever come out of exploitation cinema. As a title alone, Blacula not only at once seems to parody and mock, it does so with an ultimate, sleazy, cash grab in-your-face finesse.
Closer to the truth is that William Crain might actually be one of the more sincere, thoughtful and honest directors to have emerged from a time when the politics of racial identity, divisiveness and anger were raging at peak conditions.
Born June 20, 1949 in Columbus, Ohio, Crain attended UCLA's prestigious School of Theater, Film and Television, a major university that was well known for some of its famous alumni including the “Birth of The Doors” a.k.a. Ray Manzarek and Jim Morrison (who studied Comparative Literature, made two films and gained his undergraduate degree in Theater) as well as Morrison's friend Francis Ford Coppola, who was working on his post graduate degree there.
Students at the school had mixed pursuits, with some concentrating on the experimental end of cinema via their abstract expressionist works, and some students such as Charles Burnett (Killer Sheep) who were making very personal and often poetic works that delved into the background struggles and issues relating to growing up with their African American heritage. These students would help one another with their films and were among the first to really contribute to what would be a new Black American independent film movement. Many years later as many of their films were discovered and taken out of obscurity, the work of these filmmakers collectively became known as the L.A. Rebellion.
On the other end of the film spectrum were others like Crain, focusing more on a professional career in film and television and trying to break into mainstream Hollywood. Some of these students would borrow equipment from UCLA to then use for outside professional freelance jobs.
While it is easy to call this direction selling out, in truth is that it was more like a Martin Luther King Jr. inspired revolutionary move of non-violent, passive resistance. Here was William Crain, an African American reaching beyond previous racial barriers, seeking work as a legitimate professional who would make his family and friends proud by earning a living in an industry that for the most part had been off limits to minorities.
In 1971 Crain was entrusted to direct an episode called “The Comeback” for the television series, The Mod Squad. Crain is credited as William Crain III. The Mod Squad, which ran a total of five seasons on ABC, was never the huge hit it, but still quite popular.
Based on the real life stories of creator Bud Ruskin's life as an undercover narcotics detective, The Mod Squad starred Michael Cole (Pete Cochran), Peggy Lipton (Julie Barnes) and Clarence Williams III (Linc Hayes) as a multiracial group of young detectives led by Tige Andrews in the role of Captain Adam Greer.
Considered quite hip and with a serious understanding of the problems surrounding the counterculture and youth movements of the time (unlike the heavier conservatism preached by Jack Webb's character Joe Friday in his Dragnet '66 - '70) it was more in line with shows such as the classroom drama/comedy Room 222 as it basically showed that not all the young were juvenile delinquent hippies or acidheads and that “The Man” was not always oppressively as bad as kids thought.
Crain's episode, which focuses primarily a bit more on Linc, is a boxing aficionado's dream, as it stars actual boxing great Sugar Ray Robinson as “Candy Joe Collins” a wealthy former middleweight champ who comes out of retirement after an 11 year hiatus. His former boxing nemesis, now his trainer and best friend, is played by the legendary boxing champ Rocky Graziano (whom Robinson knocked out in three rounds in 1952) and other actual boxing and sports personalities are peppered throughout the episode. Candy's son Robbie, who attends a prep school, becomes involved with gangster heavies looking for insider information regarding his father's big fight so they might have a sure thing when they bet large sums on it. The emphasis here is on sports gambling, and the relationships between a father and his troubled son.
Within minutes of viewing the episode, there are odd moments that were not usually used on the show— strange freeze-frame close-up zooms, occurring before flashbacks, that most definitely show a William Crain directorial touch and a sign of things to come in his later efforts.
Having Pete and Julie appear in smaller roles with a focus more on Linc and his friends, “The Comeback” works as an especially strong and different episode than most of The Mod Squad. An attention to details and a realistic approach are certainly hallmarks that Crain specialized in and make this episode often considered by fans of the show, one of the very best of The Mod Squad's entire run.
In 1972, Crain directed what would be the film for which he will forever be associated with...Blacula.
Blacula was a feature film that came about primarily via Crain's previous association with television directing, and this extended to the casting as well, most of who had acted in various television series.
William H. Marshall, known for theater roles and appearances on The Man from U.N.C.L.E. and Mannix, portrays the African Prince Mamuwalde who is cursed to an eternity of vampirism by the original (and racist) Count Dracula in the 18th century who had designs on Mamuwalde's wife, Luva (Vonetta McGee) and gives Mamuwalde the name of Blacula after Mamuwalde refuses to give her to the Count.
He is awakened in 1972 and now seeks to rejoin Luva via Tina (also Vonetta McGee) who he thinks is the reincarnated Luva. Of course, his bloodlust begins an escalation and spider web of victims, who now also become vampires. All the while an investigator, Dr. Gordan Thomas (Thalmus Rasulala), a police detective, Lieutenant Peters, and Thomas' girlfriend Michelle (Denise Nicolas of Room 222) learn Mauwalde's secret and attempt to pursue him.
American International's Blacula, is historically important, not only for Marshall's portrayal in the title role making him the very first African American vampire, but as the first African American/Blaxploitation horror film.
To call the film Blaxploitation, for all its later connotations and (wink! wink!) formulaic characteristics, is both truthful and yet, doubtlessly not the intention of Crain when he set out to make this film. The mainstream acceptance of still photographer turned director Gordon Park's 1971 action film Shaft, hadbrought stardom to Richard Roundtree and made him an action hero palpable to mainstream audiences.
With Blacula, Crain sought to direct a genre film, utilize a multiracial cast, still bring to light some African American issues and find his way into the Hollywood system.
Though at times, head-shakingly absurd, using wildly inappropriate dialogue and featuring a quality that rings of a fairly low budget, the film still stands as a successful classic.
Special mention goes to the outstanding animated titles, which probably used much of the budget, a couple of performances by The Hues Corporation (what's up with their backing band?) and the non-horror funky soundtrack.
Blacula was promoted by A.I.P. to Black audiences (pushing the slavery angle) as well as horror audiences and did well, becoming one of the higher grossing films for 1972 and kicking off the Black Horror genre. Reviews, while mixed were still overall positive and encouraging, so audiences flocked to see the film.
Now there was this new breed of Black Horror film with actual African American leads instead of the marginalized stereotypes that had been used before in movies of the past (exception could go to Night Of The Living Dead (1968), although George Romero has stated that his lead actor was a black man unintentionally, and only because the actor gave the best audition).
Some of the films that would become Blaxploitation Horror classics include: Ganja And Hess (1973), Blackenstein (1973), Abby (1974), Sugar Hill (1974), House On Skull Mountain (1974), J.D.’s Revenge (1976), and Rudy Ray Moore’s Petey Wheatstraw - The Devil’s Son-In-Law (1977).
Over the next three years, as well as making a short entitled Greenhouse (1973), Crain returned to what he was probably best suited for, staying prolific by directing for television.
Under his direction were two episodes for the hit show Starsky And Hutch: “Death Notice” and “The Fix” (both 1975), an episode of S.W.A.T. called “Murder By Fire” (1975), three episodes for The Rookies: “A Test Of Courage” (1974), “Lamb To The Slaughter” and “Eye For An Eye” (both 1975).
In 1976, Crain finally went back to what would be his last attempt at the Blaxploitation horror genre with the film Dr. Black and Mr. Hyde, in an attempt to revisit the classic Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde tale.
Dr. Black and Mr. Hyde plays out more as a low budget made for T.V. movie rather than having the cinematic quality of Blacula. In fact it almost makes Blacula seem somewhat slick by comparison, still it was tailor made for drive-in double bills and once again, there are underlying racial and social issuestackled beneath the surface plot.
The film features Bernie Casey (Cleopatra Jones, Hit Man, Brian's Song, The Man Who Fell to Earth) as an African American, award winning scientist/free clinic Doctor named Dr. Pride, who develops a cell-regeneration serum in hopes of curing diseased livers. His partner is Dr. Billie Worth, played by the always wonderful Rosalind Cash (Omega Man).
Dr. Pride first tests the serum on an elderly woman patient, with alarming results, then after falling for one of the patients that he has treated for hepatitis, a local prostitute named Linda (Marie O'Henry), he reveals some of his troubled past to her and asks her to volunteer for an injection of the serum. She agrees but asks him to inject himself first. Pride turns into a white crazed maniac that attacks her then some of her low life associates throughout the city.
With an ending that is an homage to King Kong, Dr. Black and Mr. Hyde is once again not played for laughs but tension, terror and thrills with a few well intentioned scares. Crain's direction again has a similar feel to that of his television work, sincere and thoughtful, dealing with the serious issues healways seemed to come back to, albeit this time around with Dr. Black and Mr. Hyde, Crain probably was more aware of its placement as an exploitation film.
From this point, William Crain continued to work sporadically on shorts such as Joy Ride: An Auto Theft (1976), episodes for television series such as The Dukes Of Hazzard, Matt Houston and Designing Women, local theater productions, and a few more independent features of varying genres: The Kid From Not-So-Big (1978), Lifetime Contract (1986) culminating in his last feature to date, a made for cable TV film, Midnight Fear (1992) starring David Carradine as an alcoholic sheriff investigating a grisly killing.
While at first mention of the title, Blacula (as well as Dr. Black and Mr. Hyde) seems like an intended joke to most, the film is really more serious in tone and should have allowed Crain a long and successful career as a director of even more successful commercial films.
Ultimately William Crain's legacy will rest with that of Blacula's legacy—as the first Black horror film—but also with that of Crain as the first Black filmmaker from out of a serious film school to have mainstream commercial success.
He gave us the first Black vampire in William Marshall and a solid body of interesting television work that often rises above average.
Crain's is an interesting career from an equally interesting, and also enigmatic man.