One of the most distinctive, gifted and unusual filmmaking talents of his era, James Whale was Universal Studios' most prestigious director of the 1930s ("It's a Whale of a picture!" often publicized his work). Yet, after his ten-year career in Hollywood ended, he faded for decades into an undeserved obscurity. Even though his surrealistic "Remember Last Night?" (1935) became a minor cult favorite of the influential CAHIERS DU CINEMA critics, Whale was generally overlooked by the flood of French and later British and American "auteur" criticism of the 50s and 60s. Such criticism tended to romantically lionize long-standing veterans who were read as "survivors" within an impersonal system; the ones who obviously fought the system; directors whose styles and themes remained consistent even though they worked internationally; or those who either died young or were artistically silenced by their government or studio heads. Whale, who seemed to abruptly scorn his craft, just did not seem to fit any category. Being gay obviously hindered any possible interest in his oeuvre during the 60s; in recent years, though, it has had precisely the opposite effect.

Whale came from a very poor family but, being bright, sensitive and ambitious, he was determined to find an outlet for his quiet, insistent need for self-expression. Having known poverty, he also desperately wanted success; once he had achieved fame and fortune in Hollywood, he was noted for both saving his earnings diligently and for trading in on US Anglophilia, sometimes making his background seem far more aristocratic. Whale worked for a time as a newspaper cartoonist before serving in WWI, during which he discovered theater while in a German prisoner of war camp. Upon his return to England, Whale embarked on a stage career, trying his hand rather unsuccessfully at acting, doing better at set designing and eventually striking pay dirt with directing. In 1928, he enjoyed a tremendous, if unexpected, success on the London stage with R.C. Sherriff's moving war drama "Journey's End" and repeated its triumph the following year on Broadway.

Whale was the right man in the right place at the right time. Hollywood, converting to sound cinema, raided the stage for talent experienced with dialogue, and Whale rode the wave to Tinseltown. The position of "dialogue director" was created to help established silent film directors, and Whale's best-known credit as such was Howard Hughes' landmark "Hell's Angel's" (1930). He actually directed a number of interior dialogue scenes, and did his best to browbeat a performance out of sexy but insecure neophyte Jean Harlow. A 1930 film of "Journey's End", with its fine dialogue and action confined largely to a foxhole, was perfectly suited to the technical limitations of early sound cinema, and Whale firmly assumed the director's chair with his remarkably assured first effort.

Whale consolidated his position at Universal with the tender, moving and very adult first version of "Waterloo Bridge" (1931). He did himself one better when he requested "Frankenstein", leading already assigned director Robert Florey to be dropped from the project. Even more than its companion piece, Tod Browning's "Dracula" (1931), "Frankenstein" marked the full-fledged emergence of horror as a viable, regular genre in American cinema and, still moving and powerful, stands as a landmark of genre filmmaking. It made Boris Karloff a major star and catapulted Whale to the position of Universal's resident ace director.

The financial and critical success of "Frankenstein" meant that Universal regularly tried to get Whale to direct other horror films. To some extent he resisted (for years in the case of a sequel to "Frankenstein"), yet he also enjoyed the chances to express his penchant for Expressionistic lighting and set design, campy gallows humor, and theatrical portraits of bizarre, indeed monstrous, yet often likable outsiders. "The Invisible Man" (1933) proved to be a special effects bonanza, a compelling study of megalomania and a showcase for the gifts of Whale's character favorites and the marvelous voice of Claude Rains in the title role. Even greater were two films which clinched Whale's position as arguably the greatest director of horror films in the history of the cinema. "The Old Dark House" (1932) was at once the exciting apotheosis of the menacing mansion subgenre, a brilliant exercise in acting and directorial style, and an affectionate yet sharp parody of English family life. More famous and flamboyant still is the film often claimed as Whale's greatest, the sequel he finally agreed to make, "Bride of Frankenstein" (1935), a film full of touching and fantastic moments, remarkable technical virtuosity and a rich control of tones and moods ranging from religious sentiment to horror to parody. Whale had become one of a handful of directors in the studio system to attain such unusual control over his personal projects, but as long as the box office responded, Carl Laemmle Sr. and Jr. of Universal were content to let Whale play and kept upping his paycheck.

The attention paid to Whale's horror films has, over the years, almost completely obscured his versatility. His only other well-known films are an excellent version of Dumas' swashbuckling classic "The Man in the Iron Mask" (1939) and the greatest version of the landmark stage musical drama "Show Boat" (1936), handsomely shot, lovingly detailed, and featuring memorable performances from Paul Robeson, Helen Morgan, Irene Dunne and others. Yet his other films, both projects he chose and even films he was asked to helm, are remarkably consistent in their fluid, stylized camerawork, and their mix of offbeat humor and British, indeed often Continental, grace. His abiding interest in the stage was reflected in his merging of the arts to create a truly theatrical cinema.

Almost all of Whale's films are literary or stage adaptations that allowed the director to highlight his films as performances, by tracking through the walls of sets or staging scenes as playlets. Examples include his splendidly stylized comic frou-frou "By Candlelight" (1933) and the delicious period jaunt "The Great Garrick" (1937). He obsessed over mirror shots to point out differences between social appearance and reality, as in his compellingly grim portrait of marriage, "The Kiss Before the Mirror" (1933). Strictly in terms of technical virtuosity, Whale had few peers, and he worked regularly with such gifted collaborators as cinematographers Arthur Edeson and John J. Mescall, writers R.C. Sherriff and Benn Levy, editor Ted Kent, and set designer Charles D. Hall. He also assembled a regular stock company of, typically British, character players (Ernest Thesiger, E.E. Clive, Colin Clive, Una O'Connor) to portray the rich gallery of eccentrics peopling his whimsical yet sharply observed worlds. He was able to turn genre conventions on their head, as with his bizarre, almost incomprehensible mix of screwball comedy and murder mystery "Remember Last Night?" (1935). Whale could, though, also play it straight, so to speak, as with his unsung masterpiece, "One More River" (1934). Another portrait of troubled marriage and the tentativeness of status and relationships, this beautiful adaptation of John Galsworthy's last novel captures its period so well one could swear it was made in England. It also depicts a range of emotions so well that it belies critical dismissal of Whale as a cold, competent technician with a snide wit.

The Laemmles, in a bid to move Universal from the second rank to the big leagues, overextended themselves financially by 1936 and, when cost-cutters moved in, the sympathetic atmosphere Whale had enjoyed quickly evaporated. His war drama, "The Road Back" (1937), was cut to placate Nazi Party protests over its representation of WWI Germany, and the studio quickly assigned its leading talent to B-pictures to get their high-priced employee to scrap his contract. Lesser films like "Wives Under Suspicion" (1938) have their interest, and Whale certainly had moments amid the sometimes ridiculous jungle epic "Green Hell" (1940) but, having saved his money, he simply bade farewell to the industry. Being ill-treated had led him to become increasingly difficult to work with; stories have also circulated that Universal may have hinted at invoking the standard "moral turpitude" clause in studio contracts to force the gay filmmaker out. At any rate, Whale took up painting and continued the life he had begun in 1930 with lover David Lewis, who had worked his way up to producer via RKO, MGM and finally Warners.

Whale worked only for a few days on "They Dare Not Love" (1941) before differences arose, even though his contract led to his receiving screen credit. He did occasional stage work but only worked in film again for "Hello Out There", a never-released, 40-minute segment of an omnibus film produced in 1949. Whale traveled abroad a great deal as his partnership with Lewis (though not their friendship) ended after 20 years and he met Pierre Fogel, who lived with him from the early 50s on. Sadly, a long, slow, painful decline in health set in, and Whale drowned in his swimming pool under suspicious circumstances in 1957. Years later it was revealed that his death had been a suicide, motivated by depression over increasing physical infirmity. Film historian William K Everson was for years one of Whale's few champions, though a very thoroughly researched biography came from James Curtis in 1982. In 1995, Mark Gatiss' newer bio, which gave more emphasis to Whale's homosexuality and British character, and a fascinating, highly enjoyable novel, "Father of Frankenstein", penned by Christopher Bram with the aging Whale as protagonist, were published. (The latter was adapted as the 1998 feature "Gods and Monsters" with Ian McKellen playing Whale.) Changing attitudes about homosexuality, the rise of gay biographies and academic studies, and the financial viability of such efforts meant that Whale would finally get some of the attention he had deserved for years.