Science, But Make It a Relapse

Tonight on The Introverted Obelisk, science proves once again that it does not understand the meaning of the word “enough.”

This episode dives into The Return of Doctor X — a late-1930s cocktail of mad science, newspaper intrigue, and the unsettling realization that death is more of a suggestion than a rule. Bodies pile up, alibis unravel, and a reporter starts asking the kind of questions that get you quietly eliminated in dark hallways.

Humphrey Bogart turns up in one of his strangest roles, playing a man who looks alive, sounds wrong, and radiates the energy of someone who should absolutely not be walking around.

It’s part horror, part mystery, and part cinematic shrug — a sequel that insists the experiment isn’t over just because the patient flatlined.

So lock the lab, double-check the gurney straps, and remember:

If science says it’s finished… it’s lying.

Transcript

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Welcome back, my beloved grave robbers, ghoul the whisperers, and laboratory assistants who definitely didn't steal that rabbit from the biology lab. 2. The Introverted Obelisk. The podcast where we rummage through the cobwebbed attic of vintage horror cinema, brush off the dust, and then immediately wonder why it smells like formaldehyde and regret. Tonight, we're covering a film that's less terrifying resurrection of a scientific genius, and more Humphrey Bogart and white pancake makeup. Wondering how his career ended up here. Yes. This is Return of Dr. X from 1939. A title that implies we're getting a sequel to 1932's Dr. X, which we are not. This is not a sequel, a reboot, or even a distant cousin twice removed. It's a completely unrelated movie that borrows the name like a raccoon stealing your Wi-Fi password. The only thing returning here is your continued disbelief. So we open on the gritty streets of 1939 America. The kind of America where every man is a wisecracking reporter, every woman is a headline, and every corpse is a front page opportunity. Our leading man, reporter Walter Garrett, played by Wayne Morris, is your standard pre-war newsroom prototype. A guy whose moral compass spins faster than a news ticker. He's working late at the paper one night when he decides to check in on famous actress Angela Morova for an interview. When he arrives, wouldn't you know it, he finds her dead. Pale, lifeless, and showing signs of a severe lack of hemoglobin. Not exactly the kind of scoop you can print without an editor screaming, for God's sake, man, check your sources. Walter does what any sensible journalist would do, he reports the story immediately. And then the next morning, Angela Morova shows up alive, cheerful, and apparently not dead at all. This is the 1939 version of Whoops Tweet. Well, Walter's boss does not take kindly to being told someone died when they, you know, in fact did not. He's fired faster than you can say liability suit. But Walter is determined to find out what happened. Because if there's one thing a 1930s reporter can't resist, it's sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. Even if that nose might get bitten off by signs. Well, insteps Dr. Mike Rhodes, played by Dennis Morgan, a young, respectable surgeon and part-time straight man to Walter's chaotic energy. Rhodes works at a hospital that appears to operate under the Lighting is Medicine school of thought. The two men quickly become friends because in these old horror films, reporters and doctors naturally gravitate toward each other like bad ideas and Tesla coils. Rhodes has been dealing with a strange patient. Pale, nervous man, he looks like he hasn't seen the sun since Hoover administration. He's played by Humphrey Bogart, and if you're wondering whether he's thrilled to be here, I can clearly tell you he is not. Bogart later said this was his least favorite role, and trust me it shows. His character is Dr. Maurice Xavier, or as he's known now, as Dr. Cain. Because changing one letter apparently makes you less dead. You see, Dr. X, that is, the original Dr. X from 1932, was about cannibalism and moonlight murder. Return of Dr. X is about a scientist resurrected with electricity who must now drink human blood in order to survive. Yeah, it's basically like Frankenstein, like spliced with Dracula, and then meets an actor who would rather be anywhere else. Well, Walter, still on his maybe I wasn't crazy tour, crosses path with Dr. Rhodes again, and together they start connecting dots that really shouldn't exist. Victims across the city are being found drained with blood, and every time one dies, someone else mysteriously recovers from a terminal illness. It's like a medical Ponzi scheme. When they finally track down Dr. Kane, he's working as a research assistant for Dr. Francis Fledge, played by John Little. And is a highly respected scientist who has definitely not reanimated anyone against the laws of God written all over this man's face.

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Fleg is the kind of man who wears his morality like a lab coat. Buttoned up, spotless, and easily removed when convenient. He tells our heroes that Kane is a colleague. Brilliant, eccentric, and a little off. You know, the usual euphemisms for undead. Rhodes, he ain't buying it. He notices that Kane's reflection doesn't quite reflect. His skin has that, you know, refrigerated daily ham glow, and his handshake feels like you're touching a chilled wax museum exhibit. Well, eventually, the truth spills out like a beaker full of dry eyes. Dr. Fleg resurrected Dr. Xavier, the infamous Dr. X, using synthetic blood. The good Doctor was executed years earlier for murdered, but Flegg thought, you know what makes for a great lab partner? A dead murderer. Unfortunately, the synthetic blood wasn't quite up to snuff. It had a few bugs, like, oh, you know, I don't know, requiring real human blood to keep the patient alive. So now, Bogart's undead scientist is slinking through the night, murdering innocent people and siphoning their blood like an artisanal vampire with a PhD. And it's not often you see Humphrey Bogart, you know, future star of Casablanca, applying what looks like makeup from the Halloween clearance aisle, staring straight into the camera with eyes so lifeless, you half expect him to say, Here's looking at you, kid, through your carotid artery. Bogart's performance is, I mean, I don't know, it's kind of fascinating in one way, because it really does make you uncomfortable. Like, he's calm, deliberate, and eerily emotionless. I mean, and it's an unsettling contrast to his usual, you know, fast-talking, cynical energy. If anything, it's like watching Rick Blaine get possessed by a taxidermist. The climax of the film kicks off with Walter and Dr. Rhodes following a trail of bodies to Fleg's lab. By this point, Fleg has realized that his pet corpse project has gone full Dracula, and he's trying to create a new formula that doesn't require, you know, that whole pesky human hemoglobin problem. I mean, it's it's very touching in a, you know, whoops, I invented vampirism sort of way. Well, Kane, however, is not about to go quietly. He storms into the lab, desperate for another transfusion. When Fleg tries to stop him, Kane shoots him, which is remarkable because at this point, both men have technically already died once. Well, Rhodes and Walter arrive in time to find Bogart, mid-Meltdown, clutching a syringe like it's the last blood bag on earth. A scuffle ensues, the police burst in, and Bogart's Dr. X meets his second, and hopefully, final death. A fate met with less drama than you'd expect from a man wearing corpse makeup and a double-breasted suit. The film wraps up in that tidy, you know, 1930s studio fashion where everyone just sort of shrugs and, you know, goes back to work. The police take notes, the reporters get their headline, and Dr. Rhodes goes back to saving lives, preferably ones that haven't been resurrected in someone in his basement. Walter, our plucky journalist, manages to get his job back at the newspaper, because, you know, in these movies, being right about a murder spree somehow balances out printing that a woman was dead when she actually wasn't. So the final shot gives us a half-hearted nod toward closure. You know, there's no real deep meaning, no tragic insight into the dangers of playing God. Just a brisk fade to black, as if the studio realized it was late for a meeting and decided eh, just ended it there. Alright, so let's talk behind-the-scenes trivia, because let's face it, that's half the fun. And in this case, it's where Return of Dr. X truly becomes, well, kind of legendary. So, as I kind of mentioned before, Bogart hated this movie. I mean, absolutely despised it. In fact, he once said, quote, this is what happens when you're not a Warner Brothers gangster. They make you into a corpse. End quote. Yeah, Dew was so embarrassed by the role that when friends meant would mention it, he would immediately change the subject faster than vampire dodging sunlight. And the makeup design, we gotta talk about that. It's bizarre in a way that it's kind of ahead of its time. You know, the slick hair with the white streak, pallid skin, and cold dead eyes, it's it's almost like it anticipated later portrayals of reanimated beings, like, you know, Christopher Lee's Frankenstein's Monster. Or heck, even David Bowie's The Man Who Fell to Earth. Like, it was really the thing just ahead of its time. Next we got the fact that the film was directed by Vincent Sherman, who made this his debut. He'd later go on to direct far better movies, probably because after dealing with Zommified Bogart, everything else probably just seemed easy. Now, despite the whole Dr. X branding, again, this technically has nothing to do with the original 1932 Dr. X, directed by Michael Kurditz. That one starred Lyle Atwell and Faye Ray in glorious two-color technicolor with cannibalism and gothic access. This one is black and white, all studio sets, far more subdued, except of course for, you know, Bogart's cheekbones, because they look like they could cut glass. Alright, so here at the end, we look at the return of Dr. X as what it just is, it's a curious artifact. You know, it's less a horror masterpiece, and more a studio experiment in genre confusion. It's part murder mystery, part sci-fi, part reluctant vampire story, and it's all wrapped up in 62 minutes of Warner Brothers' efficiency. And it's also a strange historical bookmark in Bogot's career, because just two years later, he would be the leading man in the Maltese Falcon, and by 1942, he'd redefine the cynical romantic archetype in Casablanca. But here, in 1939, he's just an undead scientist wandering through foggy corridors, muttering about blood and plasma. And I don't know, to me that's kind of what makes the return of Dr. X so oddly endearing. You know, it's a movie that tries, and it does so and sincerely, to bring pulp horror into the realm of science. Now, you know, let's be honest, it fails spectacularly, but it does so with a kind of charm that, you know, only the 1930s could muster. So, as the credits roll and the eerie organ fades out, we're left with a single takeaway. Even Bogart had to start somewhere. And sometimes that somewhere is a lab full of corpses, with a syringe full of regrets, and a studio executive shouting, Don't worry, kid, it's just a phase. And that, my friends, is tonight's resurrection. If you enjoyed this dive into the lesser-known corners of classic horror, don't forget to polish your scalpels, light your Bunsen burners, and subscribe to the introverted obelisk. And until next time, keep your blood type secret, your lab doors locked, and remember, if your doctor looks like Humphrey Bogart in Corpse Paint, maybe get a second opinion. Good night. Enroll credits.