Art on film: Pandora and the Flying Dutchman

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Continuing an occasional series about artworks in feature films. This is a minor entry but a worthwhile one if only to draw some attention to an unusual fantasy film by Albert Lewin, an equally unusual director. Pandora and the Flying Dutchman was made in 1951, a British film with an American star (Ava Gardner) and a Spanish setting. Gardner plays Pandora Reynolds, an American nightclub singer living in the coastal town of Esperanza where she’s the centre of attention for the small colony of stuffy middle-class Brits who also live there. Like her mythical namesake, Pandora is a source of endless trouble, only in this case the evils are the result of the romantic chaos she provokes. Her own romantic desires are upset when a mysterious yacht anchors off the coast, its sole occupant being Hendrik van der Zee (James Mason) who we soon learn is the Flying Dutchman of legend, doomed to sail the seas until he can find salvation in the love of a woman who will die for him.

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Pandora with one of the many statues that surround the home of Fielding the archaeologist.

Lewin’s film was restored recently after having been out of circulation for many years. I’d been intending to see it again after reading about the restoration which could only be an improvement on the terrible copy that used to turn up late at night on British TV. Further impetus was prompted by a book review for The Spectator in which Michael Moorcock notes similarities between the film and the stories by JG Ballard which were collected as Vermilion Sands. I’ve never seen Ballard mention the film but the Vermilion Sands stories have long been favourites of mine. The film moved to the top of the viewing list.

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Esperanza or Vermilion Sands? Hendrik is lured by Pandora’s piano-playing.

The key connection to Ballard is Surrealist (or-pre-Surrealist) painting, a detail of Pandora and the Flying Dutchman that I’d forgotten all about. Albert Lewin only directed six films; he also wrote each one, and was very determined in his attempts to bring a touch of artistic class to Anglophone cinema. Pandora and the Flying Dutchman was his fourth feature after The Moon and Sixpence and The Picture of Dorian Gray—each an adaptation of a novel where painting is an important element of the story—and The Private Affairs of Bel Ami, a film that was promoted with a Surrealist painting competition on the theme of the temptation of St Anthony. Max Ernst won the competition, and his picture appears at the end of the film, a colour insert in an otherwise black-and-white feature. Lewin did the same for The Picture of Dorian Gray, another black-and-white film where the portrait paintings (including Ivan Albright’s unforgettably corrupted canvas) are shown in colour inserts.

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Weekend links 827

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Dante in his Study with Episodes from the Inferno (1978) by Tom Phillips.

• “This set, featuring two of the surviving members of Cabaret Voltaire, is as clear and powerful as any of the live albums the group released while Richard H. Kirk was alive.” Derek Walmsley, reviewing what we’ve been told will be the last ever Cabaret Voltaire album. I can also vouch for its excellence but then I’m not what you might call an impartial listener. My copy arrived in the post only a couple of hours before Boards Of Canada made the announcement they’d been teasing for the past two weeks—the new BOC album, Inferno, will be released at the end of May—a coincidence that felt vaguely significant. “How random is random?” as William Burroughs used to say. It’s tempting to describe the moment as the passing of a creative torch but I doubt either of the groups would agree. Boards Of Canada’s approach to electronic music has always been very different to that of Cabaret Voltaire: less aggressive, more melodic, more pastoral, more concerned with memories and the past than with the present or the near future. But the promotional videos for Inferno are reminiscent of the scratch videos that Cabaret Voltaire were creating in the 1980s: degraded VHS assemblages collaged from TV broadcasts and home-movie footage, visual equivalents of a tuning dial running through the shortwave radio spectrum. Then there’s the latest BOC album art which, when taken with details from the teaser video, foregrounds the same fascination with American bastardisations of Christianity that the Cabs were referring to in Sluggin’ Fer Jesus and The Covenant, The Sword And The Arm Of The Lord. I’ll leave it to others to play with the interpretations that can be brought to an album title like Inferno. We’ll no doubt be seeing a great deal of journalistic musing around this and related issues before and after the end of May.

• Jiří Barta’s Expressionist animated adaptation of the Pied Piper story, Krysař (1985), has turned up in high definition at YouTube. Ignore the credit for Wilfred Jackson, an American animation director who had nothing to do with Barta’s film.

• At Public Domain Review: Magic by return of post: Allan Johnson explores the history of those mail-order occult outfits whose ads fill out the pages of the early American pulps.

Visual Music: a lecture by Simon Reynolds describing the use of electronic music as a soundtrack for abstract cinema.

• At the BFI: Anton Bitel selects 10 great Brazilian horror films.

• There’s more intermediate eyeball fodder at Unquiet Things.

Your Name in Landsat

FruitierThanThou

Disco Inferno (1976) by The Trammps | Inferno (Main Title Theme) (1980) by Keith Emerson | Om Riff From The Cosmic Inferno (2005) by IAO Chant From The Cosmic Inferno

Kay Nielsen’s Book of Death

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Disconsolate.

More unknown Kay Nielsen, although “little-known” would be more accurate since the sombre nature of these drawings has made them popular among the image-hoarders in the Tumblr labyrinth. Nielsen created the series known as The Book of Death around 1910 when he was an art student studying in Paris, the “Book” being a cycle of ten (or more?) drawings that chart the progress of one of those Pierrots who we find mourning a lost love. The series was exhibited in London but wasn’t published in full during Nielsen’s lifetime, although a couple of the drawings did see print a few years after their completion. The Illustrated London News published one of them in 1913 when Nielsen’s work was showcased in the magazine’s Christmas special; two more appeared a year later in The Studio where Nielsen’s work was analysed by Marion Hepworth Dixon.

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Consolation.

Information about the series is so scant my cursory searches haven’t been able to locate a reliable list of the pictures, or any idea of the order they might follow. The Studio, for example, mentions a picture labelled “Omen” but doesn’t say what the picture looks like. What you see here is a guess at the labelling and an attempt at an order. The problem is complicated by the fact that Nielsen was drawing other Pierrot figures at this time so I can’t be certain that all the pictures are part of the series. They are all Nielsen’s work, however.

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Desolation (or Solitude).

Of greater certainty is the way the series differs from Nielsen’s later illustrations, showing the artist proceeding in an opposite direction to that of his contemporary, Harry Clarke. Where Clarke’s illustration work evolved from delicate fairy-tale scenes to the horrors in Poe, Goethe and Swinburne, Nielsen abandoned fin-de-siècle morbidity for his meticulous blending of the art styles of the East and West. Marion Hepworth Dixon makes a great deal of the influence of Beardsley on Nielsen’s early drawings, something that’s most evident in his black-and-white art here and elsewhere. In 1910 he was still developing his own style so there may be other influences at work—Sidney Sime, perhaps—but without further research it’s difficult to say.

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Yearning.

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The Vision.

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Dell Mapbacks

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Dell 5, Four Frightened Women by George Harmon Coxe, was the first of the mapbacks. On the back cover of each of these books is, naturally, a map—a cutaway bird’s-eye view of the apartment building, house, hotel or city-section in which the events of the book take place. These drawings were generally quite faithful to the books; the most careful one was probably the map sketched by author Hake Talbot for his own book, Rim of the Pit (Dell 173), and executed, as were most of the mapbacks, by Ruth Belew.

Almost all Dell Books published until 1951 were provided with a mapback; beginning in that year, the practice was gradually abandoned. Dell’s sales department hated the idea; they found the maps unnecessary and noncommercial, and felt that back covers could better be reserved for advertising blurbs.

The Book of the Paperback: A Visual History of the Paperback Book (1982) by Piet Schreuders

I’ve long been fascinated by the Dell Mapbacks even though I’ve only ever seen pictures of them. (And to stave off the inevitable emails: no, I don’t want to buy any.) They form a truncated path in the evolution of the paperback book, one where the gimmick of creating a map for each title was globally applied, regardless of whether the contents warranted such a thing. Dell began life as a publisher of mysteries, hence the logo of an eye peeping through a keyhole. Maps are more justifiable if applied to a detective story, where a map may help the reader picture the layout of a location or trace the movements of a character. But once Dell branched out into other areas of fiction the maps seemed increasingly superfluous, especially those that limit themselves to the plan of an office or apartment. For some there’s also the question of accuracy. The novelisation of Alfred Hitchcock’s Rope shows a map of the apartment that doesn’t correspond to the layout of the rooms as they’re seen on the screen, something that readers who’d seen the film would have been quick to recognise.

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For this post I went looking for a few of the more unusual mapbacks, prompted by the discovery of Invasion from Mars. I’d been watching an Orson Welles’ question-and-answer session from 1982 which was recorded after a screening of Welles’ adaptation of The Trial. Welles declares at one point that he “used to write for the pulps, as we called them then”. The claim surprised me. I knew that Welles had been writing newspaper columns in the 1940s; he’s also credited as the author of a novel, Mr Arkadin (1955), which was actually written by a Frenchman, Maurice Bessy, whose serialised adaptation of Welles’ Mr Arkadin screen story was published in novel form. Invasion from Mars seems to be Welles’ sole encounter with pulp-land unless you include the pulpy origins of The Lady from Shanghai and Touch of Evil. Invasion from Mars collects a handful of Mars-related SF stories, together with the Howard Koch script for the Mercury Theatre radio broadcast of The War of the Worlds. The superfluous map on this occasion is for The Million Year Picnic, one of Ray Bradbury’s Martian Chronicles stories. Dell didn’t publish very much science fiction so the Mars book and First Men in the Moon are the only titles I’ve seen with maps showing extraterrestrial locations. Would-be collectors may like to know that after writing a history of the paperback book Piet Schreuders put together a short guide to collecting this series, The Dell “Mapbacks”, which was published in 1997.

• Further reading: Dell Mapbacks: A History.
Dell Mapbacks (sorted). An extensive cover collection at Flickr.

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Another film tie-in, published for the US release of Powell & Pressburger’s Gone To Earth (1950).

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Weekend links 826

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Hexa (1971) by Victor Vasarely.

• New music of the week is Tape 05, three minutes from Boards Of Canada following their thirteen-year silence, which was released on Thursday after several days of the group and their record label teasing a comeback with mysterious VHS cassettes and cryptic posters. I’ve been listening to the Sandison brothers’ discography for most of the week while trying to get a major illustration commission finished; this revelation has been the icing on a deteriorated, over-processed cake. I’m now looking forward to whatever emerges next.

The Long London Uncovered: Alan Moore (again) and Iain Sinclair (again) in conversation. Alan’s second novel in the Long London cycle, I Hear A New World, will be published next month.

• RIP Chris Mullen. Not a name that most will recognise but Mullen’s sprawling website, The Visual Telling of Stories, has been linked here on many occasions. A remarkable resource.

• More new music: Boots On The Ground by Massive Attack, Tom Waits; Angel Lost by Luca Formentini; Phaser For The Ocean, Chorus For The Moon by Hatchback.

• Coming soon from Strange Attractor: Sensual Laboratories, Light Shows, Experimental, Film and Psychedelic Art by Sophia Satchell-Baeza.

• At Public Domain Review: “A beautiful purplish hue”: Frank Dudley Beane’s experience with ergot and Cannabis Indica (1884).

• Mixes of the week: An Invisible Jukebox mix for Irmin Schmidt at The Wire; and DreamScenes – April 2026 at Ambientblog.

• At The Quietus: Greg Anderson and Stephen O’Malley of Sunn O))) discuss their love of hiking.

• At Film Quarterly: Elinor Dolliver on the surprising folklore of analogue horror.

• Steven Heller’s font of the month is Gilway Paradox.

• The Strange World of…Spacemen 3.

Tape Kebab (1974) by Can | The Attic Tapes (1975/6) by Cabaret Voltaire | The Black Mill Video Tape (2012) by Pye Corner Audio