By the time this fifteenth installment of the Edgar Wallace series rolled along, a significant change of priorities had taken place. The earlier films were straight-forward murder mysteries with a narrative driven by a strong central character, the lead detective (usually played by Joachim Fuchsberger) who was following a clear objective and had to face a few clearly identified antagonists (usually involving menacing stares from Klaus Kinski).
Over time, however, the Edgar Wallace films became increasingly preoccupied with quirky secondary characters that were supposed to aggregate the plots, but mostly revealed themselves to be pointless to the story or the denouement of the murder mysteries. All smoke and mirrors, the krimis lost the core of a driving main character, as the respective detectives in charge were relegated to the peanut seats.
The Black Abbot, finally might one say, discards any aspirations of being a straight murder mystery and concentrates on the connivery between the main characters. There is a murder, there is a crime plot, but the intrigues and double crossings between the characters take the forefront and the killings serve more as an atmospheric backdrop. Consequently, the Scotland Yard detectives present in the film play a marginal role at best.
The film opens with a murder committed in an abbey. The detectives in charge of the case inexplicably take quarters in a nearby manor of Lord Chelford who is convinced that a mysterious black abbot is responsible for the killing. The police, however, suspect that a treasure that is supposed to be hidden in the abbey might be the motive of the murder. And they might be right. The Lord's attorney Arthur, crushed by debts, arranges the marriage of his sister Leslie to the elderly Lord Chelford. But Leslie fancies Lord Chelford's cousin Richard. Arthur's associate Fabian also takes interest in Leslie and teams up with Lord Chelford's former secretary in order to find the legendary treasure that is supposedly guarded by the black abbot.
Klaus Kinski plays Lord Chelford's butler who, spoiler alert!, turns out to be the titular black abbot when, another spoiler alert!, he is killed later in the film. His creepy performance here is enhanced by the nasal voice pitch with which he delivers his lines. In the documentary My Best Fiend director Werner Herzog recounts how fanatically Kinski would rehearse speech patterns, sometimes 10 consecutive hours a day. And Kinski's astounding vocal versatility becomes evident listening to his poetry albums on which he performs virtually every piece in another vocal style. Although he despised the work on film sets, Kinski had enough professionalism and pride in his craft to never undercut a certain quality level. And sometimes a detail like the sound of his voice makes that evident.
Stylistically, The Black Abbot, directed by Franz Josef Gottlieb, is less frantic than the films helmed by Alfred Vohrer and more concerned with composition and evocative camera movement. Where Vohrer's first impulse is to go for the most shocking visual gag, Gottlieb relies more on camera blocking and deep focus, and lets the scenes play out in elongated yet cadenced takes. The editing is simple yet effective and the film overall abandons the pulpy B-Movie esthetic that the series had cultivated until then.
The German critics at the time, however, deplored exactly that. One main objection to the film at the point of its release was that it wasn't exciting and engaging enough. On the one hand, I can understand the critique, as The Black Abbot feels less like a visceral thriller, and more like a cerebral and detached anatomy of a murder, which is a sometimes jarring change in pace for the series. But I appreciate Gottlieb's craft and applaud his willingness to break free of the usual Edgar Wallace formula. In the end, I think, The Black Abbot has a certain undeniable charm that qualifies it as a superior guilty pleasure.
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