Robert Wise’s gothic thriller endures as a somber meditation on moral decay, elevated by Boris Karloff’s haunting performance and a creeping atmosphere of inevitable doom.

In the gothic shadows of Edinburgh, 1831, a sinister trade thrives — one that chills the blood more than any imagined phantoms. Robert Wise’s The Body Snatcher, marking its 80th anniversary, stands as a sombre meditation on guilt, complicity, and the monstrous lengths to which men will go in the name of progress. Though often overshadowed by the grander horror spectacles of its era, this adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s short story endures as a morally murky, quietly insidious thriller — elevated by the formidable presence of Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi.

The film pivots on the uneasy relationship between Dr. MacFarlane (Henry Daniell), a respected physician harbouring a damning secret, and Cabman Gray (Boris Karloff), the gleeful ghoul who supplies MacFarlane’s medical school with an illicit flow of cadavers. Karloff, at the height of his late-career potency, embodies Gray not as a stock villain but as a leering, almost Shakespearian figure — a spectre of the past MacFarlane cannot exorcise. In a film largely devoid of supernatural elements, it is Karloff’s performance that provides the true horror: the inexorable pull of guilt and moral decay.

At its core, The Body Snatcher is not merely about grave robbery, but about the corrupting influence of rationalisation. Dr. MacFarlane convinces himself that his ends — advancing medical science — justify the sordid means. Yet, as Wise’s patient, sombre direction emphasises, no amount of rationalising can protect the soul from rot. Each step MacFarlane takes toward “noble progress” leaves another moral wound festering beneath his polished exterior.

Bela Lugosi, reduced by this time to smaller, often pitiable roles, appears briefly but memorably as Joseph, an opportunistic servant who attempts to blackmail Gray — with predictably grim results. Though Lugosi’s screen time is limited, his gaunt visage and desperate demeanour deepen the film’s atmosphere of inevitable downfall.

Robert Wise, making his solo directorial debut after serving as editor on Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane, crafts a film of remarkable restraint. Eschewing the sensationalism suggested by the lurid poster art (“GRAVES RAIDED! COFFINS ROBBED! CORPSES CARVED!”), Wise opts instead for creeping dread — long shadows across stone alleys, whispered threats in hushed taverns, the simple, chilling sound of hooves clattering in the misty night. His style foreshadows the sophistication he would later bring to The Day the Earth Stood Still and The Haunting.

Thematically, The Body Snatcher grapples with the commodification of death — how the needs of the living exploit and desecrate the dignity of the dead. Yet the deeper horror lies not in the graveyards, but in the human heart’s capacity for compromise. In Karloff’s Gray, we see not merely a villain, but the embodiment of conscience corrupted beyond repair — a mirror to MacFarlane’s rationalised decay.

The Prognosis:

Eighty years on, The Body Snatcher may not deliver the frenetic thrills modern audiences often crave, but its slow, inexorable descent into moral ruin lingers. It is a film les–s about what men do in darkness, and more about how they learn to live with themselves afterward — or fail to.

In an age where the ethics of progress are more fraught than ever, The Body Snatcher whispers a grim reminder from the grave: the past never stays buried for long.

• Retrospective review by Saul Muerte