7 Faces of Dr. Lao (Blu-ray Review)
Director
George PalRelease Date(s)
1964 (May 26, 2026)Studio(s)
Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (Warner Archive Collection)- Film/Program Grade: B
- Video Grade: A
- Audio Grade: A
- Extras Grade: C
Review
Producer-director George Pal’s 7 Faces of Dr. Lao (1964) is, like virtually every Pal film, a sometimes-frustrating mixture of boldly imaginative, even magical moments offset by various downsides, typically some combination of inadequate budgets and pandering screenplays, clumsy direction, variable acting and special effects, syrupy sentimentality and unwarranted religious content. During his time at MGM, Pal made tom thumb (1958), The Time Machine (1960), Atlantis, the Lost Continent (1961), The Wonderful World of the Brothers Grimm (1962), 7 Faces of Dr. Lao, and The Power (1968). Most agree that The Time Machine is the best of these, but even that film is burdened with Pal’s usual problems, such as variable special effects that range from excellent to terrible.
Warner Archive’s new Blu-ray of 7 Faces of Dr. Lao is a mini-revelation insofar as it’s a light-years improvement over all previous home video and television syndication versions. The razor-sharp, richly colored video transfer of the Blu-ray greatly enhances one’s appreciation of the subtleties of Tony Randall’s excellent starring performance, William Tuttle’s makeups, and the lighting and cinematography.
Certainly, my appreciation ramped-up considerably. What seemed pretty mediocre before now plays significantly better. Though it still has a host of problems, of Pal’s MGM years, 7 Faces of Dr. Lao is his most consistently satisfying, least problematic feature, though The Time Machine is very slightly the better film overall.
The movie follows the basic premise of Charles G. Finney’s 1935 novel, The Circus of Dr. Lao. Around the turn of the century, elderly but excitable Chinese Dr. Lao (Randall) rides (on a golden-haired donkey) into the small western town of Abalone, Arizona, placing a full-page ad in the local newspaper announcing the two-night appearance of his circus. Edward Cunningham’s (John Ericson) newspaper is about the only thing standing in the way of conniving rancher Clinton Stark (Arthur O’Connell) who wants to buy up the town, soon to run out of water, for pennies on the dollar. Cunningham is attracted to widowed Angela Benedict (Barbara Eden), but she’s a stereotypical fussy librarian who wants nothing to do with him.
The entire town turns out for Dr. Lao’s strange circus. Stark encounters the Great Serpent (voiced by Randall), which resembles him, the creature mocking the emptiness of Stark’s greed; Angela encounters Pan (also Randall), the God of Joy, whose raw sexuality transforms the aroused librarian, especially when Pan takes on Cunningham’s form. (This is subtly, imaginatively staged, so much so audiences often don’t notice the switching of actors.) Shrewish, hatchetfaced wife Kate (Minerva Urecal) is put in her place by Medusa (Randall again), who turns the overbearing woman into stone; and vain matron Mrs. Cassan (Lee Patrick, of The Maltese Falcon) visits blind fortune teller Apollonius of Tyana (Randall), unprepared for his frankness about her unhappy future. An elderly Merlin the Magician (Randall) disappoints the crowd; they dismiss his genuine magic with simple “tricks.”
Publicity claimed Randall played all seven of the title characters, though in fact Pal’s son, Péter, actually portrays the seventh “face,” the Abominable Snowman. Apparently in a move to keep things honest, Randall appears more or less as himself in a cameo as a circus spectator.
Not surprisingly, Pal originally wanted Peter Sellers, already known for playing multiple parts within a single movie, to star, but settled on Tony Randall, then under contract to MGM and less expensive. This proved a blessing in disguise. While Sellers might have been funnier in some respects, it’s also likely his performance would have been indulgent and impossible to direct, whereas Randall seems to have provided Pal with precisely the character(s) Pal envisioned.
Randall undoubtedly suffered under William Tuttle’s makeups, he even agreeing to have his head shaved, and he wears a series of effective contact lenses playing most of the circus’s attractions. He convincingly becomes all these different characters. More significantly, Randall’s performance is a delight, he employing a wide range of convincing accents: pidgin English as Dr. Lao, which is revealed early on as an affectation; English, Scottish (more than one dialect), and various American ones, alternating among these effortlessly and continually.
In addition to Randall playing multiple roles, it was apparently Pal’s idea to imply that Dr. Lao is also acting out the circus’s six main attractions—that Lao himself is also Merlin, Pan, Medusa, Apollonius, the Great Serpent, and the Snowman. Pointedly, no two characters are ever onscreen at the same time, though this intriguing concept isn’t conveyed effectively, and offscreen announcements by Lao (possibly added during postproduction) contradict this idea.
7 Faces of Dr. Lao is, admirably, one-of-a-kind, but neither is it as mesmerizing or effective as it ought to be. Charles Beaumont is credited with the screenplay, but he was in the early stages of his strange, tragic illness that left him unable to write; Ben Hecht worked on the script uncredited. Regardless, the business with Stark trying to cheat his fellow townsfolk is a B-Western movie cliché and occupies far too much of the narrative besides. Pal’s innate warm-heartedness is at odds with the cynical nature of the novel, which has the effect of muddying Finney’s themes. Only the scene between Mrs. Cassan and Apollonius completely works like it should—the clairvoyant Apollonius, always bluntly speaking the truth, foresees a bleak future for the hopeful widow: bluntly he tells her there will be no children, no second husband, only unhappiness, news that traumatizes her until she decides not to accept any of it. Both Lee Patrick and Randall are excellent here.
Elsewhere, scenes are played too broadly and superficially. This works against the film, too, for while Dr. Lao deliberately plays the role of a stereotypical “Chinaman,” it’s all an act; when many of the actors playing townsfolk at nearly the same level, it doesn’t work. When the focus is Lao and/or his circus, the movie comes to life. When its focus shifts to the problems of the townsfolk, 7 Faces of Dr. Lao becomes a rather ordinary movie.
But there is much to like. Angela’s seduction by Pan is jarringly adult, not the sort of thing one would associate with family-friendly Pal. The choreography and camerawork of Randall/Ericson is hypnotic, as is watching Barbara Eden get so obviously turned on and sweaty with arousal. Tuttle’s makeups for Lao, Merlin, Pan, Medusa, and Apollonius are all excellent. They don’t overwhelm Randall with prosthetics, allowing for his characterizations. The Giant Serpent is mostly a fairly crude hand puppet, augmented by a few seconds of stop-motion animation. The Abominable Snowman is strangely relegated to a roustabout the townsfolk bare notice.
Warner Archive’s Blu-ray helps convey the film’s visuals. Earlier home video versions suggested cinematography no better than a typical color episode of Gunsmoke, but in high-def the subtle lighting design (more noticeable on the soundstage sets than location exteriors) really helps. Leigh Harline’s musical score has a lovely main title theme, though some of the incidental scoring is obvious and intrusive.
It’s too bad the picture’s themes, of the townspeople through Lao confronting their personal flaws, foibles, and repressions, and through Dr. Lao and his “faces” learn to appreciate the magic of existence and the wonders of nature, isn’t more effectively conveyed. Pal’s heart is in the right place, but the picture lacks subtlety and at times is a little overwhelmed by sentimentality. Nevertheless, some of the time, 7 Faces works beautifully.
Warner Archives’ Blu-ray of 7 Faces of Dr. Lao beats their earlier home video versions by a country mile. Scanned at 4K from the original camera negative, this release exhibits far more detail while the sometimes-bright primary colors and more subdued use of color inside the circus really come through. The DTS-HD Master Audio (2.0 mono), supported by optional English subtitles, is also a noticeable improvement, and the disc is Region-Free.
The supplements disappoint, as they are limited to a trailer, a 1964 Tom & Jerry cartoon (The Cat Above and the Mouse Below) directed by Chuck Jones, and a 12-minute featurette, King of the Duplicators, a 1968 MGM-produced short film profiling department head William Tuttle. Considering this is one of those perennial sellers purchased by genre fans again and again, and the scholarly research by Justin Humphreys and others, it’s a shame Warner Bros. didn’t compliment the superior video transfer with better extra features.
Nevertheless, looking so, SO much better on Blu-ray than ever before, 7 Faces of Dr. Lao is well worth reexamining. It’s far from perfect, but producer-director George Pal’s characteristic movie magic is on full display here, and like Rod Taylor in Pal’s The Time Machine, its leading performance lifts the film even higher.
- Stuart Galbraith IV