My dear readers, though I don’t want to assume any intimate familiarity between us, I imagine that anyone who makes a habit of perusing this publication may already know that I do my best to maintain a positive perspective. I have often found that whether on the page or in person, a little pep and optimism can go a long way. For example, I recently discovered that a yawning chasm of unknown origin has opened up in the ballroom. There is absolutely no bottom in sight to the thing and while I have dropped an object or two in the hopes of hearing some sort of satisfying thunk, the only aural results so far have been the very howls of the damned echoing from deep within the blackened depths. On their own, we could surely have tolerated all the howling but the structural damage to the floor has really rendered the place inoperable as an appropriate space for trotting out the old Viennese waltz. My sweet Penny Dee, bless her sensitive heart, has taken a rather downcast view on the whole situation and I admit, there are times when it does seem a bit trying. But I was quick to point out that the chasm has made the matter of waste disposal rather simple. In addition to the ease of using it as a place to chuck our refuse, we have saved considerably by dispensing with the services of professional trash collectors and in these environmentally turbulent times, I dare say the whole business does seem to suggest a somewhat “greener” approach.

Bill Martin (Dick Foran) shares this decidedly bright outlook on things. He is one of those rather charming, hapless chaps whose dreams of success significantly outweighs any ability or competence on their part. Fresh off of his red hot idea for condensed Thanksgiving turkey stuffing, he is approached by one Tobias Clump (Leo Carrillo), a sailor interested in a deserted island off the coast of Florida that Bill happens to own outright. Mr. Clump possesses half a treasure map and he’s absolutely convinced Bill’s island contains invaluable riches, a conviction that was fortified when a shadowy stranger assaulted him and made off with the other half of the map.

Bill, ever the starry-eyed entrepreneur, turns this wild money-making scheme into an entirely different kind of money-making scheme, founding Buried Treasure Incorporated and advertising treasure hunting tours to the public. And if the thought of scrounging about for discarded doubloons isn’t quite your fancy, Mr. Martin’s little dollop of land is also rumored to be haunted, a feature that attracts an entirely different breed of thrill-seeker. Bill begins his first tour with a well-rounded team of patrons, one of whom has the unwelcome distinction of being a murderer. This lethal lurker makes their presence known shortly after arriving on the island, picking off people here and there and keeping a cheeky running tally of victims on the mantle wall. Despite the confusion that several homicides generally create, the treasure hunt continues in earnest, with those still among the living racing their unseen antagonist to the presumed cache of wealth.

Though one never expects to find much present-day relevance in a jolly little whodunnit produced over seventy years ago, I must say Bill’s endless commitment to enterprise reminded me of the “hustle culture” that I cannot seem to avoid reading about in more modern-minded publications. Though I fear my contact with the present generation’s crop of young adults is far from extensive, I am told that they have adopted a mindset similar to the protagonist of this very film. Well let me tell you, my less-senescent readers, if Horror Island is any indication, it is an approach that cannot be beat. Evidently, all it takes to succeed is a ceaseless devotion to one’s labors, an unfailing belief in oneself, a dash of gumption and a private island that secretly harbors a treasure great enough to inspire multiple homicides.

Surely the film would not have remained in circulation for such a great length of time had this lesson not proved to be one just as valuable as buried loot, an aged gem of wisdom, shimmering with contemporary resonance and ready to be gazed at once more by a brand new audience. 

Horror Island runs 60 minutes and is certified passed.