If you walked into a theater in 1964 to see The Circus of Dr. Lao, you probably didn't know what hit you. Honestly, most people today still don't. It’s this bizarre, psychedelic western that feels like a fever dream directed by someone who had a very loose relationship with reality. It’s based on Charles G. Finney’s 1935 novel The Circus of Dr. Lao, and while the book is a cynical, biting satire, the movie is this colorful, practical-effects-heavy masterpiece that somehow manages to be both charming and deeply unsettling at the exact same time.
Tony Randall. That’s the name you need to remember. He doesn't just play one part; he plays seven. He is the titular Dr. Lao, but he’s also the Abominable Snowman, Merlin, Apollonius of Tyana, Pan, the Giant Serpent, and even a brief appearance as a member of the audience. It’s a tour de force of makeup artistry that actually won William Tuttle the very first honorary Oscar for makeup, long before the category was even official.
The story is simple enough on the surface. A mysterious circus rolls into the dusty, cynical town of Abalone, Arizona. The town is dying. A greedy land baron named Clinton Stark (played by the legendary Arthur O'Connell) wants to buy up the whole place because he knows a railroad is coming through. He’s basically trying to swindle everyone. Then, Dr. Lao arrives with his yellow donkey and a collection of mythical creatures that shouldn't exist. Chaos follows. But it’s not just "magic" chaos—it’s the kind of chaos that forces people to look at their own miserable lives.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Tone
A lot of folks go into this expecting a Disney-style fantasy. Big mistake. While it was produced by George Pal—the guy behind The Time Machine and War of the Worlds—it has a much sharper edge than your average family flick. It’s uncomfortable.
There’s a scene involving Pan and a sexually frustrated librarian (Barbara Eden) that is surprisingly suggestive for 1964. It’s not "dirty," but it’s sensual in a way that feels out of place in a movie about a magical circus. That’s the genius of it, though. The circus isn't there to entertain; it’s there to provoke. It’s a mirror. If you’re a bored housewife, the circus shows you passion. If you’re a greedy businessman, it shows you your own emptiness.
The tonal shifts are wild. One minute you’re laughing at Merlin’s failed magic tricks, and the next, you’re watching a Medusa turn a woman to stone. Well, almost. It’s psychological. The creatures in the circus aren't just "monsters"; they are reflections of the townspeople's sins and desires.
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The Practical Magic of William Tuttle
We need to talk about the effects. No CGI here. It was 1964. Everything was hand-sculpted, painted, and applied over hours of grueling sessions. Tony Randall spent more time in the makeup chair than he did on set.
When you see the Giant Serpent—which looks like a stop-motion nightmare—it has this jittery, otherworldly quality that CGI just can’t replicate. It feels tactile. The Medusa mask is genuinely creepy. The face of the Abominable Snowman looks surprisingly human, which makes it even more disturbing. William Tuttle’s work here set the stage for everything that came after, from Star Wars to The Exorcist.
- The Medusa: A masterpiece of puppetry and prosthetics.
- The Serpent: A blend of stop-motion and practical scales.
- The Sphinx: A talking head that offers riddles that actually make you think.
The stop-motion work was handled by Jim Danforth, who is a legend in his own right. If the movement looks a bit "Ray Harryhausen," that's because it’s cut from the same cloth. It’s art. It’s handcrafted. It’s basically the opposite of the polished, soul-less pixels we see in modern blockovers.
Why Dr. Lao Isn't Your Average Protagonist
Dr. Lao himself is a controversial figure today. Let’s be real: Tony Randall playing an elderly Chinese man is a product of its time that doesn't necessarily age well in terms of casting. However, if you look at the performance, it’s not a caricature in the way many other 60s portrayals were. Lao is the smartest person in the room. He’s a trickster god. He’s essentially an immortal being who has seen everything and is bored by the petty greed of humans.
He speaks in a variety of accents, switching from a heavy stereotypical cadence to perfect, refined English in a heartbeat. This is intentional. He’s playing a character for the townspeople. He knows what they expect to see, so he gives it to them, all while mocking their narrow-mindedness. He is the ultimate "outsider" looking in.
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The movie deals with heavy themes like the death of the American West and the loss of wonder in the face of industrialization. Abalone is a town that has forgotten how to dream. They are so focused on water rights and property values that they can’t see the magic right in front of them. Dr. Lao is the wake-up call they didn't ask for but desperately needed.
The Climax is Genuinely Trippy
Without spoiling too much for the uninitiated, the finale involves a giant monster, a collapsing circus tent, and a metaphorical reckoning for the town. It doesn't end with a big parade or a happy song. It ends with a question. Did the town actually change? Or did they just survive a weird weekend and go back to their old ways?
Stark, the villain, is the only one who really "gets" it. There’s a scene where he talks to Dr. Lao, and you realize he isn't just a cartoon bad guy. He’s a man who lost his vision and replaced it with money. Their conversation is arguably the best part of the script. It’s quiet, philosophical, and deeply cynical.
The Legacy of a Forgotten Classic
Why don't more people talk about The Circus of Dr. Lao?
Part of it is the availability. It’s not always on the major streaming platforms. Another part is that it’s hard to categorize. Is it a Western? A Fantasy? A Satire? A Horror movie? It’s all of them. It defies the algorithms that categorize modern media.
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But for those who have seen it, it sticks. It’s one of those "Core Memories" for kids who grew up watching late-night TV in the 70s and 80s. It’s weird. It’s uncomfortable. It’s beautiful.
If you want to understand where modern fantasy cinema came from, you have to watch this. You can see its DNA in movies like Big Fish or even The Princess Bride. It proved that you could tell a high-concept, philosophical story using "monster movie" tropes.
How to Experience Dr. Lao Today
If you’re looking to dive into this world, don't just stop at the movie. The original book by Charles G. Finney is much darker. It’s almost nihilistic. The movie softens the edges, but it keeps the soul.
- Watch the 1964 film first to appreciate the makeup and the "vibe."
- Read the Finney novel to see how the story was originally intended as a brutal critique of humanity.
- Research William Tuttle’s makeup sketches to see the sheer amount of work that went into creating seven characters for one actor.
Don't expect a fast-paced action movie. This is a slow burn. It’s a movie that asks you to sit still and wonder. In an era of TikTok and 10-second attention spans, that might be the most "magical" thing about it.
The circus isn't coming back. But you can still find it if you know where to look. Just be careful what you wish for when you step inside the tent. You might not like what the mirror shows you.
Next Steps for the Curious
- Locate a physical copy: Since streaming rights for older MGM titles can be spotty, look for the Warner Archive Blu-ray release. It’s the best way to see Tuttle's makeup in high definition without the compression artifacts of low-quality streams.
- Compare the Creatures: Look up the "Lao" creatures online and compare them to the descriptions in Finney’s book. You’ll find that the movie actually left out some of the more "NSFW" or bizarre entities, like the Hound of Hedges.
- Study the 1964 Oscars: Look into why the honorary award was given to Tuttle. It’s a fascinating look at how the Academy slowly realized that "technical" crafts were just as important as acting and directing.