The plot of The Raven hardly needs recounting. But some description of this black-and-white version, directed by Peter Bradley and narrated by Michael G. Sayers, is desirable. With a timeless yet subtly modern look (deriving mainly from the youthful and Hollywood-handsome features of Louis Morabito, our hero), the action transpires in a set cunningly fashioned from corrugated cardboard that bears a certain architectural gravitas, right down to the magical portrait of Lenore (Jenny Guy) on the wall. We watch Morabito sipping at his absinthe, a window flying open, the Raven entering—and here's a key bit of genius: the Raven is an animatronic model, also cardboard, which goes for expressionism rather than realism. The final shot finds Morabito slumped like a broken doll in a corner of his study.

Likewise, The Tell-Tale Heart is exceedingly familiar in outline. But this 2003 Spanish production, helmed by Alfonso Suárez, takes some liberties with the plot. We open with a shot of a madman, straitjacketed in a padded room—is this flashback, flash-forward or both? Then we cut to a palatial private library, where one brother greets another (Paul Naschy and Eladio Sánchez). They banter for a while, not always good-naturedly, hinting at past familial discord. Then the newly arrived brother goes to bed, while the homeowner stays up. This brother receives a phone call from the authorities telling him that the visiting brother has escaped from an asylum. Too bad for the host that his violent and vengeful guest is listening in on another line. The murder accomplished, the spectral heartbeats throbbing in the murderer's head, the film ends before authorities can arrive.

The extras include dual commentary tracks for Annabel Lee, an interview with all the creators save Suárez, and one with Poe expert Paul Day Clemens, who wrote a live show, Once Upon a Midnight, starring John Astin in the role of Poe.

Poe-etic adaptations

The amazing thing about this trilogy of Poe-etic films is how different they all are from one another, yet how inescapably they all converge to unanimously convey the organic (organically diseased) worldview of their ultimate originator. Poe's macabre, doomed Weltanschauung is omnipresent as the skeleton beneath the varying flesh.

Looking first at Annabel Lee, we encounter what director Higham calls a "neon gothic" look. Acidic colors and outre creatures, J.K. Potter meets Ray Harryhausen by way of Tim Burton. In The Raven we get a superficial normality and contemporaneousness that is stripped away by the appearance of the malign bird. The subtle way in which Lenore's framed photo keeps changing expression (excellent CGI work) is part and parcel of the deracination. Finally, European director Suárez goes in for full-blown Fritz-Langian expressionism.

Each film is a compact little gem of unsettling obsessiveness, proving that Poe's insight into the darker reaches of the human psyche still resonates today.

But what's even more fascinating to me is the behind-the-scenes stuff in the extras and commentary. To see what passion these creators bring to their productions, what ingenuity and creativity they wrangle on a limited budget, is an antidote to Hollywood bloatedness. These "amateurs" are more professional than the so-called professionals, since it's their art that is always uppermost in their minds, not bottom-line profits. And that's encouraging for all creators and fans alike.