It's a damn shame - and more than a little ironic - that the actor who gained immortality as horror's first superstar would be doomed to spend eternity in the shadow of his own legend. Most would agree Bela Lugosi never quite recaptured the Dracula magic. Nevertheless, for two decades, one studio after another tried to squeeze every drop they could from what remained of his monolithic name.

When the market for big-studio horror went tits-up in the late '30s (due in large part to British censors banning all horror films, thus blocking one of Hollywood's largest overseas venues), typecast horror stars like Lugosi suddenly found themselves out of work. To the rescue came small, bare-bones "quickie" studios like Monogram and Producers Releasing Corporation (PRC), who specialized in cranking out the lower half of double-bills. It's outfits like these that marked the next phase of Bela's horror career, trading on his still-bankable moniker and offering him the chance to be the biggest fish in a more modest- sized pond.

The first of these to gain notoriety is PRC's "The Devil Bat," presented here on DVD as the first edition of "Bela Lugosi Presents," a classy collection authorized by the Lugosi estate. None other than Bela Jr. is on hand to provide a brief prologue, as well as a wealth of materials from the family archives, rounding out what may be the definitive video release of this cult favorite.

"Bat" offers Bela at his grandiose best as Dr. Paul Carruthers, a seemingly mild-mannered scientist (yeah, right) who goes to elaborate lengths to exact gruesome vengeance on his former business partners, who achieved enormous success after buying out his share of a pharmaceutical company. The details of his diabolical plan are pretty basic - they involve a creepy DIY laboratory filled with crackling high-voltage toys (built by Kenneth Strickfaden, who provided similar gizmos for James Whale's Frankenstein movies), and a secret room filled with oversized rubber bats (augmented with frequent stock- footage closeups). The largest of these is the title monster, which Carruthers suspends from a coat hanger with electrodes hooked to his wings, presumably to shock it into a sudden growth spurt. (I'd strongly dissuade anyone from trying this at home, as it would likely result in a pile of hairy Buffalo Wings that smell like Grandpa's pajama bottoms.) The end result is not really much of a monster, but it's certainly one pissed-off bat.

The doc's chubby subjects flit off into the night (strangely, they always seem to fly between trees and telephone poles) in search of prey bearing a specific scent - namely his "experimental after-shaving lotion," which he entices his former associates to rub "on the tender part of the neck." Going along with the camp spirit of the thing, I decided to forgive the writer for expecting us to believe, even for a second, that any sane fellow would accept a gift of experimental toilet products from a pharmacist who looks like Lugosi (and has a large skull on his desk), not to mention immediately slathering the stuff all over the vicinity of his jugular and carotid. Needless to say, the living population is soon relieved of a few really stupid guys. Thanks, Darwin.

The doc's nefarious machinations arouse the journalistic instincts of a square-jawed, pistol-packin' reporter (Dave O'Brien, the guy in "Reefer Madness" who prods the girl at the piano to "Play faster! Play faster!"), who with his comic-relief shutterbug sidekick (Donald Kerr) is determined to break the true story behind all those "Killer Bat" rumors that circulate after each murder. Fortunately for our villain, the hero's not much more observant than the victims, and a few more die before the doctor's plan finally backfires.

Silliness aside, this is an entertaining little number from the prolific B-studio - directed by low-budget stalwart Jean Yarborough - and arguably one of Bela's more entertaining star vehicles. The script allows him ample opportunity to exercise the full range of his talents - from wry, knowing asides to fits of operatic fury. (Try substituting your favorite profanity with Carruthers' declaration "Bombastic ignoramus!" Or put them together and create your own fun!)

Adding to the enjoyment is a top-notch presentation. The Lugosi clan have truly put on the polish, digitally re- mastering it from the original 35mm elements. A little bit worse for wear, to be sure, but it's probably the best this film has looked in decades - certainly miles above the endless piles of shitty public-domain versions. There's surprisingly few occasions of heavy damage, except for reel-change scratches - and are those fingerprints I see during the last bat attack? The sound is remarkably clear, lending depth to some of Bela's sinister mutterings that I'd barely heard in other versions.

If that weren't enough for jaded Belaphiles, the disc is jam-packed with unique extras, including a very informative commentary with Bela Lugosi, Jr. and film historian Ted Newsom (creator of the Ken Burns-sized documentary, "100 Years of Horror"). It's filled to overflowing with interesting Lugosi facts (example: Bela was contracted by Disney for live-action tests of the principal demon from the "Night on Bald Mountain" sequence in "Fantasia"), and great personal anecdotes. Also included are trailers for "Scared to Death" and "The Human Monster," a short montage of stills and lobby cards, and an entire 30-minute episode of the radio drama "Suspense," featuring Lugosi in "The Dr. Prescribed Death." These ghoulish goodies alone make this disc a must for any self-loathing, er, self-respecting fan of Bela's work. Pick up a copy, and as always, exercise caution when selecting aftershave.

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