The local drive-in was just outside Lanett, where I grew up, in the town of Shawmut, AL (which would later get incorporated into Valley, AL; a more nondescript name for a conglomeration of related burgs you couldn't come up with if you tried...you might as well have called it "City, AL"). At the time, the Hi-Way Drive-In seemed like paradise. You could go in your pajamas, watch movies, fall asleep in the back seat (hey, I was under 10, and not able to enjoy the more steamy attractions of the drive-in), and still come away with memories of great movies. Or at least memorable movies. And if your folks wouldn't let you go see certain movies, you at least had the titles to engage your imagination. Coupled with the ads in the local papers, and tossed around with a heaping helping of TV spots, you could pretty much come up with a pretty decent approximation of the lurid grotesqueries being projected on the billboard-sized screen. And folks who lived closer to the theater than I did swore that if you crawled through the right patch of kudzu, you could see (if not clearly hear) all the restricted entertainment you wanted.
I remember all sorts of movies coming through town. Sunn Classic Pictures' offerings, any number of Kung-Fu flicks, the almighty Young Frankenstein (which I finally got to see there after having to miss it during its first run), the Cheri Caffaro vehicle Too Hot To Handle, and the requisite onslaught of horror movies. I'd give my eye teeth to actually have a listing of everything they showed in my childhood. How many movies that I've "discovered" during the years had their titles planted in my brain by passing by that marquee every day? They'd also occasionally have a fair back there as well to keep things interesting. Rickety rides, spookhouses, games and the like. It was the place to be. It might not have been the classiest establishment, but the place was lousy with atmosphere. I probably didn't see that many movies there, but I know I slept through a whole hell of a lot, the tinny soundtracks pouring into my unconscious brain from the window-mounted speakers as my folks sat in the front.
Sitting right in front of the Hi-Way was the Royal Rocking Chair Theatre. The big enticement there, of course, was that the seats rocked. They were also falling apart, but nobody let that stop them. It was your classic one-room auditorium with an enormous screen the size of the back wall. It was the kind of place where the floors were so sticky that after you left, you could walk up walls. As much of a monolithic establishment the Hi-Way was, I actually have more memories of the Royal. I'm sure this is at least in large part because the movies at the Hi-Way started so late, it kind of prohibited me from being able to attend as much as I'd wanted. But there were two incidents that took place at the Royal that branded themselves on my brain...One was seeing a gorilla in a cage (okay, a guy in a gorilla suit) outside the theater's doors. I don't know what it was in regards to. I don't know what it was promoting. But there was a goddamned gorilla in a cage out there. This was the kind of thing I could get into. This was showmanship. I didn't care what movie was going to be showing, all I knew was that if there was a live gorilla involved, it had to be good. Unfortunately, I couldn't have been more than 3 or 4, and there was no way my folks were going to let me go to this thing. I know that I raised holy hell about it, much as I did demanding to see any horror movie that came through. Shortly afterward (it could have been a year, for all I know...the time flows together in these twilight days), a real live Spook Show came to town. I wish I could remember the name of the guy who put it on. I just remember the newspaper ads promising "live snakes crawling down the aisles!" and "monsters come alive and sit right next to you!" Again, as much as I demanded, this wasn't going to involve me. I distinctly remember either my mom or hers telling me that I could get bitten by the snakes if I went, in a futile effort to scare me out of wanting to go. They probably knew best, after all, seeing as how I once nearly had a nervous breakdown seeing some guy doing a ventriloquist act with a Frankenstein's Monster dummy. But that was the last time either one of those things happened when I was a kid, and in these recent years as I've learned more about the classic Spook Shows of old, I've come to regret that I never got to experience one of them firsthand. I'd have lost my mind in fear, I know. I'd have come away traumatized somehow, I'm sure. But knowing that the time when these showmen took their acts on the road and entertained theaters full of kids with monster movies, magic acts, and horror-related fun'n'games; and that those days were just outside of my reach...so close that I could see their set-ups outside the theater but far enough away that I could never realistically experience them...well, all I can do is sigh. That, and be happy that there's the Silver Scream Spookshow in Atlanta (last Saturday of every month at the Plaza Theatre!) to bring back those halcyon days of yore.
I eventually went to the Royal pretty often. I'd go along with my folks, with birthday parties, etc. Every now and then, they'd have the "kiddie shows" on early Saturday mornings, which is where I saw a lot of sci-fi flicks I don't really remember the names of, and the insanely beautiful Toho production of King Kong Escapes, which I couldn't forget if you brainwashed me. As I got older, when I didn't require my folks being with me all the time, they'd drop me off and I'd call to have them come pick me up outside after the show. Thank goodness that my parents were lenient and that the ticket sellers at the Royal didn't give a shit, because otherwise I'd have never gotten to check out stuff like Return of the Living Dead and see Linnea Quigley dancing nude in a graveyard in between bouts of zombies seeking out the brains of the living.
But the Hi-Way closed down eventually, in that post-'70s malaise when for some reason, the vast majority of drive-ins closed up shop across this great country. The Royal continued on, though, holding on for a few more years. But in the early '80s, the home video revolution got under way, and it cut a huge dent in their profits. There were nights when they just closed up shop because nobody showed up to see anything. Movies promised as "coming soon" never came. They set up some spinning racks of VHS tapes in the lobby, and eventually that's all anyone came in for. And seeing as how almost all of the tapes were "rented out" because the people working the theater would let their friends just take stuff and never return it, people stopped coming in for even *that*. If people wanted to go see movies, they'd head down to nearby Auburn or Columbus, where the theaters were built next to malls and restaurants instead of next to a bowling alley in Shawmut. Or they'd rent them from Video Land (and more on them in a later post).
With a sense of surrender, the Royal closed, and was torn down. For days, the only thing left standing was the wall with the screen on it. Taunting us all, as if to say "though you wouldn't come in to look at me, you'll all be forced to see me now, for this last time."
For a while, in the space once occupied by both theaters, a grocery store-centered strip mall operated. Now, I think it's some local telephone company call center or something.
All good things come to an end. Even if you don't know that they were good things at the time.
(Note: I was going to illustrate this, but could find no photos of either theater. These places are nothing but memories now.)
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Uncle Forry
It seems only right and proper that I actually follow through in blogging about Forrest J. Ackerman today. It is, after all, his birthday. 93 years ago today, on 11/24/16, he came into the world and changed it for the better.
To really understand his importance to me, you have to know a bit about his history. Now, I could talk about his importance as a literary agent, representing over 200 science fiction authors and providing publishing assistance to scores of writers over the years. I could talk about his importance in the world of fandom, his appearance at Ground Zero of practically every major science fiction convention established in the Western world, his creation of the idea of fans costuming *at* conventions, and his unwavering support of fandom in general. But this blog being devoted to what it's devoted to, I must talk about what is probably his greatest achievement: the magazine Famous Monsters of Filmland.
FM started publishing in 1958 to capitalize on the emergence of the "Monster Kid." The previous year, a package of classic Universal horror films sold under the banner "Shock!" was distributed to TV stations across the country, and the success was phenomenal.
Kids tuned in like crazy, and it only made sense for Forry to team up with Warren Publications to put out a magazine devoted to the genre. After all, he was among the biggest horror fans around, and maintained an 18-room estate (the "Ackermansion") where he displayed wall-to-wall artifacts from across the history of horror and sci-fi filmdom. So the magazine went to press, and immediately sold out. What was meant, at first, to be a one-shot special issue tapped into something that neither Forry nor Warren expected. And why not? Kids couldn't get enough of the movies, and they were only on once a week, so they'd want something they could carry around with 'em to feed that obsessive need for monster action. So FM started on a 25-year path, spreading the pun-filled gospels of Bela, Lon and Boris to all who'd pick up an issue.
I think I started getting in in 1976. At the time, I was buying everything I could about King Kong. The Dino DeLaurentiis remake was making news all over the place, and I was rabid to learn as much as possible about it. So I'm fairly certain that issue #125 was my first. If not that, then #126 because of the great Basil Gogos cover painting of Mr. Sardonicus from the William Castle flick of the same name.
And once you started reading FM, it was almost impossible to stop. Sure, features would get reprinted with more than a little frequency. Sure, the same photos would pop up from time to time. And sure, Forry's puns might wear on you after a while, but he and his magazine served a vital role nonetheless. It was my constant companion. The next best thing to getting a new Gifford book every month. I read it faithfully 'til it stopped being published in '83. I bought a few issues of the revival line which started in '93, but it wasn't the same anymore, which I think was largely due to the behind-the-scenes conflict between new publisher Ray Ferry and FJA.
I moved to the Los Angeles area in 1998. At the time, I didn't know whether or not Forry was still welcoming all who made the trek to the Ackermansion inside. And in the two years I lived there, I never visited. I only realized that he was still giving eager visitors tours of his grand collection after I'd left and moved back to the East Coast. I always wanted to get back out there and make my pilgrimage to the Mecca of Monsters.
Forry died last year. I never made it. It's one of my biggest regrets.
Sleep well, dear Uncle.
To really understand his importance to me, you have to know a bit about his history. Now, I could talk about his importance as a literary agent, representing over 200 science fiction authors and providing publishing assistance to scores of writers over the years. I could talk about his importance in the world of fandom, his appearance at Ground Zero of practically every major science fiction convention established in the Western world, his creation of the idea of fans costuming *at* conventions, and his unwavering support of fandom in general. But this blog being devoted to what it's devoted to, I must talk about what is probably his greatest achievement: the magazine Famous Monsters of Filmland.
FM started publishing in 1958 to capitalize on the emergence of the "Monster Kid." The previous year, a package of classic Universal horror films sold under the banner "Shock!" was distributed to TV stations across the country, and the success was phenomenal.
Kids tuned in like crazy, and it only made sense for Forry to team up with Warren Publications to put out a magazine devoted to the genre. After all, he was among the biggest horror fans around, and maintained an 18-room estate (the "Ackermansion") where he displayed wall-to-wall artifacts from across the history of horror and sci-fi filmdom. So the magazine went to press, and immediately sold out. What was meant, at first, to be a one-shot special issue tapped into something that neither Forry nor Warren expected. And why not? Kids couldn't get enough of the movies, and they were only on once a week, so they'd want something they could carry around with 'em to feed that obsessive need for monster action. So FM started on a 25-year path, spreading the pun-filled gospels of Bela, Lon and Boris to all who'd pick up an issue.
I think I started getting in in 1976. At the time, I was buying everything I could about King Kong. The Dino DeLaurentiis remake was making news all over the place, and I was rabid to learn as much as possible about it. So I'm fairly certain that issue #125 was my first. If not that, then #126 because of the great Basil Gogos cover painting of Mr. Sardonicus from the William Castle flick of the same name.
And once you started reading FM, it was almost impossible to stop. Sure, features would get reprinted with more than a little frequency. Sure, the same photos would pop up from time to time. And sure, Forry's puns might wear on you after a while, but he and his magazine served a vital role nonetheless. It was my constant companion. The next best thing to getting a new Gifford book every month. I read it faithfully 'til it stopped being published in '83. I bought a few issues of the revival line which started in '93, but it wasn't the same anymore, which I think was largely due to the behind-the-scenes conflict between new publisher Ray Ferry and FJA.
I moved to the Los Angeles area in 1998. At the time, I didn't know whether or not Forry was still welcoming all who made the trek to the Ackermansion inside. And in the two years I lived there, I never visited. I only realized that he was still giving eager visitors tours of his grand collection after I'd left and moved back to the East Coast. I always wanted to get back out there and make my pilgrimage to the Mecca of Monsters.
Forry died last year. I never made it. It's one of my biggest regrets.
Sleep well, dear Uncle.
Monday, November 23, 2009
More Early Daze...
Yeah, I know I said I was gonna get to FJA on this one. Hold yer horses.
By the way, that station I mentioned in my last post? WTCG? They later changed their name to WTBS, and became the first cornerstone of the Turner Communications empire. More on them below.
Every Friday night on WTCG 17 out of Atlanta, they'd show old horror flicks. "Friday Night Frights," 8 o'clock (though it could've been 7:30 -- I remember it as 8, but I 've come across conflicting info). And I think that they showed a double-bill, so there'd be horror movies at 8 and 10. Or maybe that's when they'd show Night Gallery. Actually, now that I think about it, I'm pretty positive that this was when they'd show Night Gallery. But *anyway*, I was always guaranteed a horror movie at 8 on Friday night. Mostly Universal and Hammer, if I remember right. At that early age, it was all worthwhile, though. I didn't really have much of a filter for things like "good" and "bad." The only criteria I had was that the movie not be boring, and even then, I'd be pretty forgiving. When you're that young, and you're being told that the movie you're watching is going to be a scary one, you have a tendency to be predisposed to believe that.
If memory serves, they did a fairly decent job of grouping the programming back then as well. By that, I mean that I remember seeing all of the movies in the Frankenstein series in a row, all of the Hammer Draculas in sequence, etc. Or maybe I was just able to latch onto the storylines and pick back up when the next movie would show up, and I'm just grouping them in my mind. I have *really* vague memories of the horror host, Dead Ernest, but truth be told, it's the movies that've stuck in my mind the most.
But all that aside, Friday nights were a special time. It wasn't just that it was the weekend, and that I wouldn't have school the next day. It was this lingering promise that at a particular time on a particular night, I could see monsters running wild on the screen. It didn't matter where I was or what I was doing; we could be next door, sitting outside talking to the Crowders, and I knew that if it was just dark enough out, I had to get back to the house to see whatever creature was wreaking havoc on mankind that night. I'd run back to the house, fling open the screen door, dash inside (depending on the year, either to the big TV in the living room or to the little black-and-white portable set on the floor of my bedroom), and tune in.
That kind of thing is lost today. Home video, both rental and sell-through, has given us the ability to see just about anything at any time. The independent stations are either running reruns of recent sitcoms like Seinfeld or The King of Queens, or they're showing recent movies that everyone's already seen on video 10 times already. And niche marketing, both in video releases and in cable TV channels, has guaranteed that people can go through life only being exposed to whatever it is that they already know that they like. You like old movies? Head over to Turner Classic Movies, where that's all they show, and where they've been safely corralled so that you won't stumble across them by accident. Only like action movies? Cinemax has a channel just for you. And all of this has ruined the phenomenon of "event" programming. It used to be that the only way you could see The Wizard of Oz was to wait until Thanksgiving. It was like the anticipation I'd have every Friday night; you knew that certain seasons were in full swing because there was certain programming that would accompany them. Christmastime meant lots of Rankin-Bass specials and Charlie Brown. And you knew that Christmas was over once Rudolf started celebrating his Shiny New Year. But now, you can see Rudolf celebrating whatever holiday whenever you want. You can watch It's a Wonderful Life or Miracle on 34th Street at any given moment on any given day. Convenience is a great thing, but it does tend to rob some things of their significance.
Next time, I swear I'll try to get to Forrest J. Ackerman.
By the way, that station I mentioned in my last post? WTCG? They later changed their name to WTBS, and became the first cornerstone of the Turner Communications empire. More on them below.
Every Friday night on WTCG 17 out of Atlanta, they'd show old horror flicks. "Friday Night Frights," 8 o'clock (though it could've been 7:30 -- I remember it as 8, but I 've come across conflicting info). And I think that they showed a double-bill, so there'd be horror movies at 8 and 10. Or maybe that's when they'd show Night Gallery. Actually, now that I think about it, I'm pretty positive that this was when they'd show Night Gallery. But *anyway*, I was always guaranteed a horror movie at 8 on Friday night. Mostly Universal and Hammer, if I remember right. At that early age, it was all worthwhile, though. I didn't really have much of a filter for things like "good" and "bad." The only criteria I had was that the movie not be boring, and even then, I'd be pretty forgiving. When you're that young, and you're being told that the movie you're watching is going to be a scary one, you have a tendency to be predisposed to believe that.
If memory serves, they did a fairly decent job of grouping the programming back then as well. By that, I mean that I remember seeing all of the movies in the Frankenstein series in a row, all of the Hammer Draculas in sequence, etc. Or maybe I was just able to latch onto the storylines and pick back up when the next movie would show up, and I'm just grouping them in my mind. I have *really* vague memories of the horror host, Dead Ernest, but truth be told, it's the movies that've stuck in my mind the most.
But all that aside, Friday nights were a special time. It wasn't just that it was the weekend, and that I wouldn't have school the next day. It was this lingering promise that at a particular time on a particular night, I could see monsters running wild on the screen. It didn't matter where I was or what I was doing; we could be next door, sitting outside talking to the Crowders, and I knew that if it was just dark enough out, I had to get back to the house to see whatever creature was wreaking havoc on mankind that night. I'd run back to the house, fling open the screen door, dash inside (depending on the year, either to the big TV in the living room or to the little black-and-white portable set on the floor of my bedroom), and tune in.
That kind of thing is lost today. Home video, both rental and sell-through, has given us the ability to see just about anything at any time. The independent stations are either running reruns of recent sitcoms like Seinfeld or The King of Queens, or they're showing recent movies that everyone's already seen on video 10 times already. And niche marketing, both in video releases and in cable TV channels, has guaranteed that people can go through life only being exposed to whatever it is that they already know that they like. You like old movies? Head over to Turner Classic Movies, where that's all they show, and where they've been safely corralled so that you won't stumble across them by accident. Only like action movies? Cinemax has a channel just for you. And all of this has ruined the phenomenon of "event" programming. It used to be that the only way you could see The Wizard of Oz was to wait until Thanksgiving. It was like the anticipation I'd have every Friday night; you knew that certain seasons were in full swing because there was certain programming that would accompany them. Christmastime meant lots of Rankin-Bass specials and Charlie Brown. And you knew that Christmas was over once Rudolf started celebrating his Shiny New Year. But now, you can see Rudolf celebrating whatever holiday whenever you want. You can watch It's a Wonderful Life or Miracle on 34th Street at any given moment on any given day. Convenience is a great thing, but it does tend to rob some things of their significance.
Next time, I swear I'll try to get to Forrest J. Ackerman.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Early Daze
I'm glad I was born when I was. The 1970s represented the last stand of the Monster Kid, those children fascinated by the classics of cinematic horror history. During that time, there were still local horror hosts and stations running packages of old horror movies. That would all change during the 1980s, though. You'd still find some classic movie programming, but it was becoming scarcer and scarcer.
But during the 70s, classic horror still had a home on newsstands thanks to Forrest J. Ackerman's glorious Famous Monsters of Filmland and horror comics such as DC's twin Houses, House of Mystery and The House of Secrets (not to mention Warren Publishing's more "adult" lines, Creepy, Eerie and Vampirella), which kept the spirit of the grand old EC age alive. But more on those later...
One of the first books I remember picking out for myself was Denis Gifford's A Pictorial History of Horror Movies, which I saw in a K-Mart in LaGrange, Georgia. I must have been 4 or 5. I know that I was in kindergarten, and that I could tell you just about anything about any Universal horror movie. Hell, maybe it was before that -- the book was published in '73, and I knew enough to be upset that I wasn't allowed to see Young Frankenstein on its original release. So I could've been 3. At any rate, the question must be asked: who buys a 3-4 year-old kid this book and expects them to turn out normal? The answer inevitably comes back, my mother. But then, she'd probably have to deal with me raising hell for not getting it, so this was most likely the safer option. And, after all, it's got a variation of the same image of Glenn Strange from my previous post. But the Glenn Strange poster I spoke of earlier didn't come out until '75-'76, so this might be the first manifestation of my Frankie fascination. At any rate, this, along with Richard J. Anobile's Why a Duck?: Visual and Verbal Gems from the Marx Brothers Movies, would quickly become my most-read book, eclipsing the previous record-holder, The Monster at the End of This Book Starring Loveable, Furry Old Grover.
Anyway, Gifford's book introduced me to all kinds of arcane movie knowledge, and I soaked it up like some hideous sponge creature from Planet X, sent here to absorb all life on this puny planet. I could tell you why Kenneth Strickfaden was important. I could rattle off Tod Slaughter movie titles. I could wax eloquent on the makeup skills of Lon Chaney, and that his only speaking role was in the Unholy Three remake. I knew who Aquanetta was. I marveled at the aerodynamics of Julie Adams in images from Creature from the Black Lagoon. It would take me years to see many of the movies mentioned in the book, but it unlocked an unquenchable thirst in me to see them *all*, from the most obscure silent flick to the most over-the-top Japanese kaiju eiga. It's probably the most important book I've ever read. Not important to the world of literature, and probably not all that important in the world of film scholarship in the long run, but the most important book *to me.* Without it, I might not have indulged that lingering imprint branded upon my brain that night in front of the TV...
Knowing that my mother was ultimately responsible for my owning this book does kind of force her into a position of responsibility. It may be an unfair burden for her to shoulder, but what the hey. And, after all, she's the one responsible for my earliest memory to begin with. Let's discuss why that is...
In the 1970s, we lived in the house owned by my maternal grandmother, Nana. Not only did Nana love old movies, and know all the stars, she also used to work at the local drive-in. Because of that, my mother spent a lot of time there as well. And since the local hard-top theater was just two blocks away, she spent a lot of time there, too. And they'd both stay up watching old movies on TV. Both women played a huge part in my childhood, so I learned about old movies from them almost via osmosis. (My dad, on the other hand, was never big on movies, though he carted me around to see every Bigfoot movie that came down the pike, bless him.) And because local TV stations still played movies from the '30s through the '50s during off-peak hours (this being before the advent of infomercials and the phenomena of anybody who wants one being able to host a daytime syndicated talk show), there was always a chance to see old films from Abbott & Costello, the Marx Brothers, the Bowery Boys, Deanna Durbin, Clark Gable, etc.
And the living arrangements in our house were slightly odd. My folks' bedroom was almost a living room in itself. We had a TV, one of those console stereo cabinet systems that seemed about 6 feet long, a La-Z-Boy recliner, a king-size bed, and a twin bed (with a Cat in the Hat comforter) that I slept in. My bed lay parallel with the TV, and the recliner was between me and the set. My mom would stay up late at night, as had become her custom, and watch old movies. I'd lay in bed behind her, ostensibly sleeping, and watch along. This is where I saw Frankenstein's monster. Under these conditions.
After Gifford's book opened my eyes, I soon discovered that a little station out of Atlanta that we picked up aired classic Universal (and other) horrors every Friday night at about 8 o'clock. That station was WTCG 17, and their slogan was "Watch This Channel Grow!"
Wow. The Munsters *and* The Addams Family. You couldn't ask for better than that if you were me. And I was, so it worked out pretty nice. They also showed the syndicated package of Rod Serling's Night Gallery, at night and supercool stuff from Japan like Ultraman and Space Giants after school. And on Saturday afternoons, you could *always* catch some sci-fi battle, whether it was War of the Worlds or Frankenstein Conquers the World. If it was Saturday, the world was in peril from something or other.
Next time, let's talk Uncle Forry, shall we? Stay tuned, true believers.
But during the 70s, classic horror still had a home on newsstands thanks to Forrest J. Ackerman's glorious Famous Monsters of Filmland and horror comics such as DC's twin Houses, House of Mystery and The House of Secrets (not to mention Warren Publishing's more "adult" lines, Creepy, Eerie and Vampirella), which kept the spirit of the grand old EC age alive. But more on those later...
One of the first books I remember picking out for myself was Denis Gifford's A Pictorial History of Horror Movies, which I saw in a K-Mart in LaGrange, Georgia. I must have been 4 or 5. I know that I was in kindergarten, and that I could tell you just about anything about any Universal horror movie. Hell, maybe it was before that -- the book was published in '73, and I knew enough to be upset that I wasn't allowed to see Young Frankenstein on its original release. So I could've been 3. At any rate, the question must be asked: who buys a 3-4 year-old kid this book and expects them to turn out normal? The answer inevitably comes back, my mother. But then, she'd probably have to deal with me raising hell for not getting it, so this was most likely the safer option. And, after all, it's got a variation of the same image of Glenn Strange from my previous post. But the Glenn Strange poster I spoke of earlier didn't come out until '75-'76, so this might be the first manifestation of my Frankie fascination. At any rate, this, along with Richard J. Anobile's Why a Duck?: Visual and Verbal Gems from the Marx Brothers Movies, would quickly become my most-read book, eclipsing the previous record-holder, The Monster at the End of This Book Starring Loveable, Furry Old Grover.
Anyway, Gifford's book introduced me to all kinds of arcane movie knowledge, and I soaked it up like some hideous sponge creature from Planet X, sent here to absorb all life on this puny planet. I could tell you why Kenneth Strickfaden was important. I could rattle off Tod Slaughter movie titles. I could wax eloquent on the makeup skills of Lon Chaney, and that his only speaking role was in the Unholy Three remake. I knew who Aquanetta was. I marveled at the aerodynamics of Julie Adams in images from Creature from the Black Lagoon. It would take me years to see many of the movies mentioned in the book, but it unlocked an unquenchable thirst in me to see them *all*, from the most obscure silent flick to the most over-the-top Japanese kaiju eiga. It's probably the most important book I've ever read. Not important to the world of literature, and probably not all that important in the world of film scholarship in the long run, but the most important book *to me.* Without it, I might not have indulged that lingering imprint branded upon my brain that night in front of the TV...
Knowing that my mother was ultimately responsible for my owning this book does kind of force her into a position of responsibility. It may be an unfair burden for her to shoulder, but what the hey. And, after all, she's the one responsible for my earliest memory to begin with. Let's discuss why that is...
In the 1970s, we lived in the house owned by my maternal grandmother, Nana. Not only did Nana love old movies, and know all the stars, she also used to work at the local drive-in. Because of that, my mother spent a lot of time there as well. And since the local hard-top theater was just two blocks away, she spent a lot of time there, too. And they'd both stay up watching old movies on TV. Both women played a huge part in my childhood, so I learned about old movies from them almost via osmosis. (My dad, on the other hand, was never big on movies, though he carted me around to see every Bigfoot movie that came down the pike, bless him.) And because local TV stations still played movies from the '30s through the '50s during off-peak hours (this being before the advent of infomercials and the phenomena of anybody who wants one being able to host a daytime syndicated talk show), there was always a chance to see old films from Abbott & Costello, the Marx Brothers, the Bowery Boys, Deanna Durbin, Clark Gable, etc.
And the living arrangements in our house were slightly odd. My folks' bedroom was almost a living room in itself. We had a TV, one of those console stereo cabinet systems that seemed about 6 feet long, a La-Z-Boy recliner, a king-size bed, and a twin bed (with a Cat in the Hat comforter) that I slept in. My bed lay parallel with the TV, and the recliner was between me and the set. My mom would stay up late at night, as had become her custom, and watch old movies. I'd lay in bed behind her, ostensibly sleeping, and watch along. This is where I saw Frankenstein's monster. Under these conditions.
After Gifford's book opened my eyes, I soon discovered that a little station out of Atlanta that we picked up aired classic Universal (and other) horrors every Friday night at about 8 o'clock. That station was WTCG 17, and their slogan was "Watch This Channel Grow!"
Wow. The Munsters *and* The Addams Family. You couldn't ask for better than that if you were me. And I was, so it worked out pretty nice. They also showed the syndicated package of Rod Serling's Night Gallery, at night and supercool stuff from Japan like Ultraman and Space Giants after school. And on Saturday afternoons, you could *always* catch some sci-fi battle, whether it was War of the Worlds or Frankenstein Conquers the World. If it was Saturday, the world was in peril from something or other.
Next time, let's talk Uncle Forry, shall we? Stay tuned, true believers.
Monday, November 16, 2009
In the beginning...
The black-and-white image flickered on the screen. I lay in bed, peering at the television, fascinated by what was transpiring. Some unholy creation, born of man's desire to best God at his own game, stumbled blindly across a boat's dock. Arms flailing, his scarred features registered only pain and anger. His flat head and bolted neck seared themselves in my mind.
Then it was gone. Either the channel changed, I slipped into sleep, or that's just when my mind goes blank on the details.
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This is my first memory. Frankenstein's monster. Quite possibly from the immortal Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein. Even though that movie's climax doesn't match up with my memory (I coulda sworn it was daylight, and that I saw the monster stepping out of a rowboat), that's what I tend to believe. Because of this formative memory, I've devoted most of my life to a slavish devotion to all things horror. Movies and TV shows, comics and magazines, books and short stories, posters and paintings, toys and masks. It's all been the collective object of my obsession. Reigning supreme above it all is Frankie. I'll take any incarnation of the classic Universal Frankenstein monster, and I'll agree that Karloff is King when it comes to playing the hulking thing, but when someone mentions Frankenstein, the onscreen depiction of him that first pops in my head is Glenn Strange from the movie above. The first horror-related poster I ever owned was a free glow-in-the-dark pin-up of him from a box of Super Sugar Crisp back in '76. And hell, I've got that image tattooed on my right forearm today.
How did I get from there to here? What happened in my life that sent me headlong into perpetual monster-kid-dom? Why am I making up that word?
Here's where I'm going to explore that. Maybe I'll find out what it is that makes me tick. Am I the result of mutation or environment? Or am I, like the creature himself, just a patchwork of horror media detrius cobbled together in defiance of the laws of God and man?
Probably a little from column A, a little from column B, a little from column C. But I don't want to jump to conclusions just yet.
Then it was gone. Either the channel changed, I slipped into sleep, or that's just when my mind goes blank on the details.
.jpg)
This is my first memory. Frankenstein's monster. Quite possibly from the immortal Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein. Even though that movie's climax doesn't match up with my memory (I coulda sworn it was daylight, and that I saw the monster stepping out of a rowboat), that's what I tend to believe. Because of this formative memory, I've devoted most of my life to a slavish devotion to all things horror. Movies and TV shows, comics and magazines, books and short stories, posters and paintings, toys and masks. It's all been the collective object of my obsession. Reigning supreme above it all is Frankie. I'll take any incarnation of the classic Universal Frankenstein monster, and I'll agree that Karloff is King when it comes to playing the hulking thing, but when someone mentions Frankenstein, the onscreen depiction of him that first pops in my head is Glenn Strange from the movie above. The first horror-related poster I ever owned was a free glow-in-the-dark pin-up of him from a box of Super Sugar Crisp back in '76. And hell, I've got that image tattooed on my right forearm today.
How did I get from there to here? What happened in my life that sent me headlong into perpetual monster-kid-dom? Why am I making up that word?
Here's where I'm going to explore that. Maybe I'll find out what it is that makes me tick. Am I the result of mutation or environment? Or am I, like the creature himself, just a patchwork of horror media detrius cobbled together in defiance of the laws of God and man?
Probably a little from column A, a little from column B, a little from column C. But I don't want to jump to conclusions just yet.
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