Something Weird on the Screen: The Wild, Bizarre and Wacky World of Scare-Your-Children Movies, Exploitation Shorts and Stag Films

As I may have mentioned a time or two (or forty …) in this column, I love cheesy movies … the cheesier, the better, especially if it cost less than the price of a new car to produce.  Give me a movie that’s the celluloid counterpart of a twenty-pound block of Velveeta®, something that could put a deathgrip on King Kong’s colon, and was done on the cheap, and you have one happy Unimonster.  And from THE BLOB to BUBBA HO-TEP, no type of film does low-budget cheese better than the Genre film—specifically the five associated genres of Horror, Sci-Fi, Mystery, Fantasy, and Exploitation.

Why is it that I enjoy these types of movies so much more than their mega-buck Hollywood blockbuster cousins?  Well, one answer is lowered expectations.  When a major studio pours $180 million into a picture, it had damn well better make me stand up and cheer; anything less is just a disappointment.  Movies such as INDIANA JONES AND THE KINGDOM OF THE CRYSTAL SKULL, HELLBOY 2: THE GOLDEN ARMY, or THE DARK KNIGHT demand huge budgets, but the finished product is well worth the filmmakers’ investment.  But when a big-budget film flops, it’s usually a disaster of biblical proportions, sometimes ending the careers of those involved.  The best-known example of this was 1980’s HEAVEN’S GATE, the boring, bloated, Box-Office bomb that sank the career of heretofore-promising director Michael Cimino.  With a budget that ballooned to five times the original estimate, and a running time that was north of three-and-a-half hours, it was Box-Office death, earning less than three-and-a-half million on a thirty-five million dollar investment.  However, when no one expects anything from a movie, it’s hard to be disappointed.

And that brings me to another reason for my love of cheap movies … they’re so much more entertaining.  Let’s face facts—most people go to the movies to be entertained.  Not enlightened, not educated, not indoctrinated … simply to relax and have a good time.  That’s hard to do when the director is trying to beat some socially relevant message into your head; even harder when the beating lasts for three or more hours.  There are people who enjoy that sort of thing; there are also people who prefer tofu to rib-eye.  I have little use for either sort of person.

I for one want entertainment from the movies I watch.  If I want enlightenment, I play golf.  If I want education, I read a book.  And I scrupulously try to avoid indoctrination.  All I seek from my hard-earned movie-buying dollar is a couple of hours of mindless entertainment… not a disguised thought exercise.  I don’t think I differ greatly from the average movie fan in that regard, either.  The average movie fan just wants a little something to take him or her out of their mundane, everyday existence—something that they can’t get in their normal lives.  Sometimes that’s a thrilling adventure yarn, sometimes a historical drama, and sometimes, it’s something just a little further afield.  Something strange, something unusual, something… weird.

For nearly two decades, there’s been a small company catering to those of us who share a love of the cinematic equivalent of a ripe wedge of Roquefort, movies that define the term, “So bad it’s good …”  Something Weird Video is precisely that—something weird, indeed anything weird, that has been captured on film or video.

Say you have a fondness for 1950’s vintage High School hygiene films … SWV has you covered.  You consider yourself a fan of the films of Harry Novak?  They've got what you’re looking for.  Need a Bettie Page or Tempest Storm stag reel for your next bachelor party?  Something Weird is the place for that, and virtually every other type of low-brow, low-class, and low-budget film you can imagine.

Founded in 1990 by Mike Vraney, SWV has grown into a major distributor of classic, and unusual, genre films.  They also specialize in the type of short films that collector’s love, but that every other distributor ignores.  Industrial films, propaganda films, educational films—name an obscure form of video, and chances are they have it in stock.  From a 1959 film produced by the Kansas State Board of Health on the dangers of Syphilis, to ‘60’s-vintage Police training films on how to spot signs of marijuana use, to a promotional film put out by Karo Syrup entitled THE ENCHANTED POT, virtually every taste and interest is catered to by the company.  But by far, their stock in trade is the good, old-fashioned, Exploitation Film.

Precursor to both the Grindhouse films of the ‘60’s and ‘70’s, and the X-Rated adult features of the ‘70’s and ‘80’s, Exploitations became big business as the silent era transitioned into sound.  A small group of producer/distributors, part con-men, part Hollywood mogul, and with a stiff measure of carnival huckster thrown in, came to dominate the Exploitation circuits, playing in dingy downtown theaters and out-of-the-way rural Drive-Ins.  Known collectively as “the Forty Thieves”, these showmen traveled the country exhibiting their films to curious crowds, always promising the raw, uncensored, unvarnished truth about a myriad of social ills, from child marriage to the dangers of sexual promiscuity and drug abuse… and delivering just enough to keep the rubes and yokels happy.

The Exploitations were the cinematic equivalent of a traveling sideshow; talk up the crowds, get them excited about whatever symptom of moral decay was the topic of that week’s film, get them to lay down their money for a ticket, and then give them pretty much what they were expecting—a little entertainment, a little skin, a little naughtiness, all wrapped up in a package that they could regard with a sense of moral outrage and indignation—while secretly wishing that they themselves could indulge in some of that naughtiness.

The kings of the Exploitation circuits made fortunes with these films, often recycling them over and over by splicing new title cards into the prints, or by trading them to other distributors in exchange for films that had already worn out their welcome on other circuits.  Names like Kroger Babb, Dave Friedman, and Dan Sonney might mean little today, but in their era, and in their arena, they were as powerful and influential as Samuel Goldwyn, Darryl F. Zanuck, or Walt Disney.  They were the moguls of Exploitation; the men who worked beyond Hollywood’s pale, creating films no “respectable” distributor would dare touch.  In the ‘40’s and ‘50’s, they, and others like them, fought for an end to censorship of motion pictures and increased freedom for filmmakers, even if ‘mainstream’ filmmakers looked down their collective nose at them.

As the ‘50’s gave way to the ‘60’s, the Exploitations began to change.  The moral message that had been such a prominent part of the “Road Show” era of Exploitation films fell by the wayside as the courts struck down, one by one, the draconian censorship laws on the motion picture industry.  Without the need to justify their more salacious or risqué content, a new breed of filmmakers, people such as Harry Novak, Doris Wishman, and Mike and Roberta Findlay began producing a new breed of Exploitation film.

These were truly exploitative films, lacking any pretense of cultural or educational value.  From Wishman’s ‘Nudie Cuties’ to Herschell G. Lewis’ gore-filled horrors, the early ‘60’s were an explosion of new trends in movies, and those on the leading edge of those trends were the Exploitation filmmakers.  The same year that audiences were shocked by the sight of Janet Leigh dressed only in her undergarments following an afternoon tryst in PSYCHO, moviegoers in New York City’s 42^nd Street grindhouses were watching Wishman’s NUDE ON THE MOON, a Sci-Fi “epic” filmed at a Florida nudist colony.  Three years before Peter Fonda starred in the landmark film EASY RIDER, he starred in a not-so-vaguely similar movie, THE WILD ANGELS, directed by Roger Corman for American-International Pictures.

But the Exploitations would go where Hollywood dared not follow, and do so in ways that the major studios wouldn’t think of emulating.  At a time when Hollywood was still struggling to come to terms with homosexuality, racism, drug abuse, and a rapidly changing cultural landscape, the Exploitations were treating all of these topics in an open, frank manner… even if that treatment was less than honest—or flattering.  These were key themes for the “grindhouse” cinema, the infamous strip of theaters along 42^nd Street in Manhattan.  A few blocks away might be the bright lights of Broadway, but here all was darkness and shadow, and it was populated by those who shunned the light.  The grindhouses of “The Deuce,” as the strip was christened by authors Bill Landis and Michelle Clifford in their book, Sleazoid Express: A Mind-Twisting Tour through the Grindhouse Cinema of Times Square, were where the Exploitation film reached it’s zenith.  There you could find an endless variety of perversion and prurient delights… if you were willing to risk your wallet, or perhaps your life, for the experience.

While those who frequented the theaters that made up the “Deuce” profess fond memories of the experience, the truth is slightly different.  The grindhouse area was, in fact, a filthy, crime-ridden, two-by-eight block section of the city that was a breeding ground for prostitution, assault, robbery, and disease.  The only reason fans of these movies traveled to such a blighted zone was because that was the only place that you could see these films… and despite their low-quality and frequently tasteless subject matter, many of these films were worth seeking out.

New York City’s efforts to remake it’s public image led to the end of the “Deuce,” as theater after theater was razed upon the altar of ‘urban renewal’.  For the most part the fans of Exploitations weren't displeased … with the growth of Home Video and the newfound freedom to watch whatever you might choose in the privacy of your own home, why brave the dimly-lit alleyways of 42^nd Street?  And as Hollywood’s standards changed, the line between what was “mainstream” and what wasn’t began, first to blur, then to vanish altogether.  This began as early as 1969 when an X-Rated film, John Schlesinger’s MIDNIGHT COWBOY, won the Oscar® for Best Picture.  Ironically, this film examined the lives of two Times Square hustlers played by Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffman, and their struggle to survive as denizens of the “Deuce.”  This led to a spate of semi-respectable adult films—DEEP THROAT and BEHIND THE GREEN DOOR were two notable titles—that were shown in first-run theaters.  With Hollywood now free to explore many of the topics that were previously the sole province of the Exploitation filmmakers, many of them moved into the final stage in the life cycle of the Exploitation filmmaker—hardcore pornography—and the true Exploitation film died a slow, lingering death.  But the movies that made up the more than five decades of the Exploitation period haven’t died, though it was only the efforts of a dedicated few who kept the memory of these films alive, people like Mike Vraney, Bill Landis, Michelle Clifford, Dave Friedman, Harry Novak, and others who have worked to preserve these films, and history of the Exploitation Cinema.

While it’s easy to dismiss these movies as trashy, lewd, and without redeeming value, I believe that is far too harsh a judgment.  Yes, these films were trashy, designed primarily to titillate and tease their audiences … and to that, I say, “So what?”  Could not the same be said for most of the motion picture industry?  The goal of producers and distributors hasn't changed since Edison screened his GREAT TRAIN ROBBERY in the 1890’s—to put asses in seats—at whatever ticket price the market would bear.  If the Exploitation filmmakers hadn't given the movie-going public what they wanted, then they wouldn’t have accomplished this.  And if they hadn't accomplished the task of selling tickets, then they wouldn’t have lasted as long as they did.  Trashy—yes.  Lewd, lascivious, exploitive, prurient, pandering, coarse, vulgar, bawdy … yes, they were all of the above.

But they were also entertaining.  Sometimes that’s good enough.  Sometimes, that’s just what you’re in the mood for.  And thanks to Mike Vraney and his Something Weird Video, we can indulge that mood whenever it strikes.  And not in some run-down, flea-ridden, rat-infested den of iniquity with a movie screen, but in the comfort of our own homes.

Packing for Transylvania

Recently, Alexandra of Mancrates Gifts for Men contacted your friendly ol’ Unimonster.  Mancrates is a site that specializes in manly gifts for manly men (so, of course they came to me, natch)—no frou-frou wrapping paper or frilly bows … the lucky recipient of a Man Crate gets just that, a crate and a crowbar.  The crate comes packed with a chosen assortment of everything a man could wish for—well, almost everything.  From video games, to barware featuring your favorite team’s logo, to enough beef jerky to carry you through any movie marathon or from the earliest pre-game show on Sunday morning through to Chris Collinsworth’s final words fifteen hours later, mancrates.com will box it up and ship it out.  And the question that Alexandra and mancrates wished to pose to the Unimonster was, “If you could have us crate up a kit to help you survive in a horror film, what would it contain?”

Most horror fans, when posed this question, would think ‘zombie apocalypse’ and start assembling weapons, ammo … and giant, economy sized cans of pudding.  Personally, I’m going to go in another direction.  I already have weapons and ammo, and I’m not all that crazy about pudding.  What I am crazy about is classic horror—vampires and werewolves, mummies and monsters, ghosts and ghouls.  And few have done classic horror as well as Hammer Films.  Beginning in 1957, this British studio resurrected classic horror from the depths to which it had plunged following World War 2, making it ‘cool’ again for a generation of movie goers.

Yvonne Furneaux-- The Mummy

Yvonne Monlaur-- The Brides of Dracula

Yvonne Romain-- Curse of the Werewolf, Night Creatures

And that’s the horror film into which I’d place myself.  One of the great, period horrors of the late 1950s, when Hammer was at it’s peak, artistically speaking.  There are several reasons for my selection.  First, no one’s starving in a Hammer film.  In fact, the vampires usually do one the courtesy of a sumptuous meal before the fangs come out and they get down to business.  Second, while I’ve never been accused of being a fashion plate, I do like to bathe and change my clothes more than once a year.  And lastly, we have the lovely ladies of Hammer Horror.  Now, if I have to fight my way through hordes of undead walkers, then Carol and Michonne are my picks.  But for sheer good looks, give me Hammer’s three Yvonnes—Yvonne Monlaur, Yvonne Furneaux, and Yvonne Romain.

So now that that’s decided, I need to pack for the trip.  The first thing mancrates will be putting in that box is some holy water.  I’m not talking about some tiny little vial—I want a gallon jug, preferably blessed by both Popes.  And a Hudson sprayer.  Throw in a box of crucifixes … the more the merrier.  Why Peter Cushing could never bother with packing more than one has always baffled me.  A little foresight and he wouldn’t have had to improvise with a pair of candlesticks.  Besides, vampires, at least in Hammer’s take on the species, tend to travel in packs.  Two more items to take care of the vampire set—a good, heavy mallet and a brace of stakes.  Maybe eighteen or twenty in a quiver would be nice.

Now, compared to vampires, werewolves are relatively easy to kill, if one knows the secret of how to do it.  Silver bullets; a box of fifty should be sufficient.  But not just any cartridge will suffice.  I’d like to keep things as period authentic as possible.  So let’s start with a handgun that’s quintessentially Victorian, with a bit of a ‘Steampunk’ vibe, the Webley Mk. I, chambered for the .455 cartridge.

One last item needs to be taken care of, and then mancrates can nail my crate shut, cover it in duct tape, and ship it out.  As Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee, and a host of their fellows demonstrated time and again, one simply does not battle monsters unless one is suitably attired; at least, not if one is a gentleman.  I’m not sure how a tweed jacket or white tie and tails helps a person kill monsters … but why take a chance?

Monsters in the Madhouse: the Wild, Wacky, and Wonderful antics of Karlos Borloff (and his Cast of Crazies)

I had intended this to be just a Horror-host Review of Monster Madhouse, the program hosted by Northern Virginia’s Heavy-Metal Monster-Hunter, Karlos Borloff, named the Unimonster’s Crypt Horror-Host of the Year for 2010.  That was before I was fortunate enough to meet Borloff (aka Jerry Moore) at last month’s HorrorHound Indianapolis Convention [Ed. Note: a full article on the Convention will be posted with the May 2011 update].  After spending some time talking with the host of Monster Madhouse, I realized that there was much more to Borloff than cheesy old movies and a funny costume.  Underneath the scaly armor and heavy metal make-up is a fellow fan, someone who loves these old monster movies as much as those who regularly tune in to his show.

Beginning in 2006, Monster Madhouse has been thrilling fans in the Washington, D. C. metropolitan area with a combination of comedy, music, and monsters—especially the Daiei Studio’s Kaijû films featuring Gamera, the giant turtle.  Moore, who has a fondness for the “man in the rubber suit” movies, prefers the classic monsters to the parade of Slasher Films that began in the early ‘80s.

In the Horse Archer productions documentary VIRGINIA CREEPERS, released in 2009 and reviewed here [DVD Review: VIRGINIA CREEPERS: THE HORROR HOST TRADITION OF THE OLD DOMINION, 6 March 2010], Moore discusses his feelings regarding his choice of movies versus the more graphic forms of Horror,

So it’s all about monsters … they’re not going to celebrate Jason Voorhees or somebody coming up like, ‘oh look, there’s a beautiful woman, I’m going to kill her.’  That’s sick, garbage.  I don’t want to see that stuff … It’s not good for kids either, man.  I don’t like seeing little kids with a SAW III shirt on.

The popularity of Moore’s program has continued to rise, due in large measure to his family-friendly selection of Monster movies.  From Godzilla, to Gamera, to Zombies and Dracula, traditional monsters and creatures rule the Madhouse.  This may, in part, be dictated by the availability of these films in Public Domain.  Most of it is due to the fact that these are the kinds of films that Moore enjoys, and wants to share with his fans.

Another facet of Monster Madhouse’s success is the variety show format.  The large cast, including Jebediah Buzzard, Lizardman, Sally the Zombie Cheerleader, Sasha Trasha, Pvt. Beauregard J. Pettigrew, and numerous others, helps fuel this high-energy show despite the frequently low quality of the movies available from which to choose.  The jokes may not always work, but when you have this many people having this much fun, some of it has to transfer to the audience.

Helping all the insanity along is a rockin’ musical beat, courtesy of Moore’s band, the Monsterminators.  From the show’s opening theme to its signature tune Die Monster Die, the bands heavy metal music provides just the right accompaniment for the program.

Behind it all, though, is Moore himself.  When meeting the creative force responsible for the Monster Madhouse face to face, one is struck by the sheer volume of energy that he exudes.  It’s interesting to watch him as he works a Convention floor—greeting fans as though they were old friends, interviewing fellow hosts and celebrities, or just popping up here and there to enliven the proceedings.  Perhaps the reason he connects so easily with his fans is that he is one himself; he came out of our ranks.  Less than six years ago Jerry Moore was, in fact, just one of us, a member of a Count Gore De Vol fanlist.  His career as Borloff began in 2005 with an invitation to make a guest appearance on Gore’s Creature Feature: the Weekly Web Program.  Playing a contractor doing a remodel on Gore’s dungeon, Moore ends up being entombed behind the wall he’s building, as the Count winds up with Moore’s lovely assistant.

Less than a year later, he was back on Creature Feature, this time with the debut appearance of the new Monster-Hunter / Horror-Host in town, Karlos Borloff.  In August of 2006, Monster Madhouse Live debuted on Public Access cable in Fairfax County, Virginia, as well as being simulcast on the internet.  Live broadcast of a Hosted Horror show was rare even as long ago as the 1960’s, and simulcasting it on the web opened the program up to viewers around the world.

Since that debut, Moore’s Madhouse has served as the Rick’s Café of the Horror-Host world, echoing Claude Rains’ line in CASABLANCA—“… everyone comes to Rick’s.”  The list of those who have found their way to the friendly confines of the Monster Madhouse is indeed impressive, from fellow Virginians Count Gore and Dr. Sarcofiguy, New England’s Penny Dreadful, Chicago’s The Bone Jangler, to Troma Films head Lloyd Kaufman.  People in the world of Horror Fandom began to take notice of Moore’s show, and the character that headlined it.  They obviously liked what they saw.

Hosted Horror shows are enjoying a renaissance of late, as more and more would-be Zacherleys and Vampiras are discovering that they no longer need to be tied to the capricious whims of corporate media in order to make their dreams come true.  If one has imagination, some talent, a willingness to work hard, and a germ of an original idea, they can see their dream reach fruition.  A few, like Jerry Moore and the assorted loonies who inhabit the Monster Madhouse, might find their audience and become a success.

The Year Horror Began

Eighty years ago this month, the Horror Film, as we recognize it, was born.  On Valentine’s Day 1931, Universal Pictures premiered Tod Browning’s DRACULA, the first Horror Film produced in the United States that can be described as a “modern” horror—one where the antagonist truly was what it was purported to be.  Dracula wasn’t a lunatic mistaken for a monster, or a master criminal in disguise; he was exactly what he claimed to be—a vampire, an undead creature of the night.

The catalog of the American Horror Film wasn’t extensive by the beginning of the Sound era, and it largely owed it’s existence to the efforts of two men:  director Tod Browning and actor Lon Chaney.  Browning was the quintessential master of the macabre throughout the 1920’s and into the beginning of the 1930’s, and Chaney was his star, the “man of a thousand faces” who was the personification of Horror on the silent screen.

In a string of 10 movies produced between 1919 and 1929, the two defined Horror as a psychological experience, not a supernatural one.  In roles as diverse as Alonzo the Armless in 1927’s THE UNKNOWN, to ‘Dead Legs,’ the evil wheelchair-bound magician who sells his own daughter into white slavery in WEST OF ZANZIBAR, Chaney’s characters were no less monsters for the fact that they were human.  The hatred and darkness in them owed nothing to the paranormal, and everything to the pathological.

Browning wasn’t the only director working in Horror in Hollywood, of course.  Under contract to M-G-M, in 1923 Chaney was borrowed by Universal, for director Wallace Worsley’s THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME.  In 1925, Chaney appeared in two Horror Films—one mostly forgotten, and one that is unforgettable.  The lesser of the two efforts was Roland West’s THE MONSTER.  Chaney portrayed a mad scientist who poses as a monster in order to force vehicles to crash, thereby providing him with subjects for experimentation.  Half horror, half comedy, it was an average programmer for the period, with little other than Chaney’s performance to recommend it.  However, that same year, Universal released what is arguably the greatest Silent Horror film to originate in the United States—Rupert Julian’s THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA.  Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux, the role of Erik (the Phantom) would be acknowledged as Chaney’s defining performance.

Just as Browning wasn’t the only Horror director, Chaney was not the only star who made Horror Films.  In 1920, John Barrymore starred in John S. Robertson’s version of DR. JEKYLL & MR. HYDE.  This adaptation of the Robert Louis Stevenson classic, though eclipsed a decade later by Reuben Mamoulian’s Oscar-winning version, was nonetheless groundbreaking for it’s time.  In 1927, Paul Leni, a German émigré working for Carl Laemmle at Universal, adapted a popular Broadway play into THE CAT AND THE CANARY, the originator of the “Old Dark House” style of Horror Films, starring Laura La Plante, an attractive young contract player, as Annabelle West, heir to the vast fortune left by her ancestor, Cyrus West.  This movie saw an early version of the “scream queen” in American Horror, though her screams could not be heard.  A year later, Conrad Veidt, who was an established star in his native Germany, appeared in Leni’s THE MAN WHO LAUGHS for Universal.

All of these silent American Horrors had one thing in common—the complete lack of the supernatural.  Though supernatural creatures had inhabited silent Horrors from the rest of the world, most notably Germany; in American films they were, for all intents, nonexistent.  In German film, phantoms, vampires, and monsters existed; they were depicted as what they were.  Max Schreck played Count Orlok as a vampire, not a criminal masquerading as a vampire.  American conventions were the opposite.  However unreal or grotesque the antagonist might seem, there was always a logical explanation at the bottom of it.  Like the Scooby-Doo cartoons fifty years later, at the end there would always be an unmasking, as the “monster” was revealed to be anything but.

But as the era of the silents was drawing to a close, that was due for a change.  Universal was planning to go into production on DRACULA, with Tod Browning at the helm[1].  Carl Laemmle had recently ceded control over the studio to his son Carl Jr. (a twenty-first birthday gift), and Junior (who was christened Julius but later changed his name) was fond of the gothic tales of horror such as Stoker’s Dracula and Shelley’s Frankenstein.  “Uncle” Carl Laemmle preferred Westerns and other, “less gruesome” fare, but Junior wanted Horror pictures.

Legend has it that the senior Laemmle demanded that Chaney portray Dracula, or the picture couldn’t be made.  In truth, there’s no record such a demand was made (though Junior was hoping to lure him back to Universal for the picture, one reason he hired Browning to direct), or that Chaney was ever attached to the project (it must be remembered he was still under contract at M-G-M, though Universal often sought reasons to request the loan of one of the Silent Screen’s biggest draws).  In any case, Chaney passed away of throat cancer on 26 August 1930, and conjecture about how “the man of a thousand faces” would portray the Lord of the Undead will forever remain just that:  Conjecture.

With the question of who wouldn’t be playing the role of Dracula at least partially answered, in Chaney’s part by his unfortunate death, there remained a veritable who’s who of actors who were being considered for the job.  Names such as Paul Muni, John Wray, and Conrad Veidt were discussed for the part.  Even Chester Morris, an actor who specialized in ‘tough-guy’ roles (and had been nominated for the second Best Actor Oscar for 1929’s ALIBI), was mentioned—more by virtue of already being contracted to Universal than due to any intrinsic qualities he possessed.

The one to whom Laemmle was adamantly opposed was a 48-year-old Hungarian actor who had successfully played the role on Broadway.  In fact, he sent the production team a telegram stating, “… no interest in [this actor] for Dracula.[2]”  “This actor” was Bela Lugosi, and though the studio professed no interest in him, he definitely had an interest in the part of the Transylvanian Count, campaigning actively for it.  Despite whatever misgivings the Laemmles had about Lugosi as Dracula, he finally won the role, clinching the deal with his willingness to take the job at roughly a quarter of the salary he could’ve gotten.  Even Lugosi, not known for his sense of humor, couldn’t resist a jab at “Uncle” Carl’s legendary nepotism, telling reporters that he was cast simply because the senior Laemmle didn’t have a relative who could play the part.

Supporting Lugosi would be a cast of Universal regulars.  Helen Chandler would be the female lead, in the role of Mina, the main focus of the Count’s lustful attentions.  David Manners would portray John Harker, her love interest.  Dwight Frye would play the lunatic Renfield, slave to Dracula’s control.  And Edward Van Sloan would portray Dracula’s nemesis, Van Helsing.

Principal photography began on 29 September 1930, and would continue until mid-November.  Production went smoothly, though Browning was at best disinterested in the project.  According to film historian Michael Mallory, “The fact that Browning seemed to lose interest in Dracula during the filming, at times turning the direction over to cinematographer Karl Freund, has been interpreted as possible depression over Chaney's untimely death.[3]”  Whatever the reason, there’s little doubt that Browning’s work on this films suffers in comparison to his earlier films, and indeed, in comparison to that of George Melford, who directed the Spanish-language version of DRACULA, filmed at night using the same sets, props, and in some cases, costumes.  Melford’s version is far more complete, a full 30 minutes longer than Browning’s, and is a far more cinematic work.  Browning’s version has been criticized, and rightfully so, as being far too literal a translation of the play upon which it was based.  Everything about the movie gives the impression that one is watching a stage play, from the dialogue, to the occasionally awkward transitions, to the static cinematography.

Melford’s version, on the other hand, just flows so much more smoothly.  George Robinson’s photography has a fluidity and grace that is completely lacking from Freund’s camera work.  In every way but one, Melford’s DRACULA is superior in execution to Browning’s.  That one factor, the factor that makes one a legendary film and the other an interesting side-note, is Bela Lugosi.  Lugosi transforms this film into something that hadn’t existed prior to it’s release—a modern American Horror Film.  This one performance so perfectly captured Dracula in the minds of moviegoers that his version of the bloodthirsty Count has become the archetype for the character.  For the past eighty years, every actor who has played Dracula has had to measure his performance against Lugosi’s yardstick—and has generally been found wanting.

In February of 1931, a new genre appeared on the screen—not a mystery, not a melodrama, not a thriller—but a Horror Film.  Nine months later, in November of 1931, another film in this new genre would debut, the greatest Horror Film of all.  These two films, DRACULA and, of course, James Whale’s FRANKENSTEIN, would launch Horror’s Golden Age, transform their stars into Icons who would spend the majority of their lives competing with one another for the crown that had belonged to Chaney, and make Universal Studios the original “House that Horror Built.”

This February, eighty years after these films first frightened and captivated audiences, moviegoers, fans, and classic film buffs will have the opportunity to view these movies on the big screen once again.  Thanks to the efforts of long-time friend of the Crypt Scott Essman, head of Visionary media and the man who has led the efforts to secure a Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame to honor Jack P. Pierce, on the afternoon of 20 February 2011, these movies will once more flicker to life.  On that day, at the Pomona Fox Theater, (301 S. Garey Ave.) in Pomona, California[4], the audience will be magically transported back to 1931—back to the year Horror began.

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[1] The primary reference for this article is the superb book Universal Studios Monsters: A Legacy of Horror, by Michael Mallory.  It is a spectacular volume, and I cannot recommend it highly enough.

[2] The Documentary Universal Horrors, released in 1998.

[3] Mallory 49

[4] www.pomonafox.org

R.I.P., Hauzy

Over the years, it’s sad to say that I’ve gotten used to writing tributes to those who have touched my life in some way, then passed on, leaving behind those who remember, and miss, and mourn. Usually it is someone known to me only through grainy images in black & white film, or in the dusty, yellowed pages of a beloved magazine. Occasionally it is someone that I’ve had the pleasure of meeting face-to-face, a few moments of connection at a Convention or two. Perhaps it might even have been a friend of a friend, someone whose loss is more keenly felt because of the pain it causes someone about whom I care. Joseph Lincoln Hauze was none of these—Joe “Hauzy” Hauze was my friend, and his absence will hurt, deeply.


To those who frequent the world of the Yahoo Horror groups, Hauzy was a well-known and welcome fellow traveler. A devoted fan of Horror Films, he loved the Japanese Kaijû, and the movies of Troma. He was in many of the same groups as I, and he could always be counted upon to take an active role in discussing the movies that he enjoyed so much.

It seemed everyone knew Hauzy—and everyone who knew him, liked him. He loved to have impromptu trivia challenges in the groups, and whoever won (and often, everyone that played along) would soon get a box from “Santa Hauzy” containing some goodies—usually DVD’s, but you were never quite sure what would arrive. Sometimes, he’d just decide that he had too much stuff, and a random friend would find a surprise package in their mail soon after.

Recently, Hauzy was doing something else he loved—riding his motorcycle near his Pennsylvania home—when he was involved in an accident. Though he initially made it through surgery, complications arose, and on Monday, 21 June 2010, our friend and fellow monster-fan passed away.

As the news of his death began to spread through the groups that Hauzy was so much a part of, feelings of shock and disbelief quickly changed to grief and remembrance. In the message traffic of virtually every group of which I’m a member, one subject line seemed to dominate—“R.I.P., Hauzy.” How one individual, known personally to very few of us, could have such a huge impact across such a diverse spectrum of his fellow fans, is amazing—and more than a little thought-provoking.

All of us have gotten used to the concept of “friend” as someone you don’t really know, not a close friend in the traditional sense of the word, just someone who’s in your sphere of interest. Ted or Janet may be your “friends” simply because they asked to be, and you clicked the “Confirm” button.

But events such as these remind us of what true friendship is, and that, on the other end of that internet connection is a real person, one with whom we share a common bond—even if it is of such inconsequential matters as a love of monster movies. That real person leaves behind a family that mourns and grieves for him now, a family whose lives are irrevocably altered by his loss. As we, Hauzy’s on-line friends, remember his life and mourns its end, let us not forget those who feel this loss so much more deeply and personally.

So long, Hauzy… and wherever you are, something tells me there’s a Godzilla movie playing.