Review by Doug Gibson
In January of 2008, Maila Nurmi, better known as Vampira, was found dead in her small Los Angeles home. She was 85. She died alone, on her couch with her feet propped, resting on a patio chair. The TV was running. Her cat, Violet, had died next to her. Her dog, Houdini, was alive but had to be put down. In her last days, she had felt exhausted, but thought it was due to her thyroid. It turned out to be her heart that was failing.
It's a death that arguably could be described as tragic. However, it's an example of Nurmi's survival instincts. She made the decisions in her life. Relying on chance, or others, had harmed her too much during 65-plus years since she stepped off a bus in Los Angeles in 1941.
Maila was also Vampira, a host whose weekly scream during the staid 1950s represented an orgasm. The censors, of course, never knew that. Several dozen episodes hosting a horror movies show gained her short-term fame in the 1950s. Her brief appearance in Ed Wood's "Plan 9 From Outer Space," a film she acted in for $200 and didn't see until 1980, 20-plus years after its small release, re-ignited interest in her dark beauty and gothic, sexual look. Below is a picture with Bela Lugosi. Ironically, he didn't plan on being in "Plan 9 From Outer Space," either.
After the "Plan 9 From Outer Space"/Ed Wood cultural craze, we saw our share of Maila in a slew of documentaries, and interviews and writings in books and magazines. She teased those interested with tidbits of information about experiences with Orson Welles and Elvis Presley, jobs with Mae West and Liberace, meals with an Ed Wood crony, Criswell, and her friendship with James Dean. But there always seemed to be more to the story.
Four years after her death, friend and filmmaker R.H. Greene provided a deeply personal, fascinating documentary, "Vampira and Me," that filled gaps in the often-coy past reminisces from the late actress. Frankly, despite a couple of other books and an earlier film documentary, I thought Greene's effort would likely be the best we'd get.
I was wrong. Sandra Niemi, the niece of Maili (who receives thanks in Greene's film), penned "Glamour Ghoul: The Passions and Pain of the Real Vampira, Maili Nurmi," (Feral House, 2021). It took Niemi a long time to get this to publication, but it's worth the wait.
Maila Nurmi was born in Gloucester, Mass., not Finland. Her father, Onni, a Finnish immigrant, was a lifelong newspaper editor and a fierce advocate of Prohibition. Ironically, her mother, Sophie, a U.S. native, was an alcoholic. A spotty employment record caused the family to move often, to new newspaper jobs. She had a brother, Bobbie, author Sandra's father.
Nurmi graduated from high school in Astoria, Ore. For a while, after a brief stint in college, she tried to follow her parents' vision -- work in a fish cannery and get married. It was that manufactured future she rebelled from, and prompted her leaving for Los Angeles in 1941.
A theme to "Glamour Ghoul" is survival. Except for several years in a common-law marriage with screenwriter Dean Riesner (during the Vampira years), and some gigs in Las Vegas, including with Liberace, Maila Nurmi was poor. In her worst times, she cleaned houses, was discreetly half-starved, and lived in garages sans furniture. It's likely her highest income never put her ahead of the middle class.
At the same time, she was a success. In the mid 1940s, through sheer grit, she appeared on Broadway stages in New York City. She was part of a Mae West show. Her youth and beauty apparently made West jealous, who then fired her. A cool irony of her West experience is that in later years her friend Criswell, a friend of West, would bring Murmi meals cooked by West.
"Glamour Ghoul," besides providing new information on Maila's life -- and I don't want to provide spoilers to readers -- offers more meat to her relationships with Orson Welles, James Dean, Marlon Brando, Anthony Perkins, and Elvis Presley. All these individuals, and many more, serve as players in Maila's real-life drama from naive, exploited, adult-child to hopeful, to star, to ex-star, to forgotten star, and to survivor. All of the players in Mails's life have flaws. Some are utterly despicable; some much better and kinder than others.
Maila was impressive enough to get the notice of Hollywood mogul Howard Hawks, who brought her to Los Angeles and signed her to a contract. In a rash act, Maila, hurt by professional criticism, burned bridges with Hawks, tearing up her deal. Nevertheless, she survived in Hollywood, dancing, working clubs, bit roles in a couple of films, and getting notice as a model for magazines. In her 30s, "Vampira" achieved her fame, but very little money. The 1960s and '70s were a rough time for Nurmi, but her will to be independent, and abide with what life dealt out, kept her going.
Maila made a lot of mistakes, including turning down more work with Liberace. She suffered badly from deranged fans who hassled her. Through her life she was assaulted, physically and sexually. Emotional abuse hurt and affected her mental stability at times. Powerful people abused her. Although she retains her icon status, she lost any significant monetary reward for her creation with the emergence of Cassandra Peterson's "Elvira."
"Vampira" is a sophisticated, dark, alluring creature with devastating wit. "Elvira" is a cleavage-heavy ditz designed to appeal to the lusts of over-sexed teenage boys. I can state that with authority because I was one of those over-sexed teenage boys captivated for a time by Peterson's juvenile performance art and wisecracks.
It is endearing to read more about how the then-beginning punk rock movement enhanced Maila's later years. They embraced her; they appreciated her. That is so appropriate because Maila was a real bohemian, unforced, and no cliche. She was a kindred spirit, and they responded to her. I enjoy the anecdotes about Maila's success as a street merchant, as well as working the front-desk phone, very late in life, at a dominatrix escort center. God bless Sandra Niemi for the biography. It's appropriate that Feral House is the publisher, as they also published the gem "Nightmare of Ecstasy," the Ed Wood oral biography by Rudolph Grey.
A final note: One quibble: Please provide an index in a further printing. And, very important, the final epilogue will give you chills, and possibly tears. I've tried not to be too specific in this review. I don't want to spoil things for readers. I urge readers to always keep the epilogue a secret too. Don't spoil it.
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