'Becoming Dracula: Volume 2' charts Bela Lugosi's rise in the USA

 

Review by Doug Gibson

There's an interesting photo of an advertisement in "Becoming Dracula: Volume 2," BearManor Media, 2021 (Amazon link). It's a 1928 ad for Listerine mouthwash, published in Photoplay magazine. On the right, inconspicuous, is definitely Bela Lugosi, already known as a Broadway, and feature film actor. Lugosi must have been paid for the subtle modeling act. Authors Gary D. Rhodes and Bill Kaffenberger wonder if there are other, still-yet-to-be-discovered ads with Lugosi of that era. I'd wager yes.

The photo underscores two essential truths about Bela Lugosi's three-plus decades in America. He was both -- by all rational assessments -- a successful actor, and a man nearly always in need of money. Even when he had achieved successful working-actor status in America, he made regular forays into the U.S. Hungarian stage scene, often taking the role of director or headlining for a night. These gigs were partially motivated by money, the authors surmise. 

"Becoming Dracula 2" is, like its predecessor, "Becoming Dracula: Volume One, the Early Years of Bela Lugosi," a marvelous mixture of dedicated research and enjoyable style. Through old media sources, many very obscure (long-gone U.S. Hungarian newspapers) and I'm sure not easy to track down, the authors chart Lugosi's slow but steady emergence as a respected stage and screen actor through the 1920s and early 1930s (up to "Dracula" film).

Bela may have arrived in America penniless, but he already had a reputation as an actor in Europe, and quickly found work in various Hungarian stage groups. The Hungarian presence in the United States was large enough to support acting troupes, and Hungarian U.S. newspapers were around to cover it all. Hungarian works, such as "The Tragedy of Man," were featured.

It wasn't long before Bela's skill made him an attractive option for English-speaking theaters. One of his more significant early plays was "The Red Poppy," which featured a popular star of the era, Estelle Winwood. Lugosi's scenes with Winwood were noted by critics.

Bela appeared on the stage with co-stars who would also achieve huge success, including Leslie Howard and Fredric March. One of his Broadway plays, "Arabesque," in which his character shared passionate scenes with actress Hortense Alden, shocked audiences. (See Lugosi and Alden below). 

Besides staying busy on the stage, the authors detail Lugosi's resumption of a movie career in the 1920s. His earlier films, from mid-size producers, include "Silent Command," "The Midnight Girl," "The Rejected Woman,'" and "Daughters Who Pay." Watching these films reveal an actor with strong screen presence, one who attracts the camera's attention, whether playing a hero or villain. 

Playing "Dracula" on Broadway led to Bela getting that defining film role. The journey to filming "Dracula" is interesting. Rhodes and Kaffenberger provide a detailed log of events, including Bela accompanying the play to the West Coast and its continued success there. A host of actors were considered. Lugosi gradually became a Los Angeles-based actor, a move that would last the rest of his life. The authors detail Bela's persistent efforts to retain his coveted role for the film, including shrewd marketing efforts. He made sure he was playing Count Dracula for a brief stint in Oakland as final casting was being set. 

Lugosi also parleyed his stage success with more films, including a contract with Fox for a few pre-Dracula films. He also had a major role, although inexplicably billed seventh, in "The Thirteenth Chair." It was for MGM, and directed by Tod Browning, who would helm "Dracula."

Despite being busy as an actor between the play, "Dracula," and the film version, Bela was still feeling financial pinches. The authors include correspondence from the actor where he expresses displeasure with his finances and career. Lugosi would find ways to make money providing Hungarian dialogue for U.S. films. He also appeared in short films, some of which are likely lost. He may have had some roles where his scenes were deleted.

The authors capably detail much of Lugosi's personal life, including two failed marriages and his well-known affair with screen star Clara Bow. One marriage, with an heiress named Beatrice Weeks, provides insight into the actor's mind. He was likely prone to impulsive decisions. He also had a traditional, for the time, Hungarian male perspective of marriage, with the man working and the woman serving. This led to a quick divorce with the independent Weeks, who was apparently also prone to impulsive acts.

"Becoming Dracula: Volume 2" is a joy for genre purists; as Volume 1 was. Volume 2 respects the first volume by starting with, Chapter 21. We revel in the minutia that Rhodes and Kaffenberger have painstakingly logged; the footnotes are dessert. There's 10,000 facts to learn that I have not included in this review. 

But the ease of reading and good-natured occasional observations from the authors also make this a wise choice for the casual reader. It provides a primer for how actors moved through the stage and film worlds 90-plus years ago. I think both "Becoming Dracula" volumes would be valuable texts for film classes. I'd love to see this writing style used for other famous actors, say Boris Karloff. The poring over of obscure, mostly forgotten publications -- a healthy percentage only saved with crumbling print -- guarantees that new scholarship is logged.

Becoming Dracula: Volume 1 excellent scholarship from authors Rhodes and Kaffenberger

 

Review by Doug Gibson

"Becoming Dracula: The Early Years of Bela Lugosi: Volume 1," (BearManor Media, 2021) is an absolutely superb targeted biography of Lugosi's first 38 years, from the son of a baker-turned-banker in Lugos, Hungary (now part of Romania) to late 1920, when the already acclaimed Budapest/Berlin thespian arrived penniless in New Orleans, La. 

Authors Gary Rhodes and Bill Kaffenberger have collaborated before on Lugosi books. They pored over well-over-century-old documents to unearth many new facts on Lugosi's early life and career, and they clarified and corrected information -- not completely accurate -- due to fanciful press interviews. Also corrected is some long-used incorrect information, including where Lugosi performed as Jesus Christ. He did not debut in The Passion in Debrecen, Hungary, but in Budapest in 1912.

Readers accustomed to thinking of the former Bela Blasko as only a creature of the night will enjoy the authors' account of Bela's steady rise through the Hungarian acting community. He started very small, gained stature in the provinces, playing a wide variety of roles. He did not get the call the first time he auditioned to perform in Budapest. But he gained great provincial acclaim as a talented, very handsome actor in cities such as Debrecen, and Szeged. After 1912, he became a frequent Budapest actor, with a very large fan base.

He performed in so many play adaptations. Here's just a few: Trilby, Romeo and Juliet, Anna Karenina, The Tragedy of Man, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Taming of the Shrew, Richard III, and, of course The Passion. He even eventually played -- in a film -- a "vampire," but it was not the undead type. It was the mortal, devious seducer type.

As the authors note, he did not always play the lead, or even a supporting role. Hungary's thespian community was one where actors played multiple types of roles, even extras. The authors hypothesize that some of Bela's roles may have been as obscure as a face in a crowd. But he did play many major roles, and the scores of newspaper articles gathered by the authors underscore his popularity and notoriety. He was at times criticized for overacting, or over-emoting.

The authors describe a pre-World War I Budapest that must have been thrilling for those within and interested in the arts and politics. The cafes of the city were places for passionate discussions of the arts and politics. Reading Rhodes and Kaffenberger makes me yearn to go back in time just to traverse the Budapest of that era, enter a cafe, and listen to a verbose and very opinionated Lugosi hold court on the arts and politics.

World War I stymied the arts for a while, and also tempered the fervor of many Hungarians who fought for Germany, including the officer Lugosi, who was wounded. According to the authors, he convinced doctors he was mentally unstable, and needed a discharge. Lugosi may have suffered from what we now know as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He did have lasting physical wounds. As the authors note, he had a lifelong empathy with veterans of war.

Lugosi resumed acting on the stage, and also moved to film acting, initially under the name Arisztid Olt. The authors merit respect for tracking down reviews and plots of many Lugosi Hungarian films. Only a fragment of one film exists today. 

Lugosi, long a matinee idol, also married for the first time, to Ilona Szmik, the daughter of a bank attorney. 

Lugosi became politically radicalized after the war. He supported communist government leaders. He was a communist. When one leader was pushed out by a more extreme communist government led by Bela Kun -- who was a puppet of Russia's Lenin -- Lugosi unwisely embraced Kun. He became a labor leader for the new government, in an era of increasing political violence. 

While Lugosi appears to have eschewed violence, the inevitable overthrow of Kun by a rightest alternative, and inevitable reprisals, placed Lugosi in real danger. He and his wife fled to Vienna. Soon afterwards, Ilona's parents, opposed to Lugosi's politics, persuaded their daughter to leave Vienna, return to Budapest and divorce him. In what seems unfair, the divorce was granted on claims that Bela had deserted Ilona

Bela could not chance a return to Budapest. Based on a mistaken-identity warrant, he was charged with serious crimes. The actual perpetrator had a similar name and was also an actor. The warrant was not withdrawn until the mid 1920s, with Lugosi already in the United States. 

Lugosi relocated to Berlin, and re-invigorated his career. As the authors note, post-World War I Berlin was a "Babylon" of sorts, with a culture of promiscuity (Lugosi enjoyed his share of that) and a more permissive attitude among the arts. Although not always the star, Lugosi was very active, appearing in more than a dozen German films. One, heavily edited for U.S. release from 1920, survives under the title "Daughter of the Night." It can be viewed on YouTube and other streaming services.

Why Lugosi abruptly left for the United States, without much funds, is open to debate. Perhaps he was still worried about being arrested? The authors suggest maybe a love affair went bad. More likely, they opine, is Lugosi was depressed after Ilona filed for divorce in June of 2020. 

I look forward to Part 2 of the book, slated for summer release. It's another must-have book from Rhodes and Kaffenberger. Due to the very large amount of new information unearthed through old-fashioned, shoe-leather reporting and research, I list it, along with "Vampire Over London: Bela Lugosi in Britain: Second Edition," by Frank Dello Stritto and Andi Brooks, as the two best targeted biographical works on Lugosi.

Vintage comedy star Edgar Kennedy subject of biography

Review by Doug Gibson

Soon after the legendary boxer Jack Dempsey won the heavyweight championship, Hollywood beckoned. The first of several films made was a serial, called The Adventures of Daredevil Jack (1920). In his autobiography, Dempsey good naturedly opines that he saved the girl and punched others out in his films.

Only a couple of reels of Daredevil Jack survives, stored at UCLA's film archives. Far more interesting are stills showing fight scenes in the ring. Preserved are three stills of Dempsey encountering, fighting, and defeating a burly opponent in the ring. That opponent was Edgar Kennedy, a remarkable product of vintage Hollywood.

In his autobiography, "Dempsey," as Cassera notes, the Manassa Mauler recalled that, during the shoot, Kennedy knocking the putty off his "actor's nose," and later, Dempsey says, he knocked Kennedy's toupee off.

Kennedy, one of the first of Max Sennett's Keystone Kops, is one of those actors with an iconic face that too many can't place. We owe film historian Bill Cassera a debt for writing the biography "Edgar Kennedy: Master of the Slow Burn," Bear Manor Media, 2005. Boosted by extensive recollections from Kennedy's daughter, Colleen, other contributions from the family, and thorough research from the author, this is a definitive biography. It captures the feel of the Hollywood/entertainment world from the infancy of sound to the post-World War II era.

Kennedy was born in central California. His father died when he was 10, creating a challenge for his mother to keep Edgar and family maintained in a comfortable existence that included a homestead in Monterey County. This included a stint in San Francisco, where the family ran a boarding house. They eventually moved to San Rafael, where Edgar showed early talent on the school stage.

Moving forward a few years, a young Edgar tested his skills professionally in two diverse fields; singing and boxing. In the latter he was one of many California heavyweights seeking fame and money in the small clubs. He had early success as an amateur, winning a local title. As a professional he had mixed success, winning a few and losing a few, before giving up a professional career. He loved boxing his entire life, spending the rest of his life with the boxing gym and ring close, sparring and training.

As a singer, Edgar was good enough to be on the stage but not as a featured role. A career in films interested him. He received a big break when Sennett offered him roles with the Kops and other films. It led to a three-decade plus career that by any definition was very successful, providing his family a comfortable life.

Kennedy was in so many films, with so many comedy greats, it's hard to keep track. Tillie's Punctured Romance, Duck Soup, Hollywood Hotel, A Star is Born, Diplomaniacs, Mickey ... and so on. He could do drama as well as comedy. In the World War 2-era film, "Hitler's Madman, he has, for example, a strong role as a reclusive hermit who opposes Nazi atrocities. He also directed many films and was active on the stage through his career, sometimes with his wife Patricia, a former dancer.

Harry Langdon, Charles Chaplin, Ben Turpin, Mabel Normand, Laurel & Hardy, Wheeler and Woolsey, Fatty Arbuckle, Ted Healy, The Marx Brothers ... add 50 more prominent names, and you wouldn't have all the film immortals Kennedy worked with. As Cassera recounts, he was an active member of the Hollywood community, participating in celebrity/charity sporting events and other fundraisers. He was a local Air Raid Warden during the Second World War.

Kennedy's most prominent starring role was as "The Average Man" in RKO's series of comedy shorts, which began in the early 30s and lasted until Kennedy's death in 1948. The premise had Kennedy as a harried man with a ditzy wife, a conniving mother in law, and a ne'er do well brother in law. Misfortunes, usually created by Edgar's' two in-law adversaries, would slowly antagonize Edgar toward a temper tantrum eruption that climaxed the two reelers.

Kennedy's strong comic timing was key to the long-running success of the series, too forgotten now, as so many are due to the iconic status of the Three Stooges. Kennedy's "hand moving across the face" as he struggled to keep his temper, was iconic in the '30s and '40s. Collections of Kennedy's work where he is the star can be purchased via amazon (here) and a few of The Average Man shorts are on YouTube (Watch below). Occasional cast changes to the Average Man series did not harm the quality since Kennedy was its foundation.



Cassera notes that famed Hollywood scribe Louella Parsons compared Kennedy's Average Man to novelist Sinclair Lewis' conformist creation, businessman George Babbitt. Physically, they were both pink, a little balding, a little too fat, a little ridiculous, blundering. However, Babbitt was a successful, often unethical civic leader, while The Average Man just wants those in laws out of the house, Cassera notes.

Kennedy, however, as the biography includes, was outspoken on issues. For example, he was a strong defender of the silent film mode of acting. He criticized a tendency of some sound actors to simply say the words at the expense of emotion and conveying meaning. In an interview in 1938 for World Film News, he said " ... In the old days, if you didn't act it, nobody knew what it was supposed to be. Nowadays, talk, talk, talk, talk, it's all on the soundtrack, and you can get by without acting at all. ..."

Kennedy, a devoted family man who loved the peace of his home outside Los Angeles, was a lifelong heavy smoker. That unfortunately caught up with him as he contracted cancer in 1948 and did not survive the year. He was only 58.

Cassera's book, reasonably priced, can also be obtained via amazon. Besides providing an appreciation of a comic talent, it places the reader into vintage Hollywood, always a fun place to escape to for a while. Cassera has also written enjoyable biographies of Vernon Dent and Ted Healy.

Andy Milligan biographer Jimmy McDonough talks about 'The Ghastly One ...'

It's no secret that at Plan9Crunch, we are fans of the cult filmmaker Andy Milligan. His no-budget grindhouse films of a generation ago had a unique stamp that defined Milligan's compelling, dysfunctional style. Milligan died of AIDS almost 20 years ago, broke and more or less forgotten. Biographer Jimmy McDonough spent time with Milligan in his final years, and helped with a couple of his later films. His biography of Milligan captures the life Milligan led, from Cafe Cino productions, off-0ff Broadway productions, grindhouse filmmaking and his gay, hustling lifestyle that led to his death. We sent Jimmy several questions about Milligan, and he was kind enough to answer them with candor and insight. McDonough has written several acclaimed biographies that include the lives of Neil Young, Russ Meyer, and his latest, due out in about a week, Tammy Wynette. http://www.amazon.com/Tammy-Wynette-Tragic-Country-Queen/dp/0670021539 Here's the interview, unedited, conducted by Doug Gibson and Steve Stones. Thanks again, Jimmy!
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1) How much of an influence did Cafe Cino have on the evolution of grindhouse (42nd St.) cinema and eventually on mainstream cinema?

McDonough: I'm not sure it had any influence on 42nd Street. It had a great deal of influence on Andy, though. Freedom. It gave him the license to create. And to make flesh certain fantasies lurking in his mind. Very powerful, that. If I had a time machine that is one place I'd go back to...the Cino, to watch one of Milligan's productions. Better yet, watching Andy watching of his productions. See those beady little eyes dancing as he utters a low, evil chuckle, all while watching a couple of actors beat up on one another. I think the Cino days held great promise for Andy. He had a big framed picture of Joe Cino, an unusually sentimental thing for Milligan. I still have it."

2) Why didn't Andy Milligan, in your opinion, make it out of the grindhouses as a director, given that he had more critical success at Cafe Cino and as an off-Broadway theater director? McDonough: "He was self-destructive. Milligan refused to tailor his act for anybody. He was incapable of it. And Andy could be an angry, angry guy. It scared people. Producer William Mishkin was the only one who could deal with Andy for more than a picture or two, and even that relationship was fraught with tension. Mishkin gave him the opportunity to make movies, but it was never financially rewarding enough to lead anywhere. The limitations were always the same--and primarily it was, "make it for nothing." Bill was a very cautious individual who wanted to see a return for every dollar spent. Andy was caught in a trick bag, stuck on the Mishkin plantation. All he could do was grind out one cheapo film after another. Eventually he burned out and grew very bitter about it all."

3) There seems to be mixed accounts as to whether or not Milligan actually made some of his films in England. One individual told us that he did not make any of his films there. Can you somehow confirm if Milligan did/did not make any of his films in England? What evidence or information do you have to suggest that Milligan did indeed film in England?

McDonough: Didn't make any films in England?!? You can't be serious. What poppycock. Is this the same "individual" who goes around claiming Andy wasn't homosexual? Bloodthirsty Butchers, The Body Beneath, Nightbirds, The Man with Two Heads, The Rats Are Coming... were all shot in England (parts of Rats were shot on Staten Island). The English estate where Milligan shot Body Beneath and Rats--do you think that's a set? Done with CGI? All the overseas actors--Berwick Kaler, Julie Shaw, Annabella Wood, Dennis DeMarne, so many others--did Andy fly them all to Staten Island? He didn't have enough in the budget to buy the crew coffee! You read the book, right? Reliable witnesses like John Borske and John Miranda are quoted about working with Andy overseas. Andy HIMSELF talks about living and working in England. He made films for an English producer, Leslie Elliot, also quoted in the book. Are they liars? Did I make it all up? What would be the point of such a conspiracy, anyway?"

4) What are your thoughts as to whether or not Milligan will ever achieve the cult status of someone like Ed Wood? Could Milligan ever achieve the same status as Wood, and could you envision Hollywood ever making a big budget film of his life, like Tim Burton did of Ed Wood? If Milligan will never achieve the status of Ed Wood, why is this?

McDonough: There was a certain innocence about Ed Wood (however angora-swathed) Milligan never had. Andy comes from a grimier, more recent time. He kind of picks up where Wood left off. Every week I get more and more mail about Andy. So something is happening, however tiny. Much to my amusement, there has been talk of a film of The Ghastly One, but I don't see how that particular environment could ever be replicated. Maybe in England. Don't tell anybody!"

5). In your own view, what is it specifically that makes Milligan films so sought after by cult film fans? What is his appeal to you as a writer?

McDonough: You know how there are these utterly obscure 45s that record fanatics savor? Some nobody--let's call him Herman--cuts a few great records at midnight in the back of a radio station and only 500 copies slip out to the world. Herman doesn't make a dime, works his entire life as a high school custodian, then dies of cirrosis of the liver at his Mom's house. Twenty years later he has a fan club in Sweden and the French are writing books about him. Suddenly Herman's got a cult! It may only be twenty-six people, but they're willing to die for the guy. Why? Who knows. Something in what Herman did struck a chord within these few. And if one person catches the virus, it's a given somebody else will get it, too. That's one of the few things that makes life bearable: sharing a movie or a book or a song with another person. Suddenly you're not alone. Everything's so homogenized these days, it's like it all comes out of the same fast-food vat. Movies are so slick, TV is all the same reality show, the radio's filled with songs that have been AutoTuned free of emotion. There's no use crying about it, that's just the way things work. The Model T turns into the PT Cruiser. You can't escape it. Andy is a refreshing antidote to all that. His is a timeless world, a dirty aquarium swimming with threadbare thespians in outlandish costumery, all of them ranting and raving the Milligan world view. Within seconds you know where you are, and it isn't pretty. There's something so original, so crackpot about the vision. For better and for worse, there's nothing remotely like it. Andy's movies are looking better and better as the years go by. I think I was too hard on his films in the book. That's the only thing I regret about The Ghastly One. What appeals to me most of all is that Milligan did it against all odds. People laughed at him, told him he was no good. He kept right on going. Make no mistake, Andy was an artist. You may think his art is something that should be scraped off the bottom of your shoe, but he was a true artist until the bitter end. One of the many reasons I admired him."

6) Milligan is noted for his "swirl technique" in early films, as well as long shots and facial closeups. Is this all due to the limitations and weight advantages, of an Auricon, or did he have his own style techniques that he deliberately used?

McDonough: "I think it was a combination plate. Andy couldn't be bothered by technical things, even the simplest adjustments that would've made his films a thousand times more bearable. The guy had no patience. Try to show him a different way of doing anything and he went berserk. Yes, he was affected by the limitations of his equipment, but primarily he was driven by emotions that way were beyond his control. Andy was a walking, talking 'swirl camera.' So that seeped out of his fingers and through the 16mm Auricon. His 35mm pictures are more earthbound. You couldn't 'swirl' that tank."

7) I was watching Tom Vazzo on a GURU DVD extra talking about working with Milligan's later films. He has little nice to say about Milligan's film-making. You were there for a couple of films. I'd like you to relate some positives of Milligan's skills that showed up even in a film such as Monstrosity?

McDonough: "You can't judge Andy by Hollywood (or even 'Independent Filmmaker') standards. He existed in a creepy little snowglobe all his own. Milligan made pictures for no money. NO MONEY. Anybody who's worked in the film business knows how hard it is to make a movie, particularly if you're a one man band like Milligan. There was something heroic in the way he did it. And he swept you up in the enthusiasm. It was the best fun ever. I wish you could've been there. I worked on big budget Hollywood pictures and it was a total bore. With Andy it was always total lunacy. Whenever I get together with Charlie Beesley, my primary cohort from those days, we end up doing impressions of Andy--or his much-beloved 'script girl' Frank Echols, who was always rolling his eyes at whatever atrocious faux pas Milligan had just committed. Honestly, I think of those times and I laugh out loud. Some of the happiest days of my life, working for Andy.

8) In The Ghastly One, you describe Milligan as an ill-tempered misanthrope capable of tantrums and vilifications, yet your affection for the man comes through in a genuine manner. Explain this paradox. How could someone who pushed so many people away from him be so well liked by you and others? 

McDonough: Explain? I don't think I can. My job as biographer is to evoke, not explain. Cantankerous, complex characters deserve friends, too. I've spent my life around them, and apparently I am one. Andy could be screaming about shooting drag queens one minute and then turn around and do something so kind and gentle you'd do a double-take. Not many people saw this side of him, but it was there. Not a day goes by that I don't think of Andy. I still wear the cowboy boots he gave me. I still have the cowboy shirts he made for me. And they still reek of his scent, which, I must tell you, is quite unforgettable. Eau d' Milligan!" 

9) Why were Milligan and other grindhouse filmmakers so easily manipulated and exploited by people such as the Mishkins, etc. Did they have any legal recourses they could have used?

McDonough: "I think a loaded gun would've worked much better. Those days were like the wild west. A handful of people held the power on 42nd Street. They controlled what played there. You wanted to play your pitiful little picture there, fine, but bend over first. A handful of distributors were savvy enough to swim in this shark tank and William Mishkin was one of them. He was the filter between Andy and the powers that be. Once Milligan lost Mishkin, it was really over for him. No way was he going to deal with somebody like Bingo Brandt and emerge without his feathers. I have a lot of respect for William Mishkin. Did he treat Andy as good as he could've? Probably not. But they made a lot of pictures together. And those lurid campaigns we all love came from Bill's feverish mind, nowhere else. In terms of exploitations campaigns the guy was a genius. I love the posters and pressbooks for Milligan's pictures as much as the movies themselves. I have a lot of respect for William Mishkin. Did he treat Andy as good as he could've? Probably not. But they made a lot of pictures together. And those lurid campaigns we all love came from Bill's feverish mind, nowhere else. In terms of exploitations campaigns the guy was a genius. I love the posters and pressbooks for Milligan's pictures as much as the movies themselves."

10) Do you think any "lost" Milligan films, such as The Naked Witch and "The Degenerates," might have prints that are still lurking out there somewhere?

McDonough: "You never know. I think I might've just located a 16mm reel that I believe is from "Depraved."

Last question: If you have any box office information on Milligan's films, we'd love to share that info on the blog. Also, any chance of a release of Nightbirds some day? (It took us a long time to find Torture Dungeon, Blood and Legacy of Horror, and I'm not sure the last two were worth it!

McDonough: "(I'm) happy that my collection of Milligan films now resides with the noted Danish director Nicolas Winding Refn and he plans on releasing them on DVD. Mr. Refn is just the man for the job. He loves all things Milligan and I know he'll do a great job with it all. A huge relief, that." Editor's Note: "Nightbirds" was released in 2012 by BFI DVD's Flip Side label with "The Body Beneath" and extras.