Lugosi is magnificent in the oft overlooked Murders in the Rue Morgue

 

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As the reader can note above, Plan9Crunch recently received a PDF copy of Angels and Ministers of Grace Defend Us! More Dark Alleys of Classic Horror Cinema, McFarland, 2024, by genre author Gregory William Mank. It's an excellent read. Mank's style of blending history, film news, drama, gossip -- and impromptu profiles of film principals -- is on display.  However, there's too much information to write a simple book review. Over the next couple of years, I'll review a chapter on a film, with links to purchase the book. Here's the McFarland link.

Mank can surprise us with gathered facts. Take Murders in the Rue Morgue, 1932, the first chapter of the book. I always thought it failed at the box office. But I'm wrong. It nabbed a modest profit, $63,000, for Universal after the big hits of Dracula and Frankenstein. But nevertheless, it caused professional decay to Bela's career. His inability to get a major role in Frankenstein, followed by the major success of Frankenstein and subsequently Boris Karloff replacing Bela as Universal's top horror star, was the embryo of his troubled screen career.

Mank notes that in post-Dracula Hollywood a serial assaulter/killer of women called "The Ape Man" terrified Los Angeles. The killer was never caught. The author compares this historical anecdote with the emergence of Charles Gemora's creepy gorilla in Murders in the Rue Morgue. Lugosi, after James Whale froze him out of Frankenstein, was assigned the title role of Doctor Mirakle. Robert Florey, edged out of Frankenstein, directed. He replaced the Spanish Dracula's director George Melford, also edged out of a plum directing assignment.

In the essay, Mank relates that Murders in the Rue Morgue caught the attention of the Hollywood code police and state censors. I had always thought that it seemed a tamer film but Mank notes that in its release form it is very pre-code. At the Grand Guignol opening scene, Lady Fatima and her Arab Angels perform a revealing "strip dance" that focuses on the middle front portion of the dancers' bodies. Men leer openly. Various censors scissored this scene.

Also, more provocative is Arlene Francis' short performance. After Mirakle snatches her streetwalker character from the dark streets, we quickly cut to Francis, terrified, screaming, in agony and dying, on an X-shaped cross. A crazed Mirakle is hoping that her blood will match with the blood of Erik, his gorilla. Although it's never specifically mentioned, it's clear today -- and I'm sure in 1932 -- to audiences that Mirakle plans to mate the gorilla with the woman. It doesn't happen, as a furious Mirakle accuses the streetwalker's blood of being "rotten." The death then occurs and Lugosi tells his black servant Janos (Noble Johnson) to drop her into the Seine, which flows below. This scene was scissored by some censors too in 1932.

One more pre-code scene later is when Erik attacks the mother of the film's heroine in her home. The gorilla kills her brutally in a manner that suggests a rape, as Mank notes. The gorilla then stuffs her corpse face first up the chimney and escapes with her daughter, Camille (Sidney Fox), back to Mirakle's lair to possibly "match" her blood with Erik's.

According to Mank's research, Lugosi was withdrawn and mostly silent during film production. Mank surmises that Lugosi may have sensed that Florey didn't like directing him. The director, we learn, would have preferred less Doctor Mirakle in the finished product. Another reason may be that Bela resented Sydney Fox being the nominal star of the film. Fox was alleged to be the current mistress of Universal honcho Carl Laemmle Jr. She's pleasant to look at, but her acting is poor in the film, in my opinion.

Readers may note that I have not mentioned most other principal actors. The reason is nearly all are mediocre and offer virtually no quality to the film. Leon Waycoff (later Leon Ames) is the romantic lead and he is just terrible. He makes David Manners look like an Oscar-quality actor. He giggles and preens with his love, Camille, which is appropriate since Fox's acting trends the same. Later in the film he whines when Camille is in mortal danger.

Ames did enjoy a long career in film. He was an established character actor. I once noticed him in a 1967 The Andy Griffith Show episode, playing a prudish high school principal.

Sidney Fox, as Mank relates, had an unhappy future. She was out of films by 1935 and spent her personal life in an unhappy, on-again-off-again marriage. In 1942 she was discovered dead in her bed with an empty prescription bottle.

Some actors with small parts who are good are D'Arcy Corrigan as the morgue keeper, Noble Johnson as Janos, Lugosi's strong man, and Arlene Francis in her small role as the streetwalker. Gemora is effective as the gorilla, but Florey made the post-filming error of using shots of a real gorilla in facial closeups. It's a big mistake. It looks forced and lessens the screen impact of Erik.

Lugosi, as mentioned, is magnificent in the film. In the opening scene, viewers can't help cheering the crazed doctor as he defends "science" against the religious intolerants in the audience that boo his Darwin theories. As a mad doctor, he is implacable, full of mad righteous fury in his desire to grab the comely virgin Camille to experiment with. He delivers his dialogue, not just vocally but with strong facial expressions and body movement. Lugosi is the reason this film, which suffers when Bela is not on film, earned a profit.

Florey, as Mank notes, showed off his skill at creating scenarios that matched the plot. He writes: "Cinematically, the film is still a dazzler. Florey and Freund (Karl Freund is the cinematographer) make Paris so Caligari-esque that one almost expects Conrad Veidt's Cesare to step out of the myriad of shadows and join Erik during the rooftop chase. While the film is set in Paris, it as the scent -- perhaps more than any other 1932 Hollywood movie -- of depraved and decadent Weimar Berlin."

Even with the colorless Fox and Waycoff, Florey's scene of Sidney being pushed on a swing is an act of cinema elegance and beauty. Even the scene with Francis, dying in a skimpy garment and tattered boots, crucified on an X-shaped cross, has a dark beauty.

To avoid the stretches of needless comedy and poor acting, I've thought that Murders in the Rue Morgue might have been improved -- and perhaps retain a better legacy -- had Florey began the film with the streetwalker scene and profane crucifixion. It's a well-shot, fascinating horror scene. Its early inclusion would not have hurt the pace too much as the Grand Guignol sequence is very impressive.

Murders in the Rue Morgue is easy to find and buy inexpensively. It occasionally pops up on Turner Classic Movies. Mank did a fine job of telling its history in Angels and Ministers of Grace Defend Us ... and we will explore more films in the book in the future.

-- Doug Gibson

A thorough, entertaining book on Ray Dennis Steckler's incredible career

 

Review by Doug Gibson

Christopher Wayne Curry is the author of the new book, The Incredibly Strange Features of Ray Dennis Steckler, McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, Jefferson, N.C. (800-253-2187). It's a very thorough, very entertaining overview of the late cult director's career. Curry dug deep into old press releases, reviews, tons of interviews, insights, and a journalist's' doggedness to blend Steckler's career and personal life together into a history worth reading.

There's a great movie, or streaming series, to be produced from the C- and D-budget producers/directors/actors of the 1960s, and this book could provide the inspiration.

The iconic-looking Steckler, he kind of resembles a poverty-row version of Nicolas Cage in films he starred in -- is a bit of a contradiction for me. His films, while certainly very unique and fun to watch, have never been among the top of my cult lists. However, the man himself is one of the most interesting cult film director auteurs. He made films from scratch, more often than not without a script, or more than a conventional month's pay to start. There is a necessary spontaneity in his films; the tone and theme was capable of changing in the middle, from thriller to comedy, to travelogue, to musical, from horror flick to rodeo show.

And from what I've seen of him in video interviews and print interviews and articles, he seemed a genuinly decent man, a lifelong film obsessive who tried his best to keep the moods of the vintage films he loved, especially the 1930s and 1940s western 'oaters, into his films of the '60s and early '70s.

With a couple of exceptions, Steckler's incredible cult heyday comprised about a decade, starting with directoral and acting duties in "Wild Guitar," "Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies," "The Thrill Killers," "Rat Pfink a Boo Boo," "The Lemon Grove Kids Meet the Monsters," and "Body Fever." Things got darker with "Sinthia: The Devil's Doll" (the first film since "Wild Guitar" where Steckler was a "hired-gun" director), and "Blood Shack." He also made a very funny short called "Goof on the Loose." (Below are scenes from "The Thrill Killers" and Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies.")

Curry takes the reader through Steckler's early years, his time in the U.S. Army, and his late '50s entry into Hollywood. He was a hard worker, one of his earliest assignments was as a prop man, and later assistant cameraman, on Timothy Leary's long-running project, "The World's Greatest Sinner." It was a hand-to-mouth existence. As Curry notes, when Steckler met his future wife and star of many of his films, Carolyn Brandt -- a dancer with a unique, angular beauty -- he was living out of his car.

Steckler had talent and could work inexpensively. That earned him the "Wild Guitar" director duties for Arch Hall Sr. The film was one of several that starred his son, Arch Jr. Steckler got along OK with Hall and son, but an independent streak, and a desire to decide how his films were marketed, eventually moved Steckler to other partners and producers, notably George J. Morgan, during his main "cult" era.

The anecdotes from the mid 60s films of Steckler underscore their cult status. "Incredibly Strange Creatures" is a visual trip, with its exterior setting of the old Pike amusement park in Long Beach Calif.; its non-sexy dances; shrill musical numbers; bizarre makeup of the monsters. This mishmash of musical horror somehow ends on a beach with wild surf and dangerous rocks. The female lead was replaced by a carnival dancer who now had two parts. In garish color, there is a controlled chaos to the film that keeps a viewer looking at it.

"The Thrill Killers" starred Liz Renay, an ex-con former moll of a Mafia chief. Steckler literally grabbed her as she was released. The film is a violent tale of a gang killing many, but it also plays homage to Steckler's love of westerns with horse chases, motorcycles racing, a baddie chasing a heroine through rough terrain, and lots of shooting. 

"Rat Pfink a Boo Boo" starts out as a tale of a film star (Brandt) -- with a singing star boyfriend -- being terrorized by thugs. Once she gets in real peril, it suddenly transforms into a comic-like superhero tale with her boyfriend and his friend becoming caped crusaders Rat Pfink and Boo Boo. This film, which also involves a gorilla, is surreal to the max. Its guerilla, on-the-spot, take-what-you-can filmmaking is underscored by a final scene where the masked heroes crash a southern California parade that is definitely not part of the movie. It's exhilerating!

"The Lemon Grove Kids Meet the Monsters" are three short films made into one film. It is a wacky, low-brow comedy tribute to the Bowery Boys films. Steckler loved those films, and especially Huntz Hall's stupid/funny Sach character. Curry relates that when Steckler finally got a chance to meet his idol Hall, he was treated very disrespectfully by the aging Hollywood star, and then threatened with a lawsuit unless changes were made to Steckler's character. 

Several of the actors and crew who worked with Steckler made it to A features in Hollywood. Steckler never begrudged them. He seemed happy with their success, from interviews I have read. But I cannot help thinking that Hall's casual cruelty to a colleague and fan had an impact on Steckler's optimism and enthusiasm. He never made another film as deliriously inventive or spontaneous than the four just mentioned.

They were family-centered (including his kids and their playmates), friends-centered, film-troup regular-centered low-budget creations. And as Curry so interestingly relates, they were barnstormed around the country in roadshow styles, with matinees and/or midnight showings, with ushers hired to "terrorize" theater-goers, with small musical events, often in a parking lot. As Curry describes the histories of these films, it must have been exciting times. What a creep Hall was to blow smoke on Steckler's dreams.

"Body Fever" (see photo above) was Steckler's ode to crime noir, and '40s detectives in the '70s. Carolyn Brandt is absolutely gorgeous in the film as femme fatale Carrie Erskine, who steals cash from mobster Big Mac. He was played very effectively by Bernard Fein, creator of TV show "Hogan's Heroes", Steckler is good as a low-energy but somehow effective private eye. I think this is technically Steckler's best film. It's a fun story. It has wonderful Los Angeles atmosphere, and there are touches, such as Steckler's scene with actor/director Coleman Francis, that add authenticity to the story. (The backstory to this, which really highlights Steckler's kindness, is that Coleman, who had been in earlier films, was down and out due to alcoholism. When Ray met him, he created a role for Francis to help him out.)

Yet, as Curry and history notes, "Body Fever" quickly went to the shelf. No interest. And except for an otherwise pedestrian serial killer grindhouse film, "The Hollywood Strangler Meets the Skid Row Slasher," 1979, that is somewhat saved by its grimy LA slum settings and an unsettling, strong performance by Brandt, Steckler's era of making unique, interesting films was over. The 1971 unreleasable "Blood Shack," shot in Nevada, is just not that good. Its only small value is seeing Brandt and Steckler's children in the film. An alternate release, called "The Chooper," is slightly better. But again, another film shelved until video arrived.

Curry notes that this late 60s, early 70s era was when Steckler's marriage with Brandt was falling apart. In a remarkably frank interview with Curry, Brandt recalls her failing marriage and Steckler's repeated adulteries. In fact, she tells Curry that her least favorite film is the first "Lemon Kids" short because Ray was having an affair with the actor who played "Roxy." It's a credit to the pair's relationship and commitment to their children that they remained on cordial terms. Both remarried.

Curry handles with tact that beginning in 1971 Steckler began making hard-core pornography, apparently over a decade-plus. I've never seen one and have no interest in watching the few that are in Severin's recent Blu-Ray release of Steckler's films. Curry appropriately goes over the history of these films but it's a small section of the book. In an interview with Steckler's daughter, Laura, who acted in and helped with his mainstream films, she plaintively wishes that the films were mosty omitted from the book.

According to Curry, Steckler would abruptly end interviews if questions about his porn films were offered. According to an interview Curry does with actor Ron Jason, Steckler was let go from his film teaching job at the University of Nevada Las Vegas because of his porn films. "...he was broken-hearted when they let him go," Jason said. In her interview, Laura Steckler surmises that her dad made those films to pay the bills, which seems likely.

With the mid to late 80s cult genre video boom, Steckler enjoyed a renaissance that lasted until his death. He owned three video stores in Nevada, and was a genial, considerate man who would talk to his fans and sign his videos. At one point he re-edited his main cult films into hour-long black and white versions, with new titles. He called it The Steckler Collection. It'd be fun to access those films again. They do no seem to be for sale anymore.

 

Like other cult icons, the sheer uniqueness of Steckler's films will provide him fame that will exceed most peers who "graduated" to big budgets. Unlike an Ed Wood, he was fortunate to live long enough to enjoy recognition. And he enjoyed it with kindness, grace and consideration.

Curry's book is a treasure. Through the pages, we witness a smaller but no less interesting Hollywood of the 1960s. Steckler surrounded himself with so many eclectic, often eccentric interesting colleagues. He had his casts, his producers, his crew, even his hangers-on. It's fun to follow all those who populated Steckler's world.

I'll close with another Steckler actor, legendary stuntman Gary Kent, who tells Curry: " ... there was never much pay at all. Lunch would be a bologna sandwich, if that. You were working mainly because you wanted to be in a movie ... So Ray brought his enthusiasm and that big camera and I just loved the sight of it."'

Amazon link to buy book is here.

Lon Chaney Jr. biography has worth but there's room for improvement

By Doug Gibson

Lon Chaney Jr. is an interesting subject for a biography. Most of his career he appeared a tortured man, prematurely aged by severe alcoholism. A good biography, that would ferret out secrets of his personal life, the conflicts that turned an attractive star-to-be to an aging, almost grotesque, physical hulk in only 20 years, would be compelling reading. Unfortunately, we didn't get that type of biography from Don G. Smith, who 17 years ago authored Lon Chaney Jr., Horror Film Star, 1906-1973. (McFarland). (Amazon link here)

Smith's biography reads at times like the longest magazine feature article ever written. It covers Chaney's career in great detail. In fact, at times the reader will grow tired of painstaking precise, in-depth recaps and author analysis of Chaney's many films. While this affects the flow of the biography, Smith does include as much information as he felt necessary about Chaney's career. In fact, the endless details underscore that Chaney had the most diverse screen career of the three most iconic horror film actors, Chaney, Bela Lugosi, and Boris Karloff. This may tick off the legion of genre writers who like to poke fun at Chaney, but the sheer volume of his resume makes him the most versatile actor of the trio, and maybe the best. Cheney's better films were not horror films. They include "Of Mice and Men," "High Noon" and "The Defiant Ones," films in which Chaney provided a bulky screen presence that included inner turmoil within his character.

Unlike Lugosi, who literally had to beg for screen work in his last years, or Karloff, who had the luxury of picking and choosing fat-fee assignments at the end, Lon Chaney Jr. constantly worked on films, staying active, and I presume appropriately paid, throughout his career. He was in many westerns, sometimes cast as an Indian. He played oafs, good-natured or otherwise, in films as diverse as "The Cyclops" and a string of the last B-movie, second-feature westerns produced in the mid 1960s. He worked for directors as diverse as Stanley Kramer and Al Adamson.

Although best known for his tenure as Universal's horror star for a few years in the 1940s, Chaney was, as Smith relates, a reluctant entrant into the acting business. He learned his trade slowly, appearing in a long string of low-budget, mostly forgettable films in the 1930. Playing Lennie in "Of Mice and Men" gained him accolades, but I'd argue that the most critical film of Chaney's early career was his "monster film tryout" with Universal in 1940, a 59-minute programmer called "Man Made Monster," reviewed here.

In this lean, low-budget film, Chaney effectively played a large, easy-going man turned into a reluctant killer, an electronic monster, by a mad scientist, well portrayed by Lionel Atwill. His performance was good enough, and contained enough pathos, to convince Universal to make him the star of "The Wolf Man." And, with that, an iconic horror star was born.

Smith does a capable job of recounting the ups and downs of Chaney's career in films. I particularly like the attention paid to -- as early as 1996 -- to his early 60s film, "Spider Baby," that has turned into a genuine cult classic two generations-plus after it was barely released. That film proves that even a battered, ugly Chaney still contained magic enough to make a film great when he was so motivated. And Lon sings the title song! (Listen)

Where his biography fails, as mentioned, is providing anything above the bare details, or shaky speculation, about the demons that tormented Chaney Jr. and turned him into a textbook, lifetime alcoholic that essentially frittered away a decent star turn with Universal through his alcoholic antics and boorish behavior on the sets. Incredibly, Chaney's early life, his parents' troubled marriage and separation, his being raised by deaf grandparents, and his ambiguity at taking on his late dad's career and becoming an actor, is recapped in roughly 10 pages! That's ridiculous.

Certainly, the relationship that Chaney had with his famous father, Lon Chaney, must have had an impact on his future. Smith acknowledges this, and tries to analyze dad's effect on junior, but he simply doesn't have the sources to have his conclusions taken seriously. In fact, often the main source for the author's many muses is Curt Siodmark, the Universal writer of "Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man" and director of Chaney's film "Bride of the Gorilla." It's nice that Smith had an opportunity to chat with Siodmark before he died, but he shouldn't be a major source for Chaney's private life. This leads to conclusions from Smith, such as that Chaney was a latent homosexual, that may be interesting but certainly lack sufficient sources. At one point, Smith ludicrously attempts to link Chaney's calling Bela Lugosi "Pops," as evidence of Chaney's deep need to connect with a father figure that was supposedly denied him by his dad. Again, this may be proven true if explored in greater detail, but it had nothing to do with Lugosi being called "Pops."

One interesting part of Smith's biography is his dissection of the film, "Son of Dracula," which he describes as Chaney's greatest acting job as a horror star. I had previously thought Chaney's portrayal of "Count Alucard" was weak, agreeing with dismissive reviews that called Chaney's Count a "kept man." However, after reading Smith, I watched the film again, and I have re-evaluated my opinion some. Chaney does effect menace and strength in the film. My mistake is comparing him to Lugosi, my favorite horror actor, and projecting the Lugosi persona in a film where Lugosi's Count would have been miscast.

In "Son of Dracula," Chaney's cultivated menace, that can quickly turn brutish when he feels threatened, fits in with an environment, the 1940s rural South, that would have greeted his appearance with deep suspicion and hostility. There's a touch of desperation to Chaney's Alucard, forced to rely on a local undead confederate, Louise Allbritton (who is brilliant) who, unknown to him, plans to betray him. There must have been something lacking, or falling apart, in his native Hungary, to force Alucard so far away from home. And he reacts accordingly, with intimidation, mixed with a requisite courtliness, to assert himself.

Smith recounts already related tales of Chaney's alcoholism, his feuds with actresses who found him boorish, his uneven "Inner Sanctum" films, his many shenanigans that cost him his esteem with Universal, carousing with like-minded drinking and hunting buddies, and more unpleasant details, such as his domestic abuse and his attempt at suicide when his second marriage, to Patsy Cheney, almost failed. What's infuriating, though, is we don't have any in-depth reporting from Smith that uncovers why Chaney behaved why he did. There are no serious attempts to query the people close to Chaney's life to strip bare his past life and uncover and interpret the problems that wrecked him physically and at times emotionally.

Smith's book is worth a read. It provides information, mostly of his career, that can't obtained as easily and compactly elsewhere. Its main worth is that it exists as a biography of a major cult film star. Hopefully, one day a superior biography, one along the lines of "The Count ...," Arthur Lennig's superb book on Bela Lugosi, will be written about Chaney Jr.

Dad Made Dirty Movies a fun read on the life of cult films director Stephen C. Apostolof

 Review by Doug Gibson

There's a lengthy passage in the biography, "Dad Made Dirty Movies: The Erotic World of Stephen C. Apostolof," McFarland, 2020, in which our subject Apostolof is in dire straights. It's 1978 and his film, "Hot Ice," is a flop. "Hot Ice" is -- by design -- not a soft-core porn film. It's an attempt to make a light-hearted R-rated diamond heist spoof.

 

More on "Hot Ice" later, but the problem is that Apostolof is finding out there's no interest from distributors in a "mainstream" Apostolof film. His mostly successful track record of making a soft-core porn film, earning lots of money, and sinking profits into the next similar film is now stalled. The low-budget producer/director and sometimes distributor is hurting financially. Apostolof haunts a distributor he's worked with before, literally begging them to take on "'Hot Ice." 

The distributor won't budge. But in an interesting twist, a member of that company asks Apostolof if he could meet filmmaker Ed Wood, who has worked on several Apostolof films. Wood is slowly dying from the effects of long-term alcoholism, and Apostolof knows he's not capable of even a lunch. But, promoter to the end, he dangles -- perhaps in hopeful jest -- a lunch with Wood if his film is picked up.

The film is not picked up. There's no luncheon with Ed Wood. Frankly, the interested employee was teased by his colleagues for even having an interest in Wood's films. Apostolof would never make another film. He did envision more and in vain tried to get them off the ground, including a planned sequel to his most-popular film, "Orgy of the Dead."

It is kind of ironic, or at least interesting that the death of Ed Wood in late 1978 coincides with the professional filmmaking death of Stephen C. Apostolof. The Bulgarian-born filmmaker was the real last link Wood had to the film industry. As "Dad Made Dirty Movies" authors Jordan Todorov and Joe Blevins note, Wood likely saw in Apostolof a last link to the "legitimate" film industry, meaning anything other than the hard-core porn film/writing business.

 

"Dad Made Dirty Movies" is a great (cult) filmmakers biography, the best I have read since Rudolph Grey's Wood oral bio, "Nightmare of Ecstasy" -- which Apostolof contributed to -- and Jimmy McDonough's bio of Andy Milligan, "The Ghastly One. ... " 

A 2011 film documentary of the same name, directed by Todorov, preceded the book.

Apostolof had such an interesting life. Born in Bulgaria, he became a lifelong fierce anti-communist and was imprisoned as a teen by the communist regime. He eventually escaped the country, fleeing to Istanbul, where he slept for a while on the beach and later toiled as a piano player in a cabaret/bordello.

He tried to join the U.S. Army, but not being a citizen ended that dream. He almost joined the French Foreign Legion, but changed his mind. The young Apostolof, not yet 21, ended up in Paris in 1948. He lived a bohemian lifestyle and was active in the large circle of Bulgarian emigrants there, which included anti-communist activism. In 1950 he emigrated to Canada, and settled in Toronto, where he met his first wife, Joan Mary Higgins. After their wedding, the pair moved to Los Angeles, Calif.

Apostolof frequently switched jobs, with an eye to making it in the movies. He got an opportunity when he produced the very low-budget, "Journey To Freedom," 1957. It's based very loosely on Apostolof's escape from communism, with communist agents chasing the protagonist as far as America. In the cast is cult actor/wrestler Tor Johnson. It's available for free with Amazon Prime. I have watched it. It's passable low-budget second-half-of-the-bill fare. Apostolof is seen in a cameo. The young producer erred in not nailing down a distributor, but eventually Republic, where Apostolof found a job, picked it up. When all was finished Apostolof got some money back, $7,150, but not enough to avoid bankruptcy.

 

For several years he worked at various jobs, including at IBM, trying to keep bills paid for the family. His marriage with Joan ended in late 1963. By the middle of the decade, Apostolof met a man named Ed Wood. With an eye on entering the still new, "nudie pictures" genre, he bought a screenplay from Wood for $400 and helmed "Orgy of the Dead."

Like so many others, Ed Wood's presence and influence paved Apostolof's cult status today. The graveyard setting mixed with stilted nudie cuties dancing, the booming voice of Criswell as Emperor of the Dead, along with a Vampira clone. A cheap mummy and werewolf prancing around, all terrorizing an innocent couple; a script with Woodian dialogue. The film is premium cult unique. It recently received an upper-crust Blu Ray release, with extras and film commentaries.

Apostolof settled into the soft-core porn film world easily. Without Wood, he made several films, often aping salacious current interests, such as "Suburbia Confidential" and "College Confidential."  "Lady Godiva Rides" sounds more intriguing. 

The choicest parts of the biography start with "Orgy of the Dead" and end with the ill-fated "Hot Ice." It's fascinating to get this glimpse into the professional and family life of a "dirty movies" filmmaker. Although there's a lot of input from Apostolof's children, and his last wife, Shelley, there's no rose-colored glasses.

 

It's sometimes gritty truth. We meet a father who loves his children, and his faith, but is not above extramarital dalliances in his first marriage, and making the grimy, misogynistic soft porn of the late 60s to mid 70s. We see a family patriarch who can make money off the movies but is lax on providing long-term security. 

And Apostolof, like many of his colleagues, was not above stretching, or completely changing, the truth. After all, the man sold sizzle more than steak. One anecdote of Apostolof's that is likely stretching the truth is his oft-reported claim that at his first meeting with Ed Wood -- at the Brown Derby restaurant -- Wood arrived in drag. Grey, for example, considers it a tall tale.

And, there's a lot of Ed Wood in the book; and that's great. He helped, usually as a writer and/or assistant director, in Apostolof's 1970s films. He even acted in one, "Fugitive Girls," playing three roles! "Fugitive Girls" may be Apostolof's best film. It has a basic story, women escaping a prison, and follows through the plot without the constant sexual intercourse interludes of other Apostolof efforts. With a larger budget and better filming locations, it might have been a decent second bill for American International Pictures. Wood does well playing the sheriff and an old mechanic named Pops.

The "Hot Ice" misfire, as the authors relate, happened due to fears that low-budget soft-core popularity was near the end. The previous middle-aged dysfunctional male fantasy sex films repulsed Apostolof's wife. Apostolof badly wanted to break into mainstream films. He would not do hard-core films. In fact, he used Stephen C. Apostolof in the credits. In his skin films he was always AC Stephen.

I have watched "Hot Ice" and it's just too low-budget across the board to have been a successful endeavor. The leads are actually pretty good and seem to be loose and enjoying themselves. But the script drags too much in the first half. Stock shots of skiing -- from previous Apostolof films -- with drab music seem a bit like home movies.

The book has enough about Ed Wood to be the genesis for a conventional biography of the man. It's fun to read of Wood being handed a $500 check for doing a "novelization" of "Orgy of the Dead." He then does a happy dance in the publisher's office. There is Apostolof's anger learning Wood swiped publicity pictures of "Orgy of the Dead." There's photos of a puffy Wood -- looking quite drunk and sadly very unimportant -- at the seventh anniversary celebration of Apostolof's film company. And there's an anecdote of Wood showing up too drunk to play a role in "Hot Ice," and later sobbing apologies to Apostolof about his drinking problem. 

 

I also enjoyed reading about Apostolof's brief attempt to run a movie theater and show his films. He hoped to avoid losing money to distributors. Despite Criswell's "prediction" that the theater would be a great success, it failed.

From reading the book, I'm sure Apostolof cared about Ed Wood and considered him a close friend. Wood's widow Kathy resented Apostolof, yet had appreciated the work he gave her husband. She may have kept details of Wood's funeral from Apostolof.  It's likely Wood worked very cheaply given his well-known alcoholism.

Ed Wood and Apostolof were alike in conventional ways; strong anti-communists, and conventionally conservative males with a dated, "Mad Men" perspective on sexual issues. The authors note that Apostolof's sexual stars were not very young adults, but more seasoned adults, who preferred dark bars and intimacy in drab hotel rooms.

While it grated on Apostolof that his late-in-life fame was largely Wood-related, the now-impoverished man, living on Social Security and forced to accede to his working wife's living decisions, was pleased at the recognition he received. It took him to film festivals in Japan, England, France and provided some income, as well as hope that he might make a sequel to "Orgy of the Dead," the Wood-related film that garnered most attention. He also entered a lifetime friendship, and regular phone calls, from "Nightmare of Ecstasy" author Grey. Apostolof lived a long life, dying in 2005 at 77 after a major stroke. He lived his last years with Shelley in Mesa, Ariz.

The constant theme in any biography or recap of a Wood associate's life is the paradox that Wood was considered a down-and-outer. Yet, Apostolof, Gregory Walcott, Tor Johnson, Vampira, and others owe 90 percent of their acclaim to the once-condescended-to Ed Wood.

Yet, if Wood had never met and worked with Stephen C. Apostolof, this wonderful book would probably not exist. So, in the end, it's a plus for all, including the reader. The book can be purchased via Amazon here.

Poverty row Lugosi films getting more respect nowadays

Essay by Doug Gibson

I love the book, Poverty Row HORRORS, by Tom Weaver, published originally in 1993. I earlier reviewed it here and interviewed Weaver here. Weaver can be a bit mean in his criticism (he uses the term "lowly hacks" to describe Steve Sekely and Frank Wisbar. That's bad enough. But he even snarks that the term "maybe" applies to Edgar G. Ulmer! Come on!

Nevertheless, he does love the poverty row films, and his pre-Internet book is a fantastic source, with detailed production notes, analysis and various reviews of the era. There is also an exhaustive filmography for dozens of actors who performed in the low-budget horrors; and a great index.

Although he can criticize Lugosi, Weaver understands that Lugosi is a major reason there is fandom for the poverty-row era. His PRC film, Devil Bat, and the nine Monogram films he made are the linchpin of this genre. George Zucco of PRC and John Carradine, who worked for multi poverty-row studios, can't compare to Lugosi's' efforts. As Weaver notes, Zucco could come across as mean and Carradine too often gave passive, or downright goofy (think Voodoo Man) performances.

But Lugosi gave it all in these five-day productions. He took it as seriously as if he was starring in Dracula. You can appreciate Lugosi's pride in his craft by watching Boris Karloff give less than his best effort in low-budget films (a good example is Karloff in Monogram's The Ape).

I digress to read passages from a couple of publications of that era that also recognized Lugosi's value to poverty row and why it has an impact today.

From Midnight Marquee Actors Series Bela Lugosi (1995) Gary Svehla writes, "Bela ... approached every movie as though each film performance was as important as the one before. Good films, bad films; good characterizations, cliche roles simply were not part of Lugosi's vocabulary. The only thing that seemingly mattered was the next film and the next performance. Approach the current film as being the ultimate chance to display your talents and perhaps you would have the opportunity to act again. Or, to state the philosophy more succinctly, an actor is only as good as his last film."

Here is an excellent assessment of the Monogram films from Michael Copner, formerly of Cult Movies magazine, writing in the 1990 publication, Bela Lugosi: Then and Now (also known as Cult Movies 1): "If you go into it expecting the nice atmosphere and music of the Universal productions, if you expect the thing to actually make sense, you're going to be in trouble. These movies are the pulp novels of the screen; their only purpose in the world is to make money. So you must watch them in the same way -- just a string of meaningless events going on until Bela Lugosi can come back on the screen again. That's why we're here. If you do that, you will actually begin to enjoy the cheapness a bit, and develop a new appreciation of what  Bela was able to do with absolutely nothing to go on. If this were Michelangelo, forced to create something with a single crayon on a sheet of cardboard; or Paderewski, having to perform on a baby's toy piano, you'd give them this same consideration, wouldn't you? Take this attitude the next time you watch The Corpse Vanishes and you will be amazingly rewarded."

I took Copner's advice and have been rewarded by these films for generations.

At the back of Weaver's book, he has 26 genre experts rate the nine Monogram films 1 through 9. The reviewers include Forrest J. Ackerman, Richard Bojarski, Buddy Barnett, Copner, Weaver, Svehla, Richard Gordon, Joe Dante, Arthur Lennig, and William K. Everson. A lot of these reviewers died in the ensuing years.

The cumulative results are not surprising for almost 30 years ago:

1) Invisible Ghost
2) The Corpse Vanishes
3) Voodoo Man
4) Bowery at Midnight
5) Return of the Ape Man
6) Black Dragons
7) The Ape Man
8) Spooks Run Wild
9) Ghosts on the Loose

I think today, more than 25 years later, that Invisible Ghost (a screen shot is seen above) is still the technically best film. It's probably not the funnest film, though. I'd go with The Corpse Vanishes, and then Black Dragons. Other fun films are Bowery at Midnight and The Ape Man. In my opinion, Voodoo Man and Return of the Ape Man would be second and third on the list. I think they have gained more respect the past decade or so, primarily because Lugosi's performances are so strong. His mad scientist, Professor Dexter, in Return of the Ape Man, is almost as good as his Dr. Richard Vollin in The Raven. And the East Side Kids films are still 8 and 9, although Spooks Run Wild is three times as good as the dismal Ghosts on the Loose, which really wastes Bela. Here I go:  My list:

1) Invisible Ghost
2) Voodoo Man
3) Return of the Ape Man
4) The Corpse Vanishes
5) Bowery at Midnight
6) The Ape Man
7) Black Dragons
8) Spooks Run Wild
9) Ghosts on the Loose

Be aware, that my choices for 4, 5 and 6 are more or less a tie.

This pandemic spring I re-read Lennig's superb biography of Lugosi, "The Immortal Count." My only peeve is that Lenning really seems to despise Lugosi's Monogram films, although his barbs are perhaps mostly directed at the lazy writing, poor acting by co-stars, and direction. But these poverty-row films, as Weaver and others point out, are a major part of Lugosi's legacy today. Without them, I don't think his mystique and fan base would be as strong. Imagine what we'd think today if Lugosi had chosen to be a consistent seventh lead in an A level studio pumping out dramas in the 40s and 50s? Boring. I much prefer Bride of the Monster.

I've noticed this past year a resurgence, and increased respect, for the poverty-row films of the '40s, particularly Lugosi's. Recently, we have reviewed, from  BearManor Media, "Bela Lugosi and the Monogram 9," with critical essays from Gary D. Rhodes and Robert Guffey. And we have reviewed two short story anthologies based on Monogram and other poverty-row films. They are "The Monogramthology," from Arcane Shadows Press, and "Chillers: Tales Inspired By Classic Horror Films," (compiled by Brad Braddock), from Midnight Marquee Press. Authors in both those collections include genre writers Greg Mank and Frank Dello Stritto.

But again, no matter how "respectable" these films become, they are still thrillers to be enjoyed, to have fun with. Weaver's Poverty Row Horrors is a must for fans to possess. You can buy it here.

Book explores Count Dracula on the big screen

Review by Doug Gibson

While reading a BearManor Media book on the vampire film, "Son of Dracula," there was a quote from a book title, "Count Dracula Goes to the Movies: Stoker's Novel Adapted," McFarland, 2017, by Lyndon W. Joslin. The title hooked me and I grabbed a review PDF copy from McFarland.

In the forward, Joslin accurately explains that film is a distinct medium from literature. A novel presented as a film must play to visual strengths. Too much allegiance to everything in the book can make a film stodgy, overlong, boring. As an example he notes that Hammer's "Horror of Dracula" deviates considerable, actually overwhelmingly, from Bram Stoker's novel. Nevertheless, it is a superior, compelling tale that captures the menace of Dracula and the danger he places others in. It's a good, scary film. A comparison is perhaps Jess Franco's dull "Count Dracula," a lifeless attempt, even with Christopher Lee, to make a decent adaptation of the novel. A poor director didn't help either.

Joslin's book is better suited for the devoted genre fan. It's too exhaustive for a casual fan. Even I had no idea that films such as "Drakula Istanbulda" and "Hrabe Drakula" were out there. But I am a big fan, and I watched them and others via the Internet. There are 18 "Dracula" adaptations analyzed by the author. The overviews are well done and filled with not only comparisons to Stoker, but other vampire literature frequently is cited. I recommend not reading straight through the book. It's an unfair slog to just read through. Take time to watch one of the films, then continue reading about another film, watch that that film, and then read another. It's better enjoyed as a reference book.

The author appreciates the 1931 "Dracula," and Bela Lugosi, he notes, is the iconic Dracula, but Joslin also favorably compares the overlong spanish-speaking "Dracula" to Tod Browning's. The mere presence of Lugosi overwhelms the Spanish version, and indeed the other films noted in "Count Dracula Goes to the Movies." Many are very well made, and more faithful to Stoker, but where are they now? Only Lugosi's "Dracula" represents the time-tested visual ideal of Dracula. His staying power is secure 90-plus years after he assumed the role on the stage. Christopher Lee runs a strong second to Lugosi. Joslin's essays on the Hammer films are a fun read. He accurately notes that some films could have benefited from more screen time from Lee. He also notes that the threat of running water to Dracula is represented by Hammer's producers.

The author does an excellent job taking the stuffing out of the poor 1979 adaptation with Frank Langella and the way overrated "Bram Stoker's Dracula." I'd be interested in knowing how Joslin feels about the 2020 miniseries of "Dracula." I loathed it, but I respect Joslin enough to get his take one day.

Many more films are analyzed. There's the classic Universal series of Dracula-related films. The author gives appropriate props to the stylish "Dracula's Daughter" and "Son of Dracula," while noting that John Carradine's Dracula was almost a bit player in the two "House Of ..." films. Reading Joslin on "Son of Dracula," as well as reading the aforementioned BearManor Media book on "Son of Dracula," reveals that Bela Lugosi would never have been an appropriate choice to portray Count "Alucard" in "Son of Dracula." The awkward, menacing, cuckolded Dracula in that movie fully represents the actor Lon Chaney Jr. Lugosi is too cool, and too successful with his vampire brides, to be Count "Alucard."

Besides the Hammer essays, there is a section called "Shades of Stoker" that include both 1970s' "Count Yorga, Vampire" films with Robert Quarry. There's even a section of extremely obscure, micro-budget films that are related to Dracula and vampires. While they are interesting, I think more in-depth space should have been devoted to older, "shades of Stoker films" such as "Condemned to Live," "Dead Man Walk," "Return of Dracula," "The Vampire's Ghost," "Blacula," and, Bela Lugosi's Columbia genre film, "Return of the Vampire."

But this is a great read. It's cheaper via Kindle at Amazon. Joslin knows his subject; feel free to disagree, that's what fans do. But respect his opinions. and again, don't make it a long slog of reading. Take a chapter, watch the film (most are so easy to find nowadays with streaming) and then go on to the next film.

Regional Horror Films a great look at no-frills filmmaking

By Doug Gibson

If you're a cult- or alternative-film fan/geek like I am, and I assume most of our readers are, then Brian Albright has provided a great service with his latest McFarland Publishers book, "Regional Horror Films, 1958-1990: A State-by-State Guide with Interviews." (here) The book is comprised in two parts: a series of interviews with directors or persons otherwise associated with regional horror films; and a lengthy, fairly complete listing, state-by-state, of regional, ultra low-budget horrors for the 32 years covered. (Amazon page is here.)

Albright correctly describes a regional film as shot outside of the entertainment industry, or southern California, and not associated with a major, or even minor, studio. In many cases, these were labors of love, or hobbies that turned into several-year projects, punctuated by stubborn persistence by the filmmakers to get the thing done. What's fairly consistent through the interviews that Albright gathered -- probably over several years since some of the essays are from 2008 -- is that the filmmakers saw little, or no money, from their endeavors. Distributors took all the cash, the films were pirated and sold throughout the nation and world, the made-for-video market collapsed in the late 1980s ... survivors of the original filmmaker sold the film for a quick buck, and so on. (It would be interesting for McFalarland to publish a book on the many ways ways small-time, regional filmmakers were shut out of whatever cash flow came from their films.)

It's wise that Albright resists the urge to provide interviews involving regional films that hit it big and spawned imitators, such as "The Evil Dead" or "Night of the Living Dead." While their stories are fascinating, there is more than enough articles and books out there for fans to go to. Instead, Albright picks an eclectic group to interview. I particularly enjoy the interview with Robert Burrill, the man behind "The Milpitas Monster." Although previously published in FilmFax, the story of how a school and a small city banded together to make an ecological monster film, partially as a protest against a larger city critic's slamming of said city, is interesting. What started out as a short literally grew, like a monster, into a finished film.

In fact, future filmmakers can learn from some of the stories, including Donald Barton of Florida, who cobbled together investors willing to put in almost $100,000 to make "Zaat," a story about a scientist who turns himself into a catfish monster. (Barton even got a local Baptist church to help out!) After seeing "Zaat" falter and even be turned into other titles by distribution deals that yielded no money, Barton shelved his movie for 30 years before fans convinced him to publicize it on the Web, show it -- to a big crowd -- at an locla theater, and (later) move it back into DVD distribution. Amazingly, I watched "Zaat" recently on Turner Classic Movies' TCM Underground series; a similar "distinction" was awarded another Florida regional film listed in the compendium, "Carnival Magic," directed by the late Al Adamson. (It was also fascinating to learn that regional horror films were easier to make due to tax write offs that were unfortunately eliminated by Congress, strangling the genre by the latter half of the 1980s.)

It'd be nice to see a TCM Underground showing for regional director, J.R. Bookwalter, who is interviewed by Albright, mostly about "The Dead Next Door," his homage to Romero's zombie movies that for a while, received some support from "The Evil Dead" director Sam Raimi. Bookwalter eventually moved into low-budget producing and distribution, and it's facinating to read about the details of that industry. It may be the only viable way for most talented micro-budget regional horror filmmakers to make some bucks.

I also enjoyed the interview with the eccentric Milton Moses Ginsberg, who crafted the bizarre monster/political film, "The Werewolf of Washington," a staple today for horror movie hosts looking to cheaply lampoon public domain films. Ginsberg, who admits to being most horrified by "The Wolfman" as a youngster, created in the early 1970s what seems like a natural take off on the Watergate ... except that the film was hatched and created prior to the Watergate scandal breaking. In any event, it's a prescient regional film, and (of course) died quickly at the box office, before being pirated to the VHS and DVD market.

As mentioned, the compendium is fairly complete, and includes at least a paragraph, and most often more, on the hundreds of regional films included. A lot of low-budget cult figures are covered pretty well in the list, including Andy Milligan and Bill Rebane. The video nasty Utah regional horror, "Don't Go In the Woods ... Alone," is included, as well as the interesting, Texas regional from the 1960s, "The Black Cat." The pre-porno adult regional filmmakers are mentioned from time to time, including the late Barry Mahon's "The Sex Killer," which captures many bleak late-1960s shots of the New York City business districts.

A lot of the films mentioned in this book, including "Black Cat" and Milligan's "Torture Dungeon," would be great picks for future TCM Underground selections. Let's hope the brains behind that series is reading Albright's book.

A Christmas Carol and its many adaptations

Review by Doug Gibson

(I first released this several months ago but am re-posting it for Holidays Season's reading) If you are A Christmas Carol fanatic, like me, who reads Dickens' novella every year and watches seven or eight film versions of Ebenezer Scrooge's ghostly visitations every year between Thanksgiving and Christmas ... you have found Nirvana. It's "A Christmas Carol and its Adaptations: Dickens's Story on Screen and Television," by Fred Guida, McFarland, 2000 (800-253-2187). You can also get it via Amazon here.

You don't have to be a fanatic like me to love the book too. If you enjoy Dickens, A Christmas Carol, or just Christmas you'll love what's to learn from author Guida. I have spent more than a generation looking for a really good book that highlights film adaptations of A Christmas Carol. For 25 years I've relied on the OK but slightly kitschy A Christmas Carol Trivia Book ... I've read it 20 times but it's second string to McFarland's offering.

Besides, extensively detailed, and sagely opinionated critiques of the various film adaptations, Guida presents readers with a history of fiction, in America and Britain, that preceded Dickens' and paved the way for the spiritual, moral and familial themes Dickens' utilized in A Christmas Carol. The author also provides short recaps and analysis of Dickens' Christmas-related works including "Cricket on the Hearth," and discusses Christmas in other novels, such as A Pickwick Papers. This deepens readers' understanding of Dickens' motivations and his state of mind when penning these tales.

I learned a lot about the history of 19th century adaptations of A Christmas Carol. Many were cheap pirated editions that kept Dickens in court trying to stop them and prevent losing royalties that he deserved. The first adaptations were stage readings, usually a shorter version written by the author. The journey toward "flickers" versions of A Christmas Carol" in the 19th century included the delightfully named "Magic Lantern" adaptations. They are the early ancestors of slideshows in which a lantern, projected against a painting or drawing, provided a screen that audiences could enjoy the tale. It would be fascinating to see a restored magic lantern version of the tale today. Early stage versions are covered. It was interesting to learn that Cricket on the Hearth was a more popular stage play for Christmas than "Carol" in the 19th century.

Although it's a scholarly work, the author has a relaxed, conversational tone. He breaks in often with firm but gentle opinions and I enjoyed his "on to the next"-type of transitions from adaptation to adaptation.

As for the theatrical versions, silent and talking, just about everything from 1900 to 1990 or so, when the book was published, is covered well. Many of the silents are lost but the author has retained still photos and film reviews when available. To understand Guida's assessments, it must be noted that he places great relevance of the moral changes of Scrooge from selfish, superior misanthrope to repentant, spiritual man. Guida also includes the familial warmth of the The Cratchit family as an essential part of any adaptation. There is one particular scene that he feels strongly should be included in adaptations (and I agree). It is Scrooge being shown the pitiable children "Ignorance" and "Want." There are versions that he likes that don't include it, but he's correct that versions should include it. The final scene with The Spirit of Christmas Present provides stark evidence of what Scrooge has callously neglected to assist. It shows him that smug self righteousness masquerading as "self reliance" is harming "millions like this child."

Guida's favorite theatrical versions are the 1951 "A Christmas Carol" with Alistair Sim and the 1984 version with George C. Scott. They portray Scrooge as a cold superior bereft of empathy, rather than as a pitiful crabby man (portrayals of which hamper the 1938 and 1935 talkies versions). His favorite cartoons are the early 1970s A Christmas Carol, again with Sim, and the 1960s Mr. McGoo's A Christmas Carol." Both are regretfully seldom seen today on TV.

I was surprised Guida likes the 1970 big-budget musical "Scrooge," with Albert Finney. It seems brassy to me but Guida argues that it's a successful version that captures well a big-budget musical of Dickens' tale. I'm willing to give it another shot. The author does sort of dismiss "A Muppet Christmas Carol," arguing that it will have less influence than other versions. I think time has proven that wrong, as probably 80 percent of young children are now introduced to A Christmas Carol through Kermit and Miss Piggy as Mr. and Mrs. Cratchit. And the songs in the Muppet version are better than the 1970 musical offerings.

However, despite versions that Guida considers second tier, he generally still enjoys the films and finds positive points in the films. He has a scholar's love for his topic and gets deep into the details of the planning and production of the films. And he finds gems that I had never heard of. I will be searching for a 1947 Spanish (Spain) version of "... Carol" called "Leyenda de la Navidad."

While I appreciate Guida's efforts to track down every TV version inspired by A Christmas Carol, it's an impossible task. We didn't need reviews of versions from "Beavis and Butthead" or kitschy sitcoms. The small-typed scores of pages devoted to this would have been better filled with maybe 20 select, superior TV adaptations, such as The Andy Griffith's Show's "The Christmas Story," with the Scrooge-like merchant Ben Weaver, covered in two-to-three pages of more detailed analysis.

It's a shame that the book stops at about 30 years ago. I'd love to see summaries of, say, A Christmas Carol with Patrick Stewart as Scrooge, and the big-budget Disney's A Christmas Carol, with Jim Carrey. But still, if you love Dickens' tale, or just like it, buy this book -- either to learn more abolut what's arguably our most famous fictional work or to just joyfully revel in the wonderful, inspired Christmas tale.

And just so you know, fans, a 2019 version of A Christmas Carol, with Tom Hardy, is set for release this year. We are only about eight months from the start of the Christmas season!

Book details comedy shorts of Thelma Todd with ZaSu Pitts, Patsy Kelly

Review by Doug Gibson

With old comedy shorts, most are unknown to the average viewed (but not the genre fan). With the Hal Roach comedy shorts, Laurel and Hardy and Our Gang have become iconic. There were others, of course, as popular nearly 90 years ago.

Film authority James L. Neibaur recently penned "The Hal Roach Comedy Shorts of Thelma Todd, ZaSu Pitts and Patsy Kelly," McFarland, buy here. The past decade or so, I've occasionally seen Thelma Todd and Patsy Kelly shorts from the early and mid '30s as extras on TCM. I've enjoyed them. Recently, a DVD of Todd's shorts with Pitt was released. There is also a collection of the Todd and Kelly shorts.

Todd made 17 shorts with Pitts, and 21 with Kelly. Thelma Todd was a beautiful blonde and was the "It" girl in the shorts. Pitts was more fluttery and hesitant, Kelly more brassy and impetuous. All were extremely talented comic actors and the shorts were popular. Neibaur uses a successful formula that he has done in other books. He provides early bios of the principles, a detailed account of each film history, along with summaries, tidbits from production and the stars' lives, reviews, and what the stars were doing between comedy shorts. All were pretty in other films, Roach often giving his actors time to work at other studios as Hal Roach studio did take hiatuses.

One of the best Todd/Pitts shorts is 1931's "On the Loose." It's not because it has a cameo of Laurel & Hardy, although it's a funny scene. I like it because it exemplifies the strength of the Todd/Pitts/Kelly series. They are working women in the midst of The Great Depression, roommates trying to balance economic survival and looking for a good man. Neibaur notes that the films serve as a time capsule, a glimpse into the times. In "On the Loose," Coney Island is featured (the stars are tired of their dates constantly taking them there). I love the scenes of the park in 1931. You can watch "On the Loose" below:

My favorite Todd/Kelly short is "Babes in the Goods," from 1934. Again, the pair are working girls struggling to hold onto a job during tough economic times. They are tasked with setting up a department store window with hilarious results. Kelly really shines in this role.

I spent hours poring through Neibaur's book, thoroughly enjoying the recaps of the shows. I don't have the DVDs so I Googled shorts and was able to find a lot to watch at YouTube and DailyMotion. The history of the stars is interesting. Pitts left amicably to pursue more features work. Todd died tragically in late 1935, in a car of carbon monoxide poisoning. Although theories abound, we'll probably never know if it was a suicide, accident, or murder. Kelly, Neibaur notes, lived as an open lesbian in 1930s Hollywood. She suffered sand inhalation in a car wreck in the 1930s and was told she only had 10 years to live. That was wrong; she lived several decades longer.

After Todd's death, there were three films left on contract. Pert Kelton starred with Kelly in one and the final two matched Kelly with Russian-born Lyda Roberti. Roach was pleased enough with Kelly and Roberti to star the pair in a film. However, health problems forced Roberti to retire from acting after that feature and she died in 1938.

Neibaur has written a gem of a film history book here and it merits a successful release. It can also be purchased, including via Kindle, at Amazon here.

As I have noted, I think these shorts blended realism with humor. Women probably could identify with these stories of struggling individuals living through tough times and trying to find love and economic success. I hope Turner Classic Movies will provide viewers several hours of the Thelma Todd, ZaSu Pitts and :Patsy Kelly shorts. (Below is a photo of Pitts (left)  and Todd in the film, "On the Loose."

American International Pictures – A Comprehensive Filmography - By Rob Craig

Review by Steve D. Stones

It's often been said that you can't judge a book by its cover. It's also been said that you can't judge a book by its movie. If you've ever read a film analysis book by Rob Craig, you know his books deliver both in their content and their colorful cover designs. His analysis of forgotten films and underground cult directors is well researched and well written. Craig treats these often forgotten films and their directors with great respect. Craig never resorts to giving aggressive pot shots to any of the films he writes about, unlike some film critics and historians I won't mention here.

In the introduction to his latest book – American International Pictures – A Comprehensive Filmography (McFarland 2019), (800-253-2187) Craig makes it clear that this book is meant as an analysis of AIP films and their television product, and not intended as a history of the company or a biography of the company's founders – James H. Nicholson and Samuel Z. Arkoff. The Amazon link is here.

The sole purpose of this project, according to Craig, is to gather as comprehensive a listing of all film product that AIP was involved in marketing, which includes – all AIP theatrical releases, films and series released to television through AIP, and to chronicle all product released through one of AIP's subsidiaries or satellite companies. The list of AIP's satellite companies is quite long.

Also in the introduction, Craig mentions what he considers to be one of the most unique and interesting products offered by American International TV, which was a series of eight original productions by Texas cult filmmaker – Larry Buchanan. These productions were released under the “Azalea Pictures” banner in the 1960s. The films include – The Eye Creatures (1965), Zontar, The Thing From Venus (1966), Creature of Destruction (1967) and In The Year 2889 (1966) – all remakes of 1950s films. This is a topic which is no stranger to Craig, since he discussed the Azalea films at great length in his awesome book about director Larry Buchanan (The Films of Larry Buchanan – A Critical Examination – 2007 - McFarland ).

Many of my all time favorite low-budget films are discussed in Craig's latest book, such as: A Bucket of Blood (1959), The Screaming Skull (1958), The Phantom Planet (1961), Planet of The Vampires (1965), The Pit & The Pendulum (1961), The Robot vs. The Aztec Mummy (1959), and the Mexican import – Santa Claus (1959). It's great to see Craig give a positive nod to Santa Claus. I was beginning to think that my co-blogger Doug Gibson and myself were the only two human beings on the planet to appreciate Santa Claus and all its bizarre charm.

Craig's latest book reminds me a lot of Michael Weldon's – The Encyclopedia of Film (1983 Ballantine), only Craig's writing gets into much greater details of the films he discusses. One of his most interesting reviews in the book is for A Bucket of Blood (1959). This is one of his longest reviews.

Released Halloween 1959 and directed by Roger Corman, A Bucket of Blood is considered a horror comedy that comments on the then “beat culture/beat generation” of the 1950s. Craig mentions the film as being ahead of its time, since straight-forward horror films had played themselves out by the end of the 1950s. A Bucket of Blood brought a fresher point of view as a spoof and parody of horror films and beat culture while at the same time keeping a cynical tone.

Craig mentions that he views Little Shop of Horrors (1960), a film made by Corman shortly after A Bucket of Blood and one which has some similar plot points, as the far more superior of the two films. Although I'm a fan of both films, I'm not sure I agree with Craig's analysis of Little Shop of Horrors as being a much better film. While it may be true that actor Dick Miller incoherently mumbles many of his lines in the film, portraying him as a doofus, as Craig points out, this does not detract from Miller's character as a struggling coffee house worker and artist. In fact, in my view, it greatly adds to his lonely, shy, and backwards character that helps to reinforce the stereotype of the “struggling genius artist.” A Bucket of Blood and Little Shop of Horrors make great companion films.

For further reading of Craig's work, refer to his excellent book on director Ed Wood: Mad Genius – A Critical Study of The Films (McFarland 2009), Gutter Auteur – The Films of Andy Milligan (McFarland 2012) – and his equally awesome book on films of 1957 – It Came From 1957: A Critical Guide To The Year's Science Fiction, Fantasy & Horror Films (McFarland 2013). Also refer to the above mentioned book on the films of Texas director Larry Buchanan. Happy reading.

The best book on A Christmas Carol and its adaptations

Review by Doug Gibson

If you are A Christmas Carol fanatic, like me, who reads Dickens' novella every year and watches seven or eight film versions of Ebenezer Scrooge's ghostly visitations every year between Thanksgiving and Christmas ... you have found Nirvana. It's "A Christmas Carol and its Adaptations: Dickens's Story on Screen and Television," by Fred Guida, McFarland, 2000 (800-253-2187). You can also get it via Amazon here.

You don't have to be a fanatic like me to love the book too. If you enjoy Dickens, A Christmas Carol, or just Christmas you'll love what's to learn from author Guida. I have spent more than a generation looking for a really good book that highlights film adaptations of A Christmas Carol. For 25 years I've relied on the OK but slightly kitschy A Christmas Carol Trivia Book ... I've read it 20 times but it's second string to McFarland's offering.

Besides, extensively detailed, and sagely opinionated critiques of the various film adaptations, Guida presents readers with a history of fiction, in America and Britain, that preceded Dickens' and paved the way for the spiritual, moral and familial themes Dickens' utilized in A Christmas Carol. The author also provides short recaps and analysis of Dickens' Christmas-related works including "Cricket on the Hearth," and discusses Christmas in other novels, such as A Pickwick Papers. This deepens readers' understanding of Dickens' motivations and his state of mind when penning these tales.

I learned a lot about the history of 19th century adaptations of A Christmas Carol. Many were cheap pirated editions that kept Dickens in court trying to stop them and prevent losing royalties that he deserved. The first adaptations were stage readings, usually a shorter version written by the author. The journey toward "flickers" versions of A Christmas Carol" in the 19th century included the delightfully named "Magic Lantern" adaptations. They are the early ancestors of slideshows in which a lantern, projected against a painting or drawing, provided a screen that audiences could enjoy the tale. It would be fascinating to see a restored magic lantern version of the tale today. Early stage versions are covered. It was interesting to learn that Cricket on the Hearth was a more popular stage play for Christmas than "Carol" in the 19th century.

Although it's a scholarly work, the author has a relaxed, conversational tone. He breaks in often with firm but gentle opinions and I enjoyed his "on to the next"-type of transitions from adaptation to adaptation.

As for the theatrical versions, silent and talking, just about everything from 1900 to 1990 or so, when the book was published, is covered well. Many of the silents are lost but the author has retained still photos and film reviews when available. To understand Guida's assessments, it must be noted that he places great relevance of the moral changes of Scrooge from selfish, superior misanthrope to repentant, spiritual man. Guida also includes the familial warmth of the The Cratchit family as an essential part of any adaptation. There is one particular scene that he feels strongly should be included in adaptations (and I agree). It is Scrooge being shown the pitiable children "Ignorance" and "Want." There are versions that he likes that don't include it, but he's correct that versions should include it. The final scene with The Spirit of Christmas Present provides stark evidence of what Scrooge has callously neglected to assist. It shows him that smug self righteousness masquerading as "self reliance" is harming "millions like this child."

Guida's favorite theatrical versions are the 1951 "A Christmas Carol" with Alistair Sim and the 1984 version with George C. Scott. They portray Scrooge as a cold superior bereft of empathy, rather than as a pitiful crabby man (portrayals of which hamper the 1938 and 1935 talkies versions). His favorite cartoons are the early 1970s A Christmas Carol, again with Sim, and the 1960s Mr. McGoo's A Christmas Carol." Both are regretfully seldom seen today on TV.

I was surprised Guida likes the 1970 big-budget musical "Scrooge," with Albert Finney. It seems brassy to me but Guida argues that it's a successful version that captures well a big-budget musical of Dickens' tale. I'm willing to give it another shot. The author does sort of dismiss "A Muppet Christmas Carol," arguing that it will have less influence than other versions. I think time has proven that wrong, as probably 80 percent of young children are now introduced to A Christmas Carol through Kermit and Miss Piggy as Mr. and Mrs. Cratchit. And the songs in the Muppet version are better than the 1970 musical offerings.

However, despite versions that Guida considers second tier, he generally still enjoys the films and finds positive points in the films. He has a scholar's love for his topic and gets deep into the details of the planning and production of the films. And he finds gems that I had never heard of. I will be searching for a 1947 Spanish (Spain) version of "... Carol" called "Leyenda de la Navidad."

While I appreciate Guida's efforts to track down every TV version inspired by A Christmas Carol, it's an impossible task. We didn't need reviews of versions from "Beavis and Butthead" or kitschy sitcoms. The small-typed scores of pages devoted to this would have been better filled with maybe 20 select, superior TV adaptations, such as The Andy Griffith's Show's "The Christmas Story," with the Scrooge-like merchant Ben Weaver, covered in two-to-three pages of more detailed analysis.

It's a shame that the book stops at about 30 years ago. I'd love to see summaries of, say, A Christmas Carol with Patrick Stewart as Scrooge, and the big-budget Disney's A Christmas Carol, with Jim Carrey. But still, if you love Dickens' tale, or just like it, buy this book -- either to learn more abolut what's arguably our most famous fictional work or to just joyfully revel in the wonderful, inspired Christmas tale.

And just so you know, fans, a 2019 version of A Christmas Carol, with Tom Hardy, is set for release this year. We are only about eight months from the start of the Christmas season!

Book reviews Andy Clyde Columbia comedy shorts

Review by Doug Gibson

Vintage comedy star Andy Clyde enjoyed a long career. He gained prominence in the silent era and was still making audiences laugh in the 1960s as a character on TV series (including The Real McCoys) and a memorable guest spot as an impoverished maker-of-berries-for women's-hats in The Andy Griffith Show.

It's interesting that his longest running gig, 22 years, is either forgotten by most or woefully under-represented for those interested. That's his 1934 to 1956 tenure making comedy shorts with Columbia studios. Clyde made almost 80 shorts, nearly all of which still exist, as prints or negatives stored at The Library of Congress. His iconic persona and talents, old man with spectacles, a walrus mustache, along with an alarmed comedy double-take that few peers can match, were honed to perfection during his Columbia years.

As James L. Neibaur, author of The Andy Clyde Columbia Comedies, McFarland (2018) (800-253-2187), notes, for a while in the 1930s the Andy Clyde comedy shorts were more popular than The Three Stooges shorts for Columbia. Even after The Stooges grabbed the top comedy shorts spot as money-makers for the studio, Clyde's shorts never relinquished its strong second place.

The Scotland-born Clyde (1892-1967) who migrated to the U.S. in 1912, showed enough talent to grab the attention of Mack Sennett, who liked his versatility and slapstick skills. Late in his silents career, Clyde used makeup, including facial stubble, to make him appear and old man, although he was still in his 30s. As talkies took over, he used this persona for Educational Pictures shorts, initially with Sennett.

Clyde was a natural fit for Jules White, who oversaw Columbia's still-new comedy shorts department. With directors such as White, Charley Chase, and Del Lord, Clyde made his best shorts in the years before World War II, when, as Neibaur notes, budgets were higher for the Columbia shorts. Some of the best include Love Comes to Mooneyville, 1936, and Stuck in the Sticks, 1937, in which Clyde and actor Robert McKenzie have slapstick competitions to win the hand of Esther Howard, who had strong chemistry with Clyde.

Clyde's old-man looked allowed him to be able to play a wide range of characters, from a backwoods man to a professional man, such as a doctor in the very funny Old Sawbones, 1935, in which he competes with a veterinarian to become county physician. Comedy shorts regulars of the period that co-starred with Clyde include Vivien Oakland, Shemp Howard, Vernon Dent, Barbara Pepper, Bud Jamison, Betty Blythe, Minerva Urecal, Charley Rogers, Christine McIntyre ... and more.

Jules White was an effective director for Clyde notes Neibaur. White possessed the ability to create so much slapstick, even violent, in such a short time that the audience ended up enjoying the film even if the humor was scarce. Clyde's acting skills lent polish to White's craft due to Clyde's skills at slapstick. Clyde also worked well with directors Charley Chase and Edward Bernds, both of whom favored humor a little more subtle than White.

One of my favorite lower-budget shorts from the 1940s is Andy Plays Hookey, (1946), a remake of W.C. Fields' movie "Man on the Flying Trapeze," where Andy is a henpecked man who after a day of trying to see the fights eventually asserts himself and achieves respect in his home and work. Watch it below.



As Neibaur mentions, Andy Plays Hookey, which was directed by Bernds, was also a remake of a Sennett-directed short, Too Many Highballs, starring Lloyd Hamilton in a role Fields was supposed to have starred in. So, there are three films on the subject, the first being the Hamilton-starred one.Andy Played Hookey, Neibaur writes, manages to compact much of "... Flying Trapeze" in a two-reel film, while ... Highballs was much more streamlined, he adds.

Here's two parts of another, 1937 Clyde Columbia short, Lodge Night, via YouTube.





Clyde was well-liked at Columbia and known as a team player who would work with anyone, including Harry Edwards, a one-time feature director whose skills had eroded. Neibaur notes that a few of Clyde's Edwards shorts are damaged by poor directing, such as lingering far too long on a scene.

Clyde was married to the former Elsie Tarron, and had a son named John. He loved being a father and it was a crushing blow when John died in 1944 at age nine of meningitis. Clyde learned what parents who lose children know -- that life goes on. After a short break, he resumed the Columbia shorts as well as outside work, including roles in western films, such as The Hopalong Cassidy series.

By the 1950s, Columbia's comedies were a shell of what they had once been. Budgets were at a minimum, and most of the films were remakes of earlier films using stock footage of the previous films. Neibaur notes that Clyde usually only worked for a day on these shorts, a few scenes to set up any new actors in the remake. In fact, one of Clyde's final films is 90 percent old material.

Even in the 1930s, a Columbia short was finished in five days. By the mid '50s, with one-day shoots for a couple of recycled shorts a year, Clyde made the decision to leave Columbia after 22 years. The popularity of television offered him lucrative roles that time with the shorts was likely cutting into.

He remained a successful working actor until his death, with a large TV resume. He died of a heart attack in his sleep.

When the Columbia shorts were syndicated in the 1950s, a healthy number of those chosen were Clyde's, and they played often. Of course, with the exception of the Three Stooges, none of Columbia shorts are aired commercially today. Thanks to streaming sites such as YouTube, you can find several to watch. Greg Hilbrich, with his The Columbia Shorts Department website (an invaluable tool), has posted Clyde and other Columbia stars on his site's YouTube pages.

Still's, there's not enough of the shorts available for viewing to whet this fan's appetite after reading Neibaur's comprehensive assessments of all the shorts. Let's hope that Andy Clyde's Columbia output one day receives a quality DVD release, maybe 24 shorts, with cleaned up commentary, perhaps from Neibaur, Hilbrich, or Ted Okuda and Ed Watz, who wrote the indispensable The Columbia Comedy Shorts.