Horror Drive-In

Avatar Rules the World

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sun, 31 Jan 2010 16:31:00 +0000

As I write this, James Cameron's Avatar is only a mere $50,000,000 from making two billion dollars at the box office. It's the biggest moneymaker of all time, beating out Cameron's own Titanic for the number one spot.

Is this a good thing?

I think it's a mixed blessing. I like Hollywood. I want to see the studios make money and succeed. However, I haven't always felt this way.

By the time the 90's came along, I was tired of horror, tired of Hollywood movies. I looked toward the underground for my movie fixes. Film Threat and Film Threat Video Guide chronicled the last gasp of cinematic underground. Super 8 film was still in use and maverick backyard (and backstreet) filmmakers were churning out explosive, anarchic movies. I embraced these shoddy little productions and I loathed the mainstream.

I've changed again. I don't watch a lot of independent movies any more. Now the shot-on-digital low budget products look cheap and ugly to me. I like Hollywood movies. But not the flashy, big budget stuff like Avatar and Sherlock Holmes. Though I haven't seen these films, I loathe them. From what I've seen of them from trailers and other clips, they look like computer games. Animation. That's not filmmaking. Not to me.

It's good that the studios are making money. 2009 was a good year, with a lot of successful releases. 2010 looks to be another one. People are uncertain and scared in this foul time. They turn to the movies for comfort and escape. It's always been this way, since the dawn of film production.

The thing that worries me is, will the extraordinary success of Avatar make it more difficult for the modest little productions I love?

Most of the movies I've enjoyed were either box office failures or they barely made their money back. Not all of the time, though.

Up in the Air was a refreshing change of pace and it has done nice business. Not anything near Avatar's bankroll, but it made a tidy profit. Clint Eastwood's Gran Torino was a fantastic film and it did very well. Quentin Tarantino had a fabulous comeback with his best film in ages, Inglourious Basterds. (500) Days of Summer made peanuts in comparison with the latest Twilight movie or Harry Potter film, but it was made on such a modest budget that it was a success.

But what of some of the other little movies that I enjoyed in recent memory?

My favorite of last year was Judd Apatow's underrated, misunderstood masterpiece, Funny People. It almost, but didn't quite, break even. Same with Adventureland. Ditto with another favorite, I Love You, Beth Cooper.

Bob Goldthwait's scathing World's Greatest Dad didn't even make a quarter of a million dollars at the box office. Werner Herzog's delirious Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans barely made over 4,000,000. Woody Allen's clever and funny Whatever Works performed poorly in America, but did well overseas.

Horror has always been apart from the mainstream. It walks its own path and does better in some years than others. This year wasn't good, but wasn't great either.

Orphan was one of the best. At least I thought so. And so did the public. It brought in a very respectable $75,000,000. Drag Me To Hell was Sam Raimi's comeback to horror and it earned over eighty-five million. A drop in the bucket to his Spider Man franchise, but it doubled its money. Zombieland was surprisingly good and did surprisingly well, topping at almost a hundred mil, quadrupling it's production budget.

The runaway hit was, of course, Paranormal Activity. This ragtag little wonder was made for less than catering costs on major movies. A paltry $15,000 budget brought in over $140,000,000!

It goes to show that there is no predicting the public and what they'll stand in line to see. Still, things like Paranormal Activity are flukes. I can see studios stumbling all over one another to repeat the success of Avatar. We've seen it many times before, haven't we?

I just hope that the studios won't stop funding the little gems out there. Things like Adventureland. Like Youth in Revolt. Like The Lucky Ones. These movies may seem like modest, inexpensive productions, but will the studios wish to continue wasting their time on them? When the big money is in the big, dumb, loud special effects bonanzas?

Like most old fogeys, I miss the old days. Days when effects were done by hand, by artists. And I know...computer programming can be an art, but I miss the hand's on method of special effects. I don't like movies that look like computer games.

There's only one thing we can do. We need to get off of our asses and away from these computers and our home theater systems and go out and support the little movies that need and deserve it. If we sit back and complain and don't go buy tickets, we are as much of the problem as those that will only support the obvious blockbusters out there.

Go to the movies. It's fun and I don't know if I've just had luck, but audiences have been more polite lately. At least for me. I think it helps that I always see matinees. There are fewer people in the auditoriums and the prices are lower. I think it helps a lot to avoid the ones that will be packed with dumb teens and see worthy films like Brothers, Moon, or Away We Go.

And if you disagree with me, go to the movies anyway. Theaters are places of dreams for us. Houses of magic. See the blockbusters, but try to see some of the other things out there, too. Take you kids, your nieces and nephews, little brothers and sisters. Sure, take them to see Avatar or the latest animated feature they want to see, but don't forget that it's a parent or guardian's job to show them that there are other things out there than the latest blockbuster that all of the other kids are talking about.

One last thing: If there is a drive-in or an independent theater near you and you aren't going on a regular basis, shame on you.

2009

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 20:00:00 +0000

I hate to break out that hoary, Dickensian quote about the best and worst of times, but it seems applicable for the year 2009. It was an outstanding year for books and movies. Horror Drive-In flourished and my Cemetery Dance column finally became a reality.

My personal life wasn't so good, though. I tried like hell to save my marriage all through the year, but it came to no avail. Sometimes, no matter how badly you want something and no matter how hard you try, things do not come together.

I had thought that my machinist day job was nearly recession-proof, but things have been looking bad there, too. Hours have been cut and the future is uncertain. I like horror, but this is a little too scary for me.

Yet I had a better year than some. Death, as always, claimed a lot of people. I think that the older we get, the more we experience death. The loss of loved ones, public figures we looked up to, and our own faltering mortality tell us that Death is never far from our backs.

The biggest one for me came in February. Lux Interior, lead singer for the band, The Cramps, died suddenly. Everyone was shocked and it was a rare heart disorder that took his life. Lux embodied the very spirit of rock and roll. Music, and my life, will never be quite the same without him.

Then there was David Carradine, a hero of mine from Kung Fu and great exploitation films. He died in a particularly undignified way. It was simply tragic.

I met Joe Christ in 1998, but I had been a fan of his movies for a while before that. We became friends and he introduced me to my wife, Tanya, who was appearing in one of his productions. Joe passed away in his sleep. Again, it was sudden and shocking.

Another big blow was filmmaker John Hughes. His movies meant more to me than anyone else's. They may seem quaint to people now, especially younger people, but movies like The Breakfast Club and Ferris Bueller's Day Off were vital and they helped many of us make sense of our own messed-up lives.

Paul Naschy was one of my favorite personalities in the world of horror cinema. His exotic movies were always colorful and exciting. Naschy was the only actor in history that played Dracula, Frankenstein, The Mummy, The Hunchback, Fu Manchu, and a Werewolf. He played the latter character fifteen times! Paul Naschy died of pancreatic cancer, at age 75.

Chas. Balun was the ferociousus bigfoot of horror journalism. In his Deep Red Magazine, Fangoria, Gorezone, and his books, Balun championed bold, relentless, uncompromising horror films and he had little patience for weak, gutless Hollywood studio productions.

The death of Michael Jackson got the most attention in 2009. I'm hardly a fan, but I was surprised at how it affected me. His life, from innocence to corruption, seemed to symbolize the way America has been in decline. As well as my own life.

There are others. Dan O'Bannon. Robert Holdstock. Marilyn Chambers. Don Edmonds. Dick Durock. Robert Quarry. Ron Silver. Henry Gibson. Robert "The Exterminator" Ginty. Soupy Sales. James Whitmore. The genre, no the world, owes all of these people. May they all rest in peace.

Here's one you might not have heard about: Lou Perryman. L.G., from Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2. You know, the guy that built that li'l fry house? He was senselessly murdered in his home in Austin in April.

2009 was a good year for genre books. Many of the biggest stars are still putting out some of the best work of their careers. Dan Simmons blew me away with Drood. F. Paul Wilson continued his Adversary cycle with Ground Zero, and he also published his final collection, Aftershock and Other Stories. Joe R. Lansdale brought back his most beloved characters, Hap and Leonard, with Vanilla Ride. Bentley Little wrote the atypical His Father's Son, which I consider to be his finest novel. Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child shocked their fans with Cemetery Dance, the best Pendergast book in years. Bill Pronzini put out another in his spectacular Nameless Detective series, Schemers, which ended with a grim cliffhanger. Ed Gorman put out two of the best books of his career: The Midnight Room and Ticket To Ride.

Many rising stars continued to shine brighter. Brian Keene put out his regular two books from Leisure, and one ranks among my favorites of his books: Urban Gothic. Ronald Damien Malfi scored a coup with his intensely personal Shamrock Alley. Edward Lee's outrageous The Black Train was a scaled-back version of his small press book, Gast, which I haven't read. Still, The Black Train is possibly the most entertaining book I've read by him. Gillian Flynn proved that her stunning debut, Sharp Objects, was no fluke. Her second book, Dark Places, is at least as good as her first. Bryan Smith silenced the naysayers with his no-holds-barred Depraved. And Christopher Conlon wrote Starkweather Dreams, the best poetry book I've read in a decade. Never mind that it was the only poetry book I've read in a decade. That book is amazing.

Outside the genre I read a few things. The big one for me was Last Night in Twisted River, the best book that John Irving has done since A Prayer for Owen Meany.

I reread a lot of books, which is a trend I intend to continue. Straub's Koko was better the second time around and so were Lansdale's Cold in July and The Magic Wagon, King's It, Ellison's Spider Kiss and perhaps most of all, David Lozell Martin's emotionally devastating Crazy Love.

As for my favorite book of the year, nothing gives me greater joy than to report that Stephen King's Under the Dome comes in at Number One. This book blew me away and I raced through its 1088 pages as if my life depended on it.

I simply must give a special call-out to Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan's The Strain. This frenzied, wild vampire novel is the first in a proposed series, which I think could be the adrenaline shot that the genre needs. I loved it.

As far as I'm concerned, 2009 was an exceptionally good year for movies. I eschewed the high profile, FX heavy features for the most part, but I loved a lot of the littler movies that were released.

When I saw Clint Eastwood's Gran Torino in early January, I said that I would not see a better picture that year. I was wrong. So many great films came out.

Adventureland was a big favorite and it was a bittersweet slice of nostalgia for people of my generation. It was billed as being from the director of Superbad, which hurt its chances. Adventureland isn't an uproarious comedy, but a drama with some funny moments.

Observe and Report was a funny-weird, not funny haha movie. I thought it was edgy and uncomfortably enjoyable.

Moon was that rare thing: An intelligent science fiction movie about ideas.

(500) Days of Summer was the best romcom of the year. Actually, it was just about the only one that didn't make you want to shove an icepick into your brain.

I Love You, Beth Cooper was despised by most, but I thought it was sweet and charming and very funny, with some thoughts in its head. For me it gets better with repeated viewings.

Woody Allen's Whatever Works is far from his best picture, but it's funny and it makes you feel good. And a lesser film from Woody is leagues above what most others are capable of.

World's Greatest Dad was a savage satire that might be too much for some people. It reaffirmed for me that despite a lot of terrible roles, Robin Williams has a lot of talent.

Brothers was a compelling drama about the effects of war, not only on soldiers, but on the families of those at home. Not exactly the most original subject, but the film was brilliantly acted (mostly by a surprisingly intense Tobey Maguire) and nicely shot.

Tarantino had a comeback of sorts with Inglourious Basterds. It featured some of the best writing and performances of his career. Thankfully it was the success he deserved.

The Hangover was funny. Almost sickeningly so. I almost thought it was too brainlessly vulgar, but it won me over.

Now on to the horror/exploitation movies of 2009.

Drag Me To Hell was sam Raimi's high profile return to his roots. I thought it was outstanding. Others felt that it fell short of the mark.

Last House on the Left was one of the strongest of the modern remakes. In fact I thought it was better than Craven's original, which I always felt was uneven and overrated.

Orphan was a strong horror film, with superior performances and some genuine shocks. Easily the best Dark Castle production to date.

Jennifer's Body wasn't as strong as Juno, but Diablo Cody's screenplay was an all-stops-out blast. I had a ball with it.

Trick 'r' Treat was a fun movie that made me feel like I was back in the 80's again.

I was all ready to hate Zombieland. In fact I had no intention of seeing it. But I went anyway and the movie won me over. Big time. The characters had chemistry with each other and the laughs were genuine.

Paranormal Activity was the big surprise. Like The Blair Witch Project, it was a runaway success. And like The Blair With Project, Paranormal Activity has its admirers and detractors. I thought it was fantastic.

Now for some of the bad news.

Halloween 2 was even worse than Rob Zombie's first Halloween. Give ME some of the drugs he was using when he made it.

The Final Destination wasn't as bad as some claim, but without the stunning 3D effects, there's not much there to recommend.

As an adaptation of a Richard Matheson story, and as a followup to Donnie Darko, Richard Kelly's The Box was a disappointment. I didn't thoroughly hate it, but it seemed too wildly over-the-top and unfocused.

And as for the worst horror film of 2009, I have to go with a tie. I sincerely hope that The Collector is the final nail on the coffin of the so-called Torture Porn subgenre. Yes, it was a lot like an old drive-in movie of the 70's. Too bad the 70's are over. This one just came off as ugly and unpleasant. Of course, that was the intention of the filmmakers. It just didn't work for me.

The other rock bottom horror film of 2009 was the long-awaited The Hills Run Red. Despite a screenplay written in part by David J. Schow, I found this one to be virtually unwatchable. Maybe there was a good movie buried in there, but the repugnant use of flash-cut editing destroyed it.

But the big one for me was another one that most people didn't get. Or at least they didn't like it. For me, Judd Apatow's Funny People was easily the best of 2009. I thought it was so rich and filled with subtext. It even made me stop hating Adam Sandler. I've seen Funny People several times now, and I always get new things in it to marvel at with each viewing.

Well, there you have it. 2009 in a nutshell. Obviously, I didn't read or see everything, but I do keep my eyes on the movies screens and the book pages.

Let's hope that 2010 will be a better one. The world seems to be in insurmountable trouble and families are in dire circumstances. I have hopes for a happier tomorrow in my own personal life, but I honestly can't hope for a better year for books and movies than 2009.

2009

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 20:00:00 +0000

Kinda Hot: The Making of Saint Jack in Singapore

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 14:42:00 +0000

When I read Paul Theroux's Saint Jack in 1987, I had no idea that there was a film adapted from it. I don't think very many others did either. Saint Jack is one of those lost classics that you sometimes hear about.

I did see Saint Jack not too long after reading the book. It was aired on The Lifetime Channel, of all places. Of course it was heavily cut. I eventually obtained a videotape of it.

For those that know nothing about it, Saint Jack is the story of Jack Flowers, an American expatriate living in Vietnam War era Singapore. Jack is a pimp that provides a service to soldiers and drunken Brits, and he treats his ladies well. They need the work and they need someone savvy to facilitate their business. The irony of the story is that Jack, a pimp, is the most moral person the reader meets in the city.

Even though the film of Saint Jack was directed by famed auteur Peter Bogdanovich, it remained difficult to see. This is despite glowing reviews by most major critics, and a small but enthusiastic fanbase.

I was recently astonished to learn that a book was published on the making of Saint Jack. I knew immediately that this was something that I simply had to own. I count myself as one of the biggest fans of the film.

I had never heard of the publisher of Kinda Hot, but I was a bit suspicious. Marshall Cavendish Editions sounded to me like one of those glorified vanity presses, but a quick internet search proved that it was a genuine outfit that mostly did books for children. An odd home for a book about a pimp, but then everything is odd when it comes to Saint Jack.

My suspicions were put to rest on the first page of Kinda Hot. It was immediately clear that Ben Slater was a good writer. Mad as a fruitbat, obviously. Who in their right mind would write a book about a film that so few have seen?

Well, I'm damned glad that he did. Kinda Hot is fascinating from start to finish. From inception to preproduction and all the way through to the accounts of editing and the film's release, this is a wild account of a truly outlaw, guerrilla movie.

Saint Jack began as a proposed project for Orson Welles, who was friends with Bogdanovich. Welles envisioned Jack Nicholson in the lead. Well, why not? Jack was the king of the new Hollywood at the time. Welles never got the project past the talking stage, so Bogdanovich took over himself, with Dean Martin as a possible choice as Jack.

Either Nicholson or Martin would be interesting as Jack Flowers, and perhaps having one of these big names in the cast would have made Saint Jack a more successful movie. But I can't imagine anyone bringing the character to life as well as Ben Gazzara did. It's one of the finest performances of all time, in my opinion.

Peter Bogdanovich hit Hollywood like a hurricane with The Last Picture Show. It wasn't his first movie, but it was his first for a major studio. The film is considered to be one of the milestones of movie history and was one of the most important films in what became known as The New Hollywood. In the late 60's, the studios were having financial woes and young, passionate filmmakers were proving that artistic, moneymaking productions could be made for relatively little money. Along with Bogdanovich, directors like Martin Scorsese, Monte Hellman, Robert Altman, Woody Allen, Francis Ford Coppola, Dennis Hopper, Michael Cimino, William Friedkin, Arthur Penn and others were making smart, personal films that dealt in the reality of people's lives.

The Last Picture Show instantly made Bogdanovich a superstar. The film was compared to Citizen Kane, which of course was made by his idol, Orson Welles. Bogdanovich followed that triumph with two more successes: The wacky What's Up, Doc?, a modern screwball comedy that was inspired by the films of Howard Hawk and Preston Sturges; and Paper Moon, a depression-era comedy drama.

Though part of the radical New Hollywood, Peter Bogdanovich seemed like a director from an earlier era. He wanted to make films like his heroes from old Hollywood. At first he was succeeding. Things couldn't have been better for him.

But his days on top were numbered. Everyone knows that the despicable gossip monger parasites love nothing better than to tear down the subjects that had at first revered. Bogdanovich's high profile relationship with his Last Picture Show ingenue Cybill Shepherd became a farce in the eyes of much of the public. He was rapidly gaining a reputation as a tyrant with a monstrous ego on his sets. And worst of all, his films were becoming costly flops.

So Peter Bogdanovich had reached a point where it was becoming difficult to obtain the green light for proposed projects. Saint Jack didn't appear to have a lot of commercial potential. He wished to have complete creative control over this movie, which he hoped would be his comeback. With nowhere else to turn, Bogdanovich went to his old boss, Roger Corman, to seek funding for Saint Jack.

Like so many others (and many of the hot new directors in Hollywood), Peter Bogdanovich cut his teeth working for the King of Exploitation, Roger Corman. He was Assistant Director on The Wild Angels and did uncredited reshoots of a Russian science fiction movie called Voyage to the Planet of Prehistoric Women for Corman. And Roger Corman produced the first movie Peter Bogdanovich directed, the brilliant Targets.

Targets is an amazing film. It and Saint Jack are my favorites by Bogdanovich, even though others are more celebrated. It deals with two simultaneous plots. One in which aging horror star Boris Karloff wishes to retire from acting. Another deals with a normal young man that takes a rifle with a scope and shoots people on a freeway. Peter Bogdanovich plays a young director on the rise in it, which appears to be at least semi-autobiographical.

All of this has gotten away from Saint Jack, but it's crucial to understand where Peter Bogdanovich was when he made it. Still talented, still driven to perfection, but out of favor.

Roger Corman, ever with any eye on profit and what his audiences craved, like the idea of a movie about a pimp. He envisioned copious nudity in Saint Jack, and he agreed to fund as well as produce the film. Saint Jack was a go.

With little money but lots of determination, Peter Bogdanovich began to assemble the most talented individuals he could get on his budget. Gazzara came onboard and distinguished British actor Denholm Elliott joined the cast as the pivotal character William Leigh, an auditor that makes annual visits to one of Jack's employers.

The third important character in Saint Jack, the enigmatic Eddie Schuman, was played by Bogdanovich himself. He did the role with just the right amount of swagger. His acting brought a lot to the film, just as it did in Targets.

For authenticity's sake, the majority of the rest of the cast was made up of nonprofessional citizens of Singapore. This also augmented the tight budget that Corman provided.

For behind the camera talent, Robby Müller, hot off of his visually triumphant work on Wim Wenders' The American Friend, was hired as cinematographer.

A ragtag team was assembled, but Saint Jack was to be a difficult shoot. For one, Paul Theroux's novel was notorious in Singapore. The government was not happy about the way the book depicted their city, with its endless scenes of pimps, prostitutes, and gangsters.

Knowing that a permit would never be allowed for an adaptation of the hated novel, Peter Bogdanovich penned a treatment for a fictitious movie called Jack of Hearts, which kept many of the same details of Saint Jack, but omitting most of the seedier elements. The majority of the shoot was done on the sly, without permission. Still, some critical scenes required that they be shot in public areas. The production crew actually got members of the government's private security team to assist them at these times.

Financing can make or break a feature film and many I can think of suffered from the lack of a sufficient budget. In this case, the low budget, the frenzied pace, the small crew and the extensive use of local extras benefited Saint Jack. I can't imagine a better adaptation of it, regardless of who performed in it or directed it. Yes, the film makes changes to the book, sometimes in significant ways, but that's almost unavoidable. Especially in such an introspective novel in which much of the story takes place in the lead character's mind.

Saint Jack was released, mostly to good reviews. Roger Ebert declared it to be a revelation. But some reviewers seemed to be reviewing the man behind the film, Peter Bogdanovich, rather than the film itself. Vincent Canby panned it, as did some others. I can only say that they missed the subtle, yet profound, emotional depth of Saint Jack.

Saint Jack performed well in Europe and it played in some of the bigger cities in America. Roger Corman got a return on his investment. Of course. He was always shrewd in his deals. Yet I don't think he was the right distributor for Saint Jack. He was more used to drive-in and grindhouse distribution. Corman did successfully distribute some films from major foreign directors like Bergman and Fellini, but Saint Jack was an uneasy mix between an art and an exploitation film.

And, to no one's surprise, Saint Jack was banned in Singapore.

Tragically, Saint Jack became another failure for Peter Bogdanovich, even though he says that he is completely happy with the way the movie turned out. It simply never found the audience it deserved.

I don't know if anyone has read this far, but I hope that I've whetted a few appetites for Saint Jack. I've revealed few of the movies details and I've only hinted at the charm in it. The charisma of Ben Gazzara as Jack. The wonderfully tacky depiction of a Singapore that was to change very quickly after Saint Jack was completed. The stunning photography by Robby Müller. The great soundtrack with songs by Satchmo, Merle Haggard and Johnny Cash. The study of one man's struggle to maintain dignity in a city of greed and corruption.

Saint Jack was released on DVD by New Concorde in 2001. It's long out of print, but copies are still around for fairly reasonable prices. I urge all lovers of great cinema to find one. Sadly, the print is a little scratchy. God, I wish Criterion would acquire it and present a cleaned-up edition of it. It's at least as good as many of their releases and as far as I'm concerned, it's superior to a lot of them.

And after you've seen Saint Jack, perhaps you'll want to find a copy of Kinda Hot: The Making of Saint Jack in Singapore. It may prove to be harder to locate a copy of it for a good price, but if you love the film, I guarantee you'll love the book.

Bill Carl

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 14:28:00 +0000

His name is William C. Carl, but if you meet him you'll almost certainly know him as simply, Bill. I remember the first time I met Bill. It was at a Horrorfind Convention. You know those rare occasions where you meet someone and immediately you know you have a close friend? That's the way it is with Bill Carl.

Another thing I can say about Bill Carl is, the man knows fiction. For one thing he reads more than just about anyone I know. His social life must be even worse than mine. For another, Bill is a bookseller by trade. He sees the trends in the business as they are happening, giving him an insider's view of the publishing industry.

And, as you are about to find out, Bill Carl is a writer. Bill has published numerous stories in various genre markets, and his debut novel, Bestial:Werewolf Apocalypse, was published last year by Permuted Press. You can probably find it on the shelf in the horror section at Borders.

In The Cutting Room, Bill evokes the fun spirit of E.C. Comics. I think you'll enjoy it as much as we did.

Oh, stick around after the feature and we'll pick Bill brain a bit.

Horror Drive-In: Bill, I mentioned E.C. Comics in the intro to The Cutting Room. Were they a direct influence on this piece?

Bill Carl: Oh, yes! I loved the E.C. and Warren comics when I was growing up, and I still do now that they are republishing them. The storys are simple, fast, fun, violent, and the bad guy always gets what's coming to him in the end - something we see too little of in the real world. I always loved the way retribution was dished out in those comics, and it's very similar to the way the old Twilight Zone worked. I also think the short short story lends itself to such a simple, proven blueprint. My writing tends to be simple and straight forward, and that can lend itself to camp or cheesiness. I say we can't have enough camp, especially in times like these when things are not so simple. I am influenced a lot by horrors of the past - E.C., Warren, Outer Limits, Hammer Films, Universal Horror, those great giant creature flicks from the 50s.

HD-I: Ah yes, you're a drive-in kind of guy.

BC: Without question. When I was in high school, I was part of the Freddy Club, based around a group of us that saw NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET. We went to an awful lot of drive-ins throughout high school and saw a lot of fun, and a lot of terrible, movies there.

HD-I: Oh man, I love that. I wish I could have been in the Freddy Club.

How long have you been writing, Bill?

BC: About seven years. That is, writing and submitting. I used to write when I was terribly poor, just after college when I worked in the film business. It was something I could do for free, and telling stories has always been in my blood. I had piles of poorly typed, poorly told tales in a cardboard box. Every once in a while, I'd get a diamond in the rough. I never had the guts to submit them. Then, I became a fan of Richard Laymon's work and started following the Richard Laymon Kills website. I heard about this anthology Cemetery Dance was doing, IN LAYMON'S TERMS, and I had a story that fit the theme, so I sent it in. It was accepted right away. I was shocked, but very pleased. So, I started submitting all over the place. Sometimes successfully, often not. With working retail as my day job, it can be tough writing every day, but I still manage several days a week, and I am still submitting. Sometimes successfully, often not.

HD-I: Your story in IN LAYMON'S TERMS is called DIG, right?

BC: That's right.

HD-I: Can you tell us a little about it?

BC: I always noticed with Laymon's books, that he had strong women as lead characters. That doesn't mean awful, terrible things didn't happen to them during the story, but they were most often women who fought back. I don't think Richard Laymon liked women who sat back and just took what came at them. I think he liked the fighters. My story, DIG, is about a psychopath who forces people to dig their own graves, then he buries them alive in them. This time, however, he's chosen a woman who isn't going to give in so easily. She's going to fight to survive. It was a lot of fun to write, and I thing Richard Laymon would like it.

HD-I: It does sound like something Laymon would like and I agree about the women in his stories.

What came after DIG?

BC: I sold a short story to an anthology, THE MANY FACES OF VAN HELSING, edited by Jeanne Cavelos for Ace. I tried to come up with an origin for Van Helsing, a reason why he was compelled to hunt vampires, and I tied in Krakatoa's volcanic eruption to the story. It's gothic, like Hammer gothic, and I am very proud to be in that anthology with the likes of Tom Monteleone, Joe Hill, Tanith Lee, Christopher Golden, and Thomas Tessier. After that, I had a story in the charity anthology TALES FROM THE GOREZONE, which you write the introduction for! It was a tale of the big one hitting California and possibly the kindest, sweetest tale of cannibalism anyone ever thought of writing. I am also very proud of a story I sold to OUT OF THE GUTTER magazine, 'Rumble.' It's a fairy tale turned on its head that takes place in the Cincinnati hood. Sort of a pimped up version of Rumplestiltskin.

HD-I: Yeah, I remember something about TALES FROM THE GOREZONE! That was a cool little project if I do say so myself and your story, IMPORTANT, is a damned good one.

Getting into THE MANY FACES OF VAN HELSING was a major coup for you at the time, wasn't it?

BC: A huge one! I had admired Jeanne Cavelos' Abyss line with Dell very much. There are some truly terrifying books in that line and many that broke all the rules for horror, such as Kathe Koja's books. I also had my first feeling that I could actually do this. I was in the company of some very impressive names, people whose writing I had admired for many years, and here I was in the middle of them! It was a real thrill. It was also the first time I went through an editing process. Jeanne is a great editor, and we worked very hard to make my story the best it could be. I had to make several big changes in the tale, but they all worked out very nicely.

HD-I: Oh yes, the Abyss line.. I miss them. Those were good days for the genre.

Bill, you've amassed quite a few short stories so far. Has there been any interest in a William C. Carl collection?

BC: Not yet, but from your mouth etc etc... I have several non published stories and stories that were published in small press books hardly anyone saw. There's a story I loved called '3 Days' in an anthology called SHADOW REGIONS edited by Cesar Puch, and the antho literally did not get past the contributor's copy stage. It's full of terrific stories, one after another, and nobody got to read it. If there's ever any interest in a short collection, I would love to get it out there and show some of my versatility.

HD-I: Maybe if I ever get my dream project of Horror Drive-In Books off the ground....

Let's go back to your influences. You mentioned E.C. Comics and movies, but what about authors? Who were your favorites in your formative years?

BC: First and foremost, Robert McCammon, who gets it all just right, the perfect balance between B-movie cheesiness, real terror and suspense, and great characters to root for. STINGER, SWAN SONG, GONE, and especially BOY'S LIFE are favorites of mine. As far as short fiction goes, it may be a cliche, but I believe Ray Bradbury and Robert Bloch were huge influences. They could tell a story, and the scenes would be so evocative. Richard Matheson wrote some of the greatest books and short stories ever, and I AM LEGEND was a giant influence on BESTIAL:WEREWOLF APOCALYPSE. I really gravitate towards the masters of the genre - M.R. James, Algernon Blackwood, Lovecraft, and E.F.Benson. I love a great story, and these authors could spin a yarn. WHISTLE AND I'LL COME FOR YOU, MY LAD is possibly the creepiest thing I have ever read. As far as novels go, the eighties, when I was in junior high and high school, were the era of paperback horror. Remember those crazy Zebra paperbacks, all with either skeletons or cut fruit on the covers? Ate them up like candy. Also, at that time, Michael McDowell, James Herbert, and anything with a creature, giant or otherwise, on a rampage would make me happy. I still have a real fondness for creature feature type tales.

HD-I: Oh man, do I remember the 80's. It was the greatest time to be a horror fan. The books, the movies, it was wonderful.

What contemporary authors do you read, whether within or out of the genre?

BC:Good Lord, I read a LOT. I've already read 160 books this year! Within the genre, I never miss a Brian Keene, Ed Lee, F. Paul Wilson, and my two favorite horror writers Peter Straub and Joe Lansdale. They are so very different, though. Straub is a master of deep characterization and gorgeous writing. He is our current day William Faulkner. As far as Mr. Lansdale hissownself, I just get such a kick out of his books and stories. He is so brilliant at evoking real people and those that we wish were real. I personally thanked him for the entire gay community for Leonard, one of the best drawn characters ever. Outside genre writing, I never miss a John Irving, Michael Chabon, Wally Lamb, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, Lee Child, Tanya Huff, Harlan Coban, Michael Connelly, Ken Bruen, or Jim Butcher. I read a book this year called CITY OF THIEVES by David Bernioff that simply blew my socks off. A brilliant book in every possible way.

My Favorite Writers

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 18:21:00 +0000

Reading has always been important to me. Even before I knew how to read. My older brothers were readers and some of my earliest memories are of wistfully gazing at covers of old science fiction books and wishing that I could read them. I was a quick learner and I was reading well before my general age group.

Like most, I started out with childrens picture books. Dr. Seuss, Golden Books, various things from the elementary school library, Walt Disney comics, etc. I could start with those, but I'll begin with what my kids used to call chapter books. Nothing was more enjoyable then laying in daybeds and reading as a kid.

The first real writer I recognized as a favorite was Robert A. Heinlein. His books were real eye-openers for me and they remain among the most wonderful reading experiences of my life. My favorites were the ones written with teenage boys in mind for the audience. In fact I consider Have Space Suit, Will Travel to be the first real book I read. I treasure it to this day. I also adored Farmer in the Sky, Starman Jones, and Space Cadet, though I don't recommend carrying books with these titles in school. Not if you want any kind of social life outside of being considered the Class Geek.

Other Heinlein books I cherished are The Puppet Masters and The Door Into Summer. His short stories are generally pretty awesome too.

I loved Heinlein's later work when I was a kid: Stranger in a Strange Land, I Will Fear No Evil and Time Enough For Love. They were impressionable mainly because there was a lot of sex in them, but they had some pretty heady ideas in their pages too. As an adult I find these books to be a little too catty.

I'll never forget my father chastising me for reading Robert A. Heinlein. With all the strength of ignorance on his side, he assured me that I was reading trash. I guess I turned out to be right, huh?

I read Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five while I was in middle school. Again, it made an enormous impression upon me. I quickly read all of his books, including Breakfast of Champions. I'm not even sure I quite understood everything Vonnegut was trying to say in these books, but I knew that they were very funny, very entertaining, and that there were important ideas in them.

I can't say that I disliked anything that came before and up to Breakfast of Champions, but of course I had my favorites. I was a science fiction fan and the ones I loved the most were The Sirens of Titan and Cat's Cradle. I still think the latter would make an excellent movie in the proper cinematic hands.

I liked the first couple of post-Breakfast of Champions books, even while I felt that they weren't as vital as the earlier ones. Slapstick was all right and Jailbird wasn't a bad books. Something seemed to be missing though. Not one to give up hope, I made a rare hardcover purchase when Palm Sunday came out. I was burned. Even at the tender of twenty I thought Palm Sunday was unashamedly self-indulgent. I hated it and I never felt the same way about old Kurt again.

I had read Harlan Ellison years before I called him my favorite writer. I first encountered his work in a school anthology. The title of it now escapes me, but I never forgot the name Harlan Ellison. The story in question was called Silent in Gehenna. It was the best story in that anthology and one of the best short stories I had ever read. So when Pyramid Books began publishing its line of Harlan Ellison books in the 70's, I bought every one I could. And I was never, ever disappointed.

Ellison reminded me a bit of my previous favorite, Kurt Vonnegut, but Kurt started to seem like a cynical old fart and I found Ellison to be a more impassioned writer. Ellison gave a fuck and it showed in everything he did, from his fiction to his essays to his personal life.

I liked it all, but I was and probably still am partial to his nonfiction. I thought The Glass Teat was fantastic when I was in the tenth grade. I did a report on it that a teacher of mine didn't particularly care for.

But God, the stories. So many classics: Shattered Like a Glass Goblin, Repent, Harlequin, Said the Ticktock Man, Pretty Maggie Moneyeyes, Jefty is Five, Daniel White for the Greater Good, A Boy and His Dog. The list is long and I could go on and on. But it was when I received the November, 1980 issue of Fantasy and Science Fiction that I discovered my very favorite work by Harlan Ellison. It is called All the Lies That Are My Life and it blew me away.

I continued to read Ellison and I've liked most of what I read. Now it has become impossible to separate the man from the work and sadly Ellison's explosive personality has alienated him from the readers and the career that he should have had. I still love the guy and I check out what he has to say every chance I get.

I never tired of Harlan Ellison, but I began to crave something different. Still a dyed-in-the-wool science fiction fan, I read as much of the field I could. Frederik Pohl was a prominent name in the genre. As the publicists love to say, Pohl has been everything in the science fiction world: Fan, writer, agent, editor.

Frederik Pohl is widely known for his acidly satirical science fiction. He seemed to be as cynical as Vonnegut, but Pohl also loved space, while Vonnegut thought the whole space program was a colossal waste.

Pohl published dozens of stories and novels, often in collaboration with other science fiction writers. His most noted collaborations were with C. M. Kornbluth, who undoubtedly would have been one of the all-time greatest writers in the field if it hadn't been for his untimely death in 1958.

Frederik Pohl always delivered smart, wickedly entertaining fiction, but it was with 1976's Man Plus that he really came into his own. This Nebula-winning novel was far and away superior to anything he had written before. Yet his following novel that brought him his biggest praise. Gateway is probably my favorite science fiction novel. The only real rival it has with me is Bester's The Stars My Destination. Gateway not only won The Nebula Award, it won the Hugo Award, the Locus Award, and the John W. Campbell Award. All for best novel of the year. Gateway is the first in what became known as The Heechee Saga, which saw numerous sequels and a video game.

I read Pohl with wonder and awe, hunting down his old work and delighting in his new publications. After Gateway my favorites include The Cool War, The Space Merchants (with C.M. Kornbluth), JEM, and Starburst.

Pohl's body is aged, but his mind is as sharp as ever, as you can see in his blog. At age 90, Frederik Pohl is almost certainly the Dean of Living Science Fiction Writers and he is one of the few surviving members of SF's First Fandom.

Philip José Farmer is known for bringing sex into the previously chaste world of science fiction publishing. His 1952 novella, The Lovers, dealt with a human that has a sexual relationship with an extraterrestrial. It was later expanded into a full-length novel.

But Farmer wrote more than sex-based science fiction. He was kind of the mad literary prankster of the genre. He was doing what are now trendily called mash-ups long before most current practitioners were born. And unlike most, he had the literary props to pull it off.

Farmer loved to mix up his literary obsessions, and he always had explosive results. Like Doc Savage and Tarzan meeting in a wildly explicit novel. Or Tarzan of the Apes written by William Burroughs instead of Edgar Rice Burroughs. He wrote a book under the pseudonym of a Kurt Vonnegut character, which was the first one of his that really won my heart and made me a fan.

Philip José Farmer wrote experimental fiction, notably with Riders of the Purple Wage, which appeared in Harlan Ellison's groundbreaking Dangerous Visions anthology. He wrote an Oz book. Farmer wrote a book that chronicled Doc Savage meeting his five aides with Escape From Loki. He did a science fictional sequel to Moby Dick called The Wind Whales of Ishmael.

But mostly Philip José Farmer wrote knockout books that alternately embraced and defied genre. Adventure, science fiction, hardboiled mystery, fantasy, erotica. It was and is impossible to pigeonhole Farmer. My own favorite of his works is called The Image of the Beast, which predated over-the-top, sexually explicit, hyperviolent horror stories by decades.

Still, I was looking for something else...

It is uncool and unfair to list two trailblazing talents like Richard Matheson and Robert Bloch together, but that's really the way it was. I was a science fiction reader, remember? And the works by these two writers were most often found in the SF sections of bookstores.

I was obviously looking for something darker in my reading. Most science fiction writers dabbled in the dark stuff in their careers, but these guys specialized in it. And they both worked extensively in the movies, which I thought was très cool.

I searched high and low for titles by these guys and it seemed that the used bookstores had scant copies of their books. I eventually found all or at least most of them and I had a blast with them all.

Matheson and Bloch had highly different styles. Bloch's was more down-to-earth and Matheson's was more literary. And to be honest, it was Richard Matheson that I loved more. Both were amazingly talented and I cherish the works of them both to this day.

I think I prefer Bloch's short stories over his novels. Especially in the later periods of his life. Of course Yours Truly, Jack the Ripper is a certified classic, but I loved so many of them. Among my favorites are Beetles, The Movie People, I Do Not Love Thee, Dr. Fell, That Hellbound Train, Enoch, A Toy For Juliette, and The Man Who Collected Poe. Really, all of them are marvelous, even if some of Bloch's humorous stories seem wildly dated today.

As for his novels, for me Bloch was more successful with straight suspense rather than supernatural horror. My favorite is easily The Scarf and I can't imagine why some smart small press doesn't do a nice edition of this one. I also loved Night-World, American Gothic, and of course, Psycho.

Robert Bloch's work is typified by a delightfully ghoulish sense of humor. You'll be hard pressed to find a more entertaining author anywhere.

Richard Matheson, on the other hand, dealt in weightier issues. His fiction delves into the very fabric of reality. His themes have included primal consciousness, our souls, the afterlife, and spiritualism.

Though he is primarily known for his fantasy, horror, and science fiction, Richard Matheson has also written comedy, westerns and a war novel.

Today, Matheson is probably best known as the author of I Am Legend, which was adapted into at least three films, none of which are truly worthy of his talent. His time-travel romance, Somewhere in Time, has earned him a considerable fanbase. Other films based on his work include The Legend of Hell House, What Dreams May Come, A Stir of Echoes, and most recently, The Box.

However, Richard Matheson is revered by horror fans for his adaptations of Edgar Allen Poe stories for producer/director Roger Corman, his work on episodes of The Twilight Zone, The Night Stalker and The Night Strangler, and that horrifying Zuni Fetish Warrior Doll that terrorized Karen Black in Trilogy of Terror.

Richard Matheson is certainly one of the most remarkable writers of the last one hundred years and I expect readers and scholars to be discussing his work for decades to come.

Yet still I searched for more, even while the answer was right before my eyes.

I knew about Stephen King in the early 80's. Who didn't? He was everywhere. A publishing phenomenon. Movies were constantly coming out based on his work and everybody was reading him. Everybody but me, that is. I assumed that he was a trashy bestseller and I thought myself too enlightened to read him. Boy, was I an idiot.

I took the plunge while visiting some friends. I was spending the night and it was late, but I wasn't tired. A copy of The Shining was laying around and I picked it up. Instantly I was changed. From the first paragraph I read I considered myself a Stephen King fan. The style of The Shining was both literary and easily accessible. It almost seemed to me to be a radically new approach to writing.

From there I went on to read everything that King has published. This was at the time that Pet Semetery had just been published. I was blown away by them all. Of course I had my favorites; The Stand, Christine, Different Seasons, The Shining. And others that I felt were not his best, like Firestarter. But it's safe to say that I enjoyed every word I read by him. I particularly liked the comfortable way in which he wrote essays, introductions, and other pieces of nonfiction. King made his readers feel like close friends.

My love affair with King's writing culminated with It, a mammoth work that seemed to say everything he felt about childhood and fear. I flew through it at a frantic pace when it came out, but I reread it more carefully just this year and I still believe it to be among his finest novels.

Sadly, many of the post-It books were disappointments to me. I get no joy from saying that. Some, like The Tommyknockers, The Dark Half, and Needful Things were enjoyable enough, even if I felt that they were not up to the (high) standards of the earlier stuff. Others I didn't like at all and we'll leave it at that.

Oddly, the King books of the last twenty years that I loved the most seem to be the ones that most fans dislike: Gerald's Game, Dolores Claybourne, From a Buick 8, and The Colorado Kid.

I'm happy to report that I recently finished King's gargantuan Under the Dome, and I consider it to be one of his very best books ever.

Through my love of Stephen King, I of course read Peter Straub and again, I was blown away. The quality of the writing was something I'd never quite experienced before.

I started with Ghost Story and I immediately considered it to be the best horror novel I had ever read. The literary references made it fun, but it was also scary as hell.

After Ghost Story I read Shadowland and Floating Dragon, loving each one more than the one before. I've heard a lot of people complain about Floating Dragon, but at the time it was my favorite book. I loved the way Straub took a no-holds-barred approach to it.

I went back and read If You Could See Me Now. I don't consider it to be his best novel, but something about it really appealed to me. I've read that one three times. I still say it would make a fantastic movie.

I read them all. Julia, which was his first horror novel, and I also read Marriages and Under Venus. Those last two were straight literary works and while they're good, I think Peter Straub found his proper literary path in horror and suspense.

There was a five-year wait between Floating Dragon and Straub's next novel, Koko. I bought Koko in hardcover and I read it, but I was slightly disappointed. I missed the fantastic elements of the previous books. Koko deals with the darkness inside men and it is one of the best serial killer novels ever written. I reread it this year and I appreciated it far more this time around.

Straub followed Koko with a series of novels and stories that dealt around a character named Tim Underhill, most notably in The Throat. After that he penned various novels and stories, some with supernatural elements, others without them. I liked them all, but...

I had found another writer that took the top place on my list. His name is Joe R. Lansdale and before I had even read him, I had been hearing unanimous praise for his writing. I remember a three-book review in an old issue of Fangoria that was done by Stanley Wiater. I chalked Lansdale up as a writer that I needed to read. Then I saw an ad in The Twilight Zone Magazine for a book called The Drive-In. Obviously, this was a book I was born to read. I bought it that very week and I had a new favorite writer.

I've followed Joe's career with enthusiasm ever since The Drive-In and I've rarely been disappointed. He wrote in nearly every conceivable genre, but I felt and still feel that Lansdale is strongest when he does straight suspense. Cold In July, The Bottoms, A Fine Dark Line, Waltz of Shadows, Leather Maiden, The Big Blow, and Sunset and Sawdust are all amazing pieces of literature. And of course his Hap and Leonard books rank among the most entertaining novels I've ever read.

Lansdale writes like an early 20th Century rural storyteller spinning yarns from the back porch. His stories are uproarious and filled with all manner of sex and violence, but there is a righteous moral center to them.

Then there are his short stories. Lansdale's most famous, or perhaps most notorious is a better way to put it, is undoubtedly Night They Missed the Horror Show. I have yet to see a reader come away from that one unaffected. Other outrageous short stories by Joe are Steppin' Out Summer '68, By Bizarre Hands, Drive-In Date, and The Job.

Lansdale's fiction has perhaps grown a tad more subtle as the years have gone by. He no longer seems to feel the need to slam the reader in the temple with a sledgehammer. This is not to say that Joe has grown soft or mellow. He still has the power to shock and unsettle his readers, but I think he uses more atmosphere and depth of character these days.

Yet, and again, this pains me to say, sometimes Joe goes so far out that I have a difficult time following. I'm talking about things like Zeppelins West and its sequel, Flaming London. The Drive-In sequels. Some of the short stories don't do it for me either, like Bob the Dinosaur Goes To Disneyland and On the Far Side of the Cadillac Desert with Dead Folks. This sadly keeps Joe from the number one spot on my favorites list. Dubious honor that it may be.

I look back and I'm a little bit astonished that some writers whose work I love never made the list. I never called writers like Isaac Asimov, Clifford D. Simak, Arthur C. Clarke, Theodore Sturgeon, Philip Wylie, Fredric Brown, Robert McCammon, F. Paul Wilson, Thomas F. Monteleone, John Skipp/Craig Spector, Nancy A. Collins, Chet Williamson, Brian Keene, or even Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child my favorite writers. No matter how much I love these and dozens of other writers and their works.

Looking back at it all, there is one writer who has been the most consistent, who has constantly touched my heart and my mind. Book after book after book.

I lucked into reading Bill Pronzini early on. I saw a thriller that was written by Bill, in collaboration with a science fiction writer who wrote some books I liked: Barry Malzberg. The book was called The Running of Beasts and I consider it to have been far ahead of its time. The Running of Beasts (as well as another Pronzini/Malzberg book, Night Screams) is a serial killer story written long before the whole glut of them that came out in the wake of Thomas Harris' success.

I read those and then I saw a solo book by Bill Pronzini. Lo and behold, it happened to be the first book in what would become the longest-running detective series in mystery fiction. I had no idea at the time how important that book, The Snatch, and the author, Bill Pronzini, would be to me. The Snatch is good, yes, but it was the seed that grew into the most satisfying series of books I would ever read in my life: The Nameless Detective books by Bill Pronzini.

The hook that Pronzini used was to never name the lead character of The Snatch. I don't believe that he had any inkling how long this character would stay alive. To date there have been over thirty-five novels and a couple of collections of short stories that feature the character.

The ironic thing about The Nameless Detective is, readers have come to know so much about him. And eventually we got to know his first name, which bears a striking similarity to the author of the stories. We learned of Nameless' loves, his fear. What makes him happy and causes him sorrow. Somehow Bill Pronzini has managed to keep this series, which has almost lasted four decades (!), fresh and credible. It seems impossible, but the last Nameless book, Schemers, is one of the most gripping of them all.

Pronzini has alternated the Nameless books with stand-alone novels, and though he is widely known as a mystery writer, Bill has written horror and western fiction too. As with the Nameless series, the other books continue to grow and his skills have grown as the decades have passed. I cannot say the same about a lot of other writers.

My favorite of all Bill Pronzini's books is probably The Crimes of Jordan Wise, which in many ways is atypical of his work. It isn't as hardboiled as the majority of his books, but it has a wonderful setting and some of Bill's best characters.

What makes the fiction of Bill Pronzini so special to me is the sheer humanity in it. The themes in his stories are universal ones. Ones that pertain to not only my life, but everyone's. There is joy and hope, fear and courage, strength and weakness, humor and horror.

Will another writer ever take the place of Bill Pronzini as my favorite? Anything's possible, but it seems highly improbable. It's not likely that any writer can top the joy that Pronzini has given me for the past few decades. Still, we never know what the future will bring. That's the beauty of it.

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 21:25:00 +0000

Edward Lee is the undisputed King of Hardcore Horror and his fans eagerly await his small press publications. That's when he really lays on the vile excesses. Many have tried to emulate him, but few succeed in bringing the kind of writing chops he has to the anatomy table.

Lee came up the ranks the hard way, before there was a support system for the genre via the Internet and micropresses popping up everywhere the eye can see. He gradually built up his readership and his skill at writing. What he does is far more than just the gag reflex grossout story. Lee is an ace storyteller who is as adept at weaving a plot as he is at creating three dimensional characters.

Edward Lee has always been a mass market writer, but in the 90's he really began to forge his reputation as a writers of almost unbelievably disgusting fiction. He gleefully nauseated his readers with such abominations as The Seeker, Header, The Pig, Goon (with John Palen), Mr. Torso, The McCrath Model SS40-C, Series S,, The Dritiphilist, The Baby, and his towering novel-length opus, The Bighead. However, the one that really got under my skin was called Ever Nat, which dealt with a man that picks up a voluptuous woman who is hitchhiking and finds himself getting more sex than he ever had nightmares about.

Now comes The Cyeolagniac, a brand new chapbook from Black Ink. Like The Dritiphilist, this story deals with an individual that has a most unusual sexual fetish. A Cyeolagniac is someone that is sexually aroused by pregnant woman. Don't ask what a Dritiphilist is. Please.

The Cyeolagniac isn't quite as repulsive as Header or Ever Nat or The Stick Woman (which somehow managed to land in a mass market paperback), but it's not exactly a romcom either.

A normal, successful businessman has one little obsession: yes, he is the titular Cyeolagniac. He means no harm and has no desire to hurt anyone. But he can't resist seeking out prostitutes that happen to be in the late stages of pregnancy. While on a business trip he thinks his dreams have come true when he finds a beautiful, clean, and completely desirable pregnant hooker. He picks her up, pays her handsomely and what he hopes will be the most passionate night of his life turns out quite differently then he expects.

Edward Lee takes this sensational subject and imbues humanity in it. To desire a pregnant woman might inspire disgust or contempt in many people, but his character inspires empathy. I think more people are helpless in the face of their unusual obsessions than would care to readily admit it.

The Cyeolagniac isn't Lee's most extreme story and I don't think it's his best either. It's damned good though and I do not regret buying a copy. I like the size and structure of the chapbook, but as much as I hate to admit it, I didn't care for the art at all. I'd have rather seen someone like Alex McVey or Caniglia involved in the project.

Buy The Cyeolagniac from The Horror Mall.

Halloween at the Raleigh Road Outdoor Theater

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 22:04:00 +0000

There's a small town in mid-Northern North Carolina called Henderson. It may not seem like much. Just a fly-speck of a town you wouldn't think twice about passing by on the interstate. There's a million more like it out there in Sticksville, USA. Nothing special, right?

Wrong. I had the privilege of meeting some of the townspeople of Henderson on Halloween Night, 2009. But it wasn't just any meeting place. It was at one of the sadly few drive-in theaters in operation today.

Hold it. Allow me to go back in time about eight years. I had heard that there was a drive-in in Henderson called The Raleigh Road Outdoor Theater and one morning I was passing through and I decided to get off of Interstate 1 and see if I could find it. I got lucky. The theater was only abut a mile off the highway and I happened to go the right way. The Raleigh Road Outdoor Theater was standing and in operation, but it looked to be in pretty sore condition. The screen and the fence surrounding it looked to be in disrepair and it looked like the kind of place you wouldn't want to test the food at. Or use the restrooms. I'm sure the people that ran it meant well and did their best, but things looked grim.

Drive-in enthusiast Jim Kopp purchased the theater sometime after that and he and his crew have made enormous restorations. The place is clean and it gives off a welcoming aura. There's a wholesome, nostalgic appearance to the theater. Like something out of our nation's past.

I had been intending to make a trip to the Raleigh Road Outdoor Theater for some time. I was regularly checking the website and reading about the movies and events that the drive-in had to offer. Not content to simply run movies, The Raleigh Road constantly has fun, family-friendly activities and promotions to keep the excitement at a high level. I read that there was going to be a Halloween Costume Contest and a triple feature at the Raleigh Road and I decided it would be the perfect time to take my family. An excellent opportunity to combine my love of both the drive-in and the holiday that celebrates my favorite genre, horror.

We arrived early, but were not the first in line. Enthusiastic families were already ahead of us, with children in costume anxious to enter the theater.

We drove in as the theater opened and after I met the very friendly owner, Jim Kopp. He promised to spend some time with me after the initial chaos died down.

We parked and got a good spot and opened our trunk, for in addition to the costume contest, the theater was having Trunk or Treat before the film. Kids would go from car-to-car and collect treats from the attendees. It was a lot of fun and we saw some cool costumes.

Our own kids, Europa and India dressed up and enjoyed Trunk or Treating, even though both are too really old to indulge in such activities. The drive-in tends to bring out the kid in all of us.

Of course we were all anxious for a deliciously non-nutritious meal, which has always been one of the major draws of the drive-in theater. Our appetites had already been whetted by the smell of the large grill that was cooking burgers and hot dogs outside the concessions stand. And get this: We wisely took advantage of the Family of Four Deal. You get admission for four for three movies, four meals with drinks, and a large tub of popcorn! Now you tell me where you are going to find a deal like that? Only at the drive-in.

The costume contest was fun and our India was a winner with her inspired Evil Circus Ringleader getup. She won a book about the making of Twilight: New Moon. She worked hard on it and we were all proud.

Oh yeah, the movies. You know, although the movies are the principle reason for the existence of the drive-in theater and all drive-in enthusiasts are movie fans, sometimes it seems as if they are secondary to the experience.

People go to drive-ins for various reasons. In my youth we went to party or to get it on with our dates. Now the scene is different. Some don't like the way most drive-ins now play mainstream, family productions, but they might not be aware that drive-in theaters started out as family entertainment. They were an inexpensive way for families to get away and have some fun. There were almost always playgrounds for the kids and The Raleigh Road Outdoor Theater is no exception.

The main reason people come to drive-ins, I think, is to be a part of the community. The good people of the area come out and be together. They socialize, laugh, and have a good time. And many of the people of Henderson are fighting to maintain the close-knit community they share. They fight for it by helping out at the drive-in theater.

Anyway, the movies were Astro Boy, The Addams Family and Couples Retreat. None are exactly my favorite type of fare, with the possible exception of The Addams Family. But I always preferred the actual comics that Chas. Addams had in The New Yorker and other publications.

But the movies aren't the important thing. I can sit through anything at a drive-in. More than sit through it. I'll enjoy just about anything while I'm out there under the stars. And what a perfect night it was on October 31st, 2009. It was neither cold nor warm, but a lovely combination of the two. Being the hot-natured person that I am, I never even put on a longsleeve shirt. And the moon was nearly full.

I liked Astro Boy for what it was. Animation isn't my thing, but I found it to be engaging enough. The kids wanted to see The Addams Family and probably the third feature too, but my wife Tanya was coughing a lot and though she agreed to stay, I felt that it was best to get her home to bed. Truth be told, I wasn't exactly looking forward to the forty-five minute drive back home. My night vision isn't what is used to be.

I never did get to talk much to the owner, Jim Kopp, but I enjoyed our brief time together. Just as I enjoyed talking to the rest of the people that took the time to chat with a stranger. It's the truth, you'll find the best members of the community at the drive-in theater. As far as I'm concerned, the cream of the crop was there. I was disappointed though. While the theater was about a third full, it should have had a full house. I literally think that a lot of locals do not know what they are missing as they sit in their hermetically sealed, self-imposed isolation. I don't care how big their plasma screens are, or how clear their Blu-Ray Player picture is. There is no substitute to watching a movie on that ginormous screen, under the stars, in the company of their neighbors. It was particularly good to see the young people out there enjoying themselves.

So we left after the first feature. Our maiden trip to The Raleigh Road Outdoor Theater was a wonderful Halloween and we know that it won't be our last time there.

All photographs taken at The Raleigh Road Outdoor Theater by India Collier.

The Golden Age of Horror

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 20:11:00 +0000

You hear talk about The Golden Age of Science Fiction, The Golden Age of Comics, The Golden Age of Hollywood, The Golden Age of Radio. A time when a certain field is in a burst of creative energy. Not necessarily the roots of any particular genre, but a time when it burgeoned into a Renaissance period.

I've been thinking about the 1980's lately. Even more than usual, that is. A big part of it is because two of my very favorite genre films from the period finally made it to DVD. I'm talking, of course, of Night of the Creeps and The Stepfather. These two movies represent the finest American horror and suspense movies of the time for me.

Plus, a few new movies have taken me back to the 80's. Trick 'r Treat was highly anticipated and it was worth the wait for most of us. Perhaps it was no masterpiece, but it reminded me a lot of an 80's horror movie. And Zombieland also made me think of 80's horror comedies. It is precisely the type of movie that flourished 20-25 years ago.

The 1980's. Sure, I'm nostalgic about the decade. Maybe even romantic. It was a great time for movies and books, especially in the horror genre. And it was a great time in my own life. Everything was much simpler for me. No mortgage, no credit cards, hell no cars. I took the bus or walked and if people felt sorry for me, they shouldn't have. Maybe they ought to pity me now.

It wasn't just horror. I liked the styles of the 80's. And the music. Not that hair metal stuff. I liked New Wave. Synth bands and stylish pop groups. I'm talking about musical style, not attire. Also, things weren't as controlled by corporations as much as they are now. Family restaurants, independent theaters, used bookstores were much more plentiful. And there were drive-ins that still played exploitation fare. I'm lucky to have been able to experience the final gasps of the passion pits.

Good times. Good movies and good books are what I mostly remember.

I've heard the 80's referred to as The Decade of Fear in regard to movies and I can't argue that term. Horror was big and CGI hadn't reared its ugly head yet. Yeah, there was some primitive stuff like Tron, but in horror movies it was usually hands-on effects. Foam latex, puppetry, blood squibs, good old fashioned monster suits with detectable zippers on the backs.

Effects guys were heroes to horror film fans. They dressed and acted like rock stars and though their fans weren't as numerous as those of rock idols, fans worshiped them just as devotedly. Movies like the Elm Street series seemed to exist mainly to showcase the tricks the effects labs could come up with.

You're as sick of hearing about Michael Jackson as I am, but I don't think it's possible to overrate the influence that Thriller had on horror film and special makeup effects. It was the number one music video of all time and I guess it probably still is. Despite how you feel about MJ, John Landis and Rick Baker made history with Thriller and its influence is still being felt.

The franchises all started out strong, whether they began in the 80's or in the previous decade. Phantasm, Friday the 13th, Halloween, A Nightmare on Elm Street, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre all had sequels and though most of them turned to shit by the time they fizzled out, they were mostly fun at the time and we, the horror fans, tend to look back upon them with affection.

Sequels and horror comedies. It was difficult to find an American horror film that wasn't one of these two things. Many diehard genre critics decried them, but they had no idea just how bad things would get in the ensuing decades to come. And you know I'm talking about the plague of remakes that we are still enduring. There were remakes in the 80's, yes, but they tended to be pretty damned good. The Thing and The Fly are genuine classics that rival the original films. Others were just fun times at the movies: The Blob, Night of the Living Dead, Cat People.

Books and movies. These are the two mediums that best convey horror and no one bridged the gap between the two as much as Stephen King did. His influence continues and always will be felt. Just the way the mark of Edgar Allen Poe and H.P. Lovecraft will forever be on all things horrific.

Despite some obvious turkeys, I always thought that Stephen King had extraordinary luck with film adaptations. Even the worst of them, like Children of the Corn and Firestarter, have aged fairly well. And the best from the 80's? Man, we're talking Stand By Me, The Dead Zone, Creepshow (and yes, its sequel), Pet Semetery, Silver Bullet. Heck, I even like silly ones like Maximum Overdrive and Cat's Eye. What can I say? My enthusiasm level in those days was so high that I came home from drive-ins thinking that Children of the Corn and Maximum Overdrive were good movies! It didn't hurt that I was ripped out of my mind when I saw 'em.

King's books all tended to be pretty damned good then too. I liked all of them. And I liked just about every horror book I read at the time. I read a lot of them too.

For the first half or so of the 80's decade, horror was mostly traditional. Some were breaking ground with hyperviolence in their fiction that would be more associated with later decades. Richard Laymon, Jack Ketchum, James Herbert. But most were writing horror about average people in small towns that found themselves in the grip of terror. I loved that formula and I still do.

People might think of the 80's as a time of cheesy, glitzy horror, but there were some genuine masterpieces published. Horror simply does not get better than T.E.D. Klein's The Ceremonies, George R.R. Martin's Fevre Dream, Peter Straub's Shadowland, John Farris' Son of the Endless Night, Robert McCammon's Swan Song, F. Paul Wilson's The Keep, T.M. Wright's The Playground, Chet Williamson's Dreamthorp, Thomas Tessier's Finishing Touches and Clive Barker's The Damnation Game.

Then there were the many other terrific writers that published outstanding books in the 80's. This is an incomplete list, but I was blown away by books by Thomas F. Monteleone, Alan Ryan, John Coyne, Rick Hautala, Dennis Etchison, Al Sarrantonio and Joseph Citro. I even thought Anne Rice was a good writer after reading her first couple of vampire books.

And then there was Charles L. Grant. I couldn't just put his name on a list with a bunch of other names. He deserves at the very least a paragraph of his own. The work that Grant did, as a novelist, a short story writer, an editor, was among the most important of any writer. Not only of the 80's, but of all time. The man gave literacy to horror and his books are all classics. His anthologies were literal definitions of quiet horror. Charles Grant favored character and atmosphere over blood and guts. Not that he minded adding some of the juicy stuff if his story demanded it. But most often it didn't. Nor did it need it. Grant's body of work may have fallen out of favor (not to mention publication), but

The Return of the Horror Comedy?

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 21:38:00 +0000

The success of Zombieland makes me wonder if the horror/comedy hybrid is on the way back. And I think it might not be such a bad idea.

Horror Comedies were the rage of the 80's and I saw a lot of backlash against it in the horror magazines. "I like my horror straight up" seemed to be a common statement. And I do see their point. At least to some degree. Too much of any one thing leads to tedium.

Yet horror and comedy go together so well. James Whale arguably invented it with both The Bride of Frankenstein and The Old Dark House. Later, comedians Abbott and Costello made a successful run of movies that lampooned the Universal classic monsters. Roger Corman made two delightful horror comedies, The Little Shop of Horrors and A Bucket of Blood.

I've heard people say that the audience laughed during horror movies, but often the laughter is like a pressure relief valve, rather than that of a derisive crowd. People get a vicarious taste of death in a theme park ride and are often terrified. Most will get off the ride laughing their heads off. Fear and laughter aren't as far apart as some might think they are.

Horror and comedy went hand in hand over the years, sometimes unintentionally. Many cheap quickies took on a new life and appeal to audiences that appreciated their camp value. Others played the gallows humor to the hilt.

But it was in the 1980's that horror comedies became the norm. As I said before, many complained, but the best of them, like Night of the Creeps and Evil Dead 2, were almost universally adored.

Of course there were the downside of the trend. Transylvania 6-5000 and Haunted Honeymoon represent the worst of the supposedly funny horror movies.

Even the franchises turned to farce when the filmmakers had nowhere else to turn to keep the ideas fresh. The Nightmare on Elm Street sequels were virtual comedies and Tobe Hooper's Texas Chainsaw Massacre was as well.

There were dozens of humorous horror films in the 80's. Some more successful than others, but most are looked upon with affection today. House, An American Werewolf in London, Motel Hell, Ghostbusters, Creepshow (and its sequel), Gremlins, Fright Night, Vamp, The Lost Boys, Beetlejuice, The 'burbs, Night of the Demons, Bad Taste, Terrorvision and Return of the Living Dead are among my favorites. Heck, I even like those old Troma movies, The Toxic Avenger and Class of Nuke 'em High.

Maybe it is time for a return to funny horror pictures. The torture trend has gotten tedious. Why continue to take that as far as they can? I think the antidote just could be wit.

I fear what may come of it though. While I loved Zombieland, movies like Stan Helsing and Transylmania look absolutely terrible. It didn't work for everyone, but I thought that Jennifer's Body was a perfectly enjoyable horror comedy.

If humor and fear go together so closely, then isn't our love of horror our way of laughing in the face of death? All of us rehearse death and tragedy constantly in what we watch and what we read. Death will surely get the last laugh, but our only hope is to stave it off the best we can. In the only way we can. That's by laughing and trying not to think ahead to the inevitable.

Thanks are in Order

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 20:32:00 +0000

Nothing great, or even mediocre, is ever done by one's self. I've had a lot of assistance here at Horror Drive-In. A lot of great friends and a lot of talented individuals have been good enough to spend their precious time here. At the board mostly, but I get comments from those that read the reviews and front pages too. I can't even begin to list the names of people that have helped make this site the success it is. Traffic is way up and Horror Drive-In is becoming more influential all the time.

But there are a couple of people that deserve public thanks. If you like this site, they get a ton of credit. If you don't like it, the blame falls on my own shoulders.

The first is Deena Warner. She is incredibly talented and she designed Horror Drive-In. I had the dream, but she made it a reality. She also has put up with my stupidity when it comes to this sort of thing. I'm lost at anything technical that concerns the Internet.

Deena has also been a great friend. I've known her since the old days of Gorezone. Deena participated in the old Dr. Casey's Book Forum, as I did from time to time. When Dr. C. shut his site down, she and others relocated to Gorezone.

I've also had the pleasure of being a friend of Deena and Matt Warner in the real world. They are just about the most perfect couple I've ever known and I treasure our friendship.

We've been experiencing problems with the Fiction and Review sections and I humbly apologize if you have had trouble accessing them. I think we're close to having a permanent fix for them and I owe it to Deena.

The other person I owe thanks to is Mister Andrew Monge. When I was as down as I've ever been in my life and ready to throw in the towel here at Horror Drive-In, he was one of many that convinced me to stick with it. And not only that, Andy has become an integral part of the site. The Fiction Section, which is an enormous part of why HD-I has gotten so much more traffic, is all his baby. I may be the so-called publisher, but he is God, aka: The Editor. He asks my opinions on stories and we mostly agree. Sometimes we don't and the final say is always Andy's.

Plus, Andy is one of the most decent people I've ever met. Inside or outside the horror fiction community. I've never met him in the flesh, but we've spoken on the phone and we've exchanged numerous emails. Andy is a righteous dude. A devoted family man, a truly passionate lover of dark literature and a hard working guy. My kind of person. The world could use a lot more like him.

So folks, give 'em a hand. I literally would not be here without Deena and Andy. Two of my best friends.

The rest of you know who you are. I started making a list of other vital individuals, but it quickly grew too great of a task.

The genre is probably stronger now than it has ever been. New books and movies are coming out at a rapid clip. There are more horror fans and professionals than ever. It's fun to be along for the ride. And I owe it all to you.

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 22:09:00 +0000

Flashback to the early 90's. Underground film was healthy and a lot of really interesting things were coming out. Most of them were featured in the pages of Film Threat Video Guide, which was a cool and vital document of the movement. I ordered a lot of videotapes and while I certainly didn't like everything I saw, I truly believe that I got my money's worth most of the time.'

The thing that made these movies special is that they were made on film. Digital photography killed the underground, if you ask me. The ease of shooting in the new medium and the rising use of the home computer for editing and effects created a deluge of product. And most that I've seen isn't worth my time or money. I don't even like the look of digital photography, just as I didn't care for what most of the guys shooting on videotape were doing. There were and are exception, of course.

One of the coolest guys working was Mark Pirro, who was known at one time as The King of Super 8. A dubious distinction, some might say, but I think it was an honor and Pirro's Super 8 movies were fantastic. A Polish Vampire in Burbank, Curse of the Queerwolf and the film in question, Nudist Colony of the Dead.

Pirro's films follow the gag-a-second method used by The Wayans, The Zuckers and The Farrollys, but the major difference is that Mark Pirro's movies are actually funny.

The title pretty much gives most of the plot away. A nudist colony is shut down by religious zealots (a ruling decreed by Forrest J Ackerman playing a judge). The disgruntled nudists imbibe poisoned Kool-Aide, but vow to return to torment their oppressors. Meanwhile, a crooked preacher (is there any other kind?) arranges for a church group of troubled teens to go camping at the former nudist resort. I think you know what happens then.

Yes, it's another zombie comedy, complete with songs and dance. And as much as it pains me to report it, there is a Thriller parody. But Nudist Colony of the Dead was produced in 1991, so it's innocent.

Nudist Colony of the Dead is about as intellectual as a whoopie cushion, but despite it's intended idiocy, it is entertaining as hell. Only about half of the jokes work, but when you have two or three coming per minute, that's all you need. And the songs are pure brilliance. High points include an inspired rap by a security guard and a preposterous song by the campers called Inky Dinky Doo Dah Morning. You really need to see this.

I originally watched Nudist Colony of the Dead back when it came out. It was on videocassette, of course. The picture was pretty murky. The more recent DVD is billed as being 'digitally remastered', but I don't think it looks a whole lot better. Who cares? You want slick, go see a Michael Bay movie. You want down and dirty laughs in a spoof in which the low budget actually enhances the experience, get Nudist Colony of the Dead. It's a scream.

Starred Review: Robert McCammon's Mister Slaughter

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 20:36:00 +0000

I haven't always been the bastion of tact that you see before you. No, I was a snob about a lot of things early on in my life. And horror books were among them. I read science fiction, thank you, and I certainly didn't need that trashy horror in my reading diet.

So it was with that obstinate mindset that I first encountered the name, Robert (R.) McCammon. I was hanging out at an apartment I shared with a few guys. And I had my science fiction books around. I was talking to some girl whose name is long forgotten. She had read some decent books and she made a recommendation to me. It was a big, thick horror novel called They Thirst, by some guy named McCammon.

I'm afraid I was probably pretty rude. I didn't bother to accept it and I doubt that I was very gracious in my refusal to read it.

I was an asshole.

I had no indication that the writer of They Thirst, Robert McCammon, would later become not only one of my favorite writers, but the one I consider to be the very best writer that ever labored in my chosen favorite field of literature.

Fast forward a few years. I had kicked some sense into my own head and realized that I was and, whether I had known it or not, always had been a horror fan. Stephen King and Charles Grant brought me around and my passion for dark fiction was fortified by amazing writers like Peter Straub, Ramsey Campbell, Alan Ryan, T.M. Wright, James Herbert and many others.

I never forgot that cheesy cover to They Thirst, or the author's name. It's not the type of image I would ever like to see on postcards. For a while I still dismissed him. Then I read a review of Swan Song in The Twilight Zone Magazine, which at the time was my bible of the genre. Edward Bryant is, to me, the finest reviewer in the genre's history and he gave Swan Song a glowing recommendation. That was enough for me. More than enough, in fact.

I guess you know by now that Swan Song blew me away. It covered some of the same ground as Stephen King's magnum opus, The Stand, but it was no mere imitation. McCammon had his own distinctive literary voice and there was so much heart in the story. From the day I began reading Swan Song, I was a Robert McCammon fan.

Swan Song was a milestone in McCammon's career at that point, but he wasn't about to rest on his laurels. Robert McCammon followed it up with Stinger, which is still one of the most entertaining books I've ever read.

The books continued to get better: The Wolf's Hour, Blue World, Mine. And then McCammon delivered a novel that made its way into more readers' top favorite book slot than any other I know of. It is, of course, Boy's Life. A miracle of imagination and depth, Boy's Life is a magnificent novel of youth and dreams. Though it brings to mind other stories like Something Wicked This Way Comes and Stand By Me/The Body, Boy's Life stands alone. I truly believe that I'll never love a book more than it.

After Boy's Life came Gone South, a book that is drastically different in tone than anything else McCammon had previously done. In fact it reminded me of another southern writer's work: Joe R. Lansdale.

Then, nothing. Robert McCammon became a mystery man in the genre. Where was he? I heard rumors. He had retired. He was writing historical romance. He was fed up with the publishing industry and no longer wanted any part of it.

Possibly there was truth to all of those, but I guess I'll never really know. The one thing I was sure of was this: The absence of Robert McCammon in the genre left a gap that no other writer could fill. For my money Robert McCammon was and is the very best that we have ever known.

Ten long years passed from Gone South to McCammon's next book. I of course never forgot him, but I had practically given up hope that he would return to publishing. So it was with great joy when I learned that a new book was coming at last. 2002 saw the publication of an all-new novel from the master. It was called Speaks the Nightbird and a small outfit called River City Publishing did the hardcover.

I was so excited that I did something that I rarely do: I purchased an Advance Reading Copy prior to the book's publication. I do not endorse the selling of ARCs by booksellers. Most especially when the book in question either hasn't come out or has recently been published. The author gets no royalty from such a sale and only an unscrupulous dealler will sell them. But man, I had to have it. And I definitely purchased a hardcover when they came out. What kind of a guy would I be if I didn't support one of my favorite writers?

Speaks the Nightbird is a historical novel with mildly horrific overtones. Taking place in the late 16th Century, the novel deals with an earnest young legal clerk named Matthew Corbett who accompanies a magistrate to a town to determine whether an accused young woman is or isn't a witch. It's a rich work, that had to have been meticulously researched. It is also one of the best books I read in 2002. Or, to be accurate, my entire life.

If I still considered Boy's Life to be my favorite Robert McCammon book, then I felt that Speaks the Nightbird was probably his best novel.

The news that followed was good. McCammon would continue on with the education and adventures of Young Master Corbett in a series of novel. Good news? Heck, make that the best news the genre had heard in a long time.

The second book in the Corbett series is called The Queen of Bedlam and it is, if anything, even better than Speaks the Nightbird. In this one, McCammon focuses more on criminal behavior of the time, which is now early in the year 1703. He paints a portrait of a syndicate of criminals plotting the course of The New World. The Queen of Bedlam is a thrilling, sweeping saga that firmly established Matthew Corbett as one of the finest literary creations of our time. It ended on a nice, juicy cliffhanger too.

As joyous an occasion that the publication of The Queen of Bedlam was, there was a small dark side. Pocket Books, McCammon's longtime publisher, didn't seem to know how to market it. When they should have given it the major push it deserved, they allowed it to falter. And worse, the hardcover was a major disappointment. It was a cheaply-made volume that resembled one of those old Science Fiction Book Club things. Spit and toilet paper.

Now, with the publication of Mister Slaughter, Robert McCammon has found what I truly hope will a permanent, lucrative home. It's with Subterranean Press.

I've been a reader of Subterranean publications for a long time. They started out sort of like Cemetery Dance Jr., but now Subterranean has evolved into one of the most important publishers of Fantasy, Science Fiction and Horror. At what point can you no longer call a publisher a 'small press'? Subterranean is doing damned nice trade editions that are as inexpensive as most other mainstream hardcovers, but are much more beautiful and sturdy.

Which at last brings me to Mister Slaughter. I was privileged to be able to read an early edition of it prior to publication. And it should be no surprise that it is a real winner.

My only disappointment in Mister Slaughter is that it is not as long as its predecessors. It clocks in at 'only' 440 pages, but Mister Slaughter packs a mean punch. This is the most brutal of the Corbett books so far. For Mister Slaughter himself is what would later be termed a serial killer. Or perhaps a mass murderer. He's intelligent and with cultured manners when he wishes, but Mister Slaughter is meaner and more cold-blooded than Hannibal Lector. And Matthew Corbett is saddled with the job of transporting him from an asylum in Pennsylvania to New York, where he is to be deported to England for a trial.

Corbett continues to mature, but he proves to be all-too-human and is tempted by the wormtongued Slaughter. Corbett and his associate, Hudson Greathouse, alter the course of their journey to New York based on a promise from the killer, which brings on great disaster. Facing the greatest shame of his young life, Matthew Corbett must risk everything dear to him in order to complete his task and deliver Mister Slaughter to justice.

But there's more. Far more. McCammon provides numerous subplots and the criminal conspiracy Corbett encountered in The Queen of Bedlam is still afoot. There's also a sinister bloody fingerprint on a playing card that still holds a dire portent for the young detective. Matthew's relationship with young Berry is further explored and numerous other colorful characters that readers became acquainted with in The Queen of Bedlam are featured in Mister Slaughter.

To sum up this long, rambling piece short, Robert McCammon is back with a new book, a new publisher and the future looks good for him. As well as his readers. Don't pass up Mister Slaughter and if you haven't read Speaks the Nightbird and The Queen of Bedlam, you'd better start reading. Fiction doesn't get any better than these books.

Oh, and one more thing. I eventually did read They Thirst and while I felt it was far from the best work from Mister McCammon, I had a blast with it. They Thirst is a huge, pulpy, rollicking good time.

The Drive-In vs. The Grindhouse

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 21:19:00 +0000

You hear the city rats raving on about their grindhouse experiences. I'm sure it was nice, but compared to a drive-in theater? You gotta be kidding me!

At a drive-in you had the choice of sitting in the luxury of your own automobile or bringing along a lawn chair. Or you could sit on the hood of the car and keep warm on a cool night from the engine heat.

At a grindhouse you sat in some guy's sperm and piss.

At a drive-in, you could drink and smoke anything you wanted.

You could at a grindhouse too, I suppose, but you can bring in a LOT more beer in your trunk than in your raincoat pockets.

At a drive-in you were under the glorious stars.

At a grindhouse you were in an unhealthy building that probably should have been condemned a long time ago.

At a drive-in you could piss outside you car. If you were in the back row, anyway.

At a grindhouse you had to brave the old pervs that hung out in the men's room looking for a date or maybe a peek at your Johnson.

You could bring your date to a drive-in and at least have the option of having cramped uncomfortable sex.

At a grindhouse I don't think you would have wanted to try that. You might find yourself in an unwelcome Ménage à Trois. Or a gangbang.

At a grindhouse you were at least out of the weather.

Battling the elements was one of the fun things about a drive-in. Rain, wind, even snow and ice storms. I've been through 'em all at drive-ins and it was always a blast.

I admit that that the mosquitoes were often extremely annoying at a drive-in theater.

I'll take them over rats, cockroaches, fleas and lice any day.

The screen at a drive-in is as big as the heavens. The huge movie images against the backdrop of the night horizon is breathtaking. If there is such a thing as paradise on earth, that's it.

There's no way to prove this, but I'd BET that if Tarantino and Rodriguez called their movie, Drive-In, instead of Grindhouse, it wouldn't have been such a flop.

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 15:42:00 +0000

I've been an enthusiastic follower of the writing of Bentley Little ever since the publication of his first book. Like most prolific authors, Bentley Little has written some truly outstanding books as well as some that weren't quite as satisfying to me. Not that I've ever been completely disappointed with any of Little books, but I do have my favorites. I'm certain that other fans have their own lists that differ from mine, but here's my perspective of...

THE INDISPENSABLE BENTLEY LITTLE

The Revelation (1990)

This first novel from Bentley Little is on a list of other astonishingly good debuts in the genre like Dan Simmons' Song of Kali, Norman Partridge's Slippin' Into Darkness, Poppy Z. Brite's Lost Souls and Jack Ketchum's Off Season. This novel is based on Christian beliefs is shocking and deeply frightening. Aready Bentley Little was pushing the barriers of taboo with The Revelation. And if you care about such things, it won the Stoker for Best First Novel. Incidentally, although Bentley Little was nominated for a couple of others, this is the only Stoker he has won to date.

The Mailman (1991)

Bentley Little's sophomore novel is just as well-written as The Revelation, but I thought it was much more original. He is, of course, a writer and writers have an intimate relationship with the mail. Especially in those pre-Internet days, his livlihood depended upon it. I bet most Cemetery Dance readers are more than a little bit obsessed with the mail too. Every horror fiction fan I know orders a lot of stuff.

Little's story of a sinister mailman may come across as a silly concept by reading a brief description of the plot, but his nerve-rattling prose makes it an icily compelling read. A new mailman in a small town is terrorizing its residents. He has unhealthy pale skin and bright red hair. Think Courtney Gains from the Children of the Corn movie. The mail begins coming at extremely odd hours and the local post office becomes the town's haunted house.

Death Instinct (1992)

Death Instinct was originally published in '92, but few American readers got a chance to read it until 2006. It was originally published as Evil Deeds in the UK.

Death Instinct is a rare non-supernatural novel from Little. It's distinctly unlike anything else he has written. It's also one of my very favorites of his books. It's a straightforward suspense thriller in many ways, but Little uses extreme audacity in the use of his antagonist. It's absolutely horrifying and despite its outrageous premise, is absolutely plausible. One of the creepiest things I've ever read.

The Summoning (1993)

This is Bentley Little's take on the classic vampire tale, but like anything else by the man, it is nothing like anything by any other writer. The Summoning is inspired by Chinese folklore. The blood-drinker is no slick, romantic pretty boy. No, it is a gruesome, horrifying monster. The Summoning has plenty of the jaw-dropping scenes that Little is rightly famous for. One in particular, that takes place in a roadside rest stop, completely freaked me out. And I have a high grossout threshold. This is the vampire novel for those hate vampire novels. Particularly the Twilight and Interviewing kinds.

Dominion (1996)

Perhaps Little's most extreme book. The over-the-top scenes of graphic sex and violence rival extreme horror master Edward Lee's works. Dominion deals with two students that meet and fall in love, only to learn that their relationship is no coincidence and that their love could bring about a new dark age on the Earth. Bentley Little draws from ancient Greek mythology for this one.

The Store (1996)

The Store is a thinly veiled satire about WalMart taking over individually owned supermarkets and how shopping has become a plastic, dehumanized experience. How corporations are succeeding in stripping away our souls. In Bentley Little's vision, The Store is operated by evil forces, especially with the shrouded Night Managers. Death and horror await the employees that do not conform to The Store's increasingly bizarre demands and it begins to control local politics. It doesn't sound a whole lot different than reality, does it?

Bentley Little explored similar themes of society's assimilation into corporate horror in the equally compelling novels, The Association and The Policy.

The Ignored (1997)

Some say that there are no new ideas and that writers liberally borrow from the works of others they have read. There is undoubtedly more than a small amount of truth to that, I think, but Bentley Little created something unique with The Ignored. It's easily one of the finest books he has written to date.

Bob Jones is an average guy. Even his name is banal. In his nondescript job he is looked over and gradually everyone begins to ignore him. He becomes a nonentity as he loses his place in his own world and in society. It's another all-too-imaginable fear in a world in which cities are ant colonies where it is hard to be noticed than ever before. This is a perfect place to start off for the Bentley Little virgin.

The Town (2000)

Maybe I'm biased because I read The Town while camping on my honeymoon, but this is a real favorite of mine.This one is Little's bizarre version of a modern western ghost town, but it's far removed from any other book of its type ever published. The Town has some of the most outrageous scenes of any book he has published, my favorite being a woman that gives birth to a baby cactus with human features! That's just one of the wild things that occur in The Town.

The Collection (2002)

Bentley Little is justly famous (or perhaps notorious is a better word) for his short fiction. I first encountered his writing in David B. Silva's The Horror Show Magazine and he also had a short story in the very first issue of Cemetery Dance. He has appeared in the pages of this magazine numerous times since then. But I really noticed him from the Borderlands anthologies, of which the first four volumes all feature Little's work. That's something of a record. The Potato, from Borderlands 2, is one of the most unforgettable pieces I've ever read.

Bentley Little's short fiction is often shocking, sometimes disgusting and it always manages to get a reaction from me. If you're a short story kind of person, you owe it to yourself to find The Collection.

The Resort (2004)

This one is about as close to a traditional horror novel as Bentley Little gets. It's a huge, grand novel of a sinister hotel that reads absolutely nothing like The Shining. For pure entertainment factors, The Resort is one of his best bets.

Dispatch (2005)

Here is another of Bentley Little works that is so bold and original that you wonder how the hell he dreams this stuff up.

We've all been disgruntled about things we face in our town to complain. Sometimes we even go so far as to write a letter to the appropriate parties. Usually they come to naught, or we might get a polite but insincere reply. And life goes on. Jason Hanford writes letters that ignite action. Every time he complains, He receives free movie passes, coupons for free food. Every time he writes, something good happens. So he begins to experiment with his 'gift'. And things spiral way out of control.

His Father's Son (2009)

Which brings me to the latest novel from Bentley Little. I've come to expect the unexpected from him, but His Father's Son took me completely off balance. I can usually detect Little's style right off, but this one is radically different from the rest of his work. In fact, it reminds me of a nior writer like Jim Thompson.

I couldn't be happier to report that I consider His Father's Son to be the finest novel that Bentley Little has published to date. He has never even come close to the kind of psychological depth that he has achieved here.

Steve Nye is a normal enough guy. He has an average job, some pals to hang with and a woman to love. But when his father has a stroke and attempts to kill his mother, his life gets derailed. His father is hospitalized and while they were never especially close, Steve feels obliged to visit with him on a regular basis. Suffering from dementia, the old man drifts in and out of lucidity. In his more coherent moments, he makes some disquieting comments to Steve, leading the young man to believe his father was some sort of monster. Steve sets out to find out the truth and he discovers he isn't that much different than dear old dad. Or is he?

I was literally engrossed on every page of His Father's Son. Little takes his readers on a dark ride with this one and I for one had no clue where it was all going to end up. It's arguable that His Father's Son could be described as a suspense novel or a horror story, but I think it's a little of both, I only hope that Bentley Little's readers are willing to follow him with departure from his usual type of book.

Robert A. Heinlein: Requiem

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 22:46:00 +0000

I always come back to Heinlein and I always will.

Requiem is a posthumous collection/anthology honoring the great Robert A. Heinlein. It's full of rare stories, essays, speeches and tributes from other luminaries of SF. I never got around to reading it, but I picked up a copy at a library sale last weekend for a dollar. A nice, mint hardcover.

I always carry books in my car. Usually I have the one I'm currently reading, but I forgot to bring His Father's Son with me when I went to the movies yesterday afternoon. I had Requiem with me and I got to the movies about 40 minutes early. I have a pathological fear that I'll be late for things. Traffic, whatever.

I had read the lead story in Requiem before. It's called Requiem and it's such a lovely little tale. Requiem has the old sense of wonder in it, but unlike a lot of stuff that also does, it is mature and deeply moving.

I read Requiem before going into the theater and once again I was moved by it. The story is a sequel to Heinlein's classic novella, The Man Who Sold the Moon. In that one, a man is driven by his love for the stars and builds a business in rocketry. He is successful beyond his wildest dreams, but those dreams turn into nightmares when the stockholders bar him from any space travel of his own. They need their cash cow to keep the profits coming in.

In Requiem, the man, Delos David Harriman, is old, but he has never lost his passion, his desire to touch the stars. Or at least set foot on the moon. He bribes, breaks the law and finagles a way to get there. But the trip is not without its price. A price Harriman is all too happy to pay.

The title, Requiem, describes Harriman's journey and his destination. But it also serves as a testament for Heinlein's own legacy. The author loved the stars his entire life, but he sadly was never able to make the trip his heart craved for. But his dreams, his vision, were instrumental in man's courageous struggle into space.

Most reading at this site are not science fiction fans and I pity them. Pity them for missing out on all the marvelous work out there. But most of all I pity them for missing out on the magnificent career of Robert A. Heinlein, the greatest science fiction writer that ever lived. Admittedly some of RAH's later, post Stranger in a Strange Land, fiction doesn't work for me any more. But his classic writing from the 50's is unparalleled, not only in the field of science fiction, but in all of literature.

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sat, 29 Aug 2009 18:11:00 +0000

Music is and always has been an important part of my life. Unless I'm reading, writing, watching a movie or sleeping, there is music playing in my house. I think it's critical for people to love and appreciate music. I hate to see people 'grow up' and lose their passion for it. I think the soul dies when people stop listening to music.

I think it's equally important to continue to listen to new music. There's little worse than an old fogey going on about how today's music sucks and back in his day they had real bands and musicians. Sure, popular music is a wasteland, but there is probably more good music being produced today than ever before. If anyone thinks otherwise they simply aren't looking hard enough.

Here's a list of the ten albums that I've been spinning lately. In no particular order,

Arlo Guthrie and The Dillards, Thirty-Two Cents Postage Due (2008). I always liked Arlo and I had some of his records when I was a teen. I hadn't really kept up with his career, but he played at a small theater a few miles from my house last Spring. I saw the show and thought it was fantastic and now I'm catching up on him. TV Land viewers will undoubtedly know The Dillards as the stoic Darling Brothers from The Andy Griffith Show. These guys are amazing musicians. Thirty-Three Cents Postage Due is a collection of Woody Guthrie compositions. American songwriting and performance simply do not get better than this.

Miniature Tigers, Tell it to the Volcano (2008). Miniature Tigers are a young band from Phoenix, Arizona. They're wowing a lot of people on their tours and are a favorite on the college stations. Their music isn't what you'd call brilliant or innovative, but the melodies are sweet and infectious and the songs have clever lyrics. Tell It To The Volcano is highly additive stuff. In a just world Miniature Tigers would be huge. Too bad we don't live in a just world.

The Aquabats, The Return of The Aquabats (1995). This is a band I recently fell in love with. They have a ska/punk beat with a healthy dosage of retro new wave. The Aquabats have energy, wit and talent to spare. Think early Oingo Boingo, but even more frantic. The Return of the Aquabats is the intentionally misleading title of their first album.

Root Boy Slim and the Sex Change Band w/The Rootettes, Zoom (1979). Root Boy Slim was a DC-based singer who was quite a phenomenon in the 70's and 80's. He was kind of like GG Allin with a sense of humor and a kick ass southern blues rock band. Root Boy was the real thing: A true madman of rock. As unbelievable as it may seem, Root Boy was a Yale student who was banned from his own Frat House and the entire campus by none other than George W. Bush. After graduation Root Boy ate an insane amount of acid and climbed the White House fence and was arrested and committed to a mental institution. He was released after receiving various treatment and he started a band. Steely Dan's Donald Fagen discovered him and helped him get his first record contract with Warner. You may know Root Boy from his signature song, Boogie 'til You Puke.

Weird Al Yankovic, Internet Leaks (2009). This is a download-only EP of songs from Al's next full-length album, coming next year. Rather than let some asshole leak them, he did it himself. Many probably assumed that Weird Al was a flash-in-the-pan when they heard Another One Rides the Bus or Hey Ricky. But AL has stayed on the scene, managing to lampoon musical styles and trends for over three decades. The truth is, Al Yankovic is smart as a whip and is one hell of a funny guy. He has kept the same band members the entire time and they are as versatile as any group in existence. Internet Leaks is prime Al and the songs parody T.I., The Doors, The White Stripes, Fountains of Wayne and (I think) Queen.

Ween, Chocolate and Cheese (1994). These guys have been around for a long time, but I'm just now getting around to listening to them. Wild stuff it is, with musical diversity and genuinely outrageous songwriting. Many of their tunes seem to have been created to fuck with people.

Tom Tom Club, Self Titled Debut (1981). When Talking Heads' David Byrne was doing side projects for the stage and screen and with Brian Eno, some of the other members of the band created the Tom Tom Club. This music is joyous and danceable, and they were among the pioneers of hip hop. This album always cheers me up when I'm down.

Harry Reser, Banjo Crackerjax 1922-1930. The banjo was the guitar of The Jazz Age and Harry Reser was arguably the finest player of the time. Or all time. Imagine if Steve Vai played banjo and was born 60 years earlier. Reser did a lot of what now seem like novelty songs, but these recordings are all instrumental. It's difficult to believe sometimes that there is only one banjo playing at times, but it is solely Reser on the instrument.

New York Dolls, 'Cause I Sez So (2009) This album reunites The Dolls with legendary producer Todd Rundgren for the first time since their debut way back in '73. The New York Dolls were forerunners of both punk and glam and despite lead singer's change of style for years as Buster Poindexter, they have maintained their style and attitude nicely. Sadly, most of the original members are no longer with us, but Johansen rasps through the songs with spirit and gusto. The music is basic and rather primal, sort of like early Stones.A high point is a cover of their own early hit, Trash.

Finally, the one that stays in my player more than any other in recent memory. This Gigantic Robot Kill, by MC Lars (2008). Lars is the self-described inventor of 'Post Punk Laptop Rap', but the album is a wonderfully eclectic mix of styles. Lars is smart (a Stanford grad) and a very funny guy. He skewers many worthy targets, such as the record industry, Emo, hypocritical 'green' celebs, Guitar Hero and Hot Topic. Lars also puts his English degree to good use with songs about Moby Dick, Edgar Allen Poe and Shakespeare. This Gigantic Robot Kills has a multitude of guest players, from guitar virtuoso Paul Gilbert to Weird Al Yankovic, Jaret Reddick of Bowling for Soup and other indie rockers and rappers.

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 21:17:00 +0000

Apocalyptic fiction is all the rage these days. If it's not zombies, it's zombie-like beings terrorizing survivors. It sometimes seems like everyone is doing it.

Why? Maybe it's a residual of the shock and horror of 9/11. That awful day made most Americans feel that the society that they loved to hate, but took for granted, could crumble.

Or maybe it's just a trend. Either way there are so many zombie/apocalyptic stories in the horror genre that it has become a cliche. It reminds me of the hoary old Indian Burial Grounds and Evil Tots of the 80's.

But you know what? As hoary and predictable as those 80's cliches were, I had a lot of fun reading many of them and I now look back upon them with fondness. And today I enjoy some of these post-apocalypse stories. I enjoyed J.F. Gonzalez's Primitive recently and I liked Lisa Morton's The Lucid Dreaming even more.

The story begins in a mental health facility, where a girl named Spike is staying. Spike is a schizophrenic with violent tendencies. The staff begins acting very strangely and

A Great Summer at the Movies

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 21:18:00 +0000

I don't like Summer a bit. I hate the insects, loathe the heat, despise how the neighbors are out cooking themselves and their dinners. And I can't stand Summer Movies.

It's the biggest season for the cinema and all the blockbusters are rolled out in the hot months. And I usually find that I cannot even bear to take a chance on any of them. Lame action, superhero tedium, endless animated family fare, boring eye candy. I much prefer the Fall and early Winter. I don't care for all the Oscar Bait that comes then, but it's preferable to the Summer fare. Last year I couldn't hardly bring myself to see anything and I was grateful when Fall arrived.

This Summer, 2009, has been different. There has been plenty of movies that I at least have been interested in seeing. And for the most part I have had a great time seeing them.

I go to the movies to enjoy myself. It seems that many so-called critics go to them looking for a fight. Just ready to tear into what they see and then gleefully rip it apart for their readers. I'm not saying I like everything, but I can be reasonably easy to please. I don't expect or even want every film to be Bergman or Scorsese. I just want to have a good time.

The season began for me with Sam Raimi's return to horror, Drag Me To Hell. I adored this movie and felt that it managed to be traditional and modern at the same time. A good, old fashioned shock show. Many fans didn't like it and I can't comprehend that.

The Hangover was almost too raunchy and over-the-top for me, but I found myself laughing my ass off during it. This was an enormous success for director Todd (Hated: GG Allin & The Murder Junkies) and it's still making bucks in theaters.

I Love You, Beth Cooper was based on an award-winning novel and it didn't quite get the subversive tone that its source had. But it was sweet and funny and I had a blast watching it.

Moon was a genuine rarity in science fiction films: It's intelligent, original and is based upon ideas. Sam Rockwell is excellent as a man on a lunar base who develops a bizarre identity crisis.

Woody Allen's Whatever Works is far from his best movie, but it's a lot better than some. It breaks no new ground for my favorite director, but it's outrageous and hilarious and makes some pointed observations on life and relationships. And Larry David was splendid as the Woody Allen surrogate.

The Collector wasn't really my cup of tea, but I'll admit that the film does what it set out to do. Disturb and horrify the viewer. This is a modern grindhouse/drive-in exploitation movie.

Orphan was controversial for various reasons, but most fans were won over the by the strong performances and the overall quality of the production. I thought it was terrific.

I had the highest expectations for Judd Apatow's Funny People and it surpassed all of them. A thoroughly entertaining and intelligent comedy-drama from one of the brightest filmmakers of the day. Too bad a lot of people didn't get it.

A Perfect Getaway isn't perfect, but it's stunningly shot and the performances are first rate. A superior thriller that came out of the blue for me.

(500) Days of Summer is on the shortlist of best romantic comedies in history. Sharp, acutely accurate, screamingly funny at times and gut-wrenching at others. A tour-de-force.

O'Horten was made a couple of years ago in Norway, but it was released in The States recently so I'll list it. This is such a refreshingly low key comedy. If only more American filmmakers could approach their films with this kind of subtlty.

At this writing I haven't seen District 9 yet, but I plan to. Hopefully before the week is out. I also haven't seen The Hurt Locker. See what I mean? Too many to choose from.

The season isn't over yet and there is still more to come. Tomorrow I'm seeing Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds and I can't wait. I've enjoyed nearly everything this wild talent has given us to date.

I fully expect to be disappointed with rob Zombie's Halloween 2, but you can bet that I'll be in my seat at the theater for it.

I'm not a fan of the Final Destiantion series, but the new 3D process is amazing and I'll be in line for it too.

Paper Heart is the kind of movie that people call 'quirky'. I hate that term, but it probably applies to this one. It's coming to a nearby theater in a couple of weeks and I'll be ready for it.

I skipped all of the high profile releases, all of which look like cinematic messes to me: Star Trek, Terminator: Salvation, Angels and Demons, Transformers, Night in the Museum 2, Land of the Lost, Bruno, Year One, GI Joe, Harry Potter and the other Rom Coms and animated pap. I'm probably missing out on some decent stuff, but I can live with that. I've had a great time at the movies this Summer.

Digital Drag

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 16:46:00 +0000

At the time I'm writing this, the hottest topic in the horror fiction community is the rise of digital books. A prominent small press publisher has announced that it will discontinue its line of trade paperbacks in favor of digital books. In addition to that, the same publisher's line of limited edition hardcovers will rise to the unreasonable price of $80.00 each.

As always there are supporters and detractors to this decision. Many love the convenience and the progressive use of electronic fiction. Others despise the medium and love real books.

Guess which camp I'm in?

I was always in love with books. Even before I could read. My older brothers were science fiction fans and they had lots of books. I used to wistfully gaze at the exotic covers and long for the day I could actually read them. I wasted no time in doing so and I was already reading simple books before I was even in school.

For me the love of books is greater than the contents of them. Of course the words are first and foremost, but I love the look, the feel of them. I love to arrange them on my shelves and I've spent many an hour lovingly looking at them. Fondly looking through the titles, picking one or another out at random. Remembering the joy it gave me or perhaps anticipating the joy I would take from them when In would read them in the future.

I always felt that a book was more than just a collection of words. They take on lives of their own. Books have been some of the best friends of my life.

I like nice books. Love them. I enjoy sturdy hardcovers, for their aesthetic value as well as the actual practice of reading them. I've always preferred the feel of a hardcover in my hands than a paperback. Yet I never really got the whole thing about books being valuable works of art. That's almost definitely because I cannot afford lettered editions and what is sometimes called the 'extra crunchy' publications. Undoubtedly if I was rich I'd own an entire library of lettered books.

I don't mind that I can't afford them. I'm perfectly happy with trade hardcovers. Or the reasonably priced limiteds that I can obtain from places like Cemetery Dance Publications. If you subscribe to CD's email newsletter, you will receive regular news of sales and promotions where you can get beautifully crafted signed and limited editions cheaper than you can get the spit-and-toilet paper typical American mass market hardcover.

I don't mind paperbacks either. I enjoy the venerable digest-sized editions that have been the norm in publishing for decades. My least favorite is the oversize trade paperback, but I read a lot of them.

Mostly I like to read. Books. Real books.

As I said at the beginning of this piece, the message boards have seen quite a bit of debate in the digital vs. hardcopy question. Some passionately defend the printed word. Others are ready to leap into the future. Some of the ones that are on the digital side of things seem proud that they are embracing a bold (relatively) new technology. As if it's something superior.

Well, it's definitely not the first time I was unwilling to jump on a trendy bandwagon and it's just as definte that it won't be the last time.

Is it always better to reject the old in favor of the new? Would it be a good thing for me and others my age to start acting like the members of the igneration, who seem incomplete unless they have an electronic pacifier in their faces at all times? I say hell NO.

Despite what many would dupe you into believing, many things were better in the past. I'll take a drive-in theater over the most sophisticated home theater system on the planet. I think gaming was much, much better when kids actually left their homes and went to arcades. It was as much a social situation as it was about the games. Now so many live their lives in isolation. And I'll take the drive-in restaurants and family-run food stands over any of the phlegmburger fast food joints that despoil the roadsides.

Read or reread Harlan Ellison's masterpiece, Jefty is Five, and maybe you'll begin to see what I'm talking about.

The given argument is that it is inevitable. And I suppose that it is. The very nature of distribution is changing. Rapidly. Who knows where it all will end? I could see bookstores and even publishers becoming completely obsolete, as much as I would despise that. One day potential readers might browse various review sites and blogs instead of bookstores and even online markets. Choose the ones that they want and have them instantly downloaded to their palm devices. Directly from the homepage of the author. No middlemen whatsoever.

The United States Postal Service could conceivably crumble and it currently looks like that is happening. Bills, movies, books, music, legal documents all delivered direct to individual gadgets. Possibly have privatized courier services to deliver clothes and other sundry items from place to place.

All of this sounds pretty dystopian to me. And it's not like I'm some kind of Luddite. I've been heavily involved in the Internet for well over a decade. I wouldn't be writing these words in this magazine if it weren't for my activities on the web. It has improved our lives in countless ways.

I also took to electronic money like a fish to water. I no longer carry cash nor do I stroke out checks. I'm addicted to my debit card.

But damn it, some things of the past need to be preserved. And most importantly to readers of Cemetery Dance, books must not be allowed to become extinct.

Publishers do not set the state of the industry. Nor do writers. The power is in our hands. Or in our bank accounts. What the consumer chooses to purchase will set the tone for the future. The good things don't have to die. Not if we don't let them. Sure, we can apathetically roll over and allow the soul-deadening wheels of progress level what we love. If we were cowards.

Outside of my family, books are my greatest passion. They always have been, ever since I can remember.

So please, if you share with me the love, the joy, the rewarding experience of reading genuine books. If you reject the idea that holding a plastic device is exactly the same as holding a real tome, please, please support the publishers that continue to bring them to us. Buy your books from them direct.

Maybe, probably, hell, almost definitely I'll lose this war. But every year that I can help keep real books coming out, I'll fight. Please join me.

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 21:33:00 +0000

J.F. Gonzalez is one of my favorite writers and I will gladly buy and quickly read anything he publishes. I enjoy everything Gonzalez does, but I must confess to having a preference to his crime/suspense novels. Fetish, Bully and especially Survivor are my favorites.

With Primitive, J.F. Gonzalez branches into Brian Keene territory. While not exactly a zombie novel, Primitive deals with the apocalypse and survivors being plagued by subhuman beasts.

One morning writer David Spires awakens to what appears to be another ordinary day in Los Angeles. Little does he know that civilization as he and everyone else knows it is about to end. A frantic call and shocking news from his son's day care center is the start of it and by the end of the day he and his remaining family are struggling for their existence against human beings that have somehow turned primitive.

The Spires join forces with other survivors of the inexplicable plague that has turned the majority of people into violent, bloodthirsty creatures that resemble nothing so much as primitive man. The group travels in search of sanctuary, but the primitives are always one step behind them. And it becomes increasingly aware that a malignant force is behind them. A force that is growing stronger and closer all the time.

The first person narrative in Primitive is exciting and poignant. David Spires is a normal guy who by circumstances is forced to become a hero. As I reached the end of Primitive, it felt like I had been on an epic journey myself. There is a lot of action in the book, but there is also a great deal of human warmth. It's a powerful story that at times felt to me like a metaphor for our own times.

I recommend Primitive very highly. For one thing the trade paperback is supposedly going to be one of the last that Delirium will be doing. But mainly because it's an outstanding book. I still think I like Survivor a bit more, but Primitive is a strong new direction for Gonzalez.

A Trip to the Library

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sun, 26 Jul 2009 19:50:00 +0000

A week or so ago I was feeling down in the dumps. Old. Kind of depressed. So I decided to take a walk in one of my favorite places: The library.

Like most of you, I'm sure, I always loved libraries. From my earliest years I adored the walls of books, the smell of them, the feeling of being surrounded by literature, knowledge, and information. And all of it is free. All you have to do is provide proof of residence to be able to borrow all sorts of materials. Art, film, literature. You don't even need to prove who you are to use the facilities in most of them.

Libraries are my favorite charity too. Some might think that supporting the library isn't as important as disease research, hunger, homelessness, but I would disagree. Libraries literally saved my life in my youth. Times when I had nowhere to turn, no one I could go to, I always had the library to go to for peace and sanity.

So anyway, I went there. I was thinking about re-reading some books that I loved years ago. But the thing is, I haven't spent a whole lot of time in libraries for the last decade. The reasons for that are numerous. The frantic life of a parent being one and the demands of a more-than full time job is another. Then there is the lure of the Internet and all of the small press books that have dominated my reading time. I had lost sight of the simple joy of spending time wandering through the books, picking up one here or there, knowing that I could take a chance on reading it without any cost.

And mostly, on that recent day, I wanted to spend time with old friends. Old friends being the books I loved in the 1980's. A time when my money was almost always short and the library was one of the only ways I could read.

I entered the hallowed building and climbed the stairs to the fiction section. What I found made me even more depressed than before.

It's the oldest story in the world. It's always been this way and it always will be this way. Out with the old and in with the new. It has to be that way, but that does not mean that I have to like it.

So many treasured books have gone from the shelves. So many classics, masterpieces even, gone. And a lot of just plain good books. Out with the old and in with the new. Books that shaped modern horror fiction are quickly being forgotten.

Take Charles Grant for instance. His novels, short stories, his anthologies. They have had an immeasurable influence on the genre. I don't believe that it's too much of a stretch to say that Charles Grant has had as much impact on the genre as Stephen King has. What writers have not been influenced, directly or indirectly, by Grant? None, I say. I read at least a half a dozen of Grant's books from the very same library that I was at. Yet almost all of them have been discarded. And why not? It's not as if anyone were checking them out any more. What's worse is, there are literally no Charles Grant books currently in print. God, the man sold so many books back in the day. Back when readers craved atmosphere and mood. How many young horror fans read him today? Precious few is my bet.

Then there is Ray Russell. How many know his name? I borrowed Ray Russell's Incubus from that library, as well as some of his other Gothic works. Gone. Ray Russell was as important as, say, Richard Matheson to the field. As an editor for Playboy he was responsible for getting short stories by genre writers like Charles Beaumont, Jack Finney, Bradbury, Matheson, Bloch and many, many others. His short story, Sardonicus, was called "perhaps the finest example of the modern gothic ever written" by Stephen King.

So many others. T.E.D. Klein's The Ceremonies. The early and mid-period books of John Farris. Chet Williamson. Ramsey Campbell's Incarnate and Obsession. F. Paul Wilson's The Keep. Even the early works of big league writers like King and Straub are among the missing.

And I haven't even mentioned all of the great science fiction writers from the golden age that are being forgotten. Guys (and women) that made their livings writing the stuff that made SF great. They poured their blood and guts on the page just as surely as the horror writers did, and most of them delved into the world of fright in their careers.

I know that it's easy to obtain these works secondhand. Amazon.com Marketplace, Ebay and Abebooks.com make it easier than ever to find nearly any book you might be seeking. But that gets expensive too. Paying five to ten dollars (when you add in the shipping fees) or more for books that you might want to read or reread adds up fast. And who has room for them all? It's so much nicer to be able to walk in a library and grab the titles you want and then take them back later.

I suppose I sound like an old fogey that decries all the new trash coming out and preaching about the days when real writers were writing horror. I'm not saying that we should ignore the stars of today. I love to read Keene and Lee and Gonzalez and a hell of a lot of the modern practitioners of horror fiction. I am saying that all readers in the genre should mine the fields of the past. And especially those that wish to break into the field as writers need to read the classics. I'm not necessarily talking about Poe and Stoker and Lovecraft (though I do recommend reading them), but you all should try writers like Joseph Payne Brennan. Manly Wade Wellman. Les Daniels. Michael McDowell. Henry Kuttner. Elizabeth Engstrom. Dig up copies of amazing books like Lowland Rider, by Chet Williamson. The Rats Trilogy by James Herbert. George R.R. Martin's Fevre Dream (and The Armagedden Rag). K.W. Jeter's The Night Man. Marc Laidlaw's The Orchid Eater. C. Eric Higgs' The Happy Man. Whitley Strieber's The Night Church. Charles Grant's The Pet. Thomas F. Monteleone's Night Train. John Coyne's The Piercing. T.M. Wright's A Manhattan Ghost Story. The list is long and rich.

One of the worst things about growing older is watching the things you love disappear. It's not as bad with music or movies. A reader is a rarer sort of bird.

It didn't seem as bad when I was young. In the 70's a lot of the materials on the bookstore racks were reprints of pulp fiction. Doc Savage was huge and so was Conan. Science Fiction from the Golden Age was selling like gangbusters. Now it seems as though few young readers care about the past.

It's not all dire news. Heinlein and Lovecraft and Bradbury and Dick continue to be discovered by successive generations. Richard Matheson has continued to get the respect he deserves from Hollywood. Then there are the specialty presses that bring the literary wonders of the past to us in beautiful editions.

One of the best is Hafner Press, which publishes deluxe editions of classic by Jack Williamson, Leigh Brackett and Edmond Hamilton. Hamilton's horror stories are collected in The Vampire Master and Other Tales of Horror. Wildside Press reprints gems from the pulp era. Paizo Publishing, a company that does a lot of gaming media, puts out some deliciously cool Sword and Planet fiction. Ash-Tree Press delivers a ton of vintage works of supernatural fiction, by writers that even a lot of so-called scholars haven't even heard of. NESFA Press has published dozens of beautiful, affordable retrospectives of classic science fiction and fantasy. A new company called Rocket Ride Books has published a damned nice trade paperback of John W. Campbell's Who Goes There?, with an Introduction and a movie treatment by William F. Nolan, as well as the first-ever audio presentation of the influential novella.

The stuff from the 80's is still to be found too. Library sales are one of the best ways to find the treasures, especially is you (like me) prefer to read hardcovers. And the used bookstores still have a lot of the wonderful paperback originals. Yeah, I know, most of the cool used bookstores are gone too.

Don't discount thrift stores, where I've made dozens of great purchases. You can go many times and find nothing, but there have been occasions where I've found whole collections at them. It's kind of sad to see a whole bunch of books with the same name inscribed in them, knowing that the owner might have passed away.

Still and all, it's not that bad being a veteran reader of the genre. You can read the new materials with the knowledge of hundreds of books from the past as perspective. Opening a beloved old books is like embracing a dear old friend. And if you're lucky, young readers will give you respect and maybe you'll even get asked to pen a column for a major magazine.

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sun, 26 Jul 2009 19:49:00 +0000

I just passed the last small video store in my area. That I know of anyway. There was a Going Out of Business Sale sign in the window. Honestly, I don't know how they made it this long. Every time I passed there it was either empty or nearly empty. I personally hadn't been in there in months. Years, actually. I was sick of getting damaged DVDs from them. Even if they did exchange it or refund my money. Who wants to get home and start watching a movie only to have it crap out somewhere during its running time?

There's still some Blockbusters around, but I haven't liked that corporation in many, many years. I hear they're hurting too. Good.

It's sad to me to see the video stores go. I spent a substantial amount of time in them in the 80's. Shoot, in the 90's too. But I think I was most enraptured in the 1980's, when home video was new and still something unique.

I remember when there was only a few places around to rent movies. They were always crowded. This was when VCRs were still pretty expensive. Then in the course of a few short years, video stores were everywhere. The Videotape Revolution was in full effect and everyone was renting movies, buying blank tapes, and there were movie parties going on everywhere.

It seemed like there were video stores on every corner and just about every convenience store rented them too. Some of the little Mom and Pop shops had more eclectic stuff. But you'd never know what you'd find. Going into a new video store was always an exciting thing. There was always the chance that you'd find some movie that you had been searching for. There was no easy way to find out what was and what was not available on tape. Not like today with Amazon.com and IMDb to answer all of your questions.

Video stores were more than just places to rent your entertainment. They became social centers for some of us. It wasn't hard to find like-minded people and talk about the movies you liked. And you'd see the same faces hovering over the New Releases section like sharks in a feeding frenzy.

It seems impossibly long ago now. A place to meet strangers and talk about movies. Now we can find a thousand places on the Internet to babble all day and night about movies, but it's not the same. I never saw a flame war in a video store nor did I see any trollish behavior. There were some old-fashioned assholes here and there, but even that was rare. People were there for the love of movies.

By the time the 90's rolled around, things had died down to a point. Sure, people still rented movies and the stores were still doing good business. But the frenzy had waned. The newness of home video had worn off and people, ever fickle, were looking for something new. And they found it.

Video games weren't a new thing by then, but they were rapidly becoming more sophisticated. The younger people still liked movies, but more were becoming video game junkies. Why simply watch a movie when you could interact with the events on the screen? It was sexier and more exciting.

Maybe it isn't any better to be a movie geek than a video game junkie, but to me it always was and it always will be. I never picked up the gaming obsession and I'm glad that I haven't. I spend far too much time at this computer as it is without the addiction that I see people have with games.

DVD was a blow to the video stores. Collecting became affordable and who wanted to take back a movie when there were hours of content on a disc? To a lesser extent than the VHS heyday, movie fans became DVD enthusiasts. I was a member and rabid message board participant at the very first website that was devoted to horror DVD. But a lot of us fund that we were blowing tons of money on discs that we really wouldn't be watching very much.

Not that spending far too much money was a new thing in regard to home video. I wish I had the money I blew on rentals and blank tapes. I bought hundreds and they all became garbage.

The final, devastating blow to the video stores was Netflix, I think. And movie downloading (both legal and otherwise) continues to be a driving force in the industry.

I know that there are still movie rental stores, cool ones, especially in bigger cities. But it's not like it was. They've became the exception rather than the rule. Most of us either have Blockbuster, which I hate, or nothing at all.

The video store, such a vital part not only of my life, but of our culture, is dead. Rest in peace.

The Economy and Horror

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sun, 26 Jul 2009 14:24:00 +0000

It's scary out there. People are losing their jobs, their homes. It seems like government spending is reaching terrifying proportions. Home equities and retirement plans are looking shaky. It's time for most of us to cut back on the luxuries.

I'm lucky. I'm not quite sure that my job is 100% recession proof, but we're busy as hell at work and things are looking good for the future.

A lot of people have a bleaker view of their futures.

I was listening to the radio one morning this week and the lady DJ was advising listeners on how to cut their spending. The topic of reading came up and she said to use the library and to buy books used. It's sound advice and I've been forced by necessity to do it.

But the writers need to survive too. I'm not suggesting that those that are unemployed to spend their precious resources on new books, but most of us can at least afford to buy new paperbacks.

We need our writers and they need us. I literally consider book buying to be as important to me as my monthly bills. I have to have the new titles by my favorite writers and as long as I'm gainfully employed I'll continue to buy them.

It's nice to say that we need to support the local booksellers and I try to do so. But no one can find fault in a reader using Amazon and other discount retailers. Nor can we blame them from buying their Leisure books at WalMart. I don't enjoy supporting the corporations, but the main thing is that the writers get their royalties.

It sucks, but for better or worse the rules of distributors are changing. It's no longer mandatory to buy your books from the local bookseller. Get it online if that is what makes it easier on your bank account.

And electronic fiction is a big option too. It's not for me and it never will be, but for those of you that like it, bless you. It's sales that make the genre stronger.

You can change your habits too. Maybe spend fewer nights drinking beer and more with a book. You can buy a paperback with the cost of a twelve-pack. Instead of greasy, nasty lunches at fast food dumps, brown bag and save money (and your heart).

And I'm not saying that we shouldn't use the library. I do all the time. We'd be fools not to. I'm just suggesting that we mix it up and that we don't forget that the writers have bills too. I'd hate to see my own favorites give it up and go to work at factories.

It's a little different with movies. History tells us that movie ticket sales thrive in dire economic times. People like to escape and movies are a reasonably priced way to do it. My advice is to see the first show of the day, which are generally less crowded and much cheaper than evening shows.

For those facing the terrifying prospect of unemployment and foreclosure, my heart goes out to you and your loved ones.

Michele Lee's Rot

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Thu, 23 Jul 2009 20:21:00 +0000

Don't get me wrong: I used to love zombies. I was reading about them and watching movies about them when most of today's fans were on the tit. But I hate it when so many try to milk a genre to death. Too many zombie books, too many zombie movies.

But my job here (unpaid as it is) is to read and review what's happening in horror fiction. I dump a lot of this stuff on my poor, suffering partner, Andy, but I figured I'd jump on the grenade for this one.

And I'm sort of glad that I did.

In the world of Rot, zombies are created by a certain few with the power to do so. Loved ones that cannot bear to lose their dear departed can bring the dead back to a kind of life. But when they are no longer wanted they are taken to a place called Silver Springs Specialty Care Community. For a price your living dead can be watched and monitored as they slowly rot away from any resemblance to humanity.

There is a lot to recommend about Michele Lee's Rot. The author genuinely tries to bring human emotion and originality to her work. And she mainly succeeds at this. Rot is much better than the average thing of its kind I've tried to read. I give her major points for it.

Unfortunately there are some things about Rot that don't work. One, the first person narrator is a hard boiled war vet and supposed no-nonsense security head for Silver Springs. The voice didn't jibe with the type for me. I never got the feeling that I was in the hands of such a character. Two, this guy helps some zombies in a quest for truth and freedom, but they way they do it defies all logic and credibility.

I would have liked Rot to have been at least twice as long, with more attention to detail and a little more of a deliberate pace.

Still, the mystery in Rot is engaging and the conclusion is reasonably poignant. I can't recommend Rot without reservation, but zombie enthusiasts will want to check it out. And I won't discount Michele Lee and her writing, despite my dissatisfaction with certain elements of Rot. This novella shows talent that still needs to be honed and polished.