Horror Drive-In

Cecil B. Demented and Underground Movies

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Mon, 18 Aug 2008 17:28:00 +0000

I used to love underground movies and in fact I still do. But the term, Underground, has become as trite and meaningless as ones like Alternative and Hardcore.

There are about as many definitions for Underground Movies are there are people talking about the subject, but I always felt that it stood for danger. Risk. Underground Movies were produced outside the law and outside the standards of the established movie industry.

If one man knows about the real meaning of Underground Movies, it would have to be John Waters. His early movies are atrocities, his celluloid crimes which were condemned and savaged by critics. Many of whom later retracted their harsh words when John gained acceptance from so many quarters.

John has managed to maintain his integrity while becoming an established film director. That he went from one of the most reviled individuals in film history to one that made one of the most beloved movies of all time (Hairspray) is a remarkable accomplishment. Yes, he made some family-friendly movies, but John Waters' black heart has remained in tasteless, transgressive motion pictures and Cecil B. Demented is his love letter to them.

I hadn't seen Cecil B. Demented is quite some time and I dusted off my old DVD and spun it the other night. Just as when I first watched it, Cecil B. Demented touched my own heart and made me despise the mainstream all over again.

Contemplating it, I'm wondering where the real underground movies are today? I'm not talking about a bunch of strippers showing their stuff or yet another tedious zombie opus. That ain't Underground, folks. Not by a long shot.

Part of it is the digital revolution. Now anyone can shoot a 'movie' for almost nothing and they can edit them with ease on their home computers. In theory that's a good thing, but I think it takes away from things. No longer does a filmmaker have to have the determination to make the amount of film he was able to buy (or steal) count. It isn't as critical that every shot be on the money.

Where are the Kenneth Angers, the Maya Derens, the George Kuchars of today? Regardless of whether you like his efforts, where are the filmmakers with the passion and political conviction of Nick Zedd? Or Richard Kern, who turned eroticism upside down with his perverted sensibilities? Who are the heirs to these provocateurs? Are there any?

I don't see them, but I've reached the point where I've just about stopped trying. Too much unfulfilled hype and not even passion and originality, from what I've seen. Part of me thinks that there has to be some out there fighting the good fight. Breaking down the barriers of good taste, shocking viewers into seeing through the bullshit in our society. People are becoming more braindead than ever. Senses dulled by video games, the rising tide of extreme religious fanaticism and subversiveness in the form of grossout comedies and lame cartoons. And I know, John Waters made his career with grossout comedies, but Pink Flamingos was released thirty-six long years ago. It just took the mainstream a few decades to catch up, compromise it and sell it to the masses.

If there are any groundbreaking truly independent films or filmmakers out there, I'd genuinely love to know about them.

Ten Years Online

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Thu, 14 Aug 2008 16:18:00 +0000

Actually I got my first computer in June, 1998. Early for some, but a lot of people had been online for a long time.

I took to it like a fish takes to water. Finally I could find out all kinds of things about writers and filmmakers and favorite musicians. I could find songs to listen to and books that I had searched for for years.

Then there were the fans. I saw some horror fiction boards, but I felt insecure about participating at them. Instead I began to post at horror movie sites. Later I went into the horror fiction discussion business and I saw an amazing amount of success. I think it came from my own enthusiasm and lack of cynicism about the field. I looked at certain other forums and I saw a lot of bitter people. Jaded and often with vicious temperaments. I found it to be infantile and petty and I wanted no part of that sort of thing.

I made a move or two in this crazy environment and I somehow bumbled into making a name for myself. I always wanted to start my own place up and I did so a couple of years ago. You're looking at it right now.

There has been so many changes in the field since those naive days. The small press exploded and is still growing and mutating to adapt to the market and the community. When I started there was only a few boards dedicated to horror literature and in the course of a half-decade or so, it seemed like dozens popped up. Often at odds with other sites.

That's something I never quite understood, but I suppose that's part of the competitive nature of our species. My own perspective is that we're all part of a family. I may not exactly be crazy everyone in it, but I do feel a kinship to those that love the genre.

Computers have become such an enormous part of our lives. The effects of them have been mixed. Our lives are easier, that's for sure. Paying bills and keeping track of debts and bank accounts is far, far more convenient. It's easier to follow news and information about just about everything. We know what books, movies and music releases that are coming long before their street dates. All that's nice, but...

Maybe we've lost something. The magic of looking in a bookstore and the explosive thrill of seeing a new, unexpected book by a beloved author. That's mostly gone. And thrift store hunts--they aren't the same. Not when I can get just about any book for a nominal price at abebooks or Amazon.com Marketplace or Ebay.

We've also demystified the creative process. We've seen the writers and filmmakers at their best and at their worst. Warts and all.

And maybe we've lost some more important things. How many hours have we taken from our families to sit down and meticulously read post after post at message boards? For me, I can give an exact number: too many. I've always been a fairly big guy, but I gained an atrocious amount of weight by abandoning my formerly active lifestyle in favor of sitting on my ass in front of this screen. Like anything else, it can be addicting and it can deprive us of the really important things in life.

However, on the other side of the coin, I've seen tremendous acts of humanity at the boards. Countless instances of emotional and moral support. And, yes, financial support as well. I've seen dozens of acts of generosity from the community. I've made some of the best friends I've ever had from sitting at this computer, pecking on these damned keys.

True to the duality of humankind, I've seen hatred and virtual lynch mobs formed. Incredible ugliness.

But for the most part, I've seen the community as an overwhelmingly positive influence on publishing. So many readers and collectors are unrelentingly supportive.

I hate to resort to a cliché by a corny old movie, but Mr. Miyagi had it right in The Karate Kid. There should be a balance in everything in life. We love horror and it's important that we stay involved. Keep the home fires burning. But we shouldn't lose sight of our families and having a real social life outside the computer world. Keeping physically active is one of the most important things in life and I've made Herculean efforts to reverse the way I had let my body go to hell in for about eight years.

I've been at this for ten years and I guess I'll be doing it for at least another decade. It's been a wild ride and I thank everyone who has been along for it.

Joe R. Lansdale's Leather Maiden

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 20:22:00 +0000

I'm always getting on my soapbox and asking you to spend your hard-won dollars. I can't help it. If we love this stuff...movies, books, etc., the only way to do our part to ensure that our favorites can continue to bring us our daily horror bread is to speak out with our purchasing dollars.

I've had a lot of writers that I've called my favorites over the many years I've been a reader. Robert A. Heinlein, Frederik Pohl, Kurt Vonnegut, Philip Jose Farmer, Stephen King, Peter Straub, Robert Cormier, Bill Pronzini. And I still adore the works of these fine writers. But the one that has most constantly topped my list has been Joe R. Lansdale.

I first discovered Lansdale's work with his seminal novel, The Drive-In. Obviously, I've always been a fan of outdoor theaters and when I heard about a novel with the name, The Drive-In, I knew that I had to read it. I did and I was blown away by the storytelling of the writer. Joe R. Lansdale.

Remember the first time you read Joe? Maybe it was a Hap and Leonard book. Perhaps it was The Bottoms or maybe Cold in July. Or maybe it was one of Joe's amazing short stories. I know that Night They Missed The Horror Show won him a lot of fans. Regardless of what your first Lansdale was, it's probable that you look back on it with a special sort of fondness. Much like the love of a drive-in theater from your youth.

Joe R. Lansdale has written in a lot of genres. Horror, Western, Thriller, Comics, Pulp and the just plain weird. I like it all, but my very favorites of Joe's work are the ones that have their feet firmly in reality. His suspense thrillers, like The Bottoms. A Fine Dark Line. Cold In July. Sunset and Sawdust. And Waltz of Shadows, which sorely deserves to be reprinted.

On August 5th, Joe Lansdale's latest novel will be released. It's called Leather Maiden and it's one of the suspense stories that I favor. Reading the plot synopsis, I have gotten really excited. This could possibly be his finest work to date.

This is a crucial time for Joe R. Lansdale. His career is at a crossroads and it's important for Leather Maiden to be a success. Every sale counts and I need you guys to help out with this one. I know that some of you use the library and I do too. I always make an exception on Joe's case and I'm asking you to do the same. Please don't wait for the paperback this time either.

It seems like I'm always asking you to spend your hard-earned money on something or other. Sorry about that, but I love fiction (and film and music) and the only way our favorites can succeed is for us to speak with out dollars. I usually ask to help people I admire. Not this time. This time I'm asking for purposes of greed. I want more Lansdale fiction to continue to be published. I want more Hap and Leonard and I want more suspense. I want more of the weird shit and whatever else he might have up his sleeve.

I'm not really asking all that much. Go ahead and order from Amazon and if you preorder it now, you'll save. Any new work by this writer is well worth more than $16.29. I promise you won't be disappointed.

Oingo Boingo

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 21:28:00 +0000

It would seem to be a natural given that horror fans would love Oingo Boingo, but sadly, it's all too often not the case. Despite complex orchestrations, beautiful melodies and a dark slant to most of their music, I've noticed a lot of negativity toward the band. I think I know part of the reason why that is.

Many critics savaged Boingo from from the start. Why? Gee, could it be a scathing song about rock journalists called Imposter, from their first album? Take a listen. I've always loved Imposter, partially because it's a kick ass tune and partially because I've always hated rock journalists. Nearly all of them, anyway. No doubt they had their little feelings hurt by the song and they got their revenge the best they could. Not that it deterred Danny Elfman's career a bit.

Sadly, those pathetic bastards have more sway than they deserve and whether they'd admit it or not, the massive bad press about Oingo Boingo affected a lot of people's opinions.

Oingo Boingo started out as The Mystic Knights of the Oingo Boingo and they were a musical/theatrical group. Their deranged show contained elements of cabaret, Dadaism, Cab Callaway and other forms of barely-controlled insanity. The troupe was led by Richard Elfman, who became more interested in film. This led to the delirious Forbidden Zone, a black and white mindfuck of an acid trip film that defies description.

With Richard Elfman off in a different direction, the leadership of the band fell to brother Danny. Danny Elfman decided to go into a more traditional musical form and turn the band into a ska group. The name was shortened to merely Oingo Boingo and they went on to have a very successful run.

Most know Oingo Boingo from their appearance in the hilarious Rodney Dangerfield movie, Back to School. Boingo played what became their signature piece, Dead Man's Party, in it.

Danny's fascination with the macabre bled into his songwriting and many of the songs dealt with mortality, yet never seemed to be morbid. The message was to enjoy, dance and party while you're still here, because death was eventually waiting for us all.

The band enjoyed several years of sold-out shows and popular songs, but as their sound began to change, Oingo Boingo lost a lot of their audience. 1990's Dark at the End of the Tunnel was more introspective and melodic and featured less ska-influenced party music. I personally felt that it was their finest work up to that point.

Danny Elfman's symphonic arrangements were naturally suited to the movies and Tim Burton approached him to score his first film, Pee Wee's Big Adventure. This successful collaboration led to a long and fruitful relationship between the two oddball personalities. Beetlejuice came after Pee Wee's Big Adventure and it was even more of a success. But it was with 1989's Batman that Elfman and Burton really hit it big. The movie was huge and the music of Danny Elfman has been in constant demand ever since then. But it was not without controversy.

A music professor named Micah Rubenstein wrote an outraged letter to Keyboard Magazine in response to an interview with Elfman, accusing him of 'glorifying musical ignorance'. Elfman's incensed rebuttal is printed in its entirety here.

I've heard people say that "all of Danny Elfman's film scores sound the same", which is completely wrong. Yes, he often uses a signature sound, especially in the comic book movies he scores, but Dead Presidents sounds nothing like Freeway. Which sounds absolutely nothing like the music for Planet of the Apes.Elfman's theremin-heavy SF music for Mars Attacks! bears no resemblance to the sound of Big Fish. You get the picture.

I was a huge Oingo Boingo fan in the early-mid 90's, just in time for the final rock album by the band. This time the album was simply called Boingo and it is arguably the best thing they ever did. I also think it's one of the best albums I've ever heard, period. Sadly, too few people have listened to it. Gone (well, mostly) is the horn section and in place there is extra guitar work courtesy of Vandals player, Warren Fitzgerald. He, along with Steve Bartek and Danny Elfman, play densely layered work that is almost an orchestration of guitars. And Danny Elfman's songwriting has never been richer or more powerful than on Boingo.

In 1995, Danny Elfman announced the retirement of Oingo Boingo. Their final performance would be their annual Halloween show, which took place at the Universal Amphitheater. The show was captured on both audio CD and DVD. It remains, along with Talking Heads' brilliant Stop Making Sense, the best concert film I've ever seen.

Unlike many other recording acts, Oingo Boingo's retirement seems to be genuine. I guess with the kind of money Danny makes with movie soundtracks, he can afford to hang up the touring. But he says that he has permanent hearing damage from playing with the band and that he will never do so again.

Danny Elfman had this to say about it: Quite simply... the time was right. After 17 years together, it finally occurred to me that we had survived about 16 years longer than I had expected... pretty good by any standards I think. It's been good, crazy times, and I'm always amazed how loyal our fans have been, but I think it's better to let things go before they turn sour. Also, scientifically speaking, modern research has recently proven that after a band has been together longer than a decade, the risk of the dinosaur factor kicking in increases exponentially each year thereafter. In short, it's been fun. Adios Amigos.

Andy Sidaris

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 22:14:00 +0000

I miss Andy Sidaris. He was no great filmmaker, but he always gave his fans what they paid to see. It was The Triple B Pledge: Bullets, Bombs and Babes.

Andy Sidaris got his start in the world of televised sports. He was the first directer of ABC's Wide World of Sports and he directed countless professional games before he began making feature motion pictures. The Sidaris Formula consisted of having various Playboy Playmates involved in some kind of international crime caper. Think Charlie's Angels with a lot more skin. They were generally shot in Hawaii.

I had never heard of Andy or his movies. Until one night on Joe Bob Briggs' Drive-In Theater. My God, those were the days. I'd watch JBB every Saturday Night and he showed some great films. As well as many not-so-great ones. The films of Andy Sidaris fell somewhere in the middle. They were slick enough, as he had more than ample experience behind the camera. He directed as well as wrote many of them and, trust me, he was no Mamet. But he managed to get the story across. And you didn't have to worry about a whole lot of plot to get in the way of the skin and the explosions. Sidaris knew what his audiences wanted and he gave it to them.

The first I saw was Hard Ticket to Hawaii and I later saw Malibu Express, Hard Hunted, Savage Beach and Picasso Trigger. These movies were late night cable TV staples in the 80's and 90's. For all I know they still are.

Andy Sidaris died in March 2007, of throat cancer. His career was successful by any standard. He learned the ropes in the industry and went on to write and direct 12 money-making pictures.

It hardly seems like Summer without Andy Sidaris around anymore.

Heaven

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 22:24:00 +0000

I've never been much of a man of faith. You can call me cynical or possibly pessimistic. I've never believed in the pot at the end of the rainbow. Some of my earliest recollections involve me thinking that the idea of God would be a great thing, but the logistics of it prevented me from buying it. I've gone from outright atheist to possibly agnostic to I-don't-know-what-to-think.

The older you get, the more you tend to question your convictions, I think. Especially if those convictions are fatalistic.

I put a lot of stock in dreams. I am a person that dreams a lot and often they have a lot of personal meaning to me. My brother died a couple of years ago and a week doesn't go by without me having a dream with him in it. Often the dreams are painful, but sometimes they are joyous. Once I dreamed of Heaven.

This was a number of years ago. Maybe three, but possibly four. I didn't keep track of the actual date, but I've never forgotten this vivid dream.

In it, I found myself walking in an enormous mansion. It was huge and it had inner walls, but no outside walls that I could see. So I could see for a long, long way. In the dream I was younger than I was at the time I had it. I was lighter and my knees didn't hurt.

Everywhere I looked I saw knots of people. In crowds and seated at tables. There were so many things going on--plays, films, musical acts. More than I could take in. On and on, up to and past the horizon of the beautiful day that was outside.

I walked along this mansion, seeing wonders. I remember stopping in front of a puppet show that a half a dozen or so people were watching. In was funny, but not my particular thing. Walking on, I came to an area where there were displays of food behind glass. It was the best-looking food I had ever seen and there was an immaculately dressed man there serving it. As always I was worried about whether I could afford anything and I asked the man about prices. The well-dressed man smiled and said, "There's no charge sir. There's never a charge". I didn't feel hungry, but I knew that I would enjoy some of that food. But I chose to wait. There was too much to see and time later to sample things.

Walking on, I turned a corner and went outside the building and on the side of it I saw my wife, Tanya. She looked more beautiful than ever; young, fit, healthy and beaming. We didn't speak, but joined arms and she walked with me. There were people everywhere, most of whom I didn't know. Even though, in a strange way, I felt like I did know them. Everyone smiled and I could feel an overwhelming warmth coming from everywhere.

We came to an area where there were picnic tables and I saw all my old friends at one. They were all laughing and very happy. I felt that all of the things that drove most of us apart were silly and petty. Ridiculous that we had let such small matters ruin the close bond that so many of us had had. I almost joined them, but I thought, Not yet.

At another large table not so far away was a group of people I know from the horror fiction community. Again, everyone seemed happy and warm. Some saw me and waved us over, but I only smiled and waved, giving a gesture that I would be there with them soon. I felt no urgency. Time. Plenty of it. There was so much to see. New friends to make and wonders to marvel at.

One thing that was certain to me, and this seemed very important in the dream. This large gathering had started at exactly the same time for everyone. No one had to wait to see anyone. We were all there together, almost as if we had always been together.

The main feeling I felt from within and from everyone else was enormous relief. It was all over: the worry, the pain, the suffering, the uncertainty. We had made it and everything that had happened to us before was important to the people that were now were. The experiences, the good and the bad, made us what we were.

This is 100% true. I'm not making up or exaggerating a bit of it.

I've thought about this dream a lot over the past few years and I've been thinking about it a lot more lately. I have a birthday this month and I've reached an age where birthdays are no longer a joy, but a reminder of my dwindling mortality. Was this dream a nocturnal form of wishful thinking? Was it a message from my soul? Do we even have souls? Was it a memory of the consciousness from before my birth and a premonition of after my death?

When I visited my brother, dying of cancer, the last thing he said to me was, "I'll see you".

Netflix: Boon or Bane to the Industry?

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sat, 17 May 2008 22:04:00 +0000

We are all, to varying degrees, addicted to convenience. Everything at our fingertips and when denied it, many react with anger and hostility. People are becoming spoiled brats. I should know, because I'm one of them.

Netflix is becoming the most popular means for people to rent or even watch movies at home. No more trips to a video store. Too much work involved. No more late fees, which were the downfall of many movie renters in days past. Every rental from Netflix is guaranteed. It's a great thing. Isn't it?

I joined Netflix a while back and I was very unhappy with the condition of most of the movies I got. So I quit. Very recently a friend gave me a free month's rentals. And this time, I've been very, very happy with the discs that I've been sent.

It's really kind of impossible to beat. Nearly every movie in print and plenty of out of print ones too. All at one's fingertips. Oh, there's a long wait for some, but for the most part, you can see anything you want. Quick, easy and at an unbeatable price.

But maybe there is a price to pay for that convenience.

I'm beginning to hear some dark things about the DVD market. The smaller companies seem to be hurting when they were thriving a few years ago. I hear that many are barely scraping by. What role does Netflix play in it all?

It has to help a bit, at least to some degree. They are buying multiple copies of just about everything that comes out. But...

Are YOU buying fewer DVDs?

Shit, who can afford to continue to buy them? At least at the rate of which most of us did so in the early years of DVD. We can't. At least I can't.

Back when home video was mostly a rental market, prices were set to be put out of the range of most collectors. People rented and maybe bought used tapes or sometimes they would come down in price. But DVD, by its very nature, is a collector's format. Who wants to take back a movie when there is tons of content on them? And DVD prices were low enough for most working people to buy the ones that they really want.

Now figure in the ease of burning DVDs. A lot of people have software that can burn movies that they rent. Now, with the aid of Netflix, they are building huge collections at a fraction of the cost that they were paying. Whoopee!

How healthy is this situation for the industry? It's easy to hate corporations, but a lot of the really cool small companies need direct sales to exist. Dark rumors of bankruptcy are spreading.

Folks, we NEED companies like Blue Underground. Synapse. Diemos. Dark Sky. Barrel. Anchor Bay. Hell, even Shriek Show. We don't need the market monopolized by Lion's Gate and Dimension, despite all the cool stuff they release.

Remember those days when you first got the DVD bug? Remember the excitement, the thrill, the absolute joy of owning great copies of cherished movies. The market was great then. Now, maybe it's not so good.

I'm not knocking Netflix. I'll probably keep my membership this time. How the hell can I not? But I'm not going to stop buying DVDs and I'm asking you to keep buying too. Not everything that comes out, like some of us attempted to do, but to keep buying favorites. Keep some of the money going to the source. We need them and they need us.

The Seven Faces of Dr. Lao

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sat, 03 May 2008 22:25:00 +0000

I'm guessing that many of you haven't seen The Seven Faces of Dr. Lao. But I'm also quite sure that some have seen it. And I bet that those that have hold it in a very special place in their hearts.

The Seven Faces of Dr. Lao is one of those movies that when you mention it to knowing parties, a certain look comes over them. A brightness; a glint of youthful delight. Magic.

I'll never understand why Dr. Lao never got the recognition that it deserved. Why it's not another Wizard of Oz. A much lower budget might be part of it, but I feel that The Seven Faces of Dr. Lao has a deeper emotional resonance than The Wizard of Oz. Plus it's funnier and I think it has more insight into our species than most other films of its kind.

Based on the fantasy novel by Charles (no relation to Jack) Finney, The Seven Faces of Dr. Lao is fairly faithful to the source, but I think that budgetary restraints prevented the spectacular end of the novel to be properly duplicated. But screenwriter Charles Beaumont does an admirable job in keeping the essence of the book, as well as adding his own particular imaginative stamp on the material.

The story deals with an old Chinese fakir named Dr. Lao that takes his circus to the dying Depression-era town called Abalone. A Capitalistic rancher is trying to buy the town away from its inhabitants, who are unaware that a railroad is being planned to come by it. Lao's magical circus acts give powerful lessons to the townfolk, who decide to keep their homes. It's that simple.

Tony Randall, perennial milquetoast character actor and half of The Odd Couple TV show, plays seven different roles in the film: the titular Doc, Medusa, Merlin the Magician, The Abominable Snowman, Pan, a Serpent and Apollonius of Tyana. He's absolutely marvelous and any sensible actor should be envious at his ease and command of the parts.

The entire film is full of wit and joy and pathos and it's one that marks the viewer for life. I've seen it more times than I can count and it's one that I proudly shared with my children, who loved it as well. And it was my brother's favorite movie.

The Seven Faces of Dr. Lao is available on DVD and I hope that you buy it. Then you, like me, can live by these sacred words:

The whole world is a circus if you look at it the right way. Every time you pick up a handful of dust, and see not the dust, but a mystery, a marvel, there in your hand - every time you stop and think, 'I'm alive, and being alive is fantastic!' - every time such a thing happens, you are part of the Circus of Dr. Lao.

What Makes a Great Comedy

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 20:32:00 +0000

I love comedy, even though I end up hating most comedy films I see. In the last week I saw three in the theater. One I thought was okay. One I intensely disliked. And one was pretty damned good. In order, they were Leatherheads, Forgetting Sarah Marshall and Meet Bill.

What makes a movie funny? You can have a million answers to that one. I can wax philosophical and make claims about character and dialogue and emotional impact. Sure I can, but sometimes a story simply wins you over. I've often compared humor to sexual attraction. What is pleasing to some is repulsive to another. And I find most recent comedies to be repulsive.

I want to talk about a favorite comedy of mine and I want to go into exactly why it worked for me. It's one that most of you have seen, I'm sure. If you haven't seen it, I'll try not to include too many spoilers, but I can't help but there will be some. So if you haven't seen Planes, Trains and Automobiles, be forewarned. Also, if you haven't seen it, I urge you to do so.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles has the ingredients to a movie that I would probably hate. Two talented stars are in it. Talented guys that tend to make terrible movies. The trailers showed a lot of obvious sight humor and over-the-top situations. But this was written and directed by a guy that I think is really talented, John Hughes, so I saw it in the theater.

It's the night before Thanksgiving and Steve Martin only wishes to fly home from his business appointments to spend the holiday with his loved ones. It starts off badly, as his cab is hijacked by some fat guy. He later meets the man again, who of course is played by John Candy. Their fates are entwined for the next couple of days and every possible thing goes wrong in their attempts to reach their destination.

Normally this is something that I'd dislike. The humor is broad, to say the least, and the two characters are pretty unlikable. Candy's character is completely annoying. He's bumbling, overbearing, loud and more than a bit clingy. Martin's character is pompous, smug, superior and contemptuous of most of the people he comes in contact with.

As the movie goes on, we learn more about these men. Their humanity overcomes their stereotypical exteriors. Most comedies attempt this sort of progression, but few are successful. One of the things that made Planes, Trains and Automobiles work is that I began to see myself in both of them. The awkward, clumsy pushy type that craves acceptance. And the impatient, sneering, cynical snob. I think most of us have that sort of duality in our personalities.

Another thing that makes this movie work is that a lot (not all) of the comedy is genuinely funny. And of course that is up to each individual's perceptions.

Toward the end of the picture, the two men discover that they really aren't all that different and that maybe both of them had been behaving in less than ideal ways. Through their trials and misfortunes, they come to enjoy each other's company. Again, this is the typical formula for his kind of comedy, but what sets this and other Hughes films apart is good writing.

Finally the two reach Steve Martin's home airport and make their farewells. At which point Candy's character reveals something about himself, a denouement if you will. It didn't take an astute viewer to have a good idea of what it was, but it still hits us in the gut. It's devastating and though Martin's tough veneer had mostly been broken down, he is checkmated by the truth about the John Candy character's life. The last of the barriers he had built up for himself have broken. And we now know exactly why the Candy character was so desperate for friendship and acceptance. It's a powerful lesson about judging others and just plain good storytelling.

This to me is a great comedy. It's very funny, yet deeply emotional. Not unlike the odyssey the two characters go through in the film, the viewers have made a journey and we came through the other end of it slightly different. Maybe even a little wiser than we were before watching it.

Joe R. Lansdale and The God of the Razor

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 21:00:00 +0000

I look back on my life as a reader and I can think of plenty of writers that I've called my favorite. Robert A. Heinlein was the first and Kurt Vonnegut came after. I read a lot of science fiction early on and favorites of mine at various times included Frederik Pohl, Philip Jose Farmer, Robert Bloch, Richard Matheson and Philip K. Dick. When I discovered Stephen King, he reigned supreme until I was blown away by the intricate writing of Peter Straub.

I remember the first time I happened across the name, Joe R. Lansdale. It was a triple review in Fangoria Magazine, praising Act of Love, the Magic Wagon and Dead in the West. I made a note to check out this Lansdale character as soon as I could. Then there was a full-page ad in The Twilight Zone Magazine (God, do I miss it) for a book called The Drive-In, by none other than Joe. R. Lansdale. The brief description convinced me that THIS was a book that I had to have. I found a copy on a Friday evening at WaldenBooks and started reading it around 11:00 PM. I couldn't finish it that night, but I picked up up immediately upon waking the next morning. Instantly, Joe R. Lansdale became my favorite writer. And he has held that position in my mind for a record breaking period of time.

Lansdale is an established literary phenomena by now. But it was fascinating and rewarding to watch this writer grow. His early career had a lot of extreme violence and showed a tremendous influence of movies in it. Over the years, Joe Lansdale has managed to mature, without getting stale or boring. Some of his stuff is really out there. My own favorites of his work have their feet firmly planted on Terra Firma. Suspense yarns like Cold In July, The Bottoms, A Fine Dark Line, Sunset and Sawdust, The Boar.

Joe Lansdale has published in most conceivable genres. Though a lot of it (especially his shorter works) can be described as horror, you can't really call Lansdale a horror writer. He is, however, very popular among horror readers. I think the only way to truly pigeonhole Lansdale into one particular genre is to say that his style is Joe R. Lansdale. Many have tried, but none touch his own unique ability to weave words into stories.

One of Joe's earliest, and best, books is called The Nightrunners. It's a wonderful horror novel that sits nicely next to the so-called Splatterpunk books of its time. Now, Joe insisted that he was emphatically not a Splatterpunk writer and I definitely agree with that. Still, The Nightrunners is a prime example of the type of visceral, hard-hitting horror story that was associated with that semi-facetious term.

The Nightrunners was originally published as small press edition by Dark Harvest and it came out later as a mass-market paperback. It was reprinted again later in paperback, but it went out of print and has been something of a legend ever since then. Finally, last year Joe's primary small press publisher, Subterranean Press, reprinted The Nightrunners in an omnibus collection called The God of the Razor. This handsome volume also contains an interesting Introductory piece and several stories that either take place or were inspired by The Nightrunners.

The Nightrunners shows Joe's early talent in full, unbridled force. It's kind of frantic, as if he could barely maintain control of his imagination and enthusiasm. It's raw, it's powerful and it's funny and frightening and massively entertaining. And it is one of the finest novels of horror that came out in an exciting and fertile time for the genre.

Some books are good and enjoyable and then you may set it aside. Possibly on a shelf and maybe you'll give it away. Or it ends up in a box or to the paperback exchange store. The God of the Razor is not such a book. This is one that is the kind that you need in a deluxe, sturdy edition. One to proudly sit amid the classics of the horror and suspense genres. The Limited edition of The God of the Razor is sold out, but a deluxe, unsigned hardcover is still available. You can get it direct from Subterranean, or, if you are always looking to save a buck like me, from Amazon

If you come to this site with an interest in horror fiction, The God of the Razor is a mandatory book for your collection. If you've read it, then you already know that. If you haven't, you'd better grab one before it sells out again.

Croatoan Publishing

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sat, 05 Apr 2008 18:23:00 +0000

When was the last time you bought a signed small press book for five bucks? And I'm not talking about some crummy printed-off-the-computer-and-stapled-together hackjob. No, from a writer that cut his teeth in the mass market. Professionally manufactured and beautifully illustrated, with a signature sheet! Now when can you say you've gotten such a deal? Ten years ago? More?

Croatoan Publishing is a new company and I can already see that they are worthy of our support. Their first publication is here and it's called Flesh Welder. This is the long-awaited return to publishing for southern horror writer Ronald Kelly. You remember him right? His book, Fear, is a classic.

At a time when the economy is at its worst in a looong time, we need a publisher that gets us quality horror at affordable prices. Here's a quote by Croatoan head honcho, Steven Lloyd, copied from the Horror Drive-In message board: "Affordable is key. I’m not saying we won’t ever release a high priced book, but at the same time I think about John Doe and Jane Doe working ten hours a day just to put food on the table, wishing they could afford a signed book by one of their favorite writers, or someone new they’ve never read. I have no problem with collectors; I use to be one, but we’re geared toward the working class folks. "

I was so grateful to see these words. America is hurting and certain publishers still continue to try to gouge their customers with ever-increasing book prices. A forty-dollar hardcover is one thing. I don't like it, but I can afford to get the ones I really need to have. But on the other hand, whereas it was once just a few specialty presses, now new ones are popping up all the time. Who can keep up with it? Who would be crazy enough to try to?

Flesh Welder is a chapbook, with cover art by Zach McCain and interior art by Alex McVey. It has a signature sheet signed by the author, Ronald Kelly, and by McCain. This 88 page book has the feature short story, a lengthy interview with Kelly and an excerpt to the upcoming full-length Ronald Kelly werewolf novel, Undertaker's Moon.

This is, quite simply, the best deal I've seen in some time. And it's what we desperately need. A nicely made collector's item, with an established writer and the unbeatable price of five dollars. How can you pass that up? The answer is, you can't. And you most certainly shouldn't.

Hellbound Books offered wonderful deals on quality books and they folded. I just heard that Keith Minnion's marvelous White Noise Press is going to stop publishing after the planned Brian Keene chapbook comes out. I'll say it again: We need publishers like Croatoan.

Upcoming works from Croatoan include the aforementioned Ronald Kelly novel, Undertaker's Moon, a James Newman collection called People Are Strange and works by Robert McCoy and Mark Hickerson. I'm unfamiliar with the latter two writers, but I'm going to take a chance and check them out.

Please check out the Croatoan site and consider buying Flesh Welder. You really can't lose with such a deal. And the James Newman collection is currently at the printer. That one'll cost you $20.00, but you can't lose with it either.

The You Tube Generation

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 22:32:00 +0000

I've heard a lot of references about The You Tube Generation and if my daughter, India, is any indication, it's an accurate title. She spends hours upon hours there, checking out music videos, mostly.

I guess I have mixed feelings about it. I think that today's generations are being dreadfully spoiled by all this convenience. How can anyone truly appreciate something that is always there at the click of a key or two?

I remember in the 1970's...I went to the art theater for a late show to see Frank Zappa's 200 Motels, which is a pretty subversive and wild ride of a movie. Before the feature, we were treated to some clips of new music. Devo, Elvis Costello and The Clash. I distinctly remember being aware that this was something vital and new. At the time, it was outsider music. And I knew that I wasn't likely to see it sitting around at home.

Later, I used to stay up on Saturday nights and watch Night Flight on the USA Network. Anybody remember that? It was an outstanding program that showed an eclectic mix of music, movies, animation and comedy. You might see anything on it, but I mainly remember seeing outré music documentaries and profiles on the show. I also saw the elusive Ladies and Gentlemen: The Fabulous Stains and other off-the-beaten-track films.

The point is that you had to make the effort to see these things. And for most of us, if you missed it, you missed it. No home taping at the time. And if you happened to be too drunk to remember most of it (as with me many of the times), it was just too bad.

Later Night Flight was tragically canceled in favor of the diluted Up All Night.

Years passed and pretty soon we all had VCRs. I used to rent just about everything, but I always especially loved the tapes that had film shorts and music clips. Like Johnny Legned's Sleazemania. I'd obsessively look over the classified ads in magazines to find videos of weird stuff to be had. I blew a lot of money on stuff...some of it wonderful, some of it a waste of my time. But the fun part of it all was the hunt. It was kind of like gambling and kind of like a sport. And when I found the truly remarkable gems, it was twice as thrilling after going down some dead ends.

Am I just another aging fart that feels disdain for how easy the younger generation has it? Maybe. Maybe so. Like the old codgers we laughed at that kvetched that THEY didn't have movies on tape at their disposal or eleventy-hundred channels to choose from on the TV.

But I still think that, despite the convenience that the Internet has given us, we've lost something. Anarchy at one's fingertips seems cheap and phony. Sure, You Tube and the file-sharing programs allow us to get all the stuff we want for free, but in a way it's cutting the heads off of not only the music industry corporations, but the artists themselves. Why buy something when you can get it for free on your computer? I do like that the record companies are taking it in the rear, but I don't think it's the perfect situation when the musicians and filmmakers get the brownest end of the stick. Especially the truly independent ones.

If I want a collection of music videos or I want to own some music, I do so through the proper channels. It's best to try to support the artists at the source and eliminate as much of the middleman as possible, but we're tearing the guts out of the process by all this computer revolution.

Remembering Rex Miller

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sun, 09 Mar 2008 17:33:00 +0000

Of the many things I loved about the 1980's, the music, the styles, the movies, my youth, one thing stands out in a special way. The horror fiction. It was a wonderful time and cool new things were happening all the time. Skipp, Spector, Schow and others ushered in the Splatterpunk era and while it divided fans, I think it was a damned cool approach to writing.

One of the books that came out amid the Splatterpunk rage was Rex Miller's Slob. It wasn't really a Splatterpunk novel, but then I don't think you could easily categorize it in any one genre. This incredible book hit the scene like a pipebomb at a funeral and it shook up a lot of people. Oh, it wasn't for everyone...there were those that said that 'after the hype' it wasn't all that great. Meaning that they judged it by their expectations rather than the actual book. But no book or author will please everyone. However, those that loved books that defied convention and burned their senses like battery acid were immediate fans.

Slob dealt with a protagonist and an antagonist. The protag was Jack Eichord, a weary detective. The villain was a half-ton killing machine named Daniel Edward Flowers Bunkowski AKA: Chaingang. Bunkowski was trained to kill in the Vietnamese War and lived in the tunnels under the city of Chicago. Eichord, a specialist in serial killers, has the job of his life on his hands in hunting down Chaingang.

Slob resembles a horror novel and a mystery/suspense book, but it is thoroughly unique. Wriiten is a hyperkenetic style, Slob mesmerized readers and most of those that read it considered Rex Miller something truly special.

Miller followed Slob up with three further novels about serial killings that featured Jack Eichord, as well as a novel called Profane Men, which was set in the Vietnam War. In 1990, Miller returned to his most colorful creation, Chaingang, with Slice. Three more books focusing on Chaingang appeared in the early 1990's: Chaingang, Butcher and Savant. Sadly, Savant was the final book that Rex Miller gave us.

Then there were his short stories, which were often vastly different than his novels. I haven't read them in years, but some were quiet, atmospheric and oddly beautiful. Why no-one has put them into a collection and published them is beyond me.

Unlike most of the so-called Bizarro writers of today, his books came out through established publishing firms. Working with genuine editors. Trends come and trends go, but great books are always in fashion for discerning readers. Rex Miller broke the rules and did so on his own terms, but his talent was such that he managed to reach millions of readers.

But writing was only one aspect of Rex Miller's accomplishments. He...

Well, rather than bore you with my limited writing skills, I refer you to here.

The Classic Genre Fiction Appreciation and Discussion Club

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Thu, 14 Feb 2008 00:17:00 +0000

This club is dedicated to the preservation and celebration of classic science fiction and horror. To spread the word and to help keep the names alive.

We don't want to exclude the usual suspects, but we don't want to focus entirely on them either. Most of us have read Bradbury, Heinlein, Clarke, Sturgeon, Asimov, Ellison.

I expect the club to be small at first, but I sincerely wish that many new members will join. It's nothing official and no one should feel obligated in any way. But I hope that everyone takes the time and occasional expense to discover new talents of old.

I picked the first ten stories and I added books where they can be found. This is in no way an attempt to list all of the publications of the stories. It's just a way to make it easier for potential members to find them.

The way it'll work is like this: Members will choose ten stories. The rest will vote on the story and there will be a two-week period for everyone to locate and read them. Should we choose to read and discuss novels in the future, there will be a month to get them read.

For now well discuss them at the board, but if this venture proves successful, I'll look into getting a chatroom.

And how do we define classic? It's a broad term, but I'm tempted to say that anything published before 1970 qualifies. Of course, I'm open to any and all suggestions.

You might say that The Classic Genre Fiction Appreciation and Discussion Club is in its Beta stage. Nothing is set in stone and as I said above, I'm open to input.

If you're reading this and are on the fence about it, please consider participating. Especially to those that 'don't like science fiction'. I'm tempted to say that most that feel that way are completely clueless about a lot of the wonderful things that have been published in the field.

Not that we'll avoid horror, but I think that most of us are pretty well-read in that particular genre. A lot, or more likely, most are not so knowledgeable about SF. Especially that which was written in the Golden Age of Science Fiction.

Here's the first batch:

Clifford D. Simak, The Big Front Yard Appears in The Hugo Winners, Vol. 1, edited by Isaac Asimov. Also appears in Over the River and Through the Woods, by Clifford D. Simak

Eric Frank Russell, Allamagoosa. Appears in The Hugo Winners, Vol. 1, edited by Isaac Asimov. Also appears in The Best of Eric Frank Russell

Harlan Ellison, Pretty Maggie Moneyeyes. Appears in Deathbird Stories

Richard Matheson, The Test. Appears in Richard Matheson: Collected Stories Volume Two, by Richard Matheson

Robert A. Heinlein, The Year of the Jackpot. Appears in Off the Main Sequence: The Other Science Fiction Stories of Robert A. Heinlein and The Menace from Earth, by Robert A. Heinlein

Cordwainer Smith, The Ballad of Lost C'Mell. Appears in The Best of Cordwainer Smith and The Rediscovery of Man: The Complete Short Science Fiction of Cordwainer Smith

Frederik Pohl, The Merchants of Venus. Appears in The Gateway Trip: Tales and Vignettes of the Heechee, by Frederik Pohl and Platinum Pohl by Frederik Pohl

Shirley Jackson, The Daemon Lover. Appears in The Lottery and Other Stories

Joseph Payne Brennan, Slime. Appears in The Shapes of Midnight, by Joseph Payne Brennan

Anthony Boucher, They Bite. Appears in The Compleat Werewolf, by Anthony Boucher and The Compleat Boucher, by Anthony Boucher

I'm going to give it a bit more than two weeks for this initial program. I'm counting on you guys. Don't be afraid to try something new and I think that most of you will be pleasantly surprised at the gems that are waiting to be mined in the field.

Oh yeah, my first vote goes to The Merchants of Venus, by Frederik Pohl.

In the meantime, please feel free to discuss it in the forum. Thanks and I hope to see you there.

**** Starred Review: Duma Key, by Stephen King

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 21:13:00 +0000

I can't begin the express the admiration I have for Stephen King. Reading his novels have been some of the greatest reading pleasures of my life. When I 'discovered' him, I was blown away and I read every book of his that was available. And I was rarely disappointed. At least up until a point.

Stephen King's 1985 novel, It, was a major event for me when it was released. I bought it in hardcover, which was unwise at that time of my life, and I devoured it in no time flat. After that...

Well, I still bought his hardbacks, but something seemed to change after it. I liked many of the books, but it seemed like something was....different. King attempted to get more ambitious with his fiction. And I admire the hell out of that. Sometimes he was very successful. Other times he was less than successful. At least to me.

But I never gave up on Stephen King and I always read his books as soon as they come out. Often I was quite satisfied, as with From a Buick 8, The Colorado Kid and Bag of Bones. As much as I loathe to say it, I couldn't stand some of them.

Duma Key is the latest novel from Stephen King and I'll waste no time in saying that it's incredible. For those that might have forgotten how damned good a horror novelist King can be, I urge you to read it. And yes, Duma Key is pure horror. I haven't been this blown away by a book of King's since...well, damned near ever. Christine has been my favorite of his books for many years, and Duma Key might not quite take its place in my number one spot, but it's close. Really close.

I won't waste a lot of time detailing the plot of Duma Key. It's surprises and secrets are too wonderful for me to spoil. But it opens with a successful construction contractor who suffers a near-fatal injury. He loses an arm, his hip is shattered and his head was badly hurt. Life, as he knows it, is over, yet he attempts to start over again in a mysteriously undeveloped piece of beachside real estate in Florida: Duma Key. As therapy he begins to draw and he is immediately overwhelmed by his passion, his obsession, with painting. He gradually learns that his work has a strange power. And when he meets his neighbors on the Key, an he is engulfed into a terrifying vortex of horror.

King does not write simple stories and Duma Key has various subtexts. Loss, recovery and the power of the creative process are examined in metaphoric detail, but those that simple want a great, scary story will be just as satisfied as those looking for deeper meaning.

Characters have always been one of King's greatest strengths and the people in Duma Key are among his finest creations. We come to know them and eventually love them. And that's when King tightens the screws on them and tears our own guts out in the process.

I love long novels and Duma Key is over 600 pages long. I also like short stories, but in a lengthy story, the author is able to really develop the characters and to weave a dense plot. The story here is brilliant and I don't think any short piece of fiction can come close to having the kind of effect on a reader as Duma Key did upon me.

If you've been unhappy with King's fiction in the last twenty years, as many individuals I know have been, I urge you, implore you, to read Duma Key. Not for me, not for King, but for you. It's the best horror novel I've read in the last decade.

Kneeling at the Alter of the Printed Word

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sun, 13 Jan 2008 17:19:00 +0000

I know it, I'm certifiable. I buy books. I spend a lot of money on them. And I realize that several months ago I said that I'd stop. But I can't. I won't.

Reading has always been my life preserver. My hold on to sanity. The light that guides me through the darkness. My first love. My passion.

People have complimented me lots of times in my life by saying that I am an intelligent person. I have this theory about that. I think that most of us, with the exception of a small percentage of tragically unfortunate people, are born with the ability to be intelligent individuals. We have the necessary tools to learn to reason and to be smart. But the sad thing is, the brain is a muscle and like any muscle, it must be used. Reading for pleasure isn't the only way to keep a healthy, active mind, but it's one of the good ways. Too many people, far too many people, let their precious minds decay. Like atrophied muscles in the body, an inactive mind grows weak. Television is the leading culprit in most cases, and other forms of media follow closely. Add in the dumbing down that most peer pressure leads to and the unending tedium that so many jobs inflict upon lives and you have a nation of nincompoops.

On the other hand, would a smart person spend so much on books?

Well, maybe. But I've stopped with the expensive limited editions. And I use the library whenever I can. But yeah, I buy a lot of books and I plan to continue to do so. It's what I do. It's what I will continue to do.

One of my biggest financial setbacks has been my obsessive habit of DVD collecting. I've spent a bloody fortune on them. Well, that's going to stop. Well, mostly stop. From now on I intend to cut that waaaay back.

I used to read all the time. Every night, almost. When I bought my first VCR, I almost completely stopped reading. And for years I read with a lot less frequency than I watched movies. That's going to change too. I'm sick of it.

Don't get me wrong...I still love movies. But I plan to see more at the theater than on home video. At least for a while. I intend to read more books in 2008 than in any other year of my life. The year isn't but a couple of weeks old, and I've completed two books. I want to do a lot better than that. And I will.

I'm excited about it. So much so that I've spent a lot of money this week on books. What have I bought? Uh...

Fools Rush In, by Ed Gorman. Trade hardcover.

Antediluvian Tales, by Poppy Z. Brite. Trade hardcover.

Snowbound/Games, by Bill Pronzini. Trade paperback.

Dark Delicacies 2, edited by Jeff Gelb and Del Howison. Trade paperback.

Seldom Seen in August, by Kealan Patrick Burke. Signed, limited chapbook.

With my apologies to the independent booksellers, I bought the books at Amazon, where I get a substantial discount. I want to support the genre, but I need to watch my own budget and it goes a lot further when I get discounts. Oh and I bought the chapbook direct from White Noise Press.

I put the challenge forth to you too. Read more. Fewer hours in front of the TV set. Not much time making small talk with uninteresting people. Let's raise our own personal bars of literacy and share it here.

The Rudy Schwartz Project

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Fri, 04 Jan 2008 00:46:00 +0000

I've always had eclectic tastes in music. Well, I call it eclectic, others have said that I like weird shit.

In my earliest memories of enjoying songs, I was drawn to novelty tunes. But that's not really much of a novelty unto itself...many, or even most kids like funny songs. It's just that I never stopped. This and that appealed to me, but when I first heard the music of Frank Zappa, it was a revelation. If my memory serves, the album was Burnt Weeny Sandwich and I thought it was great.

I became the biggest Frank Zappa fan in town. I owned every damned one of them and I listened to them obsessively. I can feel the blush of embarrassment come up as I confess that I even had the long black hair, mustache and signature goatee that Frank had. Thankfully, that was a brief period.

Other bizarre acts became instant favorites when I heard them. The Bonzo Dog Band were and will always continue to be favorites of mine. When "Weird Al" Yankovic hit the scene, I was immediately enraptured.

I've always looked for new oddities to add to my list of whacked-out favorites. One great place to hear off-the-beaten-track stuff is the No Pigeonholes radio show, hosted by Don Campau. Don plays home recorded, underground music of all styles and genres and lots of it is humorous and decidedly offbeat.

One day, a few years ago, I heard a song on No Pigeonholes that really caught my ears. It was called The Pincushion Man and it sounded like it came from one of those cool old black and white cartoons. The artist was identified as The Rudy Schwartz Project. Intrigued, I did a quick Internet search and located the website of The Rudy Schwartz Project. I decided to order one of the CDs that were offered for sale and I simply chose the first one listed, which was called Bowling For Appliances.

It quickly arrived and I wasted no time in getting into my stereo. I wasn't quite sure what to expect, but I was shocked at what came out of my speakers that day. Bowling For Appliances is strange, funny, outrageous and slightly unnerving.

I liked Bowling for Appliances and if I was satisfied by it, then I was utterly blown away by the next one I ordered. Don't Get Charred....Get Puffy! is widely considered the finest release by The Rudy Schwartz Project and it is an astonishing piece of music. There is the obvious influence of Frank Zappa in it (and all of Rudy's music), but it is far from any sort of slavering imitation. Rudy Schwartz has his own warped mindset and his own political agenda.

There was no turning back after hearing Don't Get Charred...Get Puffy. I was thoroughly corrupted and I had no choice but to buy all of the other music. I've been a huge fan ever since. In fact, after numerous listens and continuing to be astonished by the music, I was forced to come to the conclusion that The Rudy Schwartz Project was my very favorite musical act. And, like with any other music I liked, I forced it upon everyone I know. Some were frightened off. Others were interested, but still intimidated. Others still saw what I saw in the songs and have become fans.

But what kind of music does The Rudy Schwartz Project play? Uh, that's like asking what kind of music that Zappa played, or Weird Al Yankovic or The Bonzo Dog Band. Like many of my favorite bands, The Rudy Schwartz Project is fiercely eclectic. You can't pigeonhole the music into one single genre, though the songs touch on most styles.

I don't know what kind of music you like. But if you are offended by what society considers to be obscene language, The Rudy Schwartz Project is not for you. If you are the kind that will be insulted by irreverent religious satire, you need to look elsewhere. If you like music that is easily definable and sits comfortably in a category in a record store, uh uh. But if you like complex arrangements and performances, laugh-out-loud humor and pointed criticisms of the bullshit in society, The Rudy Schwartz Project just might be your cup of poison.

So imagine my surprise when Rudy Schwartz contacted me and said that he liked Horror Drive-In and wished to write movie reviews for the site. I was stunned and extremely flattered and I gratefully agreed. He'll be doing reviews of mostly rare horror and SF movies and as I indicated before, he's a very funny man. Check out his reviews and I think you'll agree.

The first one is up here and there will (hopefully) be many more to follow.

The Small Horror Press

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Thu, 27 Dec 2007 23:26:00 +0000

There has been some recent controversy in the genre about lifetime subscriptions to various small press publishers. One impending new outlet, Full Moon, has announced an astounding 20 books to be published in one year. I would never consider taking on a subscription like that, because of the amount of money it would cost. But that number would not entice me to do so even if I could afford it. That sounds like suicide, no matter how much advice one might receive from the seasoned pros. It's like being a virgin and being told about sex. Till you've gotten down and done the nasty, you don't really know what it's all about. And it usually takes a while before you get it right.

I don't wish Full Moon to fail, but I am tired of so many damned limited editions coming out. It has become a rich man's game, no matter what anyone says. Yes, the big dogs like CD and Subterranean still price their regular limiteds at $40.00 and I'm grateful for that. And yes, they haven't really gone up in almost 15 years. That's certainly wonderful. But consider this...

Try to buy a computer back in 1995 and see what that would have cost you. Or a digital movie player. Or a new release movie. Sure, they're electronics and everybody knows that we reap our entertainment through near slave labor from other countries. But there has to be some reason why the prices of those have remained stable.

Good business is a big part of it, I think. Good business and dealing with a quality product. The big companies got that way by doing it right. Also, when they reach a point where they can produce large publishing runs and can make sales to libraries and discount sellers, that helps a lot.

Think this, too: Back when the small horror press was relatively new, in the mid-90's, deluxe books were not all that plentiful. It was feasible, for most individuals, to buy most of the books that they really wanted to own. Now it seems like there are dozens of new publications announced each month. It has reached epidemic proportions and all but the extremely well off must refrain from indulging in the majority of them.

Of course, we are told that we don't prioritize our spending. That we possibly shouldn't have had children if we could not properly afford them. Well, in my case, I knew damned well I couldn't afford kids. But I fell in love with a woman that happened to have two young daughters. Should I have said, "No, I'm not marrying a woman with baggage"? That wouldn't be too cool, would it? And I didn't know that one would end up being a child with very special needs. Very expensive special needs. Should I bail out on them?

Gas prices are astronomical, mortgage foreclosures are at a record high. Heath Care and insurance in America is a farce. Yeah, I prioritize my money all right.

And yes, there is a market for the expensive books. Sadly. I don't mind in the case of something like the recent 25th Anniversary of Dark Forces (which, by the way, is THE most beautiful book I've ever seen). Old copies of Dark Forces are plentiful and cheaply obtained.

One argument is that the nice books are permanent and have lavish illustrations in them. Now, I love books as much as the next fan. I have a house full of them. But for me, it's the words inside that count. If I could save five or ten bucks off the cover price, I'd take a book with no illustrations and a blank cover. Give me the story. That's what I'm in it for. The rest is window dressing.

And for all the books we read, how many will we reread in our lives? The answer for me is very few. I'll never catch up with all the books I currently wish to read. Will you?

I miss the days when five or six bucks allowed you to check out a new writer. Oh, you still can. I recently got the paperback of Alexandra Sokoloff's The Harrowing at WalMart for $4.84. You're damned right I shop at WalMart. I have to save money wherever I can, or there would really be no book purchases for me.

How many times have you been burned by a new writer that everyone raves about and paid forty or more dollars for a hardback you hated? Or twenty bucks for a trade paperback that you thought sucked? Oh boy, I have. Too many times.

Yes, again, there is a market for the high end books and who can blame the publishers for providing the product for that market? I can't, but that doesn't mean I have to like the situation. I've been a fan of this stuff for longer than many of the readers, writers and even publishers have been alive. It stings to have to miss out on a lot of exciting stuff.

You know what? I miss Shocklines. Yeah, I know they're still there, but it's not the same. The death knell has rung for Matt Schwartz's business. I can't express how unhappy that makes me. I bought many books from Matt. Very many and when Shocklines was booming in its first year or two, I considered it to be the high water mark of the small press revolution.

The Horror Mall has risen to take the place of Shocklines. I'm sure that they will provide superlative service to their customers. But I haven't signed on as a customer yet. And I may never do so. It's foolish, but I almost feel like it would be a betrayal of Matt. Then again, I don't buy all that many small press books anymore and when I do it's either direct from the publisher, or through Amazon. In the former instances, I support the press at the source. In the latter, I save a substantial amount of money.

Can this continue? More and more and more expensive books coming out all the time. To be honest, the whole situation saddens me. The small press just doesn't seem fun any longer. And I miss Hellbound Books more than ever.

The Gentleman of Horror

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sun, 23 Dec 2007 20:26:00 +0000

Vincent Price. I don't know why, but I've been thinking about him today. I think he was, no is, our most beloved bogeyman.

Growing up, I relished watching Vincent in any film he was in. He made being scared so much fun. The Dr. Phibes movies were probably my youthful favorites, but I loved 'em all. The AIP Poe films, Theater of Blood, House on Haunted Hill and so many others.

Vincent Price was handsome, erudite, and was classically trained, but when Marlon Brando ushered in the era of 'the mumblers', high society movies fell out of fashion and Price found himself an unlikely horror star. It suited him well and he took to sinister roles like a duck to water.

He had a long and busy career, earning him generations of fans. Maintaining dignity, even while many of his roles were rather silly. But even the most insignificant films were vastly improved by his presence.

Edward Scissorhands wasn't Vincent Price's final role, but it serves as a warm and touching capstone to his life and profession. I never fail to get choked up by his performance in it.

So let's drink a toast to The Gentleman of Horror! How many of us would be the horror fans we are today without his influence?

RetroSlash, or, Bury the Hatchet

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Wed, 19 Dec 2007 23:32:00 +0000

It was a time, it was a certain place in our hearts. The slasher craze really didn't last that long though. But for a few glorious years, everybody was trying to get on the lucrative bandwagon and follow the enormous success of films like Friday the 13th and Halloween. Everyone from big-name stars and filmmakers, as with Happy Birthday To Me, to crude backyard productions. Most, however, were done with a modest budget and their shortcomings were endearing to those of us that had a taste for it.

Like with other dead genres like Punk and Rock and Roll, we have hopefuls attempting to revive the slasher picture. It worked with Scream, because Wes Craven and Kevin Williamson took the trappings of the genre and added a modern twist. It worked with Behind the Mask, for the same reasons.

Don't get me wrong...I like ripoff movies. The exploitation genre is rife with them. But while it's fun to have watched and revisit vintage movies with poor acting and shoddy production values, it's not much fun to watch a new filmmaker attempt to recreate it. What was once endearing now is pathetic.

Case in point: Hatchet. Hatchet came with loads of hype. Even horror expert Harry Knowles* pronounced it a classic. People have been singing its praises as some sort of rebirth of the slasher subgenre. All I saw in it was a sad excuse for a film and a throwback to better days.

It can be done right. Grindhouse, while a box office disaster, was embraced by most true fans. But Adam Green is no Tarantino or Rodriguez. Not by a long shot.

He seems like a nice guy though and I think his heart was in the right place. But for me, his film falls short of its intended mark. And I didn't discover slasher movies on cable or VHS. I was there, Jack, in the trenches. I waited in long lines at indoor theaters and partied like a maniac at drive-ins. Watching the real deal. I'm not that easily fooled.

When it all boils down, most of them weren't even all that great. But what they are, they are. The classic slasher films represent that time and place that I mentioned above. Good, bad and ugly, we grew up with them and they are like our beloved, crazy family.

The plot of Hatchet is routine and the gore is pretty good at times. At others it falls flat. But it failed altogether in its attempt to recreate? Redefine? Resurrect? Reinvent? Even celebrate the slasher genre. Hatchet is washed out and lifeless.

The acting is pretty bad, with embarrassing standouts by Robert Englund (as an unconvincing redneck) and Tony Todd (as an unconvincing Cajun mojo man). I don't think anyone was particularly good in their roles, but I have to admit that the black dude did a pretty good Mantan Moreland impersonation a couple of times.

All in all, I felt cheated and angry when Hatchet finally ended. I didn't like it and I am no longer buying DVDs blind. I'm sick of being burned. Fuck the hype. See The Girl Next Door instead, which I consider to be one of the best genre films of this decade.

As for all this retro crap, to me it's no better than remakes. If you're going to take the elements of successful past films and fuck it all up, it makes no difference if you call it Friday the 13th 2008 or Hatchet.

*Insert a generous amount of sarcasm here

GO TO THE MOVIES!

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sun, 02 Dec 2007 14:56:00 +0000

In this age of ridiculous ticket prices, disruptive assholes in theaters, brain-numbing advertisements and despicably overpriced concessions, it's easy...all too easy...to wait for the DVD or to watch on Pay-Per-View and not to get out to the movies.

The saying goes, if you don't vote, then you have no right to bitch about the way politicians run things. The same holds true with movies. Weekend movie results have become like horse races and the money suits keep an eye on which movies come in first or second. This affects how future movies are approved or disapproved.

Many of the movies I liked the most in the past year have been box office disappointments. Grindhouse being the most notorious example. But Hostel 2 and P2 also fared poorly. This hurts us all.

If you are visiting a site called Horror Drive-In, I assume that you enjoy potent horror movies. Yeah, we like mindless violence. Does that make us cretins? Hey, some people crave chocolate and it's bad for you. Are we any worse? We get a kick out of seeing violence on the screen. Most of us developed an affinity for it at an early age and despite wishes from our loved ones and other concerned parties, we stubbornly have refused to grow out of it. And we wouldn't want it any other way.

With the exception of Rob Zombie's Halloween remake and the ever-lucrative Saw franchise, R-Rated horror has been doing poor business of late. And I don't even care for the Saw movies and while I passionately urged everyone to see Halloween, I ended up strongly disliking it. But I still stand by my position that we need to cast our dollars, our votes, for visceral horror.

Other films fared slightly better than Grindhouse. 30 Days of Night did reasonably well, if not in the blockbuster range. I really didn't care for that one either. I adored The Mist and while it hasn't been a box disaster, so far it hasn't exactly set the movie business on fire.

If you haven't done so, see The Mist. Some complain about the end and others hated the monster effects, but the human element in The Mist is beautifully done. As far as I'm concerned, Frank Darabont has done no wrong with his films. You want intelligent horror to be produced and distributed? Show 'em with your dollars.

P2 wasn't a genre classic or anything, but it was a serious attempt at horror and it was genuinely suspenseful. But it got overlooked, or more properly, ignored, not even bringing in 4 million dollars of revenue. And this was co-written and produced by Alexandre Aja. Where is the fans' loyalty?

I know; going to the movies can be frustrating. By far the worst pratfall is the loud and obnoxious people (mostly kids) in the theaters. I've found that seeing a film at the earliest show of the day is a good way to avoid that. Little slackers are hardly out of their beds by noon, after spending all night playing Halo 3 or World of Warcraft.

And I love going to the movies. With all my heart. Sure, everything is homogenized these days. Drive-ins are all but gone and so are the indie theaters. The multiplexes rule the cinematic world and we are slaves to them if we want to see a movie on the big screen. But if we love movies..love them passionately...then we must make ourselves heard. Spouting off at message boards and at IMDB might help a tiny bit, but nothing speaks louder than money. Ticket sales. Your one ticket isn't going to make or break a picture's success, but if a million fans get away from their computers long enough to actually go to a movie, it will help. Enormously.

Today we're going to see No Country For Old Men. It's not a horror movie, but The Coens make intelligent motion pictures and that's a rare thing in this day and age. Comedies featuring what appears to be retarded people, mass-produced computer animated pap, and brainless CGI-heavy action tend to do well. There just aren't a lot of smart movies coming out these days.

So please, go to the movies more. Don't let the loudmouth cretins win by staying away and don't let Hollywood continue to rehash old ideas and plots over and again. At least without a fight. Get out there and make a difference or sit down at home and admit defeat.

Giving Thanks

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Wed, 21 Nov 2007 18:01:00 +0000

All of us, myself most definitely included, are all too inclined to view life with a negative perception. Things could always be better and we focus too much of our time and energy on that, rather than being grateful for the things we do have. Even the least fortunate of us have a lot more than so many people have. Most of us have food readily available and medical attention is there if we need it. Sure, we're in debt and there are omnipresent problems in everyone's lives. Instead of dwelling on them, I think it's important to remember how well we do have it. And Thanksgiving is a day that reminds us of it.

I have my share of things to moan about. But I look at the things I do have. Health and health for my family. I am employed and as grueling and soul-killing as it may seem sometime, I consider the alternative. And I don't consider getting any sort of free ride to be a viable alternative to earning my way in the world.

I'm also thankful for all my friends, both online and offline. I've made so many amazing acquaintances since I began this Internet madness and my life is infinitely richer for it.

By far the one thing I regret and am unhappy about is the fate of my brother. He died nearly three years ago and I wish so many things about that tragic situation. I wish, obviously, that he had never gotten cancer. I wish I had been a better brother. I wish that he had taken a lot more initiative in his own life. I wish he had had more to live for.

Just the night before last I dreamed of him and we were having a good time in it. I woke up and for a few seconds I thought he was still alive. I felt good about wanting to see him again soon, and then it hit me. So much for any further sleep that night.

Even the tragedies can help us better ourselves. Wise individuals know that everything that happens in this life is a something to learn from. We can't let it kill us, but we can and should learn and hopefully change ourselves for the better. I'm trying, but it's hard and a slow process.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I am giving my thanks in my own way. No, I'm not attending the family dinner at my wife's parent's house. Many think me a cad for that, but I have my own sanity and stress level to deal with. Sometimes I think I'm going to implode from stress and the days I have to myself are extremely rare and they are critical to my own well-being.

For nearly a decade now I'm made a habit of reprinting my favorite essay at whatever message board I happened to be moderating at the time. The essay is called This I Believe and it was written by the incomparable Robert A. Heinlein.

This I Believe was a five-minute spot on CBS radio in the early 1950's. Various famous people contributed to it, but the only one I've actually read is Heinlein's. It's a beautiful piece with a lot of things in it to hold close to our hearts.

Most people enjoy me posting Heinlein's This I Believe. A few had some snarky things to say, and that's fine by me. It certainly didn't hurt my feelings. And yes, this piece singles out America and that's why I find it particularly appropriate for this holiday.

Without further ado...

This I Believe, by Robert A. Heinlein

I am not going to talk about religious beliefs, but about matters so obvious that it has gone out of style to mention them.

I believe in my neighbors.

I know their faults and I know that their virtues far outweigh their faults. Take Father Michael down our road a piece --I'm not of his creed, but I know the goodness and charity and lovingkindness that shine in his daily actions. I believe in Father Mike; if I'm in trouble, I'll go to him. My next-door neighbor is a veterinary doctor. Doc will get out of bed after a hard day to help a stray cat. No fee -- no prospect of a fee. I believe in Doc.

I believe in my townspeople. You can knock on any door in our town say, 'I'm hungry,' and you will be fed. Our town is no exception; I've found the same ready charity everywhere. For the one who says, 'To heck with you -- I got mine,' there are a hundred, a thousand, who will say, 'Sure, pal, sit down.'

I know that, despite all warnings against hitchhikers, I can step to the highway, thumb for a ride and in a few minutes a car or a truck will stop and someone will say, 'Climb in, Mac. How how far you going?'

I believe in my fellow citizens. Our headlines are splashed with crime, yet for every criminal there are 10,000 honest decent kindly men. If it were not so, no child would live to grow up, business could not go on from day to day. Decency is not news; it is buried in the obituaries --but it is a force stronger than crime.

I believe in the patient gallantry of nurses...in the tedious sacrifices of teachers. I believe in the unseen and unending fight against desperate odds that goes on quietly in almost every home in the land.

I believe in the honest craft of workmen. Take a look around you. There never were enough bosses to check up on all that work. From Independence Hall to the Grand Coulee Dam, these things were built level and square by craftsmen who were honest in their bones.

I believe that almost all politicians are honest. For every bribed alderman there are hundreds of politicians, low paid or not paid at all, doing their level best without thanks or glory to make our system work. If this were not true, we would never have gotten past the thirteen colonies."

I believe in Rodger Young. You and I are free today because of endless unnamed heroes from Valley Forge to the Yalu River.

I believe in -- I am proud to belong to -- the United States. Despite shortcomings, from lynchings to bad faith in high places, our nation has had the most decent and kindly internal practices and foreign policies to be found anywhere in history.

And finally, I believe in my whole race. Yellow, white, black, red, brown --in the honesty, courage, intelligence, durability....and goodness.....of the overwhelming majority of my brothers and sisters everywhere on this planet. I am proud to be a human being. I believe that we have come this far by the skin of our teeth, that we always make it just by the skin of our teeth --but that we will always make it....survive....endure. I believe that this hairless embryo with the aching, oversize brain case and the opposable thumb, this animal barely up from the apes, will endure --will endure longer than his home planet, will spread out to the other planets, to the stars, and beyond, carrying with him his honesty, his insatiable curiosity, his unlimited courage --and his noble essential decency.

This I believe with all my heart.

New Blood

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Wed, 07 Nov 2007 23:03:00 +0000

Coming up on the two-year birthday at Horror Drive-In, I've decided that it's time to make some changes. It's been a good run so far and I've gotten lots of wonderful feedback and a pretty respectable number of hits to the site.

But I can't manage it alone anymore. A year or so ago, I asked at the forum if I should have other reviewers here and the majority said that I should stick to doing them myself. I appreciate that vote of confidence, but on the other hand...

I'm getting more offers of review items and while I want to accommodate everyone, it just hasn't been possible. My day job has been insanely demanding for these past two months and I have a family that also requires a lot of my time and attention. I want to read ARCs and other books that come my way, and I do try. There are a lot of books that I want to read for my own pleasure too. Some of them I review, many I don't.

I made what name I have in the community as a message board moderator. I'm told that I do a good job of it and the ones I've been involved with have been very successful. In some cases, too successful.

The Horror Drive-In forum is where I spend most of my online time. I like the group there a lot and I consider it to be a positive force in the genre. People gripe, of course, and I encourage it. For it is only with communication that things can be changed or improved upon. And mostly, we share our passion for books and movies. Often in agreement, but also in good-natured, but emphatic, disagreement.

I decided to take on a couple of reviewers for the site. Mark Tyree will be covering horror and crime fiction and Trever Palmer will focus his poison pen on exploitation films.

Both of these guys are Old School. Like me. We've all been fanatic followers of horror for decades and we've all seen the trends come and go. And often come back, go again and so forth. We've all been around the block more than a few times and we all know a hell of a lot about the stuff we write about.

Mark Tyree is one of my oldest online friends. He's a rabid fan of fiction and despite a rather rough-and-tumble demeanor, he has the soul of a poet. He's got some damned good short stories behind his belt too. He's one of my best friends and I encourage you to read his reviews and, if you get the chance, have a few beers with him.

I thought I knew a lot about slasher films, but Trever Palmer makes me seem like a normal person in comparison. Well, almost. This guy is a fount of information about the slasher subgenre and he's no slouch when it comes to other types of drive-in movie knowledge. The guy has seen almost everything. And, like Mark Tyree, Trever is a writer of fiction who is getting his feet wet in publishing. If you see his name on a contents page of a magazine or anthology, give the story a shot. I don't think you'll be disappointed.

And for those that have been kind enough to flatter me in regard to my own reviews, I am not going anywhere. I'll still be posting reviews of both books and movies. These guys will be helping me fill in the blanks.

So, give the lads a hearty welcome!

Trever Palmer:

Mark Tyree:

Train Tracks

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Sun, 07 Oct 2007 19:33:00 +0000

Is there any place better for a kid to hang out at than railroad tracks?

From the years of ago 13-21, roughly, I spent a lot of time near the tracks. A couple of miles from my house was a trail that led through some woods to railroad property. Then there was about a three mile stretch to a bridge, where I'd often leave the tracks and go to some stores. There was a great dept. store called Robert Hall Village that had a damned nice record selection. I got my Zappa LPs there, as well as oddities like Ruben and the Jets, Captain Beefheart and Flo & Eddie.

Anyway, the tracks were my favorite hangout. Me and my old best pal walked them endlessly, talking about every subject under the sun and making up elaborate jokes/stories about people we knew. There were woods surrounding them all around and we spent a lot of time in them too. We built a ground fort and a tree fort.

We didn't want to be in the public eye. I learned early at home that being out of sight kept me out of trouble from the those that were out of their minds. If you catch my drift.

I went there by myself a lot too. I didn't want to spend time at home and when I couldn't find anyone to hang out with, I'd go to the tracks. Often with a book, but sometimes just with my thoughts. I distinctly remember one gorgeously windy Sunday afternoon when I took Bloch's Psycho there and kicked back in some tall, soft grass and read the entire book.

As me and my friends grew into our later teens, we used the tracks and surrounding woods as our preferred party spots. We almost never saw anyone there and no one ever bothered us. We built fires and would spend the night in one of the forts. Once when we were about 19, we went to a midnight show of Night of the Living Dead and went back to the woods near the tracks and slept in a fort.

I remember one night on the tracks...we bought a sixpack and went out and before we had finished our first beers, they had frozen. We later learned that it had been 15 degrees out there.

That's where we did our drinking. Back then you could legally drink at age 18, but we preferred the tracks to any bar. For one thing, it was a lot cheaper and for another, it was OUR place. And we had plenty of parties with girls out there. More than once our dumb asses carried a keg of beer a half a mile to get there.

Great memories. It was always so peaceful there, even when a train roared past, with its whistle blaring. Even that seemed to soothe us.

When I got a job doing construction work, the truck I'd ride to the site in would go over the bridge and I'd look out onto the tracks and wish that I was going there, instead of to a hateful working environment where dipshit rednecks thought it was great sport to constantly barrage the young workers with taunts and insults.

A lot of years have passed since I went to my old spots. But my subconscious never forgot and I dream about being out there all the time.

It's not all that far from where I now live and there is a hell of a breakfast spot near there that we love to go to. Tanya and Europa are out of town this weekend, so I tried to do special stuff with India. We had breakfast and I was thinking about the tracks. I wanted to check it out again, but how to get out there? Park on a street and somebody would be liable to call a cop. Think we're some sort of terrorists or something. But I went to a construction business and parked near there and we hurriedly got out and ducked into the bushes and down a trail to the tracks. Right under that old bridge.

I didn't want to stay long, because I was worried about our van. I didn't want to see it get towed. But we walked a ways...maybe a mile or so. Thankfully, it really hadn't changed all that much. Yes, good old progress is creeping closer, but for the most part it could have been 1978 as I walked along. I had forgotten about a pipe that ran over a lake. We liked to sit on it and once I fell off it into a bunch of slimy muck. We saw some trainkill, of course, and it grossed India out. Just like it grossed me out when I first started going there.

Looking down the tracks, I saw someone ahead, heading our way. It was a teen and when he saw us, he veered off the track area and into the woods. Exactly as I did when I was that age. When I was out there, unless it was a friend that came with me, I didn't want to see anyone. Especially any adults. I hope that kid spends a lot of time there and that he is getting the same kind of joy and peace that I always found on and around the tracks.

I wanted to stay, but as I say, I was worried about the van and India had soccer practice in a couple of hours. So we left, but not for good. I'm going back and soon. This time with a backpack and some bottles of water. Maybe some trail mix. I'm heading off the tracks and am going to explore the woods again. I don't expect to find any traces of the old forts, but then again I don't know what I'll find. My youth? Well, that's lost for good. But maybe I can find some of that old magic and put it back into my heart. You gotta keep fighting that old fogey that never stops trying to take over your life.

India is looking forward to going back. There's something about walking down tracks. Something that might even be a part of our tribal consciousness. Train tracks represent escape and I escaped a troubled home and a world that I mostly hated by going there. And maybe that's part of the reason why King's The Body/Stand By Me is such a moving experience. Walking down the tracks is something romantic, rebellious. It feels like freedom, even if that freedom is only temporary.

Goodbye, Charles B. Griffith

noreply@blogger.com (Mark Sieber) — Thu, 04 Oct 2007 22:20:00 +0000

I've always been an enormous fan of the films of Roger Corman and one of his shrewdest skills was the uncanny ability to hire talented people at a low price. He worked with a lot of terrific writers, including Richard Matheson, Charles Beaumont, John Sayles, William Hjortsberg, Ray Russell, among many others. But one of his most prolific scribes was Charles B. Griffith.

Charles Griffith began his long and fruitful collaboration with Corman on The Gunslinger, a cheapo western that starred the very va-va-voom Beverly Garland. It, like most of Corman's films, was a financial success and it led to Griffith working on films like It Conquored the World, Not of this Earth, Attack of the Crab Monsters, The Undead, Teenage Doll, and others, including the celebrated trio of Corman Comedies, A Bucket of Blood, Creature from the Haunted Sea and Little Shop of Horrors.

As Roger Corman matured as a filmmaker, so did the scripts he used. Humor was sharper and more socially conscious and Griffith penned such drive-in classics as The Wild Angels, Eat My Dust! and The Swinging Barmaids.

However, if Charles B. Griffith had only written one film. One. He should be remembered virtually forever. I'm talking about what is arguably the greatest, most remarkable and revered exploitation movie of all time: the immortal, the brilliant, the one and only Death Race 2000.

Charles Griffith also did some directing and he helmed the Ron Howard hot rod classic, Eat My Dust!. Other films made by Griffith include the underwater monster epic, Up From the Depths, Smokey Bites the Dust and Dr. Heckle and Mr. Hype.

The name, Charles B. Griffith, is synonymous with what made going to the drive-in fun. He wasn't the best writer the screen ever saw, but he always gave the viewer a good time and maybe, just maybe, a little something to think about when the final credits ended. That's more than good enough for me.

Charles Griffith died on Friday, September 28th. He was 77 years old. Way too young for such an inspiration to pass away from this world.

Goodbye, Charles B. Griffith. You will never be forgotten.