DR. PHIBES signing at Dark Delicacies- December 1st at 2 pm featuring Dr. Phibes' creator/co-author William Goldstein and myself

http://darkdel.com/?wbtrak=NGZhZmIyNWUtNDJmOTQ0YTY=

Come one, come all to Burbank's beloved horror bookstore, Dark Delicacies, this Saturday, December 1st at 2 pm. I will be signing copies of issue #29 of Little Shoppe of Horrors, featuring my 30-page, definitive making-of article on THE ABOMINABLE DR. PHIBES, and, more importantly, I will be joined by Dr. Phibes' creator/co-author, William Goldstein, who will be signing copies of his Phibes novels. For more information, follow the link, above, to Dark Delicacies' website.

Autumn's Master of Ceremonies

Remembering Autumn's Master of Ceremonies, RAY BRADBURY, who is keenly missed during this season that he loved so dearly and served so well.

Remembering Robert (PHIBES) Fuest on his birthday

This Sunday, September 30th would have been director/designer Robert Fuest's 85th birthday. Bob was a childhood idol of mine and became a dear friend. We were in touch literally until the last day of his life. His best films-- The Abominable Dr. Phibes, Dr. Phibes Rises Again, The Final Programme, and Wuthering Heights-- are shot through with Bob's painterly compositions, pathos, stylishness, wit, and delicious black humor. They all hold up beautifully, even after countless viewings. "Unique" is a grossly overused word, but Bob was absolutely, positively that. The film world is vastly poorer for his absence.

What saddens me most about Bob's absence is that my love letter to The Abominable Dr. Phibes, an exhaustive 40-page article on it, will be appearing in issue #29 of Little Shoppe of Horrors magazine, which he will never see. The article is dedicated to him. (For more information, visit www.littleshoppeofhorrors.com.)

I think of Bob somewhat like Cathy said of Heathcliff in Bob's Wuthering Heights: "I shall carry him with me. He's in my soul."

I pity the fool who got ragged-ass claws scuttling along in them funky-ass seas!

I Photoshopped this image. Now, it's Mr. T. S. Eliot.

BLACK NARCISSUS- Rare behind-the-scenes photos

Since I'm not going to be writing about Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger's extraordinary BLACK NARCISSUS anytime soon, I thought that I would share these two behind-the-scenes photos from it. I found these in a German annual unrelated to film. I'm not sure how rare these are, but I've never seen them elsewhere. If anyone wants to use these in articles or anything else, feel free to use them on the condition that you say "From the Justin Humphreys collection" when you do. Fair enough?
That's Michael Powell in the dark suit in the top photo, arms akimbo and shoulders slightly bowed.

Come to the Gala Benefit for The Bob Baker Marionette Theater! Preserve L.A.'s history!!!!

 If you are in Los Angeles on July 29th, be sure to attend the gala benefit for the Bob Baker Marionette Theater. Bob's puppet shows have been going on for over 50 years-- generations of L.A. kids have spent their birthdays there, watching Bob's puppets dance to his amazing collection of 78 records. Bob's theater has hit tough times financially and can use every penny that you can give them. They are just the kind of venerable L.A. institution to get wiped out by the historically-illiterate powers-that-be in that town. They need your help!

http://www.charlesphoenix.com/events/charles-hosts-the-bob-baker-celebration-and-preservation-extravaganza/

R.I.P. Susan Tyrrell, aka ShuShu.

It seems that all of my old movie buddies are dying this year. I just got the news that Susu Tyrrell has died.When I was in my late teens, I helped out on a play that Susu was in and we became very close for several years. She had been my favorite actress when I was 13 or so, and I adored her siren's song of a voice, which I had first discovered in Ralph Bakshi's WIZARDS. Susu leaves behind some wonderful performances which win her new fans all the time: as the broken-down lush Oma in FAT CITY (which won her an Academy Award nomination), as Ramona Rickett, Johnny Depp's hillbilly grandma in CRY-BABY, in Andy Warhol's BAD as virtually the only good person in it, as Queen Doris in Rick Elfman's FORBIDDEN ZONE, as Tim McIntyre's sister in FAST WALKING, and many, many others.

Susu was a bizarre combination of tenderness and foulness. She could be extremely sweet or vicious enough to curdle Blackbeard's blood. I loved her very much, all the same. She was a heavy drinker and abused her body horribly when she was younger, which led to her losing her legs around 2000. She seemed hell-bent on destroying herself, in all honesty, and I'm surprised that she lived as long as she did. I don't say that with an ounce of malice, but in total honesty.

I have so many unforgettable memories of Susu: singing Howlin' Wolf's "Wang Dang Doodle" with her at her East LA home (which looked like a deranged Mexican wax museum-- it was amazing); cruising around L.A. with her in her station wagon with her surfboard screwed on top of it, with Tupac's "California Lovin'" blasting on the radio; watching her get her poodle, Catshit Willie Einstein, to do tricks; or quietly watching TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT and SECONDS with her. She liked my cartooning as much as I liked her acting and she always very vocally (as was her way) encouraged me to keep at it.

When Susu was growing up in Connecticut, there was a graveyard near her house where she used to play. In it, there was the gravestone of a baby girl who had died during an epidemic, maybe typhoid. The girl's epitaph read "This poor child was so soon done for/We often wonder what she was begun for." Susu said that she felt that way about her own life, at the time. I'm glad that she even lived past 65.

There's a story that Susu told me that I think a lot of people haven't heard. Susu was living in a bad barrio in L.A. for a while and a gang girl named Nica who was her upstairs neighbor. Nica knocked a couple of Susu's front teeth out, among other things. One day, Susu heard a terrible wailing from upstairs and went to investigate. Susu found Nica there-- she had OD'ed and died, and there was Nica's little baby boy, crying and crying. Susu saw to it that that little boy was adopted and raised well, and she didn't advertise that fact or make herself out to be a big heroine for having done it. That's real character.

RIP, ShuShu. 

Notes about L.A.

American Apparel. It's porn... on a billboard.

There is actually a two-block stretch of Hollywood where there isn't a SINGLE image of Humphrey Bogart, James Dean, or Marilyn Monroe plainly visible. Maybe.

Live forever! R.I.P. Ray Bradbury.

One of my most beloved childhood heroes has died-- Ray Bradbury. A knight of free speech. A prolific writer, even after his body crumbled. A warm, funny, encouraging man who ALWAYS spoke his mind while others mumbled and kept silent. A perfect example of the American dream at work-- of how a poor Illinois boy, child of the Depression, can become a Great American Man of Letters. An incredibly imaginative writer who brought poetry and humanity to science fiction and fantasy like no other author. A man whose "Ray Bradbury Theater" gave me hints of how exciting being a writer can be, when I was a boy. If there is somehow a God, then bless Ray Bradbury and his memory eternally.

When Bradbury was a boy, a defrocked minister performing in a carnival under the name of Electrico told Ray to "Live forever!" And Ray will. 

The Soundtrack of L.A.

The perfect music to drive around LA to: Alain Goraguer's score to FANTASTIC PLANET. Like the film itself, L.A. is an alien world so arcane that it makes little or no sense to all but a few of its residents. (And I say that warmly... I like the town.)

Talking with the old guys again

I visited an elderly screenwriter yesterday who had begun his career fresh out of NYU in 1951, writing for the very first tv science fiction anthology series and some of the earliest sf comic books. He said that he disliked Columbia Pictures boss Harry Cohn so much, he sneaked into Cohn's personal gold-plated bathroom, pissed in the john, and left it as a little golden present for The Boss. I got the writer's autograph and only when I got home did I discover his inscription: "Thank you for making me feel like a young writer again."

Bradbury knew...

Ray Bradbury knew that hipsters were a damn nuisance, even fifty years ago when they went by other names. At Disneyland, he wrote, there are "No Cool people with Cool faces pretending not to care, thus swindling themselves out of life or any chance for life." Thank you for the millionth time, Ray!

If there IS a hell...

If there IS a hell, rest assured that a Phish cover band is playing there.

My eulogy for Robert Fuest

http://www.videowatchdog.com/home/home.html

My eulogy of my dear friend, director Bob Fuest, appears in the May issue of Video Watchdog (#168). After interviewing Bob many times and reading extensively about him and his work, I filled the article with as much fresh, new information about him as I possibly could.

I'm in L'ecran Fantastique

http://www.ecranfantastique.net/home/

Check out the May issue of L'ecran Fantastique (#331) for my interview with William Goldstein, the creator of THE ABOMINABLE DR. PHIBES.

Memorable Movie-going Moments

An old writer told me about seeing EASY RIDER in 1968 or '69 at the Grandin Theater in Roanoke, Virginia. As the movie ended, with Hopper's and Fonda's characters lying dead, a hippie stood up in the front of the theater and said, "YOU SEE THAT! YOU killed those boys!" A redneck in the back of the theater hollered back: "You shut the hell up, boy, or we gonna kill you next!"

Whatever happened to that kind of audience participation? The kind that didn't involve cellphones?

Reason #10,450 that I love Virgil Finlay

Pulp artist Virgil Finlay toiled in near-obscurity for decades, producing masterpieces like this for around $10 a throw: 

http://www.tanianault.ca/thescratchboard/wp-content/uploads/2008/04/virgil_finlay_conquest_moon.jpg

Meanwhile, Damian Hurst gets $80 billion for some trashy-looking skull adorned with diamonds. That's injustice on a cosmic scale. 

7 Faces of Dr. Lao coloring contest

http://mostlypaperdolls.blogspot.com/2011/02/7-faces-of-dr-lao.html

What's in Room 101...

The words that all professional writers dread to hear most of all from amateur writers: "I've got this INCREDIBLE idea for a [novel/script] and it'll make us both MILLIONAIRES!!!!!"

The Mystery of Tipping

If we are all expected to unfailingly tip waiters, why aren't they expected to fork over at least five or six bucks if they give us shitty service?

The Mystery of "Greased Lightnin'"

Has there ever been a fouler song that reached more young, impressionable minds than "Greased Lightning" from GREASE? It's wonderful and I mean that without a trace of irony. "It ain't no shit, we'll be gettin' lotsa tit" must have won the hearts and minds of moms, aunts, and grandmas worldwide who were conned into seeing GREASE back in '78. If that wasn't enough "You are supreme, the chicks'll cream," or "I ain't braggin', it's a real pussy wagon!" I know that I'm not the first to point all of this out, but it's still kind of astounding.

In elementary school, I watched as two (female) classmates perform a softened version of "Greased Lightning" in a schoolwide talent show. I once heard "Greased Lightning" played during a fireworks show-- the lyrics had been significantly censored-- "You are supreme... You are supreme"-- not "The chicks'll cream." Better still, in recent network screenings, various words were transposed and Travolta sang "Ain't no floor, I'll be gettin' lotsa door with Greased Lightnin'!" Yet they didn't feel compelled to cut out the "pussy wagon" line.

Amazing.

Go, Greased Lightnin'!

Finley the Magnificent

Here's a photo that I took of William Finley after dinner a few years ago in New York. His expression says it all-- that's Finley's disposition, all the way. He was a dear man.

R.I.P. William Finley

I just received the deeply saddening news that actor William Finley-- the Phantom of the Paradise himself-- died yesterday following surgery. Finley was a ridiculously talented character actor who excelled at playing the weirdest of the weird--  which he LOVED doing (He told me that he hated playing normal characters, especially lawyers). His long-standing association with Brian De Palma produced some extraordinary performances: as Woton, the Vincent Price-ian anti-hero of WOTON'S WAKE, Winslow Leach/The Phantom in PHANTOM OF THE PARADISE, Dr. Breton in SISTERS, and the disfigured madman in THE BLACK DAHLIA. Bill was also exceptionally good in EATEN ALIVE ("Why don't you just put a cigarette out in my EYE?!?"), THE FUNHOUSE, and every other damn thing he was in. He was a dear man and I enjoyed interviewing him and dining with him immensely. He should have been the  modern Peter Lorre... Amazing actor, and a wonderful man.

The Irreplaceable Mr. Fuest-- R.I.P. Robert Fuest

Only minutes ago, I received the incredibly saddening news that British director Robert Fuest has died. Bob was a good friend, and one of the most engaging, funny, upbeat, and imaginative people that I've ever known. On the cover of the French DVD of Bob's film THE FINAL PROGRAMME, the movie is listed as part of a series called "Les Films Inclassables"-- "Unclassifiable Films." Bob's movies WERE that, and much, much more. But Bob himself was very classifiable: pure gold.

Bob's films were wildly stylish, unbelievably inventive, and backed up with a solid grounding in art and design. He never had to resort to aping other people's work-- like the other maverick English directors of his time, Bob created his own visual language. There never has been and never will be another Bob Fuest.

Shortly after my father died, Bob sent me his personal shooting script to THE ABOMINABLE DR. PHIBES as a gift, and inscribed it "This is my script to Dr. Phibes which I think you should have (and I'm sure that Dr. Phibes would, too)." I nearly wept when it arrived-- it was the gesture of loving gentleman and true friend. He is irreplaceable.

Random Groucho story

While I was doing research about George Pal, I got to be friendly with one of his screenwriters, the late Joe Morhaim. Before he did any screenwriting, Joe worked in PR, wrote for TV Guide, and worked in early TV with, among others, Groucho Marx. Like so many others, Joe said that Groucho wasn't easy to work with (hence "Groucho"), but he really loosened up while they were out on the town. At one point, Groucho lit Joe's cigarette with a gorgeous silver lighter. Joe complimented Groucho on it, and Groucho replied, "You like it? Keep it." Joe was taken aback. "Groucho, can I be frank with you?" he asked. "Sure," Groucho said. "You know, when we're out like this, you're such a good-natured, pleasant guy. But you're really hard to work with." "Then gimme the lighter back!" Groucho said. "Fuck you!" Joe told him. And after that, Groucho treated him beautifully. Joe said that they traveled to Arizona together and Groucho used to call him and sing. I envy Joe.

Wimpy Stories to Tell in the Dark

The Web has been abuzz with the news that Alvin Schwartz's notorious SCARY STORIES TO TELL IN THE DARK has been emasculated for its 30th anniversary edition. That children's book's absolutely, tee-totally horrifying illustrations by the unique and brilliant Stephen Gammell have been replaced by much softer, non-threatening drawings by some OTHER artist. The book's publisher has obviously completely missed the point-- the SCARY STORIES series' immense popularity and longevity are due in large part to Gammell's terrifying visions of decaying, ethereal, grotesque, and genuinely scary creatures. At times, his drawings were all the creepier for what he hinted it, like in one drawing where a small white glow in the middle of a dimly-lit room intimates that something truly awful is about to happen.

What compelled the publishers to ruin the book like this? Did they think that the originals were too scary? Director Roger Corman had the ending of one of his film's badly re-cut by its producers, who claimed that IT was too scary. Corman later remarked that de-fanging something because it's too scary is like taking a comedy and making it more serious because it's too funny.

I recommend that everyone reading this boycott the new edition. The new illustrations aren't badly done-- they are just the wrong illustrations for this particular book. I'm not blaming the new illustrators-- I blame the publishers. Replacing Gammell's unforgettable works was the poorest possible aesthetic choice that they could have made, bar none.