Ed Wood Wednesdays, week 255: Is this the most complete cut of 'Glen or Glenda' (1953) yet?

Austin Wolf-Southern has assembled the jigsaw pieces of Ed Wood's debut film.

Like Blanche DuBois, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers. Well, maybe not always. Actually, when I started writing these articles in July 2013, I was pretty much on my own. I had two books, Rudolph Grey's Nightmare of Ecstasy (1992) and Rob Craig's Ed Wood, Mad Genius (2009), to use for reference, as well as the documentaries Look Back in Angora (1994) and Flying Saucers Over Hollywood (1992). Other than that, I was flying solo. What did I bring to this topic? My own thoughts, my own ideas, my own... personality. I wrote Ed Wood Wednesdays by myself for myself. 

But very early on, people started emailing me. Some wanted to ask questions. Some wanted to make corrections. And still others wanted to share Ed Wood-related things with me—trivia, photos, sometimes even entire books, articles, and films. And then there were those who had Woodian projects of their own and wanted to tell me about them. Some were making music. Some were making films or comics. Several were writing or had already written books about Ed. And they sent much of this material to me to see what I thought of it. And, if I were feeling industrious that particular week, I told them. The main reason this column has lasted over 12 years (with no end in sight) is that my readers have supplied me with so much material.

One such person is comedian and Ed Wood superfan Austin Wolf-Southern. He has embarked on a project that should be of interest to all Woodologists: assembling a "complete cut" of Eddie's debut film, Glen or Glenda (1953). I've long said that this movie is the Rosetta Stone for understanding Ed Wood's entire career—not just his other films but his literary work as well. But, to this day, there is no "definitive" or "authoritative" version of it. Over the years, through various theatrical and home video releases, Glenda has had scenes added to it and subtracted from it. And Austin has taken it upon himself to comb through all this material and assemble it, almost as a Frankenstein monster, into one movie.

Podcast Tuesday: "God Bless Us, Every Fonz"

Henry Winkler in An American Christmas Carol.

One of the most anxious nights of my childhood happened sometime in the mid-1980s. At the time, I was in elementary school and living at home in the suburbs of mid-Michigan with my family. We were Catholic and attended mass regularly. One December, it happened that a holy day of obligation, a midweek mass, fell on the same night that CBS was planning to rerun the 1984 version of A Christmas Carol starring George C. Scott. Mass was at 7:00; the movie was at 8:00.

I was already a Christmas Carol obsessive at this tender age, so this constituted a crisis. I didn't want to miss a minute of the movie, since it's so important to see this story from the very beginning. Luckily, there were a few things on my side. Midweek masses typically lasted only 45 minutes or so, and we did not live far from the church. Seeing the entire movie was still possible. We made it home just as the opening credits were starting, much to my relief. But I can tell you that I took very little, spiritually, from that midweek mass. I'm sure I did not hear a single word the priest said. I was too busy thinking, "Hurry up! Hurry up! Hurry up!"

Now, you might think that since both A Christmas Carol and Happy Days have played such important roles in my life, I would be extremely familiar with the 1979 made-for-TV movie An American Christmas Carol starring Henry "The Fonz" Winkler. I certainly knew of this movie's existence, but until 2025, I had never actually watched the darned thing from beginning to end. This week on These Days Are Ours: A Happy Days Podcast, we talk about our reactions to An American Christmas Carol. This'll be our last episode of 2025. We'll catch you again in 2026.

Ed Wood Wednesdays, week 254: Is 'Jail Bait' (1954) film noir?

A moody moment from Ed Wood's semi-obscure crime thriller Jail Bait.

"It has always been easier to recognize a film noir than to define the term."

-James Naremore, film scholar

If you look up Edward D. Wood, Jr. on the Internet Movie Database (as I have done many hundreds of times while writing this column) and sort his credits by genre, you'll see that only two of his films have been designated "film noir" by the site's users: Jail Bait (1954) and The Violent Years (1956). I'd have thought The Sinister Urge (1960) would qualify, too, but currently that one is designated simply a drama. Not moody enough, I suppose. Or maybe no one thought to label it as such.

Noir namer Nino Frank.

Whatever the case, we have just lived through another November or, as film writer Marya E. Gates has famously dubbed it, Noirvember. This is the time each year when cinephiles are encouraged to study and appreciate film noir (literally "dark film"), a genre first named by French film critic Nino Frank in 1946. Appropriately, in keeping with the gloomy spirit of the season, Mike White's podcast The Projection Booth just did four noir-themed episodes last month, and YouTuber James Rolfe posted a thoughtful 23-minute video essay called "Why I Love Film Noir" to his Cinemassacre channel. 

All of this material has been buzzing around in my brain recently, and I started to think about how Ed Wood fits into this whole picture. That's my curse. I have to apply everything to Eddie's career. It's become the prism through which I see the world. He's not thought of as a "noir director," but certainly these movies had an effect on him. It's a topic worth exploring. Should I have done this article back in November? Yes. But I had other articles I was working on at the time, so this one had to wait. I'm getting to it now. We'll call it Noircember, okay?

Since Ed Wood did not direct The Violent Years himself -- those duties were handled by one-and-done director William Morgan -- I am concentrating my attention on Jail Bait, Eddie's oft-overlooked sophomore feature. As I've said before, it remains the neglected middle child of his 1950s films, likely because it does not feature flying saucers, graveyards, or men in angora sweaters. Criswell, Bela Lugosi, and Tor Johnson are AWOL as well. (Since Bela was busy with his Vegas revue, his part was given to the wheezing Herbert Rawlinson.) Even though Eddie made this bleak crime thriller between Glen or Glenda (1953) and Bride of the Monster (1955), the biopic Ed Wood (1994) skips right over it, as if it never existed. Well, it did and does. But is it film noir?

Ed Wood Wednesdays, week 253: We are living in Ed Wood's paradise

I don't know if Ed Wood made it to heaven, but he might think we already live there.

Wherever you are right now, I want you to take a moment and look around you. Pry your eyes away from your phone, tablet, or laptop and study your surroundings. Are you impressed with what you see? Well, you should be, because you are living in paradise. At least from Ed Wood's perspective, you are.

Let me explain.

Filmmaker and author Edward Davis Wood, Jr. (1924-1978) spent the last three decades of his life living in Hollywood and trying to find a place for himself in the movie industry. He never really found one, so he was relegated to the margins of show business, working first in low-budget independent pictures and then in pornography. Along the way, he supplemented his income by writing paperback books, short stories, and magazine articles, usually of an adult nature. Prolific as he was in all fields, Ed never made enough money to cover his expenses and so lived in abject poverty for decades. He was also a heavy drinker and chronic smoker. These factors, along with job-related stress and poor diet, led to his early death at the age of 54.

I would suggest that many of the problems Ed Wood faced in the 1950s, '60s, and '70s have been either alleviated or eliminated altogether by the 2020s. Had Eddie been born at a later time, he still might never have found mainstream success—his work is simply too idiosyncratic for that, regardless of budgetary concerns—but he would not have had to live as miserably and die as prematurely as he did. And I say that because of a few larger societal trends.

Podcast Tuesday: "A Tyler Perry Movie for White People"

Lindsay Lohan and Dermot Mulroney in Georgia Rule.

Garry Marshall got his start in show business as a writer, working for sitcoms and variety shows and even crafting material for standup comedians like Phil Foster. He became known and established in the entertainment industry as a "comedy guy," which led to more work. When Garry started producing his own TV shows, including the sitcom Happy Days (1974-1984), he wanted to prove that he was more than just a joke machine. He could handle serious topics, too. That led to such Happy Days episodes as "Kiss Me, Teach" and "Such a Nice Girl," both of which deal with the subject of sexual assault.

Garry's urge to tell darker, more meaningful stories continued when he became a film director in the 1980s. As I've made my way through his filmography, I've seen him waver between the desire to entertain and the desire to educate. Young Doctors in Love (1982), Overboard (1987), and the two Princess Diaries movies (2001-2004) are mindless, cotton candy comedies, while Beaches (1988), The Other Sister (1999), and Nothing in Common (1986) tackle some weightier themes.

And then there is Georgia Rule (2007), a comedy-drama about an exceptionally tricky subject: child abuse. As is often the case with Garry's movies, this one has an incredible cast, led by Jane Fonda as the highly religious title character and Linsday Lohan (then at the height of her tabloid infamy) as her rebellious granddaughter. This week on These Days Are Ours: A Happy Days Podcast, we talk about this highly unusual movie and our strong reactions to it. Please do join us.

Ed Wood Wednesdays, week 252: Additional thoughts on Bela Lugosi's appearance in Plan 9

We know Bela Lugosi appears in Plan 9. But how did that footage get there?

As Americans prepare to travel and reunite with loved ones for the Thanksgiving holiday, I thought I'd share some feedback I received about last week's article. If you'll recall, I prepared an alternate cut of Ed Wood's notorious sci-fi/horror hybrid Plan 9 from Outer Space (1957) that only includes the silent footage of actor Bela Lugosi (1882-1956). The legendary Hungarian actor famously died before the movie was ever completed, and Plan 9 was somewhat deceptively marketed as his farewell performance. I challenged my readers to consider what they might have done with this footage if they'd been in Ed Wood's high-heeled shoes.

New and gloriously stupid project: 100 Buddy Hollys

Ten of the proposed 100 Buddy Hollys.

What is life without its pointless projects? As I look back on my own half century of existence, I see that I have always been the most productive when the work I am doing has no practical application in the real world. If it's completely and utterly useless, I'm all in. Often, the work only has "meaning" because it brings me some strange, indefinable enjoyment or satisfaction. I suppose this entire blog (which has been running since October 2009) is my ultimate boondoggle. I have faithfully maintained this madman's journal largely for my own amusement and at the expense of more noble or profitable pursuits. But it's far from my only folly.

Lately, for instance, I have embarked upon what might be my single-dumbest endeavor: a project called 100 Buddy Hollys. The idea is to create 100 different parodies and remixes of the 1994 Weezer song "Buddy Holly" and post these to my YouTube account, mostly as shorts. Why this song? Why now? I don't know and I don't know. But the project is already moving forward at a furious pace. I started on October 19 with a video called "Buddy Holly but Rivers fired the rest of the band and replaced them with The Moog Cookbook." I have since created several dozen sequels, combining "Buddy Holly" with numerous other pop culture properties and rearranging the song in various ways.

The most popular of these videos has garnered about 1,800 views -- not even a blip on the YouTube radar. The least popular currently sits at a miserable 23 views. I have no idea why some of them perform better than others, and I don't really care. All I know is that, at some point, I decided I'd make a hundred of these things and then stop. Will I make it? Will I lose interest or run out of ideas? Stay tuned, true believers.

Ed Wood Wednesdays, week 251: The last footage of Bela Lugosi

A scowling Bela Lugosi made his last onscreen appearance in Plan 9.

It's one of the most famous anecdotes in the life of Edward D. Wood, Jr. It could even be the linchpin of the entire Wood saga, the source of much of Eddie's mystique. According to legend, the director took a few minutes of footage of a dead actor and built a whole movie around it—not just any movie, either, but an infamous movie! If you've seen the Tim Burton-directed biopic from 1994, it's a story you already know well. But how much of it is the truth? Let's talk about it.

"This is the acorn."

When legendary Hungarian actor Bela Lugosi died in August 1956 at the age of 73, director Ed Wood was devastated. Not only had he lost a good friend, he'd lost his leading man. Bela had starred in Glen or Glenda (1953) and Bride of the Monster (1955) for Eddie and was supposed to star in numerous upcoming Wood productions, like The Ghoul Goes West and The Vampire's Tomb. Now those plans were permanently canceled.

But Eddie had an ace up his sleeve: a reel of silent test footage he'd shot of Bela Lugosi shortly before the great man's death. Sure, it was only a few minutes of film and it didn't really tell much of a story, but Ed Wood still felt it could be the starting point for a feature-length motion picture. As Johnny Depp puts it in the Tim Burton film: "This is the acorn that will grow a great oak." Eddie's plan was to film a bunch of new scenes and extend Bela's role through the use of a carefully-disguised body double. 

The amazing thing is that Ed Wood actually carried out this seemingly insane plan. The result was a completely bonkers sci-fi/horror hybrid called Graverobbers from Outer Space, which premiered in Hollywood on March 15, 1957. It was later retitled Plan 9 from Outer Space and eventually gained a reputation as the worst movie ever made, thanks to coverage in various sci-fi/horror fan magazines and the book The Golden Turkey Awards (1980). It is, hands down, the most famous project Ed Wood was ever involved in.