The character of Freddy Krueger (Robert Englund) started out as a serious threat in Wes Craven's horror classic A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984). In that film, Freddy is a vicious, hideously scarred killer who preys on suburban teenagers in the dream world. As the series progressed, however, Freddy became a pop culture sensation and, improbably, an icon to children and teens across America. The movies became campier in tone, and Freddy started cracking a lot more jokes between murders. Do you think he ever felt pressured to come up with clever one-liners and puns? I pondered that issue and turned it into the web comic above. Hope you enjoy.
October 10, 2024 was just another average Thursday to most people in the world, but to Ed Wood fans, it was something like a holy day of obligation. For that was the day that the notorious director of Glen or Glenda (1953), Bride of the Monster (1955), and Plan 9 from Outer Space (1957) turned 100. Or would have turned 100 if he hadn't died of alcohol-related heart failure in December 1978 at the age of 54.
We used to call such special occasions "birthdays," even when the honoree was deceased. In more recent years, though, we've collectively decided that dead people don't have birthdays anymore. Now, they have "birth anniversaries" or "birthdates." I guess we were afraid of offending dead people. So let's say that October 10 was Ed Wood's 100th birth anniversary.
Whatever you call it, the day was marked by screenings of Ed Wood films at theaters across the country, especially in his home state of New York and his adopted state of California. It warms my heart to think that this man, largely ignored during his own life, should inspire such tributes nearly half a century after his death. I knew that I would probably have to attend at least one such event. But which one? Would there be a screening within reasonable driving distance of my apartment?
An Upstate Films screening in Ed's home state.
Fortunately, a few weeks ago, I was contacted by a nonprofit organization called Upstate Films, whose stated goal is to bring "transformative cinema experiences" to the Hudson Valley region of New York State. The group's screenings take place at a few venues, including the Starr Cinema in Rhinebeck and the Orpheum Theatre in Saugerties. Rhinebeck is in Dutchess County, just half an hour north of Ed's hometown of Poughkeepsie. It was their plan to honor their (almost) hometown boy with a screening of Tim Burton's Ed Wood (1994) on October 10, and they wanted a Wood expert on hand to offer some remarks.
I'm not sure how Upstate Films found me, but somehow they did. Even more unusually, they called me on the phone and left a voicemail. This is hardly the normal way to get in touch with me, but I'll admit that it got my attention. Eventually. See, I don't check my voicemail very often. But when I heard their message a few days after they left it, I gave Upstate Films a call back. A gentleman eventually put me in touch with the woman who was spearheading the event: a filmmaker in her own right named Katie Cokinos. We had a delightful chat that lasted about 40 minutes, and I exchanged emails with Katie and a few other folks from Upstate Films in the leadup to the show.
Katie is a big fan of the Burton biopic but admitted she wasn't all that conversant with Ed Wood's movies, not even the "famous" ones he made in the 1950s. That was where I came in. I've been studying and writing about these movies for years now and can talk about them for hours. But there are some potential pitfalls here. For many people, Ed Wood is simply a wide-eyed dreamer who made a handful of quirky low-budget movies in the 1950s. Such viewers are typically not comfortable delving into the darker, sadder, sleazier aspects of Ed's story, namely his descent into poverty and pornography, fueled by his out-of-control alcohol addiction.
On the very rare occasions when I am asked to be a podcast guest or interview subject, I try to gauge whether the host is okay with talking about the more sordid aspects of Ed Wood's life and career. If not, I know to stick to the relatively benign 1950s stuff: angora sweaters, UFOs on strings, plywood cemeteries, etc. From my discussions with Katie, I knew this was going to be one of those "keep it light and fun" kind of interviews. I explained that it would not be possible for me to travel to Rhinebeck to attend the screening in person, but I would be happy to make my presentation via Zoom. This was amenable to Upstate Films, and arrangements were soon made. Before it vanishes forever from the internet, here is a listing for the event, including my self-penned introduction.
It's wonderful to be here. It's certainly a thrill.
In addition to making some remarks and answering questions after the film, I was asked to prepare a highlight reel from Ed's 1950s movies. I wanted to focus on what I considered the "greatest hits" from this era, especially the moments that were relevant to the Tim Burton film. Below is the video presentation that I created for that night, containing my favorite moments from Glenda and Bride. (For Plan 9, I merely suggested they show the film's iconic trailer.)
On October 10, I was asked to do a soundcheck a couple of hours in advance of the screening. This was how I realized that not everyone at the Starr Cinema was as interested in Eddie and his movies as I was. Katie had been very keen to hear what I had to say, naturally, as had the Upstate Films people I'd been dealing with up to that point. For some of the other employees, however, this was just another screening, and I was just some random dude they had to deal with that day. I also learned that it was quite unusual for a guest speaker to appear via Zoom rather than in person, so I was presenting them with some unique technical challenges. The fact that I was speaking after the movie also meant that they had to stay a little longer at the end of their workday. Sorry, folks. What can I say?
I want to emphasize that no one was rude or hostile, just curt and businesslike. A tech guy asked me to start talking so he could hear how my voice sounded over the speakers. I responded by reading a passage from Ed Wood's short story "The Night the Banshee Cried." For some reason, I started hamming it up a bit for this employee, who was busy adjusting various things around the theater. I thought he'd get a kick out of it. After a few minutes, though, I noticed he had not said anything or responded in any way.
"W-was that good? I asked, tentatively.
"Mm hmm," he responded flatly. "You're coming through very clear. Maybe a half-second delay."
He sounded like a bored drive-through employee telling me to pull up to the next window. Or a traffic cop letting me off with a warning this time. I have to admit, I was a little deflated.
My post-movie presentation, however, went swimmingly. Katie Cokinos acted as moderator and was as enthused as ever. Fielding questions from both the audience and from Katie, I talked about how I came to be an Ed Wood fan and how accurate or inaccurate the 1994 biopic is. Other topics included: the long-planned yet seemingly never-to-be statue of Ed Wood in Poughkeepsie; the fate of Ed's mortal remains; Ed's somewhat embellished war record; and whether or not Lillian Wood dressed her son in women's clothing when he was a child. Katie was kind enough to ask me about Ed's "monster nudies," which gave me an opportunity to plug Dad Made Dirty Movies (2020). The whole thing lasted about 45 minutes.
The way the Zoom call was set up, by the way, I could see the Starr Cinema auditorium from my end. As I suspected, the audience was incredibly miniscule, and a few sleepy folks shuffled out as my portion of the show began. I think, by the end, I was talking to no more than a dozen people. But that didn't bother me. It's about comparable with the stats on many of my articles, videos, and podcasts. What mattered was that I was able to spend this day doing something Woodian. I'd have felt guilty somehow if I hadn't marked the occasion.
Ed, wherever you are, I hope you appreciated the gesture.
The interior of the Starr Cinema. (And this is pretty much how it looked when I spoke.)
This week, Fonzie (Henry Winkler) goes underground on The Fonz and the Happy Days Gang.
We've all been trained by science fiction to think that outer space is mankind's ultimate goal. There's a whole universe out there, just waiting for us, and we should explore it. That make sense. When our own planet (inevitably) blows up or becomes uninhabitable, we may even have to move to outer space so that humanity can continue. The problem is that getting to outer space is currently quite expensive and difficult, and space is really not hospitable to human life anyway. That doesn't stop us from dreaming, though.
Every once in a while, a sci-fi author will give us an alternative to exploring outer space. There's so much of our home planet that we haven't explored yet, namely the oceans. A lot could be happening down there, like talking fish people or sunken cities or whatever. That's why we have shows like Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea, SeaQuest DSV, Sealab 2020, Sealab 2021, The Man from Atlantis, and even Snorks.The sea is not quite as enticing to us as outer space, but it's (potentially) pretty darned interesting anyway.
Another alternative to outer space is the strange, vast world that exists beneath the surface of the earth, right below our feet. I don't think there are too many stories about this topic, but some famous ones do exist. The movie The Mole People (1956) comes to mind as an example, as does Below the Earth's Surface (2008). Let's not forget The Phantom Empire (1935) and Unknown World (1951). The granddaddy of them all is Jules Verne's novel Voyage to the Center of the Earth (1864), which has been adapted to film numerous times, most notably in 1959 with James Mason.
The story: "Appendix" by Frank Dello Stritto and Edward D. Wood, Jr.
Synopsis: Circa April 1973, author Frank Dello Stritto visited the Ackermansion, the Los Angeles home of Famous Monsters of Filmland editor Forrest J. Ackerman. While there, he found some old letters that had been written by Ed Wood in March 1954, most of them addressed to actor Bela Lugosi. Dello Stritto meticulously dictated them into a tape recorder, then transcribed the recordings when he got home to New Jersey. What follows are nine of those letters.
Edwin Schallert.
March 1, 1954: Ed is trying to secure work for Bela, who is headlining a revue at the Silver Slipper in Las Vegas. During a recent work trip to Vegas, Ed managed to run up a bill of $300, which amounts to over $3,000 in today's money. Bela is now obligated to pay most of this, with Ed contributing $48 of his own money. Ed disputes the bill and says it is very important to him that people know he is not trying to take advantage of Bela in any way, financially or otherwise. Eddie Fox, the publicity director for the Silver Slipper, is in Los Angeles to meet with a talent agent named Lou Sherrill. Ed says he will meet with Eddie Fox to discuss the matter personally, and he chastises Bela for mentioning the money dispute to Lou Sherrill. ("You could have come to me first.")
Meanwhile, Ed is convinced that the upcoming film The Bowery Boys Meet the Monsters (1954) will be "a hell of a lift" for Lugosi's career. He imagines the news stories it will generate, bringing attention to both Lugosi and the Silver Slipper. Furthermore, Ed says that Lou Sherrill has an idea for a new nightclub act starring Bela. Ed tells Bela that the actor's comeback is in full swing and that more triumphs lie ahead. As an example, Ed says he is talking to Los Angeles Times writer Edwin Schallert, who is planning a big article about Bela Lugosi. Schallert is headed to Vegas to review actor Howard Keel's show, and he will be swinging by the Silver Slipper to check out Bela's revue.
Ed warns Bela not to get taken by all the "sharpies" in Las Vegas. Ed says that, when he was there on business, he kept track of every expense he incurred. Bela should not pay for anything that Ed did not account for personally. He worries that he now looks bad in the eyes of Lou Sherrill. Ed stresses that Bela needs to tell Lou this was all a misunderstanding and that Ed is not a conman or a parasite.
Ed then returns to the subject of the Bowery Boys movie. Ed tells Bela not to worry about learning all the dialogue in the script. "We'll get it this time," he says. Ed claims to have a three-picture deal with Howco and declares that at least one of these films will be a star vehicle for Bela. According to Ed, horror films are enjoying newfound popularity at the moment; he points to some 3D films from Universal and Warner Bros. as examples. Bela's new film should fit right in. Eddie closes the letter by rehashing the matter of the $300 bill and emphasizing that he is being honest and scrupulous in his dealings with Bela.
March 5, 1954: Several days later, Ed responds to a "seven-point note" from Lugosi. Ed says that Schallert's story has not been printed yet. When it is, Ed will buy ten copies and send five to Lou Sherrill. Ed also thanks Bela for explaining the previous awkward situation to Lou via telegram. ("His attitude changed for the better almost immediately.")
Ed says that "the troubles on my picture [presumably 1954's Jail Bait] have ended," meaning that he will now be able to pay his previous debt to Bela. On the other hand, producer George Weiss says that Ed and Bela's previous film, Glen or Glenda (1953), has not turned a profit yet. Ed is dubious of this, because Weiss has managed to pay off $1,000 in debts since it opened and Ed is owed 50% of the take. Ed further claims he has two more films in the works and thinks he can get Bela $5,000 for ten days of work. Ed will be producing Bela's movie for Monogram and will decide who gets paid what.
Ed mentions some press clippings that Bela has sent him. Ed says he forwarded these to Alex Gordon for preservation. Ed also congratulates Bela on extending his Vegas show another two weeks and says that it will not be difficult to line up some film work for the veteran actor now. He boasts that, between himself and Lou Sherrill, Bela now has "two good men on [his] side." Ed closes the letter by promising to write again soon. He also asks about some "collars" and some publicity photos.
Synopsis: In this appreciative essay, the author talks about how Ed Wood's ineptitude is ironically what brought him everlasting fame. People love to poke fun at how cheap and shoddy Ed's 1950s films were, but we shouldn't overlook the director's resourcefulness and ingenuity in making them with such limited resources. He didn't have big budgets, and he had to use his friends and acquaintances to play many of the roles in his movies. Would prestigious directors like Cecil B. DeMille and Robert Wise have fared as well under such circumstances?
Recognizable stars like Tor Johnson, Vampira, and Lyle Talbot may have been slumming when they appeared in Plan 9 from Outer Space (1957), but at least they were working. Ed Wood is often called out for his reliance on stock footage and library music, but even big-budget films have used these shortcuts. Besides, Ed didn't have the money to hire composers or film expensive action sequences. He wasn't working in the studio system; he was piecing these films together from whatever scraps of material he had. Plan 9 can be seen, then, as Ed Wood's ultimate labor of love.
Excerpt:
Plan 9 was finished for $60,000. Imagine Robert Wise filming The Day the Earth Stood Still on that budget. Gort would have had stovepipes for legs and a welding mask for his face. Forbidden Planet cost just under $2 million, $125,000 of it spent to build Robby the Robot. With that kind of budget, Ed Wood might have enlisted the likes of Ray Harryhausen to animate his flying saucers instead of using Cadillac hubcaps dangling from fishing line.
An inverted ice cream cone.
Reflections: This fun little essay by author Fred Adams, Jr. (presumably this gentleman) gave me flashbacks to a track called "Cheepnis" by Frank Zappa and The Mothers of Invention from the double live album Roxy & Elsewhere (1974). The song is a tribute to low-budget monster movies of the 1950s, and the strangely-spelled title refers to a special quality that these films have. Frank begins the song with a spoken-word monologue in which he explains the concept in more detail:
I love monster movies. I simply adore monster movies. And the cheaper they are, the better they are. And cheepnis in the case of a monster movie has nothing to do with the budget of the film, although it helps. But true cheepnis is exemplified by visible nylon strings attached to the jaw of a giant spider.
I'll tell you a good one that I saw one time. I think the name of the film was It Conquered the World. Did you ever see that one? The monster looks sort of like an inverted ice-cream cone with teeth around the bottom. It looks like a teepee or a rounded-off pup tent affair. And it's got fangs on the base of it. I don't know why, but it's a very threatening sight. And then he's got a frown and an ugly mouth and everything .
There's this one scene where the monster is coming out of a cave. See? There's always a scene where they come out of a cave, at least once. And the rest of the cast... It must have been made around the 1950s. The lapels are about like that wide. The ties are about that wide, and they're about this short, and they always have a little revolver that they're gonna shoot the monster with. And there's always a girl who falls down and twists her ankle. Of course there is. You know how they are, the weaker sex and everything! Twisting their ankle on behalf of the little ice cream cone.
Well, in this particular scene, folks, they didn't want to retake it because it must have been so good they wanted to keep it. But when the monster came out of the cave, just over on the left hand side of the screen, you see about this much two-by-four attached to the bottom of the thing as the guy is pushing it out, and then obviously off-camera somebody's going, "No! Get it back!" And they drag it just a little bit as the guy is going, "Kkkkhhhh! Kkkkhhhh!" Now that's cheepnis!
While Roger Corman's It Conquered the World (1956) has no direct connection to Ed Wood, it came out around the same time as Wood's own Bride of the Monster (1955) and the aforementioned Plan 9 and is cut from the same cloth as them. Zappa's comment about Beverly Garland, the heroine of It Conquered the World, twisting her ankle reminded me of the scene in Plan 9 in which Mona McKinnon falls in the graveyard while running from the Ghoul Man (Bela Lugosi and Tom Mason). I can vouch for the part about monsters emerging from caves, too. While Eddie never actually filmed at Bronson Caves, many of his contemporaries did, most notably Phil Tucker of Robot Monster (1953) infamy.
(Side note: Fred Adams, Jr. speculates that, if Ed Wood had a bigger budget, he could have hired Elmer Bernstein. Well, Phil Tucker had no budget, and he did hire Elmer Bernstein!)
This was a very particular era in sci-fi and horror when the films were aimed largely at teenage audiences and employed wildly improbable stories, dubious acting, and extremely wonky special effects. For the most part, sci-fi and horror basically melded into one big genre during this time. The titles of such films were meant to grab you by the neck and force you to pay attention. I notice that some of the same words turn up in a lot of them: invasion, creature, attack, space, monster, robot, etc. The golden age seems to have started in the early 1950s and lasted until the mid-1960s or so.
Sure, there were classier films like Forbidden Planet (1956) and The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951) being made by the big studios, but many or most of these flicks were down at the Roger Corman level, especially the independently-produced ones. I don't know if anyone has given a name to this particular chapter of film history—apart from Frank Zappa, who called it "Cheepnis"—but this era is absolutely crucial to an entire nerdy subculture built around the ironic appreciation of so-called "bad movies." The cult TV series Mystery Science Theater 3000, whose very title evokes the era, could not have existed without such movies. I think the key to the popularity of these films is that they're preposterous and easily risible, but they're also generally fast-paced, action-packed, and fun.
Much of the Ed Wood phenomenon is rooted in this "Cheepnis" era of film history. The Wood cult centers around the handful of films he made during this period. Tim Burton's Ed Wood (1994) is largely about this. The stories in Warm Angora Wishes focus on this era almost exclusively. It's certainly where I started my journey into Woodology in the 1990s. Now, after more than three decades of studying the life and work of Edward D. Wood, Jr., I have come to think of "Cheepnis" as being just one aspect of the man's career. In fact, Ed's peak of productivity (roughly 1968-1973) occurred after this era was over. But I realize that some fans are just here for the 1950s stuff, so I try to give them some of that while acknowledging that there are other avenues to explore.
You might think that, since I'm reviewing a piece called "Afterword," I am done with Ed Wood's Warm Angora Wishes and Rubber Octopus Dreams. No. No, indeed. There is one more piece to go, and it might just be one of the most interesting things in this entire anthology. Stay tuned.
The story: "The Atomic Dream and the Wilderness of Tibet" by Christopher R. Gauthier
Synopsis: Dr. Eric Vornoff, once a respected scientist in his homeland of Russia, has become a hunted fugitive. The government took a dim view of his experiments to create a race of atomic supermen and cruelly separated him from his wife and son. Vornoff sadly figures that the members of his family are either dead or rotting in a gulag somewhere. Now, with secret agents still on his trail, he travels through Tibet.
Lured by the sound of gongs, Vornoff hacks his way through the wilderness until he finds a strange carnival encampment that serves as a combination freak show and brothel. He witnesses numerous perverse acts there, including the torture of caged white women. Among the patrons are some Chinese soldiers. Presiding over the camp is a transgender "dragon lady" named Madam Wu. Her servant is a hulking, mute giant known only as Lobo.
Madam Wu has Lobo show Vornoff to his tent. Once inside, the two men become fast friends despite Lobo's inability to speak. Vornoff wins Lobo's affections by giving him an angora beret that had once belonged to Vornoff's wife. The angora causes Lobo to flash back to his early childhood, before he was enslaved by Madam Wu. Together, Vornoff and Lobo destroy the camp and kill its wicked mistress. Then, they board a plane for America to continue their work.
Excerpt:
The Dragon Lady’s henchman, the towering mutant mountain of a man was hairless. A long scar, obviously a result from some course of violence, scowled across his face. He was dressed in torn rags, and they did not fit him all that well, barely in fact. Clasped around his wrists were golden bands, shackles of the Dragon Lady, Vornoff thought. Or perhaps they were from origins of another kind. The beast of Tibet gave beckon and shone the lantern into the darkness, illuminating a bivouac where Vornoff was to find shelter, privacy, and peace.
Reflections: We're approaching the end of Warm Angora Wishes, and this story feels like a summary of everything the anthology has to offer its readers. For instance, this is at least the third story about how Dr. Vornoff (Bela Lugosi) and Lobo (Tor Johnson) from Ed Wood's Bride of the Monster (1955) originally met. I'd never really given it much thought, but other Wood fans obviously did. (Interestingly, Warm Angora Wishes gives us three very different answers to that question.) We get some angora action in this story as well, plus a male-to-female transgender character. No aliens or graveyards this time, but as comedian Steven Wright once said, "You can't have everything. Where would you put it?"
A scene from Multiple Maniacs.
I think the key to writing a story for this anthology is to borrow some plot points and characters from Ed Wood's films and then add some wild card ingredient to them. In this case, the wild card is Madam Wu and her strange, evil carnival. I could not help but think of Lady Divine and her notorious Cavalcade of Perversions from John Waters' Multiple Maniacs (1970). For the uninitiated, the extremely sketchy circus in Waters' film features such dubious acts as the Puke Eater and the Bicycle Seat Sniffer. Ultimately, however, the Cavalcade is revealed as a flimsy front for a criminal organization. Lady Divine's true intention is to rob and kill her paying customers. I wonder if Madam Wu has similar intentions for her patrons.
It's hard to believe, but Eli Roth's Hostel (2005) turns 20 next year. You remember that one, right? The story follows two dumb, horny American tourists, Paxton (Jay Hernandez) and Josh (Derek Richardson), as they travel through Europe. Eventually, they wind up in Slovakia, where they find themselves at the mercy of the Elite Hunting Club, a mysterious organization that tortures, disfigures, and murders tourists for sport. Paxton and Josh are ideal victims, epitomizing the "ugly American" stereotype, so we in the audience don't hold out much hope for them.
Roth's film was part of the so-called "torture porn" craze of the early 2000s, but the moment that really haunts me from Hostel is not violent at all. It occurs when Paxton arrives outside the abandoned factory that the Elite Hunting Club has turned into a torture chamber and human slaughterhouse. Paxton doesn't know exactly what goes on in this ominous place, and he's hesitant to enter. He decides to strike up a conversation with a Japanese man (played by extreme horror director Takashi Miike) who staggers out of the building, looking like he's just spent a night in a casino.
"Excuse me," says Paxton. "How is it in there?"
"Be careful," replies the Japanese man.
"Why is that?"
"You could spend all your money in there."
The Japanese man then walks away calmly. Somehow, I think this character could have himself quite a time at Madam Wu's camp.
Fonzie and Dr. Solo don't seem to get along terribly well on The Fonz and the Happy Days Gang.
Ostensibly,The Fonz and the Happy Days Gang (1980-81) is a show about time travel. Fonzie (Henry Winkler), Richie (Ron Howard), and Ralph (Don Most) travel haphazardly from one era to another in a constantly-malfunctioning flying saucer, accompanied by "future chick" Cupcake (Didi Conn) and a mischievous dog named Mr. Cool (Frank Welker). Their ultimate goal is to return to 1957 Milwaukee. I say the show is "ostensibly" about time travel because it's really more about hopping from one literary form to another (Westerns, horror stories, swashbucklers, etc.) and seeing how the characters fit in. I call it genre travel.
But in its second season, the show did an episode that is neither time travel nor genre travel: "Time Schlep." Here, the gang find themselves in the Bermuda Triangle on a remote island that lies outside of the time-space continuum. Time has stopped here; it's not any particular year on this island. They encounter a mad scientist (voiced by Rene Auberjonois), a damsel in distress, a giant gorilla, and an evil robot, but the story does not fit into any convenient category. We are figuratively and literally in uncharted territory this week.
Does that make for a better or worse episode? Both? Neither? Find out by listening to the latest installment of These Days Are Ours: A Happy Days Podcast. You know how to do that, right?
The story: "Ed Wood and the Vampire" by Danielle DeVor
Synopsis: It is 1955, and director Ed Wood is on a years-long quest to make a movie starring an actual vampire. He once thought actor Bela Lugosi made such a convincing onscreen Dracula because he was the genuine article, but Bela proved to be all too human. So Ed's quest continues. Ed's girlfriend Dolores says this is all a waste of time and storms out on him. Undeterred, Ed continues to make notes in his little green book. He's determined to keep track of every prominent actor to play Count Dracula in the hopes that one of them will be a genuine vampire.
A disappointment to Ed.
By 1958, a new actor from England named Christopher Lee is portraying the famous bloodsucker, so Eddie travels to Milwaukee to attend the premiere of Hammer's Horror of Dracula. Unfortunately, none of the actors from the film is in attendance that night. In New York, at a gala showing of the film, Eddie is unable to get anywhere near Christopher Lee, but he still determines that Lee is not a real vampire. Too healthy looking. Ed's wife Kathy also thinks this quest is foolish, but Eddie is more driven than ever.
In 1966, Eddie reluctantly attends a screening of Billy the Kid vs. Dracula to see John Carradine as the count. To his disappointment, the film is a "farce," and Carradine is clearly no vampire. The pickings get slim until 1974 when Jack Palance portrays Dracula in a made-for-TV movie. By this time, Eddie's personal fortunes have dwindled, forcing him to live in a "grimy" apartment. That same year, Ed Wood attends a screening of Blood for Dracula starring Udo Kier in the title role. This film, however, is mere pornography. Three years later, Louis Jourdan stars in another made-for-TV adaptation of the Bram Stoker novel. Despite the faithfulness to the source material, Eddie is far from convinced that Jourdan is a vampire.
The story ends in late 1978. Ed Wood has been evicted from his Yucca Street apartment. (His death goes unmentioned.) A disgruntled landlord throws Eddie's possessions into the trash, including that green notebook Ed had been keeping since the '50s. It is picked up by a genuine vampire who happens to be passing by.
Excerpt:
He'd looked for clues far and wide, and soon, there had been buzz about a new vampire on the block. One from England. As soon as he spied Christopher Lee, he had that feeling again. Could this be a real vampire hiding in plain sight? There was presence. Pizazz. Kathy thought he was nuts for travelling all the way to Milwaukee for the premiere, but he couldn't let this go.
Reflections: Some of the authors who contributed stories to Warm Angora Wishes are people I already knew well from the Ed Wood fan community, but many are writers I've never heard of until right now. One example of the latter is authoress Danielle DeVor, who has written numerous fantasy and horror novels, including some romances, but has been off my radar thus far. I'm not certain if she'd been an Ed Wood fan before this project or if the editor approached her because of her other, similarly-themed books.
Either way, DeVor brings a perspective to this material that I don't think I've seen from other authors. The Ed Wood in this story is not one I fully recognized, so it was almost like having a new character to play with. The story's chief conceit is that Eddie is seeking a real vampire in order to make a movie with him. Over the course of two decades, this quest takes over—and even defines—his life. He's like some Bizarro World version of Van Helsing who seeks to glorify, rather than kill, Dracula.
DeVor's Ed Wood seems to have a different set of aesthetic standards than the Ed I know. This one turns up his nose at Billy the Kid vs. Dracula (1966) and later scoffs at the idea of Western actor Jack Palance playing the character on TV. "What was this about cowboys and vampires?" DeVor writes. "This was some type of weird obsession with some people he didn't understand." In real life, Eddie was as obsessed with cowboy films as he was with horror films and famously tried and failed to get a Western/horror hybrid called The Ghoul Goes West made. And the idea of pairing Dracula with Billy the Kid is one I think would have appealed to Ed quite a bit.
Then, in 1974, Ed Wood attends a screening of Paul Morrissey's Blood for Dracula (1974)—which I assume was still being marketed as Andy Warhol's Dracula back then—and has this puzzling reaction:
He shouldn’t have wasted his time or the money. He didn’t expect to see a porn instead of a horror film. Not that he was against porn at all, but it surprised him. He’d never thought of meshing Dracula with pornography, but it would work. And it did, in an odd kind of way.
I've heard that the world has become more prudish in recent years, but I didn't think I'd see the day when Blood for Dracula was described as "porn." Yes, it has a few nude scenes and a smattering of simulated sex, but that accounts for a relatively small percentage of its run time. Is that what people think porn is nowadays? Anything with nudity or onscreen sex? Is Don't Look Now (1973) porn? How about Something Wild (1986) or Body Heat (1981)? How did TV series like True Blood (2008-2014) and Game of Thrones (2011-2019) sneak by us without getting labeled "porn"? They're both much more explicit than Morrissey's film. Besides, Ed Wood worked extensively in both softcore and hardcore pornography in the 1960s and '70s. By his standards, Blood for Dracula could be considered almost Victorian in its restraint.
As for "meshing Dracula with pornography," that phrase neatly summarizes much of Ed's fiction. In his novels and short stories, he combined horror and erotica over and over again—often in ways that are much more graphic than Blood for Dracula. Ed Wood is so closely identified with erotic horror that the novel The Adult Version of Dracula(1970) has commonly been attributed to him. Whether the attribution is correct is a matter of debate, but Ed was the kind of writer who conceivably could have written such a book. Eddie even went out of his way to mention both Bela Lugosi and Dracula in his pornographic feature film Necromania (1971).
It's possible that the Ed Wood in this story is not the Ed Wood we know from history, just a fictional character with the same name and a vaguely similar career path. The one in this story doesn't seem to be a cross-dresser, nor is he a prolific writer. He makes films and hunts Dracula. That's it. In fact, DeVor's character spends more time chasing after vampires than he does making movies. Speaking of which, none of Eddie's films is named in this story, and neither Dolores nor Kathy is given a last name. While I assume they're Dolores Fuller and Kathy Wood, I can't say that with 100% certainty.
The Ed Wood in this story seems to be on a downward career path and ends up being evicted from his Yucca St. apartment in the late '70s, all of which happened to the real Ed Wood. DeVor's Ed Wood also drinks a bit, but he's not a late-stage alcoholic shuffling down to the liquor store to cash his meager paycheck the way the real Eddie was. DeVor's character even drinks Wild Turkey, which probably would have been out of the real Ed Wood's price range. Compared to the real man with whom he shares a name, the Ed Wood of this story is living in luxury.
P.S. If this story appeals to you, I highly recommend this Cinemassacre video that compares all the screen versions of Bram Stoker's Dracula.
The story: "Heaven Knows Mr. Wood" by Dwight Kemper
This is where Ed Wood died.
Synopsis: In December 1978, filmmaker Edward D. Wood, Jr. and his wife Kathy are evicted from their Hollywood apartment and have to move in with a friend of theirs, actor Peter Coe. A few days later, while Peter, Kathy, and some other friends are watching a football game on television, Ed Wood dies of a heart attack in a back bedroom at the age of 54. There's a look of horror on his face. At his memorial service, the famed TV psychic Criswell, a longtime friend of Eddie's, tells Kathy that her late husband will be long-remembered and that God has "a soft spot for artists."
Meanwhile, Ed Wood arrives in Heaven and finds it to be a giant movie soundstage, complete with scenery and microphones. Even St. Peter, who sits at a podium at the Pearly Gates, looks and talks exactly like Bela Lugosi. Eddie is surprised, but not upset, to find himself dressed in the blue gingham dress and ruby slippers that Judy Garland wore in The Wizard of Oz (1939). Cross-dressing is not frowned upon in the afterlife. Peter tells Ed that his movies have brought happiness to many, and so the late director will be allowed to live in paradise. He already has a friend waiting for him at the Old Actors' Cloud.
Eddie ventures along the Yellow Brick Road until he meets the actual Bela Lugosi, who is hanging out with fellow horror icons Basil Rathbone and Boris Karloff. They stop to chat. Eddie eventually realizes that his dreams have come true. He is finally a filmmaker with unlimited money and resources, and Bela and the others are set to star in his next opus.
Excerpt:
Startled, Eddie turned around and found himself in front of a high podium where a bearded man was waiting. Behind him were a pair of gates, the bars of which appeared to be lit by bulbs inside frosted plastic. The floor of the stage was covered with the crawling wisps of dry ice smoke. Ed looked down and saw he was now wearing a sweater made from the finest angora and a gray skirt and sensible shoes.
Reflections: "Heaven," said Russell Green, "is where the donkey finally catches up with his carrot. Hell is the eternity while he waits for it." I think this old saying applies itself to Ed Wood pretty easily, and it was on my mind as I pondered Eddie's fate in the afterlife. I also thought about a 2013 episode of the web series Precious Plum in which the title character (Elaine Carroll), a child beauty pageant contestant, innocently asks her mother (Josh Ruben) what Heaven is like.
The carrot and the donkey.
"Like Target," replies the mother casually, "but everything's free."
I can sympathize with Plum's mother here. We often have a difficult time envisioning or describing the afterlife because we've obviously never experienced it. Besides, we're so focused on our earthly lives that we can't imagine an existence that's completely divorced from the physical, material world that we know.
And so, most depictions of Heaven in art and fiction are just fancier versions of Earth. What else do we have to go on? Movies and television shows tell us that, after we die, we'll still look like ourselves, talk like we always have, and think with the same brains we had in life. Multiple writers have come to the conclusion that eternity will eventually grow boring for us, but this presupposes that we'll still have an attention span after we die.
Author Dwight Kemper addresses this problem in his story "Heaven Knows Mr. Wood," in which Ed Wood and Bela Lugosi reunite in the Great Beyond. And what do they do once they're up there? Make movies, of course! It's all they know. Kemper has Lugosi say in his unmistakable accent: "Heaven is vatever you make of it. Ve are all movie stars, so naturally, Heaven, it reflects vat ve know."
Maybe this isn't so bad. I'm a self-confessed game show addict, and one of my great pleasures in life is watching reruns of the '70s edition of Match Game hosted by Gene Rayburn. Every once in a while, I'll remember that Gene and nearly all the celebrity panelists (Brett Somers, Charles Nelson Reilly, Betty White, Richard Dawson) are dead. On the TV screen, they're still alive and filled with boundless energy. Where did all that energy go? Did it just evaporate into nothing when they died? It comforts me to think that, somewhere, there's a big Match Game reunion going on in Heaven right now.
I felt the same sort of comfort while reading "Heaven Knows Mr. Wood." In this story, Eddie dies broke and homeless, but in Heaven, he finally gets to be the filmmaker he always wanted to be on Earth. In other words, the donkey has finally caught up with his carrot.
The story: "The Green Dragon (Inspired by Glen or Glenda)" by Kurt McCoy
Bela Lugosi in Glen or Glenda.
Synopsis: A large, scaly, green dragon rises up from the sea and approaches a high-rise building in an unnamed city. The monster slithers up to the top and enters the penthouse laboratory of a strange scientist named Dr. Vorkhoff. The dragon declares, as usual, that it is hungry. Vorkhoff and the dragon gaze at a magical obsidian mirror, which allows them to view all the people in the city below them. They single out an avid pulp fiction reader named Denis Davis. Denis looks at his own reflection in a window and sees a woman named Denise staring back at him.
Soon, Denis becomes obsessed with Denise to the point that his feminine alter ego is all he can think about. Eventually, when he can stand it no longer, he ventures into a department store and pretends to buy a new wardrobe for his "twin sister." An understanding sales clerk helps him pick out some outfits, plus lingerie and makeup. It takes Denis a while to get used to these things, especially the torturous high heels.
When he ventures out in public in women's clothing for the first time, Denis is initially thrilled to see the world through fresh eyes. Soon, though, he is harassed by some police officers who taunt him and beat him nearly to death. The badly-injured Denis finds himself in the office of Dr. Vorkhoff, who says the young man is lucky to be alive. But Denis is more worried about Denise. The doctor says that, in order for Denise to survive, Denis must make a great sacrifice. The man agrees.
Vorkhoff performs a sex change on Denis, who now is permanently Denise. As payment, Vorkhoff has taken Denis' penis and placed it in a decorative coffin. But Denise has to rush out of the building to keep away from the hungry dragon. Once outside, Denise sees the reflection of Denis as he withers and dies, a tragic but necessary sacrifice. Where Denis merely sat on the sidelines and watched the world go by, Denise will live her life to the fullest. Back in the penthouse, Vorkhoff and the dragon gaze into the mirror to select their next subject.
Excerpt:
For a moment he found himself face to face with a beautiful woman, his blue eyes and hers locked in mutual surprise. Denis started to say something before he could think of anything to say. She opened her mouth then abruptly closed it at the same time. They both laughed at their shared awkwardness.
Reflections: When I first saw Glen or Glenda (1953) in 1992 and conned a few friends into seeing it with me, the character we all imitated afterward was Bela Lugosi's mysterious Scientist. (That's how he's identified in the credits, so that's what I'm calling him.) We'd never seen anyone like him in any movie. Even in the wild and wooly pantheon of Ed Wood, the Scientist is one strange man: a solitary, nameless alchemist who dwells in an eerie yet elegant laboratory/den filled with ghoulish bric-a-brac. From this lonely place, which seemingly exists outside the normal time-space continuum, he observes and guides the mortals who dwell beneath him. He has the powers of a god and can change men into women with a wave of his aged hand.
In Ed Wood (1994), even Eddie (Johnny Depp) has some trouble when he tries to explain the Scientist character to Bela (Martin Landau). Their conversation goes like so:
ED: Your part's a little different. You're like the god that looks over all the characters and oversees everything.
BELA: I don't understand.
ED: You control everyone's fate. You're like the puppet master.
BELA: Ah, so I pull the strings!
ED: Yes, you pull the strings. "Pull the strings." I like that!
The Man in the Planet (Jack Fisk)
The only character in movie history who might be able to relate to the Scientist is the Man in the Planet (Jack Fisk) from David Lynch's Eraserhead (1977). They have similar jobs, controlling the lives of others from a purgatorial wasteland. The near-constant drone of background noise in Eraserhead is oddly reminiscent of Glen or Glenda as well, since Lugosi's appearances as the Scientist are often underscored by the sounds of thunder and howling wind. But the shirtless, badly-burned Man in the Planet is more like a janitor or an elevator operator than a true god. Plus, he doesn't say a solitary word in his movie. The Scientist in Glen or Glenda, on the other hand, is quite verbose, given to emotional outbursts, baffling non-sequiturs, and rambling philosophical speeches.
In one of the Scientist's best-remembered soliloquys, he warns us of "the big green dragon who sits on your doorstep." Author Kurt McCoy has used this classic line as the basis for an entire story, turning the dragon into a full-fledged, speaking character. McCoy has also given the Scientist an actual name (Dr. Vorkhoff) and has placed his lab in a physical location (the weirdly ancient top floor of an otherwise-modern skyscraper). But the Scientist retains his inscrutability. Who is this man? Why does he do what he does? And how? What are the limits of his power? "The Green Dragon" doesn't exactly answer those questions, but it does expand intriguingly upon what we see in Glen or Glenda.
Who knows? Maybe Vorkhoff and his dragon pal are still at it somewhere, gazing through their enchanted mirror in search of another wayward soul. Bonus points to McCoy, by the way, for zeroing in on the fact that mirrors and reflections were of major importance to Ed Wood, both in his work and in his life. Don't forget that Ed once wrote a whole story called "Never a Stupid Reflection" (1973). I somehow get the impression that Eddie spent many hours contemplating his own reflection, especially when he was all dressed up in his finest angora.
The story: "Ed Wood Hollywood Deadwood" by David Michael Taylor
Synopsis: Struggling filmmaker Ed Wood drowns his sorrows in vodka at a Hollywood dive bar called Gold Diggers. Eddie is especially upset that his TV pilot, Final Curtain (1957), has failed to sell. His friend, actor/wrestler Tor Johnson, shows up and tries to comfort him. Eddie looks at their reflections in a mirror and imagines Tor as Inspector Clay from Plan 9 from Outer Space (1957) and himself as a little boy dressed in girl's clothes. He leaves the bar, dejected.
One of L.A.'s great cocktail bars.
Ed migrates over to another bar, Boardner's, where he commiserates with Maila "Vampira" Nurmi. She says the future is in television, but Ed laments that he can't get his pilot in front of the right people. The director's epic bar crawl then leads him to the Frolic Room on Hollywood Blvd., where he meets up with psychic Criswell, resplendent in a sparkly Nudie suit. Eddie asks Criswell about the future, and Cris says, "Perhaps on your way home, someone will pass you in the dark, and you may never know it, but they will reveal your future."
Stumbling home to his shabby apartment on Yucca, Ed Wood indeed passes a young man and woman he does not recognize. Could they be the key to his future? He calls out to them. Many decades later, these young people are standing in front of the building at 6383 Yucca Street in Los Angeles. The young man's mother has texted him that Ed Wood once lived here, but neither the young man nor the young woman knows who Ed is.
Excerpt:
She strips the top from the shaker and replaces it with a strainer as I feel myself straining in anticipation. Setting a fresh martini glass on the section of the bar I've clamed as my own for the evening, she tips the shaker, causing the cloudy cocktail to pour through the strainer and into my glass without spilling a drop. A lime wheel appears as if from nowhere and, with a deft hand, she closes its pulp around the lip of the glass.
Another stop on the tour.
Reflections: Some of you Beatle fans may remember the 1995 music video for "Free as a Bird," the "new" song that was created by taking an unfinished John Lennon demo and overdubbing new parts by Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr onto it. A combination of computer-generated animation and live-action footage, including many vintage clips of The Beatles themselves, the video follows the path of a bird as it flies to crucial locations in Beatle history, including the Cavern Club, Penny Lane, the Strawberry Fields orphanage, and Abbey Road studios. Along the way, we spy brief visual references to Beatle songs, including "Birthday," "Helter Skelter," "Paperback Writer," and more. The more you know about the Fab Four, the more references you'll catch.
David Michael Taylor's "Ed Wood Hollywood Deadwood" is like "Free as a Bird" for Ed Wood fans. Instead of following the path of a bird as it soars majestically through Beatle history, it follows the path of Ed Wood as he stumbles drunkenly from one Los Angeles bar to another. But it, too, is an Easter egg hunt for diehard fans. The story visits a few key Woodian locations, including Gold Diggers, Pla-Boy Liquor, and the notorious Yucca Flats apartment building, and it's peppered with references to Ed's life and career. Much of the dialogue comes directly from the script of Plan 9, for instance, and the bartender has the same name as Ed's mother: Lillian. We also get multiple references to the obscure Final Curtain pilot, a nod to Tim Burton's Ed Wood (1994), and a reiteration of the old story that Ed's mother dressed him as a girl when he was a child.
There's a sighing, elegiac quality to both "Free as a Bird" and "Ed Wood Hollywood Deadwood," though the latter is far less reverential. They're both wistful reminders of a vanished world and the vanished people who inhabited it. The ending of Taylor's story seems to consign Ed Wood to the rubbish bin of history, the victim of youthful indifference, but the truth is that this story could only have been written by someone with a deep, abiding love for Eddie's work. Who else but a fan would bother to write something like this?
P.S. This story is almost fetishistic in its detailed descriptions of alcoholic beverages and cocktail bars. I'm not sure if these things are a major part of the author's life, but they were certainly a major part of Ed Wood's life, so I appreciate the extra effort displayed here. These descriptive passages really bring you into Eddie's dank, boozy world.
Fonzie (Henry Winkler) woos an underwater lass on The Fonz and the Happy Days Gang.
Suppose the worst happens. Let's say the ocean levels continue to rise, the atmosphere becomes unbreathable due to pollution, and outer space proves impractical to colonize. What do we do then? I'll tell you what: we build underwater cities, that's what! Big, futuristic cities under giant see-through domes. Personally, I can't wait. Science-fiction has been teasing us with this fantasy for too long. Let's make it happen. I'm tired of being a landlubber. I don't even lub the land all that much.
According to The Fonz and the Happy Days Gang, however, this won't become a reality for a long, long time. The September 1981 episode "Kelp!" is set in the far-distant year of 3718 A.D. By then, according to Cupcake (Didi Conn), some humans have adapted themselves to living underwater. Their skin is blue, they farm kelp, and they can communicate telepathically. Sounds good to me. But what's really interesting here is that not all humans live this way. There are still some "surface dwellers," including a power-mad industrialist named Seatax who wants to deplete the ocean of all its gold. It's up to Fonzie (Henry Winkler) and his pals to defend an underwater community called Aqua City and its lovely female mayor from Seatax and his goons.
This week on These Days Are Ours: A Happy Days, we talk about "Kelp!" and our general feelings toward life underwater. It is our sincere hope that you will join us
The story: "Octodeathopus: The Legend of Lobo" by J. "Doc Dread" Murray
Synopsis: In 1904, presumably somewhere in Eastern Europe, twin brothers Otto and Joseph Javorsky (aged four) are wrestling in front of their family's cottage when Otto is suddenly scooped up by a caravan of passing gypsies. Otto becomes part of the gypsies' traveling show and eventually takes the place of a wrestling bear named Lobo when that animal passes away. He even assumes Lobo's name as his own. By 1927, however, they decide to trade Lobo to a group of Tibetans in exchange for supplies. The Tibetans use Lobo as a beast of burden.
Lobo's brother. See the resemblance?
In 1945, the now-grown Joseph Javorsky works on the top-secret Atomic Super Man project with fellow scientists Dr. Eric Vornoff and Professor Strowski. But the project is suddenly canceled by the government in 1946, and Vornoff is forced to flea. His goal is to make it to the United States to continue his work, but he first heads to Tibet. There, he is amazed to find a man he initially thinks is Joseph Javorsky but is actually Joseph's twin brother, Otto aka Lobo. Vornoff soon makes Lobo his obedient servant. They travel together and pick up an octopus at a market in Shanghai.
In 1947, with the octopus in tow and growing larger all the time, Vornoff and Lobo head for America aboard a rusted-out freighter. Along the way, they kill the ship's captain and loot the strongbox. By October 1948, they have settled in Lake Marsh, California, and Vornoff resumes his work. Lobo and Vornoff haven't been living in the area long when they fatally run over an old widower in their car. The incident is investigated by a local cop, Officer Kelton. Vornoff is somewhat distressed by this, but he is excited that he's found a house, the Old Willows Place, that is perfect for his experiments. It even has a pond for his octopus.
The octopus has grown since we've boarded this old, rusted freighter. It seems there is an endless supply of rats aboard this vessel. The octopus leaves its tank and hunts our quarters at night. The captain is a drunk and has found a shipping container of fine vodka. In a drunken stupor he told me where the ship's strong box is and the treasures it contains. No one will be surprised should he fall overboard.
Reflections: "Octodeathopus" is yet another story in Warm Angora Wishes that draws heavily upon Ed Wood's Bride of the Monster (1955) and Plan 9 from Outer Space (1957) and attempts to weave these films into a larger narrative, along with several other sci-fi and horror films of the era. For me, the real stroke of genius here is the revelation that Lobo, Tor Johnson's character from Bride, is the twin brother of Dr. Joseph Javorsky, the doomed Soviet scientist that Tor played in Coleman Francis' The Beast of Yucca Flats (1961). Apparently, Lobo's real name was Otto, and he and Joseph grew up together until Otto was plucked up by some passing gypsies at the age of four. Come to think of it, those guys do look a lot alike.
I was also highly amused to learn that it was Lobo who actually ran over Bela Lugosi's unfortunate Ghoul Man character from Plan 9. It seems that Dr. Eric Vornoff unwisely allowed his hulking manservant to drive that day. Whoops! Later in the story, author J. "Doc Dread" Murray includes a clever reference to It Came from Beneath the Sea (1955). The giant octopus from that film, we learn, is actually Vornoff's beloved pet. It lost a couple of tentacles in the explosion at the end of Bride, which is why it only has six arms in Beneath the Sea. The timing on this could not have been better, since MeTV's Svengoolie just showed It Came from Beneath the Sea a few weeks ago, meaning that film was still fairly fresh in my mind.
With a title like "Octodeathopus," you can tell that this story is not taking itself seriously at all. It's just a fun little bit of speculative fan fiction that will probably be incomprehensible to anyone outside the Ed Wood fan community. But if you're an active part of that community and have seen Eddie's 1950s films dozens of times, to the point where the characters have taken up permanent residence in your brain, J. "Doc Dread" Murray's strange tale should be quite a pleasant little diversion.
