Some lovely artwork by Carmen Cerra for Bride of the Monster.
Much like Dracula,Mystery Science Theater 3000 will never die.
Sure, the long-running comedy series seems to be in limbo for now, with no new "official" episodes produced since December 2022. But the comedians and writers who worked on MST3K have launched similar series of their own and are still wisecracking their way through a wide variety of movies and shorts. In 2020, for example, MST3K veterans Trace Beaulieu and Frank Conniff launched a pay-per-view web series called The Mads Are Back. It started as a way for Trace and Frank to continue their touring act during the global pandemic, but they've kept the web series going to this very day, amassing four seasons and half a dozen specials so far.
You'd probably expect the films of Edward D. Wood, Jr. to be a part of any series like this, and, true to form, Beaulieu and Conniff have riffed both Glen or Glenda (1953) and Night of the Ghouls (1959) for The Mads Are Back. I was especially interested in screening those episodes because neither film had ever been covered on MST3K proper. On the other hand, I was aware of the fact that Beaulieu and Conniff had also riffed Ed Wood's Bride of the Monster (1955) in 2022. That movie had already been used on MST3K—way back in January 1993, during the show's fourth season on Comedy Central—so I was not as keen to see Bride of the Monster riffed on The Mads Are Back. I mean, what else is there to say about this film?
Is there a connection between these two very different directors?
Not long ago, on this very blog, I declared that Ed Wood and Woody Allen were opposites. Eddie held onto seemingly every bit of footage he ever developed in the hopes of using it someday, while Woody scrapped and reshot an entire feature film at a cost of millions of dollars just because he felt like it. Obviously, these men had very different approaches to the filmmaking process. Besides, Woody is an Oscar winner who for decades (until his late-in-life downfall and disgrace) was one of America's most-respected and praised directors. And Eddie? Well... you know. MST3K. Golden Turkey Awards. "Worst Director Ever." That stuff.
But maybe these two have more in common than I'd thought. For one thing, they were born in the same state (New York) just eleven years apart. They witnessed decades of the same history and experienced a lot of the same popular culture, too. So they were drawing on the same source material when they became filmmakers and writers. Maybe their views even aligned to some degree. I know, for example, that both men were stubborn haters of rock music and never warmed to it, sort of like how people of my parents' generation remained deeply resentful of rap music even after it had been around for decades. And when you read Allen's short story "Count Dracula," as collected in the book Getting Even (1971), you get the sense that he's inspired by Bela Lugosi's portrayal of the title character.
An early Woody Allen film.
Recently, while doing research for my podcast, These Days Are Ours, I had to revisit one of Woody Allen's early comedies, Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex* (*But Were Afraid to Ask) (1972). I hadn't thought much about that movie in years, but it was directly referenced in a Garry Marshall comedy I was reviewing called Nothing in Common(1986) so I had to refresh my memory. Specifically, in Nothing in Common, Tom Hanks quotes a joke from Everything You Always... in the hopes of impressing Sela Ward. It doesn't work. (Or maybe it does, because she sleeps with him just a few scenes later.)
When I started looking into Everything You Always..., one of the first sources I consulted was the movie's Wikipedia entry. And there, I discovered this very intriguing passage in the film's synopsis:
Victor, a sex researcher, and Helen Lacey, a journalist, visit Dr. Bernardo, a researcher who formerly worked with Masters and Johnson but now has his own laboratory complete with a lab assistant named Igor. After they see a series of bizarre sexual experiments underway at the lab and realize that Bernardo is insane, they escape before Helen becomes the subject of another of his experiments. The segment culminates with a scene in which the countryside is terrorized by a giant runaway breast created by the researcher. The first part of this segment is a parody of Ed Wood's Bride of the Monster (1955), and especially, The Unearthly (1957), which also stars John Carradine.
There it was: a direct reference to Ed Wood himself in an article about a Woody Allen movie! Even when I'm not looking for Eddie, I find him! Obviously, I had to investigate further.
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.)
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.
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.
The story: "Spyang Ki Chung 'Little Wolf'" by Adkov Telmig
A monastery in Western Tibet.
Synopsis: Exiled Russian scientist Dr. Eric Vornoff scavenges in the desolate Western Plateau of Tibet. He is fully aware that agents from his home country are after him, and he nearly succumbs from the harsh weather and the heavy equipment he is lugging around. Luckily, he is rescued by a caravan of nomads and taken to a small mining town. In a largely deserted monastery, Vornoff meets and (after a fashion) befriends a three-foot-tall monk known as Little Wolf. Vornoff and Little Wolf visit a local market to buy food. There, Vornoff sees a man with some of the valuable uranium he desperately needs for his experiments. The man agrees to bring Vornoff plenty of uranium in exchange for a large sum of money.
With Little Wolf's help, Vornoff is granted permission from an aged monk to set up his equipment and perform his experiments within the monastery. He says he will use atomic power to create a race of supermen. When the man from the marketplace shows up with the promised uranium, Vornoff casually shoots and kills him. When Little Wolf asks him why he did this, Vornoff replies that he has no money but needed the uranium to continue his work. What else was he supposed to do? Little Wolf then asks to be part of Vornoff's experiment. Vornoff tells his companion that it will be painful but that he will emerge from the experience more powerful than he has ever been.
Two enemy agents, identified only as the Cold Men, show up at the monastery in their relentless hunt for the exiled scientist. Vornoff does not seem terribly concerned by their arrival because he now has a powerful bodyguard: Little Wolf, now supersized and mute. The formerly-diminutive monk makes quick work of the Cold Men, literally tearing their bodies apart. Vornoff decides that Little Wolf's name no longer suits him. From now on, he shall be called Lobo.
Excerpt:
A small detachment of Tibetan soldiers kept wary watch on the scrofulous lot. They stood in tight groups, warming their hands over fires in metal barrels. They stood out in their uniforms and furred hats. All of them seemed to smoke thin stick-like, oily-looking black cigarettes. They eyed Vornoff suspiciously, but none of them had questioned him or asked him for papers. It wasn’t the kind of town where questions were common. This was a good thing for Dr. Vornoff who had by now crossed four or five borders without the benefit of any official passports or permits.
Sardu and Ralphus: best friends.
Reflections: When I first downloaded my copy of Warm Angora Wishes from Amazon, I skimmed through it a little, just to get the lay of the land. I casually noticed that one story was about how Dr. Eric Vornoff (Bela Lugosi) and his mute henchman Lobo (Tor Johnson) from Bride of the Monster (1955) originally met in "the wilderness of Tibet." Someone had taken that throwaway line from the movie and made a whole prequel out of it. But I didn't want to spoil the story for myself, so I merely glanced at a few sentences and moved on. I suppose I was anticipating something like the story of how the Lone Ranger met Tonto. My curiosity level was at roughly six out of ten; prequels have a tendency to overexplain things that were better left unknown.
I could not have predicted anything like "Spyang Ki Chung," which is easily one of the strangest and most intriguing stories I've read so far in this collection. Obviously, the story has an outrageous central gimmick, i.e. that the huge, lumbering Lobo was once a dwarf in a monastery and that it was Vornoff who made him a giant. It's exactly the kind of imaginative leap you'd hope to find in an Ed Wood-inspired anthology. But what really makes the story memorable are its descriptive passages about Tibet. This is a land about which I know virtually nothing, so I was fascinated by the author's evocative yet unsentimental prose about the land and its people. "Spyang Ki Chung" is the first story in this collection to remind me of Cormac McCarthy. I wager it'll be the last, too.
This story also got me thinking about villains with dwarf sidekicks. That seems to be a semi-common trope in fiction, but I'm hard-pressed to think of good examples. Let's see. There's Sardu and Ralphus in Bloodsucking Freaks (1976), Dr. Evil and Mini-Me in The Spy Who Shagged Me (1999), and Livia and the Imp in The Undead (1957). Didn't Hordak also have an imp on She-Ra (1985-1987)? Mr. Roarke on Fantasy Island (1977-1984) was more mysterious than evil, so he doesn't count. Do Jabba the Hutt and Salacious Crumb from Return of the Jedi (1983) count? Maybe Salacious isn't a dwarf among his own kind, but he's dwarfed by Jabba.
Come to think of it, this might not be that common a trope.
The story: "Mr. and Mrs. Ghoul" by Bobby "Lugosi" Zier
Synopsis: It is 1956, and aspiring screenwriter Glen Kelton lives in Hollywood with his girlfriend, Barbara. Glen is also a closeted transvestite and an alcoholic, so he's under a lot of stress. He is highly suspicious of his neighbors, a couple named the Ghouls, and suspects that Mr. Ghoul is actually the notorious mad scientist Dr. Eric Vornoff. One night, while spying on the Ghouls, Glen learns that they are conspiring with the Martians to create a race of octopus-men and take over the universe. Glen desperately wants to convey this information to the authorities, but he fears that the Ghouls will expose Glen's own personal secrets in retaliation. He doesn't know what to do.
Suburban paranoia: The 'Burbs.
After listening to a special Halloween night radio broadcast by the psychic Criswell, Glen decides to take matters into his own hands. He grabs a gun and breaks into the Ghouls' house. He finds a mad science lab in the basement and even has to grapple with an octo-man, whom he shoots in the eye. Mr. Ghoul (a.k.a. Eric Vornoff) confronts him and declares Glen's bullets will have no effect on him. Then, Mrs. Ghoul flies into the room, having taken the form of a bat. She bites Glen on the neck and drains his blood.
Glen awakes the next morning, having no memory of his encounter with the Ghouls. In fact, he is now under the control of the seemingly unstoppable Vornoff.
Excerpt:
Glen knew there was more to the Ghouls than meets the eye, but he never imagined this, he began sweating profusely and his hands were shaking, in fact, they were shaking so much that he dropped his cocktail glass, and it shattered on the concrete.
Reflections: I assume most of you are familiar with Joe Dante's black comedy The 'Burbs (1989), in which a harried husband and father named Ray (Tom Hanks) becomes convinced that his eccentric new neighbors, the Klopeks, are secretly murderers. Ray and some other nosy local homeowners start spying on the Klopeks, even breaking into their house to snoop around for clues. Ultimately, they manage to blow the place to smithereens. All this would be reprehensible, except... Ray and his pals were right all along. The Klopeks really were murderers. They're arrested, and Ray is shaken but redeemed.
I'm with The 'Burbs up until the ending. Ray is basically a decent guy at heart, albeit confused and misguided. His friends, however, are portrayed as hateful and small-minded jerks, and the script ends up validating them. The ultimate message of the film is that you should be suspicious of eccentrics and outsiders because they're probably up to no good. So go ahead and spy on your neighbors, folks! Destroy their house if you have to! Perhaps author Bobby Zier was thinking of The 'Burbs when he wrote "Mr. and Mrs. Ghoul." Perhaps he wasn't. I only know that I thought about Joe Dante's movie frequently while reading this short story.
I also thought of two more films: Parents (1989), in which a young boy (Bryan Madorsky) suspects his mother and father (Sandy Dennis and Randy Quaid) are cannibals, and Society (1989), in which a teenage boy (Billy Warlock) comes to realize that many of the people around him are members of an unspeakably horrible cult. Isn't it an odd coincidence that all these paranoia-driven horror-comedies came out in the same year? And that, in all three films, the characters' worst fears turn out to be justified?
Ed Wood was one of the filmmakers lampooned in The MST3K Colossal Episode Guide.
God, I loved mall bookstores.
My idea of a perfect Sunday.
Look, I know there are still malls, and many of those malls still have bookstores. But I think it's safe to say that the heyday of the mall bookstore is long over, one of many casualties of the internet. There was a time (think: 1990s and early 2000s) when my idea of a perfect Sunday afternoon involved whiling away a few carefree hours at B. Dalton's and Waldenbooks, mostly browsing but purchasing occasionally, too. I'd always make a beeline for one of two departments, Humor and Entertainment, before wandering over to the magazine rack to see if Cinefantastique or Fangoria had something of interest for me.
I'm convinced there are a great many books that owe their entire existence to mall bookstores, particularly those books with humorous gimmicks or pop culture connections as their main selling points. A perfect example is The Mystery Science Theater 3000 Amazing Colossal Episode Guide (1996) from Bantam Books. It was typical of the TV-based books of the era: detailed descriptions of the MST3K episodes that had aired up to that time, augmented by reminiscences of the actors, writers, and crew members who worked on the show. Though not exactly essential, the ACEG is a fun souvenir for fans of the long-running comedy series, which at the time was just ending its seven-season run on Comedy Central before moving to the Sci-Fi Channel.
When this book came out, I remember eagerly thumbing through its pages a few times at the mall before finally spending $16.95 (a not-inconsiderable amount) on my own copy. Just my luck, the binding proved extremely fragile, forcing me to transfer the pages of the Amazing Colossal Episode Guide to a Trapper Keeper. At the time, I was just becoming a Mystery Science Theater 3000 fan and there were many episodes I had not yet seen. It blew my mind to think that they'd covered both Kitten with a Whip (1964) and Monster a Go-Go (1965), two obscure cult films whose titles I only knew from the writings of John Waters. I realized from reading the ACEG that I had many hours of entertainment ahead of me.
For some reason, Ed Wood kept bringing Officer Kelton back.
Three of Ed Wood's 1950s films—Bride of the Monster (1955), Plan 9 from Outer Space (1957), and Night of the Ghouls (1959)—are collectively known as "The Kelton Trilogy" because they all feature actor Paul Marco as bumbling, cowardly Officer Kelton, a uniformed cop who repeatedly comes into contact with the otherworldly and supernatural. In Ghouls, narrator Criswell gives us a succinct description of the character:
Patrolman Paul Kelton, 29 years of age, four years with the department, eager for the glory of the uniform but wide-eyed with fear at the thought of actually being on special duty. Unfortunately, though eager, not what the department usually looks for in their officers.
Ouch. The other characters in these movies tend to treat Kelton with utter contempt. In Night of the Ghouls, the character even describes himself as "the whipping boy of the whole police force." He's basically the Jar Jar Binks of the Ed Wood universe. So why did Ed keep bringing back Officer Kelton, reusing him the way Shakespeare reused Falstaff? A few reasons, I think. First, Paul Marco was one of his closest buddies and wasn't exactly drowning in work outside of Eddie's films. I'm certain the zany Kelton character was written especially with Paul Marco in mind. ("Hey, Paul, I've got a great part for you in my next picture!")
Beyond that, Ed Wood was heavily inspired by the Universal horror movies of the 1930s and '40s, and those films tend to include broad comic relief provided by wacky supporting characters—chambermaids, English bobbies, villagers, etc. It seems like a Universal movie isn't complete until some Cockney-accented stooge gets spooked by the monster du jour and trips over his own feet trying to run away. Paul Marco's scaredy-cat Officer Kelton is very much in that tradition. As unnecessary as the character may seem to modern viewers, he has his roots in classic horror.
Scott Zimmerman of Cincinnati, OH as he appeared in (from left to right) 7th grade, 8th grade, and 9th grade.
Rudolph Grey interviewed dozens of subjects for his 1992 book Nightmare of Ecstasy: The Life and Art of Edward D. Wood, Jr. To tell the story of "the world's worst director" as fully as possible, Grey chatted with Ed Wood's friends, coworkers, and relatives -- a truly motley collection of human beings representing many walks of life. Most of the witnesses quoted in this book were in show business; some were not. But, even among this diverse group, Scott Zimmerman may be one of Nightmare's most unusual interviewees.
Scott is quoted twice in Nightmare of Ecstasy. The first such instance occurs on page 66, during the chapter on Bride of the Monster (1955). He talks about the establishing shots in Bride and whether the Old Willows Place was a real location.
Scott Zimmerman discusses the establishing shots of the house in Bride of the Monster.
A much, much longer quote from Scott Zimmerman appears on pages 121 and 122, as part of the chapter entitled "Weird Scenes with the Pied Piper." The chapter consists of people sharing anecdotes about Eddie's personality and lifestyle. We learn about his mercurial nature, his irresponsible spending, his love of partying, his arguments with his wife Kathy, his TV-watching obsession, his love of cowboy films (especially those of his idol, Buck Jones), and his notorious habit of calling people up in the middle of the night to talk about whatever was on his mind. Scott is one of those to contribute a story, which I will include in full because it is rich with details:
Scott Zimmerman reminisces about Ed Wood.
Isn't that a great story? Scott Zimmerman was not in show business at all in 1975. He was just a nerdy teenager from Cincinnati who decided on a whim to call Ed Wood after watching Bride of the Monster on TV and ended up learning a lot about Eddie and his films in the process. This anecdote reminds me of what television personality Tom Bergeron has said about calling comedians Moe Howard and Larry Fine of The Three Stooges out of the blue circa 1972 and actually getting to interview them. Notice that Bergeron's story and Zimmerman's story both happened during the 1970s. I guess you could just call up your favorite stars back then, and it wasn't considered stalking.
Incidentally, I cannot pinpoint the exact TV showing that Zimmerman mentions. However, Bride of the Monster was broadcast numerous times in the 1970s, particularly in the late night hours on local stations across America (including Ohio). The movie was practically a staple of the small screen back then. I have every confidence that this part of Scott's story actually happened. Many Ed Wood fans were doubtlessly created by these after-hours broadcasts.
Here's a typical mid-1970s newspaper listing for Bride of the Monster, this one taken from the May 16, 1975 edition of The Casper (Wyoming) Star-Tribune. I found this same basic capsule summary, complete with Tor Johnson's name rendered as "Thor," in other papers of the era. Some substituted "mad scientist" for "weird wizard," but the rest of the wording was more or less the same.
Bride of the Monster plays on TV in 1975.
But who exactly was Scott Zimmerman, other than a random fan who spoke with Ed Wood on the telephone in 1975? Unfortunately, Rudolph Grey does not supply any details about this mysterious man in the "Biographical Notes" section of the book. From pages 163 to 169, the book's main interviewees are listed alphabetically by last name and given brief descriptions. However, the final person named in that section is Mildred Worth, wife of Bride of the Monster composer Frank Worth. Sorry, Scott.
Grey does include Scott Zimmerman's name in the "Acknowledgements" section at the very end of the book. There, Scott is identified as one of those who provided "information, assistance and the use of valuable materials." I wonder how Grey knew to contact Scott in the first place? Could he have been following a lead from Kathy Wood? (Scott indicates that he spoke with Kathy before ever talking to Ed.)
Both Scott and Zimmerman are common names, so it figures that there are a lot of Scott Zimmermans out there in the world. How will we determine which of them was the Ed Wood fanatic? If our Scott was a teenager in 1975, that puts his birth somewhere between 1956 and 1962. We also know that Scott lived in the Cincinnati area, so that narrows it down even further. I found yearbook photos (included above) of a Scott Zimmerman who attended Finneytown High School in Cincinnati in the late 1960s. He seems to be a likely candidate. This skinny, gawky kid with the broad smile and prominent nose and ears looks like someone who might've stayed up late to watch Bela Lugosi in Bride of the Monster.
What happened to Scott Zimmerman? Did his love of movies cause him to pursue a career in Hollywood? Is he still alive today? Scott, if you're out there, let's talk. Alternately, if you're not Scott Zimmerman but have some details to share about him, let me know.
This week, we examine the life and legacy of George J. Becwar.
If there's a scene people remember from Ed Wood's Bride of the Monster (1955), it's the one in which Bela Lugosi delivers his heart-wrenching "Home! I have no home!" speech. The emotional monologue looms so large in B-movie mythology that Tim Burton had Martin Landau, portraying an aged Lugosi, recite it twice in the biopic Ed Wood (1994): once while on the set of Bride and once while walking down the street with Ed. The latter performance attracts a crowd of appreciative onlookers, much to Lugosi's satisfaction. The biopic presents this moment as the old actor's last taste of glory before his death.
Lugosi and Becwar in Bride of the Monster.
But Lugosi's character in Bride, tortured mad scientist Dr. Eric Vornoff, would have had no reason to make such a tear-jerking speech if it hadn't been for good old George Becwar. It's Becwar, as duplicitous foreign agent Prof. Strowski, who provokes the emotional outburst by offering to take Vornoff back to the country from which the scientist had previously been exiled.
"Vornoff," he says in a passable Eastern European accent, "I have searched for you everywhere. Everywhere I hear stories of monsters. Now I am here, sent to bring you home." And from there, Lugosi is off to the races.
Strowski may not be the most glamorous assignment ever given to an actor—the Mystery Science Theater 3000 crew dismissed him as a "worthless ancillary character waiting to be killed off"—but Becwar at least manages to turn him into a pompous villain deserving of our contempt. Thus, it's quite satisfying when Vornoff's henchman Lobo (Tor Johnson) feeds Strowski to a ravenous octopus. Becwar, bless him, remains defiant to the end: "You may kill me, but others will come!"
If actor John Andrews is to be believed, Ed Wood and George Becwar did not exactly have a cozy working relationship during the making of Bride. As he told Rudolph Grey in Nightmare of Ecstasy (1992): "Eddie hated, loathed, despised, wanted murdered, I'm not overdoin' it, man, I'm tellin' you straight—George Becwar." Allegedly, Becwar was dissatisfied with his pay for Bride of the Monster and reported Ed to the Screen Actors Guild. According to John Andrews, Ed Wood held a grudge for the rest of his days against Becwar. Notably, the two never worked together again.
George Jerome Becwar was born on September 16, 1917 in Berwyn, IL a suburb of Chicago. (Yes, the same town mentioned each week on MeTV's Svengoolie.) At Harrison Technical High School, he was a Cadet Major in the ROTC. In 1941, George was drafted by the army and enlisted in the 131st Infantry. His draft card yields some interesting biographical information. He was 23 at the time, living in Chicago and working for the Illinois Writers Project, which was sponsored by the WPA. He lists his mother as his next of kin. For what it's worth, the back of the card describes Becwar as standing 5'10" and weighing 240 pounds with brown hair, brown eyes, and a ruddy complexion. He is said to have worn glasses. The card also notes that he had several scars: one on his left hand, another under his right nostril, and a third at the base of his spine.
George Becwar's draft card.
From the mid-1950s to the early '60s, George had the honor of calling himself a working actor in Hollywood, popping up in at least 14 known television series and seven films. These were not always obscure, low-budget projects either! Remember the CBS Western The Rebel with Nick Adams? ("Johnny Yuma was a rebel! He roamed through the West!") George was on it seven times -- as seven different characters! He's in A Star is Born, too, specifically the 1954 version with Judy Garland and James Mason. Baby boomers may still have fond memories of such black-and-white series as Death Valley Days, Sky King, Highway Patrol, and I Led 3 Lives. All of them hired George Becwar, some on multiple occasions.
After he got to Hollywood, Becwar had his share of misadventures as an actor. The March 31, 1952 issue of The Los Angeles Evening Citizen News shares the "humorous" story of how he was briefly mistaken for a thief.
"Surely, this is not a laughing matter."
In addition to being an actor, Becwar was also civic-minded. The January 3, 1958 issue of The (Los Angeles) Mirror News includes his letter to the editor concerning automobile safety. This letter is not terribly fun, so I suggest you read it aloud in your best Prof. Strowski voice.
George Becwar has a plan.
Los Angeles Times columnist Matt Weinstock wrote about George Becwar a few times. This article from December 15, 1966 gives us yet more background information about the actor, including his past as a journalist and his war injuries. It also fills us in what Becwar did for money between roles, i.e. working as a hotel clerk and doing some writing on the side.
George Becwar was 30% disabled. Who knew?
Another column by Matt Weinstock in the February 9, 1969 issue of The Los Angeles Times yields an intriguing anecdote about Becwar and fills in some details about the actor's past. We learn, for instance, that Bride of the Monster was not the only time George raised a stink about his pay. The article also suggests that the actor had a couple of upcoming movies for producer Martin Zessin. In fact, George's screen acting career basically dried up after 1961. After an absence of eight years, his last-known screen credit is a totally forgotten 1969 film called The Great Sex War, in which he played Gen. Caleb Sutton. This comedy may never have been released, despite the fact that its cast included such well-known actors as James Franciscus, George Raft, and Cantinflas. We were denied a tagline like: "Becwar! Sex War! See it this Christmas!"
As always, George was concerned about his pay.
Other brief mentions of George Becwar in the press (apart from the mere inclusion of his name in cast lists):
The Los Angeles Evening Citizen News, March 18, 1953: George is listed as the stage manager of an Equity house at 6040 Wilshire Blvd. where auditions are being held for a two-act musical comedy.
The Los Angeles Evening Citizen News, March 25, 1953: A brief item declares that "critics have lauded" the performances of Becwar and his castmates in a play called Outward Bound, which was then in its second week at the Gallery Theater on Santa Monica Blvd.
The Los Angeles Evening Citizen News, November 12, 1953: Richard Lipscomb's review of Outward Bound declares that Becwar is among the "promising talent" in the show.
The Los Angeles Evening Citizen News, February 16, 1955: A showbiz column called "In the News" declares that Becwar has signed "with Paul Kohner Agency for radio, movies and television."
The Los Angeles Evening Citizen News, January 18, 1956: "In the News" says that Becwar has won a television role as a Czech police chief in The Man Called X.
"An important role" for George Becwar.
The Los Angeles Times, January 28, 1956: A one-paragraph article in the entertainment section notes that Becwar "enacts an important role in Bride of the Monster." The film is said to be accompanying Ransom! (1956) at various theaters and drive-ins.
The Los Angeles Evening Citizen News, January 18, 1957: "In the News" notes that George has signed with the Swoverland Agency.
The (Palm Springs) Desert Sun, July 3, 1957: Columnist Mike Connolly notes that Becwar was hired "at the last minute" to appear in an installment of Playhouse 90 entitled "The Fabulous Irishman." According to Connolly, the hapless actor "stayed up all night working up an Irish brogue," only to find that his character was an Englishman.
The Los Angeles Evening Citizen News, August 29, 1959: George is declared the winner of that week's "Name the Stars of Tomorrow" contest. His prize is a Westclock wrist watch. His address is given as 616 N. Gower St.
The Los Angeles Evening Citizen News, June 28, 1960: "In the News" reports that George is playing three roles in the play Liliom at a venue called The Theater but he's soon leaving the company "to meet TV commitments."
The Los Angeles Times, July 4, 1960: In his review of Liliom, critic Charles Stinson mentions being impressed by Becwar's performance as "the lecherous and pompous police captain."
The Los Angeles Evening Citizen News, April 2, 1963: The "All About People" column notes that Becwar has returned to Hollywood "after seven months of radio work in Las Vegas." He is said to be in rehearsals for a play called Not to Speak Profanely. His address is given as 1764 N. Orange Dr.
The Los Angeles Evening Citizen News, February 15, 1967: Another of George's letters to the editor. This time, Becwar opines: "Students at both the University of California and the California State Colleges can easily meet Gov. Ronald Reagan's tuition charges by using the money they used to spend on haircuts." Zing!
Sadly, George Becwar's life was even shorter than that of Ed Wood. The Illinois-born actor passed away at the age of only 52 on July 9, 1970, having never married nor had children. George's body was sent back to his home state and buried at a Catholic cemetery in suburban Cook County. A modest obituary appeared in the July 13, 1970 edition of The Chicago Tribune.
"Sent to bring you home": George Becwar's obituary.
CONCLUSION: George Becwar played a fleeting but not insignificant role in the saga of Edward D. Wood, Jr. It may never occur to most viewers to ask who this man was, where he came from, or where he went after Bride of the Monster. As it turns out, however, George had a pretty fascinating and multifaceted life. Was he a pain in the ass? Maybe. But at least he got to take part in one of the most famous scenes in any of Ed Wood's movies, and it's earned him an odd sort of immortality.
She plays a memorable role in one of Ed Wood's most-seen movies, but very little has been written about character actress Ann Wilner, aka Tillie the chatty file clerk in Bride of the Monster (1955). Even the exhaustive book Scripts from the Crypt: Ed Wood's Bride of the Monster (2019) by Gary Rhodes and Tom Weaver mentions Ann only in passing, saying that she gives a good performance. Rudolph Grey's Nightmare of Ecstasy (1992) dutifully includes her in the cast list for Bride but misspells her name as "Anne" and gives no additional information about her. Eddie must've thought somewhat highly of Ann, since she's billed one notch higher than his own girlfriend Dolores Fuller in the opening credits.
Ann's first big scene in Bride of the Monster arrives about 18 minutes into the film. Crusading gal reporter Janet Lawton (Loretta King) is investigating some mysterious disappearances around Lake Marsh and the old Willow mansion, but she's getting stonewalled by her cop boyfriend, Lt. Dick Craig (Tony McCoy), and his jovial boss, Capt. Robbins (Harvey B. Dunn). She thinks there's a monster on the loose; the cops say otherwise. Acting on a hunch, Janet visits the file room at the newspaper office, where Tillie sits behind a cluttered desk. She looks like she never leaves this rather dark, shadowy room. Maybe she doesn't. As she tells Janet, "Take your time. I ain't going anyplace." Tillie is like some eternal guardian of the newspaper files, doomed to watch over them for all time.
Janet asks Tillie if she remembers when the old Willow place was sold "against back taxes." Tillie answers that it was sometime in late 1948 and directs her toward a conveniently handy filing cabinet. One dissolve later, Janet finally finds the item she was seeking and takes off to do more investigative journalism. Before departing the file room for what could be a wild adventure, Janet asks Tillie to make excuses to both the editor-in-chief and to Dick. Tillie doesn't mind. "Leave it to me," the file clerk says with a wink. "I fix!" This may sound like an odd turn of phrase to us, but "I fix" was the catchphrase of the character Katrinka in the then-popular comic strip Toonerville Folks. Katrinka and her catchphrase also appeared in the Toonerville Trolley series of cartoons. So this moment in Bride of the Monster is basically like someone in your office doing a Borat impression. ("My wife!") Tillie's very name is reminiscent of another comic strip, Russ Westover's Tillie the Toiler.
Tillie's second scene arrives about 47 minutes into the film. This time it's Capt. Robbins who comes to Tillie's desk in his quest to find the missing Janet. Ann Wilner and Harvey B. Dunn bicker comedically for a while, but eventually the file clerk tells the cop that Janet was investigating the old Willow place. Throughout this entire scene, a pencil behind Tillie's ear comes and goes between shots. This must be one of Ed Wood's most famous continuity errors. When Bride was featured on Mystery Science Theater 3000 in 1993, Crow T. Robot (Trace Beaulieu) made a little game of keeping track of the disappearing/reappearing pencil.
Ann Wilner struck me as the kind of sturdy, reliable actress who would probably have a long list of credits, but her IMDb page is shockingly sparse -- just Bride of the Monster and two measly appearances on the long-running sitcom The Jack Benny Program. One of those appearances came in a 1954 episode entitled "Jack Dreams He's Married to Mary," which sounded too intriguing to pass up. That title also serves as a handy plot summary. In Jack's dream, he and Mary Livingstone have been married for 21 years and have a 19-year-old daughter. Mary still works as a sales clerk at the May Company, while Jack stays home and does the cooking. He is unmistakably feminized by his frilly striped apron.
Ann turns up at about the 14:10 mark as Jack and Mary's beleaguered neighbor. Her name, said only once, sounds something like "Mrs. Krasmire," but the audio is a little staticky. As Mary sits on the front stoop of her brownstone apartment, exhausted after a long day of work, Ann sticks her head out a nearby window and strikes up a conversation. It seems that ten of this neighbor lady's twelve children have colds, and only one is old enough to go to school. Mary and Ann do not discuss religious matters, but I'd say Ann's character is not so subtly coded as Jewish, judging by her speech cadences straight out of Yiddish theater and the fact that her children have names like Irving, Herman, Leonard, and Sophie. Benny himself was Jewish.
So Ann Wilner did Bride of the Monster, a couple of Jack Benny episodes, and nothing else? That didn't seem plausible. I decided to investigate a little further. As I soon learned, Ann Z. Wilner was born on October 11, 1904 in Ohio. She died at the age of 59 on January 21, 1964 in Los Angeles and was buried at Hillside Memorial Park in Culver City. Her grave lists her as a "beloved wife, mother [and] grandmother." A modest death notice ran in the January 23, 1964 edition of The Los Angeles Times. It listed a husband (Jack), four children (Robert Wilner, Dr. Freeman Wilner, Joyce Stone, and Linda Wilner), four siblings (Ben Zimmerman, Manuel Zimmerman, Lilian Maerson, and Hilda Goldberg), and seven unnamed grandchildren. No mention is made of her acting career.
Ann Wilner's obituary (left) and grave.
Anything else? Well, according to her voter registration records, she was a registered Democrat in 1944. She was living at 4515 W. 29th St. in Los Angeles and gave her occupation as "housewife." Ann was living at 1784 Garth Avenue in Los Angeles and was a registered Republican by 1952. (Not surprising, since that was the year Dwight Eisenhower first ran for president.) This residence turns out to be a quaint, smallish ranch-style house with one of those ubiquitous Spanish tile roofs. By 1960, Ann was a registered Democrat again and was living at 1704 S. Ogden Drive, still in Los Angeles. A death notice offered up her Social Security number (563-36-5981) and her mother's maiden name (Blumenstein). Interestingly, her birth date there is given as October 12, 1904 rather than October 11.
Anything else about Ann's acting career? Her headshot ran in the October 12, 1951 edition of a Hollywood newspaper called The Los Angeles Citizen News and identified her as playing a "leading role" in a Moss Hart play called Light Up the Sky at the Sartu Theater. Long gone, the Sartu Theater once stood at 7080 Hollywood Blvd., now home to a high-rise office building with a yoga studio in the lobby. The venue is perhaps best remembered for having played host to dancer Thelma Johnson Streat in 1951.
Ann Wilner's name was up in lights in 1951.
Ann Wilner was again mentioned in The Los Angeles Citizen News on December 13, 1951. According to a very brief blurb, this "well-known character actress recently completed an important role in a Boston Blackie film at California Studio." A popular fictional detective in the first half of the 20th century, Boston Blackie appeared in 25 movies between 1918 and 1949, the last 14 of them made at Columbia Pictures with Chester Morris in the lead role. This was in addition to the character's adventures in print and on the radio. If there were additional Boston Blackie movies after 1949, they have not survived into our time.
Then there is what we must classify as "the Florida stuff." Specifically, Ms. Wilner (or someone with the same name) attracted some attention in the Florida press in the late 1950s and early 1960s. There's a brief but nice little article about her career, for instance, in the April 5, 1959 edition of The Miami Herald. The story identifies her as "a Miami Beach resident" but says she was working as a stage actress in Pasadena, CA as well. The story makes it sound as though Ann Willner ("a specialist in dialects") divided her time between California and Florida. That may be true. The article states that Ann's past characters include "a salty-tongued busybody." That certainly sounds like the lady from Bride of the Monster.
An article about Ann Wilner from The Miami Herald, 1959.
A much bigger story about Ann, however, appeared in the March 11, 1962 edition of The Miami Herald. On that day, the newspaper ran a rather elaborate story -- complete with multiple photographs -- about a real estate kerfuffle involving Ann Wilner's Miami duplex. It seems, through some administrative error, she was living in one residence but paying the mortgage on the place next door. The article itself, reproduced below, is not outstandingly interesting. It does, however, describe Ms. Wilner as "a one-time actress and now part-time painter." Better yet, the article includes a photo of Ann, who certainly does look like our friendly file clerk from Bride of the Monster.
A legal nightmare unfolds for Ann Wilner in 1962.
So is this all the same Ann Wilner or are there two actresses or perhaps even three with the same name? That I will leave for you to decide. Before we go, however, let's make things even more confusing. Remember The Los Angeles Citizen News, the paper that ran two articles about Ann in 1951? They also ran this item on February 17, 1953. This little paragraph raises a number of issues. First, it suggests that Ann had four sons, one of whom was named Norman. The earlier obituary said she had two sons, two daughters, and no Normans whatsoever. Second, it describes her as a "radio-TV actress." The TV part I can vouch for, but I know nothing of her supposed radio work. And the Ann Wilner I've been documenting thus far seems to have been better known for her stage work.
Norman? Who the hell is Norman?
I started this journey wanting to know a little bit more about Tillie the file clerk, and I think I got there in the end. She was a stage actress of Jewish descent from Ohio who moved to California, got married, raised a family, voted in some presidential elections, acted in a few stage plays, and did a smattering of TV and film work before dying at the too-young age of 59. After that, the details get a little hazy. By appearing in an Ed Wood movie, however, her place in pop culture history is secure.
