Movies At Dog Farm Remembers: The Early Scares And Formative Horrors

"They're here."  Poltergeist (1982)

     I'm edging up on my 43rd birthday at the end of this month, and that means I've logged about 43 years watching genre movies.  I started young.  Of course, when I was starting out there were a lot less genre movies to watch.  They weren't quite as accessible, either.  You had your drive-in, your theater (not multiplex - a crucial distinction) or your thirteen channels of broadcast television.  One of those thirteen channels was PBS, and all the others were snow after a certain hour of the night - that would be snow like what Carol Anne watches on her family's sweet-ass tube television in Poltergeist, kids.  You see, back then television stations still ended their broadcast days at around 2:00 or 3:00 a.m.  Then you'd get "The Star Spangled Banner", then some sort of quasi-religious daily affirmation, then snow.  At least once a week, though, I'd get a shot of late night genre goodness delivered before the snowstorm.

The nameplate on Bowman Body's casket.

     Most of my earliest recollections of exposure to genre movies were tied to once weekly viewings of Shock Theater hosted by The Bowman Body.  I've written fondly of Shock Theater in the past here.  It was preceded each Saturday night by Soul Train.  As such, I was one of what I'm sure was a legion of surprisingly funky lower middle class pre-teens well-versed in the old black and white Universal horror movies and sci-fi B movies straight from the 1950s.  I watched whatever was on, but a few stand out.

Scary stuff, right?

     Many of the movies dealt with the traditional werewolves, vampires, and mummies.  Most of the others dealt with anthromorphic horrors of some sort, because a guy in a monster suit usually still pretty much looked like a guy in a monster suit.  Occasionally, though, something a little different would come along, and those were always the ones that had the most impact.  The Blob (1958) actually terrified me as a child.  If something with a more or less human form came after me, there were safe places to hide.  The Blob could get me anywhere.  The lyrics to the deceptively catchy Burt Bacharach song "Beware The Blob" that played over the opening credits said it all:  "Beware of the Blob! - It creeps and leaps and glides and slides across the floor - Right through the door and all around the wall - A splotch, a blotch - Be careful of the blob!"  Now where in the hell was I going to hide from a monster like that?

The monster challenging the world, one closet door at a time.

     The Monster That Challenged The World (1957) was another favorite.  I just rewatched this a few days ago, and giant prehistoric mollusks from the Salton Sea still hold up pretty well.  The movie actually builds up to some solid chills, and it boasts an impressive monster design that gets its fair share of screen time.  Secretary Gail MacKenzie telling her little daughter Sandy to close her eyes as one of the monsters tears through the door is still strong stuff.  I don't recall too many children being placed in harm's way in the old horror movies, so that moment really hit home for me.  Again, too, this was a monster that didn't possess a recognizably human form.  Apparently, I was just sophisticated enough a viewer to demand a bit more from my monsters in order to buy the premise.  So how about a monster that still keeps me from going into ocean water more than knee deep?

Easily one of the best movie scares ever.  Jaws (1975)

     Jaws (1975) is a seminal horror for a lot of viewers, and I was young enough to be completely gobsmacked by it. Jaws was a little too upscale for Shock Theater, and I know that first viewing was a prime time network broadcast.  I know this because I almost didn't see it.  You see, my mother had found some boogers wiped on the underside of the kitchen table, and when I was confronted about this I tried vainly to convince her it had been my father who'd left them there.  The booger issue was less serious than the fact that I lied about it.  I was punished for lying, my punishment being no TV for a month (seems a little harsh, doesn't it?).  I knew nothing of Jaws, but my father - God bless him - did.  He knew I'd want to see it, and he brokered a one night reprieve for me.  Because the network television premiere of Jaws was a special circumstance, he convinced my mother to let me off the hook for just one night.  Thanks, Dad.

     I've been thinking about all of these special movies because we old people always tend to wax nostalgic on birthdays.  I've also been thinking of them because I anxiously await the day I get to introduce my little baby Gunnar to genre movies.  Adrienne says I have to ease him into it because she doesn't want to be left to contend with the nightmares.  I envy Gunnar.  If only something as innocent as The Blob could still breed nightmares for me . . .  I'll get to see everything old become new again through Gunnar's eyes, though, and that's going to be pretty freakin' awesome.

     What movies gave you your first nightmares as a child?


Posted by Brandon Early

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Movies At Dog Farm Remembers . . . The Drive-Ins Of My Misspent Youth

Skyline Drive-In, Waynesboro VA - Photo by Tony at driveins.org

     I'm only glad to be older than dirt when I'm a horror fan who's older than dirt.  I've been fortunate enough to experience some great horror mileposts, some "end of an era" type opportunities that some of my younger contemporaries missed out on.  I've been lucky. 

     I'm grateful that my indoctrination into the world of grown-up horror movies coincided almost perfectly with the slasher movie boom of the late 70's and early 80's.  I was afforded the opportunity to see the likes of My Bloody Valentine (1981), Silent Night, Deadly Night (1984), and Halloween II (1981) all on the big screen during their original theatrical releases.  These were the salad days of the gratuitous tit shot and the practical special effect.

The Bowman Body - Cobweb Theater

     I'm grateful that I could look forward to seeing some hoary old black and white horror movie hosted by the Bowman Body every Saturday night, first on Shock Theater (The Big 8!) and later on Cobweb Theater broadcast from Charlottesville.  The picture to the right is a screen capture of the Bowman Body reading a fan letter on the air from a much younger and less jaded movie fan.  You can see the clip in its entirety here.  Even as a youngster I was a genre critic.

Ticket booth at the Skyline - Photo by Tony at drive-ins.org

     Most of all, though, I'm grateful that I experienced the last hurrah of the drive-in horror movie.  Nothing beats seeing Lucio Fulci's Zombie (1979) on a gigantic outdoor screen with a cup of french fries in one hand and the badly dubbed soundtrack blaring through a speaker mounted to the window.

     My mother and I would spend each Saturday doing yard work for my Great Aunt Sydney so I could earn some drive-in money for Saturday night.  The theater in question was usually the Skyline Drive-In (Shenandoah's Showplace) in Waynesboro, VA.  There'd always be a line at the ticket booth because Saturday night was usually "carload" night - one admission price for as many people as you could fit in your car.  It  was an entertainment value that couldn't be beat, especially if it happened to be a dusk til dawn show.

     I had the good fortune to see Motel Hell (1980), Fear No Evil (1981), The Gates Of Hell (1980), and The Creeper (1977) on the Skyline's mammoth screen.  I saw The Toolbox Murders (1978), The Driller Killer (1979), and Wolfen (1981), too.  I saw them all out under the stars on humid summer nights, the way God intended.

     At some point I'd always have to visit the bathroom or the snack bar, usually after I was sufficiently spooked by the evening's entertainment to make the trek from the car to the snack bar a terrifying dash through the darkness and open air.  The bathroom, in particular, was the stuff of nightmares, lit by the jaundice glow of the yellow bug lights punctuated occasionally by the purple flash of the bug zapper.  The bathroom had a screen door and a trough to pee in - very utilitarian.

     Inside the snack bar, though, was the drive-in holy grail.  For as long as I visited the Skyline, there was always a poster for The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) on the wall beneath a sign that read "Coming Soon".  It was a tease.  TCM never played the Skyline during these years.  I know.  I waited for it.  And waited, and waited . . .

     Undoubtedly, the poster had been there since TCM had played the Skyline years earlier.  I ultimately did see TCM on the big screen years later at a midnight screening - I can be grateful for that, at least - but nothing could've beaten seeing the epitome of the drive-in horror movie at the Skyline.

The Route 340 Drive-In marquee, covered by speedway signs - Photo by drive-ins.org

     I would occasionally find myself at the Route 340 Drive-In, as well - also in Waynesboro - and that was an even sketchier state of affairs.  The Route 340 shared land with Eastside Speedway, so on most Saturdays you couldn't hear the movies until after the drag racing was done for the night.  The Route 340 also generally played raunchier titles. 

     My most vivid memory of the Route 340 was the night my mother and I stumbled upon I Spit On Your Grave (1978) playing there.  Spitting on graves - it's a horror movie, right? 

     My mother was mortified that she'd taken her nine year old son to see a movie with a protracted and graphic rape scene that comprised nearly a third of the movie's run time.  She couldn't really make me leave the room, either.  I ended up standing by the snack bar for most of the rape, thereby at least sparing my mother the uncomfortable silence and unfathomable shame.  I still can't bring myself to watch I Spit On Your Grave in mixed company.

     There's one final drive-in that deserves an honorable mention here - Roth's Drive-In in Harrisonburg, VA.  We visited the Roth less frequently because it was farther away, but it distinguishes itself as being the venue in which I first saw both Halloween (1978) and Friday The 13th (1980).  A fellow in the bathroom assured me when I saw Friday The 13th that the version he'd seen the preceding week was gorier.  I'm not even going to conjecture as to why he felt the need to share that info with a ten year old standing at the pee trough. 

     This post came about because of an exchange with Jonny Dead at Blood Sucking Geek.  Jonny, who's younger than me (who isn't?), was envious of the fact that I'd seen The Driller Killer at a drive-in.  For those who didn't, I highly recommend  Jonny Dead's Trash Box Volume 1, wherein Jonny pairs The Driller Killer with Naked Massacre (1976) in a lovingly rendered ode to the drive-in / grindhouse experience.  All of the drive-ins mentioned here are long gone, but the drive-in aesthetic lives on.



Posted By Brandon Early

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Movies At Dog Farm Remembers . . . Glorious Black & White

       I'm not completely backwards.  I'll embrace any new technology that I believe genuinely improves my quality of life.  I'm much quicker to embrace improvements in audio and video presentation, too, because how could any sane person argue that high definition, lossless audio, and correct aspect ratios aren't improvements.  I do not, however, believe that new tech automatically renders old tech obsolete.

     Example:  I can't stand listening to my home theater receiver attempt to make 5.1 surround sound from an older movie's mono soundtrack.  The sound engineers who created that soundtrack created it with the intent of mono playback, and trying to "improve" that soundtrack by spreading it over multiple channels just sounds thin, scattered, and wrong.  I'm not a big fan of "better" refresh rate making my shot-on-film-at-24-fps movies look like shot-on-video soap operas, either.  Different isn't automatically better.

the colorized Ymir from 20 Million Miles to Earth

     You've probably already surmised that I wouldn't be a fan of colorizing old movies, either, and you'd be right.  There are exceptions, though.  Ray Harryhausen oversaw the colorization of three of his black and white movies a few years back (story here), and by God, if Ray Harryhausen himself is cool with it, then I want to see it.  They're beautiful, by the way.  The DVD releases offered the original black and white versions, too, so it's not like the "real" versions were tossed aside.  As long as originals aren't replaced by the newer versions (I'm looking at you, George Lucas) then the artists can do as they please with their own work.

     So how about making a color movie black and white?  Well, the same reasoning applies.  If the artists who created the work want to see it in black and white, have at it.  Black and white presentation still has merits, strengths that color presentation can't duplicate.  Particularly with horror movies, the interplay of light and shadow in a black and white presentation can render a focused and dreamlike atmosphere not possible with color.  It can also make a newer color movie look more like its cinematic forebears.  Witness the black and white version of Frank Darabont's The Mist (2007), for example.  Some work  benefits from a noirish presentation.  Like maybe . . . oh, I don't know . . . The Walking Dead?

The Walking Dead comic

     The Walking Dead's former show runner Glen Mazzara recently Tweeted an image from a fan mag (prior to his departure) that indicated AMC will show all 18 episodes of seasons 1 and 2 in a monochrome format.  Makes perfect sense, right?  The black and white presentation mimics the presentation of the show's comic book source and will make the whole affair hearken back to the moody glory days of the old black and white Universal classics.  What's not to love?

The Walking Dead TV show

     I was horrified to discover that pretty much everyone I know who isn't as old as me felt like this was an unwarranted step backwards.  O.k. - don't watch.  I'm sure AMC will also re-run all the episodes in color.  Personally, I can't wait for the black and white episodes.

     Black and white is a misnomer, anyway.  When we say a program is black and white, what we really mean is that we're seeing a continuum of black and white that includes the shades of gray.  I suppose the youngsters just prefer not to see things in shades of gray.  Sorry, kids, but I'm seeing more and more gray every day.  I'm cool with glorious black and white.

Posted by Brandon Early

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