Movie Pressbook: The Lone Gun (1954)
If it's Saturday it's time for a western movie matinee!
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Graphic Book Review: Rat Queens Volume One
Sass and Sorcery
Zombos Says: Good
Normally I wouldn't be caught dead reading a title like Rat Queens (well, maybe if you forcefully stuffed the issues, or the graphic book, into my lifeless hands). It has that fanboy cheek and geek glossing of the usual curse words, the go to, get loose, comic-book-inhabiting female characters, and the appropriately imaginative cosplay trappings hinting at time-periods and imagined realms, where everyone is young and fun-loving, and older people stay indoors or live in some other place similar to Florida. A running joke about Old Lady Bernadette pokes fun at this old age (or is it age-old?) conundrum of comic book lit.
Kurtis J. Wiebe and Roc Upchurch even provide the standard relationships-among-friends squabbles, engaged through ample potty mouth cutesy dialog and enough mentions of donkey d*ck (and reasonable facsimiles) to elicit snickers. They even kick it into high gear with a melange of playful fantasy scenes involving swing the sword and cast the sorcery dramatics executed in a giddy tone on par with television shows like Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, Farscape, and Xena: Warrior Princess.
One thing puzzles me: who the hell in real life is named Roc Upchurch?
Another thing that puzzles me is how I've been caught alive reading Rat Queens Volume One: Sass and Sorcery, given everything I just explained. Perhaps it's because there's also crafty mirth, adorable characters, and there's a plotted storyline that doesn't plop when it needs to pop with its dramatics and its angst. There's also less dubious cleavage and ass-tight clothing going on, so kudos to Kurt and Roc for daring to nudge back on the status quo.
Art and written characterizations work so well here it's surprising how much good story and vibe they can muster while still pandering to the less-discerning fanboy contingent. It takes skill to dip pop culture hip into a fantasy spun around a Lord of the Rings worldview and then ignore its etiquette and liven up everything with cool chics and multi use "d*ck"-isms.
The four cool Rat Queens are Betty, a hot little Smidgen who likes hard liquor and magic mushrooms; Dee, whose parents worship a giant flying squid; Hannah, who conjures up expletives and spells in equal measure; and Violet, who shaves her beard because that's the trend and wields a designer sword three sizes too big. They fight villains, themselves, assassins, themselves again, and giant trolls. They also get beat up a lot, look worse for it, then heal fast thanks to good magic and hard living.
Their hangout locale of choice is the town of Palisade, whose peace and quiet is often ruined by their carousing in the wee hours of morning and night (okay, basically all day). Or, as one character tells it, "what do you expect when a bunch of young people get rich quick and there's nothing to do but drink." There goes that young thing again.
The Rat Queens, along with four other misbehaving groups with names like Peaches, Four Daves, Brother Ponies, and Obsidian Darkness, are released from the town dungeon by Mayor Kane when they agree to go on quests to keep them out of trouble. One particularly dirty quest is to "clean the sh*tters at the Winding Pass Barracks." The Rat Queens dodge that one and get the goblin-clearing quest instead. Now there's a quest you won't see players lining up for in World of Warcraft.
The quests turn out to be a sham and appendages start bleeding and cleaving when assassins hunt down the groups. Betty, Dee, Hannah, and Violet work on fending off sudden death while investigating. Their investigations include downing a few at the local tavern and sizing up potential culprits like "that b*tch Bernadette." A party, candy apple martinis, and sex with a guy that has birds chirping in his beard round out the storyline pretty well.
Beards, magic mushrooms, and young people; and trolls and villains. What's not to like?
The Giant of Marathon (1959)
Pressbook
Here’s the giant pressbook for a giant movie. Fans of Steve Reeves and peplum movies will certainly appreciate it. I do.
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Graphic Book Review:
John Constantine, Hellblazer
The Family Man
Zombos Says: Very Good
There's a stale air constantly surrounding John Constantine. Maybe it's the smell of cheap cologne (or maybe the need for it) and cheaper cigarettes, or maybe it's the odor of death and the supernatural places he's usually mired in. Then again, it could be all those weird word Britishisms he utters such as "sufti" (it means to take a quick look around), combined with his ruffled, just rolled out of bed look. With so many writers and artists handling and mishandling him, you'd expect he'd appear a little rough around the edges and surly in his manner at any given moment. Which suits him and us just fine. It helps cover the fact that, for an occult detective, he sure hates to resort to occult things to work out his problems.
Keep in mind this is the older Constantine, pre-52; the guy in the desperately-in-need-of-a-cleaning tan trench coat. The foul-mouthed guy who smoked too much, complained too much, and looked like sh*t too much because he constantly stepped into it–sometimes on purpose, most times not. He's also the Constantine who moved obliquely through his issues with sarcasm and dry wit and a strong sense of doing what's right first off, or making things right after the fact; although it may take him a little time to get it done. In-between those times the stories continued across issues, like loose threads waiting to pulled, then balled up together with one final effort. Only it never seems to end for Constantine does it?
This collection of issues 23, 24, and 28 through 33 spins his world directly, and adjacent to, the Family Man, a serial killing non-occult monster whose backstory crops up as explanation for his insanity, but we really don't care because he's so vile in what he's doing. Constantine unexpectedly crosses paths with him, doesn't realize it, and before he's onto the trail again he's already botched it badly, giving the killer his next full-course blood-letting.
Issue 23 sets up the Family Man's entry, issue 24 reveals how old friends can become new strangers, and the hunt fully begins in issue 28. Issue 23 is one of the oddest ones in the Constant One's aging run (definitely an issue Neil Gaiman would love). It bumps a real character of Constantine's acquaintance, who he's paying a casual visit to, with fictional characters unhappy with how much of a fictional character's traits said acquaintance has appropriated. Winnie the Pooh and his literary compatriots take action. Another pack of cigarettes is desperately needed to handle the situation, and maybe a few drinks wouldn't hurt, but Jamie Delano's dialog and situations get wilder and wilder. Ron Tiner's heavy lines and grainy scenes are hard on the eyes, but fit Constantine's world so darn well. Fu Manchu (looking very much like Christopher Lee) makes a cameo, as does Sherlock Holmes, Peter Pan, and a volume's worth of minor characters in the span of 24 pages, with nary a dull panel throughout.
Tiner receives an assist from Kevin Walker in the middle issues, but his pencils look better without the help, and Steve Pugh, Dean Motter, and Sean Phillips take over the art eventually. The differences are noticeable, but not distracting. Dick Foreman guest writes New Tricks for issue 32, wherein a dog and his master reverse roles in a Junk Yard, leaving a few characters in pieces. Bloody ones. I can't tell if it's Pugh's testy habit or the colorist, Ziuko's, failing, but white highlights and white halos around foreground elements kick this dog's story's panels here and there as only 1990s artsy indiscretions could. The play on words here involving "bulldog" and "Drummond," is a saving grace, however.
By issue 30 Constantine's Family Man dilemma is resolved, but issue 31 relates an after effect of one death that needs to be put to rest, and issue 33 is a tough one to figure out for both Constantine and us. It plays like a fill-in between more important issues, but you never can tell with Hellblazer's John Constantine.
And that's a good thing.
Movie Pressbook: Paranoiac! (1963)
The splendidly off-kilter Oliver Reed takes a fun Hammer outing. And let's not forget that "Liliane Brousse introduces a highly attractive hair style in Paranoiac." Not sure if they meant higly attractive to the killer or to the audience, though.
The Evil of Frankenstein (1964) Pressbook
And again, Peter Cushing crushes it as the amoral and somewhat mad Doctor Frankenstein. Some fans hate the Monster’s design, but I’m quite fine with it. Just don’t call him blockhead and we’re good.
Comic reader version: Download Evil of Frankenstein Pressbook
See more pressbooks From Zombos’ Closet.
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The Sinful Allure of the Mexican Vampire
Although the Spanish version of Dracula would be the first celluloid vampire to terrify Mexico’s moviehouse audiences in 1931, it wasn’t until El Vampiro in 1957 that a home-grown vampire would flutter across the fogbound hacienda. Predating and, in key ways, anticipating the more dynamic blood-thirst in Hammer’s Dracula (released as Horror of Dracula in the United States), El Vampiro shows sharp canine fangs, energetic neck biting with no blood, just tiny puncture wounds, and a prim and virtuous heroine with lots of clothing to protect her feminine virtues. Abel Salazar plays Dr. Enrique, a reluctant believer in the supernatural as well as a decidedly more amour-minded Van Helsing type than Peter Cushing’s vampire slayer. Overt sensuality and ample bosoms would have to wait until Hammer’s horror productions in lurid color.
In El Vampiro, Count Lavud (German Robles) is more interested in acquiring land than Count Dracula’s (Christopher Lee) interest in acquiring more brides. Both noblemen vampires, however, share the same charisma and evening wear that began with Bela Lugosi, but add a stronger machismo and faster pulse for energetic dramatics.
The lobby cards for El Vampiro highlight the vampire’s threat to society’s norms of hacienda and family-motivated romance. Azteca printed (in the United States) and distributed lobbies using an actual photo pasted to the card, depicting a key scene from the movie. They were displayed in American moviehouses that catered to Spanish-speaking audiences. Note the use of the spider’s webbing in the background, radiating from Count Lavud: it’s reminiscent of the spider’s web used in Lugosi’s Dracula poster art and indirectly associates the Universal horror mystique to El Vampiro’s production. Abel Salazar was a fan of Universal’s Gothicism (and its money-making acumen) and copied it here and in his subsequent productions. He added a distinctly native flavor and style in the process. Of course, the vampire-fighting masked luchadores were waiting in the wings to stomp, throw, and slam their way into the genre, but that’s another story, as well as another decade.
An alternative image of Count Lavud holding an unconscious female victim in nightgown, with her neckline opened to show more bosom, than was ever seen in the movie, appeared in the indigenous poster and lobby card artwork. It possibly followed after El Vampiro entered later distribution to second and third-run moviehouses. As the Mexican vampire mythology and its movies rolled out of production and into moviehouses, attitudes and exploitive elements evolved: female victims and female vampires predominated in advertising, unseating the primarily masculine role model of vampiric evil intentions, opening to more suggestive elements to bring in the male audiences with the allure of a naughty (but very sexy) vampire kiss, while also appealing to female audiences with its implications of dominance over men and control of their machismo. Interestingly, there is a slight variation between the poster and lobby card artwork in how much decolletage is shown: in the poster, the right breast is covered by the nightgown; in the lobby card artwork, the right breast is partially revealed.
The sequel to El Vampiro is El Atuad Del Vampiro, 1958 (The Vampire’s Coffin). The lobby card artwork is bloodless and sexless, but still impressive and direct, showing a really big stake driven through Count Lavud’s heart. And its intrusion doesn't ruffle his evening clothes, which are still neatly pressed and unstained. For the Azteca version, the looming threat of the vampire (albeit more in line with spookshow theatrics than real terror) is uppermost in the artwork as he rises from his open coffin as a giant bat-like menace, with Abel Salazar returning to confront the reawakened count and protect Marta, played by Ariadna Welter.
1963’s La Invasion De Los Vampiros (The Invasion of the Vampires), which again pits a doctor against the vampiric menace, shows more provocative and exploitative elements in its lobby card and poster artwork. The sexy allure of a see-through nightgown-dressed female standing against a backdrop of moon and bats and gravestones, with a clock face hinting at the midnight hour, suggests more luridness than shown in the movie’s plot of Count Frankenhausen’s menacing of the local villagers. Due to Hammer’s marketing prowess with its vampire and monster series, Mexican vampire movies, in their poster and lobby card artwork at least, began showing more bodily contours to imply more sexuality, and La Invasion De Los Vampiros’s illustrations alternately made that see-through nightgown more or less revealing across its poster and lobby card iterations. But this freeing up of exploitation advertising was only just beginning.
My article, The Sinful Allure of the Mexican Vampire, first appeared in We Belong Dead No.11.
Mexican Lobby Card: El Secuaz De Lucifer
Particularly lurid, pulp-cover stolen illustrations, with very poor printing quality, make this Mexican lobby card a true gem of cheap exploitation art.