From Zombos Closet

Fantastic Monsters Magazine Club
by Professor Kinema

FanMo02
In the pre-flea market, pre-yardsale and pre Ebay days of my youth, a truly exciting place to visit and spend my meager allowance was the Farmer's Market. In concept it seemed to exist somewhere between a wholesale produce market and antique barn. One cubicle was always immediately searched out and perused by me. This area contained a variety of notions (such as rubber monster masks, whoopie cushions, kazoos, etc) and back issues of comics and monster magazines. These periodicals always seemed to be in pretty good condition, except for the tops of the front covers. These were savagely removed, probably by something like a box cutter. I was informed later that this was done so the individual dealer, at the time, could return these sliced off sections of the front covers for credit. The rest of the magazines were subsequently sold to vendors, by weight. Then these vendors, who occupied these cubicles in the Farmer's Markets, would in turn re-sell them, usually for the affordable price of 5 cents per copy. This was definitely within my pre-teen budget.

Perusing the monster magazines I first set my eyes on Fantastic Monsters of the Screen. Having regularly purchased copies of FM and CofF for some time before and since, these seemed almost as interesting. For the grand total of 25 cents I bought the first five (of seven total) issues. This was after carefully perusing all of the available copies. All had that cut across the top, with the titles removed, as well as corresponding portions of several pages beneath. The person who wielded the mutilating box cutter was probably in a hurry. For a nickel apiece, I wasn't planning to save these as collectibles but, rather, to further mutilate them. As did many monster magazine readers of the era, my plans for these issues was to remove the illos of the monsters. These, in turn, would either go into some sort of personal album or decorate the walls of my bed room. I wasn't planning to use anything like a box cutter, though.

As was the case in the other monster mags I acquired, the ads towards the back of the issue were of interest. These were pages filled with the usual 'cool stuff' which went beyond what the vendor in the Farmer's Market had for sale. Two small ads were unique. One was for sets of color slides of 'Hollywood Monsters' and the other was for a 50 foot reel of 8mm film and 100 foot reel of 16mm film of 'Filmland Monsters.' Both ads were illustrated with familiar monsters. The ad copy read: See the Hideous Three Eyed Atomic Mutation, the She Creature, the Crawling Claw, the Smashing Awesome Amphibian…and, the Mushroom Monster from Venus! The illos of the slides matched the subjects of the film footage. Both ads had the same address: Golden Eagle Films of Topanga, California. Of all of the items offered for sale in any of the monster magazines I had ever possessed, these interested me most.

FanMo01 However, since it was a year or two past the publication dates of Fantastic Monsters (which appeared between 1962-63) I thought the magazine had stopped publishing, and the company – Golden Eagle Films – had long since gone out of existence, along with all of these precious items.. That was that, I surmised.

A friend, and fellow collector, years later lamented that I should have at least dropped a note to Golden Eagle Films at the Topanga Canyon address and inquired if any of the advertised treasures were still available. Thinking back, I figured what a totally logical and terrific idea. It would have been a 50/50 chance. Paul Blaisdell, editor of Fantastic Magazine and seller of the desired items, still lived in Topanga Canyon. He died there in 1983 at the 'youthful' age of 55.

In the few brief, but pleasant, conversations I had with collector Bob Burns, he told me that along with being an accomplished illustrator, sculptor and model maker, Paul Blaisdel was also an accomplished photographer. He often made photographic records during the planning, constructing and usage of his monstrous creations. His medium included color slides and film, 16mm film and stereoscopic photos. American International allowed him to market any and all color slides that he personally took of his 'creations' as well as a limited amount of the film footage that was used in their feature productions. The limitation was that footage of the creatures could be included as long as the featured players were not. This is what comprised the 5 sets of slides as well as what was featured in the 50ft and 100ft of 8mm & 16mm film – in 'sparkling black and white.'

Had I managed to track down these mail order items they would truly be valued collectibles.

All that would be needed next to create the ultimate collectible package would have been the Fantastic Monsters Club package. This consisted of a 'blood red membership card,' a free monster photo (of a Blaisdell creature, natch), an exclusive member's bulletin complete with a secret message and strange facts, plus a year's subscription to Fantastic Monsters. All this for $3! Including the 5 sets of monster slides @ $1 apiece and the 8mm film @ $2–I would also have had to acquire the 16mm film @ $6–this monsterkid would have had to shell out a grand total of $16 (not counting postage) at the time.

The value of all of this in today's collectibles market? Who knows?

Book Review: Blood Oath

Blood-oath-seal Zombos Says: Very Good

Nathaniel Cade is an 1860s vampire hoodwinked by President Andrew Johnson to serve and protect the President of the United States. His new partner, Zach is a modern day career-hungry politico hoodwinked into being Cade's human compatriot after a dalliance with the current president's daughter. Konrad is an evil Dr. Frankenstein type formerly of the Nazi SS who tries to hoodwink them both in Blood Oath, a race against time  supernatural spy novel assembling terrorist plots with nearly unstoppable zombie-steins to keep your blood running.

Cade's blood oath to protect the oval office, bound by Marie Laveau's Voudou in the 1800s–explained in a flashback to the events that prompted President Johnson to enlist Cade's services–keeps him from harming anyone except those who threaten the United States. He is incredibly strong, nearly indestructible, very self-assured, a natty dresser, and difficult to work with. 

In the opening salvo, a Special Ops mission in Kosovo pits him against a Serbian werewolf to retrieve a mysterious box. His constant battle with the Other Side's horrific threats is hinted at here, but as soon as the box is safely returned to the Smithsonian, where Cade has his digs, another terrorist plot begins.

Christopher Farnsworth keeps the story concise and the reading tuned to non-stop pitch as Cade and Zach get to know each other's foibles, strengths, and annoying habits in their search to find the truth behind a container shipment of badly decomposing body parts. Cade suspects his nemesis, Dr. Konrad Dippel, an alchemist who discovered the Elixir of Life and thus has lived for over 300 years, is behind the mystery. Konrad's penchant for assembling body parts into dead-men-walking automatons of destruction doesn't hurt, either, to implicate him. But another covert operation and shadow organization interferes with the investigation, providing more obstacles for Cade and Zach to overcome. These obstacles push each to their limits, revealing both men's vulnerabilities and their importance to each other.

The strength of bond that slowly grows between them, the stoic vampire who refuses to drink human blood and attends AA meetings (though he doesn't know why), and the flippantly selfish younger man, lends the story a deeper and continuing interest that will garner a following of loyal readers. Through little touches of their actions, dialog, and silences, Farnsworth softens Cade's and Zach's innate inhumanness into revelations for both of them; ones they didn't know they had buried away inside.  

Mesa of Lost Women (1953)


Mesa_of_lost_women

Zombos Says: Poor (but hilarity abounds)

Leering dwarf faces keep intercutting at inappropriate times, producing an effect not unlike the subliminals inTerror in the Haunted House. The spider women, with the notable exception of Tarantella, all dress like extras in She. Adding to the Woodian confusion, if you look quickly enough, you will see Mona McKinnon (Plan 9) and Dolores Fuller (Glen or Glenda?, Jailbait) among them. (Bad Movie Report)

There are movies that act like ridicule magnets. Anyone who has watched enough television or eaten too much popcorn at the cinema can easily name at least one special instance of ignominy felt from being spectator to a cinematic catastrophe, or feeling resentful from having time, better spent elsewhere, sinfully squandered and ticket money regrettably wasted.

Then again, there are people like our neighbor, Paul Hollstenwall.

“Wasn’t that a hoot,” said Paul, pulling up the collar of his raincoat and pulling down the brim of his hat.

No, wait a minute, I was only imagining he was standing in front of a sleazy theater. I adjusted my mental eyesight better. After watching the movie he brought over, Ron Ormand’s Mesa of Lost Women, I needed to do a lot of adjustment. We were in Zombos’ library and Paul was sitting on my left, dressed in his usual brown tweed sport coat, faded jeans, and worn Pumas. Zombos was sitting on my right and—wait, where’d he get off to?

“More like a howler,” I told Paul. “I’m not sure what jarring close-ups of leering dwarves, non-speaking hoochie cooch-dressed women, and a hairy spider with eight legs that doesn’t move them–the legs I mean–much, has to do with the title. No, wait, come to think of it, just about everybody was lost most of the time, including me and Jackie Coogan as the mad scientist Dr. Aranya, hanging out in a cave and doing what I’m still not sure of.”

“He was mutating spiders into giants and mutating women with his spider venom,” supplied Paul.

“Why? And why were those women and dwarves constantly underfoot? It doesn’t make sense.”

“He’s a mad scientist. What’s to make sense? Don’t they always mutate, create, or destroy things in horror and sci-fi movies? Because they’re crazy, I mean. The movie’s definitely a double-biller for a drive-in, so adding some feminine pulchritude kept eyes peeled on the screen more than Aranya or loopy Dr. Masterson (Harmon Stevens) would have.

Paul had a point. And he actually used the word pulchritude in a sentence.

“What surprises me is how good the cinematography is compared to the rest,” I said.

“That is because the directors of photography were too good for this dreck,” said Zombos, entering the library. “Ice cold mint juleps should be arriving just about…now.”

The bell on the library’s dumbwaiter buzzed. I headed over and extracted the drinks. Chef Machiavelli’s mint juleps would have even satisfied Tennessee Williams.

“The photography,” continued Zombos, “was done by Karl Struss and Gilbert Warrenton. More than adequate for this otherwise incompetent opus.” He took the glass I handed to him and sat down on my right. “All that desert photography made me thirsty.” He took a sip then continued.

“Judicious use of dissolves, wipes, and recall the first meeting between Dr. Masterson and Aranya in the cave laboratory. That set was the size of a walk-in closet. Yet look at how they moved our view left to right, from in front of the lone lab table. It gave depth and liveliness to a tight and narrow space.”

“Shame they couldn’t clip the cantina scene with Tarantella (Tandra Quinn) doing her endless tarantella,” I quipped.

“No!” Paul said. “She’s so dark and mysterious. Don’t forget she’s really a spiderized woman.”

“Well, she certainly had the legs for it, even if only two of them. Now, maybe you can tell me what Masterson going all loopy and weird was about?”

“He goes dopey after Aranya injects him with a drug,” said Paul, “to stop him from interfering with Aranya’s nefarious work—”

“—Making dwarves and spiderized woman. Okay then, what about the cantina scene? He shows up, sits down with a couple of perfect strangers, watches Tarantella dance—how’d she get there in the first place?—and dance. And dance some more. Said spiderwoman glares at him while he talks to the couple, a man and woman who don’t know him from Adam. And he talks, and talks some more. And then they
leave the cantina. He insists on them all taking a plane ride, with a little persuasion from his gun, the plane engine catches fire and conveniently they all crash land on Aranya’s mesa.” I stopped to take a breadth.

“Did you notice how the pilot did not turn his steering wheel at all during the flight,” said Zombos. “He must have graduated from the Plan 9 school of method acting.”

I continued. “Now they’re all on the mesa, along with that giant spider that doesn’t move much, and assorted dwarves and pretty women who stand around like a chorus in a Greek tragedy, only they don’t say a word. We even see them, most of the time, standing a scant few feet away from everyone else, but everyone else doesn’t see them at all. Then Wu, the token Chinese guy, buys it in the woods. Of course he has to mutter a proverb or two before getting killed about being killed, which is why they needed him in the first place I guess. And I think the mesa set was even smaller than the lab.”

“Indeed,” added Zombos. “When the pilot takes out his penlight to light the way through the woods, everyone keeps moving back and forth through the same narrow path, holding hands.”

“Then more close-ups of grinning dwarves and pretty women ensemble standing around an arm’s length away while the pilot and the woman from the cantina hit it off by the campfire. Out of the blue he’s telling her what kind of woman he likes and they kiss.”

“At least much humor ensues with one fellow jumping TOWARD the nearly comatose giant spider when he sees it, and let us not
forget the effusive potential for derisive commentary throughout,” said Zombos.

“So,” I summed up, “we’ve got a music score that runs rampant from the get-go, ignoring the action on screen much of the time, a confusing triple bypass flashback going on between characters to tell an already incoherent story, and a crummy script that opens up a world of mirth in the viewing, not to mention some bizarre scene cutting and papier mache mise-en-scène. Oh, and I shouldn’t forget the ponderous Criswell-styled narration to aid in our understanding of this nonsense.”

“And deliciously potent mint juleps to make it all go down agreeably,” said Paul.

We all drank to that.

Professor Kinema’s Favorite Movie Toss Off Lines

Theda-bara-cleopatra A Fool There Was (1915)

The Vampire (Theda Bara) to one of her victims: “Kiss me, my Fool!”

Hold Your Man (1933)

Eddy (Clark Gable): “Listen, Sweet Meat, how about you and me getting together tonight, huh?”

Ruby (Jean Harlow): “I like your nerve!”

Eddy: “That ain’t all you’re gonna like. Wait’ll you see how I grow on you.”

Ruby: “Yea, I can imagine, just like a carbuncle.”

A Night at the Opera (1935)

At the beginning of the Stateroom scene, Ravelli (Chico) to Tomasso (Harpo): “Hey Tomasso, wake up, they’re gonna fix-a the bed.”

Room Service (1938)

Miller (Groucho Marx) to Davis (Frank Albertson) introducing Faker (Harpo Marx), who is standing with his mouth agape: “This is Mr England, the brains of the organization. That’ll give you an idea of the organization.”

The Thing From Another World (1951)

Scotty (Douglas Spencer) to Captain Hendry (Kenneth Toby): “Let me get a picture, before someone makes a salad out of him (the Thing).”

La Strada (1954)

The Fool’s (Richard Basehart) final words after a fight with Zampano (Anthony Quinn), while clutching his head: “Hey, you broke my watch!”

Dr Strangelove, or, How I Learned to Stopped Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964)

General Ripper (Sterling Hayden): “Mandrake, were you ever a prisoner of war?”

Mandrake (Peter Sellers): “Yes, Jack, I was.”

General Ripper: “Were you tortured, and did you talk?”

Mandrake: “I don’t think they wanted me to talk, really. It was just their way of having a bit of fun, the swine. It’s just that they make such bloody good cameras.”

Bonnie and Clyde (1967)

Clyde (Warren Beatty) to CW (Michael J Pollard): “Go get your pants on, boy. We’re gonna take some pictures.”

Point Blank (1967)

Brewster (Carrol O’Conner) to Walker (Lee Marvin): “This is a corporation, we deal in figures, we never see cash! I’ve got about $11 in my pocket.”

The Flim-Flam Man (1967)

Curley (Michael Sarrazin) to Sheriff Slade (Henry Morgan) about Mordecai Jones’ (George C Scott) release: “Give him his suitcase. He needs it to keep his balance.”