From Zombos' Closet

Mexican Lobby Card: Atoragon

The Monster Squad

Who you gonna call? Don't know about you, but I'd be calling The Monster Squad. Would have been great to see them all grown up and tackling monsters again instead of Van Helsing.

The Walking Dead Too Slow Moving? No Way

The release of the zombies from the barn in last night's mid-season finale of The Walking Dead capped what, to me, has been an involving dramatic soap opera so far. It's telling that survive-at-all-costs-Shane sets them loose to "kill" them, but it's Rick who eventually shoots Sophia, surprising everyone when she staggers out of the barn. She's been there all along. That hurt. So it bothers me that some fans, a friend or two, and some critics keep asking "where's the beef-eating zombies?"

Readers of the comic book series ARE readers because it tells its story through the turmoil of the living, who live with the threat of being chomped on at any given moment. Zombies attack, but that's not the point nor should it be the focus of every issue, or in this case, every television episode. How many times, and in how many creative ways, can we feast our eyes on watching zombies attack? Sure, it's gruesome fun, but at the end of the day, it's the story that counts, not the kill-rate on either side.

Great classic television series always focus on the characters first, then the events happening around them, and their reactions to those events. Their turmoil, disagreements, sadness, happiness, agreements, and life or death defining moments simply can't be conveyed in every episode through a simplistic car chase action solution to tidy it up and provide eye-candy for short attention spans.

I recommend hunkering down and living the drama with Rick, Shane, and everyone else. The zombies will come when their good and ready. Me, I rather see how the living survive each other. 

Joe Dante's Dante's Inferno And Other Worse ThingsBy Professor Kinema

With Thanksgiving under my belt, my thoughts always turn to turkeys. Not only conjured up images of the on-the-table-carving-kind with stuffing and cranberries, but also movies considered the worst on the silver screen--past and present. One web site I'm always checking out, as well as occasionally contributing to--at least in submitting an occasional vote--is the Razzies, where candidates for the past year's worst achievements are listed and voted on. The Golden Raspberry Awards have been around, and going strong, since March 31, 1981. A similar site, Rotten Tomatoes, was launched August 12, 1999. Pre-dating them is the yearly Harvard Lampoon "Worst of... " Awards. On Saturday, April 23rd, 1966, Natalie Wood made history when she became the first performer to show up at Harvard and graciously accept her award after being voted the year's Worst Actress .

Speaking of the Worst...

In the early 1960s, in the uncharted wastes of New Jersey, dwelled one young fan who was caught up in monsters, both classic and modern. Through the pages of magazines like Famous Monsters of Filmland and Castle of Frankenstein he was made aware of other kindred spirits who existed. They were appearing in FMoF's and CofF's pages since any and all were invited to submit letters, photos and mentions of fan clubs. This young fan was determined to have a letter, or at least a mention, in FMoF. He wrote to editor Forry Ackerman of his love for monster films and how much he loved reading FMoF. No response. He wrote of what he and his friends did when they were not attending school. Again, no response. He submitted a list of what he thought were the best classic and contemporary fanta-films. Again, no response. Maybe a serious re-thinking and change of concept was in order? So this young fan compiled a list of monster (and science fiction) films he thought were the worst. Although thematically cynical, this list was ahead of its time. This cynical young fan was future film director Joe Dante.

I digress...

Prior nods to the not-the-greatest horror and sci-fi films had been in the pages of FMoF and another Ackerman-edited magazine running concurrently, Spacemen. The premier issue of FMoF (1958) in the Out of This World Monsters article featured a still of the Ro-man with the caption "Robot Monster, the film so horrible it was not released, it escaped." One could easily ascertain the usage of the word "horrible" was used here not to mean anything horror-filled, but rather to imply a bad quality. The premier issue of Spacemen (July 1961) ran a full page photo of the aliens from Invasion of the Saucermen with the less-than-complimentary comments of them resembling "cabbage heads" and "heads that resemble meatballs with spaghetti" in the Orbituary Department. Issue #3 (April, 1962) contained a request from readers (one cheekily named 'Hans Orlac'), also in the Orbituary Department, to see a photo of "those unbelievably ridiculous popeyed planetmen from Killers From Space."

The young fans of FMoF and Spacemen (both periodicals presumably originating from the same typewriter of Unkka Forry) took no exception to the less than sterling comments of the films they were enjoying both on TV as well as on the big screen. Good films were enjoyable. Bad films were equally as enjoyable, mainly because they were bad. It was all taken in fun.

Okay, now back to Joe Dante...

A few weeks later his telephone rang. It was Forry Ackerman. Bang! The Ackermonster himself was calling him from the other side of the country...from the Ackermansion! He had read his list of 50 worst horror and sci-fi films with the utmost interest. Permission was asked if it could be expanded and embellished to be featured in the next issue of FMoF. Now a starry-eyed fan, he would be credited as the author!

Within a few months a huge envelope arrived with complimentary copies of FMoF #18 (July, 1962). On page 14 began what had now morphed into Dante's Inferno. There it was, a full-fledged article! Containing, as Dante later commented, "words that he didn't even understand." The 50 "worst films" listing was in alphabetical order begining with Adventure Island (1947) and winding up with Zombies on Broadway (1945). Two of Ed Wood's films were included: Bride of the Monster was listed as #7, and sandwiched between The Phantom From 10,000 Leagues (listed as Phantom of 20,000 Leagues) and Revolt of the Zombies was Plan 9 From Outer Space at #39. The entire comment was "I had heard a lot about Plan 9 From Outer Space and saw it to see if it was as bad as they said [although he doesn't elaborate on who "they" were]. It was even worse! There is a distinct possibility that it was the cheapest film ever made. The entire cast was awful. Special effects were laughable and even the old clips of Bela Lugosi were poor. The scene where Tor Johnson rose from the grave was the only good 5 seconds in the whole film. Vampira, Johnson, Lyle Talbot all wasted."

Similar pans described the other titles in Dante's Inferno. Soon after, Joe Dante was listed in CofF #3 (1963), and by issue #4 was a contributing editor. His editorial duties included compiling the Frankenstein (TV) Movie Guide. In his reflections of FMoFs 1 though 50 in  Famous Monster of Filmland (Imagine, 1986), Forry Ackerman, writes about Dante's Inferno and the repurcussions it caused. He wrote that the young fan from New Jersey was a "Joe Nobody" and that he truly felt no one would take the article seriously. However, FMoF's publisher Jim Warren irately told him American International's president James H. Nicholson was fuming. His company was planning to reissue a few of the titles panned in the article. It was also made known that if FMoF were to now run articles putting down Imagi-Movies, it could be devastating. Producers and releasing companies would not want to promote anything, past or present, on the magazine's pages. Warren flatly told him "Don't ever run a criticism of another picture!"

So...

Two issues later a full page photo was printed in the beginning of the magazine. It depicted a large trophy sitting on the desk of a beaming James H. Nicholson. The trophy was the (first) Famous Monsters of Filmland Magazine Producer's Award for "the horror hit of 1962 - AIP's The Pit & the Pendulum." Pacified, Nicholson was smiling as Warren was proudly admiring it.

And what's more...

Evidently, one of the auteurs whose films Dante panned, Roger Corman, with Teenage Caveman #44 on the list, either forgave him or paid it no attention. Less than 20 years later Corman's New World Productions handled Hollywood Boulevard, and Piranha--both featuring early directing duties by Dante. Corman functioned as Associate Producer for both films.

By the time I had read Dante's Inferno I had caught an airing of Plan 9 on television. As a pre-teen monster fan I thought of it as a bit odd. Other fanta-films seemed to have more substance and looked better. Now here was someone out there in the world that caught the same eccentricities I was observing while viewing these films. Here with this listing were many more. To me it all fell in to the general appreciation for them. Watching a film either on TV or in the movies, especially with friends, was all part of fandom. The fun was in either being generally thrilled by a truly scary film, or having a good laugh with it. Plan 9's (as well as Bride of the Monster's) auteur was not mentioned in Dante's Inferno, but recognition would come soon after his death. His body of work would be resurrected, reappraised, reevaluated and heralded...as the worst.

Now about Ed Wood Jr...

1978, the year Edward Davis Wood Jr. died at the age of 54, saw the publication of a book titled The 50 Worst Films of All Time (Popular Library). The authors were listed as Harry Medved with Larry Dreyfuss. Listed were films af all genres, touching on a few horror and sci-fi films. Mixed in with titles like The Conqueror, Myra Breckenridge, Lost Horizon and Valley of the Dolls, were titles like Eegah!, The Horror of Party Beach, Robot Monster and Santa Claus Conquers the Martians. All truly deserving of inclusion in a book listing the worst. Hidden in the back of the book on page 284 was something unique, a form to be cut out (or xeroxed like I did) and sent to Michael Medved in Venice, California, listing your (the reader's) favorite worst films. This little element gave a hint as to who really authored The 50 Worst Films of All Time. As was revealed a few years later, Michael Medved did the bulk of the writing. He didn't want his name associated with the book mainly because he was working at establishing a career in Hollywood as a screenwriter. It has also been established he was working as a script doctor.

Anyway, the mail-in-your-worst-films poll was counted (with yours truly prominently among the results), instigating a follow-up book, Golden Turkey Awards (Perigee Books, 1980). Here was a listing by brother authors Harry and Michael Medved (whatever became of Dreyfuss?) naming and awarding film turkeys, "Golden Turkeys" no less. This bad film label sat a little better with readers than what a popular TV critique show running at the time was using. At the end of the Siskel and Ebert show they would comment on a film they determined to be the Dog of the Week. This didn't endear them to viewers who had and loved those cinematic pet dogs.

But what about the poll's results?

As a result of the 50 Worst Films of All Time mail-in poll, the two movies that came out on top as the undeniably worst were The Exorcist II, the Heretic and Plan 9 From Outer Space. Neither were originally listed in their previous 50 Worst Films of All Time. This dubious distinction sparked the interest in Ed Wood Jr., who to this day still holds the title of the Worst Director ever. Extensive comments were included about Plan 9, Ed Wood Jr., and an overview of his films.

Four years later the Medveds published The Hollywood Hall of Shame, subtitled The Most Expensive Flops in Movie History. Nowhere is listed Ed Wood Jr. or any of his films.

And then...

Bill Warren, in his early editions of Keep Watching the Skies states "In The Golden Turkey Awards, the reprehensible Harry and Michael Medved, who consistently display a repulsively arrogant attitude toward the efforts of helplessly untalented but comparatively more sincere people..." in his commentary on Plan 9, calls their book "contemptible." By the 2010 edition of his book Warren omits the "reprehensible" and "contemptible." He adds that Harry "has reformed [at least by his standards] and has become a good writer on film subjects with a fondness for Plan 9."

In 1996 another book listing movie turkeys was published: The Worst Movies of All Time, or What Were They Thinking? (Citadel) by Michael Sauter. Not particularly well researched, it covered much the same ground as the Medved books, and then some. Wood and his films were given sporadic mention in the final part, The Baddest of the B's.

Now back to Joe Dante...and a wrap up with Bela and Ed Wood...

At Unkka Forry's 75th Birthday party I sat at the same table with Joe Dante. In between his signing autographs we chatted. We briefly touched on his Dante's Inferno article. Also at this party was Mark Carducci, who was finishing up filming his documentary Flying Saucers Over Hollywood, a Plan 9 Companion (1992). Dante, along with several others, spoke to the partygoers. He mentioned the whole incident about writing to Forry and eventually getting his letter listing the 50 worst films published. This section of his talk made it into Carducci's documentary. Also in the documentary are comments by Harry Medved. He revealed that he was influenced, of sorts, by Dante's Inferno. Ironically, none of the films listed in Dante's article were listed in the 50 Worst Films of All Time book. It took solicited reader response and another book to re-discover Ed Wood Jr. and his films.

Viewing and evaluating the films Bela Lugosi was appearing in towards the end of his life one can see his association with Wood wasn't the worst that could've happened to him. Wood maintained a genuine fondness for Bela and was always looking to include him in some sort of project he had going. This was to keep him active and possibly provide some money.

Two films he had appeared in just one year before Glen or Glenda stand out as being worse than anything Wood could have ever concocted: Old Mother Riley Meets the Vampire (aka Vampire over London, My Son the Vampire, King Robot, The Vampire and the Robot, ad nausem) and Bela Lugosi Meets a Brooklyn Gorilla (aka The Boys From Brooklyn).

The titles of these films alone could warn anyone away from a theater showing them. Old Mother Riley Meets the Vampire (released or escaped in the US in 1962), came about at a time when Bela was being shamelessly exploited by the Gordons, Richard and Alex. William 'One Shot' Beaudine, director of Bela Lugosi Meets a Brooklyn Gorilla, has subsequently been derided in print by Warren as well as the Medveds. How many remember Arthur Lucan, aka, Old Mother Riley? How many remember Duke Mitchell and Sammy Petrillo, the Brooklyn boys in Brooklyn Gorilla?

ZC Note: Just us bad movie buffs, at least, remember. And I'm from Brooklyn!

Frankenstein Meets the Space Monster (1965) By Professor Kinema

by Professor Kinema

Since the name, as well as the basic premise, of Frankenstein was in the public domain, it turned up in film titles generally synonymous with the word "Monster." Throughout the classic Universal series the name was alternately given to the descendants (sons, daughters, grandchildren, and distant relatives) of the original mad doctor/creator as well as to the undying creature itself. It was also a name familiar enough to attract moviegoers. This would seem to explain why Frankenstein (in name only) turned up in Frankenstein Meets the Space Monster.

In this film, Frankenstein is a robotic astronaut--an Astrobot--named Col Frank Saunders (Robert Reilly). The generic sounding "Space Monster" proves to be a caged beast doing the bidding of pseudo-humanoid aliens. Since these aliens have a mega destructive plan for Earthlings, they all could be considered Space Monsters. Their plan also involves kidnapping a a number of nubile women to be used as breeding stock. Hopefully, their offspring wouldn't inherit the obviously poorly fitted skullcaps that adorn the male aliens' heads.

The alien invaders have names like Princess Marcuzan (referred to only as 'Princess') and Nadir (a name that could appropriately mean "the pits?"). The Frankenstein/robot element functions ultimately as the hero and savior, in a truly surreal combination of characters and plot elements, topped of with genuinely horrendous and amateurish makeup work, setting the scene for a cultish film. It's all presented '...in Futurama,' to boot.

At the end of the trailer for Frankenstein Meets the Space Monster, an announcer states it's "...in Futurama," but the only other mention of Futurama turns up in the opening credits as "Futurama Entertainment Corporation Presents." The end credits mention "Interiors Photographed at Seneca Studios, Hempstead, New York." The exteriors were lensed in Puerto Rico.

At the beginning of his career, a young James Karen plays Dr. Adam Steele. This is his premier feature film. Staying primarily a TV and stage actor he would go on to appear in over 80 movies (to date) including Poltergeist, and The Return of the Living Dead (Parts I & II), and also be a spokesman for Pathmark.

Frankenstein Meets the Space Monster was initially released on a double bill with Curse of the VooDoo. Space Shield Eye Protectors were given to lucky first-run patrons (as long as supplies lasted). Presumably these eye protectors could also be used to protect the eyes from any VooDoo Curses. The film had several re-releases, turning up with titles like Duel of the Space Monsters, Frankenstein Meets the Spacemen, Marte Invade a Puerto Rico and Mars Attacks Puerto Rico (and not Hempstead, NY?). The only mention these space monsters are from Mars is found in the shot of a newspaper headline, which reads, "Earth Scientists Warn of Martian Threat."

A four page promo feature of Frankenstein Meets the Space Monster turned up in Famous Monsters of Filmland #39, June 1966. The article states this film was chosen as the lead-off film at the (prestigious) 1965 Science Fiction Film Festival in Trieste.

An archival print exists in the Museum of Modern Art's film collection. A short article in the New York Times, January 1, 2010, states, "The impaired cognition of New Year's Weekend make's it an ideal time to encounter Robert Gaffney's enjoyable, goofy drive-in movie here in an improbable screening at the Museum of Modern Art."

It was the final entry in the museum's series titled Nuts and Bolts: Machine Made Man in Films From the Collection.

Mexican Lobby Card: Stranglers of Bombay

Mexican Lobby Card: La Sombra Del Murcielago

Mexican Lobby Card: Pacto Diabolico

Movie Pressbook: The Dead One (1961)

Man, free voodoo doll with every adult ticket! How can you pass that up? And dig that poster art! And when's the last time you saw "SEE..., SEE..., SEE..." on a movie poster? I miss those cheesy days of movie marketing (sigh).

Mighty Joe Young's Terry Moore

I had the pleasure meeting Terry Moore and her wonderful personal assistant Judy at the recent Monster Bash in Butler, PA. This photograph with the diminutive Terry on set, surrounded by the ten strong men who were tossed around by Joe (the big ape!) during the tug-of-war nightclub act, caught my eye. Being a health nut, Terry still looks great.

Movie Pressbook: Beware! The Blob (1972)

Beware! The Blob is another guilty pleasure of mine, and this pressbook for it is neatly presented, especially the clever cover, which, through the use of cutouts, shows the actors printed at the top of the first page. A surprisingly expensive print job for a C-movie horror.

Ghost in the House of Frankenstein House of Dracula (1945) Part 7

Read Part 6: House of Frankenstein

Zombos Says: Good

House of Frankenstein and House of Dracula are situated within short walking distance of each other and their inhabitants use the same narrative roads to tell their stories. The furnishings are also similar, albeit a bit sparser in Dracula's house. But Larry Talbot is still here, Frankenstein’s creation is still in need of a jolt, and the battle between supernatural ambiguity and scientific clarity, begun in 1931’s Dracula, ends here with scientific reason ultimately winning, illuminating the irrational monsters of Universal’s horror pantheon from their primal darkness with the enlightening tools of science.

Taking a quick walk around House of Dracula’s façade, most genre buffs and critics would find it a lesser structural composition than Frankenstein’s house, although the rooms are basically the same. Also the same are the hunchbacked assistant’s role—although shockingly pretty and demure this time (Jane Adams), unlike the murderous Daniel in that other house—and once again the impotent Monster (Glenn Strange) is accidentally uncovered to await another jump start to his electrodes from the quintessential and ubiquitous electrical apparatus always at hand for just that purpose. Larry Talbot (Lon Chaney Jr.) is here, too, showing up unexpectedly at the front door—you may recall he died in House of Frankenstein—and Dracula returns—although he died, too—showing up just before dawn to ask for help; but only one of them is sincere in his need for a cure.

It’s this medical help both werewolf and vampire receive in House of Dracula that makes this movie a pivotal and historically important notation in the transition from the supernatural horrors of the 1930s and 1940s to the scientific hubris (and its subsequent faux pas), and the technological fears of space alien confrontations and mass biological infections of the 1950s and 1960s sci-horror cycle.

Most compelling for this transition is Larry Talbot’s cure from lycanthropy through surgery, and the discovery that Dracula’s “disease” is caused by parasites in his blood; a theme to be expanded on in later vampire movies and fiction. Like versatile duct tape, “the miracle of medicine,” as Dr. Edelmann says, becomes the multi-use fix-it for conditions formerly considered primeval; cursed afflictions beyond practical understanding or abatement by conventional means, now understandable and curable by peering through a microscope and mixing chemicals in test tubes.

There’s a neatly executed budgetary and esthetically pleasing grace to be found in Erle C. Kenton’s staging of House of Dracula’s spook show drama, embellished by Dracula’s animated metamorphosis from bat to man, and the near operatically executed sequence of Dracula’s deception and subsequent destruction by sunlight, to foster a greater appreciation and reconsideration of its merits and position within the Universal Horror Mythos.

To be clear, yes, there’s a giddy abandon regarding plot tidiness—just how do Dracula and the Wolf Man come back to life after House of Frankenstein?—and common sense--just how does the Monster look so damn clean and tidy after swimming in sandy muck for so long?—to warrant some derision. But taken as a whole, when scenes are considered in relation to the movie’s breezy, theater play-like storyline (which rubs scripting elbows so close to House of Frankenstein they squeak) and contrasted against the requirements of the Hays and studio offices, and the impotence of the classic monsters compared to the ruthless efficiency of Dr. Edelmann’s ( Onslow Stevens) homicidal serial killer alter-ego, a curious thing happens: you can begrudge a few allowances for immortal monsters wearing immortal clothing and bats hanging from clearly visible wires; there’s simply so much more to think about.

For instance, why are Dracula and the Wolf Man without bite in this movie?

The only onscreen murder is committed by Dr. Edelmann after he’s intentionally infected by Dracula’s parasitic blood. Larry Talbot’s transformations end before he can visibly chew on anyone and Dracula—pardon me, Baron Latos—dons his silly top hat and opera cape to woo Ms. Morelle (Martha O’Driscoll) with more gusto than shown for his thirst for blood.

Lon Chaney Jr. may be dressed in Yak hair and putty, but that’s all there is to show us he’s the Wolf Man. When he transforms in the prison cell, rattles the bars half-heartedly, then falls asleep! what are we to make of this? Did the censors interfere with the Wolf Man’s ferocity, or did the presence of rational science strip him of his wolfhood? In the cliff side cave where Dr. Edelmann searches for him after he tries to commit suicide, he attacks but again fails to draw blood. His sudden transformation back to human form conveniently leads to the Frankenstein Monster’s discovery. At no time is Larry Talbot a real threat. Neither is Dracula. And especially, neither is the Monster.

What gives?

Surprisingly, John Carradine, when sans hat and cape, presents an imposing vampire this time out, aided by Gothically-toned encounters with Ms. Morelle. Her piano music, turning from romantically poetic to darkly troubled when Dracula appears, provides one of the more engrossing effects of the vampire’s formidable supernatural underpinning. Like his magical glowing ring in House of Frankenstein, he wields it to seduce his desired bride. Ms. Morelle becomes intoxicated by its troubling, foreboding, yet strangely compelling sound.

Yet Dracula’s sinister sexual intensity has been stripped away as much as his devilish prowess. And this is the second time he’s left his coffin—his only refuge from sunlight—where it could easily be found (in House of Frankenstein he left it in the care of Doctor Niemann; smart move, there.)

Let’s recall who ultimately defeats him and Frankenstein's Monster, shall we?

Dracula, seconds after seeking safety in his coffin from the morning’s light, is efficiently pushed and pulled into the sunlight, to quietly fade away when Dr. Edelmann opens the lid; so he’s defeated by a man of science and medicine (in spite of his infection from Dracula through a blood transfusion, but not turned into a vampire through a neck bite). The Monster, finally recharged and ambulatory, is quickly and easily stopped with flammable chemicals enthusiastically deployed by Larry Talbot; so he’s defeated by a man, formerly cursed with lycanthropy, but now medically cured. The monstrous other, that dangerous and abnormal thing to be feared in every horror movie, novel, and story, and often cited by more sociological theory-prone genre buffs, is succinctly dealt with in House of Dracula using practical means. Even Dr. Edelmann’s Mr. Hyde-like alter-ego is quickly brought to heel by Talbot using a handgun; the last old monster to be cleansed from the new world, not by cleansing fire or wooden stake or evil-erasing silver, but by an ordinary bullet.

Let’s tally it up, shall we?

Talbott shot Dr. Edelmann dead and killed the Frankenstein Monster.

Talbott was cured of his supernatural affliction by an operation to relieve pressure on his brain.

Talbot lived, werewolf free. Of course, he became the Wolf Man again for Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein--no explanation given--but for now he's happy.

Watching him look at the full moon without changing into the Wolf Man is a fulfilling climax to his journey to find true death in Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man, then to find a cure in House of Frankenstei, and then a better cure in House of Dracula.

A cure!

Before this, monsters weren't cured, they were to be feared and exterminated as promptly as possible. When Talbott forces Inspector Holtz (Lionel Atwill) to lock him up so he doesn't kill anyone, his transformation brings pity from Dr. Edelmann and tears from nurse assistant Milizia, not fear. And when Dracula introduces himself to Dr. Edelmann and requests his help in finding a cure, the doctor isn't scared or even a little worried. Instead he poo-poos the whole notion of vampires, although he seems to know the folklore quite well, and then consents to take on the challenge after discovering Dracula is suffering from a blood infection. Just like that!

From doctors pushing past the boundaries of God's domain (Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein), to doctors misguided by an intoxicating taste of mastery over nature (Son of Frankenstein, The Ghost of Frankenstein, Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man), to doctors unwavering in their scientific hubris (House of Frankenstein, House of Dracula, Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein), the message is simple: it's not about the monsters outside, but the monsters within, and the strength of their power comes from fear.

But there were worse things than imagined monsters and worse fears to be generated from a society carrying torches constantly without realizing it. With the not-of-this-world threats of classic monsters supplanted by the realistic technological and sociological ones springing up from world war and the grim dawn of the Hiroshima Age, our nightmares could no longer hide behind folkloric, superstitious terrors from an ancient world; they danced uncontrollably at the periphery of our imagined armageddons.

What remained for Universal's now rendered harmless bogey men would be a final sendup in Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein, and a rebirth as "friendly" monsters, sparked by a generation of monsterkids looking for safety, and their imagination's comfort from the sturm und drang of an increasingly insensible and unfriendly world as the nuclear horrors of the 1950s take the spotlight, followed by the 1960s, where a peeping tom, a few zombies eating Pennsylvania, and a wizard of gore are about to bring the terror inside the home.

And yet there's one more monster rally to hold, one more jolt for the Frankenstein Monster to take, and one more chance for Bela Lugosi to don his Dracula cape. It’s also one more chance to look the classic fears of another world squarely in the the face and laugh, asking is this what I was afraid of?