Creature Features Happy New Year

This was the ad for what was shown on Creature Features on New Year's Day 1972.

Shocktober 10/28/21

The current desktop photo at work.

Shocktober 10/27/21

This postcard was sent out to viewers who wrote in with fan mail to WGN's "Creature Features" program back in the early 1970s. Would have loved to have received one of these back in the day--or, hell, now.

Shocktober 10/22/20

I found this postcard for WGN's horror showcase, Creature Features, on Facebook recently. Wouldn't you have loved to have received this in the mail circa 1973? Wouldn't you love to receive it now? I know I would.

At the Red Lion Friday Night

Nice to know somebody at the Red Lion remembers Creature Features.

The Girl in the White Bathing Suit

The late September Saturday was unseasonably warm, rendering my mostly black attire (shirt, shoes and Go-Go White Sox-style baseball cap) entirely inappropriate for standing outside for any great length of time.

Then again, I hadn't anticipated standing outside for any great length of time. Perhaps I should have. Whatever the case, there I was, baking in a sweat lodge of my own making, waiting in line outside the Patio Theater to get in for a 3D showing of Creature from the Black Lagoon.

Of all the monsters from all the monster movies from Universal, the Gill Man had long been my favorite. It wasn't just because the Creature was inherently sympathetic--yes, he killed people, but did he ask those knotheads to come messing about in his lagoon? No, he did not--and it wasn't just because the story was basically an uncredited remake of King Kong (another inherently sympathetic "monster").

It was really because the design of the Creature (by Millicent Patrick, according to Wikipedia, though the then-head of Universal's makeup department, Bud Westmore, received the sole onscreen credit) was so organically believable. the Creature looked like something that could actually exist--and, when I was a very young child, I firmly believed that he did exist. Not only that, but I was certain that he lived in the lagoon in Humboldt Park; the water sure looked black to me, so why wouldn't he live there? (Then again, I also firmly believe that, if I gathered enough nuts and bolts from around the neighborhood, I could build my own robot. My imagination was, shall we politely say, vivid.)

I had seen Creature many times over the years--first on Creature Features, then later on VHS, DVD and Blu-ray--but I'd never seen the movie on the big screen, much less in its original 3D. But was that really why I was standing in this line under the surprisingly hot September sun, eager to get inside? Or was it because of my boundless love for the Patio itself?

No, it was not. I was really here to see Julie Adams.

Julie Adams was a contract player at Universal in the 1950s and had a number of starring roles in feature films like Bend of the River opposite James Stewart (in one of the six westerns he with director Anthony Mann) and Man from the Alamo with Glenn Ford (for another legendary western director, Budd Boetticher). She later went on to work extensively in television, guest-starring on everything from the original Perry Mason to the Big Valley to Night Gallery to Murder, She Wrote to Lost--a career spanning more than 60 years.

For many fans, though, the signature Julie Adams was in Creature from the Black Lagoon, in which she played Kay Lawrence, a marine biologist who is recruited along with her boyfriend, David (Richard Carlson), and their boss, Mark (Richard Denning), to go up the Amazon in search of fossils of what looks like a human/fish hybrid, only to find one very much alive, very much pissed off specimen (played on land by tall, burly stuntman Ben Chapman and in the water by Ricou Browning, who could hold his breath and swim vigorously for minutes at a time).

This goes about as well as you'd expect for the scientists/explorers: Several get mauled to death by the Gill Man, while Kay, who is intelligent and thoughtful through most of the movie, is reduced to screaming her lungs out when she's grabbed by the Creature and spirited away to his underwater grotto (to be fair: I think anyone would scream under those circumstances) and must be rescued by David.

The last we see of the Creature is his bullet-riddled body drifting down to the bottom of the lagoon, presumably dead. (Except not really: The Gill Man returned for two sequels, Revenge of the Creature and The Creature Walks Among Us.)

Aside from the Creature himself, the most indelible image from the movie--and one of the most indelible images from any movie of that era--is of Adams herself in a one-piece white bathing suit, swimming without a care in the lagoon while the Gill Man matches her move for move beneath the surface. The fact that Adams really only appears in the shots where her character is seen above water (Adams was doubled in all underwater swimming shots by stuntwoman Ginger Stanley) has not diminished the potency of the imagery, in part because Adams was one of the most beautiful women ever to appear on the big screen--then or now--and because numerous publicity shots showed her in that white bathing suit.

A couple of years ago, Adams wrote The Lucky Southern Star: Reflections from the Black Lagoon, a memoir of her time in Hollywood. Since its publication, she has made appearances around the country, talking about her lengthy career and autographing copies of the book.

And that was what she would be doing at the Patio that day--hence, my reason for standing in that line, waiting for the doors that were supposed to open at one in the afternoon to allow us inside sometime before showtime.

Finally, sometime around 1:20, we were told to head inside; people who'd bought tickets online (like me) could go to a table on the left, while everyone else hit the old-school ticket booth on the right. The left branch of the line moved briskly, and I was soon past it with 3D glasses in hand, headed for...another line, this one snaking off to the left of the conscession stand to a corner of the lobby near the entrance to the downstairs men's bathroom. I assumed this was the line that led to Julie Adams and got in step with everybody else.

The usually expansive lobby of the Patio was decidedly clutter this day--not just with people grabbing tickets and standing in snaking lines, but with vendors of various kinds. One sold oil paintings of various horror icons; another sold Halloween-themes jewelry; still another had comic books and action figures (though, somewhat weirdly, none of the Creature, which surely would been hot sellers in this venue); and, nearest the entrance, a table stacked with copies of the novelization of Creature from the Black Lagoon and 11"x17" poster reproductions. I hadn't thought to bring my own copy of the novel (purchased from the same vendor at a Printers Row Lit Fest a couple of years back), but that was fine. I wanted a copy of Adams' memoir, which was almost certainly for sale at the end of this line.

Several other people in line had mementos of their own for Ms. Adams to autograph. A couple had full-sized poster repros. One had a half-bust of the Creature with a flat, smooth patch on the back, ideal for signing. (How this guy intended to display this piece after it was signed was beyond me.) And one surprisingly young fan (looked to be in his early 20s) had a full-head Creature mask that he had Adams sign on its forehead.

The line shuffled slowly forward until, three or four patrons down, I saw her--a small, elderly lady with medium-brown hair, a teal blouse and a white sports jacket. She was signing pretty much whatever was put in front of her, shaking hands and posing for photos with fans and, more than anything else, smiling broadly, clearly enjoying the fact that so many fans had come out not just to see a nearly 60-year-old monster movie, but her in particular.

Finally, I got close enough to the table to see the deal: You could buy her memoir with just her signature; pay a bit more and have said signature personalized to you; or go for the deluxe package of memoir with personalized signature, 8"x10" photo with personalized signature and a copy of the Creature soundtrack (a composite score made up of contributions from several composers, including leftovers from Hanz Salter's music from 1940s Universal monster movies and bits from a young Henry Mancini).

I opted for the deluxe package (seemed like a fair deal, really, considering all I'd be getting, along with the opportunity to meet Julie Adams) and forked over my $40 to the man behind the stack of memoir copies. This man, it turns out, was Mitchell Danton, coauthor of the memoir, as well as being Julie's son from her marriage to fellow actor Ray Danton. He asked my name, handed a copy of the book to his mom and told her my name. She looked up at me, smiled and shook my hand gently. I tend to fumble my words around celebrities, but I managed to get out how wonderful it was to meet her without strangling myself with my tongue. She asked me if the dedication "Hope you enjoy my Hollywood adventures!" would be OK with me, and of course I said that would be fine. Honestly, no matter what she wrote in the book, I'd have been fine with it. I assured her that I did indeed enjoy her Hollywood adventures. "And now you can read about them!" she replied, smiling brightly.

While she was signing my copy of her memoir, her son asked me which photo I wanted autographed. There were at least a dozen on the table, from various points in her career, but my eye immediately gravitated to the shots from Creature--especially those of her in the famous white bathing suit. I chose one of her posed with her right hand on a tree trunk for balance, and Mitchell turned to a box behind the table that held copies of all the photos spread out before me. By the time Julie had finished her dedication and, rather charmingly, blown on the ink to dry it before closing the cover, Mitchell had pulled a copy of my requested 8x10, had handed it to his mother and suggested what the dedication for this particular photo should be: "Join me for a swim?" (Why yes, don't mind if I do...)

After she signed the photo and marveled that she's gotten the dedication right on the first try, I asked if she would mind posing for a photo. She smiled again and was more than happy to do so.

As I came around the side of the table and handed my camera to a bystander, I accidentally kicked over the two bottles of water on the floor beside her (which she no doubt needed--since the Patio was still without air conditioning, the lobby was a bit stuffy, and Ms. Adams had been fanning herself with pieces of paper just a few minutes earlier). I apologized, smiled for the camera and, seeing her start to reach down for the bottles, reached ahead of her, apologizing again. "I knocked them over--the least I could do is pick them up." She thanked me and, again, shook my hand and smiled.

I got out of the way as quickly as I could--there was still a substantial like of folks waiting for autographs and photos--and cut through the line to head down to the bathroom. Before going in, though, I stashed the book, photo and CD in my backpack for safe keeping, though, to pass the time until the movie started, I pulled the memoir back out again once comfortably seated in the auditorium. Though it's technically a paperback, it's printed on heavy stock, no doubt to improve the quality of the many photos spread throughout. The front and back covers were also printed on heavier cardboard than usual, likely because each had numerous photos printed on the other side--the front inside cover had posters and lobby cards from many of her other movies, while the back inside cover was exclusively devoted to Creature pictures, including a shot of the Julie Adams figure that came with the deluxe Creature action figure from a couple of years ago.

As for the movie itself, the showing got off to a rough start--the film ran for two or three minutes without any sound. Audience members started shouting out their own replacement soundtrack contributions (like "BOOM!" for explosions or the score's famous "dun dun DUN!" spike), while others simply sent up shouts of "Sound?" into the darkness. The projectionist stopped the film, and somebody came out to tell us that the problem was being worked on. Sure enough, after two or three more minutes, the movie started up again, this time accompanied by its proper soundtrack.

The 3D varied in effectiveness--the subtle moments scored best (bubbles drifting through the water, rifles or spearguns held by characters suddenly swinging out over the audience, depth of image while Adams and Carlson stand on deck), while one big, obvious effect worked well (the fossilized hand found at the beginning of the movie seemed to stretch out several rows over the amazed patrons, eliciting a few gasps and more than a few laughs).

After the movie was over, Julie Adams was brought out onto the stage to much applause, and a questions-and-answer session ensued. I chose this moment to head out--other places to go, other people to see--but paused at the doorway and looked back as Adams answered questions and smiled at the assembled crowd.

Sunday morning, I framed the 8x10 and placed it on the hallway wall of La Casa del Terror, in honor of Creature from the Black Lagoon's charming star, who turns 87 years old today (coincidentally one year older than the Patio itself)--though nothing was old about those eyes, that smile or the warmth expressed to that line of grateful fans. Nothing at all.

RIP: The Original Svengoolie

Back in the days before the home video revolution, cable, satellite dishes and the Internet, if you wanted to see a movie, there were only two things to do: get off your ass and go to a theater, or sit on your ass and watch whatever was playing that night on TV. And, if you were lucky enough to live in a big city like, say, Chicago (which I was), you had a few choices, since most local stations (even the network affiliates) had air time to fill.

And if it was, say, a Friday night in the early '70s? My choice was to tune in to Screaming Yellow Theater on WFLD.

Sure, the initial attraction was the movies, a mixed bag of '40s and '50s B-grade (or lower) horror and sci-fi flicks, but that's not why I tuned in week after week. I tuned in for the man who appeared just before and after the commercial breaks. The man in the long green wig, sunglasses (worn at night) and striped bellbottoms. The man who did little skis, told jokes and, inevitably, got hit by a rain of rubber chickens.

I tuned in for Svengoolie.

Upon the news of his passing this past Sunday of a heart attack at the age of 77, one of the websites for a local network affiliate said his real name was Jerry G. Bishop, but that wasn't true--his real name was Jerry Ghan, who worked in radio and TV for decades as Jerry G. Bishop (or, when he was a DJ in the '60s, just Jerry G.). He was originally from Chicago, but also worked in Cleveland pre-Svengoolie and San Diego post-Svengoolie.

But what we in the Windy City remember him best for is, of course, the shtick he did around awful movies like The Bride and the Beast and Death Curse of Tartu. His humor never seemed mean or overly adult, but something kids could take one meaning from and adults another. And, given how bad most of the movies were, he made them watchable.

He did something else as well. He inspired an interest in watching movies on a regular basis and, along with Creature Feature over on WGN, began my cinematic education at a very early age.

He also inspired a young college student, who went on to work for Mr. Bishop as a writer and, a few years later, as his replacement--Rich Koz, the current Svengoolie, who has written his own touching tribute to his friend and mentor.

His run as the original Sven lasted a relatively short time--only three years--but his impact is still felt today, in Chicago and, thanks to ME-TV, well beyond.

Rest in peace, Jerry G., and flights of rubber chickens wing thee to thy rest.

Shocktober 10/28/12

The Horror of It All

First, there was the sound--a long, groaning, creaking sound that could only issue forth from a centuries-old coffin lid.

Then came the music--an eerie, bass-driven tune punctuated by shrill, specific guitar notes and accentuated by strings and, perhaps, a harp.

Then the string of black & white images from classic Universal horror films like Dracula, Frankenstein, The Wolf Man and The Mummy flowed across the screen.

Finally, the title card bearing the freehand-drawn visage of a man with long, flowing hair, a formal top hat, bulging eyes and a smile that seemed to show dozens (if not hundreds) of razor-sharp teeth displayed the name of the program as the voiceover man (initially Carl Greyson, later Marty McNeely, both newscasters handling the late shift) announced the evening's feature presentation.

So began nearly every showing of Creature Features, the weekly WGN horror-movie showcase that stirred the imaginations--and haunted the dreams--of children and adults alike from its premiere on Saturday, September 19, 1970 until May 1976. (The very first and very last movies shown on Creature Features were one and the same: the Tod Browning/Bela Lugosi version of Dracula.)

In my memory, such as it is, Creature Features lasted at least two years longer than that, and I could swear that I ran across a late-night version of it that eschewed the usual montage and just presented the title card with the line drawing of Lon Chaney from London After Midnight (ironically, a long-lost silent film that therefore could never be shown on Creature Features--or anywhere else, for that matter) and the spooky Henry Mancini theme lifted from Blake Edwards' Experiment in Terror (also ironically, not a horror film and therefore something that would never be shown on Creature Features).

Regardless of how long the show was actually on the air, it made a deep impression on me and much of my generation growing up in Chicago in the 1970s. It also gave me my first introduction to many of the classics of the genre--in addition to the aforementioned Universal horror classics of the '30s and '40s, Creature Features also ran selections from Warner Bros. (Doctor X), Columbia (The Black Room), 20th Century Fox (The Lodger) and even Japan's Toho Studios (the Americanized version of the original Godzilla and my all-time favorite daikaiju classic, War of the Gargantuas).

As I've mentioned before, I was lucky enough to have grown up in Chicago, where we had many TV stations with lots of programming time to fill, even in the days before all stations ran all 24 hours. (In the 1970s, most stations were off the air by one o'clock in the morning.) And what was one of the most cost-effective way to fill that time? Movies. That meant just about every channel had at least one regularly scheduled movie program. Some, like WGN, had several. So we were lucky enough to have more than one horror-film showcase on the air at the same time.

In fact, the other high-profile monster show in Chicago in the 1970s officially started just one day before Creature Features first stalked the airwaves. Well, sort of.

That Friday night, September 18, 1970, WFLD launched their own horror movie showcase, Screaming Yellow Theater. At first, it didn't really have a host--not even a line drawing standing in for a host a la Creature Features. It just had the voice of staff announcer Jerry G. Bishop doing a Bela Lugosi impersonation--appropriate enough, since the first feature that first night was Ghosts on the Loose, an East Side Kids comedy with Lugosi as a menacing guest star.

According to Chicago TV Horror Movie Shows: From Shock Theatre to Svengoolie, the very entertaining history of our fair city's horror movie showcases by Ted Okuda and Mark Yurkiw, Bishop continued hosting Screaming Yellow Theater off-screen for several months, maintaining the Lugosi impression while adding smart-ass comments about the movies, which weren't nearly up to the fare over on WGN. There were a few certified classics, like the original Night of the Living Dead and Mario Bava's Black Sunday and some unsung gems like Night Tide (starring a young Dennis Hopper) or The Haunter Strangler (starring an old Boris Karloff), but most of the movies on Screaming Yellow Theater were low-budget, no-star garbage that needed all the help they could get. And come that following summer, boy would they get it. When Bishop finally debuted on-screen as Svengoolie, Screaming Yellow Theater completely stopped being about the movies and was now all about the green-haired hippy vampire with the Transylvanian accent. the movies were still there and still bad, but the jokes were worse, which made them that much funnier. Bishop was basically doing stand-up prop comedy (most of the props being rubber chickens hurled at him whenever he made a bad pun, which was often) on a decidedly shoestring budget. He was also obviously having a blast with the gig.

For all good things, though, there is an end, and the end for Svengoolie came rather unceremoniously in the first week of September 1973, when the new owners of WFLD decided to save some money (like they were spending a whole lot of cash on the show anyway), cancel Svengoolie and use the horror host they already had on their payroll in Cleveland and Detroit: The Ghoul, successor to Ghoulardi (a.k.a. Ernie Anderson, father of director P.T. Anderson).

I tuned in the next Saturday, fully expecting to be entertained by the green-haired hippy vampire telling corny jokes and making silly puns, only to find a new guy dressed as a gangster and toting a Tommy gun. (Because he was on in Chicago now. And we think gangsters are hilarious.) At least that's how my nine-year-old mind recorded the event. (Remember what I said above about memory.)

Whatever actually happened that night, three things were verifiably clear: Svengoolie was gone. The Ghoul was here. And the Ghoul was just not amusing to me. (Apparently, it wasn't just me. He only stayed on Chicago airwaves for a few months, though he's been on and off the air in Cleveland and Detroit ever since and even has his own website. More power to him.)

Even as good things end, other good things begin. After a few years without either Creature Features and Screaming Yellow Theater and only a few quieter, hostless shows (one of them ironically named Creature Feature and even more ironically on WFLD, former home of Svengoolie) to feed our need for monster mashes, WFLD changes ownership again--in fact, changed back to the previous ownership, which wanted its own horror host again. That's how they wound up with Son of Svengoolie (a.k.a. Rich Koz) in June 1979. That lasted until 1986, but there was life in the ol' Goolie yet: he rose from the dead on New Year's Eve 1994 and has been showing bad movies (and telling worse jokes) ever since.

So this weekend when the 40th anniversaries of Creature Features and Screaming Yellow Theater are upon us, raise a pint (of blood) in celebration and watch a bad movie. Something with Bela Lugosi would do just fine.

Shocktober: Creature Features Intro (sort of)

I was fortunate enough to grow up in Chicago, where I had many local TV viewing options when I was young and impressionable.

Not only could I enjoy the antics of Svengoolie (both the original, Jerry G. Bishop, and his replacement--still going strong after 30 years!--Rich Koz), but I could cower on the couch of what passed for our family rec room as the strains of Henry Mancini's "experiment in Terror" played over the intro to WGN's Creature Features, which played the classic Universal horror films from the '30s and '40s, as well as various sci-fi flicks and even the occasional Godzilla film.

The aforementioned creepy intro was accidentally thrown out by WGN ages ago, and no videotape has turned up (most people didn't have VCRs in the early '70s). However, an enterprising soul has re-created the intro on YouTube, using an audio recording of the program to add the spooky voice of newsman/voiceover guy Carl Grayson to the footage of the Wolf Man, Frankenstein Monster and Dracula stalking the night.

Enjoy.

Monday Miscellania 10/12/09

Last Movie I saw: Whip It. Why did this movie fail at the box office? Was it resistance to the concept of Drew Barrymore as a director? (She does a relatively straightforward job--not bad for a first-timer, but with plenty of room to grow.) Was it a general lack of interest in roller derby? Was it backlash-by-proxy against Diablo Cody because Ellen Page starred in Juno? (At least one review I read felt the need to crack on RS while praising Page--Diablo-as-piñata has become the latest crutch for lazy film critics.)

Whatever. Whip It is an entertaining little flick--the plot is a cliche combo of "teen rebels against tight-assed mom" and "bad-but-plucky sports team becomes good enough to play for the championship," but it's more than slightly freshened by a remarkably deep cast (Page, Daniel Stern, Marcia Gay Harden, Kristen Wiig, Zoe Bell and Barrymore herself).

If you can't get out to one of the few theaters still rolling it, look for it on cable or DVD in a few months. It'll be worth it.

Travel Reading: Chicago TV Horror Shows: From Shock Theatre to Svengoolie. This history of local TV shows specializing in horror films given to me as a Christmas present by JB a couple of years ago, and it's been an off-and-on travel companion of mine ever since. Writers Ted Okuda and Mark Yurkiw ramble a bit--they could have used a good copyeditor.

They do, however, hit many the high points of my misspent youth, including Creature Features on WGN (with its creepy Henry Mancini theme music and that drawing of Lon Chaney from London After Midnight that gave me nightmares for years) and both the original Svengoolie, Jerry G. Bishop, and his successor, Son of Svengoolie, Rich Koz, who's still on the air every Saturday night, with bad movies and worse jokes. I couldn't think of a better visual comfort food.

Last, But Not Least: The Chicago Transit Authority announced today that as of February 2010, they're simultaneously raising fares (some as high as $3 per ride) and cutting service. So, we'll be paying even more and getting even less! Happy Monday, everybody!

The Screening Room

My earliest recollection of seeing a film on the big screen goes back to 1970 or so, when Mom took me to the Congress Theater in Logan Square to see The Wizard of Oz. The Congress still stands at the corner of Milwaukee and Rockwell--its facade covered with terra cotta faces, its interior dark and cavernous--though it hasn't shown a movie in years. It occasionally hosts concerts, like this past New Year's Eve, when there aren't discussions of gutting it and turning the building into (guess what?) a condo development. But back in 1970, the Congress was a second-run movie house just a few blocks away from Grandma's house.

I only remember the two of us being there, but that can't be right. Rarely have I ever had a theater "to myself": The time I saw Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas with a couple of co-workers, one of whom I had a huge crush on (and her insistence that I sit next to her even though we were the only people in the theater didn't help a bit); the time I saw the X-Files movie at a theater in St. Joseph, MI with an ex-girlfriend who fell asleep during the movie (lucky her); and a recent showing of Glitter with Red Sercretary (there were six people in the theater, including security). But memories are odd things. They create their own realities. So even though the Congress may have been packed to the balcony with nostalgic moviegoers, I can only recall Mom and me being there.

I have no idea to this day why Mom chose that particular movie to take me to. Maybe she thought that, despite the presence of the Wicked Witch, the talking trees and the flying monkeys, The Wizard of Oz was still, in the end, a "family" movie. Maybe she just thought it was a nice Mom/son thing to do on a weekend afternoon (as it must have certainly been, considering that she was working third shift in a plastics factory during the week). Or maybe she was, in her own way, preparing me for eventually entering the work force and dealing with management (again, the flying monkeys). Whatever her reasons, though, she took me to the Congress, we watched the movie, and my love of cinema was born.

I was fortunate enough to grow up in Chicago, where not only where there movie theaters within reasonable reach (not as many as in Mom's day, when--according to a laminated page from one of the daily papers from the '40s that my comic shop guy once showed me--there seemed to be a movie house every four blocks or so, but still) and drive-ins still open and operating, but there were numerous local TV stations looking to fill air time and using movies to do it. From "Creature Features" on WGN (where you could find Dracula, the Wolf Man or Godzilla on the prowl at any given time) to "The Three O'clock Movie" on WLS (where theme weeks would take the viewer from Westerns to World War II to the Hammer horror films) to the afternoon movie show on UHF station WSNS (where I saw Yojimbo, Magical Mystery Tour and The Trial for the first time), I had access to just about every style of film making, just about every type of movie, just about every level of competency--from Orson Welles to Ed Wood and all stops in between.

Access to such variety was key to forming the affection for movies I've carried into adulthood. I have special affection for horror films, but appreciate movies from all genres. And I even have an appreciation for bad movies. Really. I don't consider them to be a waste of time at all; every time I see some waste of film stock like, say, They Saved Hitler's Brain or the aforementioned Glitter, my appreciation for classics like The Quiet Man, Pandora's Box or Wings of Desire only grows.

I still love going out to the theater and am blessed to have an old-fashioned neighborhood movie house, the Davis, within easy reach. It was almost razed a couple years ago for (guess what?) a condo development, but the developer quickly withdrew his interest when confronted with a community in full snarl. The Davis was a second-run theater then. Since its change in ownership, it's become a first-run theater again, with an accompanying rise in prices. But it's also cleaner than it used to be and, most importantly, has more butts in seats than it's seen in many years. The community fought to keep it, and then they came out to support it in the most concrete way they could: With their money.

But I also like sitting around my living room with friends, pizza and cider, showing off my DVD player and my way-too-fucking-big movie collection. Most of my partners in crime share my love for cinema (both good and bad) and like just hanging out and talking about movies. And more than one friend--though, in particular, JB--has urged me to write a book of movie reviews, or at least to publish the horror film reviews I write for the annual Halloween Movie Bash ("HMB" for short) held (usually) at my place on the Saturday before H-Day. But I've yet to muster the personal/professional discipline to do that, so...

...As of this week, I'm setting aside a page of this bloggity for movie reviews. I'll try to add reviews as time allows--as I said, I've got a lot of horror film reviews already written, but I want to mix the bag up a bit with reviews of contemporary flicks and non-horror classics. Still, because I'm a) lazy, b) coming off a cold/flu/whatever, and c) fighting the urge to throw my keyboard out the window because it keeps doubling letters up at random while not typing other letters at all (again, at random), I'm starting out with a review of a horror film. But not just any horror film: One of the stankiest ever made, Robot Monster. Check back in "The Screening Room" regularly. I'm more likely to update it than I am to do the home page. But whenever I send out an announcement, I'll try to remember to let y'all know what's new there.

Now, please excuse me--I'm midway through watching Ghost World and am digging it too much, getting that high that one can only hit when your mind has been opened just a crack further by a piece of great art.