I picked up Tod Browning’s classic, Dracula, on DVD recently and watched it early one morning before work. That really got me thinking about the fun of re-discovering things that I love and experiencing them many years removed from my initial encounters. My good friend Shloggs and I had a great conversation a few weeks prior to this writing. We discussed the Universal Monsters and it sparked my interest in them all over again. I recalled how much fun it was seeing them as a child. For some reason, I lost touch with those films over the years and did not have them in my collection. That oversight, however, is in the process of correction.
My relationship with the horror genre has its genesis in my childhood. Back in those days, cable had not yet made its way to our community. We depended upon a pole mounted antenna for our television viewing. Our reception was at times spotty and required occasional movement of the antenna to improve it. The big three network affiliates were the extent of our choices. ABC, NBC, and CBS. Those, my friends, were it. The ABC affiliate, WOWK, offered a late night horror program called Chiller. It aired on Saturday nights at 11:30 pm and featured black and white horror films until the wee hours of the dawn. Dracula, Frankenstein, The Wolf Man, The Invisible Man, and The Mummy were all in rotation. These tragic figures all came to life through the glow of our television's cathode ray tube. My young, impressionable mind became immersed in the Gothic proceedings. I am sure there were more films that I saw, I just cannot remember them presently. Now that I think about it, WOWK used to air TV ads for then current horror films during Chiller. I vividly remember being at my big Sister’s house and seeing a TV Spot for Lucio Fulci’s Zombie. It terrified me!! Petrified, I sank into the couch, afraid those hideous creatures would arrive at any minute. Much to my delight as an adult, that very TV Spot is on the Blue Underground DVD and was so much fun to see again.
CBS was a great source of horror television in those days. I was only eight years old at the time but my Mom was cool about letting me watch horror programs as she enjoyed them herself. She let me stay up with her on a cold November night in 1979 to watch the world television premiere of a new vampire flick titled Salem’s Lot. That film scared the hell out of me! It is still one of my favorite Vampire films. I stayed awake for most of the night with my head under the cover in fear that Danny Glick would be scratching at the glass. Floating in a strange mist with eyes aglow and fangs bared. Ah, the innocence of childhood. Little did I realize it then, but those were such wonderful times. Remember the CBS Late Movie? They would air awesome programming on Friday nights. Check out this clip to get an idea of what it was like:
Almost invariably, we would make the eight hour drive to my Aunt’s house in Tennessee for a week long visit each summer. These times were hugely important in my appreciation of horror films as well. We did not yet have a VHS machine but my Aunt did. She, like my Mom, enjoyed horror films and would rent them for us. They allowed us to witness graphic depictions of carnage and mayhem while immediately shielding our eyes should nudity occur. Anyhow, my cousins and I all turned out to be well-adjusted, perfectly sane adults, so no harm done. I have wonderful memories of being in her living room and watching Creepshow for the first time. The “Comic Book comes to life” presentation completely enveloped my attention and kept my eyes glued to the screen. My older brother used to have one of those HUGE satellite dishes(remember those)in his yard. Here was another source for exploring uncharted horror waters. Thanks to the now defunct satellite network SelecTV, I encountered a frozen wasteland of gripping terror and paranoid mistrust courtesy of John Carpenter’s The Thing. The same channel introduced me to the lycanthropic misadventures of David Kessler in An American Werewolf in London. Showtime was available via satellite then as well and was another source for un-cut introductions to horror titles. I refer specifically to my initial viewing of Lucio Fulci’s The Gates of Hell. It was shown under that title, not City of the Living Dead. I had no idea what was in store. Head drilling, tears of blood, teleporting corpses, brain ripping, and of course, intestinal tract regurgitation. When I was not staring in utter disbelief at the images before my eyes, I was turning my head in revulsion. Only to have my gaze drawn back again as if by some irresistible magnetic influence. You know, like when you try not look at a car wreck. Thankfully, it was explained to me that this was all artificial or I may have suffered extreme mental distress. Thanks to my cousin in Michigan, I became aware of the Romero zombie films. She is about ten years older than me so she got to see Dawn of the Dead on its original theatrical run. During one of her visits to Kentucky, she related to me the tale of this film that had corpses retuning to life, biting chunks out of people, and tearing the entrails from their bodies. I was immediately hooked and astonished by this story. I HAD to find this film!! No theatrical experience for me, but I had my first viewing on VHS in 1984 and never looked back. It has since become my absolute favorite horror film of all time.
I can look back with fondness now while I was terrified by those films at the time. I suppose that is why I still enjoy horror as an adult. It is inextricably linked to my formative years and all the wonderful memories associated with them. Whether I experienced tales of horror in the form of the printed page, a spinning reel of celluloid, or by the glow of a television’s cathode ray tube, all were incredible fun.
It was inevitable that I chose to discuss this topic for blog entry # 2. Those times have been on my mind as of late. I hope that these words will help you to re-discover something you cherish. It does not have to be a horror film or a song specifically. Maybe you will recall a long forgotten occurrence that will bring a smile to your face. If so, then this writing has served its purpose. I hope it has entertained you as well. I bid you all happy reminiscence and thanks for reading.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
The Rainbow Shines Evermore
I have been toying with the idea of blogging about films, music, and life in general for quite some time now. There are a myriad of themes to approach, so many in fact, that one hardly knows where to begin. After wrestling with what should be the inaugural topic, one came to my computer screen on Sunday May 16, 2010, that I could not deny addressing. I am referring to the passing of the greatest Metal vocalist to inhabit this planet, none other than Ronald James Padavona, otherwise known as Ronnie James Dio.
I first became aware of Dio in my early teens. It was during this time that his music became of monumental importance to my young life. I was a lanky, shy, and anxious lad struggling with the typical issues that come with the emergence from childhood years to the dawn of adolescence. (I have wonderful parents who always supplied my every need. In no way were my childhood or teen years hard in that respect; it was the constant struggle with my self-esteem). The types of things I reference are burgeoning acne, a bungling combination of awe and abject terror when approaching any girl I had a crush on, and wondering where I fit in.
It was during this awkward phase of my life that I began to read Hit Parader magazine and my fascination with the Grand Wizard took shape. After reading articles about this man of diminutive physical stature that possessed the voice of a giant, my lifelong appreciation began. Here was a poet for the Society of the Insecure, of which I was a card-carrying member. Ronnie James Dio’s music resonated with my vivid teenage mind's eye. Tales of mystery and wonder woven in an elegiac fashion, conveyed with a power that did belie its source. He brought forth stories of dragons, witches, wizards, and despondent dreamers, all told against scorching sonic tapestries of metal grandeur.
I spent many a Saturday night from 12 to 3 am taking in the metal videos offered via Headbanger’s Ball. Of course, Dio videos were a staple of the program and that is where I first saw The Last in Line music video. My teenage psyche was abuzz with delight as the events unfolded on my parents television screen. I beheld images of a boy who looked about my age busily riding his bike, making deliveries, when one such delivery goes wrong and takes him on an elevator ride to an ominous locale. (A note of interest is that said images were directed by none other than Don Coscarelli, creator of the Phantasm universe). Thrust into a world he scarcely comprehends, the boy struggles against the beasts who relegate Humans and Humanoid looking characters into torment. Yet, Dio rescues him as he strikes one of the creatures down with a light saber looking apparatus allowing the lad to escape, only to be dragged away toward his own imprisonment. Cheesy yes, but brilliance nonetheless. The first rate guitar work contributed to the track by Vivian Campbell helped to cement my love of distorted electric guitar tones. It's such a shame that he and Ronnie never worked together again following his departure from the fold. Their differences must have been irreconcilable. (You may chuckle at my enthusiasm for the video, but a part of that spirit still resides within me). Now that those teen years are far behind me and I approach the big 4-0, my love of Dio’s music has not diminished in the slightest regard and I still find great joy in his recordings.
From all the accounts I have heard and read about him over the years, the man possessed a heart as big as his voice, and he was a class act to his fans. Ever appreciative and gracious toward those of us who loved and valued his music.
The Royal Roar. The enigmatic weaver of mystical yarns. The Grand Wizard of classic rock. With whatever phrase you choose to describe him, the greatest voice in Heavy Metal is now silent. Though he may have shed the mortal coil and passed from existence upon the terrestrial plane, he leaves behind an unassailable body of recorded work, a testament to the irrefutable talent of which he possessed complete command. Unfortunately, I never had the pleasure of meeting Ronnie or attending a live show. Now he is gone from our world and I will not have that opportunity. If only he could have lived long enough for one more album, one more tour. Then again, I would be selfish and hope for yet another. What I do have, however, is a catalog of excellence I can delve into any time I wish. Whatever sphere of existence you may now occupy Ronnie, your legacy will continue to be appreciated by myself and the legions of souls whose lives were enriched by your soaring vocals and the poetic majesty of your lyrics. Ronald James Padavona, dead at 67 years of age, stricken down by Stomach Cancer. You are the Rainbow in the Dark that shines. Sing on Dragon Slayer, forevermore.
I first became aware of Dio in my early teens. It was during this time that his music became of monumental importance to my young life. I was a lanky, shy, and anxious lad struggling with the typical issues that come with the emergence from childhood years to the dawn of adolescence. (I have wonderful parents who always supplied my every need. In no way were my childhood or teen years hard in that respect; it was the constant struggle with my self-esteem). The types of things I reference are burgeoning acne, a bungling combination of awe and abject terror when approaching any girl I had a crush on, and wondering where I fit in.
It was during this awkward phase of my life that I began to read Hit Parader magazine and my fascination with the Grand Wizard took shape. After reading articles about this man of diminutive physical stature that possessed the voice of a giant, my lifelong appreciation began. Here was a poet for the Society of the Insecure, of which I was a card-carrying member. Ronnie James Dio’s music resonated with my vivid teenage mind's eye. Tales of mystery and wonder woven in an elegiac fashion, conveyed with a power that did belie its source. He brought forth stories of dragons, witches, wizards, and despondent dreamers, all told against scorching sonic tapestries of metal grandeur.
I spent many a Saturday night from 12 to 3 am taking in the metal videos offered via Headbanger’s Ball. Of course, Dio videos were a staple of the program and that is where I first saw The Last in Line music video. My teenage psyche was abuzz with delight as the events unfolded on my parents television screen. I beheld images of a boy who looked about my age busily riding his bike, making deliveries, when one such delivery goes wrong and takes him on an elevator ride to an ominous locale. (A note of interest is that said images were directed by none other than Don Coscarelli, creator of the Phantasm universe). Thrust into a world he scarcely comprehends, the boy struggles against the beasts who relegate Humans and Humanoid looking characters into torment. Yet, Dio rescues him as he strikes one of the creatures down with a light saber looking apparatus allowing the lad to escape, only to be dragged away toward his own imprisonment. Cheesy yes, but brilliance nonetheless. The first rate guitar work contributed to the track by Vivian Campbell helped to cement my love of distorted electric guitar tones. It's such a shame that he and Ronnie never worked together again following his departure from the fold. Their differences must have been irreconcilable. (You may chuckle at my enthusiasm for the video, but a part of that spirit still resides within me). Now that those teen years are far behind me and I approach the big 4-0, my love of Dio’s music has not diminished in the slightest regard and I still find great joy in his recordings.
From all the accounts I have heard and read about him over the years, the man possessed a heart as big as his voice, and he was a class act to his fans. Ever appreciative and gracious toward those of us who loved and valued his music.
The Royal Roar. The enigmatic weaver of mystical yarns. The Grand Wizard of classic rock. With whatever phrase you choose to describe him, the greatest voice in Heavy Metal is now silent. Though he may have shed the mortal coil and passed from existence upon the terrestrial plane, he leaves behind an unassailable body of recorded work, a testament to the irrefutable talent of which he possessed complete command. Unfortunately, I never had the pleasure of meeting Ronnie or attending a live show. Now he is gone from our world and I will not have that opportunity. If only he could have lived long enough for one more album, one more tour. Then again, I would be selfish and hope for yet another. What I do have, however, is a catalog of excellence I can delve into any time I wish. Whatever sphere of existence you may now occupy Ronnie, your legacy will continue to be appreciated by myself and the legions of souls whose lives were enriched by your soaring vocals and the poetic majesty of your lyrics. Ronald James Padavona, dead at 67 years of age, stricken down by Stomach Cancer. You are the Rainbow in the Dark that shines. Sing on Dragon Slayer, forevermore.
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