A LOVING LOOK BACK at ’70s Horror Movies

Thinking back, it seems to me that horror movies stopped being scary back in the 1970s. Is it the movies, or is it me? I was younger then, so maybe it didn’t take much to scare me. Or maybe the real world was less frightening back then, making cinematic terrors seem more intimidating by comparison.

Back then, nobody worried about terrorism or AIDS or mad-cow disease or flesh-eating bacteria or any of the other dozens of bugaboos plaguing society today. Yesteryear’s shockers didn’t have to compete with planes flying into skyscrapers or anthrax threats or beheadings in the Middle East.

What scared me back then? The hideous, charred face of “The Abominable Dr. Phibes” was pretty darned scary, but the stylish doctor was a sophisticated creampuff compared to the deep-South inbred maniacs of the “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” gang. When I first saw that title, I thought it might be some kind of wacky dark comedy, a la “Little Shop of Horrors” – boy, was I wrong!

The grainy film quality, the herky-jerky camera action, all gave a jittery, realistic quality to the “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” nightmares up on the screen. And the first time you see old Leatherface, revving up his chainsaw in that ramshackle house of madness – that’s a sight you won’t soon forget.

Not all movies of that era achieved that same degree of realism, but they were still plenty horrific. For example, the plot of “Sssssss” was utterly implausible, but that’s okay – its sheer exuberance carried it through.

Strother Martin played a mad scientist bent on turning humanity into a race of super-intelligent king cobras, for all sorts of goofball reasons. And gee, he’d even invented the formula that would do the trick.

Soon his handsome young assistant’s hair is falling out and his skin begins turning scaly. Now if I was working for a mad scientist who was cuckoo for reptiles and my skin suddenly began growing scales… I’d put two and two together. I’d figure out that little Scooby Doo mystery in no time.

But sadly, the assistant in this slithery potboiler never connects the dots. Before long he’s the poster boy for the world’s most effective slimming program. No arms, no legs, just a lanky serpentine abdomen – that’s about as slender as you’re gonna get.

“The Devil’s Rain,” with it’s ghoulish cult of wax-blooded devil-worshippers, is a great example of the many Satanic horror movies of the Seventies. The Devil was scarier back then! William Shatner’s super-exuberant acting style fit perfectly into this Mephistophelean drive-in shocker.

Even made-for-TV movies were scarier in those days. The old “Kolchak: The Night Stalker” TV movies, and the weekly series that followed, worked my young nerves into a frenzy with their cheesy chills and thrills.

Darren McGavin played a gonzo reporter in a cheap suit who was forever chasing vampires and werewolves and even Jack the Ripper around town in his continuing quest for the ultimate scoop. And he usually ended up vanquishing the monster – but gosh darn it, his camera film wouldn’t develop, or the cops would lose the evidence, or some other exasperating inconvenience would foul the deal, so that Kolchak’s crabby editor would have to axe the story.

They never showed more than a glimpse of the monsters, and that actually made it even scarier. You’d wait and wait for that choice moment when suddenly the creature would pop out of the shadows, ready to flay poor Kolchak to bits. Fortunately, he always did his research, so he’d have the necessary cross or wolfbane or whatever was needed to conquer the boogeyman du jour.

But I will admit, in recent years, I’ve seen a few movies that conveyed the same macabre mood as those ’70s favorites of mine, so I guess it is still possible for me to be captivated by cinema horror. They aren’t super-new releases, but you can find them in most stores that sell DVDs.

“Jeepers Creepers” and “Jeepers Creepers 2” tell the tale of a hideous creature that wakes every 23 years to feast for 23 days. If the Creeper needs to replace a hand or leg or other segment of his body, he’ll just eat that bit off a tasty victim and presto! New replacement part. That’s a pretty gonzo idea for a monster. “Cabin in the Woods” and “Dead Silence” are other, more recent movies that also hit the bull’s-eye with plenty of exhilarating weirdness.

Weirdness — that’s what a lot of movies since the ’70s have been missing. Many of today’s movies seem to be retreads of earlier, better movies.

Plus, ’70s horror movies had a lot more energy. The critters leaped into the horror arena with savage gusto. A lot of today’s monsters either hover in the shadows or straggle across the screen like damp tomcats that have been left out in the rain all night.

So if you’re looking for a creepy chiller and the new releases aren’t cuttin’ it for you, try hunting down some vintage ’70s classics. You have nothing to lose – except your SANITY! Bwaaah-haaa-haaaa-haaaaaaah!

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THE BOUNDARIES OF HORROR

Some people say, horror can ONLY happen in a mold-streaked castle or a moonlit forest.

Some people say, horror should NOT feature comedic elements.

Some people say, zombies MUST follow the rules of certain specific popular movies.

To all that, I say: Sorry, but no, no, and no.

Horror can happen on the beach, in a nightclub or at the mall.

Horror can be a gibbering fool, a prancing clown, a shambling day-glo monstrosity.

And a zombie can be whatever its creator wants it to be … fast or slow, smart or stupid, mute or chatting like a talk-show host.

Whenever people try to impose boundaries on the horror genre, I can only ask: Why? Horror is all about surprises. When you start imposing boundaries, you kill the surprises.

My story collection BEACH BLANKET ZOMBIE features bizarre settings, weird comedy, and the most unconventional zombies you could ever hope to meet (on a page, that is … not in person). I compiled these specific stories to show what horror can be, if given the chance. Follow this link to check out the e-book on Amazon.com (it’s also available as a trade paperback): http://www.amazon.com/Beach-Blanket-Zombie-Humanoid-ebook/dp/B0091X6XTO

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These Movies Don’t Exist – BUT THEY SHOULD!!!

Grover Cleveland Gorgon Decapitator

Grover Cleveland: Gorgon Decapitator

Calvin Coolidge Vs The Radioactive Vampire Zombies

Calvin Coolidge Vs. The Radioactive Vampire Zombies

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Excellent Horror Authors, Often Overlooked

Want to check out some great horror authors who are often overlooked these days? Check out some of these fine folks:

Basil Copper, http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/38689.Basil_Copper
Born in 1924, Basil Copper is a master of sophisticated weird horror tales. His best collections include From Evil’s Pillow; And Afterward, The Dark; and Here Be Daemons.

Robert Aickman, http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/36998.Robert_Aickman
British author Robert Aickman wrote subtle, surreal supernatural stories with a sublime degree of creepiness. His best collections include Painted Devils, Cold Hand in Mine, and The Wine-Dark Sea.

Oliver Onions, http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/290215.Oliver_Onions
Not only are the ghost stories of Oliver Onions entertaining, but they also feature strong characterization, a polished writing style, and well-developed plots. His best collection is The Collected Ghost Stories of Oliver Onions.

Bram Stoker, http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6988.Bram_Stoker
While most people know him as the author of Dracula, most do not realize that he was also the author of many excellent horror stories. You’ll find the best of his short fiction in Dracula’s Guest and Other Weird Tales.

Hugh B. Cave, http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8637.Hugh_B_Cave
Hugh B. Cave was an incredibly prolific writer who was published in many of the big magazines of the Pulp Era. He was also a popular novelist. His best story collection is Murgunstrumm & Others.

J. Sheridan Le Fanu, http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/26930.Joseph_Sheridan_Le_Fanu
J. Sheridan Le Fanu was an acclaimed Irish writer of mystery novels and ghost stories. His best books include Carmilla, Uncle Silas, and Green Tea and Other Ghost Stories.

In the near future, I’ll have some more author suggestions for you, so stay tuned!

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A New Year’s Message of Encouragement from a Horror Writer

I want to wish you all a Happy New Year! Your support of my writing in 2012 has been wonderful. I grew up in a grim, rural household where I was discouraged from writing, so your encouragement has meant everything to me. I really do appreciate it.

I’d like to start the New Year with a message of encouragement. You may be saying: “A message of encouragement — from a horror writer?” Yep! I may write about horrors, but that doesn’t make me a horrible person! I have lots of friends, like to have fun … I don’t wander around in a moss-draped ancient castle all day.

Here’s that message of encouragement: Friends, be sure you have a plan in life (I’m sure most of you do!). Remember this: If you don’t have a plan, someone else will just inflict THEIR plan on YOU. When I was young, my folks did everything possible to try to keep me on the farm, but that wasn’t going to happen. I wanted to be in advertising and also write scary stories, and that’s what I’ve been doing ever since I left the nest, so many years ago.

Basically, if I can live my dreams — so can you. So go out there and achieve the goals near and dear to you in 2013! 🙂

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The Further Adventures of Lizzie Borden

The Further Adventures
Of Lizzie Borden
by Mark McLaughlin

Lizzie Borden took an axe

and gave her mother forty whacks.

When that happy task was done,

she gave her daddy forty-one.

After she had killed those two,

she thought up more fun things to do.

She took a shiny butcher-knife

and stabbed her brother and his wife.

Then she bought a weather vane

and stuck it in her granny’s brain.

Lizzie grabbed a welding torch

and fried her grandpa on the porch.

Soon she found a monkey wrench

and whacked a cousin who spoke French.

Next she seized a rusty drill

and gave her nephew quite a thrill.

At this point, Lizzie made the jump

from rhyme to free verse.

She went on a killing spree

that lasted for seven years,

slicing and dicing and torturing

everyone who was related to her,

even by marriage. She wanted

to uproot her entire family tree,

shred it to bits and toss what was left

on the compost heap of eternity.

Eventually she stole a time machine,

went back to prehistoric days and

shot the smelly, monkey-like creature

that was her earliest humanoid

ancestor. Monkey Borden perished

and wild-eyed Lizzie, grinning like

a murderous Cheshire cat,

disappeared.

— # —

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Flash Fiction: Connect the Dots

A 4th of July bonus: here’s another short-short story for your amusement!

Connect The Dots

by Mark McLaughlin

Tell you about myself?

Well, I like to think of myself as a proactive, multi-tasking team member who can think outside the box, connect the dots and see the big picture.

Of course, in telling you that, I am defining myself, and when one defines oneself, one must – by definition! – limit oneself. Yes, I am limiting my definition of myself to what I am telling you. But really, I would prefer to see myself as a person without limits. I don’t even want to limit myself to being a person.

I am an entity. A proactive, multi-tasking, team-playing entity without limits, thinking outside of the people-box as I connect dots and see big pictures. And because I like to see myself as an entity without limits, that would allow me – by definition! – to see in every direction at once, inward and outward, from the tiniest point at the center of my being all the way out into the farthest, blackest reaches of the cosmos.

So basically, my entire consciousness envelops all of time and space, all of existence, so that by definition, that would make me the known universe, multi-tasking and team-playing proactively outside of all imaginable boxes, connecting the eternal stars known and unknown, visible and invisible, from super-novas to black holes, linking all those majestic dots and gazing deeply into the grand abyss – the vast, ultimate picture of all that has ever been and ever will be, forever and ever more.

Bow down! Scream my name from the terrified depths of your miserable soul! How dearly I long to crush you, for that is what one does to an insect. That, by definition, is what you are in relation to me. A mere insect! The sort of creature one grinds underfoot into paste without giving the action even a split-second of thought or regret! Tremble, tiny, vile cockroach that you are! Tremble before my all-powerful might!

As you can see, I am fully qualified for the position of third-shift environmental services technician. I’ll even bring my own broom.

So when do I start?

– End –

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Extreme Make-Over, Hollywood-Style!

Recently, I found a copy of a celebrity gossip magazine I’d never seen before. This glossy rag fawned so dotingly, so gushingly over the stars, it made The National Enquirer look like The Wall Street Journal.

Let’s take a look at the issues covered in a single issue of this magazine, which I will call The Weekly Ass-Smoocher:

Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are facing yet another challenge in their Hollywood marriage! Plus, Jennifer Anniston might not be 100 percent over Brad Pitt yet!

Lindsay Lohan has changed her look! Tori Spelling has lost too much weight! One of the Olsen twins is also dangerously thin!

Kirstie Alley is keeping the pounds off … but for how long?!

REALLY, WHO GIVES A CRICKET’S CRAP ABOUT ANY OF THAT?

Brad and Angelina are just an acting couple … and let’s face it, they’re no Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor. I used to act with more sincerity back in grade school, when I would fake stomach flu to get out of taking a test.

And Jennifer Anniston – I’m not even sure what she does in front of cameras can be called acting. It looks more like wandering around with a vague smile (happy!) or a constipated look (not happy!) on her face. Actresses like her convey anger by shaking their heads and saying, “Grrrrr!!!” That might work in a grade-school production of “The Wizard of Oz,” playing the Cowardly Lion, but it’s not exactly what I’d call Oscar bait.

As for Lindsay Lohan, Tori Spelling, the Olsen twins … Sure, they’ve all done some acting over the years, but I suppose Meryl Streep ain’t losing any sleep over them.

I seem to recall, one Olsen twin has a healthy weight while folks wonder if the other is puking up yards of intestines, but to me, they both look like praying mantises in blonde wigs. What wonderful role models for teen girls everywhere. If you want to be really popular, just stick your weensy, twig-like finger down your throat and blort up everything you’ve ever eaten. But make sure you have lots of blonde hair and a rack, or else the boys won’t think you’re sexy.

I do like Kirstie Alley. I think she’s very funny and I like her cute, off-to-one-side smile. But the weight-loss updates just get tedious after a while. One minute, she loses five pounds. Hurray! Cheers for Kirstie! She’s a full five pounds lighter! Then she weighs herself again to be sure… What the–? Now she’s ten pounds heavier! Oh NO! It’s the great American tragedy!

Do you wish you could be as rich and as popular as any of those folks? If so, you need an Extreme Make-Over, Hollywood-Style!

Here’s what you do:

First, have a plastic surgeon inject your lips with foam rubber or toxic waste or liquefied baby seals — whatever Hollywood hotties are using these days.

Then have that same beauty professional inject Botox into your forehead and your crow’s feet until you are incapable of registering even the tiniest human emotion from the cheekbones up.

Then have a dental specialist slap snow-white veneers on your teeth so your ultra-shiny, gleaming smile can be used to project a laser beam at James Bond’s crotch, a la Goldfinger.

Now, have a high-profile relationship with someone just as perfect and artificial as you. Remember, don’t develop any talent in your travels, and make sure you marry someone equally inept.

Have a big, crazy wedding with helicopters flying overhead and supermodels giving blowjobs to rock stars in the back row of the church. Or football stadium, wherever you decide to hold this memorable, cherished event.

After you’re married to your fellow airhead, cheat on them while they’re cheating on you, and make sure reporters catch all the juicy, sleazy details.

So far, so good. Now: develop an eating disorder! The majority of Americans have terrible eating habits, so they’ll be able to identify with you and share your pain. Let the reporters know if your weight changes by even half an ounce. Did you just break wind with more enthusiasm than usual? That counts as weight loss, so alert the media! Balloon up to three-hundred pounds! Shrivel down to seventy-five pounds! And keep notes, you’ll want to write a book about it someday.

While you’re at it, you might as well develop a few substance-abuse problems. Drink like a fish, pop more pills than Elvis, and then grind up a few pills, mix them with Columbian happy-dust and snort the whole mess up your nose. Then show up at swanky red-carpet premieres, bleeding from every orifice. Classy!

How will you be able to pay for all these extravagances? Record a few songs, star in a few reality shows, make a few commercials for fast-food or make-up or something else Americans don’t really need. Amp up the glamour for heart-clotting aerosol cheese. Walk the whole concept of canned ravioli down the catwalk, girlfriend!

Hell, why limit yourself to just being human? Have a team of scientists turn you into an eight-foot cyborg with metal claws for hands and army-tank treads for feet. Now THAT’S hot!

So there you have it: your new Hollywood-Style Extreme Makeover. Don’t just sit there being a worthwhile person who no one has ever heard of. Go out there and be a witless no-talent who everybody absolutely adores!

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Supermen In Review

Spider-Man.

Spider-Man.

According to his old TV theme song, does whatever a spider can.

Catches crooks just like flies, is incredibly strong, spins webs but doesn’t shoot the filaments out of butt-glands, like spiders. What’s up with that? Since when have spiders ever shot their webbing out of their wrists? Do spiders even have wrists?

Spider-Man would do a better – and more authentic – job if he fired webbing out of butt-glands. Think about it. A sight like that would freeze any criminal in his or her tracks. “My God,” they would cry, “what is that man in that funny body stocking doing? Why is he pointing his butt at me like that?” While they were staring, he could easily subdue them with a few healthy squirts of butt-gland webbing. All in a day’s work!

Grasshopper-Man.

Grasshopper-Man.

Does whatever a grasshopper can.

Grasshopper-Man can jump incredible distances, and rub his legs together to create a hypnotic cheeping sound to send his enemies into a trance. On the downside, you can’t trust him near a garden. He’ll eat all your sweet corn and not give it a second thought. But then, that’s certainly a small price to pay for his awesome insect powers.

Grasshopper-Man also leaks brown spittle onto his enemies to demoralize them, and inconvenience them, too. Super-villains usually wear pretty fashionable costumes, and that brown crap only comes out with dry-cleaning, thus helping to deplete the budgets of evildoers.

Woman-Man.

Woman-Man.

Does whatever a woman can.

Woman-Man wears a bra and panties under his elegant silk superhero outfit. He also wears a lot of foundation, and large rings to make his hands look smaller. But Woman-Man can’t actually do everything a woman can – he can’t have a baby, which is probably just as well, since his plumbing couldn’t allow for its exit. You can’t squeeze a melon out of a spigot.

Woman-Man is actually a cross-dresser. But then, you’ve probably figured that out by now.

Garbage-Man.

Garbage-Man.

Regularly empties the garbage can.

Garbage-Man’s sworn oath is to clean up this town. He does so by driving from house to house in an enormous truck, hauling away people’s garbage. He also has a crime-fighting partner who helps to empty the cans into the back of the truck. His partner’s name is Brent.

Brent likes the beeping sound the garbage truck makes when it’s backing up. He even beeps along with the truck.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Garbage-Man worries about Brent.

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How To Be A Horror Convention Clodhopper In 12 Ham-Fisted Lessons

How To Be A Horror Convention Clodhopper In 12 Ham-Fisted Lessons

As an author, I have attended a variety of horror conventions over the years. Some were for writers and editors … some were for those literary types and their fans, too … and some were multi-media events and included TV and movie actors and directors.

At such events, there’s also one other type of attendee who you’ll never see listed in the program, but rest assured, he or she will always be there….

The Horror Convention Clodhopper.

Just what is a Horror Convention Clodhopper (or, in scientific terms, Clodhoppicus Conventionalis Frighticulus), you ask?

These lumbering beasts thud along on their meaty hooves from convention to convention, leaving behind piles of well-thumbed magazines, video boxes with greasy fingerprints and of course, beer-scented puke. I’ve been to a lot of conventions and I’ve seen dozens of these swaggering behemoths in action.

If any of you are tired of being civilized human beings, simply follow these simple steps at any horror convention. Your DNA will instantly unwind and then recombine in a new devolved configuration, turning you into the uncouth critter in question.

1. Bring a bunch of manuscripts and scripts and shove them at all the top editors and movie directors, no matter how busy their convention schedules. They are there to serve you: make them work!

2. Pick out one particular editor or director or star and monopolize all his or her time. Hound that esteemed personage without mercy. Talk at (not to) your victim in the bar, the elevator, the hotel restaurant… It’s not stalking if it’s done at a social event!

3. Get really drunk and rub up against anyone and everyone. ‘Convention’ is just another work for ‘meat market,’ right? If you puke from too much drinking, don’t bother brushing your teeth or even sucking a mint. Puke-breath is the ultimate aphrodisiac, you disco sex machine, you!

4. Writer and editors, directors and actors, feel free to arrive at your discussion panels drunk. Everyone adores a lovable lush!

5. If you are on a discussion panel, be sure to lapse into a lengthy sermon or even rant that goes on for what seems like eons. You’ve got their attention, so educate your audience without mercy.

6. If you meet an editor who has rejected your work, now’s your golden opportunity to tell him or her off. Never mind that they get hundreds of submissions and won’t be able to remember yours. Give ‘em hell, Johnny!

7. Wear the same outfit each and every day of the convention. Don’t bother washing it or yourself. Basic black is IN … of course, the outfit was white when you started! Like a Lovecraftian monster, by thy stench shall they know ye.

8. In the convention dealer’s room, talk to a salesperson for half an hour, but don’t buy anything. Be sure to stand in the way of those pesky customers. Those dealers are all independently wealthy, you know.

9. Thumb through and read all the magazines in the dealer’s room, but don’t buy any. They’re all just for display anyway. Don’t bother washing your hands after lunch … just use the merchandise in lieu of napkins!

10. If you are a professional editor, don’t talk to any of the new writers, no matter how politely they introduce themselves. Just talk to your own small group of established friends. No need to broaden your circle of acquaintances!

11. If you are a new writer, don’t introduce yourself to anyone. Just talk to your hotel roommate, who you’ve known for years. Then later, complain in chatrooms that everyone at the convention was stuck-up and inaccessible.

12. If it’s a convention with fan participation that encourages costumes, wear something with lots of protuberances … sword handles, tentacles, wings, whatever … that can bat people whenever you turn around. Then wear that costume everywhere — especially in crowded lobbies.

If the event has no costume element, wear one anyway! Rest assured, those rubber Spock ears will be the talk of the convention!

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