Boo to You

In the immortal words of the legendary Count Floyd:

"Here's something really scary, kids! It'll put goosebumps on your goosebumps!"

Well, I dunno. As far as horror movies go these days, fewer and fewer things actually frighten me anymore. Am I just jaded or is nothing really scarier than real life? What passes for horror makes me wince, sometimes jump in surprise or turn away in disgust due to unnecessary excess. But nothing has gotten has given me the night terrors in years, probably since watching THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT in an empty theater on a late murky afternoon in down Portland.

Back in the day, that day being a LONG ASS TIME AGO, I was all about the horror. They became my obsession, catching them wherever and whenever I could. I actually kept a tally of what I had seen, certainly sailing into four digits easily by the time I was twelve.Whether at the cinema or sitting in front of my TV at any hour of the day or night, if a fright flick was playing, I was there, front and center. When The Bob Wilkins Show debuted back in the late 60s, I found a kindred spirit and knew I wasn't alone in the world like Vincent Price in THE LAST MAN ON EARTH.

One of my first exposures to the scary movie genre took place at a slumber party my older sister threw at our house one Saturday night. I couldn't have been more than eight or nine. I had been allowed to stay up awhile at this soiree and tried not to get in the way of all these icky girls. It was all very chaste since everyone was prepubescent, they being two years older than moi. Another year down the road and I would have been shown the curb. Two years and I would have tried to find a hiding place with night vision goggles. But at this point in time, I was still on safe ground for probably the last time in my young life.

Naturally, the TV had been on, turned to a late night showing of HORRORS OF THE BLACK MUSEUM, a British effort starring Michael Gough. It opened rather benignly with two lovely crumpets named Winnie and Millie or something relaxing in their London flat sipping tea, smoking cigarettes and eating baked beans on toast while discussing the practical applications of Prince Charles' jug ears. A knock on the door reveals a delivery man with a package for plucky and pert little Winifred.

"Blimey! I wonder who it's from!"
"Secret admirer, Winnie?"
"Oh, get stuffed, Millie. There's no card, is there?"
"Well, open it, you ninny."
"Aow! It's some lovely looking spy glasses!"
 "Give 'em a go, why don't you?"

So Winnie picks up the pair of binoculars from her anonymous benefactor and immediately goes to the window to give them a look-see. As soon she adjusts the focus, she screams and covers her eyes with both hands as blood runs through her fingers.

"My eyes!" Winiie cries as we cut to the binoculars on the floor with two sharp metal spikes poking through the eye pieces. Millie harmonizes with Winnie as they scream in tandem.

In our living room, this horrific scene triggered an explosive hallelujah chorus of shrieks from this slumber party filled with pre-teenage schoolgirls. To top it off was my mom, covering her own mouth in abject shock, first from the movie, second from the girls and third from the anticipation of phone calls the next day from these kids' parents.

But for lil' ol' me, I had been magically transported into the seventh heaven of my boyhood. Not only was this the finest moment in cinematic history up to that point in my life, I had been at Ground Zero for this visceral reaction of the power of movies, even a cheap horror flick like this. And probably since I had been enjoying HORRORS OF THE BLACK MUSEUM and its traumatic effects on my sister's slumber party (the gleeful ear-to-ear smile was a big clue), my mom sent me off to bed. 

There in my slumber, visions of  tricked-out binoculars, poked-out eyeballs and screaming girls in their pajamas all danced through my head. The horror...the horror....the lovely, lovely horror...

The Horror...The Horror...

My first obsession when I was a wee lad way back in the 20th century was horror films. I'd have to say they were possibly my first movie crush, the genre that led me down the path to geekdom. I watched them whenever, wherever, however I could anytime of the day or night. Once my friend Albert and I made his house as dark as we possibly could as we watched HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL in the middle of a bright sunny afternoon. Back then, there were only a handful of TV stations to choose from and I'd always insist on watching channels from the Bay Area because they showed the best stuff. I'd rush home from school since KGO in San Francisco played some choice morsels at four in the after noon. Late at night, KPIX ran their best of the best way after midnight. Antenna reception was questionable especially in the daytime, but I'd brave a couple of hours of snow and static to get my fix. The Sacramento stations just didn't have the programming I craved until the great Bob Wilkins Show came to my rescue when it premiered Saturday nights on KCRA.

Horror films were more accessible on TV, but I craved the movie-going experience. That was a leap to the major leagues as far as I was concerned. Once I was old enough, off I went and I never looked back.

Stockton's Fox California (now the Bob Hope Theater. Yes, really) was the best place possible to see

scary movies, it being the only true movie palace in town. In fact the Fox was like a giant screening room in an old castle, kind of murky, always cold and actually rather spooky. It's where I was able to finally see films from Hammer Studios, producers of the Christopher Lee Dracula series, Peter Cushing Frankensteins and so many more gloriously gory delights. When I saw John Gillings’ PLAGUE OF THE ZOMBIES, one of the scariest Hammer productions ever, the chilly Fox auditorium was such a perfect atmosphere that I felt like I was right in the picture, a graveyard in gloomy old Cornwall. I spent an entire Saturday-I mean day and night-at a marathon showing of five Edgar Allen Poe adaptations from the Roger Corman days at American International including TALES OF TERROR and TOMB OF LIGEIA. By the middle of the fourth film, THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH, I was getting a little woozy, but I toughed it out.

I earned my geek merit badge by entering a Halloween costume contest at the Fox in a vampire get-up I created for myself. With makeup I applied at home, I honestly looked a little like Bat Boy. I headed downtown to the Fox by bus, ignoring the bewildered stares of the other passengers because I was too busy convincing myself of my impending first place finish. What I didn’t count on was that the contest was to be judged by applause and I just didn’t have any friends in the audience. You see, I went by myself as I often did and this had turned into a popularity contest. The winner was a kid with a whole bunch o’ buddies who clapped, hooted and hollered like there was no tomorrow. His costume was a hat.

And how did I rank in the contest? Well, there were crickets in the Fox California that day for I didn't receive a single solitary clap. After the walk of shame off the stage, I headed for the restroom to wash the makeup off my face the best I could. I returned to my seat and wondered why I entered at all. I did so on an impulse without informing anyone of my actions. Sure, I would have reveled in the joy of winning, but I didn't and just moved on. I actually wasn't sad. This was something I found that I had to do for myself so I just went ahead and did it. Ultimately, I was rather proud of lil' ol' me so I sat back and enjoyed the show. After all, it was a horror movie and right then and there, life was good.

Such were the origins of a geek like me.