After much cajoling and encouragement from my friends, I've finally decided to create a movie blog. I'm very new to this, and learning as I go; so you'll have to forgive any unfortunate hiccups along the way. I don't presume to be a movie critic; I've never received a degree in film theory or history; but I've loved movies with a passionate intensity bordering on neurosis ever since I was a small child. This is a chance for me to share with you thoughts about the films that have shaped my imagination and the person that I am. Hopefully, you'll enjoy this enough to share back.
Some of my very earliest memories from childhood are of movies. I grew up in the Sixties, at a time when the old Hollywood system had already gone through a dramatic downward death spiral. Most of the major studios, seeing the enormous growth in popularity of television over the previous decade, began to release their vast archives of films to the networks in the hope of gaining renewed profitability. They released hundreds of classics from the Golden Age, as well as many more recently produced films. These movies on the small screen served as a sort of social glue for my family, giving us a chance to extend our time together past the dinner hour. We had a big, beautiful old wooden-consoled Zenith television set in our basement at 54 Eastwood where we'd gather together in the dark and watch these treasures unfold. Many of them were horror films, and I developed a taste very early for getting the wits scared out of me.
Dad or Mom would make a batch of popcorn, and as we huddled together Roger Corman's The Pit and the Pendulum would spill out before our eyes in all its garish glory. I remember Vincent Price's tragically demented, Don Medina, and Barbara Steele's evil Elizabeth. The sea-swept, rotting castle; the dank, cobweb strewn dungeon; and the horror of the withered corpse that had desperately tried to escape its premature entombment. That last image scared the CRAP out of me. I think I must have been only four or five years old when my responsible parents allowed me to view this terrifying spectacle. It gave my dad a good chuckle to see how much I wanted to be frightened. The giant swinging pendulum with its loud whoosh echos in my mind to this day. And I will never forget the very last moment during the final scene: Barbara Steele's magnificent freakishly huge eyes glaring out of the securely bolted iron maiden.
Some of my very earliest memories from childhood are of movies. I grew up in the Sixties, at a time when the old Hollywood system had already gone through a dramatic downward death spiral. Most of the major studios, seeing the enormous growth in popularity of television over the previous decade, began to release their vast archives of films to the networks in the hope of gaining renewed profitability. They released hundreds of classics from the Golden Age, as well as many more recently produced films. These movies on the small screen served as a sort of social glue for my family, giving us a chance to extend our time together past the dinner hour. We had a big, beautiful old wooden-consoled Zenith television set in our basement at 54 Eastwood where we'd gather together in the dark and watch these treasures unfold. Many of them were horror films, and I developed a taste very early for getting the wits scared out of me.
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| The Pit and the Pendulum, 1961 |
Dad or Mom would make a batch of popcorn, and as we huddled together Roger Corman's The Pit and the Pendulum would spill out before our eyes in all its garish glory. I remember Vincent Price's tragically demented, Don Medina, and Barbara Steele's evil Elizabeth. The sea-swept, rotting castle; the dank, cobweb strewn dungeon; and the horror of the withered corpse that had desperately tried to escape its premature entombment. That last image scared the CRAP out of me. I think I must have been only four or five years old when my responsible parents allowed me to view this terrifying spectacle. It gave my dad a good chuckle to see how much I wanted to be frightened. The giant swinging pendulum with its loud whoosh echos in my mind to this day. And I will never forget the very last moment during the final scene: Barbara Steele's magnificent freakishly huge eyes glaring out of the securely bolted iron maiden.
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