HEY MOM, I'VE GOT A PODCAST

It’s just me, baby. Just me.

It’s just me, baby. Just me.

Introducing

STORIES FROM THE FIRE

A Horror Podcast

Wherein yours truly, Micah Haley, will discuss horror movies, horror books, thrillers, the film and television industry and bloody boogaloo of all types. I promise nothing and will deliver no less.

When your night is dark and full of terrors, gather round the campfire for a guided tour through murky depths even the best horror podcasts won't touch. I’m here to be your ferryman through the dark and labyrinthine halls of the world’s horror. From scary movies and horror novel classics to the terrifying bits hidden away in family movies. All will be told in Stories From The Fire.

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This is my podcast. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

This is my podcast. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

PODCAST: Immortal Romances I - BRAM STOKER'S DRACULA (Guest: Greg J. Anderson)

He doesn’t drink… Whiteclaw.

He doesn’t drink… Whiteclaw.

All it takes is a tinge of darkness to turn a blessed romance into something damned: an immortal romance. Micah is joined by fellow horror aficionado Greg J. Anderson to discuss three films of his choosing, starting with BRAM STOKER’S DRACULA, a horror film directed by none other than Francis Ford Coppola.

SHOW NOTES

0:21 - Intro
1:30 - Why you should join Letterboxd
5:22 - Seeing TENET in theaters
9:27 - Immortal Romances I: BRAM STOKER’S DRACULA
17:40 - The GODFATHER 3 casting connection
22:10 - What makes this telling of DRACULA unique
24:00 - Timeless romance, timeless filmmaking techniques
28:40 - About the followup, MARY SHELLEY’S FRANKENSTEIN
30:52 - Outtro

Follow Greg on:

Twitter: @elbandito_manco
Letterboxd - GAnderson19

Follow Micah on:

Instagram - @itsMicahHaley
Tiktok - @itsMicahHaley
Twitter - @MicahHaley
Facebook - facebook.com/micahhaley
Letterboxd - MicahHaley

And more at MicahHaley.com.

PODCAST: Revisiting Michael Crichton's THE ANDROMEDA STRAIN

the-andromeda-strain-1971.jpg

Before Steven Spielberg adapted his novel JURASSIC PARK for the screen, author Michael Crichton became a best seller in 1969 with THE ANDROMEDA STRAIN, a novel about a deadly extraterrestrial disease that threatens humanity. Micah talks about re-reading the techno-thriller for the first time since childhood, how to relates to the pandemic and gives a brief update on the return to film production in the U.S.

SHOW NOTES

0:01 - Intro
0:20 - Revising books from my childhood
3:35 - Michael Crichton’s novel THE ANDROMEDA STRAIN
4:17 - The storyline
7:20 - Does the book still work today?
10:27 - The Odd-Man Hypothesis
13:05 - The relevance of Crichton’s novel to the COVID19 pandemic
13:40 - Film & TV adaptations
14:00 - A brief update on film production in the U.S.

Follow Micah on:
Instagram - @itsMicahHaley
Tiktok - @itsMicahHaley
Twitter - @MicahHaley
Facebook - facebook.com/micahhaley
Letterboxd - MicahHaley

And more at MicahHaley.com.

PODCAST: William Friedkin's SORCERER and the Terror of the Unknown

After making the horror masterpiece THE EXORCIST, William Friedkin was at the height of his power in Hollywood. He used that clout to make SORCERER, a movie about the terror of the unknown and the cruel hand of fate. Micah talks about seeing SORCERER for the first time, the many troubles Friedkin and his crew had making the film in South America, and how the COVID19 pandemic is making it difficult to resume film production.

SHOW NOTES

0:21 - Intro
1:52 - William Friedkin, the director of “Sorcerer”
10:08 - “The evil wizard is Fate.”
11:31 - Pandemics and the feeling of fate
16:33 - My initial doubts about the COVID19 pandemic
18:53 - Trouble on the set of Sorcerer, Safety issues in 2020
24:32 - Did Friedkin return from the jungle?
25:47 - How can we shoot without crews getting COVID19?
28:49 - Crew members have been getting sick for a long time.
29:33 - My predictions
30:16 - Why Sorcerer flopped

Follow Micah on:
Instagram - @itsMicahHaley
Tiktok - @itsMicahHaley
Twitter - @MicahHaley
Facebook - facebook.com/micahhaley
Letterboxd - MicahHaley

And more at MicahHaley.com.

Ray Bradbury's 'GRIM REAPER'

Some years ago, I plucked a paperback from the dusty shelves of a thrift store in New Orleans. Ray Bradbury was a name I knew well, thanks to a public school education that steeped all students in Fahrenheit 451. But this book I’d never read. It was called The October Country.

Peeling back the cover, my eyes landed on the first page’s black type. Not page one. The first page. Before the title page, the foreword, the publisher’s details, was a first page half filled with text. It was entitled, “The Grim Reaper.”

Sobbing wildly, he rose above the grain and hewed to left and right over and over and over! He sliced out huge scars in green wheat and ripe wheat, with no selection and no care, cursing, swearing, the blade swinging up in the sun and falling with a singing whistle!
Bombs shattered London, Moscow, and Tokyo. The kilns of Belsen and Buchenwald took fire.
The blade sang, crimson wet.
Mushrooms vomited out blind suns at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The grain wept in a green rain, falling.
Korea, Indo-China, Egypt, India trembled; Asia stirred, Africa woke in the night...
And the blade went on rising, crashing, severing, with the fury and the rage of a man who has lost and lost so much that he no longer cares what he does to the world.

A fragile warmth washed over me as I read Bradbury’s words. I’d read them before, some decades ago as a child, but that was the easily realization. More difficult was articulating why the words felt so familiar. I’ve re-read books before. This wasn’t that. It was far more foundational. It was the feeling that I had written the words. In truth, I’ve re-read some of my own work and felt less ownership of it.

Was there something that linked Bradbury and I? Superficially, yes. Bradbury was half-Swedish, and I a half-Cajun mudblood. But we’re both half-English. There might be something baked into our DNA. An affinity for similar syntax, for example. Not to mention it’s DNA descended from the creators of our native tongue. I was born only a few hours from his hometown of Waukegan, Illinois, and we both spent a few years in Tucson, Arizona.

We were both raised in Baptist churches. We were both raised on HG Wells and Jules Verne and Edgar Allan Poe. We both had an early affinity for the horror genre. Bradbury focused on it exclusively until he was 18. And we both loved movies. Yet Bradbury was born some sixty-plus years before me. Our upbringings could not have been that similar.

Comparing myself to Bradbury at all seems, at best, stupid. So, what is it about The Grim Reaper itself that reached out to me?

The Ringmaster of the Dark Carnival.

THE HORROR

The power of telling a story inside a genre is the power to attract the masses. When I hear self-styled “artists” balk at confining themselves to a genre, I balk at them. Dickens did it. Shakespeare did it. The Old Testament authors did it. But genre is too pedestrian for you?

Genre is powerful. And the horror genre is unique in its promise to provide truly unbridled emotion. It is literary life or death. Some will live and some will die. Can’t say that about most tween coming-of-age stories.

Bradbury’s Grim Reaper raises a blade above the world, and brings it crashing down, again and again, slicing through the “green” and “ripe” alike: the young and old. Bringing death. Indiscriminate. The blade singing. Crimson wet. There’s no mistaking the genre that Bradbury has chosen to tell this short tale. The passage is a half-page of horror.

REAL EVIL

The first paragraph’s dark poetry might give a thrill, but the author soon ties our feet to the ground, invoking the real life horrors at Belsen and Buchenwald. We’re not off in some fantasy world where analogy blunts the pain of evil. The horrors are real. And when Bradbury wrote this, a decade had elapsed since the end of the Second World War. A period short enough to still be painful. Long enough to forget. Bradbury didn’t want anyone to forget.

THE VILLAIN

The Grim Reaper is oft depicted as a faceless force of death, a bedside apparition waiting to strike down the old and weak and marked. The dark minion of the Dark One, sent to execute orders writ in blood.

Not Bradbury’s Reaper.

“Sobbing wildly” are the first two words read, revealing the Reaper to be hurt beyond help, a tortured soul drowning in anguish and grabbing at the surface of the world.

With a sickle.

And after the world was ravaged at London and Buchenwald and Hiroshima, “the blade went on” with an inexhaustible fury, fueled by loss. A hurt man “who has lost and lost so much that he no longer cares what he does to the world.”

Bradbury takes a faceless phantom and makes him a deeply hurting human. It’s this extreme emotion that attracts me, and so many others, to the horror genre, not some irresponsible interest in sadism and morbidity. The love of the genre is about extreme empathy (as Joe Hill so eloquently said), and not only for the victims: for everyone. Killers included.

Bernard Rose’s Candyman is one of the greatest horror films of all time precisely because it embraces this. Candyman isn’t some faceless apparition, he is the deeply hurt Daniel Robitaille, a man who was himself victimized for loving. His story is a tragedy, and like Bradbury’s Reaper, he exacts his rage upon the world. Even while he’s committing unspeakable atrocities, it’s very hard not to empathize with him (due in no small part to Tony Todd’s beautiful performance). This extreme empathy, even for the enemy, reminds me of something Louise Erdrich wrote: that hate is injured love.

Couldn’t find this on Zillow.

CHALLENGING EMPATHY

During World War II, that kind of empathy was in short supply, and I think that was part of Bradbury’s point. Writing this makes me wonder where we’re lacking empathy today. Where I’m lacking empathy.

Some would argue that there are enemies not worthy of any empathy at all. Their crimes so absolutely evil, they are no longer human. There are some people in my own life I feel the urge to place in this category.

But Bradbury’s Grim Reaper is a warning against exploring such urges. His Reaper has lost and lost so much “that he no longer cares” what he does to the world. That is, he has lost his ability to empathize.

The passage says the Reaper “lost and lost so much.” I’m left wondering what those losses were. How much agency he had. Did he “lose” relationships that could have been found again? Did he lock doors that could have been reopened?  Did he stoke fires that could have been quenched? At some point in life, we all end up in the hospital. The question is this: are you going to leave before you’re healed?

The danger isn’t in feeling pain and suffering. The danger is in no longer caring. When we cease to care for others, we eventually lose the ability to care about ourselves, and the blade goes on, rising, crashing, severing. With fury and rage.

THE FOUNDATION

My connection with Bradbury is likely very easy to explain. I must have read The October Country at some point during my many childhood deep dives into the bookshelves at the Jones Creek Library. As well as The Illustrated Man and Fahrenheit 451. I was reading so much at that point, it’s inevitable that I’ve forgotten the names of books I breezed through. But the Bradbury seeds were planted and, boy, did I ever feed them in the years that followed. I bought much of my fertilizer off the horror shelf at Blockbuster with brand names like King and Carpenter and Cronenberg. Those names are special to me, too.

But Bradbury’s work is still special among them. As I actively seek to grow as a writer, The October Country and The Illustrated Man are books I return to for attunement. Not in the way Meeker used the term. But in the way Kierkegaard used it. Kierkegaard used art as the conduit for his philosophical work. Like the other existentialists, he knew that conveying philosophy through art was powerful because it infused ideas with emotion. Feeling was the price of admission.

Kierkegaard’s attunement in Fear and Trembling is meant to disarm us. To tear down the walls we built up in order to operate in an unfeeling world. Bradbury does this, too, throughout his work, but I would say that it is especially effective in his more macabre stories. And that’s why I return to him when I want to recalibrate the core of my artistic instincts.

At its best, horror is an art form that exercises our empathy. And Bradbury is Beethoven.

Ray Bradbury (1920-2012). RIP old friend.

Revisiting 'PREDATORS'

Spoilers below. Beware.

Sixty seconds into Predators and I'm already in mourning for the Adrien Brody action career we never got. He could have been Bourne. Or nipping at Bruce Willis's heels, appearing in every puncher and shooter that pops up on VOD.

Brody's grizzled voice works for me. It may not for everyone. It was certainly a surprise when he was cast in this film, but then again, many of his post-Oscar roles have been surprising. I was his assistant for a short time on a small movie, and he struck me as someone who searched for interesting roles, wherever they might be. And sometimes they're in bad movies.

Not that this movie's bad. I'd rank it above Predator 2 and both Alien vs. Predator movies. The original is still the series' standard-bearer.

This planet is a game preserve. And we’re the game.
— Royce (Adrien Brody)

One of the little guys

By the time this film was made, the Predator mythology was a complete mess. Only the original film was well-reviewed and the most recent Alien vs. Predator films were fun, but glorified fan fiction. In many ways, Rodriguez and company made the right decision. By siloing this story away from the previous entries, they made the cinematic equivalent of a bottle episode. It's set on a "Predator planet" that works like an alien game preserve. Prey are parachuted in from the sky, and the predators park their spaceships to hunt them. Although production on this film did not start until early 2009, Robert Rodriguez actually wrote an early draft of the script in 1994.

Eight years ago, I vaguely recall being familiar with about half of Predators' cast. Now, it's easy to see how great it is. The 2010 group assembled by producer Robert Rodriguez and director Nimrod Antal is thick with now-famous faces. Alice Braga anchors her own television series, Queen of the South. Walton Goggins, who has long had an illustrious television career, made his mark on the feature world in Tarantino's The Hateful Eight. And Mahershala Ali has starred memorably in Marvel's Luke Cage - and in the little indy that could, Moonlight, which won best picture only a few years ago.

Should have given him a machete

Rodriguez regular Danny Trejo is also a welcomed addition. He's in the same age bracket as the stars of the original 1987 film, and yet he could still hold his own here as a heavy from the Los Zetas cartel. The same will probably be true in twenty years. Trejo's badassery is boundless.

All the characters in this movie seem to be... mostly okay with the fact that they were thrown out of a plane. Into the middle of an alien jungle. I would not be.

Before we hit the fifteen minute mark, one character asks, "What if we are dead?" Raising the possibility that these characters have awakened in some sort of metaphysical purgatory. I'd be open to any theory along those lines. It's rumored that Shane Black's The Predator won't ignore any of the movies in the series. Rather, it's going to find some way to unite them.

One of the big guys

There are several types of predators in this film and one is significantly bigger than the others. I'm curious how this will dovetail with the giant predator in Shane Black's new reboot/requel. We don't see a predator until about the forty minute mark. And the predator we do see is dead. It's an interesting choice to hide the most famous face in the movie for so long. I'm still drawing a blank about why this particular predator is alive and yet tied up like a hog. Later in the film, it's explained the larger predators hunt the smaller ones. But why wouldn't they just kill this poor guy?

The arrival of Lawrence Fishburne at the halfway point again reinforces how strong this film's cast is. And the near-immediate reversal that he's a threat is awesome. Fishburne is so capable of portraying a character with great strength of intellect. A bedrock of psychological health. Here, it's very entertaining to see him portray someone with psych issues.

We are predators. Just like them. We’re the monsters of our own world.
— Isabelle (Alice Braga)

Sorry, Morpheus.

The pairing between Rodriguez and Antal is a good one. I'd love to see another outing even if outside of the predators series. What other film features a sword-wielding yakuza in single combat with the predator? When Royce (Adrien Brody) makes a deal with the smaller predator, it's clear there's a little more going on here than you might expect. Plus, it allows us to have a predator versus predator battle. It's this fusion of plot and action that gives Predators a leg up over dumber action movies. There's an extra helping of story that keeps things interesting, especially towards the end.

The thing that makes Predator successful also ultimately makes Predators successful. Like Alien, it successfully unifies science fiction and horror. The result is essentially a very smart horror film infused with action.

You're up next, Shane Black.

- Micah

The Silence of Jonathan Demme

Director Jonathan Demme died this week. His long career is speckled with unique films across a wide spectrum of genres. But I loved him for two films: The Silence of the Lambs and Philadelphia.

While some critics may want to label The Silence of the Lambs a drama or thriller, it's really more than that. Yes, it's presented with the familiar trappings of a police procedural. But it is a horror film! With not one monster, but two. And if that's not enough to convince you that it should be on your shelf next to The Shining, then pay close attention to the violence and gore in the third act. Hannibal Lecter isn't just a slithering scarecrow. He’s a brutal killer that would give any slasher a run for their money.

And yet Silence isn't a slasher flick. It’s a different kind of horror. It’s a drama. And a thriller. And a character study of two star-crossed humans who end up needing each other. It’s a wondrous work of art that shows what can be done within the genre.

The horror genre gets a bad rap. It's dismissed as exploitative and gratuitous. And sometimes it is. Some of my favorite horror films are both of those things. When award season rolls around, you won't see many horror films among the nominees. There have been exceptions, most noticeably The Exorcist, which won two Oscars and a Best Picture nomination in 1973. It wasn’t until the 64th Academy Awards in 1991 that Silence of the Lambs became the first horror film to win Best Picture. In fact, it won all of the top five categories: Best Picture, Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Director and Best Adapted Screenplay.

Demme was that director, and deservedly so. What he did with Silence was nothing short of amazing. He took a smart, terrifying book and turned it into a cinematic horror masterpiece. In the process, he brought to life two iconic characters: Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling. I’d argue serial killer Buffalo Bill is a third, given his resurrection by South Park and meme manufacturers across the internet. His scenes are certainly among the most quoted.

One of the film’s most prominent themes is the immoral way in which men treat women. Starling is repeatedly portrayed under the gaze of the men that surround her: her co-workers, her supervisors, and ultimately, Buffalo Bill. All of these men have advantages over her in head-to-head competition. In the most extreme example of this, Bill hunts Starling in the dark with the aid of night vision.

Law enforcement has long been a boys’ club. And yet Starling is a smart, driven disruptor, frequently outshining her fellows. Dr. Chilton, who heads the hospital where Lecter is incarcerated, is one of her creepiest admirers. He makes a pass at her that she declines. Yet, even though Chilton has 24/7 access to Lecter, it is Starling who truly connects with Lecter in only a few sessions. Starling is my favorite kind of feminist. She’s not trying to keep up with the boys; she beats them by just being herself.

The feminist themes of the film were well discussed upon its release, and in the quarter century since. There have also been accusations that Silence is homophobic, transphobic or both. Many of these accusations were targeted where almost all film criticism is targeted: the director’s chair.

And there Demme sat.

I think these accusations are demonstrably baseless. The film itself makes very clear Buffalo Bill is not actually transsexual. “There’s no correlation in the literature between transexualism and violence. Transsexuals are very passive,” Starling tells a caged Lecter, Bill’s former psychotherapist. 

“Billy is not a real transsexual,” Lecter replies. “But he thinks he is. He tries to be.”

Further into the film, from beneath his now iconic mask, Lecter mentions to Senator Martin that Buffalo Bill was referred to him by another patient, Benjamin Raspail. “They were lovers, you see,” Lecter says, indicating that Bill might be gay. But later, when Starling enters Buffalo Bill’s lair, there are Polaroids of Bill with female strippers on his lap, offering more proof that he is not a simple, sexual caricature. Buffalo Bill may be a proper villain, but Demme did not craft him to ridicule gay men or transsexuals.

Rather, Buffalo Bill is more easily explained within the film’s more obvious feminist themes. Bill’s heinous acts are really an indictment of heterosexual men. Those men who cast their glares at little Clarice, the beautiful and small woman before them. Their glares are possessive: they seek to own her in some way, to exert authority or control over her. Buffalo Bill is the fullest, most horrible manifestation of this desire. “He covets,” as Dr. Lecter says. Bill wants to so thoroughly dominate women that he has to destroy their lives - the source of their will - to do it. It’s a trait Bill shares with real life killer Ted Bundy.

Remember all those male law enforcement officers that stare at Starling? They are the ones who created the nickname, “Buffalo Bill.” One of them explains the nickname by saying the killer “skins his humps.” They aren’t just calling it like it is. The nickname is an expression of their own misogyny. It’s based on their own thin misunderstanding of who the killer is. It’s also the reason they don’t solve the case. They’re too blind to see deeper into Jame Gumb’s psyche, accepting a knee-jerk, surface-level judgement about the killer as correct.

In author Thomas Harris’ book, there is evidence that corroborates Lecter’s statement about Buffalo Bill not being a transsexual, but thinking he’s one. A surgeon at Johns Hopkins is consulted about applicants for sexual reassignment surgery, and refuses to share the list with the FBI. We find out Jame Gumb did indeed apply for surgery, but was rejected because he hid violence in his past. It was determined that in the judgement of medical professionals, he wasn’t really a transsexual. Interestingly, there was a scene shot to this effect but it was ultimately not present in the final cut. (Which may have been for pacing reasons, rather than storytelling reasons…there’s no way to know).

In his Oscar acceptance speech, Demme remarked how fortunate he was to work with a story from Thomas Harris’s “extraordinarily moral and amazing book.” He thought he was making a picture with a clear moral viewpoint. And that view hasn’t changed.

In a 2014 interview with the Huffington Post, Demme is asked about the film and he speaks at length. “I regret that [in the movie], we weren’t clear enough. I know the information’s in there, but there’s a lot of information in there. Buffalo Bill wasn’t interested in…he didn’t wish to be another gender. He didn’t really have a sexual preference. He loathed himself….he wanted to transform himself so that there was no part of ‘him’ in the ‘new him.’ And becoming a woman…that was his method of doing it.”

Buffalo Bill (Jame Gumb) hated himself, and wanted to become something completely different.

In the aftermath of Silence of the Lambs release, Demme’s profile as a director grew. He could have made any film he wanted. He chose to make Philadelphia, the first major release to deal with AIDS and the injustices that surround it. Most of which affected the LGBT community.

It’s a film filled with tenderness and wit.

By all accounts, so was Demme.

In the Snows of Stephen King's "The Shining"

I don’t remember the first time I saw The Shining.

I’ve seen Stanley Kubrick’s movie on the big screen many times, perhaps more than any other film. It is so visually compelling, wondrously operatic in its exploration of big spaces. And it’s always playing at midnight somewhere.

My instinct is to not say much here about Kubrick’s adaptation of The Shining. It's a topic that's been discussed to death. It's a film I happen to love and believe deserves discussion. It's also a film of such quality that it kept me from reading the novel for a very long time.

In fact, I’ve stayed away from reading many of King's greatest works because I've seen the film adaptations first. Now, I’m both embarrassed and proud to report that - after several failed attempts over the course of two decades - I finally made my way through Stephen King’s The Shining.

I'm going to focus on the many magical parts of King's novel that did not make it in to Stanley Kubrick's film. Yes, the faces of Jack Nicholson and Shelley Duvall rode shotgun with me on my trike ride throughout the Overlook Hotel. But there were also things that were new. Things now very special to me.

Ye Beware of Spoilers Below.

The Hedge Animals

They used to call the internet “The Information Super Highway.” Now, it’s the Information Spoiler Highway. And yet, I have somehow traveled untouched over the landmines buried just below its surface. From King’s first description of the animals, static and desperately in need of a trimming, I found them terrifying. And when they began to move, chasing Danny and Wendy and Hallorann, they became truly nightmare-inducing.

Why did Kubrick not include these? He was a gifted technician, and yet, even he would have had trouble with the technology of the day. Stop-motion techniques seem like they would be the best fit, or perhaps even animation. But Kubrick was such a perfectionist, I doubt these met his exacting visual standards.

Those Wasps

What a powerful metaphor for evil. Wasps are creatures that cause great pain. And seemingly offered no benefit to the world. Bees produce honey and and pollinate flowers. Wasps are invaders that cause immense pain, and to children in particular. How many of you had a traumatic encounter with those winged demons as a child?

The wasp nest is such an effective analogy for both the hotel and Jack. Jack is a man who is sometimes filled with evil, particularly when he's been drinking. When we meet him at the beginning of King’s novel, he’s a man who has overcome that evil. But like the dead wasps that are still in the nest, Jack's demons are only lying dormant, ready to strike when you've written them off. In a similar way, the Overlook Hotel is a successful hotel. It's been in continuous operation for a very long time. But the many horrible things that have happened at the hotel (detailed in such vivid terms by King) lie dormant like dead wasps. “They, too, are dead,” Jack thinks. But the hotel's demonic history is not dead: and it lies in wait to destroy Danny and his family.

While the wasp nest is a powerful literary analogy, I don't know if it would be as cinematic as other aspects of King’s novel. And it would take up a great deal of screen time including the different beats of that storyline. And we already have the analogy of the Overlook Hotel itself to Jack Torrance’s psyche. Do you need another in a movie?

Roque One

The game of Roque holds a certain fascination for me. It symbolizes upper-class life. It also seems like exactly the type of game middle-class people would play while on vacation at a hotel like the Overlook, imaging themselves to be upper class.

The Boiler, Baby

The boiler is an ever present nuclear bomb in the middle of the Overlook, ready to go off as soon as Jack allows. It is the physical manifestation of Jack's temper, a potentially fatal flaw that will kill anyone in striking distance - if Jack doesn't regularly keep it in check.

The Boiler Room itself reminds me of Freddy Krueger’s hellish home. There’s something so haunting about Jack finding the scrapbooks down in the boiler room, as if horrible memories are literal fuel for the hotel’s fire. It's a little on the nose, but I still found it terrifying.

Boomtown

Another major omission from Kubrick’s film is the explosion of the Overlook Hotel. This is the culmination of the boiler plot. While it is certainly a dynamic image, I don't think it is a particularly unique one. When I first started working in the film industry, I asked a producer, “What does everyone get tired of reading in scripts?” And he said, “Exploding houses.” It’s a filmic trope that’s been around since the silent era. So, I can understand why Kubrick wanted to rewrite it, taking the rest of the boiler plot with it.

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

The photos that you see above were not taken behind-the-scenes of The Shining. They are from my own childhood, taken by my father in the powdery winters of Wisconsin. Where I played as a child. Where we vacationed in the snow. So, when I watch The Shining, it’s as if I’ve lived there.

As if I’ve always lived there.

Tobe Hooper's Dark Vacation to "Salem's Lot"

I did it. I finally tackled Salem's Lot. I can't think of another popular fiction property that I've known about for so long and yet…avoided reading. And Salem’s Lot isn't the only Stephen King book I've neglected. Read my mea culpa here.

After finishing my dark vacation to the Lot, I decided to remedy another ill. I'd never seen Tobe Hooper's 1979 adaptation of Salem’s Lot. I’d seen Dane Cook movies, but no Salem’s Lot. Disgusting, right?

(PS: Dane Cook’s been cast in American Gods, based on the Neil Gaiman novel. It could work. Cook was actually great in Dan in Real Life)

So, why should I watch Salem’s Lot? Because it’s not just based on a Stephen King book; it was directed by Tobe Hooper.

The Tobe-ster - 1970s Edition

Hooper is a legend in horror cinema. In the early 1970s, he rewrote horror history with The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, a brutal and visceral film that gutpunched the sensibilities of 1970s moviegoers - and sixteen-year-old me. It now stands alongside Psycho, Halloween and The Exorcist as one of the most original films of all time. And I don’t have to mention Poltergeist, The Funhouse, Lifeforce and Invaders From Mars. The dude has made his mark, and he did it even before he directed this film.

So, it’s required viewing. For me. For you. For everyone.

(Beware Ye, of spoilers below)

Artwork that famously adorned VHS copies at Blockbuster (R.I.P.)

The ’79 adaptation of Salem's Lot differs significantly from King’s novel. Even with a runtime of more than three hours, characters had to be combined and plot details rearrange. Some of the books most memorable scenes have been greatly condensed, sanitized for television, or omitted completely. And you have to expect that when the source material is as sprawling and detailed as this.

Although the movie is greatly constrained by its budget and the demands of 1970s broadcast television, it still worked for me to a great extent. The story’s roots as a small-town soap opera are evident (King was reportedly inspired by a super successful novel and tv series called Peyton Place), but when the film’s horror works, it really works.

What Worked for Me

You can fly, You can fly, You can fly

And you can’t beat Ralphie Glick floating up to scratch on his brother’s window. It’s a scene that’s haunted many childhoods. Even though I’ve seen the image before, floating around on the internet, it was still effective. Hooper draws out the scene, allowing you to really look at the kid, and it’s terrifying. It was clearly shot on a stage, and there’s minimal set decorations, but that lends to the scene’s effectiveness. There are no distractions. The audience is drawn into the dream-like visage as if we, too, are being bewitched by the vampire.

"Scratch, scratch"

The Make-Up Design of Barlow

Kurt Barlow is transformed from a smooth, elegant, European gentleman into an outright monster. Though the look is clearly inspired by Nosferatu’s design, Barlow’s glowing eyes, spiked rabbit teeth and aging makeup really differentiate this vampire as something iconic in its own right.

The way Barlow operates in the movie is very different than in the novel. Hooper is definitely painting in broader strokes than King, and I don't blame him. Even though the runtime of Salem's Lot is over three hours, the space Hooper has to work within pales in comparison to the many pages King had. It makes sense that Hooper would have to condense, simplify and magnify certain aspects of the novel. And the most dramatic simplification was Barlow. Hooper took away his power to speak, which was used in the novel to great effect to seduce and psychologically capture victims. Now Straker speaks for Barlow, which is a perfectly fine adjustment to make. If you have the right actor as Straker.

Bonnie Bedelia

Susan Norton isn’t given much to work with in the novel. She’s the love interest of our leading man, Ben Mears. I didn’t get enough time with her to really care about her. She’s turned into a vampire pretty early, staked, and her body disposed of - all in a way that felt so unfinished, I expected her to return in some capacity at the novel’s conclusion.

Casting Bonnie Bedelia as Sue was a great decision. She has the accessible beauty of a small town girl. Her performance is so gentle and sweet. It’s easy to see why anyone would fall in love with her. And Hooper really improves Sue’s character arc. It was brilliant to bring her back at the end for one final shot at seducing Ben Mears, only to have him stake her brutally in the heart. It’s a great stinger. I’m not sure Sue would have worked had a lesser actress been cast. It’s easy to see why she would later become Ms. John McClain in Die Hard.

Bonnie Bedelia was a smokeshow

What Didn’t Work for Me

Straker
James Mason was a fine actor. The man earned three Oscar nominations and also appeared in one of my favorite films, North by Northwest. But I think he was miscast as Straker.

In King’s novel, Straker arrives as a scary, ominous presence that portends the many horrors to come. His dialogue is some of the most compelling, and I found him even more terrifying than Barlow. Those early scenes between Straker and Crockett are mesmerizing.

Although Mason gives the role his all, he comes off as prissy and aloof. He doesn't portray the strong, stiff-backed and short-tongued Straker of the novel. This is even more problematic when you consider the major changes to Barlow. Rather than the dapper, quiet, bald gentleman that we find on the page, Hooper’s Barlow is a silent monster. And it is Mason who must speak for him. The result is that the misplaced performance of one actor is multiplied by two.

Sorry, buddy.

Hutch’s Mad Game
Ben Mears, played by Starsky & Hutch star David Soul, finds Sue reading his book in the park. And proceeds to creep on her with some of the worst pickup lines I’ve ever heard. I’m sure this scene made much more sense in the ‘70s, when David Soul was motorcycling through the hearts of every woman in America. But now it’s just bad. I did laugh at this scene. So, there’s that.

There’s also another television miniseries adaptation of Salem’s Lot, done for TNT in 2004. That version stars Rob Lowe as Ben Mears, Rutger Hauer as Barlow and Donald Sutherland as Straker. Might be worth a watch, but first I’ve got to time-travel back in time to 2004 to find it.

Next Week: The Shining. The book.

Stephen King, Forgive Me

"Sorry, pal." - Me

I am no Constant Reader. Although I’ve always had great love for Stephen King, I grew up primarily experiencing him through film, not through his novels. King’s knack for high-concept horror has translated well to film, and he’s been a favorite of Hollywood for many full moons.

I did read some. His short stories in Different Seasons and Skeleton Crew gripped my young imagination. But for some reason, I never ventured into much of his longer-form work. Perhaps it was because the greatness of films like Carrie and The Dead Zone spoiled me. I would be carrying the baggage of those great experiences with me. The characters already cast. The ending already known. Last year, when I did finally get around to really reading The Shining, Kubrick came with me. And yet, the stuff that never made it to the screen shone through. The hedge maze was mesmerizing. The insight into Jack Torrance’s psyche was terrifying. Though Jack still looked like Nicholson to me, I knew so much more about his madness.

The Shining was the beginning. I realized I need to read the master. To remedy this sad state of affairs. And so I begin my binge of all things King with Salem’s Lot, the novel that King wrote following the smash success of Carrie.

Carrie was unique. Its high concept horror premise made it a must read in the 70s. It's still provocative today. A quiet young girl, outcast by her popular peers and abused at home, lashes out at her bullies with telekinetic rage. Anti-bullying campaigns are currently a cause célèbre, but Stephen King conquered that menace forty years ago: by giving an awkward girl the mental abilities to wield the world around her. And no, I haven’t read Carrie yet. I’m in the shower. You can start throwing tampons at me now.

An early paperback cover.

In contrast, Salem's Lot struck me as a straightforward tale of Gothic horror. A retelling of Stoker’s Dracula set in a small American town. Though its premise is simple – a town battles a vampire menace – King explores that town with a thoroughness I've not experienced in some time. Salem's Lot contains striking imagery, but the real success of the novel is the sense of place that King has created. Jerusalem's Lot, where our protagonist Ben Mears was born, is a forgotten town in the Northeast, the setting of many King stories. We get to explore every nook and cranny of the stale place, learning about the few inhabitants it has left, and about the Marsten House, a place that King gives such presence that it becomes a character in its own right. Even as the most common circumstances play out on the page, I was constantly aware of what dangers may lurk just beyond, elevating scenes set in bedrooms and graveyards from simply dark to truly horrific.

When a lonely hunchbacked graveyard gravedigger buries a child, King describes the sun falling down around him. A sense of overwhelming dread held me throughout that passage. And when dread matures, and the real terrors do come, they hovered just outside the window, or take the form of a loved one. A loved one who's feeling a bit off but will soon become terror itself. The sheer amount of detail that King packs into Salem's Lot can be considered tedious at times, but behind the minutia there is always menace.

And that menace is Kurt Barlow.

Kurt Barlow in Tobe Hooper's adaptation of "Salem's Lot"

Sporting a fabulous name and a mysterious backstory, Barlow exists only in the mouth of his business partner, Straker, for the beginning of the novel. When he eventually emerges, Barlow is every bit the cold elegant creature we expect. He is not Dracula, but might be his cousin from some other old country in the Caucasus. Though Barlow has many memorable scenes feeding on the townspeople of the Lot, his character arc is essentially the same as every other vampire in literature: sleep during the day, rise at night, and slay, slay, slay. That’s enough for me to recommend this book any day.

Salem’s Lot isn’t perfect. I’ve been clicking keyboards long enough myself to see that King was still growing as a writer and, specifically, as a novelist. He was working things out. Learning by doing. It’s the only way. As William Goldman famously said, “No one knows anything.” You’ve got to find your own way, and that’s what King was doing.

I still really like it, though. In a book filled with so many characters, the question that resonated with me throughout Salem’s Lot is this: “Who will confront evil?”

I love that question.

Some spoilery stuff below, so proceed with caution.

Favorite Characters

Father Callahan: There’s something gentle and endearing about this priest, who easily has more depth than any other character in this novel. He struggles with alcoholism and yet holds a reverence for the power of God. He wields that power when he leads the daylight assault on the Marsten House, only to discover Barlow isn’t there. Callahan carefully considers how he will confront the evil that is Barlow. But in a head-to-head confrontation with the vampire, he falters. Because there are evils in his own life that Callahan didn’t confront first. He’s a wonderfully complex character.

Straker: Richard Throckett Straker, Barlow’s business partner, has some of the most distinct dialogue in the book: short, smart and memorable. He functions as Barlow’s “familiar,” a human who has pledged his life to a vampire in exchange for some benefit. Since he is not himself a vampire, Straker can come and go as he pleases during daylight hours, preparing the way into ‘Salem’s Lot for his master. I found Straker one of the scariest characters in the book. He isn’t someone unwillingly enslaved by Barlow. He willingly serves. There’s something terrifying in that.

Mark Petrie: Mark is such an awesome kid. He has his immediate and pure ability to recognize evil. And he confronts it. When others doubt, Mark acts! When no one else believes, he goes to the Marsten House alone to kill Barlow. He’s a clear-thinking kid who stands up to the bully, stands up to the vampire, and will stand up to you if you’re up to no good.

Favorite Scenes:
Barlow v. Callahan:
I love this scene. It’s the book’s most complex character vs. its most simple. It’s good vs. evil. It’s crucifix vs. vamp-hand. It’s everything. And evil wins! Even though Callahan lives, and Barlow is ultimately destroyed, he leaves Jerusalem’s Lot infested with new vampires. Without a leader. In the sequel that we never got, was Callahan meant to take his place as their leader?

Jimmy Cody v. Knives: Didn’t see that death coming and I loved it.

Man w/ Boy: I really liked the prologue and the epilogue. They were just a joy to read and added greatly to the book’s scope. They seem to be a spiritual father and son, a self and younger self. When they return to Salem’s Lot at the end of the book, it repeats the motif of a man revisiting something from his childhood.

Next week, I’m going to remedy another personal ill: I’ve never seen Tobe Hooper’s film adaptation of Salem’s Lot. You know the one. Everyone knows it.

Everyone’s seen it.

Except for me.

- Micah

The OG hardback cover