Star Wars Memories 04: Uncle Larry's Video Disc Player

I know, that's a Star Trek disc in the ad.
That's not the issue, here. Please focus.

My father’s younger brother, Larry (brother to Jerry, and son to Harry), was something of an early adopter. He and his wife Kathy were fun, especially Kathy. She loved listening to 50’s rock and roll music. She loved Grease. She had some Peter Pan Syndrome issues going on, but when you’re a kid, she’s like the cool older sister. I never knew how she and Larry got together. Larry was fun, but in a grown-up kind of way. My father’s side of the family laughed a lot. They were all high-functioning, affable alcoholics, and they got a lot out of life back then.

I will never forget the Saturday we all caravanned over to Larry and Kathy’s house. It was a family get-together of some kind. I can’t remember what. A birthday party, maybe. But they had all gathered around in the kitchen to drink and smoke and eat off of small plates. My cousin was still a toddler, and not much fun to play with. So I was by myself.

Uncle Larry appeared in the living room, where I was watching something forgettable. The other adults followed him in, and he started to demonstrate for everyone this new thing on top of the television. I later learned it was an RCA SelectaVision Video Disc Player, and it cost just under a thousand bucks at the time. I have no idea how Larry got it. He sold shoes, for crying out loud. But then he slid in the cardboard cover and extracted the disc and hit play and son-of-a-bitch, there it was: “A Long Time Ago, in a Galaxy Far, Far Away...”

The John Williams fanfare started, and my jaw hit the floor. Star Wars! On the television! Right in front of me! This is what the party should have been about! This should have been what the hubbub was over. But the adults, one by one, drifted back into the kitchen for food and booze, leaving me alone, sitting two feet from the television screen, watching the movie, sometimes adjusting the volume when their laughter overrode the dialogue.

Those fools! They had this magic thing in their house and they were just nattering away in there, like it was no big deal. Oh, god, what I would have done for the ability to watch Star Wars in my own home...and then watching it again...and again...and again...

The disc ran out about an hour into the movie, and I hollered for Uncle Larry to help me. He came in, turned it over, patted my head, and hit play. And I watched it all, my brain fully engaged at the task of recording the movie into my brain, memorizing the scenes, even the dialogue itself, because I didn’t know when I was going to get another chance to do this.

That’s something I’ve noticed people my age have in common. Prior to the early 1980s, when the video cassette players became available to rent and later, to own, those of us who were attracted to fantasy, science fiction, and the like, had to watch movies and television and give it our full and complete attention. We purposefully listened to the dialogue. Sometimes, I even took notes. We did this because there was no way of knowing when, if ever, you were going to see that movie again.

I know, it sounds absolutely crazy today. But back then, movies and television (and lp records, too) were our only means of seeing a particular film or show. TV was, on a local level, very cool in that respect, showing lots of old movies that I wouldn’t have otherwise been exposed to. But re-watching a hot movie meant buying another ticket. Did I have the two dollars and fifty cents to see Star Wars again? Or did I leverage that into a Ben Kenobi action figure? Five bucks only went so far.

I watched Star Wars twice that night, while my parents yukked it up and ate ham salad in the other room. I fell asleep in front of the television. But I had it locked in. Huge chunks of scenes, long sections of dialogue. My recall, even now, is impressive. Most impressive. See what I did, there? Some of you know.

The adults, sensing that Larry had inadvertently picked a winner, were only too keen to let me visit Larry and Kathy after that. And I was a gracious, quiet, and undemanding houseguest. Just put the Star Wars movie on the laser disc player and go do whatever you need to do. I’ll be right here when it’s lunch time.

Star Wars Memories 03: My Ninth Birthday Party

Few things summon up memories of childhood faster than
a Ben Cooper plastic mask.

In 1978, I was living in a new house, in another part of town, and my Star Wars room was gone, save for the sleeping bag, poster, and Han and Chewie mirror. I’d already ensconced myself into Star Wars consumerism; I had toys, magazines, bubble gum cards, comics, and lots of one-off weird items, like the aforementioned silver mirror. None of my other friends had that mirror. I was the only one I knew of for decades that had one. So, basically, I was a Star Wars kid. That was the hook upon which most adult decisions were made about what to get me for birthdays and Christmas and any other gift-giving/child bribery occasions.

It was inevitable, I suppose that I would have a Star Wars birthday party that year. I can’t recall everyone on the guest list, because I didn’t make it, but I know Dennis was there, having been schlepped over by his mother, because we were no longer living down the street from one another. If you showed me a picture from the party, I could name the kids, but right now, all I can see is us, wearing the plastic vacu-form Halloween masks that were the best party favor of all time. Everyone had a different mask, from Chewie, to Vader, to the generic Stormtrooper, to C3PO, and Luke in his pilot helmet. There were extra Stormtrooper masks. Duh. We snatched those up instantly and didn’t take them off; we merely levered them up on our forehead to eat cake.

Oh, the cake. Pictures of the cake survive—a Star Wars cake, with black icing (space is dark), and the droids and the death star captured in spun and molded sugar. It was glorious. I remember my mother telling the story of trying to find black food coloring and having to drive all over town (she eventually found some in a bakery supply wholesale shop). We were all impressed. Black icing for space. We’d never seen the like before. That icing, by the way, stained all of our lips and gums a dark purple-blue color, making us look like creepy undead children. Bonus!

My birthday being a week before Halloween meant that there was a little bleed over into the holiday spirit. My parents actually set up an apple bobbing station in the hopes that we’d give it a go, and we did, mostly. But pulling apples out of a tub of water with your face paled next to discussing the awesome powers of the Dark Lord of the Sith.

What did I get for my birthday? Star Wars loot, of course.

There’s a few reasons why this birthday stands out for me: it’s the only one I can remember prior to the age of thirteen. It’s also the only one I can recall with my father present. That’s not to say he wasn’t present for any of the others, but I honestly have no memory of my birthdays before Star Wars. And as an only child, I’m fairly certain I was spoiled rotten, so I don’t know why that is, exactly. But it’s one of the last times I remember being happy with my parents in the same room.

Star Wars Memories 02: My First Decorative Mirror

Okay, pretend this is a mirror. Everything behind
Han and Chewie is mirrored glass, and the two
figures are drawn in black silkscreened ink.
Now, encase it all in a tacky silver frame. Ah, the 1970's!

I turned 8 in 1977, in October of that year, and part of my birthday spoils included a full room makeover into a Star Wars themed room, or as much of it as could be managed at the time, which was still pretty good. I got a navy blue paint job, a Star Wars sleeping bag which I promptly unzipped and used as a comforter for years, a poster of Darth Vader, and a silver mirror with plastic chrome framing and a silkscreened image of Han and Chewie shooting off to the left at Stormtroopers (you know the image; it was everywhere).

This was awesome. I had already started buying the Topp’s trading cards and the various magazines with Star Wars articles in them. I couldn’t start reading about this stuff soon enough. I had to know more. Now, as an only child, I could stay in my room all day and disappear into the world of Star Wars, thanks to my snazzy room make-over.

Mind you, I wasn’t all Star Wars, all the time. There were other considerations, too. But that mirror with Han and Chewie on it…man. That was my favorite part of the room. I liked it better than the Darth Vader poster, and let me tell you, I loved that Darth Vader poster. I held on to the mirror for as long as I could, well into high school. I don’t know what happened to it, either. No memory of packing it or breaking it. Only it being on my wall one minute, and not there the next.

I think the thing I liked best about the mirror was that I could look into it and see my room from the other side. I’ve always been fascinated with mirrors and optics and this weird 15” by 10” knick-knack became my portal into the Star Wars universe.

I have since learned that the mirrors were made by Lightline Industries, and there were four designs in two different sizes: Darth Vader, Artoo and Threepio, Han and Chewie, and the ubiquitous X-Wing being chased by a TIE Fighter. You could get these images in 15” by 10” (or 10” by 15” if it was a portrait) or the much larger and oh-God-why-didn’t-I-know-about-this-sooner size of 20” by 30”. Forget a disco lounge. Forget Elvis'Jungle Room. Forget a Steampunk Villan's Retreat. My eventual Man Cave will feature those big-ass mirrors on one wall, as God is my witness.

Thirty-something years later, and I still covet this stuff. It’s so strange to me.

Star Wars Memories 01: My First Exposure

At age seven, I wasn’t clocking movie premieres the way everyone does now. This was 1977, and the only way to find out what was playing at the theaters was to catch a television commercial, read the daily paper, or drive by the theater. Again, I was seven. I was much more concerned with twelve-inch G.I. Joe action figures, my burgeoning interest in movie monsters, and mastering the skateboard as my new means of transportation.

It was my friend Dennis who asked me to go see Star Wars with him. Dennis was my friend who was into science fiction stuff; mostly that meant Star Trek, and if you were really nerdy, Space 1999. I had a bunch of Mego 8” Planet of the Apes action figures. He had a bunch of the Mego 8” Star Trek aliens, including the Mugato space ape. We got along famously, as you can well imagine. So, he said, “Star Wars?” and I said, “I’ll ask.”

Thankfully, Mom agreed.

It’s hard to recall my very first time watching Star Wars from start to finish. I watched it several times after that in rapid succession, and so those viewings all blur into one blob of feverish wonder and intense curiosity.  But I do remember when I realized I was watching something game-changing. The first half hour of the movie is great, and no one would ever argue otherwise: we had the stormtroopers, Vader’s entrance, the droids on Tatooine, and even the obviously cued and symbolic entrance of Luke and Ben. Oh, of course, the Lightsaber was amazing, but it was ten seconds and then it was turned off. A magic trick.

But as soon as they walk into the Cantina, that’s when you know you’ve left Earth. Up until then, the aliens—the Sandpeople and the Jawas—were just people in cloaks. Maybe shorter than others, but still. It’s not until we get into Mos Eisley that you know you’re not in Kansas anymore.

The cantina sequence, from our party’s first entrance to Han’s flippant exit, was my first most favorite scene ever. It was as if the Don Post Halloween mask ad from the back of Creepy magazine had come to life, and then some. Everything about the scene, from the band playing music that sounded legitimately not-of-this-Earth, to the entrance of Han and Chewbacca, to Ben taking off the guy’s arm with his lightsaber, and all of those short cuts to weird characters drinking, smoking, talking, and otherwise being aliens in a bar, was world-building in its quickest form. This bar was representative of the galaxy, the world we were about to go zooming around in. So simple, and so elegant, but absolutely necessary to the story, and with wonderful implications about what’s in store for us.

Who cares that some of the aliens were off-the-shelf masks? I sure didn’t. For every werewolf in the scene, there’s Hammerhead and Walrus Man (I know, they have names now, but my brain calls them what they were named by Kenner, and I can’t convert), who don’t look like any Don Post mask I’ve ever seen.

And of course, the cantina is where we first meet Han Solo. As movie introductions go, his first scene at the table and the follow-up with Greedo is note-perfect. Anything you need to know about Han can be found in that scene. Cocky, brash, arrogant, worldly, unlucky, cynical, and opportunistic. Luke has an arc, a journey, all through the first movie, but not Han. He pops at the end, under the pressure of the narrative, but right up until that final battle, he’s as mercenary as they come. He was my guy, right from the start.

Dennis and I came out of the theater blown away, like everyone else. He wanted to know all about the space ships. I wanted to build my own lightsaber. All of our other interests got shoved aside as we went back out into the summer of 1977, our eyes opened to this new idea that was Star Wars. My journey had begun. I had taken my first step into a larger world.

A Quick Announcement

I'll keep this short, for now. Starting December 1st, I'll be posting a series of Star Wars memories, starting all the way back to 1977 and moving forward from there. I'll update the blog every day until The Force Awakens premieres. Why? I don't know. I just thought you'd be interested. Maybe you'll want to share some of your own Star Wars memories, too.

Besides, this sure beats a three-peat of my Award-Winning, Internationally Famous Essay, "Keep Your Nuts to Yourself." On that, I think we can all agree. However, you may be looking for my Holiday Survival Guide and it can be found here: The Finn's Wake Holiday Survival Guide.  Okay, that's it for now. See you in two days, and May the Force Be With You.

Lovecraft, His Goofy Likeness, and What it all Means

The offensive statue in question, designed by Gahan Wilson.

Few things get everyone up in the morning as the intersection of Fandom and Internet. On Monday, before anyone even had time to crank out a picture of their Red Starbuck's Cup, appropriately defaced, the news hit that The World Fantasy Award Committee was retiring the bust of H.P. Lovecraft they've been using for 40 years. If you don't know about this, you can check out this timely piece that explains the hubbub. This news has invaded my Facebook feed, freaked out a bunch of people, and divided many of my friends, who are now bandying around words like "social justice warriors" (they mean it as an insult) and "politically correct police" (which does sound bad), and other topical buzzwords that shut down the dialogue. I don't know if I'm going to be heard over the howling and kvetching, but here are my thoughts, in a nutshell.

On one hand, I completely understand the need to change the statue. Lovecraft isn't for everyone, and he sure doesn't represent the entire field of fantasy fiction. I mean, if you wanted an author for an award for fantasy writing, Lovecraft's name doesn't float to the top of the list.  It's worth noting that when the World Fantasy Convention first convened in 1975, the theme of the convention was "The Lovecraft Circle." Ah! Now this award makes perfect sense.

But times change and themes change. There are a number of images useful to conveying the scope of fantasy that would be appropriate for an award statue. This shouldn't be an issue. And, I understand if you as an author are uncomfortable with stuff that Lovecraft said in his letters and fiction when he wrote them down, ninety years ago or so. I can see how it's problematic for you. I can also imagine that such an image in your home might conflict with your strongly held beliefs and feelings. Cool beans. By all means, let's change the statue.

On the other hand, Lovecraft's racism never bothered me. I'm a doughy white guy in Texas. It never came up, not until years later, when I got ahold of some of Lovecraft's more racist writings. Mind you, I had to go looking for them. They weren't included in the fiction collections. Okay, yeah, some of the stories...if you're decoding them that way...feed into some of Lovecraft's fears and convictions about New York City. Which was full of immigrants. People of color. Yep, no question about it. "The Horror From Red Hook" is problematic.

What's the solution to that? Take it out of the "Complete Works of H.P. Lovecraft?" Yeah, no, that's not going to make the story go away, any more than it's going to magically "fix" racism. I think it's better to include it, and then be prepared to discuss it openly and honestly. That's how you start to get a handle on racism. Not by removing things that are visible to your naked eyes, like a vampire avoiding a mirror.

Obviously, my take-away from Lovecraft, and so many other people I know, is the cosmic horror, the strange architecture, the ghosts, the ghouls and the gothic cosmeticsim. That's our Lovecraft. And you may well say, "It's easy for you to pick and choose. You're white. You're male. You're part of the problem. You represent the hegemony."

Yeah. I guess I do. And yet, I would never want to do anything, display anything, or say anything that would make my friends--any of my friends--uncomfortable. Not in my own house, nor in public, anywhere.

It's like this: supposed I had a framed piece of advertising art from the 1930s, depicting a young black girl, her eyes comically wide open, her mouth forming an "ooo" as she looks at the giant slice of watermelon in her hands. It's an ad for a fruit company, see? It's a piece of advertising Americana. Right? Right?

Now, what happens when a couple of my friends come over and see that hanging on the wall? Friends of color? Let's presume they give me the benefit of the doubt and ask me first, "What the hell, man?" And I explain to them why it's hanging up on my wall. I admire it as art, see? It's been in my family for years.

"Yeah," one of them says, "but it's still a pickaninny with a watermelon. This offends me deeply."

What would you do? Would you take it down and apologize? Or would you double down and explain to them why their feelings are wrong, why they shouldn't get offended about it, and why they are being a little too sensitive because, after all, this artist didn't just paint this image. He painted a lot of other images that weren't like this. So, really, who has the problem, here?

I like my friends. I want to keep them. I want more of them. So does the World Fantasy Award Committee. It's good for the field of fantasy writing, it's good for the award, and it's good for the participants all, who want to see a more austere award that encapsulates what they wrote, and not just what the group was talking about in 1975.

Finally, this: Lovecraft is in the canon of American authors, alongside Raymond Chandler, Phillip K. Dick, Dashiell Hammett and precious few others who have escaped the Pulp and Science Fiction Ghetto. This award has been given out to what, a hundred and fifty people in forty years? Maybe more? Maybe less? Some folks got it more than once. There is no possible cultural backlash that sets Lovecraft Studies back twenty five years that could possibly come from this. It's a non-issue, one that has only gotten larger attention because so many of you keep nattering on about it as if it were you personally who were attacked by all of this.

Meanwhile, all over the planet, more meaningful and interesting and wonderful and terrifying things are happening, just as "unfriend" buttons and "block" buttons are being clicked all over Facebook with the finality of a nuclear Armageddon first strike.

I keep saying it, but no one seems to be listening: if any of you who own WFC statues, and suddenly don't want to be considered a racist, or are getting rid of your statues as a form of protest, please send them to me. I'll purchase them for a modest sum, plus shipping, and then you can sleep easy at night.

Top 5 Science Run Amok Movies

Growing up in the 1970s, I had a healthy skepticism about the awesome power of science. I lived in a city in Texas that was, at the time, developing the B-1 stealth bomber at the nearby air force base. It’s common knowledge now, but obviously, no one knew anything about it at the time. They just had all of the elementary schools practice “disaster drills.” Yeah.

So, thanks to The Cold War and my fear of a Nuclear Holocaust, watching old monster movies from the fifties with mad scientists made perfect sense. Here’s what happens when you fully fund a guy for his research without doing your due diligence. Pretty soon, they are teleporting their own head onto insects and unleashing giant insects on an unsuspecting public. And for what, I ask you?

Science is still scary to people. Instead of irradiated mutants, we’re concerned about genetically-modified organisms. Science keeps trying (at least, in our fevered imaginations) to improve upon nature, and in doing so, usually bungs it up so badly that dinosaurs get loose in San Diego, or people come back to life as whackjob zombies, or any number of Worst Case Scenarios.

My Top 5 Horror-Comedy Films

Humor and Fear look a lot alike, as far as the body reactions go. Laughter is an expression of surprise. So, too, is a scream. The difference? Watching Curly hit Moe with a shovel, and watching a cat jump out of a darkened recess in the space ship when everyone is looking for the alien. Those two scenarios are considered miles apart. But something really interesting happens when you start moving them closer together.

The Horror-Comedy movie (or, if you prefer, the Comedy-Horror movie) is one of those rare, fragile and delicate kinds of movies that is very tricky to pull off without tipping the scales one way or the other. It takes only a nudge to turn a comedic horror movie into parody, or worse, a self-referential meta-movie that becomes insider baseball. Likewise, if you’re not funny enough, the laughs will be more of the nervous variety than the knee-slapping kind. Not that there’s ever any real belly laughs in a Horror-Comedy movie. It’s more of a sensibility; not quite a slice-of-life motif, but the best of their kind manage to use a combination of setting and dialogue to keep you rooted in the story, rather than overwhelm you with gags. 

My Top 5 Creatures on the Loose Movies

It’s a tale as old as the movies itself. Man does something stupid, or brilliant, or brilliantly stupid, and finds/discovers/invents/stumbles across a monster, and then spends the rest of the movie trying not to get eaten.

I’m not talking about Japanese Kaiju movies, although they are certainly a part of the larger discussion (and, FYI, will get their own Top 5 List at a later date). I’m referring to the things that are larger than humans, but smaller than Godzilla. Or, optionally, man-sized, but far from man-like. The monster in question doesn’t have to be a giant animal; indeed, the best of this type of movie are monster that never were, or thought to have been myths, or just plain aliens.

There’s also a hunter versus hunted component to this kind of movie. Whatever is chasing us for food triggers these primal fears within us that we typically suppress. As a country that is mythically saturated by a fear of the unknown, the Other, the Outer Darkness, these movies are at their biggest and best the every thing our ancestors feared when they huddled in their cabins for warmth. Our cabins are way better now, with wi-fi and air conditioning, but the fear never really goes away. 

My Top 5 Favorite When Animals Attack Movies

Sometimes, the reasons for why movies scare us are not so complicated and tied up with our unconscious. Sometimes, it’s right out in the open, a “Duh!” moment for everyone to pick up on. One of our most deeply held convictions is the idea that we’re at the top of the food chain in every respect. Granted, there’s not much we can say about shark attacks, and other run-ins with wild animals, because usually, it’s our fault, right? 

What’s worse is when trusted domesticated animals turn on us. That’s a betrayal that cuts at the heart, as well as the throat. But let’s face it; when animals attack, it’s always a reminder that we’re not the kings of the world. We’re not in control of things, and you know, we never were. In fact, under the right circumstances, we’re nothing more than food...

This is where you cue the music for one of the many Bert I. Gordon giant insect films from the 1950s, or worse, one of the many “they used to be furry and cuddly, but now they are giant and horrible” movies from the 1970s. To call them formulaic B-movies is overstating the obvious. And while it’s tempting to load this category up with Giant Mutant Animals or Giant Mutant Insects, we’re going to shuffle those off to separate categories and focus on normal-sized animals that lose it for one reason or another, domestic or otherwise. It’s a much harder category to fill out, but the movies are better.

My Top 5 Mummy Movies

I’m including this category only for the sake of completeness; otherwise, it would have looked conspicuous by its absence. Mummies are my least favorite movie monster. I mean, I still like them and will watch them, but I’m always disappointed in the execution; I don’t think we’ve yet seen the Citizen Kane of Mummy movies. 

The problem with mummies is that we’ve moved past their cultural relevance. During the heyday, when Orientalism and Egyptology were in vogue, and new grave robbing—excuse me, archeological expeditions—yielded weekly finds in the newspapers, at a time when Egypt might as well have been Mars for all the common man knew, and these British plunderers were all too happy to ignore the warnings about disturbing the dead and cracking open tombs, well, sure, mummies were the shit.

Think about it: Empirical Britain, with its indulgent, institutionalized Colonialism, with its foot still on the neck of the British Raj in India, and now encroaching into Egypt to show the turban-wearing desert folk a thing or two about their five thousand year old culture. All too eager to overwrite Egyptian history through a British lens. What better way to punish these stiff-upper-lip-having, upper crust professors and their landed gentry friends than by having something from another culture’s history throttle the life out of them? The thing you pooh-poohed as being a silly superstition isn’t so silly when it’s crashing through your door, now, is it?

My Top 5 Frankenstein Movies

Mary Shelly got the shaft, historically speaking. A smart, literate, talented writer and editor, on top of being the only woman in her peer group, and what is she best remembered for? Only the first science fiction novel, ever, and when it’s mentioned, trust me, it’s with much grousing and grumbling and caveats from the science fiction community.

Of course, I’m talking about Frankenstein: or, the Modern Prometheus, a decent piece of Victorian melodrama, written in 1818, that inadvertently grapples with the concept of the soul, what makes us human, and asks the question of whether or not science should meddle with the forces of nature. Heavy stuff for back in those days, don’tcha know. But those hard SF guys, the graybeards, over in the corner, will shake their heads, and say, “Well, sure, some of the ideas are there, but really...”

How do you top that kind of back-handed compliment, I wonder? Oh, I’ve got it! Make a movie out of an extremely successful stage play and overwrite all of the conceits and concepts of the novel into its most reductive form, and turn a brilliant allegory into a grotesque caricature that is parodied and copied ad infinitum, well into the 21^st century. Talk about “No Respect.”

Re: The Cimmerian Blog Archive and Website

Don't worry if you don't know what I'm talking about. Feel free to skip it. But if you do, and need to know anything, here's my official statement:

I have asked Leo Grin to remove my blog posts from The Cimmerian blog archive and he has complied. While I am grateful for the chance to be a part of the blog when it was an active player in Robert E. Howard fandom, in its dotage (and in the wake of Leo's exit from Howard fandom) I find my beliefs and personal ethics do not align with the owner of the blog and did not wish to give my consent, implicit or otherwise, to the archive's change in direction and the material that has been altered on the site itself.

That's all you need to know, at the moment.