ABBOTT AND COSTELLO TRY TO RUIN "FRANKENSTEIN"

          In the late-1920s, Carl Laemmle Jr., the head of production at Universal pictures, requested horror as a genre on which to focus, resulting in a string of classics--most notably, Dracula, Frankenstein, The Mummy, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and The Invisible Man. Some of the films deserve their fame more than others; all, however, share in common a degree of gravity, strong emotional truth fantastically presented.
          After 1936, however, when the tenure of Laemmle Jr. ended, something horrific occurred. Somebody else at the desk a few years later figured those old horror movies might just hold a little more blood for the squeezing. So, with nary an intent to appreciate the genre, a second cycle of Universal horror flicks got cranked out, riding on the success of the first.
          Like a kid smashing together a toy in each fist, Universal came up with Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man. Then it was the House of movies--House of Frankenstein, House of Dracula. By 1948 this schlock degenerated into the Abbott and Costello series billed as hilarious spoofs, yet holding genuine thrills and chills.
          Nothing could be further from the truth.
          What Abbott and Costello do for classic Universal monsters is right up there with what they did for religion with the lost film Abbott and Costello Meet Moses. In that one, Charlton Heston, playing Moses, pops up from behind a crate, causing the short fat one, Lou Costello as Wilbur, to point and stammer ineffectually, finally frantically calling out for the taller one, Bud Abbott as Chick, who comes over and says, "What's the matter with you? Get back to work!" Then when Chick leaves, Moses appears behind another crate, scaring Wilbur a second time, and the whole bit gets repeated again.
          Billed as a hilarious spoof of Biblical movies, while also providing genuine spiritual thrills, what this lost film did was make people hate Moses.
          Same sort of thing with the not lost stuff.
          One movie in history truly is hilarious and also pays legitimate homage to the Universal classics, Young Frankenstein (1974), produced by Twentieth Century Fox.
          The original films already have problems enough. For one thing, why is Frankenstein's monster so symmetrical? To indicate the haphazard collection of robbed separate parts stitched together, everything should be wrongly proportioned. Why does Dracula have a tiny little coffin for a potato bug? Vampires can't handle the shape of the cross, but there are cross-shapes all over the floors and the walls of Dracula's castle. Why?
          When Lon Chaney Jr. turns into the Wolf Man, he's wearing a white tank top t-shirt. But then in the next scene he's wearing a dark long-sleeved button-down shirt. NO WAY!
          The better werewolf movie--and it's a mystery why we rarely see any mention of it--is the earlier film Werewolf of London (1935), starring Henry Hull. More to say about that film another time.
          The Mummy is basically a cheap Dracula re-make. Both of those movies start with the best scenes, then taper off for the bulk of the picture. A lot of drawing room nonsense, not enough action.
          Yet these are the films that we love, despite House of Abbott Meets Costello. The classics open magnificently with great use of silence broken only by lovely old crackles and pops in the film, like a favorite vinyl LP. The films have their flaws, yes. They're not like the books, no. But one thing's for sure: They make Abbott and Costello look like crud.

Screwing up the title of my article is inexcusable.

"Try to Run Franke"?

Holy shit. All they had to do was simply cut and paste. 

So yeah, this is why I don't let them run my articles anymore. Wasn't their first time screwing up one of my titles, either. They've even managed to get my name wrong in a couple issues. And never had the character to print a correction, much less apologize for their errors.

Then to cap it all off, they never once paid me for my work anywhere near on time. Always took them about four months--literally four months--before they finally met their responsibilities. Even at the vastly reduced rate which I allowed, like charity. 

I helped them out for a long time, and I was the best part of that paper, I promise you.

Never again.

"LAST WALTZ" FIRST-RATE

          Martin Scorsese's 1978 film of The Band's final concert.
          Featuring an all-star lineup with performances by Eric Clapton, Neil Diamond, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, Dr. John, Van Morrison, Muddy Waters, Ron Wood, The Band, and more, The Last Waltz is more than a concert. It's a celebration.
          At the time it was celebrating having, as guitarist Robbie Robertson states, "been together 16 years on the road." More specifically, not doing that anymore. But the statement is misleading. The title of The Band's 1968 seminal album Music From Big Pink refers to a house in New York state where they holed up writing music and developing their mystique, so it's not like they were constantly on the road.
          Still, Robertson had had his fill. Indeed, no one on the planet expected The Rolling Stones or anyone else to play for 50 or 60 years.
          It begins at the end, with Rick Danko, Richard Manuel, Levon Helm, Garth Hudson, and Robertson playing the perhaps prophetically titled "Don't Do It." For those unfamiliar with The Band, in the early-'60s they played for Ronnie Hawkins as The Hawks. By the mid-'60s, Bob Dylan saw them perform and was so impressed that he started playing electric guitar and changed his sound to folk-rock. Around this time The Hawks took a name change. They tried calling themselves The Crackers. They tried calling themselves The Honkies. But the only name that stuck was The Band--as in Bob Dylan and The Band.
          Their most famous song is "The Weight," the one with the line, "Take a load off, Annie..."
          In between songs we get little stories and insights from the members recalling the early days and difficult conditions therein.
          Prior to the 1978 movie release, Martin Scorsese's most famous films were Mean Streets (1973) and Taxi Driver (1976), both starring Robert De Niro. This year marks the release of Scorsese's latest collaboration with the legendary actor in The Irishman, as well as a Bob Dylan documentary on Netflix, Rolling Thunder Revue.
          The 11/25/76 concert which took place at the Winterland in San Francisco boasts unforgettable performances in a time-capsule of musicianship. No AutoTune, no lip-syncing, no synchronized dancing, just a wide variety of real music from actual musicians.
          Ten years after the concert, keyboardist Manuel took his life. In 1992 surviving members got together again with Bob Dylan for an evening, but the 1976 event remains the last performance.
          Available wherever fine films are found.



Stewart Kirby writes for
THE INDEPENDENT
and
TWO RIVERS TRIBUNE