Richard J. Anobile's Frankenstein

Richard J. Anobile’s Film Classic Library edition of Frankenstein was one of the most unusual and beloved of all Frankenstein film books. Back in 1974, it was invaluable. Today, made hopelessly redundant by home video technology, it is a curio, an artifact of a not so long ago bygone age.

In the Seventies, Anobile was a high profile film writer and editor of very popular and entertaining scrapbook-like celebrations of The Marx Brothers (Why a Duck?), W.C.Fields, Abbott and Costello and Laurel and Hardy. With titles that included The Maltese Falcon, Casablanca and Psycho, the bold concept of The Film Classic Library would delight those who, back then, called themselves “film buffs”.

The principle was explained right on the series' distinctive silver covers (see above). The books were composed of frame blowups taken directly from a celluloid copy of the film, arranged in sequence and captioned with dialog. Essentially, the film was meticulously laid out on paper. Here, for the first time, you could study a film in great detail; you could examine every set, every character in costume and makeup, as they appeared in the film.

The whole concept of the Film Classic Library went out the window with the arrival of videotape. With VCRs you could own a film, view it at will, freeze-frame images, watch in slow motion or step through scenes frame by frame. With today’s digital copies, we can study films in even more exacting detail but, in their time, Anobile’s books were extraordinary sources of information.

Anobile’s short introduction, while rightfully praising Boris Karloff’s poignant performance, is surprisingly unkind to James Whale, whose direction he calls “primitive at best”. Whale is cast as being hampered by his theatrical background and unable to exhibit any feeling for the film medium. The action, according to Anobile, is stagebound and ludicrous, with the actors “overgesturing” as if playing to the back rows and scenes are filmed “in medium or long shots with Whale never giving the close-up any thought”. Though Anobile notes the innovative use of panning, showing a character’s reactions while the speaker is offscreen, his opinion of Whale is so poor as to pronounce this pioneering effect as “a matter of chance” adding, “His work does not exhibit a good knowledge of screen direction or film technique.”

It is a curious reading of a film which, most reviewers would agree, hums along at a good clip and still packs a punch, with a frequent use of closeups, including famous ones such as the focus on the Monster’s hand indicating “it’s alive”, and the 3-step zoom-in introduction of The Monster, culminating with an intense, extreme closeup of its gaunt face and piercing eyes.

Unexpectedly, Anobile’s Frankenstein still provides one important piece of information. Published 15 years before censored scenes were found and restored to the film, the book is a document of the film as it was seen for over 60 years, in theatres and on television, prior to the restoration. The clips found in the late Eighties were mostly trims, brief but significant clips of violent struggles, a hypo stab to the back, shots of Fritz leering into the camera as he taunts The Monster with a flaming torch and, most famously, the scene where Boris Karloff’s Monster throws little Maria into the lake, and his panicked flight after she fails to surface. Anobile noted that the lakeside scene was listed in the studio’s film continuity but assumed, as anyone would have, that it was lost.

As shown in the book, The Monster and Maria play with flowers by the lake. Running out of daisies, The Monster reaches for the girl and we cut, jarringly, to a scene of dancing villagers. Anyone who saw the film prior to its 1989 restoration will remember The Monster’s sudden lunge towards the child and how abrupt and disturbing the cut was.

An interesting side note: The Frankenstein cover uses the one existing shot of Boris Karloff in a test makeup, with "horns" on his forehead. The photo, likely never meant for public viewing, has become ubiquitous, appearing on film posters and book covers ever since the film was first released, back in 1931. Also worth nothing: The Film Classic Library books were laid out by Harry Chester, a New York-based book and magazine designer who served as production manager on Famous Monsters of Filmland and other Warren titles.

Richard J. Anobile’s Film Classic Library edition of Frankenstein was once — and only too briefly — an essential reference book. After home video made its rigorous format unnecessary, the author went on to produce more vibrant “film novel” or “photo story” adaptations, combining screen captures and comic book-like word balloons, for such films as Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan, and Alien. He is active today as a film producer.

With thanks to Max Cheney.

Vincent at 100

The old Inventor presents his patchwork creation, Edward Scissorhands, with a new heart, freshly baked.

Vincent Price would have turned 100 on May 27. Celebrations, ingeniously dubbed The Vincentennial, were held all this week in St. Louis, Price’s birthplace.

Unlike his horror star confreres Karloff, Lugosi, Chaney Jr, Cushing and Lee — he worked with all of them, save Lugosi — Price never made a Frankenstein film. He does utter a line, uncredited and, playing The Invisible Man, unseen, in Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948), but that doesn’t really count, does it? Otherwise, Price appeared in clearly Frankensteinian films, like Tim Burton’s Edward Scissorhands (1990), a Frankenstein-like fairy tale, complete with angry villagers storming a castle at the end. Price was the mysterious and whimsical Inventor who creates a boy with scissors for hands and a cookie heart. It was the actor’s last feature film role.

There’s a tenuous Frankenstein connection in Price’s turn as Dr. Goldfoot, star of two unfortunate comedies, Dr. Goldfoot and the Bikini Machine (1965) and Dr. Goldfoot and the Girl Bombs (1966). This mad scientist created attractive fembots built for seduction, robbery and murder.

A better Frankenstein reference can be found in Price’s Dr. Phibes character, featured in two wildly entertaining films, The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971) and Dr. Phibes Rises Again (1972), both directed by Robert Fuest. The mad Anton Phibes, horribly mutilated in a car accident, frankensteins himself back together, trading The Monster’s electrodes for an audio jack in his neck, allowing him to speak through a gramophone. Phibes was, in a sense, the mad doctor and his own monster rolled into one.

Price good-naturedly embraced his success and enormous popularity as a movie villain and a horror star. He had fun with his screen image, often appearing as a guest on television comedy and variety programs. In one famous 1968 episode of The Red Skelton Show, Price and Boris Karloff sang The Two of Us and donned laboratory coats for a sketch as mad scientists with designs on Clem Kadiddlehopper’s addled brain.

By a glorious coincidence, Vincent Price shared his birthday, May 27, with his friend Christopher Lee. Sir Christopher, still a busy actor, will turn 89 this year. Another colleague, Peter Cushing, was born May 26. He would have been 98.

Related:
Vincent Price and Christopher Lee

Rondo'ed!

Together again for the first time, the only 3 bloggers ever to win the Rondo Hatton Classic Horror Award for Best Blog! That’s me clutching my trophy with last year’s winner Max Cheney of The Drunken Severed Head (now hosted on the Famous Monsters website) and Tim Lucas of Video Watchblog, winner of ALL the Best Blog Rondos awarded previously. Tim is holding up the Monster Kid Hall of Fame Award he shares with his wife, Donna.

The Rondos were handed out at a lively, informal and sometimes emotional ceremony held last week, on May 14, at Wonderfest in Louisville, Kentucky.

The affair was MC’ed by tuxedoed Rondo Master David Colton, assisted by the vivacious Linda Wylie. Among the winners present, the Hall of Fame inductees made speeches that went straight to the heart and tear ducts of every Monster Kid and Kidette in attendance. Tim and Donna Lucas delighted us with the story of how they first met. Cortland Hull, honoring posthumous inductee Verne Langdon, spoke movingly of the man’s inspiration and generosity. Artist Bill Stout delivered a heartfelt, deeply touching remembrance of growing up loving monster movies and dinosaurs and, in an unforgettable moment that brought the award itself into vivid focus, he told of how his father had known Rondo Hatton and had remembered him as a kind, gentle and soft-spoken man.

When my turn came up, I was honored to be introduced by my friend Max Cheney, here waving Ygor’s vuvuzela which he threatened to blow just to embarrass me. Max noted that May 14 was an important date in Frankenstein history. It was on May 14, in 1817, that Mary Shelley finished Frankenstein!

Here I am babbling away. I thanked my readers, who keep me going, and everyone at The Classic Horror Film Board who got me going. Four years ago, I’d already been thinking of doing this blog for a long time and finding the CHFB and people who were passionate about classic horror and interested in new discoveries and new ways of looking at old films gave me that final push, the tipover I needed, and I got started.

I still can’t believe I’m part of this, the traditional group shot of winners and special presenters. Front and center (fourth from left) is Kerry Gammill who sculpted the Rondo Award.

Rondo celebrations aside, Monster Kids congregate all weekend (and at all hours) in the Old Dark Club House, a hospitality suite designed and operated to his everlasting credit by Gary Prange. Here, among classic Monster Kid artifacts and souvenirs, you get to hang out, chat and party with fellow attendees. Pictured are some of my favorite people in the world: Jane Considine, Donna Lucas, Tim Lucas, the Mad Monkey and Max Cheney (not sure which is which).

I had a blast and my fondest wish is to go back someday and spend some more time at the Old Dark Club House. It’s full of friends I want to see again, and there’ll be new friends to meet. Maybe even you!

First and last photos courtesy Tim Lucas. All others by Eileen Colton (check out her website and Etsy shop for some mind-blowing photography).

The Art of Frankenstein : Jeffrey Catherine Jones (1944-2011)

Sad news: Artist Jeffrey Catherine Jones passed away on May 19. She was 67.

The Atlanta-born artist settled in New York in the late Sixties, coming to prominence as an illustrator with a series of acclaimed paperback covers, mostly in the fantasy and sword and sorcery genres, executed in a signature ethereal style. Known then as Jeff Jones, the artist also contributed a unique stream of consciousness comic strip, Idyl, to National Lampoon.

In 1975, Jones, Bernie Wrightson, Mike Kaluta and Barry Windsor-Smith moved into a loft together, leading to a highly prolific period of artistic experimentation. Although the adventure lasted only three years, it attained legendary status through a vastly influential 1979 book, The Studio. By then, Jones had abandoned commercial illustration for fine arts.

Over the last decade, Jones’ output dried up due to health and personal issues. More recently, she had been active in social media and had begun sculpting and painting again. A documentary film, Better Things: Life + Choices of Jeffrey Jones, is currently in production.

Jones’ superb Frankenstein painting, undated, shows the Karloff Monster as a lonely figure in what appears to be a stripped-down set reminiscent of the classic movie towers with their interminable stairways. Though The Monster is posed off-center, the eye is resolutely drawn to the character with off-kilter lines, curved walls, stairs and brushstrokes, with a final framing splash of bright red.

Read a comprehensive biography and reminiscence of Jeffrey Catherine Jones on Tom Spurgeon’s The Comics Reporter.

Jeffrey Jones website is filled with great art.

Director Maria Cabardo’s MacAb Films Present carries news and film clips from the in-production documentary about Jeffrey Catherine Jones.

The Frankenstein illustration was found on the ever excellent Fantasy Ink blog.

Rondo and me

I picked up my Rondo Award for Best Blog last weekend at Wonderfest in Louisville, Kentucky. I was doubly honored that the trophy was handed to me by my dear friend — and last year’s Best Blog winner — Max Cheney. I winged and mumbled an acceptance speech that I’d spare you even if I remembered everything I said, but I do have a personal Rondo Hatton anecdote I’d like to share. The Rondo Award is named in honor of a beloved B-movie actor, and he entered my life many years ago…

It was 1961 or 62. I was a pre-teen. There’s this English-language television station in Montreal, CFCF, that used to do a lot of local programming. They had their own talk shows, variety programs and quiz shows. They had a Bandstand-type pop music program on Saturday afternoons and they had Shock Theater on Saturday nights, with their own horror host.

On weekdays, noon to one, they ran a kid’s show, Lunchtime Little Theater, but all the kids called it “The Johnny Jellybean Show”. Dressed in a striped coat, polka-dot bowtie and a beanie hat with a jellybean on top, Johnny Jellybean was a talented American comic, Ted Ziegler, who moved to Montreal to do this. He later returned to California to appear as a regular on The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour.

Johnny was alone on camera, interacting with offscreen characters. He would introduce cartoons and fill in with comedy bits. He ad-libbed and improvised wildly. It was surreal and spectacularly funny, or at least I thought so. I would run home from school every day to watch this while I was having lunch. All the kids in Montreal did. Johnny Jellybean was hugely popular.

Now, on Johnny’s playhouse set, back wall, he had a picture of Rondo Hatton. It’s the one seen here above, with his big hands out, and it had a sign under it that said “The Boss”.

Every day, halfway through the show, Johnny Jellybean would go over to the back wall. He’d set the picture off at a crooked angle, then he’d stand back and he solemnly saluted The Boss.

I loved it. I knew Rondo Hatton from Famous Monsters and the Sherlock Holmes movie he did. I was a Monster Kid — before I knew I was one — and I loved them having Rondo Hatton’s picture as part of this daily comedy show. I never forgot it.

Now I’ve got a Rondo of my own. It will be proudly and very prominently displayed on a high shelf in my studio. And now and then, I’m sure, I’ll look over… and I’ll salute The Boss.

Johnny Jellybean on TV Party.

Max Cheney’s The Drunken Severed Head Blog.

­The Rondo Awards website.

From the Frankensteinia Archives:The Cemetery Skeleton

2011 marks the 80^th anniversary of James Whale’s Frankenstein. Here, from last year, is my celebration of The Cemetery Skeleton, the film’s prop harbinger of frights to come.

On August 24, 1931, James Whale began shooting Frankenstein, starting with the opening scene from the movie.

The camera pans across a row of mourners at a gravesite. Old women sobbing, a child lost in thought, grief-stricken men. The camera slides past them to the last figure, a hooded skeleton.

The skeleton is an ancient and enduring symbol of death. Death’s Head skulls and crossed bones were often carved into headstones and full skeletal figures appeared as statuary alongside trumpeting angels and weeping stone maidens. Skeletons might appear in sad repose or leaping heavenward, shrouds dropping from their shoulders. In the Middle Ages, the image of the dancing skeleton mocked life’s brevity.

Frankenstein's cemetery skeleton stands off to the side, boxed in with pickets, its bony hands resting on the hilt of a sword. The bleak, sparse set suggests a pauper’s graveyard, with an expressionistic dead tree, a plaster Christ on his calvary cross and a few wooden grave markers stuck at crazy angles. Behind a rickety fence, Frankenstein and his impatient assistant crouch in hiding. As soon as the ceremony is over, the funeral party gone and the gravedigger retreating downhill, Frankenstein and Fritz spring into action, undoing the burial, liberating the fresh corpse from its all too brief interment.

The cemetery skeleton is the first hint of frights to come, yet it is more than just a lugubrious prop. The grim sentinel stands prominently screen right, a witness to desecration, through the entire sequence where Frankenstein and Fritz dig up and raise the coffin. In a telling gesture, Colin Clive’s Frankenstein, concentrated on his urgent task, blithely throws a shovelful of graveyard dirt square into the skeleton’s face. It’s a James Whale moment, of course, darkly humorous, but it is also a signal of Frankenstein’s maniacal focus on the job at hand, unconcerned with the consequences of his acts. As a symbolic gesture, it illustrates Frankenstein’s disrespect for Death itself.

The cemetery skeleton returned for a cameo in the 1935 sequel, Bride of Frankenstein. It is seen briefly in the graveyard when the agitated Monster upends a tall gravestone and climbs down into a crypt, seeking refuge among the dead where he feels he belongs, only to encounter that other famous graverobber, Dr. Pretorius. The crucified Christ statue is also seen, a case of props re-used, unless this is meant to be the same cemetery as the one that opens Frankenstein.

I wonder if the cemetery skeleton was trotted out for bit parts in other movies, or if it quietly haunted the Universal prop department, undisturbed, between Frankenstein assignments. I wonder what became of it.

From the Frankensteinia Archives:The Brides of Frankenstein

The Brides — plural — of Frankenstein is my own favorite post from last year. In celebration of the 75th anniversary, in 2010, of this immortal film, I researched the five women who were suggested for the title part. Everything came together nicely. I was especially pleased when I found five beautiful profiles to kick off the article…

It’s difficult to image anyone but Elsa Lanchester as The Bride, yet a number of actresses were reportedly considered for the part. In profile above: Brigitte Helm, Louise Brooks, Phyllis Brooks, Arletta Duncan, and Elsa.

Director James Whale first suggested the formidable Brigitte Helm, who had played such characters as Maria and her unforgettable Robot alter ego in Metropolis (1927), Atenia, the Queen of Atlantis (1932), and the “unnatural” Alraune (1928 and 1932), a mad geneticist’s test-tube creation. The glacial Helm would have made a stunning Bride, but the actress refused the role. What’s more, the same year, 1935, Helm abruptly quit making films and fled Germany to Switzerland, in disgust over the Nazi regime.

Another iconic actress often mentioned as a potential Bride is Louise Brooks, the incandescent star of Pandora’s Box and Diary of a Lost Girl, both made in 1929. One wonders if The Bride would have traded her beehive hairdo for Brooks’ famous flapper bob, but this casting call is possibly a misunderstanding, with another Miss Brooks, Phyllis, being the one actually considered.

Phyllis Brooks, a former model, was a regal B-Movie actress and socialite who was, for a time, engaged to Cary Grant. In June 1939, famous gossip columnist Louella Parson, tongue firmly in cheek, wrote, “Cary Grant was in a gay mood today... he and Phyllis Brooks have made up their minds to marry.”

Brooks would eventually wed Congressman Tobert MacDonald, a close friend and confidant to John F. Kennedy. Her last showbiz gig was hosting the first television interview show to be broadcast in Boston.

The third actress penciled in as The Bride was Arletta Duncan who, interestingly, had made her film debut (see frame grab below) in the 1931 Frankenstein as one of the four identically-dressed bridesmaids who fret about Mae Clarke’s Elizabeth, in a dead faint after a close encounter with Karloff’s Monster. Duncan had earned a movie tryout after winning a radio station’s “most beautiful girl in New Orleans” contest.

Only 16 when Frankenstein was shot, Duncan, hailed as “Universal’s Youngest Player”, was trotted out to golf courses and soirées for photo ops and gossip fodder. “She has studied at Universal’s ‘little red schoolhouse’” a studio promo piece read, “and is being carefully trained for a brilliant future.” It didn’t pan out. Duncan was out of movies by 1937, after scoring minor roles in eleven films. Her most curious claim to fame came when she was mistakenly identified in Kenneth Anger’s notorious Hollywood Babylon tell-all book as the starlet who had taken a suicide jump off the Hollywood sign in 1938. In reality, Miss Duncan passed away quietly in 1985.

James Whale ultimately chose Elsa Lanchester for his Monster Bride. She’d already been cast as Mary Shelley in the film’s prologue and it made perfect, perverse sense to have the same actress play both roles.

Incidentally, the film’s other Bride, of the non-monstrous variety, was Valerie Hobson, then all of 18 years old, cast as Frankenstein’s long-suffering better half, Elizabeth. She is kidnapped by The Monster and held hostage by the nefarious Dr. Pretorius against Frankenstein’s compliance in assembling The Monster’s mate.

It has been suggested that the most logical and dramatic source for the final puzzle piece of the monster-making process, the ever-important “fresh” heart, would be Elizabeth. This would explain, in a sense, why the newly galvanized Bride turns sharply away from her intended and lunges into the safety of Frankenstein’s arms. Though there is evidence that Frankenstein (Colin Clive) was meant to perish in the final conflagration, there is none supporting Elizabeth as a transplant donor and, surely, the studio would not have allowed her such a gruesome fate.

In the end, the Frankensteins are sent away by the unrequited Monster just before he blows himself, his recalcitrant Bride and mad doctor Pretorius to kingdom come.

Related:
A profile of Elsa Lanchester
A profile of Valerie Hobson

From the Frankensteinia Archives:She's Alive... Frankenstein of the Fairground

I love finding Frankenstein in unusual places and I was very pleased with this post. It proved enormously popular, ringing up a ton of hits and getting widely quoted. It was even reposted on Gawker Media’s science fiction blog, io9, as "The strange history of the Frankenstein carnival sideshows".

Step right up!

The place is somewhere in England. The time, perhaps the late Thirties or the early post-war years. A barker makes his pitch — a colorful pseudo-scientific spiel, no doubt — as the crowd jostles for a glimpse of the mysterious masked women on the platform. Behind the curtained arches waits Eve, The Sensation.

Who was The Midway Bride of Frankenstein? Was she a real-life “freak”, disturbingly deformed? A giantess, perhaps? Or was she a sideshow creation, a variation on the timeworn girl-to-gorilla trick, done with mirrors?

Sideshows thrived on cheap scares. The original Victorian-era Spookshows materialized ghosts onstage using magic lantern projections and the illusion known as Pepper’s Ghost. These attractions evolved into fairground Haunted Houses with their creaky doors and crooked floors, stuffed mummies, dungeon torture scenes, and narrow labyrinths with summer job kids in dayglo rubber masks lying in wait.

In the Thirties, Boris Karloff movies made Frankenstein a household name and The Monster began stalking the fairgrounds. Frankenstein dummies were added to displays, and green Frankenstein Monster faces leered from banners. The traditional Haunted House, otherwise unchanged, might be recast as Frankenstein’s Castle.

Even as fairgrounds embraced The Monster, sideshow themes worked their way into Frankenstein fiction and films. Numerous short stories and comic book adventures had The Monster hiding out as a circus freak. In movies, just to name a few instances, Boris Karloff’s mad doctor Neimann escaped from the lunatic asylum and hijacked Professor Lampini’s traveling Chamber of Horrors Show, complete with authentic Dracula skeleton, as his ride to The House of Frankenstein (1944). In Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948), the boys first encounter Glenn Strange’s Frankenstein Monster packed in excelsior as an exhibit for MacDougal’s House of Horror Museum. In Evil of Frankenstein (1964), Peter Cushing’s Baron hires a shady sideshow hypnotist to unlock his defrosted monster’s scrambled brains. In The Bride (1985), The Monster (Clancy Brown) finds brief respite as a circus performer and roustabout.

The Midway Bride of Frankenstein resurfaces in another British photograph, this one probably from the Fifties, of a tent foldout display painted with skulls, hellish faces and a very prominent topless victim overhead.

The art, as was often the case, might have been recycled from a jungle show or a Snake Lady exhibit. This Bride’s booth, baking in the summer sun, pared down to the barest of essentials, reeks of hard times. No top hat barker here, no masked ladies to hook the crowds. No adults patrons in sight, either, but lots of children swarming excitedly around the cheap setup. Notice the kids at left, trying to sneak a peek at the scary wonders within.

I’m curious, too, about the secret Bride of the Fairground. I wonder what waited behind the tent flaps. I suspect the payoff might have been disappointing. At best, a mild scare to be had, or just a headshake at your own gullibility. But those garish posters exercise their fascination. The masked women hold silent promise. Even the later downscale display — She Is Real! She Is Alive! — is captivating. And that, really, is what you paid for. As you handed over your coins, you knew in your heart that nothing inside could ever match the thrill of your anticipation.

As Tom Norman — the British P.T.Barnum who had once displayed The Elephant Man — said, “It was not the show; it was the tale you told.”

The photographs in this post are from the National Fairground Archives of the University of Sheffield. They keep a fabulous website tracking the history of Fairground attractions in Great Britain, illustrated with tons of vintage photos. The Frankenstein Monster, painted on banners or built up in plaster or papier maché, appears here and there.

On the site, be sure to see The Ghost on the Fairground about Ghost Shows and Ghost Trains, Horror on the Fair, a gallery of horror-themed photos, and Horror in Pop Culture and Fairground Art, a fascinating illustrated history of horror shows with an emphasis on movie-related influences, including Hammer Films.

Going to Louisville

Scream Queen Evelyn Ankers and Lon Chaney, Jr. in Monster gear pose to promote The Ghost of Frankenstein (1942), one of several films the duo co-starred in, albeit reluctantly, in the Forties. Ms Ankers, it is said, was never fond of Chaney’s roughhouse manners and practical jokes. Ghost also featured Bela Lugosi as Ygor, the Monster’s Keeper, who gets to donate his brains to his jigsaw friend.

I’d like to think that Frankie is pointing to Louisville, Kentucky, where I’m off to this week to attend Wonderfest and the Rondo Hatton Classic Horror Awards presentations on May 14. I’ll be picking up my Best Blog Rondo in person! I’m looking forward, excitedly, to meeting and partying with some of the bloggers, artists, writers, film historians and fellow fans I’ve met through Frankensteinia.

While I’m away, I’ll be re-running three of my favorite posts from last year. Yours to discover or enjoy anew.

See you next week.

The Art of Frankenstein : Joe Jusko

Doom is a heartbeat away even as Lon Chaney’s raging Wolf Man and Bela Lugosi’s superhumanly strong Monster leap at each other’s throats. In another instant, the castle tower, its mad lab and the battling twins of terror will be swept away by tons of churning water from an exploded dam.

The wild climactic battle from Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man (1942), all to brief in screen time, is captured in spectacular detail by Joe Jusko for the cover of Famous Monsters of Filmland’s “retro” issue No. 71, coming to newsstands in September.

Joe Jusko’s dynamic cover introduces a classic FM feature, the novelization-like “Filmbook’ adaptation of Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man, written by Martin Powell. The job is a dream come true for both Jusko and Powell, raised on FM and Universal Monsters. Jusko recalls being mesmerized by the Basil Gogos covers, and Powell is an avowed Frankenstein fan. Recently, Powell introduced Frankenstein themes in his scripts for The Spider comics and his graphic novel adaptation of Mary Shelley’s story, with art by Patrick Olliffe, has been continuously in print since 1989.

Joe Jusko’s meticulous and vivid paintings, laden with details, evoke the classic covers of the pulp and paperback era masters. His inspired art for the Marvel Masterpieces trading card series was credited with launching the trading card boom of the 1990s. In ‘95, a set of 125 paintings for the Art of Edgar Rice Burroughs cards made him the most prolific of all the Burroughs artists. Jusko has created countless covers and merchandising images for all the major comic book companies and a stellar cast of clients. His fully painted graphic novel, Tomb Raider: The Greatest Treasure of All, received a Certificate of Merit from the prestigious Society of Illustrators.

Joe Jusko's website.

Famous Monsters of Filmland website. You can pre-order FM #71.

Martin Powell talks about his Filmbook adaptation.

Related:
More Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man covers:
Mad Monsters No. 5 and Famous Monsters No. 42,

Frankenstein: The Legend Retold, a guest post by Martin Powell.

Frankenstein's Army

In the waning days of World War Two, desperate Nazis unleash their ultimate weapon: An army of reanimated monsters, stitched together using Victor Frankenstein’s recipe.

Written and to be directed by Richard Raaphorst, Frankenstein’s Army was first planned back in 2006 as a zombie epic called Worst Case Scenario. A couple of very promising and genuinely creepy trailers made the Internet rounds but the project, retitled Army of Frankenstein, spiraled into turnaround in 2009. Now, with financing secured and a streamlined title, the film is reportedly shooting in Prague and Amsterdam for a 2012 release.

New eye-popping trailers are out. Check out Twitchfilm.com (co-producing the project) for a companion teaser to the one posted here.

The original Worst Case Scenario trailers are up on Richard Raaphorst’s site: Promo One, and Promo Two.

Twitchfilm’s press release.

Merci, Paul.

Related:
Armies of Frankenstein

The Monster : Tim Roth

An intriguing, perhaps even inspired case of casting had British actor Tim Roth playing Frankenstein’s Monster in a February 1987 episode of the long-running arts program, The South Bank Show.

The part came relatively early in Roth’s career, between notices for The Hit (1984) and The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover (1989). He would go on to play an intense Vincent van Gogh in Vincent & Theo (1989) and star turn parts in Reservoir Dogs (1992), Pulp Fiction (1994) and Four Rooms (1995), all for Quentin Tarantino. Awards and nominations accrued for his interpretation of Archibald Cunningham in Rob Roy (1995). As a genre villain, Roth was the best thing in Tim Burton’s wrongheaded reboot of Planet of the Apes (2001), and he morphed into the CGI monster called The Abomination opposite Edward Norton in The Incredible Hulk (2008).

The South Bank Show, hosted by Melvyn Bragg, was an arts program equally at ease with high art and pop culture. It ran an astounding 32 years, launching in 1978 and becoming an LWT/ITV staple until January 2010. The Frankenstein episode, broadcast on 8 February 1987, was called Birth of Frankenstein and Dracula. Another, wholly different episode on the Frankenstein theme aired in November 1994.

The Officially Unofficial Tim Roth webpage.

The South Bank Show episode guide.