ROGER HILL’s conversation with diabolical DON HECK, severed hand films, pre-Code comic book terrors, the otherworldly horrors of Hammer’s Quatermass, a Killer “B” movie classic, plus horror-inspired covers of the Shadow’s own comic book, and more! Start the ghoul-year with retro-horror done right by FORSHAW, the KRONENBERGS, LEESE, RICHARD HAND, VON SHOLLY, and editor PETER NORMANTON
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CRYPTOLOGY
#8
See what BELA LUGOSI, BORIS KARLOFF, and their ilk were up to when they weren’t in our favorite horror movies! Plus, Ghastly GRAHAM INGELS’ gruesome artwork, meet ROBERT BLOCH’s real-life inspiration for Psycho’s Norman Bates, Psycho II scriptwriter and Fright Night director TOM HOLLAND drops by, Killer-B’s gathers teenage monsters, and read the first part of our history of pre-Code horror comics!
MADNESS! Kirby’s most deranged work: Dingbats, Goody Rickels, Destroyer Duck, the Goozlebobber, Not Brand Echh, and wild animation concepts! Plus, a 1980s Kirby interview by JAMES VAN HISE, a look at Jack’s psychedelic coloring, Kirby’s depictions of Dr. Strange, Forever People art gallery, MARK EVANIER, a crazy 1950s Simon & Kirby story, behind an unused Machine Man cover inked by STEVE LEIALOHA!
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CRYPTOLOGY #3
See MARS ATTACKS banned cards, model kits, comics, and a few words from the film’s deranged storyboard artist PETE VON SHOLLY! Also, the chilling poster art of REYNOLD BROWN, terrifying puppets from film, and more comic books they’d prefer you forget! Plus, more Hammer Time, JUSTIN MARRIOT on obscure ’70s fear-filled paperbacks, another Killer “B” film, and more to satiate your sinister side!
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BRICKJOURNAL #92
It’s LEGO® MOSAIC MADNESS with builders NATE MIELNICK and DAVE SCHEFCIK!
Then we explore cutting-edge Tactile Mosaics with ANDREW SCHMIDT! Plus BRICKNERD’s custom creations; BANTHA BRICKS: Fans of LEGO Star Wars spotlights the best builds from a galaxy far, far away; step-by-step “You Can Build It” instructions by CHRISTOPHER DECK; and Minifigure
Customization with JARED K. BURKS!
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KIRBY COLLECTOR #96
QUESTIONS! Kirby’s unpublished/unknown work, Heroes & Villains Sketchbook variants, Jack’s Phantom Force involvement, his daughter’s 1960s pop star career, revealing STAN LEE interview, exploring the Kamandi #1 Earth A.D. map, mysteries behind Thor #169’s Galactus origin, the 2024 Baltimore Kirby panel (featuring WALTER SIMONSON, MARK BUCKINGHAM, and KARL KESEL), MARK EVANIER, and more!
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CRYPTOLOGY #4
Get ALEX ROSS’ gory lowdown on his Universal Monsters paintings! Spend Hammer Time with the “Brides of Dracula”, and 3-D horror movies and comics of the 1950s! Learn the origins of slasher films, chill to pre-Code artwork of Atlas’ BILL EVERETT and ACG’s 3-D maestro HARRY LAZARUS, see a Killer “B” movie, and more by NORMANTON, the KRONENBERGS, LEESE, VOGER, and VON SHOLLY!
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ALTER EGO #197
The incredible inside story of HILLMAN PUBLISHING—1940 to 1953—by MARK CARLSON-GHOST! Airboy—aviatrix Valkyrie—The Heap—Skywolf, et al.! Art by KIDA, SCHROEDER, LEAV, INFANTINO, ZOLNEROWICH, and some of comics’ finest artists! Plus FCA (Fawcett Collectors of America) and MICHAEL T. GILBERT visits Mr. Monster’s Comic Crypt! DAVE STEVENS cover!
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COMIC BOOK CREATOR #41
LEN WEIN’s life as writer/editor from creating Swamp Thing and Wolverine, to MOORE and GIBBONS’ Watchmen, and more! Plus the sad demise of WILL EISNER’s P*S Army Preventive Maintenance magazine, interview with romance and pin-up artist JAY SCOTT PIKE, more of STEVE WILLIS, and SHAUN CLANCY reveals the saga of ADRIAN LOPEZ’s Harpoon/Apple Pie humor mags! FRANK CHO cover!
(84-page
CRYPTOLOGY #5
SKULL & BONES ISSUE! Ghost Rider from comics to movies, skeleton covers from Atlas Digests and pre-Code horror comics, HY FLEISHMAN’s 1950s skeleton covers and stories, Disney’s skeletons, ’70s Pirates of the Caribbean models and Last Gasp’s Skull Comics, the films of William Castle, and Killer B films: House on Haunted Hill, The Four Skulls of Jonathan Drake, plus our Hammertime section!
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ALTER EGO #198
H.G. PETER was the original artist—and some say the co-creator—of WONDER WOMAN, greatest super-heroine ever! ART CLOOS does an in-depth dive into the life and career of one of comics’ most individualistic artists! Plus MARSTON—GAINES— MURCHISON—KANIGHER, etc. Also—FCA and MICHAEL T. GILBERT in Mr. Monster’s Comic Crypt! With an unpublished H.G. PETER Wonder Woman cover!
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COMIC
BOOK CREATOR #42
PAT BRODERICK discusses his career, from the Crusty Bunkers to unforgettable work on Firestorm, Micronauts, Captain Marvel, and more! Plus the 1940s KKK-crushing district attorney FIGHTING LAWYER, profile of PAUL BUHLE, SHARY FLENNIKEN interview, ginchy super-heroes created in 1972 by WRIGHTSON, REESE, WINDSORSMITH, and others for Esquire magazine, and more!
VAMPIRES! The career of BELA LUGOSI, Universal’s Dracula’s Daughter, Blood of Dracula’s Castle, MARV WOLFMAN discusses his TOMB OF DRACULA comic (with art from GENE COLAN, TOM PALMER and GIL KANE), the roots of comic book vampires, Underworld’s KATE BECKINSALE, vampire toys, Hammer’s legion of the undead, and The Return of Dracula and Grave of the Vampire!
P.C. HAMERLINCK reveals the secret— often bitter—early-1970s combat by correspondence between SHAZAM! artist (and Captain Marvel co-creator) C.C. BECK and DC editor JULIUS SCHWARTZ! It’ll take more than one magic word to avoid a head-on collision between these two titanic talents! Plus FCA (Fawcett Collectors of America), MICHAEL T. GILBERT in Mr. Monster’s Comic Crypt, and more!
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COMIC BOOK CREATOR #43
Informative conversation with “Big” JOHN BUSCEMA and a biographical essay about the Marvel legend by JON B. COOKE, including an awesome art gallery. Plus we share about the life and tragic fate of BILL MANTLO (co-creator of Rocket Raccoon and Cloak and Dagger), inside comics printer Eastern Color Printing by SHAUN CLANCY, more with SHARY FLENNIKEN, chat with RIC ESTRADA, and more!
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Peter Normanton
PUBLISHER
John Morrow
DESIGNER
Michael Kronenberg
EDITORIAL ILLUSTRATION
Pete von Sholly
Bernie Wrightson (Art originally appeared on the Master of the Macabre trading card box set, 1993).
Roberto Barreiro • Michael Bonesteel • Mark Donovan
inequities, Black players helped tell tales of mummies, zombies and giant apes
by Mark Voger
It’s an inconvenient truth for fans of movies from the classic 1930s–40s period: Black actors, if they’re seen at all, are nearly always in the background as porters, domestics, janitors, prisoners, jungle natives or—if they were in the band—musicians.
At a time when segregation and other racist practices were still enforced nearly a century after emancipation, Black players faced inequities and aggression on a daily basis. So how could there
possibly have been Black “stars” of classic horror movies?
They indeed existed. They didn’t have the studio machine behind them (as did Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, and Lon Chaney Jr.). They didn’t usually have many, or any, lines. They rarely got to play the monsters themselves, unless they were cast as Caribbean zombies.
But they were in these films. They were part of the ensemble. They helped tell stories about mummies, zombies and giant
apes. As such, they made indelible contributions to a venerable genre that generation after generation continue to connect with.
This isn’t news to aficionados of classic horror films. True buffs have always known this. And every once in a while, we have to remind the rest of the world.
HORRIFIC HENCHMAN
Tall, muscular, and strikingly handsome, Noble Johnson (18811978) was once touted as “the greatest colored screen actor in the world.” His career began during the silent era and spanned 35 years. He and his brother George co-founded the Lincoln Motion Picture Co. (1916-1921), the first Black film production company. Johnson’s physique made him a favorite of casting directors for epic films. He was in D.W. Griffith’s silent epic Intolerance (1916) and in Cecil B. DeMille’s silent versions of The Ten Commandments (1923) and The King of Kings (1927).
Johnson could play many “types,” as studios called non-White characters in less-enlightened times. He was cast as Black, Asian, and Arab characters. In westerns, Johnson played countless Native Americans. But horror fans remember him as an unforgettable presence in several genre classics.
The actor had roles in Karl Freund’s The Mummy (1932) starring Karloff; Robert Florey’s Murders in the Rue Morgue (1932) starring Lugosi; Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack’s King Kong (1933); Schoedsack’s
sequel Son of Kong (1933); and Joseph H. Lewis’ The Mad Doctor of Market Street (1942) starring Lionel Atwill. Johnson also took part in two horror comedies: Fred Guiol’s Mummy’s Boys (1936) starring Bert Wheeler and Robert Woolsey, and George Marshall’s The Ghost Breakers (1940) starring Bob Hope and Paulette Goddard. But, many agree, Noble’s greatest achievement in the genre is in The Mummy, in a pantomime role as a character called only “the Nubian.”
As The Mummy begins, Sir Joseph (Arthur Byron) and Dr. Muller (Edward Van Sloan) excavate the tomb of the 3,700-year-old mummy Imhotep (Karloff). They find a sealed box containing the coveted Scroll of Thoth, which reveals a label warning: “Death, eternal punishment, for anyone who opens this casket.” Once alone, an assistant (Bramwell Fletcher) opens the box, then reads the scroll aloud, reanimating the withered corpse of Imhotep. The mummy shuffles off, and is assumed stolen.
Eleven years later, a strange man called Ardath Bey gives Sir Joseph’s archaeologist son, Frank (David Manners), a hot tip as to where to dig next. We recognize Bey as Imhotep minus the bandages, and we can guess why he is being so helpful to the infidels: his old (very old) sweetheart, Princess Anck-esen-Amon, is buried there.
In Cairo, Bey lays eyes on a young socialite, Helen Grosvenor (Zita Johann), who is of mixed heritage—English dad, Egyptian mom. Here, Bey concludes, is the reincarnation of Anck-es-enAmon.
Noble’s character is the unnamed manservant of Sir Joseph. When Bey unexpectedly visits the home, the Nubian answers the door. Bey’s eyes gleam hypnotically, and he begins to chant. The Nubian immediately kneels before Bey.
Bey seeks the Scroll of Thoth, which Sir Joseph has hidden in his study. But Bey knows all. As Sir Joseph is about to burn the scroll in his fireplace, Bey kills him with an astrally projected heart attack. The Nubian then rescues the scroll, instead burning some newspaper to keep Muller off the scent.
Bey controls the Nubian’s actions, but not his soul. Near the climax of Freund’s film, Bey dresses Helen in Anck-
es-en-Amon’s royal garb—it looks adorable on her—then ushers her into a room where the Nubian is stirring a large, bubbling cauldron intended for Helen’s “final rites.” “I ask of thee only a moment of agony,” Bey says. “You shall not plunge my body into that!” Helen exclaims.
When, under Bey’s command, the Nubian approaches Helen brandishing a sacrificial knife, she falls to her knees. “Don’t kill me,” she implores of the Nubian. “I am a princess of Isis! Save me from that mummy!”
The Nubian’s expression changes. Seeing that his grip on the Nubian is weakening, Bey goes into his fallback: chanting. The Nubian backs away and departs, never to be seen again. Helen is still in trouble—she’s not safe from Imhotep by a long shot—but the Nubian gave her, at the least, this one reprieve.
In Murders in the Rue Morgue, loosely based on the 1841 Edgar Allan Poe story, Johnson is eighth-billed as “Janos, the Black One.” (Hmmm. Why “the Black One?” It’s nowhere to be found in Poe’s story.) Janos is the monster-ish henchman of the mad Dr. Mirakle (Lugosi), who operates a carnival attraction when he isn’t dicing defenseless damsels to death. When Mirakle asks Janos (pronounced “YA-noshe”) to dispose of the body of a prostitute played by Anne Francis (the future “What’s My Line” panelist), Janos does so with cruel indifference... and expediency. Unlike the Nubian, Janos never regains his conscience, for which he pays the ultimate price.
In both Kong films, Johnson played the tribal ruler of Skull Island. As a lumbering zombie—or so we believe—in The Ghost Breakers, Johnson menaces Hope, Goddard, and comic actor Willie Best (1916-1962) in a creepy castle, wearing cool prosthetics. In one scene, Noble (inside a suit of armor) is unmasked by Best—two popular Black actors, both of whom received billing, in a single shot in a big-studio production. That didn’t happen every day.
FIRST ZOMBIE MOVIE
In the movies, Clarence Muse (1889-1979) played janitors, bellhops, and an army of porters. In real life, he was a composer whose “Sleepy Time Down South” was notably recorded by Louis Armstrong, and who became the first Black director on Broadway (for Run Little Chillun in 1943).
In the horror genre, Muse played in two Lugosi movies, making history in one as the first person to utter the word
After the triumph of Dracula (1931), Frankenstein (1931) and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1932), the Hollywood studios entered a mad race to ensure even more hits in this new cinematic genre—the horror movie.
As the misery of the Great Depression deepened, fantasy cinema became a lifeline for these studios. To have missed out on the latest fad could have resulted in ruination. In their quest to seek out new monsters to scare the cinema-going public, two low-budget producers were set to create a minor masterpiece and introduce to horror cinema a word only ever whispered in Haiti—zombie.
This term was first referenced outside its native Haiti in William Seabrook’s book The Magic Island, published in 1929. His study recounted the traditions of the voodoo religion and its mysterious rituals; among them was a rite that used certain potions to give a sorcerer the power to turn a person into a shell devoid of will and bereft of soul, as if he were a corpse merely animated into a semblance of life. Such a being we now know to be the living dead.
The success of the book led to the premiere of the play Zombie in February 1932. While this presentation may not have been a resounding success, it caught the attention of two brothers, Edward R. and Victor Hugo Halperin. The Halperins had made a reputation as independent filmmakers, beginning in the silent era, where they did quite well for themselves. However, these were difficult times and the talkies were now all the rage. If their business was to remain viable, they needed to get into sound cinema with a low-cost movie and a catchy hook to go with it. They knew the talkies were the way forward, and after taking a look at the play, realized these zombies were the kind of material that could not be copyrighted. Putting two and two together, they had a pretty good idea as to the nature of the film they were going to make. It wasn’t long before they announced they were to start work on their new movie, White Zombie.
This may have been a low-budget venture, but the Halperins had several tricks up their sleeve to make the production work. First, they found the leading horror star of the time, Bela Lugosi, who had just starred in Dracula and Murders in the Rue Morgue (1932). Lugosi was hired for little money—about eight or nine hundred dollars. The Halperins then decided to shoot the entire film at Universal Studios. This allowed them to reuse several magnificent sets for their movie, among them the staircase in Dracula’s castle, which just needed a little touching up to make it appear every bit as spooky as it had been in Tod Browning’s film.
They also hired Jack Pierce, the legendary Universal makeup artist, to create the zombies. The rest of the cast and crew were made up of veteran professionals, who were going through a lull in their respective careers. In securing Lugosi, this paved the way for United Artists to agree to distribute the film. This meant the Halperins’ film was going to be screened in a far larger number of theaters than the average film made with precious little money at that time. Their budget of $65,000—a fifth of what Dracula had cost only a year before—was very carefully eked out.
Work had already started when they encountered a serious obstacle. The producer
of the original play filed a lawsuit against the brothers, accusing them of ripping off the plot and violating copyright in using the term “zombie” in the title of their film. The Halperins were having none of it; they insisted
Born in 1948, comic book artist Bernie Wrightson would have been six or seven years old when the comic books he was reading began to appear bearing the seal of the Comics Code. This seal prevented, among a number of other things, images of “the walking dead.” Despite his young age, Wrightson had distinct memories of reading pre-Code EC horror comics, retaining a particular affection for Haunt of Fear #27, which he hid under his mattress for a full year-and-ahalf. In A Look Back, he recounted finding issues of such comics with half the cover ripped off, for just a nickel. Even though the covers were torn, the artist was resounding in his affirmation of the influence EC comics had on him, noting artist Graham Ingels in particular in an interview published in Back Issue #52 (October 2011). Referring to EC and Ingels, Wrightson accepted: “I wouldn’t be doing this today if it weren’t for those comics… or even be the person I am, I believe. They were a huge part of my life then and shaped my artistic future.”
earliest fan efforts, in publications that were not subject to the Comics Code.
When he began working for DC Comics in 1968, the content of these comics was still restricted by the Code. With his love for EC and Graham Ingels apparent, Wrightson was able to depict zombies in several of his
One of his earliest stories, “A Case of Conscience,” portrays a horde of putrescent abominations bent on revenge; it was so EC. Originally published in 1971 in Castle of Frankenstein #16, this tale had been completed much earlier, as referenced in the Wrightson collection The Mutants, which dates it to 1966. In this telling, the confused protagonist inexplicably returns to a derelict mansion. When his former fiancé shows up, she reveals how he poisoned 250 guests at her wedding. These guests are now decomposing, the flesh falling from their torsos, intermingled with clods of soil from the grave, yet still they pursue the man who murdered them. Here, the reanimated deceased are in a horrendous state of decomposition, no longer bearing any resemblance to the people they once were. In these panels, Wrightson reveals a rare appreciation of human anatomy evidenced in his convincing display of rib cages and faces bordering on the skeletal. Some may consider this work crude by comparison to his later artistry, but his affinity for the revenge-driven emaciated corpse really does shine through.
In another of his early stories “Uncle Bill’s Barrel,” Wrightson deployed a humorous twist on the “vengeful corpse returning from the grave” scenario. Published in Graphic Showcase #2 (Summer 1969), these pages are drawn in his lush, Frazetta influenced style that was so abundantly evident during the late 1960s. Instead of returning for vengeance, the undead hillbilly rises from the grave to enjoy some of his favorite moonshine. Bill is finally put to rest when interred in a barrel of his homemade hooch. However, prior to this, he bursts out of the coffin at his wake, looking very much like an “animated prune.” Weeks later, when he crawls from the grave for another drink, he has earmarks of the decomposing zombies of Graham Ingels’ pedigree.
From the same period comes another funny take on these vengeful denizens from the grave in the one-page “Ghastly Horror Comix” published in the underground tabloid Gothic Blimp Works #6 (1969). An Ingles-esque, knock-kneed corpse struggles from his final resting place, then shambles towards his murderer’s house, once again set on revenge. Although only a page long, the captions take great delight in describing its extreme state of decay, emphasizing the putrescent tissue and flesh dripping from its bones. The story culminates with this poor soul falling to pieces, beating on the door of his murderer as the intended victim utters the EC tagline “Good lord! Choke!” In yet another nod to “Ghastly” Graham Ingels, Wrightson signed the story as “Nauseous.”
These avenging creatures had been rather popular during the 1950s, with EC and their imitators. However, it was difficult to expand on this theme, as revealed in “A Case of Conscience.” Nevertheless, in the other two stories just mentioned, Wrightson found humor in this macabre premise, pointing out the inherent ridiculousness of the trope in “Ghastly Horror Comix.”
While many of Wrightson’s other early fanzine efforts are limited to single page illustrations or pinups, some of them rate as the best depictions of the walking dead of the era, and perhaps his entire career. One notable piece from this period is the cover art for the 1971 Metro Con program. This illustration depicts two grave robbers unexpectedly coming face-to-face with a couple of the walking dead. Their looks of horror are accentuated by the strings of saliva observed between their teeth. This drool had been a trademark of Ingels and was frequently used by Wrightson early in his career. Originally published in black-and-white using a grey tone wash, this scene was reproduced in color for a Profiles in History auction catalog in 2016, enhanced by the application of oils and mixed media. The color scheme makes effective use of a cool nighttime blue offset by hellish orange highlights. It’s an ambitious work, with the large empty area at the top (cropped off on the published program) suggesting Wrightson’s intention to use it for a cover.
Feeding Time
One of his most accomplished walking dead illustrations from the early 1970s was published in an obscure calendar titled simply 1974 Calendar, produced by Three L Publications. The inked drawing, dated 1970, observes two zombies in a graveyard at feeding time. There
Fans of Bernie’s artwork would have relished seeing the tabloid-sized “Ghastly Horror Comix” for Gothic Blimp Works #6.
is a sophistication to the black-and-white line in this piece, coming at a time when most of his work was being reproduced in four-color comic books. This image was later offered on t-shirts and coffee mugs through his online store.
As admirable as this study is, arguably there are two more of his walking corpse images that are considered to be his greatest. One of these was published on the cover of The Buyer’s Guide for Comic Fandom #47 (November 1973). The large newspaper format made it easy to appreciate this striking depiction of a moldered entity tearing its way from the earth. His Frazetta, Ingels and Jack Davis influences have now been subsumed into his own ghoulish style. The gravestones in the background are drawn with a thin, light pen line, serving to dramatize the horror to the fore of this scene, each brushstroke rendered with an abundance of confidence. While the gravestones are reminiscent of the pen master Franklin Booth, this zombie is pure, unadulterated mid-1970s Wrightson.
In 1974, convention promoter Phil Sueling published the large
format Color-the-Creature coloring book. In these pages came two of Wrightson’s walking dead. The first, “The Creeping Dead” breathes an unholy life into three skeletal beings with unnaturally long arms and fingers, stalking through an ill-kept graveyard. Wrightson confessed he wasn’t entirely happy with the finished piece in A Look Back:
“‘The Creeping Dead’ was one of the later pictures. I wanted to do the sky very dark, a black sky with lots of twinkling stars. But, since it was a coloring book, I couldn’t do that.
That’s why it came out the way it did. It is all spindly and practically not even there.” Although it fell short of what he envisioned, it still rates among his best work from the period. If you spend time with the intricate cross-hatching used in the grass and tombstones, you will notice these subtle features eventually form a significant part of his Frankenstein illustrations.
ZOMBIES
These unsuspecting grave robbers were in for a nasty surprise in this colorized zombie image for the Profiles in History auction catalog.
For The Buyers Guide for Comic Fandom #47 (Nov. 1973), Bernie demonstrated his mastery of the decaying human form.
A RETROSPECTIVE ON GEORGE ROMERO’S HORROR MASTERPIECE
by Joshua Winchester
Zombie: “The ghost or spirit of a dead person; a reanimated corpse, or a being likened to or resembling one.”
- Oxford English Dictionary
Gather around ghosts and ghouls, fiends and freaks. It is time to delve into the horrific history of one of the most frightful and fantastic spooky movies of all time. Grab yourselves a survival pack, load up on ammunition, and get ready to re-experience Night of the Living Dead
Now, when people think of zombies, they will no doubt respond with something along the lines of the following two categories: 1) The fresh bodies of the newly animated dead, shambling along, charged with an insatiable desire to feast on the flesh of the living, or 2) Rotting, corpse-
like creatures who appear to have the single-minded mentality of eating the living and spreading whatever disease has brought them back.
Both of these responses are acceptable, yet what is it about zombies that fuels the minds and imaginations of the general public, whether it be on the big screens of movie theaters, the small screens of our televisions, or within the pages of fiction? The answer is very simple: people have a strange affinity for these senseless creatures, even if they are scary.
Yet if one were to turn back the pages of our history books, prior to the B-movies of the late 1950s that Steve Kronenberg has just mentioned, zombies were primarily associated with the religion of West Africa, which came to Haiti with the unfortunate slaves who were to endure so much hardship, and from that island nation, on into the swamps and bayous of Louisiana.
As recalled earlier in this issue, even before the advent of movies, the folklore surrounding the “living dead” had been in evidence for many years. However, thanks to the late George Romero and his work as a director and writer, zombies are now as common a trope in modern media as vampires, werewolves, and the Frankenstein monster.
So let us take a step back in time. The year is 1968 and the place is Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. It is the local premiere of young George’s first-ever movie. Expectations are high, as are the hopes and dreams of the cast and crew. If the movie flops, they may well be finished. But, if it succeeds, the world is their oyster.
Like all great journeys, this one started with a dream and an idea. Specifically that
of Romero, producer Russell Streiner and writer John A. Russo to create a production company tasked with a single goal, to make one feature film. Thus Image Ten was born, and while the initial budget was a mere $6,000, investments from each member of the company and ten other persons raised it to a whopping $114,000. They had the money, now all they needed was a script, and they could start shooting.
A collaborative effort by George and John, they pulled from a variety of sources as they looked for inspiration. While they had a rough outline, focusing mainly on the idea of aliens harvesting corpses for food and flesh-eating ghouls, George credited Richard Matheson’s 1954 postapocalyptic novel I Am Legend as the main stimulus for
Back in our second issue, I mentioned the comic book adaptation of The Quatermass Xperiment, or The Creeping Unknown as it is known in the USA, presented in issues #8 and 9 of the indispensable British horror magazine House of Hammer. Amid the entertaining contents of the ninth issue was another item of particular interest, one any horror-crazed kid of the day would have most certainly relished—a review of The Living Dead at the Manchester Morgue. It was 1977, the year before the zombie apocalypse first inflicted its atrophied assault on our cinema screens.
However, this carious breed was already doing the rounds, but not quite on the bloodthirsty scale of George A. Romero’s Dawn of the Dead, then in the early stages of production ahead of the cameras readying to roll. While I hadn’t seen Night of the Living Dead, I had read enough horror magazines to know exactly what a zombie was. Further to this, those hours spent poring through their pages in my bedroom had made me all too aware of the carnage these abominations could mete out. So the very notion of living dead on the loose in Manchester, which was only a bus ride away from where I lived, spiraled my
febrile imagining into overdrive.
There might be some of you out there worried you have missed out on a bygone classic; fear not because on its launch in 1975 in the United States it went by the name Don’t Open the Window; following its premiere in Spain in September 1974 under its original guise No Profanar el Sueño de los Muertos; debuting in Italy a couple of months later as Non si Deve Profanare il Sonno dei Morti; then later repackaged for DVD, now in all of its gory glory, as Let Sleeping Corpses Lie. On other showings it was abbreviated to The Living Dead, in addition to being screened as Breakfast at the Manchester Morgue and Zombi 3, one of several Zombi 3s, a perplexing turn of events deserving a piece on its own.
Screams of Disgust
There was more than a shudder of excitement running down my spine when I tucked into John Fleming’s review in House of Hammer #9, his words taking considerable pleasure in how certain members of the audience were actually screaming out in disgust. It seemed they didn’t have the stomach for the scenes portraying a victim’s eyes being gouged from their sockets, in anticipation of their being gorged upon by these hellish freaks of nature, now returned from the dead. However, there is considerable conjecture as to whether the incident with the eyes ever existed; but what’s the point in letting the truth get in the way of a good story? Especially, when it might have more bloodthirsty cinemagoers flocking to watch your film.
The more I read of John’s article, the more I had to see this movie. Unfortunately, the “X” certificate made such an eventuality an impossibility for the foreseeable future, owing to the fact I was a just spotty-faced 15-year-old kid. Looking into the bathroom mirror, it was obvious I was nowhere near the legal entry age of 18, not by a long shot. When I think back, I didn’t even look 18 when I
was 18! There was another snag: the chance of my local cinema showing a film of this deranged nature was pretty remote, although they had shown The Texas Chainsaw Massacre a few years before. Unfortunately in 1977, a blood splattered Spanish Italian presentation of this ilk was definitely a step too far.
It would be a good few years before I got the chance to check out Jorge Grau’s film, which in retrospect was perhaps as well, in view of the imagery used in the opening scenes, that would have been completely lost on me and might have tempted me to switch off. While this was definitely Manchester, the orange and white livery of the SELNEC (South East Lancashire North East Cheshire) buses being a dead giveaway, the dead bird lying in the gutter; the naked girl dashing though traffic, seemingly unnoticed; and the oblivious looks of those waiting at a bus shelter were quite peculiar to European cinema of the period, and more significantly symptomatic of this young motorcyclist’s desperate need to leave the decay of this uninviting city.
In the blink of an eye we are whisked away from the grey streets of Manchester to the beautiful scenery of the Lake District, scenes largely shot in the stunning surrounds of Derbyshire’s Peak District. A car driven by a girl by the name of Edna (Cristina Galbó) accidentally hits the stationary motorcycle owned by George (Ray Lovelock), with whom we have traveled all the way from Manchester. This annoying incident is a portent for the doom to come.
Ecological Distaster
Edna reveals she is on her way to a hospital to have her drug-addicted sister admitted for treatment. While searching for her sister’s house, the pair come upon a number of government-employed agricultural scientists experimenting with a machine designed to emit ultrasonic radiation, the purpose of which is to decimate
As this issue was gathering apace, Will Murray kindly stepped in with the offer to interview Mark Donovan, the Hulking Zombie shambling through Shaun of the Dead. Given the way this issue was coming together, this couldn’t have been more perfect. With the Zombie Apocalypse being an essential part of this issue, to end his piece with the madness that came to London’s Crouch End, the same place that Stephen King wrote about in his HP Lovecraft inspired “Crouch End” published in New Tales of the Cthulhu Mythos in 1980, before later being adapted as an episode of Nightmares & Dreamscapes: From the Stories of Stephen King screened in 2006, couldn’t have been better. Between them, Will and Mark are about to give you an amazing insight into the making of this celebrated film.
Hello Mark, please could you tell us how you were cast in Shaun of the Dead.
Back in 2001 I was cast in an episode of a BAFTA Award-winning sitcom in the UK called Black Books. As it was made by the same production team as Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg’s Spaced, it was kind of a sister show to that cult classic. I was a big fan of Spaced, and Nira Park, the producer of both, knew this. We had our wrap party for Black Books in the smoky basement of a Soho bar in the West End, and whilst chatting with Nira over a large bourbon, she said, “You have to meet Edgar! He’s as big a geek as you are!” She took me over to the bar and over another few drinks Edgar and I bonded over our mutual love of all things sci-fi, horror and pop culture. After an
enjoyable hour reminiscing about shared childhood memories of Doctor Who, scary public information films and fuzzy 3rd generation video nasties from the ’80s, the conversation eventually turned to zombie movies. We discussed the works of Fulci, Argento and Romero, our shared preference for the classic slow, shambling zombie as opposed to the modern trend for fast, running zombies, and about his love letter to the genre in one of the episodes of Spaced. He then casually dropped the line “Hey, we’re trying to get a full zombie movie off the ground. If we ever manage it you have got to be in it!”. I wholeheartedly agreed but filed it in the “What a lovely thing to say, but who’s going to think of a half-remembered conversation at a party one year on?” folder. I’ll tell you who: Edgar Wright, that’s who. Early in 2003 I got a call from my agent asking me to go to Ealing Studios for a screen test and the rest is history. More on that later…
It’s a strange question, but did you have any hesitancy over taking on such a role? What do you think? I nearly bit his hand off. Multiple times over the course of that year, come to think of it! At that point I had never done any prosthetic/monster make-up work so was really excited about getting stuck into the job. More on that later…
Your character is known as the Hulking Zombie. Was that his name in the script, or did you bring that persona to the role?
I suppose looking as I do, any role I play could be described as hulking! If I recall correctly, the role was originally named in the script as “Hulking Man.” During the shoot
SOULLESS SURVIVAL! MINDLESS MATRIMONY! NECROTIC NEWBORNS! DIGGING THOSE ZOMBIE COMICS OF YORE
by Michael Bonesteel
You are transfixed with fear as the slavering skeletal frame stumbles toward you; chunks of rotten flesh dropping visibly from its bones. Unable to hold back, there’s a question that screams in your brain, you can do nothing else but blurt out: “What the heck kind of zombie are you?! Voodoo zombie? Super-science zombie? Black magic zombie? Or one of those inscrutable ghouls of unknown origin?”
Zombies of all slimy stripes and types infested those pre-Code horror comics of yesteryear—much the same as they do in today’s films and TV shows—but how to tell them apart and distinguish their slippery lineage begs a question. Just as some superheroes have paranormal origins (Captain Marvel, Green Lantern) and others are the product of super-science (Captain America, Flash), old school zombies appear to have been either produced by necromantic incantation, through supernatural voodoo or black magic rites, or they were created in a laboratory by mad doctors.
One of the earliest appearances of zombies in comics occurred as long ago as More Fun Comics #31 (May 1938), when Superman creators Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster pitted Dr. Occult the Ghost Detective against The Master of Corpses—a Haitian by the name of Daro, who kept a passel of zombies for cheap labor and future world
conquest. Daro is not a witch doctor, but a crooked businessman, and yet just the mention of Haiti in this tale, the traditional home for zombies and the voodoo religion, was enough to establish a certain historic precedent. The following year, George Tuska depicted zombies staggering through the Louisiana bayous in a Zanzibar the Magician strip for Mystery Men Comics #12 (July 1940); and Allen Spectre (?) signed off on “The Voodoo Man” of Haiti for Weird Comics #1 (April 1940). Then Ted BrodieMack opposed Tabu, Wizard of the Jungle, against Celie, Queen of the Zombies, in Jungle Comics #2 (Dec. 1941). Zombies from Haiti and other tropical isles, as well as darkest Africa and the swamps of creole America, continued to regain consciousness throughout the 1940s. However, voodoo zombies were not the only
Early comic book zombies from More Fun Comics #31, Mystery Men Comics #12, Weird Comics #1, and Jungle Comics #24.
family of the undead revenants to shamble through the pages of early Golden Age comics.
Another breed of occult zombie—an offshoot perhaps of the voodoo cadaver— emerged out of Euro-American eldritch traditions of sorcery, witchcraft and that old black magic (more about black magic zombies coming up).
The Crimson Avenger in Detective Comics #23 (Jan. 1939) captures a guy in a white lab coat, who has fabricated a gang of zombies through scientific experimentation in his laboratory. Another early superhero, Shock Gibson, encounters furry, green, oneeyed zombies that seem more cuddly than frightening, while attempting to stop a demented inventor in Speed Comics #1 (Oct. 1939). Two more early examples of super-science zombies include Zoro the Purple Zombie drawn by Tarpé Mills for Reg’lar Fellers Heroic Comics #4 (Aug. 1940) and the walking undead in a memorable Captain America story “The Case of the Hollow Men” by Joe Simon and Jack Kirby for All-Winners Comics #1 (Summer 1941), which could be regarded as the precursor to the onscreen carnage that ensued several decades later.
Nearly as prevalent as the supernatural and sciencegenerated zombies, a fourth horde of ambling corpses whose origins remain obscure or inexplicable can be found lurking within the comics of the Golden Age. “Fighters Never Quit” by pulp author Alfred Bester (who would go on to write the Hugo Award-winning The Demolished Man in 1953) and artist Paul Reinman, introduced a zombie in All-American Comics #61 (Oct. 1944) by the name of Solomon Grundy, whose dead body performed a “biological miracle” achieving a “pseudolife” by assimilating “bits of rotten wood and leaves” while lying in a bog for fifty years. Grundy may well have been a first cousin to Harry Stein and Mort Leav’s former flying ace, Baron
von Emmelmann. He was granted another lease of life following a similar miraculous occurrence after being shot down over a Polish marsh. With the passage of time, amid the decaying vegetation, he would eventually morph into comic books’ first muck monster, The Heap, in Air Fighters Comics #3 (Dec. 1942).
By 1950, all four zombie tribes were alive and lurching toward new excesses of sickening slaughter, for which the preComics Code era was about to acquire such notoriety. One of the more memorable voodoo zombie yarns was “Cult of the Dead” from Canadian publisher Superior’s Journey into Fear #13 (May 1953), crafted by several unidentified Iger Shop journeymen. After tangling with a bokor (a voodoo shaman or houngan, who is not above resorting to negative energy and the dark arts), the arrogant colonialist governor of a small tropical island witnesses the reanimation of a woman who has only recently died. “Disgusting!” remarks the governor, then promptly has the bokor arrested. But of course, things backfire when the bokor turns the governor’s wife into a zombie. In the final panel, the governor takes his own life in what is a jaw-droppingly over-the-top piece of melodrama.
FANTASTIC TRAPPINGS & ERRONEOUS TROPES
The plots to some of these stories may incorporate superficial allusions to historic Vodou (voodoo) practices and actual people, but they also have a tendency to embroider or bastardize them with all manner of fantastic and erroneous trappings and tropes. For example, the unidentified scripter for “Drums of the Undead”, illustrated by Pete Riss (Adventures into the Unknown #7, Oct.- Nov. 1949), was certainly aware of West African and Haitian mythology when he named his story’s voodoo mambo (priestess) Erzulie Bocor, an obvious reference to Erzulie Dantor, a reigning goddess in the Petro family of Vodou loa (gods or spirits). Petro loa are volatile, as opposed to the more sweet-tempered Rada loa.
In Witchcraft #5 (Dec. 1952-Jan. 1953), AC Hollingsworth depicted a bokor wearing a snakehead hood, which may have a remote connection to the serpent loa Damballa, another major figure in Vodou lore, but that’s about as far as “Where Zombies Walk!” goes. In any case, monstrous snakes were common in pre-Code horror comics, so we shouldn’t read too much into their appearances in this or any other zombie story, such as artist Emil Gershwin’s “The Halls of Horror” for Adventures into The Unknown #18 (Feb. 1951).
It’s rather a shame and a real lost opportunity that somewhere along the way, an ambitious scripter didn’t push beyond
By the mid-1960s there was little doubt Hammer Film Productions had become the dominant player in the world of horror cinema. Indeed, among many critics and fans alike, this era is generally regarded as the peak of the studio’s illustrious history.
1966 was to prove a particularly
busy year with the release of four memorable features, The Plague of the Zombies, The Reptile (initially titled The Curse of the Reptiles), Dracula: Prince of Darkness, and Rasputin the Mad Monk. As discussed last issue, these four films were shot back-to-back using the same sets as a means of saving money. Cinema audiences in the UK were slowly
declining at this time as the popularity of television was on the increase, prompting the executives at Hammer to put forward the idea of filming in this way to reduce expenditure, therefore increasing profits.
The Plague of the Zombies and The Reptile are frequently referred to as the “Cornish Duo” as both stories are set in the picturesque English county of Cornwall. The former, which we are about to look at, is set around the tin mines which were the backbone of Cornish industry for hundreds of years.
Production duties for both films were handled by Anthony Nelson Keys, with John Gilling tasked with directing these features. The screenplay was fittingly handed to Peter Bryan, who had written the original story The Zombie in 1962, the tale upon which the film was based. Regular Hammer producer Anthony Hinds had been keen to adapt this story
In less than three years, this grisly comic book phenomenon, which had been little more than a trickle in the latter months of 1948, had turned into a full-scale deluge. The poor guy waiting to pay for his daily newspaper on his way to work would have to wait in line as droves of youngsters pored over the newsstand, crying out for more of these abominations; such was the rabid hysteria for these four-color terrors. Spurred on by the demands made by their insatiable readership, the publishers delved ever further into the abyss, turning a blind eye when it came to transgressing the boundaries of acceptability. By 1952, any publisher contemplating the introduction of a new title was going to have to come up with something exceptional to rival the likes of Tales from the Crypt, Chamber of Chills, Weird Mysteries and Weird Terror. Their titles alone alluded to that which lay within;
woe betide them if they fell short of their reader’s unsavory expectations.
During the fall of 1952, Atlas’ creative team came up with something very new. The buzz of excitement permeating their Manhattan office, must have reached fever pitch when Martin Goodman’s crew were preparing for the release of this latest addition to their lucrative roster of terror, which by then ran to a dozen titles. All too aware of the need to make an instantaneous impression, they came up with a name assured to satisfy any self-respecting horror fiend: Menace. So much preparation had gone into this inaugural issue, this neophyte in the company’s fold wasn’t about to let anyone down, not by any stretch of the imagination.
The very name Menace was a jolt to the senses, inducing iniquity of the foulest kind. Atlas had done their homework, picking up on the success of their incredibly popular portfolio of
December 1943. These eerie transmissions would haunt the airwaves for the next 20 years, chalking up an impressive run of 945 shows. If Menace was the successor to Suspense, it seems appropriate Atlas’ regular horror readers were alerted to its launch in the pages of Suspense #29, the final appearance of this title Although this finale hit the stand in January 1953, coverdated April 1953, Menace’s first issue was already out there, carrying a cover date of March 1953.
It was no surprise to see Bill Everett assigned as the cover artist for this fright-filled debut. His signature chilling drollery was bound to attract considerable
attention; on this outing entertaining the dead as they rise from the grave, their cadaverous presence frightening the living daylights out of an unsuspecting pair of lovebirds. It would have had an obvious appeal for the horror fiends of the day, as would the accompanying story, “One Head Too Many.” In this typically imaginative flying saucer yarn, Bill molded Atlas’ brand of science fiction with the horror these youngsters so desperately craved. It was exactly the kind of introduction required of this new series.
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CRYPTOLOGY #6
An element of noir, more associated with the crime comics of the day, followed in the uncompromising “The Man Who Couldn’t Move,” brought to life by George Tuska’s characteristically bold brush strokes. With a creditable three years at the drawing board in the employ of Atlas, Werner Roth was a worthy choice for this premiere. He delivered “Poor Mr. Watkins” with a surety of line leading to a memorable finale, although the bloodcurdling scene, which undoubtedly ensued, was left to the reader’s perverse imaginings. Even a title containing a threat of this excessive kind dared venture only so far.
terror, then readied to take it a few steps further into the darkening shadows. The logo conjured a malfeasance to catch the eye, eliciting an unshakable sense of trepidation as an antecedent to making the reader’s hair stand on end. It didn’t take long before Menace arose to take its place among the company’s most notorious fare, its despicable reputation ranking it alongside its fearful siblings Adventures into Terror, Adventures into Worlds, Men’s Adventures, and the recently cancelled Suspense.
Eerie Transmissions
Atlas’ publishing schedule suggests Menace was probably the replacement for Suspense, a title owing its origins to the radio show produced by Columbia Broadcasting Systems Inc. Their creepy broadcasts had first aired in 1942, although it should be noted they had no connection with Holyoke’s Suspense Comics, which premiered in
Or maybe not, for this issue’s closing piece, the Russ Heath illustrated “They Wait in Their... Dungeon”, was a wanton monograph of depravity, thrusting scenes of flagellation and cigarette burning upon its thrill-crazy readership. These pages invited comparison with the brutal imagery Russ had willfully dispensed in “Fright” for Journey into Mystery #5, released just a month before. Having previously resorted to such savagery, the miscreant responsible for tormenting these unfortunates was condemned to endure a slow death in the confines of this institution’s gas chamber. It was indeed a shocking climax, the culmination of an invigorating roller-coaster ride
ZOMBIE ISSUE! The films White Zombie and I Walked With A Zombie, GEORGE ROMERO and LUCIO FULCI’s zombie apocalypses, zombie pre-Code comics, BERNIE WRIGHTSON’s undead creations, horror comics of Brazil, the contributions of black stars of classic horror cinema, Hammer’s The Plague of Zombies, Fantaco’s Night of the Living Dead, France’s Revenant, and more!
