Few things evoke Hallowe’en so vividly to me as Gold Key’s The Little Monsters, one of the publisher’s relatively scarce non-licenced properties…
The series had its unlikely début as a backup feature in The Three Stooges no. 17 (cover-dated May 1964 — meaning it hit the stands in January) — months before The Addams Family (Sept. 18) or The Munsters (Sept. 24) reached television. Which is meaningless, of course, since the source for all of these fiends was Charles Addams’ New Yorker cartoons, wherein the clan did not even bear his name. Monsters everywhere! There must have been been something in the water.
Oddly enough, while Orvie, Annie, Demonica and Mildew soon (Nov. 1964) earned their own book, they remained loyal to Moe, Curly and Larry, retaining their backup slot to the very end of the Stooges’ run (no. 55, June 1972). And while the regular Little Monsters title often comprised reruns — as early as 1971’s issue 13 — the Stooges-sponsored backups never were reprinted.
I was all set to run with a furry little yarn from 1965, but then, just a few days ago, my nice mail lady fatefully handed me a box of comics that included The Little Monsters’ titular inaugural appearance.
And, having mentioned it, here’s the story I had originally slated for this post: Moondust and the Werewolf from The Three Stooges no. 26 (Nov. 1965, Gold Key).
« When asked if they would like to have sex with me, 30 per cent said, “Yes”, while the other 70 per cent replied, “What, again?” — Silvio Berlusconi
A certain subset of Italian Fumetti— namely the sex and horror digests of the 1970s — constitutes a quagmire of oft-truly repellent material in which indisputable gems yet glimmer bright. Mostly the covers… designed to lure the sailor — or reader — to his doom.
While several of the most prolific artists of the medium were evidently talented fellows, only a couple (Averardo Ciriello being the other one) truly draw my interest, since, despite low pay and a breakneck production pace, they didn’t swipe much… or at all — unlike their colleagues. For most of the industry and society, consent and copyright appeared to be pretty fuzzy, casually dismissed notions.
I favour the work of Fernando Carcupino (1922-2003) over that of his contemporaries because he always knew how to keep things light, bright and original — never wallowing in poor taste or sadism, even when the subject matter called for it, and I thank him for it. Here are some highlights from his illustrious career.
A piece from La Settimana Umoristica no. 5 (Apr. 1954) entitled “Celluloid Terror”. All the classic ghouls are there, even that very year’s Creature From the Black Lagoon. Carcupino could spot an enduring classic from a long way off!A selection of our fine products, as they appeared in print. Vampirissimo no. 11(Nov. 1975, Edifumetto). “An Abyss of Terror”.Leaned in too close and got poked in the eye! I Sanguinari no. 9 (July 1975, Edifumetto). “Flamenco of the Damned”. Il Vampiro no. 5 (March 1974, Edifumetto). “The Black Snow”. Why, hello, Mr. Chaney!Lo Scheletro no. 13 (July 1974, Edifumetto). “The Grim Bell Ringer”. Zora la Vampira no. 1 (Jan. 1974, Edifumetto) — “Human Flesh” In French, Zora became ‘Zara‘, for some reason.Lo Scheletro no. 3 (March 1975, Edifumetto). “The Abominable King Kong”. Tabù no. 23 (Oct. 1975, Edifumetto). “Please Don’t Bite My Butt”. I Notturni no. 9 (Sept. 1973, Edifumetto). “Peter the Fornicator”. Impressive, given his mug. Vampirissimo no. 8 (Aug. 1974, Edifumetto). “Death by Fright”. Oh, he’s a spooky one, all right. Vampirissimo no. 7 (July 1974, Edifumetto). “Monster Dimension”. This is the sort of composition and treatment that Bill Sienkiewicz would “introduce” to mainstream comics a decade later, blowing the minds of Marvel Zombies who’d consumed naught but the House of Ideas’ offal, just as Jim Steranko had blown their older brothers’, a decade prior. Lo Scheletro no. 7 (Apr. 1974, Edifumetto). “Demon in Love”. This fine* monograph from Korero Press (2019) spotlights a certain facet of Carcupino’s œuvre, though it’s pretty light on the horror, which is fine by me. The narrow thematic focus (on sex, the other half of the equation) does manage to render the proceedings a tad tedious after a while, but that’s to be expected. For a better sense of the man’s versatility, check out his website.
-RG
*marred somewhat by the usual “We Italians...” introduction, yet another variation on the line of “we are so passionate, we love women so much, we can’t control ourselves” bullshit. I guess it’s perfectly commonplace, for some people, to confuse misogyny with love . Right…
« Real art must always involve some witchcraft. » — Karen Blixen
Ah, another Samm Schwartz story! And no wonder: born on October 15, 1920, Mr. S would be ninety-seven today.
“Love in Broom“, scripted by George Gladir and inked by Vincent DeCarlo, saw print in Jughead no. 116 (Jan. 1965, Archie). That amorous witch would return in Jughead no. 123‘s ‘Switch Witch‘. In the Archie universe, that’s *almost* continuity!
Since Jughead no. 116 had a strictly non-oddball cover by Harry Lucey, here’s a more thematically fitting one from local chouchouBob White. This is Archie no. 126 (Apr. 1962, Archie).
« This seems to be the Age of the Monsters. Monsters are all around us. They abound on the motion picture-screens, coming from the depths of the sea, from under the Arctic ice, from outer space, or other such unexplored regions. » — Robert Arthur, ghost-writing Alfred Hitchcock‘s introduction to Monster Museum (1965)
As Gold Key comics published fewer ads than most of their rivals, they could afford such frivolities as joke and riddle pages, even in addition to the legally mandated text pages.
One pleasingly off-kilter feature that appeared in the publisher’s small line of ‘spooky’ titles (Boris Karloff Tales of Mystery, The Twilight Zone and Ripley’s Believe It or Not) was “Monster Museum”. Though it seemingly couldn’t settle on an approach or tone, it was witty, lightweight fun. Here are most of the highlights.
Then, as 1967 gave way to ’68, The Monster Museum became a reader-driven feature… for a single issue, namely Boris Karloff Tales of Mystery no. 22 (June 1968, Gold Key) — and two pages.
I thought it quite charming, brimming with that fascinating little-kid brand of logic we so quickly lose sight of as we ‘grow up’.
« If you don’t go over the top you can’t see what’s on the other side. » — Jim Steinman
On this blog — and these several past countdowns — I haven’t devoted much attention to the 1970s Skywald “Horror-Mood” line, mostly because it doesn’t often catch my fancy. My idea, my sense of Hallowe’en — and horror — is rather moodier and/or more whimsical, more innocent than the strain of the weird gathering momentum by the dawn of the decade, as exemplified by the Skywald line.
But what makes this entry an exception? Well, this thing’s so enthusiastically bombastic that it’s hard to take seriously. Yet the craft on display is tough to deny. Courtesy of Messrs Alan Hewetson, writer (also the rag’s editor) andJesús Durán Castillo, illustrator, “13” is a messy patchwork of dangling bits purloined from Ambrose Bierce‘s An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge, Edgar Allan Poe‘s The Pit and the Pendulum, and (what the heck) traditional French-Canadian folk song Dans la prison de Londres (Hewetson’s Canadian, let’s not forget). It’s also a jaunty, bracing scamper on the bonkers side, a wild ride on the escalating, circular chain of delusional obsession. Buckle up!
If you’ll forgive me the interruption, that top panel is a classic.
Who knows… was this, in some queer fashion, an inspiration for the 1997 Joe Pesci vehicle 8 Heads in a Duffel Bag?
“The 13 Dead Things” appeared in Psycho no. 13 (Nov. 1973, Skywald), bearing this lovely cover painting by Vicente Segrelles.
« There are no innocent bystanders… what are they doing there in the first place? » — William S. Burroughs
I’ve sung the praises of The American Bystander before, and I do believe it could still use whatever publicity it can get. And so here are some choice excerpts from the magazine’s Hallowe’en-themed issue — no. 13 (naturally), Fall 2019… starting with its unfathomably gorgeous double-spread by Armando Veve.
The editor wrote: « Some of our covers are so good they could conjure an entire book, and when Armando Veve delivered his art, a whole story blossomed in my brain. This wired witch is speeding to her digs downtown, a well-appointed brownstone on West 11th between Bleeker and West 4th. She received the deed some years ago from a grateful secretary of state Seward, in exchange for “Mr. Stonewall Jackson’s unfortunate accident.” More recently, she’s occupied herself by magically manipulating the stock market; she delights in dropping enormous, anonymous college scholarships into the laps of earnest high school Wiccans. Most afternoons she can be found at Tartine, eating pastries and slipping love potions into unsuspecting patrons’ teacups. She agrees that the neighborhood isn’t what it used to be but — being 227 — knows it never was. » Horror is around all the year ’round… we just celebrate it more fervently in the Fall. A strip by Brandon Hicks.I certainly hope that’s not Joltin’ Joe DiMaggio‘s spectre on the right, since he couldn’t handle that scene in real life. A cartoon by Matt Percival.I love that extra second-level chuckle (hint… ‘spell’). A cartoon by The New Yorker cartoonist Mick Stevens.A low-key guide to lethal passion in the suburbs from WOT? favourite Stan Mack. And I’m with the squirrels; that neighbour got what he deserved.The kids’ grapevine is utterly unforgiving. If you’re very fortunate, your ill repute will turn over with the next generation. A strip by Jim Siergey (b. 1949).
« I see a wolf-like thing coming over a dark river — at the shallows — just above a waterfall, the starlight shining up his pelt. I see a brown oak leaf blowing far up in the sky. I see a small bat flying. I see many other things, running under the forest trees and slipping through the highest branches; and they’re all coming this way! » — Ray Bradbury, The Homecoming (1946)
In the early 1960s, before Warren Magazines handled the task more decisively, there was a minor reunion of EC alumni — Joe Orlando, Reed Crandall, George Evans, Wally Wood, Williamson and Torres — at Gold Key. It resulted in some lovely art but minor, toothless stories. Even without the Comics Code, Gold Key’s material was safe as milk.
Here’s my favourite of the lot, a tale published in Boris Karloff Tales of Mystery no. 12 (Dec. 1965, Gold Key). I’ve probably tipped my hand with my choice of quote: “The Convention” reminds me of Mr. Bradbury’s timeless The Homecoming [ read it here ].
I like the point the story makes about how most towns — particularly their elected officials — will put up with a lot of obnoxiousness and outright toxicity if it fills up the hotels, bars, restaurants… and whorehouses.Really, a burning cross to vanquish evil… in 1965, given the headlines of the day? By the way, Angelo, that’s not a good Karloff.
Typically for Gold Key comics of that period, no credits are provided, but I’m strongly inclined to attribute authorship to Dave Wood (1926-1974), who happened to work for both Gold Key and DC at the time. It’s his kind of plot. Furthermore, as we’ve learned from the case of Steve Skeates, Julius Schwartz and The Spectre, there are instances when editorial changes to your original plot are significant enough that you can sell it again to someone else… and mum’s the woid.
What am I getting at? Why, our bonus, a cover-featured Dave Wood gem from the following year and with a quite familiar theme.
« Our appearance makes little difference… so long as we are in power! » Evidently, political cynicism is nothing new. DC’s Jack Schiff-edited “mystery” titles were a lot of utter bushwah, but oddly mesmerising if one surrendered to the spirit of the thing. And to a Bernard Baily and Mort Meskin fan, they offered a pretty sweet cornucopia. “The Monster Mayor, U.S.A.” is one of a series of oddball situations triggered by an invisible (but green!) sentient cloud from outer space called “The Green Glob“. The sort-of series ran in TOTU 85 to 98, then 100, 102 and 103. Weirdies!
This is Tales of the Unexpected 94 (April-May, 1966). Cover by Murphy Anderson.
-RG
*One might reasonably argue that Tatjana Wood (née Weintraub in 1926), who anonymously assisted her then-husband on some EC stories, is also eligible. She’s ninety-seven if she’s a day!
« The last I saw of Count Dracula was his kissing his hand to me, with a red light of triumph in his eyes, and with a smile that Judas in hell might be proud of. » — Bram Stoker
Comics fans of my generation might be forgiven for not fully appreciating Lee Elias‘ artistic assets if they encountered him, say, in Mystery in Space when he took over its lead feature, Adam Strange, from visionary Carmine Infantino. The series was mercifully soon discontinued, the victim of a game of editorial musical chairs designed to save the Batman titles, then — believe it or not — facing cancellation thanks to Jack Schiff‘s mismanagement.
While I do have a soft spot for Elias’ work on Ultra, the Multi-Alien (in Mystery in Space) and Eclipso (in House of Secrets), it wasn’t until I found out about his earlier, far edgier pre-Code shenanigans at Harvey Comics (with art director/designer/co-conspirator Warren Kremer) and, more directly and subtly his handful of stories for editor Murray Boltinoff‘s spooky titles (Ghosts, The Unexpected, The Witching Hour) in the 1970s, that I came to discern his light.
Boltinoff wisely played to Elias’ strengths in interests, handing him historical gothics to play with, and he delivered some of the finest work of his career.
Written by George Kashdan, The Most Fearful Villain of the Supernatural was published in Ghosts no. 50 (Nov.-Dec. 1976, DC).
Editor Boltinoff had this amusing idée fixe, commissioning purported ‘true’ stories wherein famous authors were “inspired” to pen their immortal works by some supernatural encounter earlier in life. From what I recall, Mary Shelley, Charles Dickens, Robert Louis Stevenson and — in this case — Bram Stoker were among the elected.
« Epitaph: a memorial that usually lies about the one below. » — Unknown
Ah, those lovely Peter Pauper Press books! They once were far easier to find*, but time marches on. This one’s a lightly macabre old favourite from 1957, wryly illustrated by long-time New Yorker cartoonist Henry R. Martin.
It is prefaced with this caveat: « The following collection of gravestone inscriptions is hardly a serious historical one. Most of the items are genuine, but many are suspect, and a few are frankly contrived. In some cases genuine inscriptions have been somewhat altered, and the place names are not reliable. Scholars are therefore warned not to find fault; but all men — and also any women who choose — are invited to read further for a little ghoulish amusement. »
-RG
*confirmed — anecdotally, I’ll grant you — by a visit, yesterday, to Maine’s spectacular Big Chicken Barn, where I didn’t stumble onto a single, solitary PPP title.
« Then hear this, and never forget it. Any fool with fast hands can take a tiger by the balls, but it takes a hero to keep on squeezing. » ― Stephen King, The Dark Half
A couple of years back, I was reading, through idle curiosity, a ranking of Stephen King’s books*. I came upon the article author’s précis for King’s 1993 novel The Dark Half:
« The premise is simple and ingenious: a literary author “kills” off the pseudonym whose popular fiction has been paying the bills, only for that alter ego to take murderous, corporeal form. Within the killing spree that ensues, King offers some profound observations about the schism between high art and popular culture, while also exposing his own worries about legacy. » I like King’s perhaps a bit too cute allusion to Donald Westlake’s troubles with his better-selling, pulpier pseudonym Richard Stark — The Dark Half’s antagonist is named George Stark.
Anyway, that essential premise reminded me vividly of a harrowing comic book story I’d encountered as a child. Here it is — poorly reproduced, I’m afraid — and I’ll provide a bit of context afterwards.
The Devil’s Creation originally saw print in Beware! Terror Tales no. 2 (July 1952, Fawcett). Scripter unknown, art by Mike Sekowsky (1923-1989).On a small town kid’s budget, some US comic books were highly unlikely to turn up on my local spinner rack. Besides, I didn’t even know English yet. But these French digests (162 pages for 35 cents!) could be a godsend. This one came out slightly before my time, but I somehow landed a second-hand copy. This is my dog-eared Eclipso no. 9 (Oct.-Dec. 1970, Arédit); I was, within its pages, introduced to — besides Eclipso — Deadman, The Spectre, The Doom Patrol, The T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents and Mark Merlin.
Amid all this fine, but sanitised Silver Age fare, here was one short story that sharply stood out by its merciless brutality. I’m still mystified at how this seemingly random story, which hasn’t even been reprinted once in North America, so incongruously landed in this collection. Amusingly, Sekowsky appears elsewhere in the issue, pencilling the light-hearted A Day in the Life of Dynamo (from Dynamo no. 1, Aug. 1966, Tower). Say what you will, the man was versatile.
Notice how they took away his gun? Censorship was pretty strict in France when it came to publications for youth. In reformatting stories for a different size and ratio, this publisher’s efforts were often pretty dismal; this, however, was an exception. I daresay the pacing was even improved. You simply never know!
-RG
*Not having made it through much of his oeuvre, my favourite King is the non-fiction Danse Macabre (ranked his 51st best book). Fun fact: ill-advisely, the French have retitled King’s famous short story collection Night Shift (ranked no. 13)… Danse macabre. The real DM was retitled Anatomie de l’horreur (‘Anatomy of Horror’). Now I’m sure that didn’t confuse anyone.
