Category: Traumafessions

During World War II my parents took the family to see DRAGON SEED, a movie about the Japanese invasion of China. The tension built as the Japanese approached a small rural community. The family's grandmother was too obese to travel fast so they hid her in some bushes. The soldiers found her and raped her. Her hysterical crying remained with me throughout the war, reminding it could happen to my mother if we were invaded. To this day I have fears of being attacked because of invasion, whether by wars or into my home, car, etc.

I must add my family, especially my very creative mother, were fans of the gothic. During the depression after my parents lost their farm we moved into a small, rural village. For lack of money and no special events in the community my mother would take us to the cemetery at night to tell us macabre stories as we sat on tombstones.

We also lived in a very large home with a basement not unlike a dungeon. If I had to go to the basement, on return I would run up the stairs as many outstretched arms pursued me.

At age 75, I am a very happy person!!!!!!!!!

UNK SEZ: Tom, where do I even begin with such a stellar Traumafession? First of all, thanks for dispelling the notion that trauma is reserved for the horror genre. The truth is war, rape and fear for our loved ones trumps most of what is found in the average horror film. Secondly your mother is an inspiration, being taken to the local cemetery for some homemade brand-trauma tales sounds like a dream come true to me. And lastly thanks for including your age, not only does it illustrate the staying power of kindertraumas but their universality as well. I spend a lot of time fretting about getting older, but if I get to be half as cool as you clearly are, I'm looking forward to it!

My biggest child hood trauma would have to be an even split between GONE WITH THE WIND, as seen with my folks at a drive in at the tender age of 5 or 6 , and several children's records we would listen too all narrated by DAVID FROST.

I am probably older than most readers here and grew up in South Africa, where television was only introduced in 1976. I have no childhood television memories to speak of, and we didn't frequent the movies very often. We read a lot of books, and had LP's with children's book narrations. We were as glued to them as any child today is glued to the TV screen. These LP where not musicals, but the narration was usually accompanied by music adding to the tension created by the deep and serious voice of DAVID FROST. Tubby the Tuba was the only one of the LP's that didn't scare the living daylights out of me….

Jack and the Beanstalk's ever-coming Giant, whose large and heavy steps would vibrate the house (or so it seemed to me, would send me screaming to my mother, and to a nightmare filled night – or several.) The Pied Piper of Hamlin was another one that scared me to death (although I did like the mice) The seductiveness of his music, and the happy sounds of children disappearing though the streets echoing their laughter into the silence of god knows where terrified me. I don't think that I ever got to listen to the end of these records, or that I ever slept a good night sleep after listening to them – but still I would return, for more and more and more….

As I said above – the other half of my child hood trauma is all about the amputation scene in GONE WITH THE WIND. (Probably many of you are wondering what exactly is so scary about that movie, especially as todays movies are a lot more revealing in blood and gore) I was so traumatized by that scene (my screaming obviously forced my parents to leave the drive-in with some haste,) that I refused to see that movie until I was about 25 years old…. at which point I did watch it in complete and utter boredom unable to understand how this is what had haunted me for so many years…

UNK SEZ: Thanks Rachel. Rachel blogs about horror over at TOP HORROR MOVIES CLUB. A recent post even concerned Kindertrauma and her thoughts about just how young is too young to allow kids to experience scary films. Similar discussions recently took place at both VAULT OF HORROR and CLUB SILENCIO. I threw my two cents into all three, but you know your Unk, my creepy kiddies, I wouldn't trade my childhood kindertraumas for the world!

When I was maybe eight or so, I got freaked out by the evil salamander men from the insanely demented Japanese Starman movie INVADERS FROM SPACE. I was alone watching it on the b&w UHF station in New Orleans with the local horror host Guru. He was a freaky hippie-type guy who was otherwise a weatherman. Anyway, the movie is packed with creepy nightmare weirdness, everything from a salamander dance troupe to an especially creepy salamander witch woman who has poison gas breath and a wicked cackle. The witch has a great, extended stalking scene as she chases a little girl through some creepy taxidermist shop full of skeletons and stuffed oddities. Little short pant Japanese kids are in constant peril; one is even dangled over lava. The salamander men (the Koolomonians) have creepy Joker like smiles and are quite acrobatic. I posted their bizarro dance troupe HERE.

UNK SEZ: Thanks Bwana Voodoo! If any of you kids have not visited Bwana at either GORILLANAUT or THE NAKED JUNGLE , you sure are missing out! Both joints are just chock full of cool things. If you are a fan of the PROPHECY bear, giant scary bunnies, BARBI BENTON, the BORN INNOCENT broom stick or even Paul Snider's Sex bench, you'll feel right at home at these duel bottomless pits of cultural debris! Go dive in!

Strangely enough, one of my most vivid experiences in the trauma department was with a pink little turd by the name of Kirby. That's right, that Kirby. This spherical chump has been a classic example of early video gaming to the point that I was familiar with him, even though my parents never bought us video games (my sisters and I were already lazy enough with worshiping our cuboid deity known as the television, after all). Now my mother was always rather neurotic about what we watched on television, what with the bad influences of certain programs and especially the easily frightening things we could get exposed to. However, obeying the rules of the house and only watching family friendly channels was no deterrent to being frightened out of my young mind.

Back to Kirby. One day whilst watching my comfy cozy cartoons where Wile E. Coyote could experience all the deaths of the FINAL DESTINATION series and not even lose his bladder control, the commercial breaks introduced to me an association to Kirby I never thought I would make. I don't know if anyone else remembers this commercial for the newest in Kirby video games, but it involved a hapless glutton in a bowling shirt being served meal after meal in a restaurant. He continued to eat so much that button after button burst from his shirt, but he continued to stuff his face, even oblivious to a breaking belt buckle and snapped trouser button. The finale to this disturbing meal was a slurp from a whipped cream covered finger. Predictably a rumble sounds and a huge explosion follows, covering shocked fellow patrons in undigested spaghetti. Gee, we're all so glad Kirby can outdo this bastard, right?

The images of those ripped clothes preceding such a disgusting burst of still intact food was cartoonish, but a child's mind doesn't always catch on to the humor of these things, does it? Anytime the commercial came on, I either hid my head under a pillow or left the room. My fear of people getting stuffed with food until they popped like a zit got worse when I overheard a conversation my parents were having with friends on a lovely little film called MONTY PYTHON'S THE MEANING OF LIFE. I did not get to see the film (including the humorously disturbing Autumn Years sequence involving Mr. Creosote) until my early teens, but just hearing about it, as well as the graphic details of exposed ribs and projectile vomiting, brought back some very discomforting memories. Clearly the advertising crew for Kirby had been inspired by our British friends in the MONTY PYTHON team. Watching it again after all these years brings loads of laughs, but know this: coerced organ removal while a stranger is still alive is nothing compared to exploding fat men.

UNK SEZ: Dear Bloodylocks, this Kirby person has a serious eating disorder. He can justify his actions by claiming that when he consumes his enemies he acquires their strengths, but let me tell you… been there, done that! And the results were disappointing at best. I recommend sitting your pink pal down in front of NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET 5: THE DREAM CHILD. If that movie's bulldozer of a bulimia sequence has no effect on him then I say the pixelated pinko is a lost cause!!!! Wait a minute, Aunt John just informed me that you were writing about a commercial involving a fat guy exploding post spaghetti gorge and not seeking advice about a troubled friend…never mind. You should still check out ELM STREET 5 though, at least for that face stuffing bit!

I was a tough kid to spook. Perhaps it was my subscriptions to FANGORIA, STARLOG and parents who unknowingly thought HEAVY METAL was just a comic about rock music (now who could have told them that?). Sure, I fell victim to the jump scare at the end of the original FRIDAY THE 13TH with its lulling, swelling "everything's peachy" score before Jason jettisons from the water and helps ADRIENNE KING perform an Eskimo Roll on the canoe. I was creeped out by those aforementioned beady little Jodie the Pig eyes that blinked outside the window of a house in Amityville and was scared to death of all things Bigfoot, be they confrontations with the Bionic Man Steve Austin, or even when he landed a Saturday morning TV gig with some WILLIE AAMES-like fella named Wild Boy). But with a childhood spent gorging on gore, I was particularly jaded, as I was more interested in "just how" they made THE INCREDIBLE MELTING MAN actually melt (since it predated the "bonus features" days of the DVD, I was forced to actually "read" about it in the pages of FANGORIA.

I needed something more genuine in order to burn its place into my pre-pubescent brain.

Enter the friendly neighborhood pot-head who manned the counter at the local video store who happily handed over a copy of FACES OF DEATH to a child who did not even reach the double digits in age. "All of this is real, man," I distinctly remember him whispering as he slipped it into the bag, along with TAPS, the fall guy if my parents decided to ask what I had rented. TIMOTHY HUTTON was such a nice young man and the TOM CRUISE fellow could be going places! After a few phone calls to neighborhood reprobates, we found the perfect screening room, as one friend's parents were leaving him in the care of his older brother (15) who was as equally as interested in the copius and gratuitous gore we had our hands on.

As a child coming of age in the 80s, FACES OF DEATH represented the Holy Grail of Horror for us. It was one where there were no special effects. No actors, no Karo syrup and food coloring. It was all real. For the VHS box told us so.

As an animal lover, I had to turn away from all the actual killings of our furry and feathered friends. I would later do the same during CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST, which used the same techniques for shock. Killing slow-moving, defenseless sea turtles, as done in HOLOCAUST, does not impress nor frighten me.

It opened with a heart transplant that is as common today as anything you'd see on the Discovery Health Channel, but that was enough to whet our appetite for destruction. Of all the images of bear maulings, monkey-brain eating and alligator tussles, the one image that haunted me was the image of a body washed ashore on the beach. Perhaps because I live in a coastal community, or maybe it was just he after-effects of seeing JAWS one too many times, it was something that would remain with me years after all the other hoaxes in the film became prevalent to me. It played with some rather bizarre carnival music that made it all the more awkward. (After a subsequent viewing trying to pinpoint all the fake footage, I realized that this, too, was faked).

The one that really gave me a chuckle watching as an adult, was one that featured "footage from two tourists who were visiting a national park" (in typical generic fact-giving commentary). In it two moronic tools pull up in a station wagon and proceed to empty a loaf of bread to a passing bear. The male "tourist" apparently gets out (apparently dedicated to his craft and seeking better lighting). When the bear decides that he would like a little meat with his Wonder bread, he supposedly turns on the cameraman. What was notably obvious was the shot that showed both the man with the video camera and the bear in full frame. Just where did that shot come from?

Nonetheless, for years I would carry with me the images of FACES OF DEATH feeling as though I had somehow crossed the line of innocence, into the world of adulthood. And it was one I was not ready to visit again when FACES OF DEATH 2 hit the shelves the following year.

UNK SEZ: Thanks Rob for venturing into places your Unkle Lancifer can never go! As big of a gore fan as I am, and trust me too much is never enough, I turn all kinds of yellow at the thought of FACES OF DEATH. I remember my older brother renting the first one and as soon as I realized what they were about to do to that chicken, I went chicken myself and was right out the door! Sure, if I see an axe planted into someone's face in a FRIDAY THE 13TH flick I stop just short of cheering, but if I'm flipping channels and come across a real operation I quickly flip right on by (I might even cross myself). One thing I do appreciate about the FACES OF DEATH series is the consistently uniform lowbrow box art. Anytime I see those crude, smiling, skull faces staring at me, I know I'm in over my head!

NOTE: For all you kids who like to wax nostalgic about the films of your youth, Rob's website NATSUKASHI was built in your honor (The name means "place of fond memories"). Taking a new look at films watched long ago, he pays special and specific attention to how perceptions change over time. Take off your shoes and step into NATSUKASHI !

NOTE: I can't take credit for that swell FACES OF DEATH lunchbox. That image was swiped from the FACES OF DEATH Myspace page.

When I was a really little kid in the early 80s and was too young to go see the coolest movies, my parents would get these "read-along" storybook versions of movies for my brother and me. They were very short picture booklets that came with tapes of someone (usually not the original actor) in character telling you what happens in the story as you flip through the book…You'd know to turn the page when you heard a chime. I remember that we had them for the STAR WARS movies, and E.T. (I specifically remember young DREW BARRYMORE as Gertie really hamming it up on the tape struggling to pronounce "extra-terrestrial").

To my trauma: In the booklet for RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK, there was a still from the movie of the part where Indiana Jones is leaping from a horse onto the side of a truck. To my mind, because of the position of Indy's body and his arms, it looked like he was missing his head. This was utterly terrifying to me…I'd always shut my eyes whenever I'd get to that page in the book, then open them again when we got to the next page (I couldn't really flip ahead, not without the chime allowing me too, for God's sake!). I guess I was really too young to follow the story very carefully, even being totally spoon-fed the dumbed-down version, because I saw it as: "Indy's having adventures, having adventures, LOOK OUT FOR THE HEADLESS MONSTER-MAN, having adventures…"

I couldn't find the actual still, but I grabbed it from the scene on Youtube for you. I'm at work, so I don't have the DVD to get it…But I think the Youtube-quality makes it even eerier…

UNK SEZ: Taylor, this traumafession cracks me up! I love it! It just goes to show you, no matter how hard we try to shield our kids from kindertrauma, kindertrauma can be found in just about anything! I guess it's just a natural and necessary part of growing up and of learning the difference between real and imagined dangers. I also should congratulate you on your bravery and sense of duty for patiently waiting for the record to chime before turning the offending page! I found the below image on eBay, is this the diabolical record that stands accused?


AFTERTHOUGHT: Taylor I can't stop thinking about your traumafession! I would like to share one of my own personal bogey monsters. A creature that crawled out of the mists of my not fully formed brain and whose creation can only be blamed on me. Her name was MARY WOLF and I was quite sure she had committed herself to my destruction. Her name was derived from my misunderstanding of an overheard conversation about the comic MARY WORTH. (Why someone should be discussing MARY WORTH and not APARTMENT 3-G I'll never know!) At first she was an actual wolf, but later I remember there was a picture on the cover of an old children's encyclopedia of an African mud mask with straw hair that I was convinced was the demon's true image captured. In any case, she didn't come from an R-rated movie, she did not spawn from a creepy commercial or song or from anything that I was exposed to that I should not have been. MARY WOLF (or is it MERRY WOLF?) came from me. When cars drove past our house at night they'd shoot squares of light across my bedroom ceiling. I imagined all of those blocks of light were road signs and warnings that read "BEWARE OF MARY WOLF!" and "GO BACK NOW!" I just wanted you to know that she has lived in an iron cage in the back of my brain until headless Indy sprung her free early this morning. I hope they are not planning to team up!

The setting: A gathering at my aunt's house, circa 1979 (I'd be about 10). As I walk through an empty living room, I come across THE LEGACY playing on the TV (HBO, I guess). It's a rather weak horror film about 6 people drawn to an old British mansion where they are killed off one by one by nasty deaths: a swimmer drowns when the pool won't "let" her resurface, a man's shotgun backfires in his face, etc.

But the death I stumbled onto that fateful evening was a Trauma-Scene in three parts: First, the older man of the group in the mansion dies when the fireplace near him blows a gust of flame that consumes his body. Then, we see one of the mansion's workers dump a bag of the man's steaming, charred remains on the grounds outside. And then, after SAM ELLIOT (I think) escapes a pack of rottweilers chasing him on the mansion grounds, the dogs double back and EAT THE REMAINS OF THE MAN in sloppy, gnawing, big-dog chomps.

Thanks for letting me get that out.

UNK SEZ: Eric Thanks for that traumafession. You are correct that was SAM ELLIOT running away from those dastardly pooches! I myself will always remember the T.V. ad for THE LEGACY which showed a creepy old hand coming out from behind a curtain in a sick room and forcing a ring on KATHERINE ROSS' finger! You're right though, the movie as a whole is a bit dry and lackluster. No matter, as long as it has at least one trauma-scene that's good enough for us and you found several! By the by folks, Eric's blog FilmFather is a great resource for dad's looking to make sure their own kids don't get too traumatized by what they watch (Hey wait a minute, should we really support that?!!). Check out FilmFather HERE.

SOUTH PARK has been a favorite of mine since I was a kid. It was always edgy, rude, and grossly entertaining, even if I didn't get some of the more sexual jokes as a kid. However, at about twelve years of age, I saw an episode that will haunt me forever.

Now, all fans of the series know that Kenny dies fairly regularly. At twelve years old, it was an accepted fact of life: Kenny was made to make muffled sounds, wear a pimpin' orange, white trash hoodie, and die. However, it was always O.K. when he died, because it was usually in some silly, comedic way, followed by the famous line
"OH MY GOD! YOU KILLED KENNY! YOU BASTARD!". Kenny would be back next week, and we all knew it. He was like Freddy or Jason; no matter what you did, you could never kill him for real… until the second to last episode of Season Five.

(more…)

My parents weren't the type to take my brother and I to Disney movies. I am scarred for life; I'm 34 and still sleep with a night light. My parents took us to the movies to see films like THE AMITYVILLE HORROR, THE LEGACY, PSYCHO 2 and AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON. I will never forget when we got our first VCR. The first two movies we rented were THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE and CREEPSHOW, try eating a bowl of chili and drinking a Malta while watching those movies. I lost my appetite and never ate chili again.

The one movie that really traumatized me was SALEM'S LOT. The scene where the vampire shows up at that kid's window was torture for me. My bed was up against the window in my room. My father would say, "Good night kids. God Bless you and remember if the guy from SALEM'S LOT shows up, don't open the window." Then he would shut off the lights. I'd put the blanket over my head and it would be 90 degrees out and I'd be sweating. I swear those nights I must have only slept because I passed out from heat exhaustion.

UNK: After an exhausting day of playing croquet with Mr. Canacorn and Roz "Pinky Tuscadero" Kelly, Aunt John and I decided to hit the hay (we actually do sleep on a pile of hay). Suddenly we heard a loud banging on the Kindertrauma Castle door (My bad, I left the drawbridge down again!). I can't tell you how surprised we were to find none other than THE Tenebrous Kate of the seriously spectacular blog LOVE TRAIN FOR THE TENEBROUS EMPIRE standing before us looking as smashing as usual. She informed us that her COFFIN DRAGSTER had run out of gas right outside of Kindertrauma territory and she wondered if we would be so kind as to supply her with a refill.

I was too star struck to respond but Aunt John, always the haggler, was quick on his feet belting out a Rankin & Bass inspired ditty that was mostly nonsense, but whose chorus contained the following proposal, "If you want some gas today…a TRAUMAFESSION a tank is the price you pay!" Kate was unmoved by the actual song, but visibly impressed by the plethora of clay-mation woodland creatures who sang back up and agreed to this fair exchange of goods. Plopping herself down on the best beanbag chair in the conservatory, she began to spin the tale of a young, pre-Tenebrous Kate who unhappily discovered that toddlers and eighteen wheelers don't mix…

TENEBROUS KATE:

No one seems to believe me when I tell them that I was an incredibly fragile child. Perhaps this story will serve as proof positive that it was only time and harsh experience that built up the thick skin that now protects me from various and sundry cinematic grenades…

Picture, if you will, Wee Tenebrous Kate at her gal pal's Halloween party in Seventh Grade (I was dressed as Alice Cooper–narrow gender definitions be DAMNED; I wanted to wear a top hat and greasepaint). The decision was made by the other party-going kids (all of whom were doubtless composed of far sterner stuff than I) that the film de la nuit would be "Pet Sematary." To underscore: STEPHEN KING's PET SEMATARY. I was quaking in my tiny-yet-undoubtedly-fabulous boots, let me tell you—STEPHEN KING books were only to be approached by daring souls, inured to the ordeal of blood and guts. I'd been exposed to the Universal horror films since I was a tot (Tenebrous Dad does a most impressive on e-man impersonation of the Van Helsing-Dracula confrontation from the Tod Browning film) and I looked forward to "Disney's Halloween Treat" on teevee every year, but I had a notoriously delicate constitution with regards to all matters gory. I steeled myself as the lights dimmed and the VHS was popped into the player…

Needless to say, when that semi comes barreling down and smooshes li'l Gage right on through to the other side, it was more than I could take. I started sobbing and ran out of the room—I was placed in a separate room with the one other girl whose parents didn't allow her to watch R-rated movies (at least SHE had the excuse of having lame parents). To this day, the very mention of PET SEMATARY brings tear-flavored memories of my pre-teen shame. One might make a compelling argument that the reason I'm willing to hurl myself repeatedly at über-gruesome movies is to fully banish the laughter of my classmates from my mind.

My pain–it makes for good comedy sometimes!

UNK: After T.K.'s tale concluded, we made good on our end of the bargain. With her tank full of petrol, our Kate sped away with promises of returning again. I thought it ironic that somebody whose TRAUMAFESSION concerns vehicular disaster should drive so recklessly across Aunt John's prize winning Venus Flytrap patch and straight through a recently mended fence at approximately 200 miles an hour, but that's our Kate, and we wouldn't have her any other way! We don't even mind that we found most of the Baklava Aunt John served her politely hidden in one of our best napkins only partially chewed, we just want her to visit again and soon! Trust me, after spending a day with the P.D.A. twins, Mr. Canacorn and Roz "Pinky Tuscadero" Kelly, that Kate was quite a burst of fresh air!