Traumafessions :: Reader bdwilcox on Magic: The Gathering Commercial
I remember catching a glimpse of this Magic: The Gathering commercial on T.V. and being utterly petrified of that savage rabbit. I can't believe they allowed such imagery on T.V. during regular hours.
I looked over at my parents and they didn't seem phased by it in the least, so I felt totally alone in my terror. I think this came on about the same time that TWILIGHT ZONE: THE MOVIE was on cable.
So, between this commercial and that scene in TZ:TM where the demonic rabbit pops out of the magician's hat, I'm totally scarred in the lepus department.
—bdwilcox
Kindertrauma Jukebox:: Dwarr's Screams of Terror
UNK SEZ:: I'm convinced this tune is the perfect Kindertrauma theme song! Thanks go to my dear old pal SCOTT for pointing me toward it!
Thanksgiving in Sunnydale
Urgh. Thanksgiving is not my favorite holiday. As much as I support murder when it involves electrocuting and burning alive your tormentors on prom night, murdering an indigenous people in order to swipe their real estate is kind of douchey. Maybe it's me but I'm not convinced that the yam with marshmallow dish everyone keeps raving about is all that delicious either. Plus there's the Kindertrauma holiday post dilemma to worry about. I really don't want to resort to that phony ELI ROTH trailer.
What I finally decided to do was just share with you a yearly ritual of mine, which is watching the BUFFY THE VAMIRE SLAYER episode "Pangs." This particular episode of BUFFY takes place on Thanksgiving and although it's hardly the strongest in the series, it does provide me with a certain amount of comfort. "Pangs" involves Indian warriors coming back to life through magical means to avenge their people. Like I just attempted, Wicca witch Willow makes comments condemning mass genocide but it sounds less annoying coming from her because she is a girl. It may not be BUFFY's shiniest hour, but it is the only hour of hers that involves turkeys, syphilis ad somebody turning into a bear.
While watching "Pangs" this year I started thinking about my long history with Buffy and, as I did, a memory resurfaced that, as it turns out, specifically involves Thanksgiving. Picture it. Philadelphia, mid-nineties, your Unk is living far from home and all of his so-called pals have other plans for the holiday that don't include him. One friend, let's call him "Spike" was in the same gravy boat so plans were made that we would spend Thanksgiving together. It should be noted that I may have had a thing for "Spike" at the time. In fact, I know I did because he had a physical impairment and was morbidly self-involved and I know that's how I rolled back then. So I cooked, I cleaned and I stocked the fridge with suds. Spike never showed though, he called me very late from a bar and he said he'd be there soon and then he STILL never showed. Cram a yam, I got stood up!
The toasty festive atmosphere began to curdle rapidly. The universe was pouring vinegar in my eggnog. I don't know why it hit me so hard. Why was the carpet not only pulled out from under me but also set on fire and placed over my head? A giant black vortex opened in the wall and tried to suck me through it. My instantly massive loneliness crushed down like a cartoon anvil. There I was, by myself, during a national holiday with an excess of alcohol and nothing to do but stew. Eventually my depression grabbed me by the nape of my neck and led me to the only fire escape not guarded by demonic trolls, the television…
I caught on to BUFFY early in its run but somewhere I had lost it. I must have hallucinated that I had more pressing things to do. Suddenly, it was the only thing on T.V. and I had no idea what was going on in the series by now but I was going to watch it anyway. The episode was from the third season and it was called "Amends." In it, Angel, the cursed vampire, is worn down with guilt and remorse to the degree that he goes to a hillside to await the sunrise so he can turn to dust. He has decided the world would be better off without him so why not? Buffy confronts him and tells him everybody goes through the same crap and screws up all the time and the important thing to do is just fight and most of all, that she's got his back (or something to that effect.) Talking Angel off the ledge takes too long though and with dawn breaking it doesn't seem like he'll make it indoors to safety in time. Then something happens, the sun won't be rising at all (Did I mention it's Christmas?) because for the first time ever in fictional Sunnydale's history, it's starting to snow…
I'm a lame-o and a light touch and snow is my Achilles heel forever. There I was munching down on mega melancholia and I just happened to stumble upon this cure. I wasn't so much moved as transferred to the other side of the psychological globe. That night's episode of BUFFY ended in the same way as that night's episode of UNKY, with divine intervention. I wasn't depressed at all anymore; I had a new favorite show.
After that I fanatically and ravenously caught up with all of the episodes of BUFFY I had missed and followed it to its (sob) conclusion in 2003. (My viewing of "Amends" did not take place during its original airing but during a repeat marathon of sorts.) I guess it might make more sense to watch that fateful episode "Amends" this time of year rather than "Pangs" but the latter fits in more with where I'm at today. The characters on BUFFY became my friends and family during a time when I really was for the most part alone in the world and watching them gather for Thanksgiving is strangely like gathering alongside them. I'm almost ashamed to admit this (and by almost I mean not really) but for a while I was consciously aware of the show surpassing the real world in importance to me. If you are a nerd with a favorite show you either know what I mean or are not as much as of a nerd as you think you are.
This post is a toast, a toast to my make believe family I guess. This Thanksgiving I give thanks to the Scoobies, for always being just a play button away.
So, what happened with that dude "Spike," the guy who left me at the cranberry sauce alter, high and dry on a cold night staring at a room temperature bird? I forgave him. While I'm talking about being thankful I might as well go that extra, after-school-special mile and talk about forgiveness too. I know carrying a grudge is more fashionable but I'm thankful that I ended up letting bygones be bygones. A year or so later he made "amends" and introduced me to Aunt John.
Traumafessions :: Spooky Sean on The Christmas Toy
When I was about six years old, one of my favorite movies was a little film called THE CHRISTMAS TOY. Only, it also happened to scare the utter shit out of me, with its concept. For, you see, when the Jones' leave the room, their toys come to fucking life.
The film opens with Kermit the Frog dressed as Santa Claus falling down the chimney, and into the Jones' home. He explains how, in essence, whenever any of the human beings leave the room, the plastic and stuffed play things come to life. Apparently, they also like to sing, for as soon as Kermit peaces out, we get a musical number.
I had a very over active imagination as a child, and the premise of the film more then anything fucked with my head. So, wait, when I leave the room, my Ninja Turtles and my Fraggle Rocks will come to life?! And when I come back inside, they will go back to playing dead? What the hell, am I not cool enough for them to just talk and sing to me! Or, are they planning some kind of terrible plot against me, and they can't talk about it in front of me! According to the plot if the toys are seen moving by humans, they become frozen. I'll tell you, if I saw a stuffed animal come to life, I'd be frozen too; frozen in fear for my sanity.
I'm sorry, I love the toys and inanimate objects come to life films, but can you see how they might be disturbing to a small child who hasn't yet solidified his sense of reality? Re-watching it, of course it just seems silly, but yes, I was also still a little freaked out. Fuck, there is a scene where one of the main toys, Rugby the Tiger, is spying on the adults from inside the closet! Tell me that Tiger doesn't seem a little whacked out.
Sincerely,
UNK SEZ:: Thanks Spooky Sean! Kids, make sure you go and check out Sean's fortress of awesome-tude SPOOKY SEAN'S SINFUL BLOGGERY!
Name That Trauma :: Reader M. Nelson on Miniature Monsters
Cannot remember the title and it is driving me crazy. Film is from the late '70s or early '80s.
Mad scientist figures out a way to bring the monsters of classic literature to life. He turns on the machine and out of the books come Dracula, Frankenstein, The Wolfman and The Mummy, but they are only 3 feet tall. I recall this done as a serious horror movie with a bit of tongue-in-cheek humor thrown in. Help save my sanity please.
— M. Nelson
UNK SEZ:: The year doesn't match up but this sounds very much like the 1997 CHARLES BAND film THE CREEPS! Check out the trailer below M. Nelson and let us know! Meanwhile, does anybody out there in kindertraumaville know of any other movies that feature pint-sized classic monsters?
Burn, Witch, Burn!
One of my favorite supernatural horror films is 1962's BURN, WITCH, BURN! (aka NIGHT OF THE EAGLE.) It's been a notoriously difficult film to track down for years but lo and behold it's currently available on Netflix streaming. (Can I just say that Netflix streaming may be the best thing to happen to horror fans since Karo Syrup?) Based on the novel CONJURE WIFE by FRITZ LIEBER and adapted by folks like RICHARD MATHESON and CHARLES BEAUMONT, BURN, WITCH, BURN! possesses the artistry and psychological depth to stand proudly next to the best of the genre. Like so many of the most enduring movies dealing with the occult and the unknown, it can be said to pulse with its own magical power. If putting a movie together is anything like casting a spell, this lone film of interest by director SIDNEY HAYERS measures the ingredients in its witch's brew adeptly and ends up hitting its mark square on the nose.
Norman Taylor (PETER WYNGARDE) lives the life of Riley as a big fish psychology professor in a small college university pond. He's got all the answers to life's mysteries and believes neurosis is caused by a cowardly avoidance of the concrete facts. Faith and superstition are his personal pet peeves; if something can't be proven (or perceived by him) then it simply doesn't exist. Little does he know that the high horse he perches on is crafted from juju charms and that his dutiful wife Tansy (JANET BLAIR) has been messing with mojo to keep envious backstabbers and life's little pitfalls at bay.
According to Tansy, what Norman doesn't know could fill a spell book. His friendly colleagues are sharks itching for the sent of blood to go in for the kill and the only thing that separates him from the chum is her knowledge of the way things really work. His ego in the balance, Norman pulls a Darrin Stephens and insists that Tansy scrap her witchery and convert to his approved logic. Tansy reluctantly agrees but without the wifely back up, Norman goes from stud to dud overnight. A once smitten student accuses him of rape and her enraged boyfriend threatens him with a gun. There's more to worry about than his occupation/identity falling to shambles though, there seems to be an ominous force unleashed and rustling about that won't be satisfied until Norman is fitted for a pine box.
BURN, WITCH, BURN! is often compared to JAQUES TOURNER'S CURSE (or NIGHT) OF THE DEMON (1957) and it's not difficult to see why with its tug of war between the scientific and the magical. Both rack up the chills by exploiting the meat of superstition, the idea that once you're on the universe's shit list your days are numbered. Their visual tones compliment each other as well, both sharing a ravenous appetite for inky, amorphous shadows and a proud debt to all things VAL LEWTON.
BURN, WITCH, BURN! may fall just short of CURSE OF THE DEMON's more majestic feel but in some areas, like special effects, BURN stands superior. The climax of the film, which relies heavily on miniatures and forced perspectives may look quaint to the youngins but all things considered, it's still an impressive, nearly seamless, spectacle today (and if you ask me, it's also saluted heavily in sister-witch movie SUSPIRIA.)
The implication that men are manipulated like marionettes by deceitful, sorceress women may smack some as misogynistic but there may be a bigger truth here to explore. Who could argue the fact that those who appear to glide through life may have someone who toils in the trenches unseen to thank? Removing gender from the equation, BURN, WITCH, BURN! presents, with married couple Tansy and Norman, two distinct personality types, one grounded and analytical and the other connected to the spiritual and unseen. The film may spotlight dark forces at play, but Tansy's magic is protective by nature. She sacrifices her very life for her husband and can't really be associated with the malevolent force that seeks to destroy them. In any case, I think it's possible to read the concept of "woman's intuition" presented here as less to do with the female of the species ability to practice covert magic and more to do with the male's limiting literal mindedness.
I'm especially fond of BURN's cast (although the general style tends toward the melodramatic.) JANET BLAIR as Tansy brings the needed worried agitation and is exceptionally sympathetic, MARGARET JOHNSTON as the not-giving-too-much-away baddie, Flora, does twisted freaky creepy like nobody's business and PETER WYNGARDE is phenomenal.
I love this guy PETER WYNGARDE!
How did I never realize that one year earlier he played Peter frickin' Quint in THE INNOCENTS? He teeters toward overboard but it's sensational seeing such a go-for-broke turn. In addition, his handsome gargoyle mug seems sculpted for this type of film, as it tends to attract and capture every shadow slinking by. Years later he would play a T.V. character, so flamboyant (JASON KING) that he inspired AUSTIN POWERS, but in BURN he's just so photogenic and wildly intense that he ends up delivering something truly memorable. As stuffy as his character is made to appear upon introduction, this ends up being a rare supernatural spook show with a manic male rather than female lead. (Adding further to my fascination with WYNGARDE is the fact that he had a ten year relationship with ALAN BATES and played Ming's right hand man, Klytus in 1980's FLASH GORDON!)
Black and white film adds something unique to the movie viewing experience overall but it adds something super unique to horror films and something super special gonzo incredible unique to the supernatural horror film. How can anyone wonder if witchcraft exists? Black and white film IS witchcraft! You just can't get this effect with color film (unless your name happens to be MARIO BAVA.)
Like THE HAUNTING (if you think I'm referring to the 1999 version, punch yourself in the face for me) and THE INNOCENTS, this is a Rorschach flick that you can catch different fish in every time you visit the pond. With my last viewing I encountered a figure in a lightening flash that never materialized for me before. I don't know what it means or if it's a mistake but to me that's like getting three ravens in a row playing slot machines.
BURN, WITCH, BURN! opens with Norman scrawling, "I do not believe" upon a classroom black board. It closes with him backing up against that same board in horror and smudging out the word "not" leaving only "I do believe." It's a clever, classic moment that illustrates just how far he has traveled without moving an inch, as if belief and skepticism are separated by little more than a light switch. Like everything magical, the revelation isn't forced on you but it's there if you want it. Like Norman, all you have to do is open your eyes.
