YOU SHOULD SEE: Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein

The gang gets spooky. Sort of...

Granted, Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948) is not categorically a horror film. However, it is a comic horror spoof of fantastically entertaining proportions. The A&C style of WWII spawned humor is the same as in all of their other films (Hold That Ghost, Buck Privates), with Bud Abbott playing the irritable straight man who is somehow always duped by the adorably idiotic Lou Costello. This time, the wrench in their plans for holiday romance-- with two beautiful women who are, of course, both in love with Lou's character-- is perfectly monstrous. Banking on the continuing success of Universal's monster pictures, the boys find themselves stuck in a diabolical plot involving The Wolf Man, Frankenstein's Monster, and Dracula. This, my friends, is the good stuff.

The cast is what makes the film so exquisite-- a truly iconic moment in history. Bela Lugosi gamely put on his Dracula cape for the fist time since his appearance the groundbreaking 1931 classic to play this caper's mastermind, and he performed with the same sinister charm this time while cleverly adding a humorous wink. Lon Chaney, Jr. is back as the Wolf Man, who with his usual overwhelming depression tries to help the good guys out, but is reluctantly mutated every full moon into one of their worst enemies. Sadly, Boris Karloff didn't sign on to play the Monster, whose overly large shoes were instead filled by Glenn Strange. (Boris would regret his not so tactical business decision when it didn't pay off and would go on to join Bud and Lou in both The Killer and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde). Even Vincent Price made a cameo of sorts, tough purely vocal, as the Invisible Man. Of course, holding it all together is the ridiculous chemistry of the two leads, whose series of bumbling mistakes somehow foil a plot contrived by the greatest villains in the history of the world. I Heart This.

THE REEL REALS: Evelyn Ankers

Evelyn Ankers

Evelyn Ankers was not blessed with superstardom, but she did all right for herself. In a career that spanned less than 25 years, she was still able to rack up over 60 film and television appearances, her most notorious being-- of course-- in the realm of horror. A fish out of water by nature, Evelyn was born to English parents in Chile. After returning to England, she developed an incurable affliction for theatrics and pursued a career as an actress. While still a teenager, she was performing opposite Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh in Fire Over England, though her part was a mere featured role. However, her strange allure as a beautiful woman with intelligence (and tinge of cynicism) made her a natural for movies with a mysterious bent-- dark pictures for thinking viewers. When partnered opposite Lon Chaney, Jr. in The Wolf Man, her career in America would begin in earnest, though she'd managed a role in the Abbott and Costello haunted house spoof Hold That Ghost. After the furry monster cub of the monster club became her onscreen boyfriend, she suddenly became one of the Universal lot's "scream queens," her touching portrayal of the woman falling in love with the man falling under a curse earning her a permanent place in the scary movie rotation. In fact, she would partner with Lon Jr. in several more films, two of which were Ghost of Frankenstein and Son of Dracula.

While these roles may have been limiting talent wise, they provided steady work for Evelyn. Few women have such interesting titles on their resumes: The Mad Ghoul, Sherlock Holmes and the Voice of Terror, The Pearl of Death, The Frozen Ghost, Captive Wild Woman, Weird Woman, Jungle Woman... (Perhaps that Whitney Houston song was written for her)??? Apparently, a schlocky horror film didn't seem legit during the hey day of the genre unless this heady damsel in distress was involved. That was part of Evelyn's charm, however. She was smart. She may have had some fainting spells, bit her fist, and screamed bloody murder, but when these token mannerisms were partnered with her direct acting style and genuinely down to earth persona, it made her fear seem more genuine. When the weak little girls in tight sweaters screamed, they evoked eye roles. When Evelyn screamed, it was like, "Oh sh*t... This is serious..." Sadly, her career lost momentum when horror temporarily lost its luster, and the thanklessness of the industry soon sent her into early retirement. After a small slew of pictures, Evelyn spent the majority of her remaining days with her soul mate, husband Richard Denning, before succumbing to ovarian cancer at the age of 67. Today's horror films miss strong, competent women like herself. Evelyn didn't need to run topless through the smog to keep an audience fixated on her. All she needed was her throat.

THE REEL REALS: Lon Chaney

Leonidas Frank Chaney with his mini-makeup case
Born April 1, 1883

It probably comes as no surprise to anyone who has known me for four seconds (exactly four), that Lon Chaney-- in my humblest of humble opinions-- is the greatest person who has ever inhabited the planet earth. (That includes you, Jesus. Pft. Showoff). Lon was a cinematic warrior. His incredible talent and his many, many faces (allegedly 1000), were as diverse as his audience appeal. What bridged his heroes, anti-heroes, cripples, ghouls, fiends, and heart-broken torch bearers together was the uncanny skill, integrity, and honesty with which he made them materialize. His characters were, more often than not, tragic martyrs, burning on a pyre of destroyed illusions, unrequited loves, and irreparable scars with which the brutal knocks of life had informed them.

This was his art. Formulation. Even when he played the hardest of hard-bitten criminals, he never left their humanity absent from their motivations. Rome wasn't built in a day; no man became a liar or a thief by happenstance. In the same way that Lon would only answer the fan mail of the outcast and underdog prison inmates, he saw the poetry and the devastation of Mankind's heart. So, in his mutilated Quasimodo or Erik the Phantom, their is a profound depth of feeling and vulnerability that a lifetime of emotional depravity had built within them. In his conniving crook of The Shock, The Penalty, and Victory, there is a hardened core surrounding an insecure and self-protective victim-- in various stages of disarray-- actually quite desperate to be loved. In The Black Bird or Outside the Law, there is a bitter chip of sexual resentment and thirsty revenge present in his demeanor that is only worn by those to whom life has been most cruel. In Shadows and Mockery there is a childlike innocence exposed, that which is housed in all men but is often too deeply entrenched to be uprooted and freely offered to his fellow man.



Lon as Quasimodo in The Hunchback of Notre Dame

Lon is a continuing force of nature. His allure and his inspiration-- to actors, makeup and special effects artists, artists, and fans-- continues due to his intense and unrepentant, even self-flagellating indulgence in his performances. Viewers peer into the worlds he created-- and he THRIVED on each challenge-- and they see only the man, no matter what shape, size, or moral or immoral intent he possesses. The basis of this naked and gutsy transcendence was humility.

Lon's education in preparation for both acting and becoming a man came from his parents-- both of whom were deaf and, therefore, taught their son and his three siblings to communicate solely through physical expression, be it a slight shift of the eyes or facial contortion or through the digital specifics of sign language. He also grew up with the fiercely protective nature demanded of one growing up with "abnormal" parents. A sensitive but intensely proud and defiant child, he deflected ignorant prejudice and would continue to do so his whole life. In his eyes, all men (and women) were created equal and, as such, his entire theatrical and cinematic career was devoted to translating the many facets and nuances of each individual's beauty, flaw, and humanity.

Lon in the lost film A Blind Bargain,
 in one of his two roles in the film.

It took one viewing of the play "Richard III" in his hometown of Colorado Springs for him to choose his occupation. As soon as he was old enough, he and his elder brother John set out traveling on the theatrical circuit, with Lon's immovable determination maintaining his staying power through thick and thin long after John and many other gave up. He also found love and the worst kind of heartbreak. His first marriage to Frances "Cleva" Creighton, a singer whom he met and wed on the road, ended in notorious tragedy. Struggling with marital quarrels, the pressures of life in the entertainment business, rumors of Cleva's extramarital dalliances, her increased addiction to alcohol, and both of their stubborn natures, led to their divorce... But not before Cleva dramatically drank a bottle of mercury bi-chloride backstage at one of Lon's performances in an overly dramatic suicide attempt. Once Lon learned that she would survive, he took their son Creighton (Lon, Jr) and with his stage reputation ruined, set his sights on the possibilities opening up in Hollywood. (He would later find happiness with wife Hazel Hastings. Poor Cleva was never able to sing another note, a fact Lon never knew).

Starting out as an extra, Lon used his well-honed makeup skills to draw various filmmakers' attention and sllllooowwwly but surely established himself as one of the most popular and most beloved stars of the day. Few in the industry could ever understand his box-office appeal. He was attractive but not typically handsome. His characters were abstract and often crude. He did not promote happy endings. His biggest fan, perhaps, was constant collaborator and director Tod Browning. What. A. Team. What Lon offered was truth. He was a pre-pre-method actor. His crawl to fame in The Miracle Man as the con-artist posing as a "saved" cripple shocked and impressed audiences, and they would continue to be amazed by his craft until his premature death at the age of 47. The chain-smoking chameleon would pass away from throat cancer in 1930, right after he made the seamless transition to the talkies with the remake of his earlier film The Unholy Three.

Why so glum, chum?

New generations continue to be enthralled with this instinctual genius. What we continue to find in Chaney that we adore is Trust. You can sense the care he gave every performance, you admire the imagination he used to give it life, and you see reflections of yourself exorcised and set free by him that you may not have even wanted to admit were there. Chaney was a simple man with an extraordinary talent performing the most outlandish of jobs. But he never saw it that way. He just saw the first part. Just a man. Just some guy, who seemed to care a Hell of a lot more than everybody else. I mean... Damn...
Happy Birthday, ChameLeonidas. Your mama didn't raise no Fool.

HALLOWEEN SPOOKTACULAR IV: Monster Mash-up Pt. 2

... Continued from Part 1

THE BRIDE: The Feminist

The success of Frankenstein made a sequel pretty much a foregone conclusion. What was unexpected was the intelligence with which the follow-up film would be executed. Some argue that Bride of Frankenstein (1935) is superior to its predecessor, but such is an impossible conclusion to draw. They are two very different films about two very different subjects. Where the Monster had horror, his Bride has camp; where Frankenstein had existential confusion, Bride has satirical humor. Dr. Frankenstein (Colin Clive) as God, created the Monster (Boris Karloff) as his Adam for his own egotistical entertainment. It was a narcissistic show of power if nothing else. But only consequently was he forced to create the Bride (Elsa Lanchester) out of the Monster's need for an Eve. The impulse was not his own. This ideology, long preached by the Bible, makes woman little more than unnecessary window-dressing in the creative landscape of both life and art. She is immediately deemed an object of pleasure without her own specific purpose. James Whale cleverly plays with the resultant mating dance of this cosmic crime, restoring some of womanhood's dignity in the process, by delightfully capturing the set-up/pay-off of the male-female sexual tango. It is a story as old as time itself: the battle for power, identity, and independence between lovers.

While Karloff returned with success and further emotional depth in the role of the Monster, he had to compromise some of his artistic integrity to do so. The Monster, against his wishes, was forced to speak, which is one of the reasons that Bride is much less chilling than the initial Frankenstein installment. However, this was tactical move. The Monster had to speak to proclaim his desire for a partner: his woman. His character had to mature past its former baby stage to leave the nursery room available for the child he hoped to play father/lover to. He needed a possession just as he belonged to the Doctor. Evolving to make way for more life, his entrance into manhood will be solidified-- as is generally expected-- by claiming a wife. The Monster, touchingly, reveals therein man's need for companionship-- a partner to anchor his existence and equally act as the nurturing mother he never had. As such, the movie is a sensual build up to those moments when we see the Bride (all dressed in white) at last. 

Unfortunately, the Bride is not submissive. She does not appreciate being immediately shackled to the dominant male. She hisses at him, rejects his advances, and after refusing the man she was made to serve, she clings tightly to the man who gave her life (liberty)-- the Doctor. Whale has fun showcasing the absurdity of the exaggerated but accurately ridiculous mating ritual. The Monster, as man, was born awkward, confused, and obedient in his infancy. As he tries to embrace his manhood, he grasps clumsily for the release of his most natural impulse: sex. He's a puppet for it; he follows the Bride like a slobbering dog for it. He has absolutely no finesse and is palpably perplexed by the Bride's rejection of him and his masculinity. What do undead women want anyway? For her part, Lanchester's striking interpretation of the Bride is instantly contemptuous of her sudden conception and the inescapable fate of enslavement that lies before her as a result. She is an erratic ball of nervous energy, twitching like a predatory bird determined to use her wiles to escape the larger, much stronger male beast. The Doctor is left to stand back in bafflement at his most horrid creation: the perpetual state of miscommunication between man and woman. There is no solution for it. Even after years of evolution, Adam and Eve as the Monster and his Bride, are condemned together to eternal Hell: "We belong dead." Love is pain. 

For her part, with the briefest screen time of any horror villain, the Bride still left an indelible impression-- someone that women could relate to as the bare reflection of their own conflicted but less explored natures. As the Bride's life was abruptly restored and just as quickly robbed back from her, she surely found her quick demise a welcome release from what must have felt like the worst of bad dreams. To restore some feminine respect, the film also reveals from the beginning that the Bride is not a mere creation of man's fantasy, but of her own-- the story is one within a story as told by author Mary Shelley. The female Shelley (Lanchester in a dual role) is thus the creator of the most infamous of Gothic heroines who wears none other than her own face-- her secret self. As such, she has her own identity and is not just a tool for man's trade after all.

THE WOLF MAN: The Accursed

The Wolf Man (1941) appeared as war ensued in Europe and the threat of America's involvement hovered in the air as the moon-- one which would soon transform average men into soldiers of fortune, sent to ruthlessly kill or brutally die. The paranoia of WWII was the perfect instigator for the genesis of Universal's next horror hero: a regular man, hoping to find and establish himself in society, prove himself to his father, and maybe even settle down with a warm-hearted woman. Unfortunately, his very sense of reality is blown asunder by a cataclysmic twist of fate. A bite from a werewolf-- an evil force too impossible to be believed-- condemns him to a killer's destiny. To add more dimension, the disease of his new monsterdom was passed to him by a foreigner (Bela Lugosi)-- an intruder on English soil who brought the curse of his people with him. There is no real rhyme nor reason for the lives that Larry Talbot (Lon Chaney, Jr.) takes when under the influence of the governing night sky. He kills because he must; it is an order, not his specific instinct. He simply wanders and stalks, an American in the menacing territory that is not his own but the land of his father (or forefathers).

The interesting thing about the Wolf Man is his very title. He is a wolf man-- a man who happens to be a wolf. The real guy, Larry, is still in there and just as present as the new supernatural force that controls and contorts his heretofore socially nurtured nature. Even when he changes into his beast self, he still wears his human uniform. While his face is fearful, his movements and manner are more clumsy and uncomfortable than truly intimidating. He is as uncertain of himself and the actions he must do as he is assured that he must commit them. Of course, Larry was capable of killing without this sudden, oppressive influence. In the film's early scenes, he beat to death the very wolf that passed the curse to him. Upon seeing this-- actually the most brutal killing in the film-- the audience knows that this level of darkness existed in him always. When pushed to the brink, man is capable of all kinds of evils. Now, as his stifled predilections are called forth by a higher power, his inner darkness becomes overwhelming, making him both an unconscionable villain and a disconsolate victim. As he battles over the terrain of his very soul, he also kills pieces of himself, chipping away at his conflicted and slowly demoralized psyche with every murder-- the same stress that haunts the soldier who must banish moral code to fulfill another pledge.

Aside from the socio-political implications of the wartime film, there too is the personal element that audiences continue to find relatable. A man's inheritance of adulthood comes with its existential woes. Lon Chaney, Jr. as the eternal, suffering soul steeped in depression is reflective of any man constrained by the demands of civilian survival. There are rules that are laid down before him that he can't control and is afraid to break. As such, he almost always becomes victim to them. He must abide by laws, both natural and societal, to function in the community. Those things that feed and continue the grind of communal/consumer society (as represented by his father- Claude Rains) too often take precedent over his more passionately driven dreams and aspirations (as represented by his girlfriend- Evelyn Ankers). His only solace is wisdom, in the film represented by Maria Ouspenskaya as the protective gypsy, mother-figure, and perhaps General. She is the wise one who has been there and knows the way. Still, the inability to quell the beast within, that which rages against the very machine that created it-- makes Mr. Talbot a tragic victim of the trappings of this so-called experience of life and duty.

THE PHANTOM: The Artist

Comparing the silent (1925) and sound (1943) versions of The Phantom of the Opera is a task that would require an article of its own, so focus will be given only to the latter interpretation. (My beloved Chaney's genius will be left in its sacred catacombs for another day). Just as Claude Rains' other monster character the Invisible Man, the Phantom is more compelling and effective a villain because he is no more than a man-- a psychologically decomposing madman, but a man nonetheless. Again, he is a character suffering under extreme circumstances, living in social banishment, and not handling it well at all. Also on par with The Invisible Man, he is the bad guy who "isn't there," intimidating his foes through the subtle suggestion of his presence, which he plants like little seeds of fear. These kernels slowly grow into his own personal mythology, his whispers, mysterious notes, and shadows becoming the breadcrumbs that lead the slowly manipulated masses into the acceptance of his existence and the hysterical fear of his ever-lurking legacy. The Phantom's great power, therefore, lies in his abilities as a magician. He is an illusionist, making himself appear larger than life by not appearing at all.

In contrast, whereas the Invisible Man was a mad scientist, the Phantom of the Paris Opera House is a mad poet. He is the ambitious lover of life that all inner artist respond to. A violinist driven mad by his passion for both music and the woman he loves, he commits murder of his own angered freewill and loses his face in the process (to an unexpected splash of acid). Now, with nothing to lose and his manic, creative spirit maliciously set free, he makes himself the lone guardian of honest art. For those at the Opera house, he decides the beauty and style with which all music is to be performed. The players and the audience are to be made humble before it, as they would have been before the majesty of his own genius-- had he been allowed to exhibit it. He places the finger of blame for the Opera's lack of creative integrity on the unworthy managers, the hack performers, and all other charlatans who offer chicken feed when the true romantics should all be feeding on ambrosia like Gods. His devious voice of criticism is that which the true aesthete loves to hear. He demands that a show be performed that is worthy of its audience, just as many of us throw metaphorical popcorn at the screen when unimaginative, regurgitated, formulaic garbage insults us at the movies, on Television, or on the radio. The Phantom is, therefore, the Superbadman of entertainment-- sniffing out the filth who threaten the integrity of our souls' purest expression.

The problem is, unlike Chaney's creature, who was born deformed, Rains' face was made-- irreparably scarred. It is his insulted vanity and not his broken heart that truly compels him to seek, at the very least, artistic vengeance. He plunges himself into sadistic darkness, wreaking havoc on the theatre that made a fool of him, thereby compensating for his equally damaged face and professional reputation by over-indulging in his creative conceit. He is the puppet master, the demonic God figure, making people dance for him, his way, to his tune-- the only alternative being death by his hand. His obsession for protege Christine Dubois (Susanna Foster), is not about love but possession. He yearns to be the orchestrator of the ultimate, orgasmic, theatrical experience-- his personal pornography-- and Christine is but one of the tools to be used to achieve this victory. In the end, he is destroyed by becoming what he hates most-- the faceless man in a suit determining the artistic menu and force-feeding the public. Still, despite his actions, his initial passion sticks. It is inspiring. He is one of the brave souls who dared cry out for more in this cesspool of a life. It was his misfortune that the Heaven he tried to create as the Angel of Music consigned him straight to Hell.

THE CREATURE: Nature's Vengeance

Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954) was the last addition to the Universal monster franchise. "Gill Man" himself-- played by Ricou Browning in water scenes and Ben Chapman (left) on land-- is also the less instantly remembered out of that exclusive and very intimate horror family, cropping up in discussion almost as an afterthought. The reasons for this are at least twofold. On the one hand, he is in no way human. He is from another branch on the evolutionary chain. Though there is certainly some shared link in the genetic code, he is a member of the reptilian or ocean dwelling class, whereas we and the other monsters are land-dwelling mammals. Gill Man is therefore not immediately relatable, which makes him a distinctive and fascinating presence in the generally man/monster hybrid cast. In conjunction with this discrepancy, there is the second distinguisher of his isolation: he is no more a monster than we are. He is a natural being, existing peacefully within his habitat and fighting for it only when necessary. He is not the film's villain. The invading scientists are. Nature has selected him as her son, just as much as she has selected humankind. He has survived, though the numbers of his brethren have clearly dwindled. Now he is outnumbered: explorers and cerebral adventure-seekers have arrived from nowhere, upon a boat no less, threatening to take and defile his sacred ground-- his home. Who wouldn't fight back? Well, we know how it worked out for the Native Americans...

In addition to the invasion of his environment, there is the complete disregard the intruders have for it. Cigarettes are thrown into the waters of his lake bed, the researchers soil the lagoon with their instruments or otherwise treat it like a playground. While there is little actual destruction of his wild fortress, the implication of the damage soon to come due to humanity's sloppy interference with the purity of nature is very apparent. (The film was very far ahead of its time in this regard). The innocence of non-human animals is also explored. Gill Man operates from a place of instinct, not agenda, whereas the motives that bring the scientists to the Amazonian jungle have nothing to do with their animalistic instincts but with their heightened, homo sapien curiosity. They take over his territory not because they need it to survive, but because they want it in an intellectually greedy while  unconsciously selfish sense. The Creature's curiosity is more like that of a child. When Julie Adams takes her iconic swim in the lagoon, Gill Man observes her swimming like a curious cat(fish) and mimics her movements, reacting to her as one of his own. Her submergence into his environment makes her unthreatening and welcome. 

The sexual nature of this event, however, causes some discomfort on the part of the audience, mostly on a xenophobic level. There is the resultant friction of the two separate species trying to co-exist and the knowledge that both cannot thrive within the same space. The Creature is therefore defined only as a fearful foe after he determines that his own livelihood is being undermined. Feeling himself being stalked by predators, he reacts in kind. To him, the men are the villains. To the men, the Creature is the villain. Their battle for survival is not one that could be described as shocking or terrifying to the viewer. It is natural. It is what is destined and almost predetermined to happen when opposing forces try to save themselves from extinction. The image people remember most is the Creature carrying Julie to his den (right). Though this could be read as a tactical move, using her as bait to reel in his enemies, this "monster" is not the calculating type. His instinct told him to grab the girl and save her-- she whom he has identified as one of his own. In the end, man must triumph. This last link on the evolutionary chain must be destroyed so that the stronger race can rise up, whether or not he be more deserving of that victory. While the creature is indeed terrifying to look at-- an impressive concoction on the part of the costume designers-- he is not horrific. Startling, yes. Scary, no. His blatant identification of man's evil against nature is perhaps why we choose to forget his sad fate. His death is convenient for us, and we can tidily cast his ashes into the water as if he never was. This makes him the most tragic of all the horror tragediennes.  

~     ~     ~

There can be no denying that the respect we have for the monsters of our dreams is due to the martyrdom they suffered on our behalf. We are both the villagers chasing them out of town and the monster being chased. We are the ones compelled with the heroic desire to destroy the bloodsuckers, yet we too are the ones sucking thirstily on the throat. The aspect most relatable within the genre is that of torment, whether we be the tormented or the tormentor or the tormented tormentor. Inside all of us is a caged animal, and outside is the human being merely trying to conceal it. We are inarguably complex beings housing both our private Jekyll and Hyde-- both equally potent and influential parts of our nature. Somehow, the strange beauty and almost musical articulation with which our dark sides were personified and presented to us, even decades after their initial appearances on the silver screen, continue to lend us comfort. 

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."
- Oscar Wilde

Our monsters, as ourselves, have dignity. They showcased the worst or otherwise the best hidden aspects of our character while exposing the vulnerability that is also ever-present. We worship our monsters, we root for them, just as we pray that we will someday experience some release from the pressure, judgment, and mortal shackles that can make life a living Hell. What one personally seeks in the experience of these odd undead gentlemen (and lady) is different for every individual, but the connecting through-line is the same. We relate to their freakdom, and while we relish watching the freaky, unheard of parts of ourselves being destroyed on the screen, we also weep for them. This is why we must exhume the bodies from the grave and re-watch them again, and again, and again, just so our secret selves may live.

HOT SPOTS in CA: The Hollywood Museum

The front lobby of The Hollywood Museum. 

After living in Los Angeles for six and a half years, I finally made it to one of the tourist cornerstones of Hollywood and Highland: The Hollywood Museum. You'd think it would be a no-brainer for me to visit this den of cinematic archaeology sooner, but in a way I am glad that I waited. Finding and exploring a new jewel is nice, especially after scouring the whole city and thinking that I'd left no stone unturned. Then again, perhaps the "cheesy" factor delayed my interest. Beings that the museum is located next to a Ripley's Believe It Or Not, I often opted for "not," thinking it was a mere magnet for out-of-towners and that there would be little to engage a true connoisseur's interest (ahem). Well, thank God I finally got bored on a Sunday, because to the museum I did go, and I left more than pleased.

One of the pairs of ruby slippers worn by Judy Garland 

during The Wizard of Oz.

Sandwiched between Ripley's and Mel's Diner, The Hollywood Museum is situated in the old Max Factor building at 1660 N. Highland Blvd. Due to its locale at the old make-up haven, the first floor is almost entirely dedicated to cosmetics and beauty. Different rooms, labeled by hair-color, feature different actresses, and artifacts like Joan Crawford's old make-up case are on display. The "Brownettes Only" room dedicates much of its space to Judy Garland: one of Frances Gumm's original, tiny stage outfits and Dorothy's Ruby slippers are proudly encased for drooling gawkers. The "Brunettes Only" room equally pays particular attention to Elizabeth Taylor, as the "Red Heads Only" does to Lucille Ball.

The dress Marilyn Monroe wore while entertaining the 

troops in Korea (Sorry for the glare).

The museum too, unbeknown to me, possesses one of the most extensive collections of Marilyn Monroe treasures, which are of course shown in the "Blondes Only" room. Her old makeup, famous dresses she wore, and a memorial case dedicated to her untimely death are visible, as is a strange gadget that seems to be an early attempt at the "face-lift." It bears a stronger resemblance to the iron maiden, but for your mug. Needless to say, (or should I say "needles?"), I was scared. Apart from the make-up rooms, the back corridors lead you to a garage where Marilyn's private limousine is parked. I wanted to get a closer look, but was afraid that the monkeys from the Planet of the Apes display would come after me.

The early face-lift: The Max Factor Beauty Calibration Machine, 

still raising eyebrows...

Also on the first floor is an extensive anthology of signatures collected by notorious autograph hound Joe Ackerman. This guy got everybody's John Hancock, and now the majority of them hang on the walls, encased in picture frames according to various movies. The cast of Gilda adorns one wall, Tarzan another, but most happily to me the cast of The Great Dictator was hanging for all to see, complete with the signatures of Paulette Goddard and the Charlie Chaplin. Down another walkway is a room featuring a miniature representation of the barn used as Cecil B. DeMille's first office, used when filming The Squaw Man. This is now known as the Hollywood Heritage Museum, another superb spot. Glamour shots of all of cinema's greatest stars-- Spencer Tracy, Bette Davis, Lon Chaney, etc-- also decorated the walls, along with some beautiful photos of Hollywood's growth from the early, nearly vacant silent years to the bustling times of Schwab's Diner. The temptation to slip one of these portraits under my arm was hard to fend off.

Ackerman autographs from The Great Dictator: Charlie, Paulette, 

Jack Oakie, and Billy Gilbert.

From here I went downstairs to the "Hall of Horrors," which apparently was once a speakeasy, and where now a great many props from classic horror films are on display. I spied the mask of Jason Voorhees, the dresses of Elvira and Vampira, and most impressively the facial casts of some of Horror's greatest stars: Lon Chaney, Jr, Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi, Peter Lorre, Vincent Price, and Christopher Lee (left). There was more than scary-stuff downstairs, however, and I was pleased with a display showcasing wardrobe from both the 1917 and 1934 versions of Cleopatra. Theda Bara's headdress and Claudette Colbert's gown were both featured. The big finale was the long, dark walk down Hannibal Lane, where a complete re-creation of Lecter's cell stood waiting at the very end. I admit that I got chills when nearing it. As in the film, a folded chair awaited Clarice Starling, and Hopkins's inmate costume and infamous mask within the cell completed the illusion.

Can you smell the fava beans? (Sorry for the darkness).

The upper floors are dedicated to rotating displays, which is what makes the museum worthy of multiple visits. When I was there early this September, I lucked out in being able to witness the "Lucille Ball at 100, I Love Lucy at 60" display. In addition to several of the awards that the lovable Lucy won over the years, various props, costumes, and personal dresses she wore to awards shows were present. One of my favorite features was the famous "three-headed monster," which was an innovative piece of equipment used to film what is now considered the first official sitcom. Much attention was equally paid to Desi Arnaz, Vivian Vance, and William Frawley. As a Gustav Klimt fan, I was also appreciative of the "Portrait of Emilie Floge" re-creation with Lucy standing in for Emilie (right).

I Love Lucy's "Three-headed Monster."

And finally, the "piece de resistance" was the top level, devoted to one of my all time favorites, Jean Harlow. Another hundred year tribute, this exhibit proved that the sweet and gorgeous Jean continues to shine so many years after her death.  Much like the Lucy display, there were several dresses to view, as well as enlarged photos of the glamour vixen (in youthful days, left), and personal letters and documents on display. Seeing first-hand the correspondence and penmanship of this silver screen goddess was quite moving, especially when perusing cute notes to friends and colleagues. As big as she became, Jean clearly always remained down to earth and loyal to her pals. Another object worth mentioning was the movie star mural that husband Paul Bern apparently commissioned for their short-lived home together on Benedict Canyon. It depicts a fictional, ancient banquet scene with Jean at center table and other actresses like Joan Crawford and Norma Shearer in attendance. It was quite decadent and unexpected. By far, the most impressive was her personal Packard on display. I don't know much about automobiles, but in this case it was love at first sight. Jean definitely had taste.

Jean's 1932 Phaeton Packard. Yum.

In the back on this same floor, more space was dedicated to other historical mementos, including a roulette table from the infamous Pickfair, gowns worn by Mae West, Greta Garbo, and Clara Bow, and Pee Wee Herman's bicycle. I wish I had had more time to really peruse everything with great scrutiny, but I literally would have had to spend hours there to do so. All in all, it was a great experience with some truly jaw-dropping exhibits and unexpected charms. The downside was that in appearance the museum was a bit cluttered, but I could hardly blame them with all of the artifacts they have to jam into one place. It's still worth a visit to those truly interested in Hollywood history and the preservation of its favorite players. I will definitely be going back when a new display comes to town. 

The much beloved Roddy MacDowell's powder room, complete 

with friends' pictures and autographs.

To visit the The Hollywood Museum: 

1660 N. Highland Avenue

Hollywood, CA 90028

323-464-7776

$15 for Adults

Open 10am-5pm Wed-Sun.

http://thehollywoodmuseum.com/