Observation for Now

It has always seemed to me that the human race needs more things to wonder about, rather than less.

-- Gregory L Reece

Saturday, October 17, 2015

In an Empty Library Vault

 This is an obvious Lovecraftian pastiche.  A college kid -- an unwise delver into things that should be left undisturbed -- transgresses farther than is safe for his sanity, or the world.



 The poor sap learns that READING about these eldritch gods is equivalent to summoning them.

But as long as he's got batteries for his cassette-tape player, the forces of evil can;t come too close -- kind of like fending off the wolves out there with your campfire's light.



Well, although my fifteen-year-old self was sincere in his HPL appropriations, it's too bad he had to show his derivative hand with that last phrase -- an actual title of a tale by Eich-Pei-Ell.

See you Monday with more from Professor Eisengel!

 

Friday, October 16, 2015

1970s Halloween Paper Ephemera, 3

 The moon behind the cat is flocked.

 Who's more orange -- the moon or the jack-o-lantern?

See you tomorrow with some attempted scary fiction.

Thursday, October 15, 2015

Grandpa on Ice

 Herman's diet is even interrupting his sleep.  He's been sleepwalking, and has ended up in the kitchen at the icebox.  But what's in there?

*rimshot* Yep, instead of finding an appetite-quenching snack, Grandpa is in there, as if waiting for him.

I guess Grandpa decided this was the evening to chill out --er, chill in.

More Halloween paper ephemera tomorrow.
 

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

The Walking Munster

That darned diet has Herman so flummoxed and hungry that he's sleepwalking in search of sustenance.

Note the luxurious nightshirt.


In keeping with their antiquated-looking house, the Munsters also have an old-fashioned ice box, the non-electric kind.

I wonder what we'll see inside this vertical coffin-looking thing?  Find out tomorrow.
 

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

Color Eddie Munster

Here's another cleaned-up image from the Munsters coloring book to color, throw darts at, or what-you-wish.

See you tomorrow with some probably besmirched pages.
 

Monday, October 12, 2015

Professor Eisengel's Tomb, Show #1



Professor  Eisengel’s  Tomb

An introductory note …

It was blessed enough to be friends with Mark Barragar, whom I’ve mentioned in previous posts here, and here.

At one point Mark hoped to have his own horror-host show, and I was going to write him some scripts.  Mark wanted his character to be a Cyclopean type -- that is, only one eye (don’t ask me why).  So after a little banter we came up with the name Professor  Eisengel -- get it?  “Single eye”?

These are the opening and scripts I came up with.  Mark liked them, but was never able to convince his bosses at Channel 25 to give him a late-night movie gig. 
 




PROFESSOR  EISENGEL'S  TOMB


{Show 1}
[written completely by Mark Alfred]



            [FADE IN FROM OPENING CREDITS.
            [A tomb, kiddies, is where we're at.  Stone walls, moldy with age and moss, perhaps with manacles on one wall with a "guest ghost of the week" shackled there, or maybe a coffin with a "guest ghost" inside if we want to go to that much trouble.
            [This tomb has been fixed up as a mad scientist's lab, with beakers a-bubbling and various experiments in progress and machinery all ready to shoot sparks, etc.
            [Front and center is the raised platform originally intended to bear a coffin, but now is Professor Eisengel's main workbench, the center of the action many times.
            [In fact, as we FADE IN, Professor Eisengel standing behind the dais facing us,  pouring bubbly stuff from one beaker to another.  He looks up in surprise at our appearance, but gives us a welcoming smile.]

PROFESSOR EISENGEL:
Greetings!  And welcome to Professor Eisengel's Tomb.  If you're with the Cemetery Preservation Society's Midnight Bus Tour, I'm afraid you've made a serious wrong turn.
            No?  Then you must be here to join me on a -- 

            [he squints at the camera, shrugs, and continues]

            an in-depth survey . . . of the autobiographical poetry of . . . William Wordsworth . . . ?

            [He comes around from behind the dais and stomps angrily up to the camera.  It jiggles as if bumped.  We hear ripping, tearing sounds, and a few big, torn pieces of white cardboard with writing on them -- cue cards he just tore up -- fly in front of the camera to land anywhere on the floor.  P.E. stomps back to his afore place as the camera settles back into stability.]

P.E.
[muttering under his breath, but so we can hear]:
That's the last time we hire an English Lit major to recopy my cue cards!  Well, who needs cue cards anyway!

            [We hear an ominous rumbling on the soundtrack.  P.E. looks worriedly at his workbench, selects one of the beakers as the source of the problem, grabs it, and drinks down its contents in one gulp.  Then we hear an explosive, resonant burp sweetened through an echo sound effect.]

Excuse me, how rude not to share!  But, allow me to introduce myself!
            I am Herr Doktor Professor Isaac Eisengel, late of the Vienna School of Metaphysics, the Class of Ought-Six -- the final class to graduate before that scandalous business involving the trained goat, the Dean of the Dental School, and that barrel of whipped molasses.
            At any rate, my friends, welcome!  We're here to enjoy an hour or so's diversion as together we watch a classic fantasy film -- or, perhaps, a film that tried, but failed, to become a classic.
            Tonight's movie is a strange tale, a story that attempted to chart new paths in the realms of the fantastic . . . but instead became hopelessly lost.


{BREAK}


            [We're back.  Professor Eisengel is hanging up an ornate telephone.  As he says his goodbyes, he looks up to welcome us back.]

PROFESSOR EISENGEL:
 . . . and I hope you're feeling better soon!  G'bye!
            Oh!  hello!  And welcome back, my friends.  I was just talking to my cousin, Onkmeyer Eisengel.  He's an optometrist -- lives up in Juneau, Alaska.  Sort of an optical Aleutian, you might say!
            Yes, poor fellow, he's been on work relief since last Friday, when he had an accident at his office.  He wasn't looking where he was going, and backed into his lens-grinding machine . . . got a little behind in his work!  Yes, he nearly made a spectacle of himself!
           
            [He waits a beat for the viewers to get the puns and to groan.]

We'll see you again in a bit.


{BREAK}

          [Seated next to Professor Eisengel, or across a lab table from him, is a second person.  He's a snooty, know-it-all type with a bow tie and affected Boston accent.]

PROFESSOR EISENGEL:
Joining us now is our resident expert on fantasy and science-fiction films, Doctor Mark.

DOCTOR MARK:
Hello.

P.E.:
What fascinating bits of trivia do you have for us concerning tonight's film?

D.M.:
Ahemm . . . well, if you'll watch the second scene after we go back to the film -- that's the scene featuring the two nuns in the airplane -- you'll notice that about halfway through the scene, the picture jerks as if badly spliced, and you lose a word or two of dialogue --

P.E.
[butting in]:
Hey, you know, I screened that film here at the station just yesterday afternoon, and  I noticed that splice, and it really set my teeth on edge.

D.M.
[trying to continue his lecture]:
Yes, well, as I said --

P.E.
[interrupting again without noticing he's doing it]:
-- and I would have tried to get another print sent in from the film distributor, but there wasn't enough time for them to ship us another one.

D.M.
[managing to slip in between when P.E. takes a breath]:
Yes, well, it wouldn't have done you any good.

P.E.
[brought up short]:
No?

D.M.:
No.  That splice is extant in all prints of the film, and for a very fascinating reason, too.

P.E.:
Go on!  This is . . . fascinating.

D.M.
[patiently]:
I'm trying to.
            Yes, well, the story behind that splice goes like this.  The director, Bingham Flitmoor, was in the cutting room with his film editor, Randall Skontich.  They had come to this point in the film.  Now, Skontich had, just the week before, finalized his divorce decree from starlet Leticia Lakelimb.  It had been a dreadful, messy affair, with accusations on both sides of emotional and physical abuse.  Some of these allegations even involved MacTeague, Skontich's Irish Wolfhound.  He was right there in the cutting room with his master, as was his wont.
            Anyway, as they ran this particular scene through the film editing apparatus, the voice of the older nun in this airplane scene must have reminded the dog MacTeague of Miss Lakelimb's own voice, for the beast went wild!

P.E.:
You mean . . .

D.M.:
Yes.  The dog tore into that film like, in the immortal words of Bill Haley and His Comets, "like a one-eyed cat peepin' in a sea-food store."  Now Flitmoor, the director, had his cherrywood cane with him, and in the commotion knocked both Skontich and the dog quite senseless.  He had them dragged from the cutting room and assembled the scene himself.

P.E.:
So, that glitch in the film . . .

D.M.
[concluding triumphantly]:
 . . . is where the damned dog bit the film in two!

P.E.
[marveling to himself]:
I can't believe this!  This is great!

D.M.:
And what's more, several influential film critics took the rough splice as a deliberate artistic statement.  One writer said -- and I quote -- "This deconstructional technical intrusion illustrates Flitmoor's underlying theme of the transparent pretense evident in the characters' interpersonal relationships."

P.E.:
Fascinating!

D.M.:
So now, let's watch the film, and be careful not to miss the scene involving the two nuns in the airplane.

P.E.:
All right.  Thank you, Dr. Mark.

D.M.:
Thenk yew.


{BREAK}


            [FADE IN.  Professor Eisengel is sitting at his computer center busily typing in stuff.  Evidently he hits a wrong key, for all of a sudden we hear a dreadful electronic squeal, followed by a loud sound-effects recording of a car crash.  P.E. yanks his hands away from the keys and starts cursing in technobabble.]

PROFESSOR EISENGEL
Drat!  That crummy ratzle-fratzing frackabrack [etc.]

            [Suddenly he looks up and notices the camera.  Embarrassed at having been caught in a human weakness, he apologizes.]

Umm, hi there!  Sorry, I didn't know I was "on."  Now you know why we call it a cursor, eh?  Grrr . . . two day's work gone --  shot -- kaput -- down the tubes!  Well, I guess nowadays they use chips, not tubes!


{BREAK -- THE END of Show #1}

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