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Author: Thomas Parker

Murder as Comedy, Murder as Fantasy: Unfaithfully Yours

Murder as Comedy, Murder as Fantasy: Unfaithfully Yours

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Of all the subjects for comedy (romantic entanglements, domestic misunderstandings, military SNAFU’s, workplace kerfluffles, political shenanigans, high school hi-jinx etc.), murder might seem one of the least promising. That’s actually not the case, however, as there have been many comedies of homicide, among them Murder He Says, Arsenic and Old Lace, Kind Hearts and Coronets, Monsieur Verdoux, The Trouble with Harry, Murder by Death, and The Ladykillers (watch the wonderful 1955 Ealing Studios version with Alec Guinness, not the woeful 2004 Cohen Brothers misfire with poor, miscast Tom Hanks), to name just a handful. …

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Cruel Yule: The Star Wars Holiday Special and Other Abominations

Cruel Yule: The Star Wars Holiday Special and Other Abominations

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Yes, the desperate search for the table leaf that you chucked into the garage this time last year is over, the turkey that began so hopefully as a young bird just pecking its way out of its shell to greet the gentle breeze and cerulean blue sky is now a masticated mass working its way through your digestive system on its way to an ignominious end (yours!), and every available inch of table and counter space in your kitchen has disappeared under an avalanche of greasy plates and silverware.

My, that was fun, wasn’t it? And you know what that means, don’t you? — it’s almost Christmas!

In addition to the common cultural practices of the season (like sticking an actual tree in your living room, for goodness’ sake), every family has their own peculiar holiday rites and rituals. As I detailed for breathless Black Gate readers many years ago, one of mine is reading a classic ghost story aloud on Christmas Eve, a practice I heartily commend to anyone willing to give it a try. However, if that’s a bit too nineteenth century for you (the effect is largely lost if you’re reading off of an iPhone), I have another, more modern-feeling tradition that might interest you. The only thing is, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Around here we call it… Cruel Yule.

To Hell With It

Countless families look forward to the Christmas season because it provides an occasion for watching their favorite holiday movies, timeless films like Miracle on 34th Street, It’s a Wonderful Life, and A Christmas Story. Heartwarming, uplifting, classic treats for all ages they truly are… and I say, the hell with ’em.

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The Sorcerer and the Novelist: W. Somerset Maugham’s The Magician

The Sorcerer and the Novelist: W. Somerset Maugham’s The Magician

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Aleister Crowley

Aleister Crowley, poet, mountaineer, religious mystic and self-proclaimed prophet, member of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, drug addict, braggart, sexual adventurer, the self-named “Beast 666” and, according to the popular press, “The Wickedest Man in the World,” was one of the most notorious and controversial figures of his era and remains so even today, three quarters of a century after his death.

W. Somerset Maugham, physician, world-traveler, wildly successful playwright (at one time he had four plays appearing in London’s West End theaters simultaneously) and sometime British secret agent, prolific short story writer and novelist, author of such acclaimed works as Of Human Bondage, The Moon and Sixpence, and The Razor’s Edge, was one of the major literary figures of the twentieth century.

These two very different men may seem an unlikely pair, but Maugham met Crowley in Paris in 1905 and (like virtually everyone who encountered the man) was strongly impressed by him. In Maugham’s case the impression was a highly negative one, though he did concede that the occultist had some unique qualities, so much so that he made a thinly-disguised Crowley the central figure in his 1907 novel, The Magician.

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Movie of the Week Madness: Satan’s School for Girls

Movie of the Week Madness: Satan’s School for Girls

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The Devil was one of the biggest success stories of the 1970’s, along with John Travolta, The Eagles, microwave ovens, and the Senate Select Committee on Presidential Campaign Activities. For this you can thank (or blame, if such is your inclination) William Peter Blatty and his runaway best seller The Exorcist, which got the decade off to a hell of a start when it was published in 1971.

Everyone knew that The Exorcist would make it to the silver screen sooner rather than later, and so it was; in 1973 blockbuster novel was followed by blockbuster movie, and the film directed by The French Connection’s William Friedkin became the year’s biggest hit, grossing one hundred and ninety-three million dollars (and that’s in 1970’s money).

However, three months before the premier of The Exorcist another film appeared that is, to my mind, the definitive celluloid treatment of the Fallen Angel and his diabolical dealings with Middle America. On September 19th, 1973, the ABC Movie of Week granted us a true glimpse of the abyss; during the seventy-eight-minute running time of Satan’s School for Girls, viewers truly knew what it was like to be one of the damned.
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So Many Choices, So Little to Choose

So Many Choices, So Little to Choose

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Old Man Rant, take one. Lights, camera, Action!

Ask anyone who really knows and loves movies — what was the greatest decade in the history of American film? You will get many different answers, depending on the respondent’s preferences and degree of familiarity with the films of the past.

The familiarity part is essential, of course; without it you may think that the latest entry in the Fast and Furious franchise is the Greatest Movie You’ve Ever Seen, and tragically, you’ll probably be right. (That kind of presentism is why I can’t stand The Ringer’s popular Rewatchables podcast, which I should love, being movie-obsessed as I am; even when they’re talking about a film I like, the unspoken, always-lurking assumption that cinema didn’t exist before Star Wars drives me up the wall.)

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Living Large: Bert I. Gordon 1922-2023

Living Large: Bert I. Gordon 1922-2023

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Bert I. Gordon, one of the filmmakers most beloved by “monster kids” everywhere, has died, departing this shabby, low-budget set we call earth for the big Premier in the Sky on March 8th. He was one hundred years old, prompting thousands to say, “He was still alive?!”

Producer, director, and screenwriter, Gordon was a key figure in the Saturday afternoon matinee and late-night television viewing of generations of people who are now looked at askance by all who know them, and the litany of the films he directed is a popcorn-gobbling adolescent’s delight: King Dinosaur (1955), The Cyclops, The Amazing Colossal Man, Beginning of the End (all 1957), Earth vs. the Spider, War of the Colossal Beast, Attack of the Puppet People (all 1958), The Magic Sword (1962), Village of the Giants (1965), The Food of the Gods (1976), and Empire of the Ants (1977) are the high points, such as they are. …

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A Poisoned Bouquet: Fancies and Goodnights by John Collier

A Poisoned Bouquet: Fancies and Goodnights by John Collier

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Fancies and Goodnights (Bantam Giant, 1953). Cover by Charles Binger

Fantasy, this genre that we love so much, is in reality not one genre but many; that’s one reason we love it. Any form that can accommodate the cynicism of Glen Cook and the lyricism of Patricia McKillip, that can hold the clarity of Robert E. Howard and the ambiguity of John Crowley, that can contain the brutality of George R.R. Martin and the hilarity of Terry Pratchett… well, there’s nothing it can’t do. Fantasy contains multitudes.

There’s a problem with being a member of a multitude, however — it’s easy to get lost, easy to be pushed to the back of the line by the ever-swelling mob of new books, new writers, new modes, easy to be misplaced or forgotten. It’s happened to many worthwhile writers. It’s happened to John Collier.

John Henry Noyes Collier, who died in 1980 at the age of seventy-eight, specialized in “slick” fantasy stories, “slick” because they generally appeared in “slick-paper magazines” as opposed to the cheap-paper pulps, upscale publications like The New Yorker, The Atlantic Monthly, or Esquire. Characterized by modern, urban settings, a sophisticated, often satirical tone, and the irony-laced employment of traditional figures such as witches, genies, angels, devils, magicians, and ghosts, slick fantasy flourished during the twenties, thirties, and forties, and manifested itself in many different media. The humorous supernatural novels of Thorne Smith such as Topper (1926) and The Night Life of the Gods (1931), plays like Noel Coward’s breezy mix of marriage farce and spiritualism, Blithe Spirit (1941), and films like René Clair’s screwball comedy, I Married a Witch (1942, and itself the progenitor of one of the most popular television series of the 60’s, Bewitched), are all examples of this effervescent mode. John Collier may have been its greatest prose practitioner. …

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Slapdash Slapstick: Ron Goulart, January 13, 1933 – January 14, 2022

Slapdash Slapstick: Ron Goulart, January 13, 1933 – January 14, 2022

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Ron Goulart in 2009

Contrary to popular opinion, comic science fiction didn’t start and end with Douglas Adams and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. The humorous mode has a long and honorable history, exemplified by writers like Stanislaw Lem, Harry Harrison, R.A. Lafferty, Frederic Brown, Robert Sheckley… and Ron Goulart.

Ron Goulart, who died on January 14th, a day after his eighty-ninth birthday, was an insanely prolific science fiction and mystery writer, especially in the 70’s and 80’s, when he wrote over one hundred novels, many of them pseudonymous entries in various “copyrighted character” series such as The Avenger, Flash Gordon, Vampirella, and The Phantom. These productions are about what you would expect — professional, work-for-hire potboilers written at high speed for the sole purpose of keeping the refrigerator stocked and the gas and electricity on. Hack work, in other words.

He was also William Shatner’s ghostwriter on the actor’s TekWar books; what would you give to have been a fly on the wall during their story conferences? “What do you think of this idea, Ron?” “It’s dead, Bill.”

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Conan’s Father: William Smith, 1933-2021

Conan’s Father: William Smith, 1933-2021

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William Smith

We all have our end-of-year rituals, those small ceremonies that prepare us to ring out the old year and ring in the new. For me, one of the most important is watching the current TCM Remembers, the annual short film with which Turner Classic Movies bids farewell to the film people that we’ve lost throughout the year. It’s always beautifully done, and it always makes me tear up, usually no more the thirty seconds in.

Some of its subjects — the more famous ones — come as no surprise, as I heard about their deaths when they occurred during the year. There will always be many people, though, that I only find out about when I watch the video, late in December. This year one of the people that I didn’t know was gone was William Smith, who died July 5th at the age of eighty-eight.

William Smith? Who was William Smith? Oh, you know him — I guarantee it. To say that he was a prolific actor is to greatly understate the case. He has two hundred and seventy-five movie and television credits listed on IMDB, the first a miniscule part in 1942’s The Ghost of Frankenstein when he was nine years old and the last in 2020, in the Steve Carell comedy Irresistible.

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Living in the Labyrinth: Susanna Clarke’s Piranesi

Living in the Labyrinth: Susanna Clarke’s Piranesi

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Piranesi (Bloomsbury paperback reprint, September 28, 2021)

I stopped apologizing about preferring old books over new ones a long time ago. One of the best things about reading, after all, is that it’s a kingdom over which you are an absolute sovereign. You alone can confer the Order of the Garter; only you can shout, “Off with their heads!”

Nevertheless, while consistency is required of lesser beings, it need not be considered by monarchs, and so I decreed that the first book I read in 2022 would be Susanna Clarke’s fantasy Piranesi, which was published a little over a year ago, in September 2020. In this I was merely keeping a promise I made a few years ago here on Black Gate when I rhapsodized about Clarke’s previous novel, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. I said then that when Clarke finished her next book, I would line up to read it the day it was published. I think I came reasonably close; that I missed it by fifteen months I can always blame on COVID. Why the hell not?

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