Greetings fellow Cryptologists, and welcome to the first issue of my devilish new tome, Cryptology. Now gather close, for here’s where I, the Cryptologist, get to spill my guts and let you know what I have in store for you—before the rest of these good-for-nothings try to claim it as their own. But be warned: the contents I have unearthed are not for the faint of heart—so no running off crying to your mother! Not that it would do you any good... heh-heh-heh.
It’s been a long time in the planning, but now it’s here, so there’s no going back. For those with a love for the happy family, we will be calling upon my bosom buddies, The Addams Family and The Munsters. They’ll be blowing the whistle on what really went on all those years ago. If you are still enjoying yourself, you might want to stay a while and play with some of the freaky toys I’ve dug out from yesteryear, each carrying the name Addams and Munster—then maybe enjoy the maniacal mirth once found in the pages of their hideously delightful comics.
That age old consort of mine, a fellow by the name of Poe, urged me to return to some of the films inspired by his deviance, “The Fall of the House of Usher,” an unfortunate occurrence he chronicled so very long ago. And while we are on the subject of unfortunate occurrences, the goatlike demon Baphomet from The Devil Rides Out is once more summoned, specifically for the premiere of our “Hammer Time” section. You never know; after reading this, you just might be tempted to search out some suitable accommodation for your next weekend break—locked away in the bowels of one these crumbling English mansions.
Each and every issue, these pages will dredge up one of those B-movie classics the lousy Oscars chose to forget. Cretins! This time it’s a long lost acquaintance of mine, The Mad Monster—a misunderstood fellow if ever there was one.
Last but not least, for the horror comics devotee, I have delved even deeper into the vault to uncover page upon crumbling page of macabre artwork by the likes of Bernie Wrightson (the hideous cover artist for this issue), Russ Heath, Bill Everett, Tom Sutton, and Richard Corben, amongst many others. Each and every one of these comic book morsels was carefully selected for your heinous delectation.
Now enough of my diabolical drollery; it’s time to open the doors to this, the very first issue of Cryptology!
BERNIE
WRIGHTSON
MACABRE MASTER b y Peter Normanton
Long before The Overstreet Price Guide and The Comic Book Price Guide for Great Britain had found a welcome place on my bookshelf, any tidbits of information relating to key comics would have been sourced from dealers’ lists. This was a time when these lists could be picked up for the price of a self-addressed stamped envelope, while the slightly more affluent would get to see them in the pages of the fan press, with Alan Austin’s Comics Unlimited, Mike Cruden’s Fantasy Trader and Dez Skinn’s Fantasy Advertiser immediately springing to mind. In 1990, Dez turned to publishing the British news and review magazine Comics International. In-between the news columns and comic related articles appeared adverts aplenty from dealers across the country, amongst them Wonderworld Comics, Flip’s Pages, and a chap by the name of Ken Harman, whose enthusiasm not only saw my collection snowball in a way I could have never dreamed, but for countless other reasons swiftly made him a very good friend.
The more lists that came my way, the easier it became to track down the artwork of my preferred artists. As a rule, their names were highlighted in brackets adjacent to the issue in which they appeared. These creators I am sure will be oh so familiar: Adams, Brunner, Byrne, Ditko, Golden, Gulacy, Jones, Kaluta, Kirby, Nino, Ploog, Rogers, Russell, Smith, Starlin, Steranko, Sutton, and a fellow by the name of Wrightson. With only his pocket money to spend, there was just one drawback for the comic-crazed teenager looking to acquire these desirable additions for his collection—these issues invariably commanded a significant price tag. Furthermore, there was seldom an indication as to the number of pages allotted to the contribution made by these artists. If it was an early issue of Conan the Barbarian or a later edition of Amazing Adventures, then you were onto a winner, as the delineation of Barry Smith and P. Craig Russell would have filled the entire issue. For those of us
1. We open with Bernie’s original art depicting the exhumation of a grave, for a purpose left to our debased imaginings. This image was later seen on the inside front cover of Eerie #67, dated August of 1975.
tracking down the voluminous array of horror titles from those years, it wasn’t always the same. We would have to make do with little more than a few pages of our favourite artist’s work in the eerie anthologies of the day, principally Creepy, Eerie, House of Mystery, House of Secrets, and Unexpected
Over time we would find ourselves grateful for these scant offerings, and in turn there came an appreciation for the artistry of their lesser known
final year, eager to spend a portion of my grant at John Freeman’s comic stall on Lancaster market. John had a reputation for being exceptionally reasonable in his pricing, being a fellow enthusiast himself, and was always good for a chat. Convinced I had done my homework, I knew this issue played host to one of Bernie’s highly prized stories, but was oblivious to the fact “The Hound of Night” was a solitary page in length. It may have been gifted with a striking Neal Adams cover, but when I got back to my room to savor Bernie’s tale, I was somewhat crestfallen. Thankfully by and by, I did come to appreciate this issue’s finer points, notably Jerry Grandenetti’s surreal artistry for the lead story “Daddy’s Gone A-Haunting.” As my mood lightened, I began to realize this one page of Bernie’s tenebrous design was indeed worth the price of admission, which as I have already disclosed would have been
already distanced from that single panel of fan art previously presented in the pages of Creepy #9 back in 1966. It is only when you see these amusing introductions set alongside one another, do you realize there were less than a dozen of them in total produced during his brief stay at DC in the early 1970s.
By the time his last one-page opener appeared in the 100-page edition of House of Mystery #225, cover-dated July of 1974—which probably rates as his most ominous—his frontispieces had started to appear in Jim Warren’s horror magazines. His design for the board game “Werewolf! The Amazing Game of Detective Skill!” had garnered considerable favor when it appeared in Eerie #52, coverdated November 1973, but Bernie’s fans would have to wait until Creepy #62 made it to the newsstand, dated May 1974, to feast their eyes on any more of his work. Their patience was duly rewarded, for this was an entry few will ever forget. His depiction of Uncle Creepy definitely embraced the mood of this well established magazine, the original no doubt seized by this cackling jester of a host, framed and then placed over his mantelpiece; but then who could blame him, for it was after all a rather becoming image. Once within these contents, the reader was bequeathed yet another 12 pages of Bernie’s artistry in his celebrated adaptation of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Black Cat.” As seasoned as they may have been, editors Bill Dubay and Archie Goodwin must have been staggered by the embellishment laid before their eyes. A couple of months later, issue #63 went on sale, this time opening with a perfectly stunning study of Uncle
1. & 2. Atop the page, the frontispiece to Creepy #62 (May 1974) with Uncle Creepy looking the part as mein host, is presented with the prologue from Dark Horse’s premiere of their Creepy (July 2009), introducing Sister Creepy.
Which came first: The Addams Family or The Munsters?
Both television shows premiered in September 1964, with The Addams Family airing first. Both were announced in the trades in February of that year. For two years, they were locked in a ratings battle as furious as Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman in the Universal film of that title.
Technically, The Addams Family was in development for two years before its debut. But The Munsters appears to have gotten an earlier production start. Fred Gwynne and Al Lewis were announced in their roles while their counterpart producers were still searching for their stars. The duo had previously appeared together in Car 54, Where Are You? Learning of their rival network’s plans, ABC and CBS rushed their creepy concepts into production.
But the Munsters idea dated back to the early 1940s. Animator Bob Clampett pitched Universal a premise called The Monster Family for a series of theatrical cartoons that never moved forward. The concept revolved around Frankie Monster and his vampire wife— essentially The Munsters.
Love Thy Monster
A television proposal called Meet The Munsters first came from writers Allan Burns and Chris Hayward in the early 1960s. This proposal was handed to writers Norm Liebman and Ed Haas, who wrote a pilot script, Love Thy Monster.
“We sort of stole the idea from Charles Addams and his New Yorker cartoons,” admitted Burns. “Because Universal owned the Frankenstein character and the Dracula character for movie rights, they decided to take their characters instead of the characters we had written.”
The Munsters was produced for television by the team that had created the hit sitcom Leave It To Beaver, Joe
Connolly and Bob Mosher.
As star Fred Gwynne revealed, “Connelly and Mosher established the premise that, instead of the old adults–only horror approach, this would be off-beat comedy, something that would make the kids laugh rather than give them nightmares, and still have something to offer adults.”
Gwynne was understandably reluctant to take the role. “I had a hunch the makeup would be tough on this series, but whenever I asked, they changed the subject. Flattery finally got me. They said they had examined 1,000 pictures of actors, and I would be the easiest to make up as the Frankenstein Monster. It takes two hours to get me ugly every morning, even with my natural predisposition.”
Gwynne’s initial challenge was to reinterpret Frankenstein’s monster as the head of a household of freaks who thought of themselves as normal.
“The best way to do that was to make him fallible,” he explained, “much more than the average person. There are times when Herman is the perfect caricature of the clumsy oaf, as likely to fall over a chair as to walk past it. But beneath that horrendous exterior beats a secondhand heart of pure gold.”
In early episodes, the towering actor struggled with the clumsy Karloffian Frankenstein rig.
“First, I was just a man in a funny suit,” Gwynne recalled, “and I was wallowing. Then, I found if I kept my neck stiff whenever I turned, I suddenly became believable. In this way, I was showing controlled muscular strength. But, if I turned my head like everybody else, the illusion was gone. The stiff neck was the secret to Herman. I was so happy when I found it.“
Charles Addams’ Children
Producers for years had tried to convince New Yorker cartoonist Charles Addams to let them adapt the
the ADDAMS FAMILY vs . the MUNSTERS
Herman and Grandpa Munster behind the scenes in 1964. To the right: who could resist the well groomed Fred Gwynne?
the ADDAMS FAMILY vs . the MUNSTERS
property. He refused until David Levy came up with a script he liked.
“We have made them full-bodied people, not monsters,” Levy explained. “They are not grotesque and hideous manifestations. I’ll admit that they are rather weird. At the same time we are protecting the images of Mr. Addams ‘children’, as he refers to them. We are living up to the spirit of his cartoons. He is more than just a cartoonist. He’s a social commentator, and a great wit.
“I believe viewers will identify with the characters because people usually like to think they are different,” added Levy. “No, we won’t try to explain their ghoulish appearances. The bizarre quality comes only from the way they live, in high luxury.“
The first order of business was to name the previously nameless characters.
“Gomez was a name that just came to me, and seemed right,” mused Addams. “But I was having trouble with the wife’s name. Finally, I started looking in the telephone book—and I ran across ‘Morticians’ in the yellow pages. All I had to drop were the last two letters and there it was. I found Pugsley—the son—one day when I was looking at an old map of the Bronx. It is, or was, a creek. And Lurch just seemed right for the enormous butler.”
The producers wanted the rename Pugley Pubert, but fears of network censorship chilled that idea.
John Astin was the first to be cast. He auditioned for Lurch, but David Levy had a better idea.
“This is actually Father Knows Best, but with different people,” the producer told Astin. “And we want you to be the father.”
Astin, who had collected Charles Addams cartoons in college, was intrigued. “So we discussed it further, and I realized I could make up a character, because there were really only a couple of clues from Charles Addams’ cartoons.”
The actor approached the part with gusto. “I had long sessions with its creator, cartoonist Charles Addams, who gave me free rein to enlarge on the faintly suggested strain of Latin–lover blood in Gomez’s veins. And the producer of the television series, David Levy, went along with me on every idea that I projected. From long, thin cigar and pinstriped suit to the sneering mustache, flashing teeth and heavy eyelids, Gomez struck me as a man composed of equal parts pixie and mystery, with a touch of fire and ice.“
Unlike Herman Munster, Gomez was not a creation of makeup wizardry.
“We did a number of tests without makeup,” Astin recalled, “and some felt I was too straight. There was a suggestion to do things with the eyes, but we stopped that.”
So the emphasis was placed on body language, with minimum makeup.
“You can tell about Gomez from the way he walks,” explained Astin. “The legs shoot out. And when he stands, the feet are apart, like a cigar smoking New York businessman, only Gomez is a successful nonconformist.”
Ideal Leads
Both leads were perfect because they did not fit Hollywood conceptions of stars.
John Astin observed, “I wasn’t good looking enough to be the leading man or ugly enough to be the heavy. I was neither fish nor fowl. I was nobody’s perception of anything.”
“When I come into people’s homes,” lamented Fred Gwynne, “I’m always a goon. Television directors take one look at me… I can now recognize that look… and cast me as the dope.”
Rounding out the casts of both shows proved to be a challenge.
“We tested many people for Morticia,” recalled Astin. “And we really had trouble finding the right person. Then
No makeup required here, the man who was part pixie, part mystery: John Astin as Gomez Addams.
MONSTE R FAMILY MERCH
TV’ s ADDAMSES and MUNSTERS INSPIRED CREEPY, KOOKY SWAG
by Mark Voger
The first time I laid eyes on the Addams Family cartoons drawn by Charles Addams, I was 6. I grew up in an Irish-Catholic household in 1960s South Jersey, where The New Yorker might as well have been The Martian Times. But a kid in the neighborhood had an Addams compilation reissue in paperback—probably Monster Rally or Drawn and Quartered. I fell immediately in love.
But one thing confused me: Why weren’t they all Addams Family cartoons? Some featured the characters, but just as many showed non-Addams characters, albeit in scenarios that evoked the Addamses’ peculiar penchant for revelling in the macabre. Yes, there was Morticia saying to Lurch, “Oh, it’s you! For a moment you gave me quite a start.” But there was also a skier whose tracks in the snow went around both sides of a single tree.
My Addams education had just begun.
TV SHOWS PREMIERE
The culturally significant year 1964 gave us the Beatles (at least in America), Pop-Tarts, and two black-and-white “monster family” sitcoms that premiered within days of each other.
The Addams Family debuted on Friday, Sept. 18, at 8:30 p.m. on ABC. The Munsters debuted the following Thursday, Sept. 24, at 7:30 p.m. on CBS. Despite their shared creepy-kooky factor, the shows were markedly different in tone. But the fact remained: Two comedies about not-altogether-human families were now in prime time—the clearest sign yet that the so-called “Monster Craze” begun in the late Fifties had permeated, well, everything.
And TV shows meant that cool collectibles—toys, games, model kits, puppets, you name it—would not be far behind.
The Addams Family was based on Addams’ darkly humorous cartoons published in The New Yorker magazine. Addams had been featuring the characters since, roughly speaking, 1938—little by little, they coalesced into a family—but he never formally named them.
MONSTER FAMILY MERCHANDISE
with the cast’s finger-snapping in the opening credits— was the cherry on top.
The Addamses weren’t monsters per se; they were more like wealthy eccentrics who rarely saw the light of day (and had a few monstrous relations). The Munsters were a different story.
Created by the writer-producer team of Joe Connelly and Bob Mosher—the guys who brought you Leave It to Beaver The Munsters was less cerebral, more monsterific, than The Addams Family. And since this was a Universal show, The Munsters had the license to borrow liberally from the Universal pantheon of monsters.
Fred Gwynne—last seen as Officer Muldoon on Car 54, Where Are You?—played simple-minded undertaker Herman Munster, a comical Frankenstein with the flattop and neck-bolts to prove it. Yvonne De Carlo, who played exotic femme fatales in a string of Fifties movies, played Herman’s wife Lily, the daughter of Dracula. Al Lewis—last seen as Officer Schnauzer on Car 54—played Grandpa Munster, a.k.a. Count Dracula, swapping Bela Lugosi’s Hungarian ghoul-ash for Noo Yawk Yiddish.
Add to that Beverly Owen (half of Season 1) and Pat Priest (the remainder of the series) as the Munsters’ “human-looking” blonde niece Marilyn; and pint-sized Butch Patrick as their pointy-eared son Eddie.
Universal’s two-time 1940s Dracula, John Carradine, appeared in a pair of episodes as Herman’s boss. Surf- and garage-rock guitarists have taken Jack Marshall’s instrumental theme to heart. As if to complete some cosmic circle begun when these two monster family sitcoms premiered, coincidentally and virtually simultaneously, to provide chortles with a side of chills, both TV series were cancelled in 1966 after two seasons.
MUCHO MEMORABILIA
The TV shows yielded an avalanche of merchandise that was eagerly gobbled up by the so-called “monster kids” of the 1960s generation. Department stores, pharmacies and toy shops were stocked with Addams- and Munster-
It may have been just an ordinary light bulb, but the kids loved this toy made by Poynter Products in 1967, one that continues to rouse interest every time it comes up for sale.
The Addams Family Cartoon Kit would have provided hours of fun on a rainswept afternoon. Then there was the chance to put together Aurora’s Addams Family Haunted House Kit, which came with the family ghosts.
AND
by Peter Normanton
When those lovable oddities The Addams Family and The Munsters debuted on television screens across the United States in September 1964, the impression they made went way beyond the expectations of everyone involved. It wasn’t just the kids; whole families would be glued to their television sets to share in their kooky antics. The Addams Family and The Munsters became an overnight sensation, a cultural phenomenon in the making. Never one to miss an opportunity, Gold Key, an imprint of Western Comics, saw an opening. They swiftly started work on a comic book inspired by the CBS series The Munsters. Fans of The Addams Family would have to wait a good few years
before this spooky household opened their doors to the pages of a regular comic book. Come on, they were hardly likely to give up their tenure in The New Yorker; their 26year sojourn in the pages of that journal had made them the envy of each and every one of their peers.
On October 8, 1964, Gold Key struck while the iron was still hot, premiering their comic book version of The Munsters, cover-dated January 1965, just two weeks after the television show had gone on air. In keeping with Gold Key’s design to make comic books for a younger readership, the show’s lighthearted buffoonery was just the ticket. Each issue would carry an amusing photo cover, insisting the would-be reader join in the wacky fun and games waiting within. While vampires were still very much verboten in the eyes of the Comics Code, Gold Key were exempt from these obligations, owing to their declining membership in the Comics Magazine Association of America. Thus Lily and Grandpa were at liberty to revel in their moribund cajolery.
Initially, Harold “Fred” Fredericks was handed the job of creating the artwork for The Munsters. Fred had quite a pedigree, having been taught by Burne Hogarth and Jerry Robinson while studying at the Cartoonists and Illustrators School after serving in the armed forces. Prior to taking on this role with Western, he had also gained experience freelancing as a cartoonist. This made him the ideal choice to bring the hair-raising hilarity of the television show to the pages of this new Gold Key title. His fondness for lampoonery (seen at bottom left and next page) would prove the perfect accompaniment to the amusement rippling through that tumbledown manse on Mockingbird Lane.
Unfortunately, his time amidst the cobwebs in this residence wasn’t to last. Soon after taking on The Munsters, Fred was offered the chance to take on the syndicated Mandrake the Magician strip in March 1965. As history has shown, his choice was wise, seeing him embark on an amazing run spanning 48 years. The cartoon-like pages he had lovingly produced for The Munsters were now set aside, replaced by the serious drama of what had become a well established spy series. Fred may have moved on, but the Gold Key editions of The Munsters were to attract a memorable bunch of illustrators. Among them was the celebrated science fiction and comic book artist Dan Adkins, who guested for the chicanery of “Strictly for the Birds” in issue #8, cover-dated August 1966. Pre-Code horror comics maestro Mike Sekowsky also penciled a handful of stories in this series, inked by Frank Springer, who had previously come to prominence on numerous newspaper strips during the 1950s. After making a prolific contribution to the terrors of the pre-Code years, Mike segued into the comedic capers of The Munsters with surprising ease. Despite The Munsters television show being canceled in May of 1966, the comic remained as popular as ever. It was during this post television phase Hy Eisman was welcomed into the fold. At the tender age of five he was introduced to one of the Fleischer Studio’s animators, who was lodging with his aunt. As he sat at his side, watching him work, Hy knew he wanted to go down the same path. After working his way through art college with funding from the G.I. Bill, he gained employment as a commercial artist, prior to switching to comic books. His first assignments came from the American Comics Group, followed by work on a number of newspaper strips, most notably Kerry Drake. In time, he joined Western, paving the way for him to enter into the field which had piqued his interest all those years ago. He began with a single-page feature in The Munsters
the ADDAMS FAMILY and the MUNSTERS the
KILLER B’ s
by Steve Kronenberg
the MAD MONSTER
It’s time to cast aside the snobbery of “mainstream” critics and appreciate the virtue and value of “B” horror films. Made on shoestring budgets with impossibly tight shooting schedules, these movies consistently fed horror fans a steady and entertaining diet of monsters and maniacs throughout the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s. Consider this regular feature of Cryptology a tribute to what these films provided to even the most jaded horror aficionados.
Reviled by some critics and fans, the “Poverty Row” horrors of the 1940s remain embraced and beloved, largely because of their casts and the fact that they are, in every sense, true horror films. By the mid-1940s, Universal had trotted out their enduring but tired “monster rallies” like House of Frankenstein (1944) and House of Dracula (1945). RKO provided sophisticated and moody product with its string of memorable but monster-less Val Lewton films. It seemed that only low-budget studios like Republic, Monogram, and Producers Releasing Corporation (PRC) were willing to give horror fans a healthy dose of monsters, mayhem, and morbidity. More importantly, those studios employed genre icons like Bela Lugosi, John Carradine, and George Zucco, actors abandoned by major moviemakers, whose mere presence on screen portended dread and depravity.
PRC’s films, shot and paced with the speed of light, never failed to deliver significant horror content in mood and manner. And no PRC production better exemplifies this approach than 1942’s The Mad Monster. Though it rode the coattails of Universal’s The Wolf Man (1941), The Mad Monster possesses some unique and even groundbreaking touches that set it apart from its more expensive and lauded predecessor. George Zucco is the icy and soulless Dr. Lorenzo Cameron, mad as a hatter and obsessed with developing a serum extracted from wolf’s blood and designed to turn men into ravening werewolves. His guinea pig is his mentally handicapped handyman Petro (played by future Frankenstein Monster Glenn Strange). One injection from Cameron transforms the unfortunate dupe into a furry, fanged beast with a marked taste for human blood. Cameron wants to turn his formula over to the U.S. War Department as a
The slaughter continues, as the now transformed Petro (Glenn Strange) carries on in his frenzied killing spree.
COVER STORY MARVEL PRE-CODE REPRINTS from the 1970 s
by Peter Normanton
Do you ever groan when you hear Hollywood is looking to recreate yet another milestone of cinematic history? Other than lining a few bank accounts, rarely have any of these glossy re-vamps given us anything to shout about. A little over fifty years ago, following a relaxation in the Comics Code, horror comics were once again in vogue. Many of the new horror-
oriented titles Marvel Comics was putting out were sourced from reprints dating back from before the introduction of this Code. Unlike the re-makes on the big screen, there was very little effort made to update any of this recycled content. Given the wealth of material lying dormant in their inventory, it is hard to blame Marvel for returning to these stories, for back in the day they had been the envy of almost every one of their rivals.
Fearing the worst, Atlas had latterly decided to tone down the excess on their covers, counting everything on appeasing those intent on bringing them to heel. As with their fellow publishers, they had too much to lose.
Curiously, soon after the Code had brought an end to the distaste in these comics, Atlas launched a series of rather sinister covers, ergo appealing to those surviving horror fiends still in need of that ghastly fix. In this watered down world, the stories within, while frequently thought provoking, were never quite the match for these covers. However, as foreboding as these images most certainly were, it was unthinkable for them to mirror the extremes relished by their forerunners.
When some of these more ominous covers were reimagined during the 1970s, the vexation pervading the originals was appreciably exacerbated. John Severin’s ghostly cover for Mystic
#56, from February 1957, revealed how an already unsettling cover could be plunged ever further into the abyss. The portent brooding from within John’s canvas was almost tangible, no doubt causing alarm amongst those charged with approving these pages. Then almost two decades later, it was escalated by his sister Marie, who replaced his spectral figures with an array of monsters for the appearance of Dead of Night #3, cover-dated April 1974. Marie’s interpretation was
Orphaned, a failed soldier, a bankrupt gambler and an alcoholic incapable of holding down a job, forced to live with his child wife’s mother, and eventually dead in a gutter aged 40... how could Edgar Allan Poe have become an outstanding poet, essayist and progenitor of at least four literary genres: the short story (or tale) of crime and detection, horror, psychological fiction, and even science fiction? Probably his unhappy background predisposed him to introspection, gloom and despond, but the elegance of his style and intricate intellectual curiosity give even his darkest works in the horror genre a burnished gleam. The obsessive protagonists of many of his tales prefigure both the criminals and sleuths of later writers: “The Tell-Tale Heart” (1843) deals explicitly with a murderer’s guilt, as does “The Cask of Amontillado” (1846). But it is the three tales featuring the detective C. Auguste Dupin (massively influential on Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes), who uses observation, logic and lateral thinking to solve crimes, that claim primacy for crime enthusiasts: “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” (1841), “The Mystery of Marie Roget” (1842) and “The Purloined Letter” (1845).
Horror, however, remains the principal field with which Poe is associated, despite his importance in the crime genre. He was American, but schooled for a period in England—in London’s Stoke Newington, in fact—and his macabre work remained an occasional preoccupation of British filmmakers during the decades of the 1930s and 1940s, his name (even in this period) virtually a synonym for Gothic horror; an adaptation of The Fall of the House of Usher was directed by Ivan Barnett in 1949. Compared to such deceptively sumptuous versions as Roger Corman’s later color remake for AIP, this was a threadbare affair, poorly acted, with all of Poe’s melancholy poetry and febrile ambiance leached from the film. What’s more, the embroidery on the writer’s brief original was far less creative and in sympathy with the material than that practiced by Richard Matheson for the later Corman film. Nevertheless, despite its paucity of effects, Barnett’s version achieved the distinction of being the second British film (after The Dark Eyes of London) to be granted the ‘H’ (for horror) certificate. Later, the wily Hammer film studios would parley an ‘X’ certificate into considerable commercial advantage, suggesting to sensation-hungry audiences that the restrictive category meant that they would be party to some kind of forbidden fruit, but this lackluster ‘H’ version apparently did very little business. Corman, however, enjoyed massive success with his series of Poe adaptations for American International in the 1960s.
ENTER MIKE FLANAGAN
Poe admirers were intrigued to hear that there was to be a television series called The Fall of the House of Usher in 2023; the selling point for many was the fact that the show would be produced by Mike Flanagan,
FALL of the HOUSE of USHER
Reynold Brown’s macabre poster would have attracted the onlooker for Roger Corman’s film, as would the later Netflix retro-styled design.
FALL of the HOUSE of USHER
a talented filmmaker whose name became a byword for sophisticated horror shows on television, including The Midnight Club and The Haunting of Hill House. The latter had taken elements and characters from Shirley Jackson’s iconic supernatural novel (previously filmed by Robert Wise) and adapted them to fit a multi-part series, maintaining the ethos and dark sensibility of the original while expanding both the well-rounded characters and the flesh-creeping incidents to suit an extended drama. The new series, viewers were told, would replicate this approach with the work of Edgar Allan Poe.
The new Usher, as quickly became apparent, depended as much on some spot-on casting as on Flanagan’s reinvention and extension of Poe’s originals. The new concept, many noted, had echoes of the phenomenally successful drama series Succession, with lethal infighting between the members of a poisonous clan over the legacy of the patriarch. Roderick Usher is no longer the delicate, neurasthenic aesthete of Poe’s original story—a man who cannot bear anything other than the softest silk against his skin, and for whom all but the quietest music is a torment. As played by the excellent Bruce Greenwood, Usher has become the CEO of a sinister pharmaceutical company that has been plagued by a series of scandals. His wealth has sprung from an opioid crisis, but his life has been plunged into darkness by the death of all six of his children, in quick succession and all in notably horrific
The bloodied figure of Madeline Usher (Myrna Fahey) was considered forbidden fruit by the UK censors, as was the rest of Corman’s classic.
A CLASSICIllustrated
EDGAR ALLAN POE’S THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER
by Peter Normanton
ILLUSTRATED
What is it about Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Fall of the House of Usher,” penned in 1839, that continues to draw comic book creators to its timeworn doors? It is a tale devoid of the intricacies of elaborate plot, so often enjoyed by the minds behind these comic books, relying solely on the atmosphere Poe induced in his melancholic narrative all those years ago. In what was merely a short story, he opened with a lone narrator treading a path on horseback leading into a province seemingly forsaken, abandoned to wither and wane, plagued by horrors of the most degenerate kind. As his tale unfolded, it became obvious the subject matter was not entirely in keeping with that associated with a comic book. Its intimation of incest and the abstract of a hopelessly diseased mind were hardly suitable fare for young children. Yet to the credit of those who have sought to relate this tale to a modern audience, they have remained faithful to Poe’s words, bringing the despair in this desolate landscape to sequent generations of eager comic book readers wanting a little more from their regular dose of horror.
There have been numerous graphic interpretations of this morbidity, each
preferring to eschew the surreal imagery observed in Jean Epstein’s silent masterpiece of 1928, the sombre muse pervading Ivan Barnett’s departure of 1950, and so much of Roger Corman’s entertaining cinematic release from 1960. While they have followed their own course, these stories have never escaped the attention of those who continue to venerate Poe’s canon of work, countless of whom have nothing but praise for these pictorial narrations.
The first comic book adaptation of “Usher” came in the Charlton anthology title Yellowjacket Comics #4, coverdated December 1944. Given these were early days for the comic book industry, Austrian born Gus Schrotter turned in a highly competent set of pages. This talent would eventually open the doors to a successful career illustrating children’s books. From the outset this tale unsettled, as a deathly specter was observed beckoning the reader into the gloom of The House of Usher. In this, the third of this series taken from Poe’s forbidding legacy entitled “Famous Tales of Terror,” he was chosen as narrator. It wouldn’t be the last time Poe would assume this role, although his recountal in these pages was probably the most removed
“The Fall of the House of Usher” made its first comic book appearance in Charlton’s Yellowjacket Comics #1, dated December 1944, followed by a return in Classics Illustrated #40, “Mysteries by Edgar Allen Poe” in August of 1947.
Burton’s Gentleman’s Magazine from September 1839.
A little over 12 months on, another of Jim Warren’s magazines again dared traverse the threshold into these mournful corridors. Rich Margopoulos and Martin Salvador combined their talents to bestow their take on this tale to the readers of Creepy #69, dated February 1975. The House of Usher showcased in these pages wasn’t the Gothic residence alluded to in Poe’s account; rather, it resembled a well apportioned country house from the late Victorian or Edwardian era. Similarly, the opening scene was more autumnal, shunning the melancholy observed in Harley M. Griffith’s depiction from Classics Illustrated Yet despite these minor inconsistencies, Martin’s artwork was sumptuous; indeed, an illustrator’s dream. His artistry for this tale
harkened to those shadow laden melodramas from the golden age of cinema, with hints of the classic Hammer years of horror thrown in for good measure. While he may not have captured the canker tainting the interpretations adopted by his predecessors, he certainly gave these readers a veritable feast.
The House of Usher then went to sleep, only to awaken from its slumber in the fateful year of 1984. In May of that year, Pacific Comics announced the first issue of a new and very exciting title, A Corben Special, subtitled The Fall of the House of Usher Those hoping for more would
The Devil Rides Out is a 1968 film produced by Anthony Nelson Keys for Hammer Film Productions and Seven Arts Productions. This was the last production by Seven Arts before it became part of Warner Bros Inc. in 1969.
The film is based on the 1934 novel of the same name by British author Dennis Wheatley. The prolific author wrote over seventy books during his career, amassing sales of around fifty million copies. Wheatley was the selfproclaimed “Prince of Thriller Writers,” producing mainly historical fiction and adventure stories. He also wrote a number of black magic novels which became particularly popular in the 1960s and ’70s. The Devil Rides Out was the first book in the series.
The actor Christopher Lee was a fan of Wheatley, which led to the two of them meeting at Harrods in London in 1960, where Wheatley was promoting his book The Satanist. During the meeting, Wheatley gave Lee permission
to approach Hammer with a view to making a film of one of his books.
Hammer co-founder William Hinds read The Devil Rides Out and was suitably impressed. However, he was initially reluctant to take on the project. Owing to concerns regarding censorship, there was also the fear of causing offense to the Church. Nevertheless, by early 1967 Hammer approached American novelist and Twilight Zone screenwriter Richard Matheson to write the screenplay.
Matheson had become a very popular author, having written a number of wellknown novels including The Shrinking Man and Hell House. He also came up with the not-to-be-forgotten short story Duel, first published in Playboy in March 1971, which was adapted later that year for a Universal Television movie, starring Dennis Weaver. (While it was essentially made for television, it was also notable for the fact that it marked Steven Spielberg’s debut in the director’s chair.) Matheson had already worked
with Hammer on their 1965 film The Fanatic, known in the US as Die! Die! My Darling!, after having penned several screenplays for cult director Roger Corman’s celebrated adaptations of some of Edgar Allen Poe tales.
Casting for The Devil Rides Out began in early 1967, bringing together the main cast:
Christopher Lee – Duc De Richleau
Leon Greene – Rex Van Ryn
Patrick Mower – Simon Aron
Charles Gray – Mocata
Nike Arrighi – Tanith Carlisle
Sarah Lawson – Marie Eaton
Paul Eddington – Richard Eaton
Rosolyn Landor – Peggy Eaton
In a strange twist during postproduction, Leon Greene’s voice was overdubbed by that of fellow British actor Patrick Allen. No one involved in the making of the film can recall why this was done—even Sarah Lawson who was married to Allen at the time!
he ill wind that billowed across the comic book industry during the spring of 1954 was to turn into a storm of the worst kind before the summer had drawn to a close. In the eyes of certain influential figures, the publishers of these tawdry comic books had gone too far. It was now time for them to change their ways. The Comics Code would be the means by which this change was induced, the effect of which would bring a grinding halt to the heinous activities of these publishers and those in their gainful employ.
Although still in its infancy, these stipulations would force the industry to reappraise its approach. In time, the surviving comic book publishers would sally forth, their vigor renewed— the grisly excess proliferating their horror comics of the early 1950s, along with the brutality observed in the crime comics in the years immediately before, now well and truly extinguished. Many years later in 1971, the restrictions in the Code were finally relaxed, but the comic book publishers of the day, with the occasional exception, did all they could to avoid the extremes relished by their iniquitous predecessors, mindful of legislative reprisal.
Commie Infiltrators
The anti-comics crusade was to take much of the blame for their part leading to the Senate Subcommittee Hearings into Juvenile Delinquency, held over three days in April and June of 1954. Those at the center of this crusade firmly believed children exposed to such depravity would inevitably experience a life of criminal dereliction. This rallying call coincided with an even greater fear: the reds under the bed. To the zealots, this corrupt pairing seemed to fit hand-in-hand. We can only wonder whether these Commie infiltrators were sneaking a peak at junior’s stack of well thumbed
horror comics while they lay concealed beneath the aforesaid bed. We will never know for sure, but for many Americans there was an unbearable feeling of apprehension, a sense this newfound prosperity could be stolen away by an unscrupulous regime bent on undermining the values they held so dear.
To the outsider it was obvious the humble comic book was little more than a patsy. Rather than examine the issues arising within their own society, these righteous crusaders, ably abetted by the media’s capacity for manipulation, saw fit to anoint the comic book as the sacrificial lamb. Eminent psychiatrist Dr. Fredric Wertham echoed these sentiments in a series of articles revealing the horrors sepulchred in these four-colored atrocities. His findings would appear in such venerable publications as Ladies Home Journal and Readers Digest, before being brought together in his inflammatory book Seduction of the Innocent Wertham’s censure has since been disputed, but is there ever really smoke without fire? Could the comic book publishers have actually inflicted calamity upon themselves? In the forthcoming issues of the Cryptologist’s new tome, we are going to take a look at the lengths the creators of these comics were prepared to go. While thousands of readers thrived on this vulgar show, it was difficult to deny the allure in the miscreancy permeating this garish content, all of which was sanctioned by this band of esteemed publishers. Of course, their first line
Dave Berg heightened the abhorrence in his cover to the fifth issue of Ace Magazine’s Four Favorites, dated May 1942.
HORROR COMICS EXCESS
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of defense would have been to assert their aim was to appease a readership demanding ever more of this excess, thus ensuring they maintain their position on the newsstand. When all was said and done, comic books were a business, and a lucrative one at that.
Torturous Covers
Throughout the years of the Golden Age, the newsstand had been chockfull of the very latest comic book fare. With such an array of exciting titles, any comic looking to make its mark was going to need an extra bit of oomph on its cover. Deeds of heroism and costumed superheroes standing proud verily worked a treat. However, even at this early juncture, artists such as Alex Schomburg, Jack Kirby and Al Avison recognized a hero in peril—or better still, a hapless damsel in the clutches of a foul miscreant— would have the casual bystander willing to shell out to discover more. Of all the cover artists at this time, it was Alex Schomburg who demonstrated a genuinely insane propensity for the most bizarre apparatuses of torture. His covers would have the youngsters flocking in droves, gleefully parting with their pocket money to share in a piece of the action.
While Alex and his illustrious cohorts had seized so much of the attention, Charles Biro was tasked with creating the covers for Lev Gleason’s new crime comic, Crime Does Not Pay. Having spent time sizing up the opposition, he took these minacious portrayals even further. From the outset, Crime Does Not Pay ran with an excruciating cover,
detailing the agonizing close-up of a dagger being forced through a hand, in its premiere numbered #22 with a cover date of July 1942. The interior pages were every bit as bad, the most blatant being an appalling acid-to-the-face panel in the introductory potboiler, followed by story after story that thought nothing of meting out brutality on its female cast.
CRYPTOLOGY #1
The Cryptologist (with editor PETER NORMANTON) exhumes the best in retro-horror, including the worst 1950s Horror Comics excesses, Killer “B” movies to die for, the creepiest, kookiest horror toys, the House of Usher, Addams Family vs. The Munsters, BERNIE WRIGHTSON’s Warren frontispieces, Hammer films, Atlas pre-code covers, and more help from henchmen WILL MURRAY, MARK VOGER, BARRY FORSHAW, TIM LEESE, PETE VON SHOLLY, and STEVE AND MICHAEL KRONENBERG!
Such acid assaults found their way into numerous crime and pre-Code horror comics over the forthcoming years. There was an intimation of an acid bath sputtering from the brushstrokes of Tony Dipreta in Astonishing #14’s “The Clean Up,” dated June 1952, although Tony wisely
refrained from depicting the aftermath. In the interests of good taste, its best to warn the squeamish among you of the searing acid-to-the-face scene in “Revenge so Evil” from the pages of Superior’s Journey into Fear #14, published in September 1953. This was a title of serious notoriety, yet curiously overlooked for so many years, owing to its poor print quality, or possibly its Canadian origin. That same month, Farrell’s Voodoo #11 traumatized with another graphic acid-to-the-face panel. A similar horror had previously been inflicted on the drawing board of Jack Davis in “Drawn and Quartered” for Tales from the Crypt #26, dated OctoberNovember 1951. To be fair to the creators of these tales, while they reveled in the viciousness of these attacks, they were upstanding in their representation of the perpetrators, revealing them as abhorrent hoodlums. The premiere of Crime Does Not Pay was in many ways the blue print for the atrocities that would prevail in the horror comics of the early 1950s. Charles Biro’s cover to issue #24 of this title, dated November 1942, continued in a similar vein, a woman’s head forced onto a burning oven ring by a ne’er do well seemingly encouraged by the title’s host, Mister Crime.
The atrocity on show in Charles Biro’s cover for Crime Does Not Pay #24 (November 1942) would have caused much alarm.
