#october

Over the course of Vincent Price’s illustrious career, a few jealous haters WHO-SHALL-REMAIN-UNNAMED have dared to describe our gorgeous manimal’s unique acting style with such audacious adjectives as:  

“over-theatrical”

“campy”

“hammy”

“over-the-top”

And to this I say, eternally:

Eff the haters. 

Keep doing ya thang. 

That goes for all y'all.

And have a nice day. 

Pssst! Over here. You listening? Good. Because I’m going to start iheartvincentprice.tumblr.com’s third horror-ble movie review of the month with an iiiiiitty bitty confession:

I wasn’t the biggest fan of this movie.

Hold the cyber punches just a minute, Muhammad! 

Before y'all show up at my house wielding torches and pitchforks in response to the semi-sacrilegious confession I’ve just made, lemme just say that YES: I know House of Wax is a classic and lotsa people have loved the crap out of it for decades. But if I came all up in here and told you I thought the movie was the best thing since cinematic sliced bread, I’d be straight up lying. And no one wants to read the blog of a damn liar, yo.

But let me also say this:

Vincey was amazing. OBVI. He was the best thing in this movie. OBVI. Pssht! Goes without saying!

I just wasn’t over the moon about the movie itselfIFYAKNOWWHATIMEAN: the long-ass paddle ball and can-can sequences (do we HAVE to watch five whole minutes of a grown ass man playing paddle ball on the street and can-can dancers pulling up their ruffled dresses so we can catch glimpses of their French underwear?), the obnoxious faux-laugh (not to mention unbearable ditziness) of Carolyn Jones’ character. And film snobs, get off those high horses: I’m well aware that the reason the first two sequences I mentioned were so gee-danged long was to show off the movie’s 3D effects (which I’m sure were just mind-blowing back in 1953). But 3D or no 3D, too long is too long is too loooooong.

What 3D looked like in 1953. I kiiid, I kiiid (kinda). 

So instead of walking you through the movie itself, I’ll just walk you through my favorite Vincey parts, since THAT’S THE REAL REASON YOU’RE READING THIS ISH, am I right?

House of Wax (1953) was a remake of the movie Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933) and was the first color 3D feature film to be released by a major American studio. It was received two more wide (read: huge ass ad campaigns) re-releases in 1971 and the early 1980s, and is considered an all-time horror favorite for the ages. 

(I’m not even going to get into the 2005 remake starring Paris Hilton. You’re welcome.)

Vincent Price plays Henry Jarrod, a passionate wax figure sculptor who specializes in recreating historical figures such as Marie Antionette, John Wilkes Booth and Joan of Arc, which he keeps in a little museum. He is obsessively (almost creepily) devoted to his wax creations: he talks to them and they talk back (or so he thinks…). They are his babies, his children, and he would die rather than allow them to come into harm’s way. I know that most people might find Vincent’s character’s obsession with wax mannequins kind of…well, sick, but being the depraved ladybaby I am, I have to say that I found it super duper adorable. Like sugary-sweet-with-a-cherry-and-a-double-rainbow-on-top cute. If you love the sexy beast of a man as I do, I think you’ll feel the same.

DAWWWWW!

But Vincent’s evil and greedy (note: two bad qualities in a person) business partner (Roy Roberts) isn’t happy. He wants Vincent to produce more “sensational” waxwork to please the common folk who are just looking to pay for a cheap thrill wherever they can find it. But VP straight up refuses to lower his personal and aesthetic standards (he’s a class act, y’all). Fed up, the money-hungry Roberts decides he wants to commit ARSON of all damn things and destroy the museum and all of Vincent’s beloved figures with it! My heart broke a little at seeing poor Vincey’s desperate attempts to fight off the evil man and save his cherished body (or shall I say bodies?) of work. 

Alas, the fire consumes everything, but Vincent’s character manages to survive, albeit considerably disfigured – let’s just say that “Vincey PF” (Post Fire) in this film seriously reminded me of Lon Chaney in Phantom of the Opera(1925). 

Perhaps a little early inspiration for Freddy Krueger? 

But despair not, VP lovahs! Via the powers of wax artistry (who knew?) the gorgeous man manages to get his original, beautiful face back for the remainder of the movie:

That is, until this happens:

And with the help of his very own Igor (Charles Bronson), VP decides to open up a sensational wax museum, featuring a “Chamber of Horrors” which displays shocking renditions of historical and present-day (i.e. 1890s) crimes, designed to thrill and scandalize the crowds who show up in droves to see the one-of-a-kind spectacle.

Ain’t nuthin’ freakier than the ‘lectric chair. 

This brings me to my final favorite Vincey-related element of the movie: his character’s transformation. VP’s character starts out as a humble servant of all things beautiful and artistic, adamantly rejecting sensationalism and everything it stands for. But over the course of the film and as a result of what happens to him, he transforms into a man who comes to fully embrace all things shocking and horrific. He also comes to embrace his own dark side with open, lovin’ arms. I believe this kind of transformational arc strikes a primal chord with many a foolish mortal: we all have sinister urges within us, but most of us choose to live out our darker fantasies through the characters in the movies we watch. Perhaps its exploration of this simple yet powerful primal theme is one of the reasons behind the enduring success of House of Wax.

And when it comes to personifying the “dark unconscious of the whole human race” (as Vincent would so eloquently put it), what better man to embody the ever-fascinating transformation from good to evil than the incomparable Vincent Price? 

Next week, I shall be reviewing Dragonwyck. 

So get yer lobster bibs on and try not to choke on your own saliva, you lecherous Vincent Price lovahs! 

Real talk. 

Welcome, foolish mortals, to iheartvincentprice.tumblr.com: a month-long celebration of one of the hottest man-gods ever to walk the face of this good, green earth…

…and my ultimate dead man crush. 

(insert VP-esque-end-of-Michael-Jackson’s-Thriller-type-maniacal-laughter here)

Before we dive in, a note: I will not be announcing spoiler alerts in this blog. If you’re brave enough to read about a lecherous 28-year-old ladybaby lusting over a dead guy, trust me: you’re also brave enough to take the risk that you might swallow some unexpected movie spoilers along the way. Such is lust. Such is life.

And now, for the first deliciously diabolical movie review of the month:       

Ah yes. The Pit and the Pendulum. What better way to kick off an entire month of VP lovin’ than to review this unforgettable Edgar Allan Poe tale of torture (are you surprised?), grief and, plain ol’ crazy-tude. No one plays insane like Vincey. He is simply a pro when it comes to maniacal facial expressions (including, but in no way limited to an astoundingly well-executed version of “the crazy eye”), gibbering, fevered monologues, and sadistic, uncontrollable cackling.

But first, some background: ThePit and the Pendulum was released in 1961 and directed by Roger Corman (diehard musical theater geeks will recognize him as the creator of the original, non-musical film The Little Shop of Horrors). It’s set in Spain in the 16^th century in a sinister castle (hawt), where Vincey lives with his supportive and sympathetic sister (Luana Anders) and is mourning the recent death of his beloved wife Elizabeth (Barbara Steele).

Seems like a great life, right? But wait! There’s a foreboding stranger at the door! And blast! It’s none other than Elizabeth’s brother, (John Kerr - all growed up since his role as the awkward teenager-turned-cougar-lovah in Tea & Sympathy). Dubious and (understandably) suspicious, he arrives at Castle Price demanding to know the “true reason” behind Elizabeth’s untimely death. She couldn’t have died from a rare blood disease. She just couldn’t have!

Having provided the basic backstory, let us now dive into the lusty, lascivious portion of tonight’s opera.

First, allow me state the obvious: there’s nothing sexier than a tormented, brooding man.

I’m not trying to get all manic-pixie-dream-girl on ya, but it’s true. Let’s face it, cabbages. We’ve all met the opposite of the broody-man, and he’s not all that interesting, is he? Oh sure, he’s chock full of energy and positivity (yawn). He can’t wait to go to Vegas with his bros next month (check please). He’s pumped (and will actually use the word “pumped”) about the presentation he’s giving at his job this Thursday (gag me with a spoon). 

These types of men remind me of Dalmatian puppies. They’re adorable in that they seem to possess an endless reservoir of energy and zest for life…but let’s face it: that shit gets old.  

And if you’re a non-dingbat individual in possession of even an iota of personal substance or emotional depth?

It’s the tormented, brooding, conflicted men you really wanna fuck.

Am I right, y’all?

Needless to say, VP’s got the tormented, tortured act down. To a Tee. To a Tee PLUS, homies. As his character’s anguish intensifies, you, my fellow Vincent Price lovahs, will be delighted to know that he performs:

1) a very sensual fainting take, and

2) one very sexy/hilarious expression in response to accidentally stumbling into some thick spider webs (I mean, who doesn’t feel sexy stumbling into a spider web the size of freakin’ KANSAS?).

But the best part? He does it all in an extremely prominent 16th century ruffled collar:                         

Oh yeah. I’m getting hot.

But the best and Vincey Priciest of acting comes in the last third of the film, when he follows his dead wife’s beckoning all the way down into the torture chamber in his basement (don’t act like you never thought of getting one), and then during the glorious finale when he goes stark raving cray cray and starts channeling his sadistic, torture-obsessed father.

The movie as a whole holds up as a rather entertaining and suspenseful chunk of work. If you’ve ever read anything by Edgar Allan Poe, you hopefully already know that the man: 1) was probably a mental case, and 2) knew how to tap into primal human fears like none other (okay, maybe Stephen King, but he came way later). One of those fears is of being buried alive (ahem: “premature interment” as they refer to it in the film - and yes, I am consciously choosing to refrain from making a joke about it). And I must say that even in a 52-year-old movie, the concept does not fail to pack an emotional punch. The penultimate pendulum scene (hah! I got to use an SAT word) builds tremendous suspense: it actually had me gasping a few times (Imagine! Moi! Gasping!) And from a psychological standpoint, the movie is great fun and contains plenty of post-film discussion fodder: there’s daddy issues, dissociation and lunacy. What more could a twisted, depraved moviegoer ask for?

        “Am I not the spawn of his depraved blood?” Yes, Vincey, you are.

Maybe I’m biased (wellOFCOURSEIam), but I really don’t think the movie could have been as entertaining without ol’ Vincent in the lead role. One of the man’s great talents lay in his ability to be totally and utterly believable in some of the most unbelievable roles…and to bring a sense of humor to those roles at the same time. To see his transformation from weak-and-resigned-widower-in-mourning-turned-stark-raving-lunatic is nothing short of mesmerizing.

Not to mention incredibly sexy.

But you already knew I was going to say that. 

I’m a bit late posting this but happy october everybody!!

Jack and Sally

Halloween pack

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