Author: aunt john

Hi, I really enjoy your site, so I figured I should contribute…

One of many things that scared me as a kid was one of the early covers for THE EXORCIST novel by WILLIAM PETER BLATTY.

I was a friend's house and spotted it on a shelf and found the image of the girl so scary it gave me nightmares for days. Yet every time I would go to his place I would find some excuse to have a peek, compelled to face my fear.

Compelled or not, I did not want to be left alone in that room with the book, no matter how many lights were on.

Even now, I find that image more frightening than LINDA BLAIR in the DICK SMITH makeup (with no disrespect intended).

Best,

DK

P.S.: I have another story to tell about a show that scared me as a kid, but I'll save that story for next time.

UNK SEZ:: Thanks DK, I've always been fascinated by that book cover too. Have you ever heard THIS HERE tidbit before?

Hey guys,

I recently discovered your site a few days ago and have been scrolling through it ever since. I think I'm going to have to watch some of your favourite movies, as my enjoyment of horror films (even the so-bad-they're-good ones) is slowly being reawakened.

After doing a quick search, it seems one of my many childhood traumas has not been posted yet, so here goes. It involves that ‘80s T.V. series THE INCREDIBLE HULK.

Now, I was never terrified by the Hulk. Even though I was only 5 or 6 when it was on, and even though he was big and green and monstrous, I knew he was the good guy, and never meant anyone any real harm. And I adored him. No, it wasn't him that traumatized me.

It was that other guy, the Evil Hulk.

He was much scrawnier in comparison, but those dilated white eyes, those bushy black eyebrows, that snarl, the hair that looked like he just licked his finger and stuck it into an electrical socket. He was a horrific version of the hero I knew and loved.

I never wanted to have to watch the two-part episode that the Evil Hulk was featured in, any time it came on. But I knew I had to, because I hated him so much, and I knew that I had to endure the terror if I was to ever see the Good Hulk kick that evil mofo's ass. So imagine my disappointment after finding a clip of the final scene, and watching it for the first time in about thirty years after forgetting how it ended. I won't spoil it, but let's just say the Hulk's "victory" is rather, well, anticlimactic:

Regards,

Steve

There were a lot of horror films that deeply affected me as a child. One of my earliest film-going remembrances was the time my father took me to see the original PLANET OF THE APES (1968) on its first theatrical release. The problem was is that we arrived a bit too early, and we caught the film's big shock ending … CHARLTON HESTON rides up on the beach with his cave woman girlfriend to see the remnants of the Statue of Liberty and we learn that this so-called "alien planet" is in fact the planet Earth after some unspecified holocaust. As a child of eight, I was only vaguely aware of the nuclear threat at this time, and I was suitably unnerved by this final image. CHUCK HESTON's histrionics notwithstanding ("He's screaming and wailing – just like your mother!" my dad pointed out, laughing), I begged out of watching PLANET and we departed after seeing the considerably milder second feature, THE WATERMELON MAN.

The fact that the world could go up in particulate matter with the press of a button would be explored further in the PLANET OF THE APES sequel, BENEATH THE PLANET OF THE APES (1969), educating countless school kids about the insecure status of humanity in the postwar world in a succession of G-rated installments.

One other film that clued me in to the haunting finality of death, nuclear or otherwise, was the first adaptation of RICHARD MATHESON's "I Am Legend," THE LAST MAN ON EARTH (1964). VINCENT PRICE is seemingly the only human being left on the planet after a mysterious plague sweeps the world, transforming other survivors into vampires. PRICE barricades himself in his suburban home (supposed to be in Los Angeles, but shot in Rome – giving the film an even more off-kilter flavor), while at night the undead hordes call out to him to join them – stark shots of black-and-white terror that could be dropped wholesale into GEORGE A. ROMERO's NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD (1968) without the slightest trace of continuity error.

Two scenes in LAST MAN chilled me to the bone, and continue to do so – those who denigrated this film, which included VINCENT PRICE and RICHARD MATHESON, fail to grasp the power this strange film still wields. PRICE loses his young daughter to the plague, and bodies are tossed into a giant fiery pit at the edge of town in an effort to control the pestilence. PRICE tries to spare his daughter an anonymous burial (remember, the Holocaust was still very recent when this was filmed, and filmed in Europe), he is pushed aside by an impatient government worker who says, "There are a lot of daughters down there – including mine!" Never had the Apocalypse been rendered with such blunt, unsympathetic words to my then-tender ears.

The second scene has VINCENT PRICE discovering a bedraggled poodle and he is momentarily cheered with the prospect of a companion to ride out his lonely solitude with – until, of course, he examines the dog's blood to see that the poodle has the vampire virus, and he collapses in mirthless, bitter laughter. The next scene has PRICE burying the poodle, stake through the heart in his back yard, which should be hysterically funny – but just isn't.

The message to my young mind was absolutely clear. Death, the ultimate monster, strikes little girls and poodles just as cold and merciless as anyone else, including grown-ups. Furthermore, adults had all the cards in their favor – they could push a button and wipe out humanity, draft young men to fight in foreign wars to die in battle or consign their own children to fiery, bottomless pits with a brisk, bureaucratic efficiency.

I wish there was a heartwarming or reassuring thing to share about this monster kid memory, but there isn't any. This horror film had fulfilled its obligation of engaging me, thrilling me and introducing me to certain truths that my own parents, at that time, were themselves too terrified to tell.

AUNT JOHN SEZ: Thanks for the traumafession Greg! To read more by Greg Goodsell, be sure to check out both SCREEM MAGAZINE and ANGELS IN DISTRESS.

Hi all,

I've been a fan of this website for some time now, so I thought I might finally contribute a precious childhood memory of my own. As an Australian child of the ‘80s I was made to watch the classic Australian film DOT AND THE KANGAROO in primary school (it is kind of educational in that it has native animals dancing around and singing about how they got their Latin names), and there was one scene involving a bunyip that always creeped everyone out.

Being an unusual child, this scene was my favourite, but I'll do this traumafession on behalf of all my classmates who weren't as brave as I was. Anyway, the scene starts with NICK CAVE-esque piano intro playing while animated turtles swim over real-life footage of a creek (or billabong) in the outback. Suddenly a hand emerges from the water, then an arm, then an entire Aboriginal Dreamtime monster. The scene is accompanied by an eerily lilting song called 'Bunyip Moon,' and it lulls you into a false sense of calm as the bunyip rampages the bush, chasing people, dingoes and kangaroos through the trees. The whole thing has the feel of a beautiful nightmare as the bunyip curls around the moon, appears in campfires and transforms into a bird.

The true moment of horror is at the very end, when the bunyip's face starts to 'decompose' and transform into a cave painting. That's two seconds that will stay with you for a very, very long time…

Heidi

AUNT JOHN SEZ: Heidi, if it's any consolation to your classmates, they are not alone. Both Mr. Canacorn and Absinthe had similar reactions to that bad ass bunyip.

Dear Uncle L. and Aunt J.,

First of all, you have created a fabulous website. I would like to nominate this site for the "Most Addictive Webpage Ever Award," and if such an award does not exist, it ought to! It is easy to tell that the folks that write in with contributions are dyed-in-the-wool film lovers. (Or possibly DIED-in-the-wool, considering the movies discussed…)

Anyway, my Kindertrauma is the one glaring omission to your movie list. I am referring to the T.V. movie, THE DAY AFTER. The movie features JASON ROBARDS, JOBETH WILLIAMS, JOHN LITHGOW, and totally eighties heartthrob STEVE GUTTENBERG.

When this was broadcast on ABC, I was in junior high school. The Powers That Be decided that all of the students at my school should watch this film so that we could hold a discussion on it in Social Studies the next day. Hey…watching a movie as homework, sounds great!

Well, not so great, after all.

Between shots of people being vaporized by the nuclear blast, a little boy being blinded, and the survivors slowly dying of radiation sickness, this was not a movie for a pre-teen with delicate sensibilities. Other scary films I had seen up to that point had caused oh, maybe a single sleepless night, but this one freaked me out for DAYS! I kept thinking about someone, somewhere, without warning, pushing a few buttons, and plunging the whole world into nuclear Armageddon. Mind you, I think if I would watch the whole movie again as an adult, it would have some Moments of Cheese. But I did pull up the clip of the nuclear strike in Kansas a short time ago, and it still gives me the shivers.