Watching the Thriller episode "A Third for Pinochle," I am reminded of how much I love light-hearted domestic murder stories. These were a common feature of several anthology suspense programs in the 1950s; I am pretty sure that more than half of the episodes of Alfred Hitchcock Presents are about one spouse trying to murder the other. This was also a common setup for stories in the E.C. horror comics, much to the dismay of noted spoilsport Dr. Frederic Wertham.
One reason I find these stories so interesting is that I feel like they speak to a common tension in 1950s American domestic life. As I have gotten older, I have become more skeptical of any Utopian worldview, and I have come to regard the view of the 1950s I had learned as just such a fantasy. I grew up in a conservative environment, and I was always given the impression that the 1950s were a magical time when people had sex only in the confines of holy matrimony (and, of course, only with each other), no one ever had a serious domestic argument, and divorce would never even be considered. Well, you know, maybe among those people such things might happen... (I never did learn definitely who "those people" might be, I think they were just the exception to prove the rule.)
This was the view I was given of 1950s home life, and it theoretically makes everything that comes after seem positively bleak. Sometime after 1959 people suddenly discovered hedonism and divorce and the country fell into moral decay, or some such thing. This attitude was usually caught up in the implication that all good Christian children should want to grow up and recreate the 1950s-era conservative heaven-on-earth, doing away with any sort of marital strife or--God help us--awkward feelings. The anxiety to live out someone else's difficult fantasy is a tremendous source of pressure, and I pretty much grew up in terror that I would somehow fail to become this paragon of morality.
As an adult, however, I had an epiphany: If domestic life was so blissful and problem-free in the 1950s, where did all those TV shows with domestic murder plots come from? What about all those issues of Tales From the Crypt? Don't get me wrong; I did not suspect that couples in the 1950s really were murdering each other in droves. But these were popular TV shows and popular comic books. If "everyone" in the 1950s really did live relatively untroubled domestic lives, why would they be willing to watch one story after another where a husband shoots a nagging wife, or where a wife poisons her philandering husband? What if people in the 1950s did have the cultural expectations to live these picture-perfect domestic lives, and they had few venues to openly talk about their frustrations, but they still had frustrations and needed some sort of catharsis. What if all these stories were acting as a sort of cultural release valve, to take the pressure off these all-to-human people.
Another noteworthy detail of these domestic murder plots: they are often played for laughs. Gallows humor, to be sure, but they feature a high degree of comic music, silly plot twists, and wry jokes about death and murder. The killer often gets his or her comeuppance, but always in a way that makes me chuckle and think Oh, you almost got away with it.... This added to my interpretation of these stories as a fun catharsis in a time of moral stodginess. People had anxieties they cold not express, they probably had moments when they would think of awful actions like murder, but probably also would have felt tremendous stigma if they told other people about it. Someone who imagines a murder--we often conclude--must be plotting a murder. Even though we ourselves might get so frustrated by an argument or bad customer service that we think Oh, I'd like to get my hands on you. So here is a body of fiction meant for entertainment, taking those subliminal wishes and turning them into a whimsical, harmless, series of crimes.
The comic domestic murder plot is, to me, a mark of social progress, like enjoying violent video games in place of watching gladiators in a literal arena. Bloodlust is a pretty common human emotion--or so I hope; my success as a writer might depend on it!--and virtual bloodshed is better for us all than literal bloodshed. Enjoying a story about poisoned tea or a faked car accident is always preferable to letting stress and isolation lead people to turn such stories into nonfiction. The upbeat music and humor reminds us to sit back and enjoy, and let our fantasies play out in a safe, sane, arena.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
More on Pulp Adaptations (Pt. II)
Sorry to break up my train of thought. I was writing my last entry in a cafe before a meeting, and suddenly realizing I had only a few minutes to dash to my appointment, I had to abruptly end what I was writing. This also means I will probably re-read what I wrote and shake my head at its lack of revision. Not that I do much revising on my blog.
So, picking up...
3. Room for creativity? Adaptations of existing works seem to suffer on two fronts. On the one hand, they require sufficient fidelity to their source material that fans will be satisfied. On the other hand, the need to appeal to non-fans can pull characters in odd directions. Although it is kind of unfair for me to judge a movie I have not yet seen, the reviews I have read for the recent Green Hornet movie lead me to believe that it suffered from a little of both, particularly the latter. But sometimes, too much devotion to the source material can be its own problem.
I wrote before about my concerns about a possible Shadow reboot, and one frustration I had was that it seemed likely the movie would include snippets of both the radio and pulp Shadows. He would have to be invisible and have his costume and fire guns all the time. Each of these seems like a necessity because it is a detail fans recognize. Problematically, these details come from two canons (this strangely sounds like a religious argument), and they do not work well together.
Of all the existing Shadow movies, I actually have a soft spot for the strangest of the lot, 1938's International Crime. It is not a great movie, but it is an interesting contribution to the Shadow mythos because it takes the character in a different direction. In it, Lamont Cranston is mainly a radio show host whose on-air persona is The Shadow. In that capacity, he exposes criminal activities, making it hard for (the mainly white-collar) criminals to hide. The story has my attention because it takes what I know about The Shadow--he is a "costumed" crime-fighter--and interprets it in an entirely new way. The fact that Cranston uses a radio to expose criminals feels like a clever nod to the character's tenure in radio drama.
Few movie adaptations of classic characters get to be so creative. Sure, the occasional TV series gets translated into an uncomfortably formulaic action movie or comedy, but developing a knowing take on the existing stories is a different kind of adaptation. To use another example, I love Neil Gaiman's graphic novel Marvel 1602. It tells the stories of various Marvel Comics heroes in an alternate scenario, where they are in early 17th-century England. It is clever, exciting, and rewarding for fans. It can also be appreciated by non-fans. If only movie adaptations could follow this route.
To be fair, I have nothing against movie adaptations. I tend to get excited whenever I hear about a new adaptation of a classic character. I just also tend to become skeptical, then cranky, very quickly. The best thing about a movie adaptation of a pulp character, to me, is that it will lead new fans to discover the great stories that built the character. The worst thing about a movie adaptation is that it not every pulp character makes a good movie character. Sometimes, the charm of a character has as much to do with the author's prose as with the character concept. Too often, I feel like movie adaptations miss that point.
So, picking up...
3. Room for creativity? Adaptations of existing works seem to suffer on two fronts. On the one hand, they require sufficient fidelity to their source material that fans will be satisfied. On the other hand, the need to appeal to non-fans can pull characters in odd directions. Although it is kind of unfair for me to judge a movie I have not yet seen, the reviews I have read for the recent Green Hornet movie lead me to believe that it suffered from a little of both, particularly the latter. But sometimes, too much devotion to the source material can be its own problem.
I wrote before about my concerns about a possible Shadow reboot, and one frustration I had was that it seemed likely the movie would include snippets of both the radio and pulp Shadows. He would have to be invisible and have his costume and fire guns all the time. Each of these seems like a necessity because it is a detail fans recognize. Problematically, these details come from two canons (this strangely sounds like a religious argument), and they do not work well together.
Of all the existing Shadow movies, I actually have a soft spot for the strangest of the lot, 1938's International Crime. It is not a great movie, but it is an interesting contribution to the Shadow mythos because it takes the character in a different direction. In it, Lamont Cranston is mainly a radio show host whose on-air persona is The Shadow. In that capacity, he exposes criminal activities, making it hard for (the mainly white-collar) criminals to hide. The story has my attention because it takes what I know about The Shadow--he is a "costumed" crime-fighter--and interprets it in an entirely new way. The fact that Cranston uses a radio to expose criminals feels like a clever nod to the character's tenure in radio drama.
Few movie adaptations of classic characters get to be so creative. Sure, the occasional TV series gets translated into an uncomfortably formulaic action movie or comedy, but developing a knowing take on the existing stories is a different kind of adaptation. To use another example, I love Neil Gaiman's graphic novel Marvel 1602. It tells the stories of various Marvel Comics heroes in an alternate scenario, where they are in early 17th-century England. It is clever, exciting, and rewarding for fans. It can also be appreciated by non-fans. If only movie adaptations could follow this route.
To be fair, I have nothing against movie adaptations. I tend to get excited whenever I hear about a new adaptation of a classic character. I just also tend to become skeptical, then cranky, very quickly. The best thing about a movie adaptation of a pulp character, to me, is that it will lead new fans to discover the great stories that built the character. The worst thing about a movie adaptation is that it not every pulp character makes a good movie character. Sometimes, the charm of a character has as much to do with the author's prose as with the character concept. Too often, I feel like movie adaptations miss that point.
More on Pulp Adaptations
I have been giving more thought to the question of movie adaptations of popular pulp heroes recently. The combination of upcoming comic book adaptations and rumors of new pulp adaptations (Conan? Doc Savage? The Shadow? John Carter of Mars? "At the Mountains of Madness"?) has given me reason for both optimism and skepticism. Some of these could be pretty good. Others might have more of a stretch. So I am trying to work out why I am less trusting of some projects than others.
1. Serial characters. Like comic book heroes, the pulps created an enduring series of memorable characters. Also like in comics, these tended to be characters with a few shallow traits. Conan is a strong warrior-king, Doc Savage is a brilliant scientist and crime-fighter, The Shadow is a mysterious vigilante. On a certain level, their stories are pretty uniform, putting each character through the same sorts of challenges in each installment. But, as with comic book characters, the nuances of the stories are what gave the characters depth. Conan might repeatedly fight villains who want to usurp his throne, but in his interactions with other characters, we learn more about him. In a way, the plots that made the stories marketable to the pulps take a back seat to the slow build of character. Because he faces similar problems, watching nuances in Conan's actions helps us see him as more than just an archetype.
However, movie adaptations tend not to achieve this goal. A Conan reboot has been rumored, but this would be one movie. It would probably feature an origin story as its plot, with a representative adventure for the hero. To me, this is the equivalent of reading one Conan story: it might be satisfactory on its own, but it really does not have time to develop its character. Accordingly, the characters will have to remain at their broadest.
2. Mass-market appeal. Speaking of broadness, a movie adaptation has to reach a broad audience, including people not well-versed in the character's mythology. This can be a good stimulus for screenwriters to try to develop a good story independent of canon, but it also means the screenwriters cannot rely on what people might already know about the character. They have to fit everything they think is relevant into the movie. Going back to the Conan example, adapting a later story like "The Tower of the Elephant" or "The Hour of the Dragon" would be difficult because, in addition to all the action and character details inherent in the story, the movie would also have to broadly explain who Conan is to newcomers. Because a movie tends to stand alone (unless some sort of series has already been announced), not explaining the origin of the character can make the story feel shallow. But focusing too much on the origin of character limits the type of story that can be told. Young Conan is interesting, I guess, but I tend to more so enjoy the stories where he is older and losing his grip on his kingdom. They have the pathos of seeing someone who has relied on his own power starting to lose that power, and needing the help of others more and more. I think that would make an interesting Conan story to film, but without first filming (yet another) origin story, I fear that audiences would shrug it off.
(More to come.)
1. Serial characters. Like comic book heroes, the pulps created an enduring series of memorable characters. Also like in comics, these tended to be characters with a few shallow traits. Conan is a strong warrior-king, Doc Savage is a brilliant scientist and crime-fighter, The Shadow is a mysterious vigilante. On a certain level, their stories are pretty uniform, putting each character through the same sorts of challenges in each installment. But, as with comic book characters, the nuances of the stories are what gave the characters depth. Conan might repeatedly fight villains who want to usurp his throne, but in his interactions with other characters, we learn more about him. In a way, the plots that made the stories marketable to the pulps take a back seat to the slow build of character. Because he faces similar problems, watching nuances in Conan's actions helps us see him as more than just an archetype.
However, movie adaptations tend not to achieve this goal. A Conan reboot has been rumored, but this would be one movie. It would probably feature an origin story as its plot, with a representative adventure for the hero. To me, this is the equivalent of reading one Conan story: it might be satisfactory on its own, but it really does not have time to develop its character. Accordingly, the characters will have to remain at their broadest.
2. Mass-market appeal. Speaking of broadness, a movie adaptation has to reach a broad audience, including people not well-versed in the character's mythology. This can be a good stimulus for screenwriters to try to develop a good story independent of canon, but it also means the screenwriters cannot rely on what people might already know about the character. They have to fit everything they think is relevant into the movie. Going back to the Conan example, adapting a later story like "The Tower of the Elephant" or "The Hour of the Dragon" would be difficult because, in addition to all the action and character details inherent in the story, the movie would also have to broadly explain who Conan is to newcomers. Because a movie tends to stand alone (unless some sort of series has already been announced), not explaining the origin of the character can make the story feel shallow. But focusing too much on the origin of character limits the type of story that can be told. Young Conan is interesting, I guess, but I tend to more so enjoy the stories where he is older and losing his grip on his kingdom. They have the pathos of seeing someone who has relied on his own power starting to lose that power, and needing the help of others more and more. I think that would make an interesting Conan story to film, but without first filming (yet another) origin story, I fear that audiences would shrug it off.
(More to come.)
Thursday, February 24, 2011
On Job Interviews
After months of applying for jobs and receiving only rejection letters, I have finally reached a point where I am getting interviews. This seems to be familiar to many of my friends in the LIS world, and it is probably familiar to most people in general. Interestingly enough, I did not really have the same problem prior to grad school. In college, I usually landed the first student worker or part-time job I tried for; after my undergrad I got into retail, and then later into technical writing, with little difficulty. It sometimes feels as if more education makes me less desirable. On the one hand, this idea can be discouraging, but I also try to remind myself that I am now applying for jobs that demand a higher number of skills and tend to draw large pools of similarly matched applicants. That might not have been as true in the past. Not to take anything away from my summer job as a clerk at a video store, but that was a less challenging position.
I have had a range of interviews, some good, some pretty frustrating. And I have a few thoughts about interviews based on what I have encountered so far. Hopefully some of these ideas are helpful or encouraging, or just familiar, to you.
1. Getting a job interview is a great ego boost. I apply for so many jobs and get so many rejection letters--often after I have nearly forgotten that I even applied for the job in question--that when someone calls or writes to set up an interview, it feels like a personal win. And, when I think about it, it really is. In having follow-up appointments with my interviewers, I sometimes learn that I was competing with people who have been working in archives for much longer and have more specialized skills than I do. So making it as far as the interview is already an accomplishment. After several interviews, I have found that the worst thing I can do is start to expect that, once I have landed an interview, I am sure to get the position. When I apply for jobs, I never expect an interview; therefore, when I get an interview, I feel encouraged. If I expected every application to yield an interview, I would be disappointed often. I try to remind myself to take the same approach with interviews. Some will be successful, but many more will not. But I prefer the ego boost of a positive interview to the sense of failure from not getting what I expected.
2. An interview that does not land a job can still be a good thing, especially if you follow up on it. I had an interview that was very positive, made me feel more confident in my abilities, and still did not result in the job. However, I made a follow-up appointment to go over the interview with the interviewer, and I was able to get her insight into my strengths and weaknesses as an interviewee. This information is useful for my next interview. Not only that, following up has kept me on her radar. Future positions can always open up, the person chosen in my place might suddenly leave, and now I have the experience of the interview, useful feedback, and the networking value of staying in touch with a potential employer.
3. Asking questions as an interviewee is a good tactic. My questions at the end of the interview vary, but they often include a few handy generic queries, similar to what I get asked. What are the major long-term goals for this position? What would you say is the biggest challenge a person faces in this position? What will be most rewarding about it? Can you give me examples of institutions whose work you would like to emulate? Many interviewers have responded positively to these questions, and I find that they serve the same purpose for me that they do for the interviewer: If the interviewer responds to my questions with disinterest, has no long-term goals for the position, mentions no real challenges, or has no models for future development, this is probably not a job I would like. At that point, I feel less concerned about whether I get the job.
4. In contract jobs, asking questions is essential. I am finding that contracts with individuals or small groups are a growing work area for archivists, and they are a type of interview where I think I really shine. I can show off my expertise best by asking the interviewer about her specific goals, what she wants the final project to look like, and then tying her responses into my knowledge. Yes, I can see where you want this collection of papers to be easier to search through; here is what I find works best in an archive for that purpose...
The best advice I have in interviewing for positions is not to give up hope. I have had good and bad interviews, landed jobs--especially contract jobs--and not. Every time I have an interview I remind myself that I might not get the job, but I also might. The probability of getting a job might be low for any given interview, but it is already much higher than had I not applied in the first place.
I have had a range of interviews, some good, some pretty frustrating. And I have a few thoughts about interviews based on what I have encountered so far. Hopefully some of these ideas are helpful or encouraging, or just familiar, to you.
1. Getting a job interview is a great ego boost. I apply for so many jobs and get so many rejection letters--often after I have nearly forgotten that I even applied for the job in question--that when someone calls or writes to set up an interview, it feels like a personal win. And, when I think about it, it really is. In having follow-up appointments with my interviewers, I sometimes learn that I was competing with people who have been working in archives for much longer and have more specialized skills than I do. So making it as far as the interview is already an accomplishment. After several interviews, I have found that the worst thing I can do is start to expect that, once I have landed an interview, I am sure to get the position. When I apply for jobs, I never expect an interview; therefore, when I get an interview, I feel encouraged. If I expected every application to yield an interview, I would be disappointed often. I try to remind myself to take the same approach with interviews. Some will be successful, but many more will not. But I prefer the ego boost of a positive interview to the sense of failure from not getting what I expected.
2. An interview that does not land a job can still be a good thing, especially if you follow up on it. I had an interview that was very positive, made me feel more confident in my abilities, and still did not result in the job. However, I made a follow-up appointment to go over the interview with the interviewer, and I was able to get her insight into my strengths and weaknesses as an interviewee. This information is useful for my next interview. Not only that, following up has kept me on her radar. Future positions can always open up, the person chosen in my place might suddenly leave, and now I have the experience of the interview, useful feedback, and the networking value of staying in touch with a potential employer.
3. Asking questions as an interviewee is a good tactic. My questions at the end of the interview vary, but they often include a few handy generic queries, similar to what I get asked. What are the major long-term goals for this position? What would you say is the biggest challenge a person faces in this position? What will be most rewarding about it? Can you give me examples of institutions whose work you would like to emulate? Many interviewers have responded positively to these questions, and I find that they serve the same purpose for me that they do for the interviewer: If the interviewer responds to my questions with disinterest, has no long-term goals for the position, mentions no real challenges, or has no models for future development, this is probably not a job I would like. At that point, I feel less concerned about whether I get the job.
4. In contract jobs, asking questions is essential. I am finding that contracts with individuals or small groups are a growing work area for archivists, and they are a type of interview where I think I really shine. I can show off my expertise best by asking the interviewer about her specific goals, what she wants the final project to look like, and then tying her responses into my knowledge. Yes, I can see where you want this collection of papers to be easier to search through; here is what I find works best in an archive for that purpose...
The best advice I have in interviewing for positions is not to give up hope. I have had good and bad interviews, landed jobs--especially contract jobs--and not. Every time I have an interview I remind myself that I might not get the job, but I also might. The probability of getting a job might be low for any given interview, but it is already much higher than had I not applied in the first place.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Characters and Self-reflection
The more stories I write, the more I find I am learning about myself. And not only in terms of writing--although I am learning a lot with literally every story I write--but also in terms of how I feel about the world around me. This is something I suspect everyone who writes fiction (or non-fiction, for that matter) has experienced. I have added this to the reasons writing is important to me.
When I develop characters, I have to use some notion of common human experience to create them. If I want to make a character into someone a reader can understand, I have to make that character's reactions to the world around him what, I assume, most people would feel in the same position. The thing is, I am just objective enough when I am wearing my Editor Emil hat that I can read what I have written and recognize that maybe not everyone would feel the same way.
For example, in a recent draft of a story, I have a character motivated by a sense of loss. He has lost a friend because she gained an intense drive to pursue her own goals, without him. (Sorry about the vagueness; this is still a work-in-progress, and I do not want to divulge too many things that might change, should the story ever go anywhere.) This motivates him to go to almost any length to get her back, even if it means destroying her sense of motivation.
For this story to work, a reader would have to sympathize with this character. I figure we can all relate to losing a friend because that friend changes, and the desire to win a friend back for selfish reasons can lead us to sabotage the happiness of others. Those are valid concepts. But the way I wrote the character, I had given him very little that seemed sympathetic, from the outside. From the inside--as I was first drafting the story--he seemed like someone I could be. But with even a modicum of distance, I could see that I had not written a sympathetic character, I had written a selfish jerk that believed himself to be sympathetic. The lesson I think I learned: We can be sympathetic in our own minds even when others would say we look out only for ourselves. Also, it is easier to spot selfishness in others than in oneself.
I should amend what I wrote a moment ago. It is not that writing helps me learn about myself; writing and then editing helps me learn about myself. No matter how much planning and outlining I do, the moment I start writing a first draft of a story always feels like a leap of faith. I worked hard on my notes and then I set them aside and just plunge in, headfirst. So much of what comes out of it is how my experiences say others should act and react, with the assumption that everyone is like me. The real beauty of writing comes in editing and revising, when I can read those barely-conscious thoughts and see what they say about how I respond to the world. My stories can grow from that, and hopefully I can, too.
When I develop characters, I have to use some notion of common human experience to create them. If I want to make a character into someone a reader can understand, I have to make that character's reactions to the world around him what, I assume, most people would feel in the same position. The thing is, I am just objective enough when I am wearing my Editor Emil hat that I can read what I have written and recognize that maybe not everyone would feel the same way.
For example, in a recent draft of a story, I have a character motivated by a sense of loss. He has lost a friend because she gained an intense drive to pursue her own goals, without him. (Sorry about the vagueness; this is still a work-in-progress, and I do not want to divulge too many things that might change, should the story ever go anywhere.) This motivates him to go to almost any length to get her back, even if it means destroying her sense of motivation.
For this story to work, a reader would have to sympathize with this character. I figure we can all relate to losing a friend because that friend changes, and the desire to win a friend back for selfish reasons can lead us to sabotage the happiness of others. Those are valid concepts. But the way I wrote the character, I had given him very little that seemed sympathetic, from the outside. From the inside--as I was first drafting the story--he seemed like someone I could be. But with even a modicum of distance, I could see that I had not written a sympathetic character, I had written a selfish jerk that believed himself to be sympathetic. The lesson I think I learned: We can be sympathetic in our own minds even when others would say we look out only for ourselves. Also, it is easier to spot selfishness in others than in oneself.
I should amend what I wrote a moment ago. It is not that writing helps me learn about myself; writing and then editing helps me learn about myself. No matter how much planning and outlining I do, the moment I start writing a first draft of a story always feels like a leap of faith. I worked hard on my notes and then I set them aside and just plunge in, headfirst. So much of what comes out of it is how my experiences say others should act and react, with the assumption that everyone is like me. The real beauty of writing comes in editing and revising, when I can read those barely-conscious thoughts and see what they say about how I respond to the world. My stories can grow from that, and hopefully I can, too.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Labor Pains
Much mental space is occupied by the assault on labor rights for state workers in Wisconsin this week. I try to muster energy to work on other things, but I have not been able to go for more than 15 minutes without some reminder of the current struggle popping up. It is a passionate issue for people on both sides. My friends and I are mostly state workers and are facing a dearth of job openings in state and are increasingly hoping to leave for greener pastures. (Or at least for pastures where the right to collectively bargain is not stripped away.) Between this, preparing for my baby to be born this spring, and the few job interviews I do have coming up, I am feeling a lot of stress and little relief.
Still, whenever I find just ten minutes to work on writing, I feel much better.
Still, whenever I find just ten minutes to work on writing, I feel much better.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Smith, Jobs, and Boris
Today was a generally good day. I started out with a book of Clark Ashton Smith's short stories at one of my favorite cafes. I had not read "The Enchantress of Sylaire" before and was pleasantly surprised by its ending. Always a good start to a day.
I also continued apace on several archival collections. For the past week or so I have been working on smaller collections of short films distributed through mail companies, such as Castle Films. Some of these were excerpted from larger features--as in the abridgments of Universal horror movies--and some were created exclusively for the home viewer. They were the precursor to home video and represent a world of film creation and consumption that is all too seldom considered today. I am excited to get the finding aids for the collections out for public consumption.
I also got positive news on anther job application, with an interview to come later this week or early next week. It would be a part-time cataloging job, for nearly twice the pay of my current positions. In these days of considerable budget cuts for Wisconsin state workers, that could be a significant boost.
And now, I have several discs of Thriller to enjoy. (This is the Boris Karloff 1960s Thriller, not to be confused with the British 1970s Thriller.) Having the chance to at last see the full sweep of the series is interesting; when I was younger a few key episodes alone were available of VHS: "The Grim Reaper," "The Incredible Doctor Markesan," but curiously enough, not the most famous episode, "Pigeons From Hell." (That's right, from the Robert E. Howard short story.) Now I have finally seen the episode I heard about since I was quite young, my dad's favorite. In fact, a comparison of the episode and the short story might make an interesting future topic. But for now, back to Thriller...
I also continued apace on several archival collections. For the past week or so I have been working on smaller collections of short films distributed through mail companies, such as Castle Films. Some of these were excerpted from larger features--as in the abridgments of Universal horror movies--and some were created exclusively for the home viewer. They were the precursor to home video and represent a world of film creation and consumption that is all too seldom considered today. I am excited to get the finding aids for the collections out for public consumption.
I also got positive news on anther job application, with an interview to come later this week or early next week. It would be a part-time cataloging job, for nearly twice the pay of my current positions. In these days of considerable budget cuts for Wisconsin state workers, that could be a significant boost.
And now, I have several discs of Thriller to enjoy. (This is the Boris Karloff 1960s Thriller, not to be confused with the British 1970s Thriller.) Having the chance to at last see the full sweep of the series is interesting; when I was younger a few key episodes alone were available of VHS: "The Grim Reaper," "The Incredible Doctor Markesan," but curiously enough, not the most famous episode, "Pigeons From Hell." (That's right, from the Robert E. Howard short story.) Now I have finally seen the episode I heard about since I was quite young, my dad's favorite. In fact, a comparison of the episode and the short story might make an interesting future topic. But for now, back to Thriller...
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