Casey: 30 Years Later

 In the middle of photo above is actress Beverly Bonner playing the prostitute "Casey" in Frank Henenlotter's cult fave, Basket Case; Ms. Bonner's appeared in nearly all of Henenlotter's films. Recently, she was in Pittsburgh at the Hollywood Theater screening of Basket Case to premiere a new one-act play she's written called Casey: 30 Years Later. The event was sponsored by the imaginative and fun staff of Pittsburgh's Horror Realm convention.

 The premise is that Casey, even brassier and sassier than in her youth, now runs a call girl service for elderly hookers, and is visited by a young journalist who wants to interview her about the people--including the monstrous Belial--seen in the cult movie. (Belial, as it turns out, didn't die.) The show blurred the line between the world of the fictional Basket Case and the world of fans of the film, winkingly raising the idea that the movie was a documentary!

Belial!

 Like the Henenlotter universe it sprang from, Casey: 30 Years Later was crass and tasteless.

And like Frank's films, it was also very funny! I laughed so hard at one point the row in front of me jumped--but they were laughing, too. I thought this was a smart event--more than a personal appearance of an actor at a film showing, this extended the movie's story. Henenlotter gave Ms. Bonner his blessing for the show because he enjoys her comedic talent. It was amply on display here, as she added bits of spur-of-the-moment improv that made the sketch funnier, such as when her costume threatened to malfunction during a cross! I also noticed that Ms. Bonner had written in a few of her better jokes from her stand-up act. (As a guy who supports recycling, I like it when material is saved from a data dump! I do it here all the time!)

Some lines were funny because they were sudden and surprising, and played almost like non-sequiturs. A sample, referring to Belial: "He's ugly as hell, but he knows how to handle a breast."

Beverly Bonner and co-star Michael Varrati on the "set" for Casey: 30 Years Later.

 Sadly, equipment  failure ended the movie halfway through the screening, but because Ms. Bonner's act followed the film, "Casey" saved the day!

Prior to the screening was an appearance by talented comic artist and writer, Joshua Emerick. Basket Case has been turned into a comic strip published monthly in the venerable horror mag, Fangoria, and Emerick is the man behind the art and text new feature. He spoke about his love of the film, how Henenlotter was at first afraid to consider the idea (Frank's now enthusiastically involved, suggesting ideas) and how his three year old daughter loves watching the original Basket Case with him. (!)

 With Emerick was the comic's colorist, Eric Kochanski.

Beverly Bonner, Joshua Emerick, and Eric Kochanski

 The host of the evening was Horror Realm's Barnabus Bailey. Below is Barnabus with actor and film blogger Michael Varrati. In his online film appreciation column, Varrati nails Henenlotter as being like a "12 year-old boy [who] finds the most disgusting things endlessly amusing." (Well, I never grew up either.)

   Also in attendance was genre film reviewer and historian Tim Gross, who has long championed Basket Case as under-appreciated. I think cult horror fans agree!

Barnabus Bailey and Tim Gross.

The folks of Horror Realm asked me to interview Bev Bonner and Michael Varrati after the play, and it was a delight and a privilege.Ms. Bonner and Michael Varrati each talked about working with one of John Waters' recurring performers--Divine and Mink Stole, respectively--and reported that neither was anything like the loud, impulsive, vulgar screen characters they played. Ms. Bonner and Michael Varrati similarly agreed that for themselves as performers, outre material was more involving than any classic dramatic fare they've done.

Ms. Bonner, who studied at the National Academy of Dramatic Arts, said it had not prepared her for the phoniness and blandness of the Hollywood entertainment industry, and she far preferred to stay in New York.

Above, left to right: Max the DSH, Barnabus Bailey, Eric Kochanski, Beverly Bonner, Sandy Stuhlfire of Horror Realm, and Michael Varrati.

A lighted birthday cake was brought out at the end for Ms. Bonner to make a wish on. Ms. Bonner says she wants to present Casey: 30 Years Later at horror cons around the country, and I hope she gets that wish!

TOO MANY CREEPS: FINALE

ACT THREE-- THE OFFICE, THE NEXT DAY

THE OFFICE, THE NEXT DAY. Alex slumps on the couch, annotating a script. Ed has his feet propped on the desk, wearing his Angora sweater.

ALEX: Maybe if we had a scene between the young cop and the inspector. Same sets.

ED: You sure you don’t mind?

ALEX: The Angora? What does it matter now? (Ed folds his arms, trying to take some comfort.) Ted Allen was willing to put up half on Lugosi’s name alone. We should call. (Ed languidly picks up the receiver, clicks the switch-hook, and hangs up.) The pay phone at the drug store still works.

ED: Only if you’ve got a nickel. (Kenny Hyman enters.)

KENNY: ’Morning, guys. Guess your phone’s still out. You should complain.

ED: Complaints are Alex’s department.

KENNY: Wow. Nice sweater.

ED: It’s Angora. I got it from my mother.

KENNY: Was she a goat? Sorry. Kidding. Oh, “kidding,” that’s just as bad.

ALEX: Mr. Hyman, you have no idea how bad we feel.

ED: We’re abashed at the abjectness of the debacle. In spades.

KENNY: Er… right.

ALEX: We’ve wasted your time. I hope we can make up for that somehow. Coffee?

KENNY: I told dad about last night. We don’t think this is right for Allied Artists.

ED: Oh, God. It’s all my fault.

ALEX: Things just got out of hand. Too many cooks.

KENNY: Sorry I left, but Dad’s in New York three hours ahead, and I had to tell him--

ALEX: It was all just too-too, really. If we had time to arrange things better --

ED: Don’t, Alex, it’s my fault. I should’ve known.

KENNY: What are you two talking about?

ED: How screwed up we made things go.

KENNY: I thought it was a riot. I told Dad what a cast we’d assembled, what a show, and we ended up laughing and talking for two hours. (Alex stands immobile with the cup of coffee. Kenny takes it, quite animated.) Now Allied makes maybe two big pictures a year, otherwise it’s all low-end programmers. That, and they want sixty percent from dollar one. We could put all our eggs in one basket, but let’s think substitutes. You got other scripts?

ALEX: Well…King Robot, where we’d use Bela’s shots from the English comedy.

KENNY: Let’s skip that part. What kind of story is it?

ALEX: Like Donovan’s Brain. Scientist puts a gangster’s brain in an atomic robot.

KENNY: Good. Chaney’d make a good gangster. What else?

ED: The Ghoul Goes West. Mad scientist in the old west makes zombies. The sheriff--

KENNY: Who would you see as the good guy, the cowboy?

ED: Well, I happen to know Bob Steele in person--

KENNY: Well-- no. Nobody knows Bob Steele. What about Roy Rogers?

ALEX: I was head of Gene Autry’s English fan club. I could ask--

KENNY: Good. The title’s cutesy-wootsy. Audience might think it’s a comedy.

ALEX: It’s a pun on The Ghost Goes West, the Rene Clair film, 1939--

KENNY: Yeah, yeah,, I get it, I just don’t like it.

ED: Ken, it’s hard to be enthusiastic when we’ve had the wool rug pulled from underneath ourselves on the floor. You said you’re not taking the film to Allied Artists.

KENNY: Yeah, they’re too small. We’re thinking UA instead, as negative pick-ups. We do all finance and have total control, they just distribute. And they need product.

ALEX: This sounds better than just one picture-- but I didn’t think the reading went--

KENNY: The reading? No, Jesus, it was a disaster! But you know the old saying-- bad rehearsal, good performance. Perfect rehearsal, you end up with Flop City.

ED: This is beyond the periphery of our original perimeter of a Karloff-Lugosi film.

KENNY: You said it, pal. Whatever you said. Look… (puts his arm around their shoulders) … just between us girls, my dad knows that horror pictures are coming back.

ALEX: Does he have a crystal ball?

KENNY: Better. A friend at Universal. They’re so strapped they’re selling off all their old monster pictures to Columbia Television. The deal may not close for a year or two, but when it does, wham! They’ll be box office gold again, Karloff, Chaney, all of ’em.

ED: And we’ll be sitting on a string of pictures ready to shoot. It’s perfect!

KENNY: Imagine all those guys in your pictures. Play mix’n’match.

ALEX: There’s a reincarnation idea--Peter Lorre as the hypnotist? Those eyes? And Carradine as the skeptical doctor who investigates him?

ED: Mr. Chaney has a script called The Gila Man that he personally wrote himself.

KENNY: Healer Man? What, like a doctor story, hospitals?

ED: No, Gila-- hee-la-- like a Gila monster. Like the Wolf Man, only a lizard-man.

KENNY: Oh, I can see that playing in drive-ins. Hey, I had this idea. What do you think? It’s Victorian London. Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes--

ALEX: I think he’s done it once or twice already--

KENNY: Exactly. He thinks it’s Jack the Ripper, but there’s these bloodless corpses --

ED: It’s Count Dracula!

KENNY: Exactly! And it’s Boris Karloff!

ALEX: You mean Bela Lugosi.

KENNY: No, no, I mean Karloff. Think about it. In the book, he’s a white-haired geezer with a mustache. Dark brows, sinister. A completely different take.

ALEX: Yes, but Dracula’s really Bela’s part.

KENNY: Forget nostalgia a minute. Carradine did it, Chaney. Why not Karloff?

ED: Why not? Orson Welles played Dracula and he didn’t look anything like Lugosi.

ALEX: No-- because that was on the radio.

ED: Yeah, well… he didn’t sound like him, either!

KENNY: With Karloff, darken up his hair, presto, he’ll look fifty. He grows younger when he drinks blood. That’s the horror of Dracula. (hits him) Wow. What a good title.

ALEX: Bela could appear younger in make-up, too.

KENNY: That might be a little harder… but think of the old switcheroo. What if Lugosi plays, oh-- the expert, the doctor who helps Sherlock Holmes.

ALEX: Dr. Watson? I scarcely think his accent --

KENNY: No, Van Helsing. People expect him as the vampire, he’s actually a good guy.

ALEX: He might be concerned about playing second banana.

KENNY: Frankly, I’m concerned about Mr. Lugosi. Did you guys see that last Laurel and Hardy film, the French one?. Atoll K, Autopia, or Utopia-- whatever it was called.

ALEX: Oh, dear, Hardy looked so-o-o fat, and Stanley looks positively skeletal.

KENNY: Unh-huh , like he vacationed in Auschwitz. It ruined the film for me, I couldn’t laugh. Plus I think Mr. Lugosi might not pass an insurance physical.

ALEX: He says he’s ready to work. Healthy. I believe him.

KENNY: Honestly? He looks, well… kinda scary.

ALEX: Well, it is a horror film, after all…

KENNY: But there’s movie scary and there’s reality. People don’t want to think about real death, or age, or sickness… it’s as if you actually saw a photograph of FDR in a wheelchair, y’know? It makes you… uncomfortable.

ED: So we concentrate on other projects for a while?

KENNY: A few months, till he looks healthier. (heads for door) Think long-term, okay?

ED: Long-term-- how long in the long term?

KENNY: Once we get started-- if this takes off the way we think it will-- we’ll be making these things for years, three or four a year. You’ll be set. All I ask is that you guys keep coming up with those ideas. Call me. As soon as your phone works. (With a wave, he’s off. Ed sits on the edge of the desk, a bit smug.)

ALEX: Eddie. (No response. Alex crosses to him.)

ED: I’m taking a moment to contemplate the infinite possibilities of the twists and turns of the reality of consciousness.

ALEX: Fine, there’s a moment. Now let’s talk.

ED: It’s only just what we’ve always wanted forever. That’s all. Making real movies.

ALEX: This is out of hand. We’ve lost control of this project. It was supposed to be you and me, making a picture with Karloff and Lugosi.

ED: He appreciates our ideas. This is the opportunity of the postman knocking twice.

ALEX: Boris Karloff as Dracula?

ED: Remember on Jail Bait? We wrote it for Bela, he got sick, we got Herbert Rawlinson, he was fine. Of course, then he died, but the show must go on.

ALEX: Bela has nobody else. He’s counting on us.

ED: Yes! He has confidence, and so should you. We’re going to be in a position to help him. To hire him for a real movie. Maybe lots of movies.

ALEX: He thinks we’re going to start a movie. This big plan may not happen for weeks, maybe months-- maybe a couple years! Were you listening?

ED: Yes. And I heard exactly what I wanted to hear. Someone who knows of which he speaks, says that you and I are talented humans.

ALEX: Eddie, just yesterday, your new best friend said your script stunk to high heaven.

ED: Bygones under the bridge, my dear Alex. I’m with him one hundred percent.

ALEX: I can’t do this to Bela, Eddie. You’re ready to sell him out.

ED: No. I’m going to sell myself out so that I can help him. And everybody else.

ALEX: Convince yourself of that. (Kenny opens the door.)

KENNY: I forget the weirdest part. Dad’s got an English company that can do the below the line for a fraction of what we could do it for here. They’ve done sci-fi, mysteries, and they’ve got some great directors. One of them was even the guy who directed that Old Mother Riley thing with Lugosi. How about that? (Kenny looks at Ed and Alex. There’s a long silence.) We discussed this. You said you agreed.

ED: What-- that I have to drink tea?

KENNY: No, umm... consider having somebody else direct the films.

ED: Well, but-- it's my picture...

KENNY: I know. But if we get financing, they-- the banks, the government, whatever-- they’ll want somebody else, if it's a co-production. We'd have to have English directors. (Ed starts to catch on-- and he's flummoxed.) It's a compromise. But we adjust, take a step to the side, and go forward.

ED: But...

KENNY: They’ll still be your scripts. And you'd work with me making them, and we’ll have Karloff and Lugosi and Chaney and whoever we want.

ED: Well, what we don’t shoot in England?

KENNY: I just want you to consider that possibility.

ED: Well, I wrote the script ’cause I wanna make it.

ALEX: Mr. Hyman, you understand how Ed feels.

KENNY: I know, and I don't want to upset the apple cart, but think in the long term----

ALEX: It's been his baby, but what he wants is to make a good film--

KENNY: Yes. A real movie. Movies. Lots of them. And down the line, it's a chance for Mr. Lugosi, too. A comeback. I've always been a fan. As long as we all understand.

ALEX: Eddie’s with you a hundred percent. He told me. Anything to get them done. (Ed nods sullenly. Kenny heads for the door.)

KENNY: Got time for lunch? I want to talk about that gangster robot idea. (Ed waves them off, shaking his head. Alex crosses to exit with Kenny.) What about Brod Crawford or Larry Tierney as the big boss, hmm? (They close the door. Ed looks around, scuffing his shoe.)

ED: Might not be so bad… one thing leads to another… you never know… (A KNOCK. Ed smirks in triumph.) Back to change your mind again, eh? (He opens the door-- the Cab Driver.) I know, fare from La Brea, four seventy-five.

CAB DRIVER: Actually, the meter says fifty-five fifty, but I’ll round it off to fifty bucks. (Ed looks out the door-- nobody there.)

ED: Fifty bucks?!? Where the hell did you take him -- Montana? (The Cab Driver calmly closes the door.)

CAB DRIVER: Around. I seen the ol’ man walkin’, asked him if he needed a lift, and we drove out to the valley, some place out near Universal.

ED: North Hollywood? He used to live out there.

CAB DRIVER: So he said. They was tearin’ it down for apartments. So we bought some beer and just cruised-- on the meter. (The Cab Driver pulls a headshot from his jacket, goes to lay it on the desk.) Your pal said I should drop this off. Anyways, he was happy and tellin’ stories, and we drove into the Hollywood hills, to another old place.

ED: Up on Outpost Drive?

CAB DRIVER: Like a castle. Family lets us in, they’re tickled. He looks around, makes with some compliments, we beat it. He starts talkin’ about some guy named Wally Ford, gettin’… emotional. I figure I oughta get ’im here quick.

ED: Uh-oh. Why? Was he mad?

CAB DRIVER: No. Real quiet. He just kept sayin’, “It’s too late.” Did he… have an appointment with ya or somethin’?

ED (goes to the window to look out): Where is he?

CAB DRIVER: Sittin’ in the cab. You want I should get him? (Bela opens the door, composed and business-like.)

BELA: My friend-- you have a potential customer at the curb. I asked them to please wait for you.

CAB DRIVER: Good, I need the dough. Hey, about the fare-- look, skip it. Just gimme a call when you guys make a picture, huh? See ya, pal.

BELA: Good-bye. And don’t forget: Wallace Ford. (The Cab Driver exits. Ed looks at Bela quizzically.) Do you know of the actor Wally Ford?

ED: Sure, fast-talking sorta New York guy.

BELA: Actually from London, but he makes an excellent Brooklyn accent. We made pictures together, a long time ago. Cheap, terrible. One week, maybe ten day schedule.

ED: He played the cab driver in Harvey, with Jimmy Stewart.

BELA: Precisely. The big rabbit. With one scene, Wally was nearly nominated for an Academy Award. Nice guy. So I told my new friend, never give up. You pray to God and believe in yourself… or maybe other way around… maybe fate is kind. (Bela eases onto the couch, looks up at the Dr. Voodoo poster, then at Ed.) So … on the level… what gives?

ED: I’ve been thinking… maybe alphabetical isn’t fair after all.

BELA: I don’t care. Just tell me the truth.

ED: I do care. It’s important to me. Wait. (Ed goes to the desk and dials a number.) This won’t take long.

BELA: I expect not. Sometimes you are a fast talker.

ED (on phone): Hello, Ken? Ed Wood. I’ve been considering Dr. Voodoo, and Lugosi’s name has to go first. No, never mind alphabetical, we wrote it for him, and Bela is Dr. Voodoo. (Bela looks at the Dr. Voodoo poster with a wry grin.) No, I don’t care what the others say. We can do the picture without them, but we can’t do it without Bela. Well, go ahead, think about it, but it’s a deal-breaker. It’s final. (He hangs up. Lugosi turns, bows politely.)

BELA: Impressive. I hope you realize, you had a bird in the hand… and you crushed it.

ED: Yes, I… had to. It was best… for everybody.

BELA: Decidedly. Eddie, if we do this picture--

ED: Oh, we will, guaranteed.

BELA: In any case… since the part is a maniacal mesmerist, which would you prefer I use? The Dracula movement, like drawing the mind, a psychic puppet-master…(His arm snakes out, his fingers twisting into a familiar curl.) Or the White Zombie gesture, symbolic of a soul bound into submission…? (His hands slide together, fingers interlaced, thumbs arching tightly together.)

ED: Either… but I like the White Zombie pose. It’s less familiar.

BELA: Theatrical, I know. But I think either would look more impressive than reality. I don’t know if people would believe a man can fall into a deep trance at the word gorilla. (Ed’s eyes instantly close and his head sags to the side.) Sit up. Now… you will tell me the truth.

ED: Truth… the truth is… I have a fetish for women’s clothes. I love the feel of silk undies and angora next to my skin.

BELA: Not that! I know that! How long has your phone been out of order?

ED: Since yesterday. I couldn’t pay the bill.

BELA: What did Kenneth Hyman say to you?

ED: We can do a bunch of horror pictures, but I can’t direct them and we won’t be starting for months or even years. No promises. And we probably won’t use Lugosi. (Bela turns, considering this.)

BELA: I can twist your mind to make you believe you are more talented than Alfred Hitchcock …and that you should hire me for every picture that you ever make. (He looks at the wide-eyed Ed Wood, shaking his head softly.) But it would only be Lugosi talking to himself. (He goes to Ed, nose to nose.) Look into my eyes. I command you… to do what is fair… to do what you must. You shall never give up.

ED: Never give up.

BELA: Close your eyes. I will awaken you on the count of three, and you shall forget you were ever hypnotized. One. Two. Three. (Bela snaps his fingers. Ed’s eyes pop open.)

ED: The White Zombie pose. It’s less familiar.

BELA: Very good. I shall use that in our next picture.

ED: Great, and maybe we’ll put Dr. Voodoo aside. Let Karloff get his own jobs.

BELA: He seems to have no problem doing that.

ED: I’ve got that mad doctor script Alex and I wrote for you. We might be able to get half the financing, so at least we could start.

BELA (crosses to door): If that is to be… it is to be.

ED (follows): Bela, all that mesmerism stuff? I was never really in a trance. I was just pretending. For you.

BELA: I know, my friend. The Hindus call it Maya -- a mutual illusion. All this…it is all illusion. We are all in a racket of pretending.

ED: But we are gonna make movies, I promise. I wanna make movies in the worst way.

BELA: I know you will do exactly that. You now will do the best you can do. And perhaps, now… you are the best I can do. You have my number. And one last thing…

ED: Anything. What?

BELA: Elephant. (Ed’s arm hand shoots up. Puzzled, he looks at it, then at Bela.) Your arm is in the air. Does that seem odd to you?

ED: No, not at all.

BELA: Good. Gorilla! (Ed’s head lolls onto his shoulder. With a chuckle, Bela closes the door.)

CURTAIN

TOO MANY CREEPS: Part Five

ED (an unsubtle hint): Gosh, with all this talent in one room, we oughta do something.

PETER: You’ve actually got a point. Never mind dis horror crap. Why don’t we do something worthwhile for a change? Like Laughton does with Don Juan in Hell?

BORIS: You mean, something presentational--

PETER: Sure. We read poetry, talk about the great bad guys in literature and history --

BELA: In my stage act, I read a dramatic version of Edgar Allan Poe’s Tell-Tale Heart.

PETER: See! So did I! Now, dat’s de idea! Rasputin, Jack the Ripper --

BORIS: Maybe Bluebeard, even Sweeney Todd and his meat pies--

JOHN: Don’t forget the classics. Humpback Richard the Third, Iago--

BORIS: We’d need no sets or costumes, just a couple of podiums--

PETER: Exactly why I like it. No heavy lifting.

LON: I could do Of Mice and Men! (in character) “I like beans wif ketchup on ’em!”

BELA: We could show to the audience real acting. No mumbling and torn T-shirts.

LON: I done it on stage, too, y’know, with Wally Ford. (in character again) “Aw, tell me again about the rabbits, George.”

BORIS: Peter, you’ve hit upon an fascinating concept.

BELA: The masters of the macabre-- in an evenink-- of mys--tery…!

LON: “But I petted it too hard and it died, George.”

PETER: Okay, okay, you can do Lennie. Jesus Christ. (Lon grins, his head bobbing happily.)

ED: That’s all well and good, but-- let’s get down to the business at hand--

BELA: Yes, we have to try to pay some bills. (Peter’s enthusiasm instantly cools. It’s too good an idea.)

PETER: Yeah. Right. Some other time… well, back to latrine duty.

JOHN: If I may. (regally takes center stage) My fellow thespians and I are part of a glorious tradition. The mantle we wear is the heritage of Burbidge, Keane, Irving. Our sacred duty is to bring to life the concepts of the great writers. It is our signal privilege down through the ages to be allowed to declaim the dreams and aspirations of mankind. It is an honor that we accept with heartfelt gratitude. Thank you.

PETER: What does that have to do with this script?

JOHN: Nothing. I just felt like giving a speech. (Bela and Boris start to rise, but Ed gestures them to sit down.)

ED: Let’s save the best for last-- that is, we need to set the mood-- some exposition… Mr. Lorre, Mr. Carradine? The sheriff and Boronski…? (Script in hand, Peter ambles over to John’s side.)

PETER: How do you want us to play this?

ED: A mood of prolific tension, underlying undertones of sinister undercurrents, like Orson Welles’ movie The Stranger. (Peter and John look at each other blankly.)

JOHN: Fast. Front Page. Throwaways.

PETER: Overlapping? Fine. You got the first line. (Ed rushes across to fetch a script from the desk. John waves him off.)

ED: Oh, you’ll need a script.

JOHN: Nah, I’ve read the scene.

ED: Oh. All right, then… I guess… action… !

JOHN: “Seen you a lot the past few days, mister. Hear tell you’re askin’ a lot of questions. Writin’ a book or something?”

PETER: “Or something. A bit of a mystery, actually.”

JOHN: “Look here, stranger, we’ve had strange trouble these past few weeks and, well, strangers stand out like strange sore thumbs.”

PETER (out of character): Oh, now come on, is dat really the line?

JOHN (out of character): Word for word what it says in the script.

BORIS: I’m afraid he’s right, Peter. Carry on.

PETER: “Confidentially, I’m not a reporter. My true mission is… rather confidential. I recognize in you the air of the Sureté and Scotland Yard. I’ll bet you’re the local cop?”

JOHN: “Constable Dexter Young at your service. Nothing gets past me”

PETER: “I can see dat native intelligence glimmering in your eyes.” (Lon grins, then whispers in Glenn’s ear. The two big guys start giggling.)

PETER: “Obviously. Den I can confide in you. I’m actually an agent of Interpol, on the trail of -- “ (turns to Lon and Glenn) What the hell is bugging you guys back there?

GLENN: It ain’t nothin’-- just-- Lon said--(The big galoot tries to keep a straight face. Lon nudges him in the ribs and they both collapse in giggles again.)

JOHN: Well? Wanna let us in on the joke?

LON: I jus’ said, you two -- side by side--standin’ together, y’ look like the number 10! (They guffaw. Peter and John look at each other… (he’s right)… and move apart.)

PETER: How very observant.

ED: We cut to our juvenile delinquents, but since we don’t have an actor for the hero--

BELA: What about Angelo? He can read.

ED: Okay… and I can do the girl’s part…

ANGIE: Aww, nuts to that.

LON: Wait, what about Bubble Butt here? (He nudges the Reporter to her feet. With trepidation, she follows Angelo as he waddles front and center with a script. She reads off his copy of the script.)

ANGIE: “Hey, baby, gimme another one of those rock’n’roll kisses, the kind men like!” (He offers his cheek for her. As she bends down to kiss it, he turns his face and gives her a full kiss right on the lips-- and holds on for dear life.)

LON: Hey, what is this, a French picture?

REPORTER (dazed): “I bet the boys in the locker room would love to do that.”

JOHN: Do what, kiss a midget? What kind of locker room is it, the YMCA?

ANGIE: “That’s for my lips and your ears only, Shirley. It’s you and me against the square world from here on, now that we’ve eloped.” Hubba-hubba. Man, I like this part!

ED: Remember, you’re in a car. Miss, scooch down a bit. Angie, one arm around her. (Script in hand, Angie pretends he’s driving, reading the script as his “steering arm” moves back and forth. The Reporter squats uncomfortably.)

REPORTER: “This shortcut seems like a long cut. It’s so dark. Better use two hands.”

ANGIE: “I need one to drive!”

REPORTER: “Oh, you’re always kidding. That must be why I love you, that and your leather jacket. Oh, what’s that in the road? A head?” Eeuuw, really? A head?!

ED: No, that’s a mis-print. It should be “What’s that in the road ahead?”

REPORTER: Oh, sorry, I see. “In the road ahead.”

ANGIE: “I saw it too, but I don’t believe my own eyes or yours! Uh-oh, look out!”

ED: And they crash and tumble over each other. (Enthusiastically, Angie tackles the Reporter, who falls unceremoniously on her butt. The little guy is crawling all over her. She scrambles to her feet.)

ANGIE: Hey, I never get a chance at this stuff. Can we get Debra Paget as my girl?

REPORTER: Better her than me!

KENNY: That’s not a half-bad idea. Debra Paget--!

PETER: Oh, who gives a shit about Debra Paget?

ALEX: She’s in all the movie magazines.

PETER: People who read that stuff think it’s the epitome of glamour to wear lipstick and a dress. Nothing personal, Mr. Wood.

ED: Nothing wrong with lipstick and a dress. Okay, they come across the deformed Karloff, who leads them to the old, dark house of Dr. Varno, who he’s been looking for all these years. Bela, Boris, page fifteen? (Boris rises gamely, moves to center-stage with Bela.)

BORIS: Here comes the heavy… ! (He and Bela stand side by side, both with their glasses, professional and serious.)

ED: Okay, you haven’t seen in each other in years.

BORIS: I think we’ve got the idea, Mr. Wood.

ED: Guess so. And-- Action!

BELA: “Lobo, close the door. Now I shall open the cranium, and insert the radioactive isotope. Bring me a scalpel and the Gigli saw.”

BORIS: “There’s no Lobo here, Dr. Varno. Just me!”

ED: He turns on the lights-- and-- the big reveal!

BELA: “Wha--! Bateman! And your face… so gloriously grotesque!”

BORIS: “Your handiwork, doctor. All those years, with this face… people starin’ atcha’, thinkin’ you’re different… little kids seein’ you and screaming… what d’ya think that does to a man’s soul, doctor? And all ’cause of you.”

BELA: “Yes, Bateman. But wait! I can change that. By combining voodoo black magic with the power of the atom, I can do anything…!”

BORIS: “Doctor, I am your past… and your past has just caught up with you.”

BELA: “All these years, I waited, knowing you would hunt me, laying a trap for you!”

BORIS: “No, I haven’t. I have remained alive.”

BELA: “Alone… in secret… waiting…”

BORIS: “You wouldn’t dare, not now!” (out of character) I don’t think this is making a great deal of sense, do you? (They look at each other, then huddle together, looking at each other’s scripts.)

BELA: You must be on the wrong page. My line is “Alone, in secret, waiting.”

BORIS: That’s the next page… all right. (reading) “Now, through the war-torn world, I crawled through the slime to avenge myself upon the instrument of my destiny.” Whew.

BELA: “Without a doubt. Now we shall see who shall live and who shall die.”

BORIS: “In Europe, Asia, wherever there was a battlefield, wherever there was death!”

BELA: “Never. I shall always keep it.”

BORIS: “Under a rock, or outside your front door.”

BELA: “And when did you expect it?”

BORIS: “She screamed-- and ran. That was the last.”

BELA: You have the wrong script.

BORIS: One of us does, at any rate. (Ed dashes over, checks the scripts, and substitutes his for Bela’s.)

ED: Sorry. Page seventeen.

KENNY: That was one of your scenes, Ed?

ED: Yes. From the top of the page, please.

BORIS: “You… could give me my life back…?”

BELA: “Yes, and I will… but you must help me. Only then shall I reward you.”

BORIS: “I don’t like it… I hate it! But… I’ll help…”

ED: Great. Mr. Lorre, you’re up. Page twenty. (As Peter approaches Bela:)

PETER: “Oh, good evening, Dr. Varno. Lovely place you have here, I made myself at home. Perhaps you don’t recall me… Boronski?”

BELA: “Of the secret police. How could I forget my old colleague… who betrayed me, who would rather save his own career than help a friend.”

PETER: “Forgive dat slight indiscretion. Dere’s not much time and much to discuss.”

BELA: “Eight years in a frozen prison camp… my life’s work stolen… and now, exile. Oh, yes, we have much to discuss.”

PETER: “Yes, but now, we have the possibility of realizing your dream… our dream.”

BELA: “But here, Boronski, I am not without friends.” (Boris creeps up behind Peter and puts him in an arm lock.)

BORIS: “Gotcha! Do you want me to kill ’im? Twist his neck til the head snaps off?”

PETER: “Hey! Let me go! My God--- this son of a bitch looks like Boris Karloff!” (The spectators laugh. Ed seems a little flustered.)

ED: Okay, Boronski turns out to be a Commie spy, and they’re going to take over the world, but the monster’s escaped the castle again. (He gestures to Peter and Bela, who assume their positions.)

BELA: “Tell me where the monster is.” (Peter rises, walking down-stage, he script hanging at his side. He puffs on his cigarette absently. Has he heard his cue? It’s hard to say.)

BELA (prompting): “Tell me where the monster is.”

PETER: Better you should ask, who is the monster? (darkly) Oh, the killer, sure… he’s a monster because he does bad things… but he’s just a tool… who’s de real monster? (Alex looks at Eddie, who flips his script pages, points at the script, and shrugs.) The one who conceives the evil, profits from it, then sleeps like a baby. (Kenny Hyman sits up, mesmerized by Peter. Boris sighs.)

BELA (insistently): “Tell me where the monster is.”

PETER: Not far. He is never far away, is he? He’s with us every moment-- ready to spring. Or just look de other way when someone needs our help.

BORIS: Peter, we need to get back to the script.

PETER: Hm? You want me to do the script, old boy? (shrugs, glances at his script)

BORIS: Yes, just say the lines and let’s get on with it.

BELA (one more time): “Tell me where the monster is.”

PETER (reads, disinterested): “Oh, he’s out on the moor. Hunting.”

BELA: “Hun-tink! Ex--cellent!” (Bela sits down. Peter goes to the refreshment table, joined by Kenny.)

KENNY: I really liked that improvisation.

PETER: We did a lot of dat in Berlin in the old days.

KENNY: We ought to think about adding it.

ED: Well, that role is-- I mean, this is -- Bela and Boris-- they’re the stars--

KENNY: Sure, but if we’ve got Mr. Lorre, you ought to maximum his abilities.

ED: I’ll… contemplate a rewritten revision… Okay, the boy and girl end up out in the woods, they see a distorted shadow, and hear a terrifying noise! (Lon belches loudly.) Pretty close. Mr. Strange, could I get a monster growl?

GLENN (growls): How’s that?

LON: Hell, I can do better’n’ that. (growls louder)

ED: Good. We need somebody to scream--

LON: Here y’go! (Lon lifts the Reporter by the waist and hauls her front & center. She squeals. While Ed “directs” her; Lon grabs his Wolf Man mask and slips it over his head.)

ED: You’re terrified beyond all possible circumstance, surrounded by monsters! (She screams-- it’s half-hearted to say the least. Behind her, Lon gooses her with a GROWL-- she “screams” again-- but it’s still pretty lame.)

REPORTER: Sorry… I’m not really an actress. (John sweeps downstage--blocking her, his back to audience-- and whips open his overcoat like a flasher. She belts out a shocked shriek and runs out the door.)

JOHN (returns to his chair, satisfied.): Gets ’em every time.

ED: Okay, Bela, Boris, Mr. Lorre, page eighty-one.

PETER: I thought Boris killed me off already.

ED: No, no, he just scared you. You’ve thrown in with him, lurking in the background.

PETER (sighs): Okay. Lurking is so complicated. (They stand where they are, delivering the lines.)

BELA: “My conception is almost achieved! A new super-science that surpasses all predecessors! This puny town-- then the whole world-- shall transform into soulless, mindless automatons, obeying every suggestion I send to their minds!”

PETER: Republicans, huh?

BELA: “I can accomplish this atomic miracle-- but I need more time!”

PETER: “We need a diversion. I have an idea. Continue your experiment, Dr. Varno. I’ll be gone for a few hours… laying a trail…”

BORIS: “What’re you gonna do? There’ve been too many innocent people hurt already -- and that poor girl… she was nice to me…”

BELA: “That is none of your concern. Get back to the control! I warn you-- go!”(Excitedly, Ed runs to the desk to fetch a script for John.)

ED: Page eighty-eight, the constable, Boronski, and Willie the handyman-- (He runs over to John with the script, who waves him away again.)

JOHN: I read it, let’s just do it. “I’d never believe it, but it must be actual fact.” (Ed makes a U-turn, reading along through the script as they perform:)

PETER: “It’s your duty. Facts don’t lie, do they, Constable?”

JOHN: “No, sir. It all points to Willie, plain as day.”

PETER: “You don’t expect any difficulty, do you?”

JOHN: “Naw, he’s just like a big overgrown kid.” (Lon limps--in character--up to join them.)

LON: “Oh, hiya, Constable. What’sa matter?”

JOHN: “You been bad, Willie. You done those murders, no use denyin’ it.”

LON: “Aw, no, I didn’t do those things, Constable. I told ya, I never done nuthin’ bad.”

JOHN: “Willie, you done it and you’re goin’ to jail.”

LON: “No! That ain’t fair! It’s a lie!”

JOHN: “Come on. I’m lockin’ you where you belong--“

LON: “No! You ain’t puttin’ me in there again!”

(Lon brutally grabs John by the collar really throttles him. John flails flamboyantly-- then panics, realizing Lon is serious. Peter starts to swat Lon, but gets swiped to the floor, back-armed by the out-of-control Lon. Peter, in turn, knocks little Angie back, behind the desk. Bela goes to Angie. The group reacts, concerned. Glenn lurches into the fray and jerks Lon’s hands off John’s throat. Lon turns his fury to Glenn, pounding his chest, face twisted in fury. Lon’s cries become whimpers. His fingers curl into impotent fists.)

LON: Please. I don’t wanna go…!

GLENN (pats Lon’s head): It’s okay now, pardner. C’mon. Goin’ home.

LON (back to earth): Home … yeah… (covering) That was some real acting, huh? (Glenn helps the shaking Chaney out the door. The Photographer follows them.)

PHOTOGRAPHER: Oh, man, this is a picture I gotta get! (He exits, with Kenny Hyman in pursuit. Nonplused, Carradine pours a drink and slides into a chair, mostly unconscious.)

JOHN: Drunken lummox can’t hold his liquor. Cut him off. Never laid a hand on me. (Not noticing the exits of Hyman and the newspaper people, Alex and Ed attend little Angie, who waves them off.)

ANGIE: Lemme alone. I been in bigger fights.

BORIS: Well, is there anything further?

ED: I’d like to hear the last scene. (points to a page in Karloff’s script) The atomic ray starts turning the town into zombies-- that’s special effects stuff, we’ve got some great ideas-- you guys are in the lab-- (Boris nods, he and Bela move center stage. There is a silent moment.)

BORIS: How do you want to do this? Big?

BELA: Why not. Our last scene together. Maybe make it memorable.

BORIS: Over the top we go. You first.

BELA: “Triumph is within my grasp! I am avenged!”

BORIS: “No… ! It’s not right. They never hurt you, none of them.”

BELA: “What do I care of them? They are insects who will bow down to my genius!”

BORIS: “No, I-- I can’t let you… it’s not right…!”

BELA: “Be quiet, or you remain a hideous monster the rest of your life.”

BORIS: “Maybe it’s better that way-- it’s this switch, isn’t it, doctor? The red one?“

BELA: “Get away from there! Don’t touch that!”

BORIS: “Yes, maybe you and me do belong together!” (At the door, Ed flicks the overhead light off and on.)

ED: And… kaboom. The place blows up and… fade out. (Bela and Boris hand their scripts to Alex. John is slouched in a chair, “napping.”)

BELA: It went well, I guess, for a cold reading…

PETER: Cold? What are you saying? It stinks on ice!

BORIS: The dialogue could use a little work.

PETER: Work? It reads like it was translated by an illiterate Serbian fisherman! Never mind the phony civility. Not only does the Emperor have no new clothes, he’s got a little dick and hasn’t bothered wiped his ass!

ALEX: Perhaps if we gave your character more lines-- or a neat little death scene.

PETER: Yeah, in the first shot, so I can kill myself and get it over with. Boris, how can you lend yourself to dis-- dis cinematic abortion? You worked with Howard Hawks, for Christ’ sakes, Cecil B. De Mille!

JOHN (apropos of nothing): De Mille gave me my start. I was a sculptor.

PETER (continuing, to Boris): Douglas Sirk, John Ford! (Boris nods. John Carradine’s eyes open, but he’s still off in his own world.)

JOHN: I’ve done eight pictures for Ford, some of the best films ever made. Prisoner of Shark Island. Stagecoach. Grapes of Wrath…

BORIS: Peter, I try never to turn down work-- and there are other factors--

JOHN: Mary of Scotland. Drums Along the Mohawk.

PETER: Ah! Goddamned polite Englishmen.

JOHN: Four Men and a Prayer. Submarine Patrol…

PETER (to Bela): You played romantic leads-- Shakespeare, Molnar. Is dis what it’s come to? Making faces for some no-talent cross-dressing bum?

BELA: Lazzie, now I just try to make a living.

PETER: You want to be taken seriously-- but you surround yourself with gorillas and transvestites and Munchkins-- oh, nothing personal.

ANGIE: Sez you.

ED: Mr. Lorre, I recognize with impunity that you may have qualms with the scenario--

PETER: Qualms, impunity? Where did you learn English? What the hell is he saying? (Alex shrugs hopelessly, palms up. Beats the hell out of him.)

ED: But I assure you, whatever mistaken qualifications I may not have as a writer, I can more than maintain that as a director.

PETER: Director? Huh! Has anyone here except me even seen dis man’s pictures? Director? Dis guy couldn’t direct a lion to eat meat!

JOHN (from Mars): Daryl Zanuck used to say, “That Carradine’s got the goddamnest face I’ve ever seen.” Never knew what he meant by that.

PETER (to John): Three guesses. Be still! (Peter grabs his coat and shakes hands with Boris and Bela.) Well, it’s been an interesting debacle. Is it “de-BAHK--le” or “DEB-ackle?” I could never figure it out. English is so strange.

BELA (Hungarian): Remelen talakozunk, Lazzie.

PETER: Oh, we’ll work together on something.

ALEX: I assume this means you wouldn’t consider being in the picture.

PETER: Huh? Are you kiddin’? Imagine having this much fun for six weeks? I couldn’t keep myself away. I might even say some of his deathless dialogue. (Ed smiles-- wait. Was that a wisecrack? Karloff slips his overcoat on.)

PETER: If you’ll excuse me, I have go rehearse. (Peter does a lithe soft-shoe toward the door. John looks up, notices Peter dancing out… and meanders after him.)

JOHN: Hmmm? Is that a wrap? What time’s my call?

ALEX: I don’t know… thanks for coming… we’ll call… if we … make a picture…(John shrugs, walks to the door, grabbing a final sandwich and pocketing it.)

JOHN: Huh. I don’t get it. The whole point of this project was “Carradine Sings.” (He exits. Boris shakes Bela’s hand.)

BORIS: We’ll see each other again, Bela.

BELA: Of that I am sure. Thank you for this. (With a wave, Boris exits. Alex tidies up; Bela writes notes on his script.) Eddie, spell for me the name “Carradine”?

ED: C-A-double-R… A… D-I-N-E.

BELA: Thank you. What about “Chaney”?

ED: C-H-A-I… nope! C-H-A, N-E-Y.

BELA: Good. And now… “Karloff.”

ED: K-A-R-L-O-double-F.

BELA: Can you please for me spell the name “Lorre”?

ED: Oh. L-O-R-R-I-E. No, no. R-double-E. No, L-O-double-R-E. That’s it. Lorre.

BELA: Correct. And last… alphabetical… “Lugosi.”

ED: I got that memorized. L-U-G-- Oh. I (dawns on him) Oh, gee. I -- Oh, oh, Bela!

BELA: Yesterday, I am the only horse on the track-- and now, I am running fifth place out of five, and the race has not even begun! However, I insist on having the giant cowboy Strange in our picture--

ED: Oh, that’s awfully nice, considering --

BELA: -- since I want at least one actor who is not billed ahead of me! Alpha-betical! (Exiting, Bela exits, slams the door. Alex and Ed look at each other-- then little Angie appears from behind the desk and jogs to the door, with a parting shot:)

ANGIE: Alpha-betical-- phooey! (He exits with a slam. Alex gathers script pages from the floor-- then-- what’s the use. He tosses them on the couch.)

ALEX: I’m going. Did you notice when Hyman left?

ED: Somewhere between the dwarf and the strangling.

ALEX: Well, I think we killed any chance that we’ll make this picture. Or any. Ever. (heads for back door) Just put the lights out when you leave. (He exits. Ed opens the desk drawer and pulls out the angora sweater, caressing his face with it as he crosses to the door. He turns the knob -- nothing. Again-- locked tight.)

ED: Oh, hey, Alex. Hey. Hey! HEY! (He reaches into his pocket-- no key. He runs to the desk, plowing through the papers. Nothing! He grabs the rotary telephone and dials “O.”) Hello, Operator, I’m-- hello? Hello!?! (The phone’s dead, of course. He slams it down and runs to the door, pounding.)

ED: Alex! I’m stuck in here! It’s locked! Come back! I can’t get out! (runs to the window in growing panic, opens it and yells) Karloff! You swiped my goddamn key!!!

BLACK-OUT AND CURTAIN