Quiet Riot - Bang Your Head (Metal Health)
Mi nueva camiseta de #losangelesdelinfierno
Still my favorite picture of him. ♥
Two potent (and very metal) horror parodies of the Breakfast Club poster.
Above: a rare publicity still I’m just seeing for the first time from Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors (courtesy of Cinema Du Meep). Below, the familiar Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 promo shot.
The original image of Molly Ringwald et al is not included because I (pretty much) love Dream Warriors and I worship TCM2 but I fucking haaaaaaaaaaaaaaate The Breakfast Club along with the rest of those goddamned John Hughes abortions.
Andy Warhol’s Frankenstein (1973) is this metal-inspiring Euro-splatter/hard kink cult classic’s proper title as far as I’m concerned.
I hated when Criterion pushed it in the 90s and early 2000s as Flesh for Frankenstein (which, I know, may well have been the film’s original name).
The moniker Andy Warhol’s Frankenstein is unique and intangibly conveys the garish lunacy and depraved indifference to “good” taste up there on the screen and, as noted, “off the screen… and INTO YOUR LAP!”).
Same goes for Andy Warhol’s Dracula (1974). It’s just NOT Blood for Dracula.
That stated, the Criterion discs are, of course, as immortal as anything Udo Kier was fucking in the gallbladder at Castle Frankenstein and/or supping up from the hymen-pop aftermath of “wir-jinz”.
Pictured above is AWF's 1982 re-release poster.
AWF came back to Brooklyn theaters in March ‘82, to cash in on that year’s flash-in-the-cardboard-specs 3D boom, and it ran for one week only—the very same seven days in which I got grounded over some particularly appalling report card.
As a result, I’ve never seen AWF in proper 3D.
The three D’s (at least) that I brought home from eighth grade at Our Lady Help of Christians made me miss out on the opportunity to be as terrified as the crowd on the poster that is literally driven insane by fright—let alone be driven udderly mammary mad by the robust chest charms of Fiorella Masselli in her glory (and out of her dirndl) as “Large Prostitute" undulating off the screen… and INTO MY LAP!
School sucks, kids. And adults. And everybody.
In 1983, I asked Video Fred at Video Stop on Avenue L every day if he was going to this Atari cartridge in stock. He promised to order it for me the first chance he got. Then it vamoosed from the marketplace before he could. Regardless: Video Fred was a real swell.
When it came out—and up to now, I guess—I refused to see Nightwing because it was rated PG. I did flip through the Fotonovel at Newberry’s in Keyport, New Jersey, though.
As a kid, I always accompanied my mother to that department store because Keyport was home to the Strand theater, a porn palace outside of which I’d stare at the posters and try to soak up whatever sexual vibes I imagined the place was radiating.
Zombie I saw at the sensationally ramshackle Colonial theater in my edenic Keansburg, New Jersey.
That, for sure, wasn’t rated PG (I know: it wasn’t rated at all), and I was twelve.
Ah, those were the times.
Remember the softcore porn edit of Halloween?