Frankenstein

It had promised to be a dark and stormy night, but turned warm and humid instead.  Nevertheless, I traveled downtown for Neptune Theatre's autumn offering of Frankenstein.  The perfect way to welcome October.

As indicated, the play adhered more closely to the original novel than to any of the subsequent movie versions.   Upon entering the theatre, I had noticed Mary Shelley's portrait among those of the show's "creative team".  Always a good sign; I'm happy she chose to participate.  The monster had no bolts protruding from his head and boasted quite an impressive vocabulary.  There were, alas, no villagers carrying flaming torches. But there was thunder, lightning, and crackling electricity.

And while I enjoyed the play, I came away wondering if casting had been completed at the time that the promotional materials were printed.  Because the actor portraying the monster bore little resemblance to the photograph on the the posters and the playbill.  And not once during the play did he take his shirt off.  He looked more like the older brother of the guy on the posters.  Or perhaps a crazy uncle.

Just a thought.  It didn't diminish my enjoyment of the evening. And I'll always have the playbill's cover image.

summer reading

I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I've never actually read the original text of Washington Irving's Legend of Sleepy Hollow. My knowledge of the story comes from its myriad of modern incarnations. Most prominently, Disney's classic cartoon.

But finally, I can put my shame to rest. Because on my recent vacation stop in Sleepy Hollow, I picked up a copy in a local museum gift shop. Along with a print and a Christmas ornament created by a local artist specifically for the museum. After all, nothing says "Merry Christmas" like a tin representation of a pumpkin-wielding headless horseman hanging on the tree.

The book is at the top of my reading list for the approaching long weekend.

wax

Arriving in Times Square on the first day of my recent New York City trip, it was hard to miss the giant golden hand beckoning visitors to Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum. I had been to Madame Tussaud's in London many, many, many years ago and was curious to see how the New York version measured up. When I went inside and saw the price of admission, however, I decided I would be content to simply relive the memories of my London experience.

But my teenage children, who hadn't been alive during my trip to England, were eager to experience Madame Tussaud's wax collection. So I paid their admission, gave my daughter the camera, and instructed her, when taking photographs, to include anything that might interest me.

She knows me well.

Critical Path

Only 6 weeks remain until the house is crawling
with miniature rapscallions clamoring for attention.
Six weeks until summer distractions become
priority number one and business plans, schedules
and soon to be fleshed out sketches collect dust
in the corner. It's time to get crackin!

Art finds her own perfection within,
and not outside of herself.

She is not to be judged by any external
standard of resemblance.
She is a veil, rather than a mirror.
Oscar Wilde

Boris Karloff Blogathon: the one in the middle

While thinking about what I might contribute to this blogathon, I tried to recall the moment at which I first became aware of Boris Karloff and his reputation.



My earliest introduction was not through his films. That came later. Nor was it through his television appearances. I can't recall ever seeing one of those. Instead, my introduction to Boris Karloff came after a shopping trip to K-Mart with my parents in the early 1970's.

Growing up in rural Cape Breton, Saturdays were significant as the day that we went into town. Town being the burgeoning metropolis of Sydney. These weekly excursions always included a stop at one of the city's major department stores - Woolco, Zellers, or K-Mart. The choice of retailer was likely determined by the weekly sales flyers. But that's not what concerned me. What concerned me, at age 8 or 9, was what I would get that day. Because on each shopping trip, I was allowed to make one purchase. Sometimes it was a new Nancy Drew book. Sometimes it was a Hot Wheels car (I was never a girly-girl). Sometimes it was a comic book. Or more accurately, a package of comic books.

At K-Mart in Sydney in the 1970's, comics were sold in packages of three. Three different comics sealed in a clear plastic bag. This made it a bit of a gamble. The book titles were not listed on the bag, and only two were visible. One cover through the front of the package and one through the back. I'd make my choice based upon those two covers, and hope for the best with the one in the middle.



I don't recall what I chose that Saturday at K-Mart. It was likely Uncle Scrooge. Or Scooby-Doo. Or Archie. Or maybe Superman. What I recall is pulling out the middle comic and seeing, in the upper right-hand corner, a small black-and-white photo of a creepy old guy. And beside the photo, the title: Boris Karloff's Tales of Mystery. With a creepy cover image under the title. And creepy stories inside. I loved it.

Calling my parents' attention to this new comic book discovery, I was amazed to learn that they were already familiar with Boris Karloff. Amazed indeed, since they didn't read comic books. Apparently, however, Mr. Karloff's reputation extended beyond the book in my hands and into other realms of horror.

But at that moment, all I knew was that Boris Karloff was a truly great comic book creator.

(Cover image via Grand Comic Book Database)

it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Unlike many Halloween enthusiasts, I do not despise Christmas. Quite the contrary. I love Christmas. All of it. The music. The lights. The fruitcake. The wrapping paper. The mincemeat . . .

And for me, one of the highlights of the early part of the season is attending a local Christmas craft show. Admittedly, a large part of the attraction involves free food samples. Many of the same exhibitors return year after year and I "relish" the opportunity to "jam" myself into their booths and "dip" into their offerings.

But now on with the story . . .

Last Saturday, I arrived early and lined up beside the giant inflatable Santa with dozens of others. Once inside, I ambled through the aisles, en route to purchase my seasonal supply of cranberry mincemeat. Then something caught my eye. Something reminiscent of a past season. There between the handmade Christmas tree ornaments and the red-and-green place mats, I noticed a new exhibitor selling cards. Like this one:



So of course, I bought one. Christmas can always use a little extra creepiness.

nocturne

It's good to see Halifax following the lead of other cities and devoting a night to a free city-wide art event.

Last Saturday, galleries, businesses and public spaces played host to a night of exhibits, temporary installations and performances.

Not all night, however. Only until midnight. But that's okay. I need my sleep.

I almost froze to death on the harbour ferry, en route to see the community-built Bluenose Ghosts sculptures. I anticipated these being a highlight of the evening. And they were.

But if I had to choose a favourite, it would be Resurrection. A temporary installation which paid homage to a recently-demolished heritage building by re-creating its ghostly facade on fabric. Behind the facade, inside the building's former space, now an abandoned lot, was a luggage graveyard. Each suitcase representing a business from the city's past.

Creepy and historical. Two of my favourite things.

just one

"I'll just eat one. There'll be plenty left."

And so Mary began her journey down the slippery slope. There was no turning back.

Source

a path of pumpkins

As the sun set on last weekend's scarecrow festival, the moon rose on the illuminated pumpkin path.

Over 150 jack-o-lanterns. Some gathered around a theme.

Others determinedly independent.

All hand-carved by an industrious woman, proprietor of a local market.

And while I admire the skill and creativity involved, I remain a jack-o-lantern traditionalist. Long live triangular eyes!

brains and coffee

It's not every day that I open my mailbox and like what I see inside. In fact, I rarely do. But yesterday, I turned the key, opened the little silver door, and out spilled . . . brains and coffee.

Or, rather, a book containing those words in the title.



Yes, my eagerly-anticipated, personally-autographed tome detailing the ongoing brains vs. coffee debate had arrived. As I enthusiastically flipped through the pages, my eyes came to rest on a particular favourite:

Sound advice indeed as I select this year's Halloween recipes.

bottom of the treat bag

While I'm a fan of all of Dave Lowe's Para Abnormal cartoons, these down-and-out candy barflies have a special place in my heart. Or maybe it's guilt. I'm sure I've contributed to their feelings of inadequacy on more than one occasion.

Tis the season...

...for mischief and folly!
Tinsel and Treasures is right around the corner.
The glitter is flying, the ribbons are all unfurled
and paint splatters can be found in places I dare not say.
In other words, it's crunch time.

ghosts of halloween past

Torn from the family archives . . .

Well, not exactly torn, but in my attempt to complete the numerous incomplete projects around the house, I've been working at updating scrapbooks. And I can't simply update them without taking time to look through them. Which may explain why so many projects remain unfinished.

While updating one of the scrapbooks of my son's life and times, I found this drawing. Expressing an early love of Halloween. With a definite affinity for grim reapers brandishing sickles.

long week's journey

Once again, those intrepid souls at Canada Post have successfully completed their mission. Sort of. Delivering a package from Quebec to Nova Scotia, across the vast province of New Brunswick, would take time. I knew that. So I waited. And I waited. And I waited. And when it seemed like I'd been waiting a ridiculously long time, I tracked the package.

Imagine my surprise. It seems it hadn't taken it that long to arrive after all. It was here. They just hadn't bothered to tell me. Kudos on another job well done.

And thank you Pumpkin Brain for your contribution to my small but expanding collection of Halloween-themed beer label art. They'll fit in beautifully.

gifted

Day after day, I made the trek halfway down the street to my mailbox. Trusting naively in the efficiency of Canada Post. Believing that their delivery estimate was a worst-case scenario. Surely it wouldn't take that long. I could drive to Toronto and back at least eight times within that time frame. If I didn't need sleep.

And then one day . . . there it was.

Quickly shutting the mailbox door, leaving the bills for another day, I dashed back to my house. Parcel in hand. And eagerly began to tear it open with my bare hands. It wasn't long before I was faced with a hard truth. Bare hands don't work well on multiple layers of packing tape.

Returning from the kitchen with sturdy scissors, I continued the task. I successfully removed the outer layer of packaging. Only to reveal . . . more packaging. And it warmed my heart to know that my parcel was so safe and secure and well-protected on its long arduous journey. But now the protective coating had to go.

Finally, a glimmer of hope. After cutting and tearing and cutting and tugging and cutting, the package began to reveal its contents.

And there at last it stood before me. Shiny and metallic and colourful and much taller than I had imagined.

Perhaps at this point, I should explain.

Months ago, in the dead of winter, I began rambling about Halloween-themed beer and my love affair with the imagery that frequently graces the bottles. I came to the conclusion that it wasn't actually the beer itself that appealed to me, but rather, the labels. I felt I'd be perfectly happy to have someone keep the contents and simply send me the container.

And someone did.

Fellow blogger, Ghoul Friday, very kindly packed up and sent me an extra container she had in her possession. And packed it very well, I might add.

And that wasn't all. As an extra surprise gift, I also received this nifty Silver Snail Comics bag. Thanks GF! I love that store. How did you know?

free comic book day

Once again, free comics have saved the day. With a little help from Frankenstein's monster.

halloween in the comics: annoying children

Whenever I look at this cover, I'm reminded of a murder mystery I once read in which an obnoxious child is murdered at a Halloween party by having her head held under water while bobbing for apples. Be watchful, Tubby. I've never trusted Little Lulu.

But the title "Most Annoying Children in Halloween Comics" undoubtedly goes to the team of Sugar and Spike.

Sugar, despite her name, appears to be the ring-leader in these situations. Personally, I'm hoping that witch deals with them once and for all.

The Grand Comic Book Database