M
y second-hand VHS copy of Fright Night was a fetish object in my early teen years. I’d first discovered it at my local Jumbo Video, in the “dungeon,” which was the store’s horror section – a cordoned-off space painted and decorated to look like Dracula’s castle. At that age, without internet or anyone to recommend horror movies to me, I’d become accustomed
to judging a movie by its cover. Fright Night is one of those rare films that actually surpasses its unforgettable artwork, and I fell under its spell immediately, entranced by that image of a vampiric cloud looming over a sub- urban home. As RM’s art director, Gary, says of the film, “It’s like a Halloween bag for kids: it’s got everything in there.” Indeed it does: multiple monsters, insane special effects, explosions, blood, skeletons, meltings (is there anything cooler than a good monster melting?) and just enough skin to tease the teenage hormones. But more than that, it had an awkward hero who also wore dorky clothes, who also loved horror movies, who also lived in the suburbs and who also shared a house with his single mom. This was a familiar world to me.
When the store eventually sold off a copy of Fright Night, I snapped it up, ecstatic at my luck. (Apparently the
idiot store manager had no idea what treasure he was parting with!) It came in one of those signature Jumbo Video orange plastic snap cases; I loved the sound of the tape shifting in the box. That “clunk-clunk” signalled a weight, a physical presence that’s absent from digital formats. This was a thing of substance, dammit. Of course I shared the movie with my best friend and we’d thrill at the gruesome stuff, laugh at Charley
Brewster’s failed attempts to be taken seriously (what teen can’t relate to that?) and quote Evil Ed until we drove everyone else nuts with, “Oh, you’re so cool, BREWSTER!” Riding one’s bike to the video store, agonizing over movie choices, staying up late, gorging on junk food and bonding over genre movies was a ritual with which I’m sure many of you reading this are well acquainted. However, if you’re of a younger generation – and probably rolling your eyes right now in anticipation of me
describing how I walked ten miles uphill in a blizzard just to avoid paying a dollar in late fees – you might be wondering what’s up with all the VHS nostalgia of late. Aside from multiple books of VHS cover artwork, ana- log-themed blogs and conventions featuring tape trading, some newly manufactured videos have actually popped up as of late. Ti West’s 2009 retro horror feature The House of the Devil is available in a special bundle that includes a clamshell VHS version of the film; Mondo (in partnership with Intervision Films) put out a lim- ited-edition VHS version of early ’80s slasher film Sledgehammer and plans to release more movies in the for- mat; and Camp Motion Pictures just released another ’80s oddity, The Basement, in the particularly unwieldy VHS big-box format. Nostalgic novelties? Sure, but the reason that nostalgia is so potent lies in the collective memory of those formative VHS horror years. Y’see, many of us were weaned by those little reels of analog tape. My mom will always be a hero for raising
my brother and I alone for so many years, while commuting into the city and having a full-time career. That’s an exhausting regimen and us kids often had to find ways to entertain ourselves in the evenings and on week- ends. There was one theatre within biking distance, nowhere to go after dark and video rentals were an af- fordable indulgence on our middle-class budget. And the video store section that looked like a funhouse was an obvious draw. The ritual of going out, making a choice from a limited selection and then settling in to watch a movie made
us active participants in the viewing process; no click-of-a-button downloads, on-demand or Netflix back then. Being able to go to the store on your own and pick out anything you wanted (outside of the porno behind those saloon doors in the back, of course), was a form of freedom and a step into adulthood. The ease with which you could watch an R-rated film in the basement while your parents were out or sleeping was both morally reckless and unquestionably awesome. Those VHS tapes were a barely (if at all) regulated conduit to a larger world. In that sense, they helped shape an entire generation. No wonder we’re so in love with those lurid analog bricks. Without ’em I never would’ve been able to invite
Fright Night into my home, I may not have formed that lifelong bond with the genre, and I definitely wouldn’t be here writing this. So the next time you see some yellowed VHS cases mouldering away on someone’s garage-sale table, just remember: those tapes lived and died for our sins, so be kind and... well, you know.
STAFF
publisher Rodrigo Gudiño
ManaGinG eDitor Monica S. Kuebler
art Director Gary Pullin
office ManaGer Jessa Sobczuk
MarketinG/aDvertisinG ManaGer
Jody Infurnari PH: 905-985-0430 FX: 905-985-4195 E:
jody@rue-morgue.com
financial controller Marco Pecota
CONTRIBUTORS
BRENTON BENTZ A.S. BERMAN LYLE BLACKBURN JOHN W. BOWEN JAMES BURRELL PEDRO CABEZUELO PAUL CORUPE JAY P. FOSGITT THE GORE-MET MARK R. HASAN SABA IGBE
LIISA LADOUCEUR LAST CHANCE LANCE ANDREW LEE AARON VON LUPTON MICHAEL MITCHELL GEORGE PACHECO JASON PICHONSKY NADJA SAYEJ APRIL SNELLINGS JENNIFER M. WOOD TAL ZIMERMAN
RUE MORGUE #114 would not have been possible without the valuable assistance of Theo Bavelas, Mary-Beth Hollyer, Patrick “Babylegs” McBrearty, Al McMullan, Andy “Dad” Plaitis, Matt Staggs, Mark Steensland and Billy Cole.
RUE MORGUE #114 is dedicated to our friend William Jamieson. Rest in Peace. You will be missed.
Cover: fright night Design by Gary Pullin.
Original poster by B.D. Fox Independent
Rue Morgue Magazine is published monthly (with the exception of February) and accepts no responsibility for unsolicited manuscripts, photos, art or other materials. Freelance submissions accompanied by S.A.S.E. will be seriously considered and, if necessary, returned.
We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Periodical Fund (CPF) for our publishing activities. RUE MORGUE Magazine #114 ISSN 1481 – 1103 Agreement No. 40033764 Entire contents copyright MARRS MEDIA INC. 2011. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PRINTED IN CANADA.
dave@rue-morgue.com RM6
eDitor-in-chief dave alexander
associate eDitor trevor tuminski
Graphic DesiGner Justin Erickson
copy eDitor claire horsnell
online eDitor april snellings
interns
mike beardsall denver wilson
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