The Amazing Criswell in Night of the Ghouls (1959).

Plan 9 from Outer Space (1957)

Director - Ed Wood, Cinematography - William C. Thompson

"Now, off to your wild blue yonders."

Plan 9 from Outer Space (1957) Valiant Pictures Dir. Edward D. Wood Jnr

The Amazing Criswell’s periphrastic opening narration to Plan 9 from Outer Space pretty much sets the tone for the entire movie.

364: Various Artists // Israfel

Israfel Various Artists 1997, Ape

A 1997 vinyl benefit compilation of mostly Middle American grindcore / powerviolence / emo acts, assembled in an edition of about 1000 by Bloomington-based DIY label Ape Records (active 1995 to 2002), in handmade sleeve with a recent release catalogue, a substantial zine, and a few priceless gag inserts (incl. YOUR HARDCORE SELL OUT DECODER RING). I’m not an aficionado of any of the genres Israfel covers by any means, but you’d have to be a real head to know most of these: in terms of notoriety, the Locust (who contribute a 47 second blast of lo-fi outrage) are basically Led Zeppelin compared to the rest of the acts, most of whom topped out with a couple of EPs and compilation appearances.

Of course, hearing music that would otherwise be basically lost to time is the appeal of taking a flyer on a comp like this. One of my favourite tracks is “Untitled” by Roanoke, VA’s the Weak Link Breaks, supposedly the first thing the band ever wrote (and, judging from their discography, nearly the last too). It begins with a very, very quiet spacy-Fugazi-style amble (the vocal harmonies couldn’t be more Ian and Guy) that explodes into a brief screamo-style D-beat section, and then some big heaving riffs that make me want to exaggeratedly lift and stomp my feet like a giant trying to keep his balance. I also dig Murfreesboro, TN’s Serotonin, an emo / post-hardcore act with a steely '80s shred band guitar tone who play like they want people in the pit to twirl around ecstatically instead of slam dancing. A lot of the other nasty yowling cat speedballs on Israfel don’t really catch my ear, but that’s okay—I’m weirdly proud of them 27 years after the fact for being themselves and getting out whatever they needed to get out through this violence.

The package’s tone is all over the place. The zine opens with a haunting description of the compilation’s beneficiaries, the family of a pair of little girls with spinal muscular atrophy (a common birth defect) whose condition worsened until they perished, leaving their parents distraught and financially ruined—and the 21-year-old compiler racked with guilt that he didn’t somehow do more to help. From there, it whips through his heterodox thoughts about the hardcore scene (despicably self-absorbed; unresponsive to requests from label operators); the state of emo (too abstract); the best way to bring about change (working within the capitalist system); rape (it’s bad; consent is black and white; can we stop litigating this in the scene?); calling the cops (fine to do); disrespecting the American flag (played out; tacky); and drinking/drug use (“when did self-destruction become rebellion?”). After he finishes up, each band (that got their artwork in on time anyway) gets a page to talk about themselves. This section is full of old school punk zine/leaflet treasures, with designs that mimic motel newspaper ads, postcards, messy handwritten perzines, and Xeroxed 7” grindcore sleeves.

It's funny reading his scornful words about pseudo-rebellious drunkards stumbling toward “the day when punk rock is shelved for an 8 hour workday, Budweiser, and television” and then finding his LinkedIn, where he describes himself as “driving omnichannel excellence” and as “whimsical (after coffee).” You wouldn’t believe it from the splenetic angst of the Israfel zine, but the guy seems like he turned out happy and normal, with a few kids and a successful career. I wonder how the 21-year-old would see the 48-year-old, if he’d call him a sell-out or feel relieved that things worked out; if the 48-year-old would pity his former self, or feel ashamed about losing his edge. More one-time zinesters and hardcore kids end up looking square from a distance than you’d think (I certainly do if you catch me during the workday), because you usually stop hearing about them when they drop out of the scene. For most, the quiet part of life is the larger portion by far. It’s your choice whether to embrace that, mourn it, or seek your own alternative. But if Israfel reminds us of nothing else, it’s the importance of having a good scream at least once in your life.

364/365

Just found a very interesting guy on Wikipedia you need to take a look

The Jack Paar Program (1963) with the Amazing Criswell

Plan 9 from Outer Space (1957, Edward D. Wood Jr.)

10/20/23

Criswell

CRISWELL PREDICTS ON OUTER SPACE!

Vampira, Tor Johnson, Criswell, and Ed Wood's wife's chiropractor Tom Mason as Bela Lugosi's stand in in a publicity still for Plan 9 from Outer Space (1957). Tom also had a part in Ed Wood's Night of the Ghouls, his only other film credit.

William Pattison’s Bloodbath Theatre Episode 89: The Stepford Films

Join your host, William Pattison, King of Splatterpunk, and his horror host skull, John, as they present the 89th episode of Bloodbath Theatre. It’s the new year, be ready for a double feature of two of the Stepford Wives films, The Stepford Wives and Revenge of the Stepford Wives. Also, be ready for the sixth episode of Jason of Star Command Season 2 as well as this month’s Criswell Predicts.

Grētung, mīn frēond. Wē ealle sindon geornfulle ymbe þā tōweardan, for þǣr is þǣr þū and ic gāþ tō forlǣtan þā lāf ūres līfes. And gemun, mīn frēond, tōweardan gefaren swilce þās sceolon þē hrīnan on þām tōweardan. Þū eart geornful ymbe þā uncuðan, þā dīgellan, þā unāsmeaganlīcan. For þām þū eart hēr. And nū, for þǣre forme sīðe, wē bringaþ tō þē þā fulle sǣge hwæt gelamp on þǣm earmlican dæge. Wē sellaþ þē eall þā gewitnesse, gebūned ænlīce on þām dīgellan cyðnessum þāra earmra sāwla þe þis egeslīc gefeoht oferlifdon. Þā gefaren, þā stōwa, mīn frēond wē ne magon þis healdean dīgel nā leng. Uton wrecan þā scyldigan, uton mēdian þā unsceððigan. Mīn frēond, mæg þīn heorte þolian þā egeslīcan sōðfæstnesse ymbe byrgelsere ofer þām yterlican rūme?

The Amazing Criswell