Compelling Imagery

“Errol Flynn Stars as Himself!” (Cuban Rebel Girls...

mexcine — Mon, 06 May 2013 09:21:00 -0400

“Errol Flynn Stars as Himself!” (Cuban Rebel Girls poster, 1959)

Posters for films are produced in a variety formats and styles. Today our post examines alternate versions of the one-sheet for Cuban Rebel Girls, remembered (if at all) as the final, undignified screen appearance of star Errol Flynn. The two posters are very similar but each has its strong points, and comparing the style and content differences might also be instructive.

It may be difficult to believe, but for a brief period Fidel Castro and the Cuban “rebels” were not portrayed as an insidious, Communist, Russian-backed force located mere miles from the United States. The honeymoon period was relatively brief, but it did exist: whether Castro, Che Guevara and their followers were dedicated Communists from the start (and just hid their ideology well) or whether the revolution took a sharp left-turn after they gained power isn’t especially relevant here, but the fact is that for a time the U.S. media contained favourable (or at least hopeful) stories of young, baseball-loving Fidel and his “freedom fighters” engaged in overthrowing the corrupt Batista regime. In addition to Cuban Rebel Girls and the mysterious The Rebel Castro, pro-Castro movies from Hollywood included Pier 5, Havana (released in October 1959). Soon, however, the tide turned and the process of demonisation began, with anti-Castro films such as Rebellion in Cuba (June 1961) and We Shall Return (February 1963).

One of the most interesting things about Cuban Rebel Girls is that it was actually shot on location in Cuba during the Revolution (and slightly afterwards), as opposed to being filmed in upstate New York or Puerto Rico or somewhere. Errol Flynn was no stranger to Cuba, both as tourist and film star (he’d made The Big Boodle there in 1956), and fancied himself a bit of a real-life adventurer and pseudo-journalist (making a deal with the Hearst organisation to “report” from Cuba on the rebellion). Intrigued by the revolt against Batista, Flynn visited the island with his youthful “protégé” Beverly Aadland and actually met Fidel Castro.

Cuban Rebel Girls features Flynn as “himself” (in his “journalist” persona), and Aadland and Johnny McKay as unlikely Cuban rebels “Beverly Woods” and “Johnny Wilson” (they aren’t Cubans, but rather Americans who—in Johnny’s case—support Castro’s revolution; Beverly travels to the island to find Johnny and signs up as well). [On this trip Flynn also shot footage for a documentary film entitled Cuban Story, which received virtually no release at the time. This can be seen on YouTube here. ]

The movie was directed by Barry Mahon, an associate of Flynn who had minimal film experience, but later went on to make numerous exploitation pictures in the Sixties, like The Beast That Killed Women and The Diary of Knockers McCalla. Cuban Rebel Girls is crude and to describe what the performers do on screen as “acting” is generous (to put it mildly), but the picture manages to be somewhat interesting as a historical artifact.

The two posters for Cuban Rebel Girls may represent an original and a re-release version, but this is unclear (the movie was also shown under the title Attack of the Rebel Girls, probably to hide its original pro-Castro bias). Joseph Brenner Associates is listed as the distributor on both posters, one of which is full-colour and somewhat more “restrained” in its content, and the other which is duo-tone and more exploitative.

The artwork on both posters is the work of C. Vukovich, about whom I have been able to find no personal or career information. On poster #1, the initials “CV” can be seen on the portrait of Errol Flynn, and poster #2 is signed in the lower right-hand corner. Vukovich also drew the poster for The Rebel Castro, a “mystery” film—it’s possible this is the same film as Flynn’s Cuban Story, although information about The Rebel Castro is nonexistent, but the presence of Vukovich artwork on two posters about the Cuban Revolution seems like an uncanny coincidence.

Cuban Rebel Girls poster #1 has a clean layout with a lot of white space and text separating two main, diagonal blocks of artwork. The first swath of art begins in the upper left corner with inset portraits of Errol Flynn—looking younger and much less dissipated than he does in the movie itself—and Beverly Aadland. Flynn is wearing a scarf (it’s hard to tell what it is in the art, but in the film it’s a neckerchief) labeled “26 Julio,” the name of the movement led by Castro and Che Guevara, while Aadland is dressed in fatigues. In keeping with the title, the other art shows more armed “Cuban rebel girls” rushing through the jungle. Note that their shirts are all strategically unbuttoned to expose their cleavage, obviously a guerrilla warfare tactic to distract their male opponents.

The lower section of artwork is more action-oriented, depicting scenes which might or might not look that way in the film at all, such as an ambush, an attack on a train, a roaring fire, and so forth. We also get a combination cheesecake/bondage image, a rebel “girl” strung up by her feet, with her shirt sliding downward to expose her bare stomach (but not her breasts—clearly, rebel girls don’t wear bras, and bare breasts would have pushed this poster over the line of good taste). Poster #2 will place these images in context with handy little text labels, but on this version we have to use our imagination about their significance.

In the lower right-hand corner we finally get to see a male rebel, sporting a Castro-ish beard. The “bearded Latin American revolutionary” quickly became a familiar trope in popular culture: as a young boy in the early 1960s, I once attended an elementary school Halloween party wearing a rubber “Fidel Castro” mask and a green fatigue cap. Fortunately, I was not branded a Communist sympathiser (as far as I know, although I’ve never seen my school records).

The text on poster version #1 isn’t very informative, merely indicating this movie is “Flynn’s Latest!” and referring to his “Mad Dash Thru Life.” This phrase seems to link the film with Flynn’s notorious and well-publicised off-screen “real” life activities. But contrary to the usual tenor of such stories—the actor’s hedonistic life-style even spawned a catch-phrase, “in like Flynn”—Cuban Rebel Girls presents him as a swashbuckling crusader for freedom, sort of a middle-aged, modern-day Robin Hood or Captain Blood, thus suggesting his heroic screen adventures had perhaps rubbed off on his actual life (life imitates art, and all that). While it’s not likely Flynn had abandoned his wild-living ways (after all, Beverly Aadland was his mistress and she was not yet 18 years old), he apparently had some sincere feelings about the Cuban Revolution, enough to produce two films about it. Oh, and he needed money and nobody would hire him to act anymore, so that may have contributed to the genesis of this project…

The text accompanying the Beverly Aadland portrait provides a bit of plot detail: she is a “young and beautiful girl who follows her lover into the thick of the Cuban Revolution!” Potential audiences might be forgiven for thinking Aadland’s “lover” in the movie was Flynn (although the whole truth about their relationship wasn’t revealed until after Flynn’s death, it didn’t take a genius to put two-and-two together), but no, that was apparently either too far-fetched or too touchy for Flynn and Mahon, who provided a more age-appropriate love interest for her character.

Version #1 of the poster for Cuban Rebel Girls is modestly tasteful and commercial rather than tawdry. Version #2 is, despite using basically the same artwork, much more exploitative. There is a tag-line (“Straight from Behind Rebel Lines!”) as well as a number of “See!” boxes (previously discussed here), mostly ballyhooing sexy and violent aspects of the movie—”SEE! The Fate of Captured Rebel Girls!”(Accompanying the artwork of the hanging, bare-midriff woman) “SEE! Rebels Ambush An Army Convoy!” “SEE! The Burning of Sugar Cane Fields!” (oh boy, how exciting), and so on. This poster also includes artwork not present on the other version, a thumbnail sketch of skinny-dipping “rebel girls” with the caption “SEE! Rebel Life in the Raw!” (“raw” = a code word for nudity)

One might speculate poster #2 was the original artwork (albeit printed in duotone rather than full colour)—given the greater detail and spatial coherence (it looks like a real painting), as well as the artist’s signature—and various elements were extracted and pasted-up for the tamer version. It’s certainly more “artistic” and dramatic than the slightly anodyne, white-space heavy poster #1.

Closer examination of the two posters indicates I should probably qualify my statement in the previous paragraph about “pasted-up” artwork from #2 being used in #1: in addition to the portrait of Beverly Aadland which is unique to #1, the painting of Errol Flynn on version #1 seems slightly different, and the other art also looks more…polished on the full-colour poster. Possibly C.Vukovich or another artist re-touched the painting for the colour version? It doesn’t appear to be simply a matter of printing colour vs. duotone, there are considerable minor variations.

I don’t know how widely Cuban Rebel Girls was distributed (probably not very), nor how successful it was (almost certainly not very). A dodgy, low-budget, and frankly rather poor and amateurish effort to begin with, the film’s pro-Castro stance would have become out-dated very quickly and ruined its box-office prospects. Errol Flynn himself died before the picture was released (according to IMDB, it played in New York City in late December 1959, two months after Flynn’s death) and thus wasn’t around to promote it (or defend it).

Still, the film itself is a curiosity piece today, and the differences between the two versions of the theatrical-release poster are interesting. One poster depicts the film as a serious war story with romantic elements, and the other leans heavily on the exploitative aspects—sex and violence, what else—of the picture. Same movie, two very slightly different sales pitches.

Hellzapoppin’ in the Haunted House (The Thing! #11,...

mexcine — Tue, 16 Apr 2013 12:52:00 -0400

Hellzapoppin’ in the Haunted House (The Thing! #11, 1953)

“Keep It Simple, Stupid,” or “Leave No White Space Unfilled?” The illustrator’s eternal dilemma. It’s not always artist’s-choice, to be sure, particularly when speaking of commercial artwork. Format, style-sheets, the art director’s orders… Comic book covers of the Golden Age (and slightly beyond—the “Silver Age” generally refers to the 1960s, so I’m not sure what knowledgeable aficionados call the Fifties) were surprisingly eclectic in their styles, although individual companies, titles, and artists had their own distinctive “looks.” Some companies even had different standards for different titles in their own line: for instance, Fawcett’s Captain Marvel comics covers were more light-hearted and cartoonish, while Captain Marvel Jr. appeared on covers with more “realistic” artwork (albeit in allegorical situations).

[An artists’ work could change and evolve: Alex Schomburg created some of the most intricately detailed comic book covers during WWII, with hundreds of figures & machines, signs, diagrams, etc., but in the post-war period he was responsible for numerous simpler, air-brushed covers that were diametrically opposed to his previous work.]

Horror comics were extremely popular in the first half of the 1950s (the Comics Code killed them off after 1954). There are some shocking, gory covers from this era, although these are exceptions: most horror comic covers weren’t unduly explicit. In fact, the title under examination here—The Thing!, published by Charlton from 1952-54—lasted 17 issues and only one cover had any blood in the artwork (and relatively little at that). This doesn’t mean the horror comics didn’t depict terrified people in danger, or being killed by monsters, or the corpses of victims, but rather that this artwork was often bloodless and in “good taste” (everyone’s definition of this term varies, of course).

However, the cover of The Thing! #1 (November-December 1953) is notable not for its gore or violence, but rather for the plethora of disparate elements crammed into a single illustration (by Bob Forgione, for those keeping score). Let’s examine some of them, shall we?

Little red demons or imps? Check. As discussed in the entry on stage mentalist Samri Baldwin, images of miniature demons appear quite frequently on magic show posters of the late-19^th and early-20^th century. This motif is never explained thoroughly on the posters, but seems to imply the stage magician is evoking darker powers, while at the same time suggesting these are cute and harmless rather than dangerous. Forgione gives two of his imps shocks of yellow hair, at least one has no wings, two have horns and others don’t, a curious diversity of form. The insouciant poses of several of the demons are amusing, although the red fellow at bottom right seems rather forlorn, perhaps because the book he’s sitting on wasn’t chosen by the skeletal scholar. Oddly enough, in the middle of the cover at the bottom we also see a different kind of miniature person in a sort of white toga (a fairy, perhaps?), helping another such figure onto the page.

Black cat? Yep, although the creature’s face is strangely un-feline.

Skeleton? Yes. Skeletons are scary, right? Symbols of mortality, of all that remains after our body has decayed? The skeleton on the cover of The Thing! wears a cowled robe (another horror-comic/pulp trope), but also sports eyeglasses and is puffing on a pipe. This gives him a scholarly appearance as he peruses the ancient encyclopedia (Volume “S”), undisturbed by the diabolical imps perching on his head, shoulder, arm, and knee. One rather annoying element of the art is the orange bookmark, which looks like an extension of the blonde victim’s arm. However, you’ve got to give Forgione credit for the wealth of detail he put into this cover, such as the tiny gold band on the pipe stem, and the little pillow used by the red imp reclining against the book’s spine.

In the center of the artwork, a grey-haired maniac brandishes a meat cleaver, prior to dismembering the corpse (we hope) of a pointy-breasted blonde victim. The evil butcher may actually be a fanatic cultist rather than a run of the mill maniac, given the medallion and robe he (I suppose this might be an old, crazy woman) is wearing, as well as the smoking censer, all of which suggest a ritual rather than a random slice-and-dice murder. The hand that isn’t grasping the cleaver seems like it might have originally been intended to be holding something else (a heart?), but as it stands it looks as if he’s in the midst of a soliloquy: “To be, or not to be…a mad killer! That is no question! Of course I am!” His intended victim appears to be dead already (the open, staring eyes are a nice touch), now it’s just a matter of cleaving her into convenient-sized pieces, I guess.

The pièce-de-résistance is the terrified man standing at the right of the page. Vagaries of comic book-cover colouring have been discussed here before and this is another example of a jaw-dropping…choice? Error? Oversight? The poor fellow (biting his nails, wearing a wife-beater shirt), has either (a) been dipped in chocolate, (b) just returned from the beach, where he put sunscreen only on his face, or (c) is an African-American who had a Caucasian face transplant (“No one will notice,” they said.).

I honestly don’t believe dark-skinned people who “go pale with fear” actually go this pale, so I think we can probably ignore that possibility. Also, I will not accept “well, he’s standing in the shadows but light is falling on his face so it’s lighter.” Look at his hand: he’s biting his nails in fear and his hand is brown but his jaw (behind the hand) is pink-orange (or, as we Caucasians call it, “flesh-coloured”). Not sure what the colourist had in mind here, but the end result is quite weird.

Although it wasn’t done especially for this particular cover, the title logo for “The Thing!” is nicely conceived and executed, with horrific artwork inside the letters (Terror Font, they could call it). The subliminal impression is of transparent, tinted glass that allows the reader a glimpse into the frightening world behind the cover (i.e., inside the comic itself). The “dot” of the exclamation point contains the copyright symbol, another clever bit (since no identifiable art would have fit there, anyway).

Putting on my Art Critic Hat for a moment (you’d like it, it makes me look both erudite and rakish), the cover of The Thing! #11 is interestingly cluttered and the individual components of the art are professionally executed, but the whole design is lacking something. There’s not enough depth and separation between the elements: it looks like Forgione took 2 or 3 different, unused covers and pasted the artwork together to make a single image.

Or…is the skeleton reading about a butchered blonde, a crazed cleaver-carrying killer, and a frightened bi-coloured man who might be the next victim? If you look very carefully at the bottom of the barrel upon which the black cat is standing, you can see wavy lines that appear to be water (which isn’t logical at all), but might signify “imagination” or “dream” (there are a few more over the skeleton’s left shoulder). If this was the artist’s intention—all of the background is something in the book being read—then he should have made it clearer, darn it. [We can cut Forgione a little slack and say that the original art may have been larger and thus the “imagination balloon” might have been more visible, but still…]

Btw, the title of this article references “Hellzapoppin’,” a long-running Broadway show (and later a film) starring Olsen and Johnson, noted for its disparate elements, frantic pace, and disregard of the “fourth wall.” This densely-packed comic cover—and the later, similar (albeit humourous) covers of “Mad Comics” (and to a lesser extent, “Mad Magazine”) and its imitators—reminds me a bit of this show. For more info on “Hellzapoppin’,” go here.

The Thing! #1 is not the best horror-comic cover I’ve ever seen, either in content or draftsmanship, but the combination of numerous outré elements make it worthy of attention and, perhaps, discussion.

Traded My Broomstick for a Scimitar (Night of Crime, 1944 &...

mexcine — Tue, 26 Mar 2013 14:40:00 -0400

Traded My Broomstick for a Scimitar (Night of Crime, 1944 & Startling Stories, 1950)

There’s a curious bit in Oz the Great and Powerful, where Oz meets Theodora—a normal-looking young woman—and, upon learning she’s a witch, asks “Where’s your broom?” “You don’t know much about witches, do you?” she replies. Alright, so apparently “real” witches in the land of Oz don’t look and act like popular culture has conditioned us to expect them to. But in that case—if there was no tradition of witches looking or dressing that way—why does Theodora (later in the film) morph into a stereotypically black-clad, pointy-hatted, green-faced hag of an evil witch on a broom? Coincidence?

Today we’ll take a look at two examples of witch imagery which also utilise the standard witch costuming, although in both cases the witches are attractive rather than ugly, an accepted cheesecake variation on the stereotype (remember Veronica Lake in I Married a Witch? Elizabeth Montgomery in Bewitched? Melissa Joan Hart in Sabrina, the Teenage Witch?).

Night of Crime was a paperback issued by Omnibus Publications in 1944. This appears to have been the only book put out under this imprint, although the following year two additional “Jimmy Traynor” novels by Armstrong Livingston were issued by David Lucom, and at least one of these (The Case of the Walking Corpse) had cover art by the same artist as Night of Crime, Glen Cravath, suggesting some link between the two publishers.

The cover of Night of Crime is lurid and simultaneously realistically representational and surrealistically suggestive. The artwork on the left appears to depict some sort of country-house costume party, with a bowler-hatted, bumbling (presumably) police inspector observing, as a Devil-suited man (possibly our hero, Jimmy Traynor) examines the diaphanously-clad corpse of a gorgeous blonde, laid out beside a pool. Devil-man, ignoring proper crime-scene protocol, is handling a dagger, the probable murder weapon. [At first glance, an alternate reading might suggest a ritual sacrifice has taken place, but the posture and attitude of the two men point to a post-mortem investigation instead.]

Then, of course, the upper-right quadrant of the cover goes off into crazy-land. A sexy brunette witch (in contrast to the blonde murder victim) is flying off on—not a broom—but a bloody scimitar with a jeweled hilt! Wah wah wahhh?? (to quote Moe the Bartender) Artist Cravath has added some interesting details, such as the witch’s “Puritan” outfit (nearly a decade before Arthur Miller wrote “The Crucible”), with white cuffs and big-buckle shoes (although one can be sure Cotton Mather wouldn’t have approved of her exposed calf).

Having not read the novel itself—originally published in 1938, and about which The Saturday Review wrote “Story as whole wavers between nonsense and lurid melodrama”—I’ll have to use my imagination (as would the prospective buyer of this paperback in 1944). So, the young woman in the witch costume murdered (or is accused of having murdered) the sexy blonde and is trying to escape (we’ll assume “flying away on a bloody scimitar” is a metaphor rather than an accurate reflection of her mode of egress in the book)?

One nice point about the cover art is the ambivalent use of supernatural imagery: while close examination makes it clear that the characters are wearing costumes and apparently attending a masquerade party, at first glance we’ve got the Devil, a dead woman, and a flying witch (plus blood!). So it’s possible this lured a few unwary fantasy-fiction readers into purchasing copies of Night of Crime.

Although I chose this cover for its graphic elements, it was a pleasant surprise to discover a back-story behind the artist (whose signature can be glimpsed just above the word “mystery” at the bottom of the cover). Glen Cravath (1897-1964) is best-known for his movie art, including posters for the original King Kong (1933), as well as various movie tie-in comic strips. His covers for Night of Crime and The Case of the Walking Corpse are slightly less detailed and more slapdash than his poster work—one imagines paperback cover work paid less and was completed fairly quickly—but his style is still evident and the cover is striking enough in design and execution to have caught my eye, anyway.

More information on Glen Cravath (largely the same facts, repeated, but with different images) can be found here:

http://stevenlehrer.com/glen_cravath.htm

http://www.lambiek.net/artists/c/cravath_glen.htm

http://www.geostan.ca/posters.html

The second bewitching cover (see what I did there?) is from the March 1950 issue of Startling Stories, a science fiction pulp magazine published from 1939 to 1955. The artist was Earle K. Bergey, who painted most of the Startling Stories covers from 1942 through 1952. The majority of these covers featured attractive women in exotic costumes, often confronted by alien creatures and/or in alien locations, but the March 1950 cover is unusual in several ways.

First, while the art is extremely well-done, it strongly resembles an “October” illustration for a pinup calendar. Most of Bergey’s Startling Stories covers (which can be easily viewed on the web) have a “story” to them. That is, you can imagine a plot or situation which would explain the action that’s occurring in the artwork. But this cover features a marvelously sexy witch on a broom, shooting lightning bolts from her fingertips as she glances backward in trepidation, unaware that she’s flying towards a tornado. OK, I suppose you could concoct some story that would fit the image, but it’s not as easy as it is for the majority of Startling Stories’ covers. This just seems like more of a glamour cover than an story-action cover, to me at least.

Also, Startling Stories was basically a science fiction pulp, not a fantasy-themed magazine. People took the various genre distinctions fairly seriously in those days: you read Weird Tales for fantasy/horror, Amazing Stories for science fiction, etc. There were some “general” pulps—Argosy, for instance—but if a title had a reputation for publishing a certain type of story, readers weren’t going to be receptive to the appearance of off-model writing. So the cheesecake-y witch cover of Startling Stories March 1950 is a significant departure thematically from most of the magazine’s covers. It’s not only clearly identifiable as not science fiction, it’s not even borderline or ambivalent (as a few earlier covers were, e.g. January 1948): it’s an image of an obviously-supernatural, Halloween-costume style witch. This wasn’t Earle Bergey’s fault, of course: the editor of Startling Stories (Sam Merwin Jr. at the time) was the one who bought Norman Daniels’ story “The Lady is a Witch” and presumably assigned the cover topic to Bergey, so if anyone “broke the rules” for the magazine it was Merwin. I’m merely pointing out that this is certainly an unusual cover for Startling Stories, allegedly a science fiction pulp. Perhaps, as with Night of Crime, there was method to this genre-mixing madness: regular readers of Startling Stories would buy the issue anyway, and maybe the cover would additionally ensnare both lovers of the female form and fans of fantastic fiction.

Let me hasten to add I’m not complaining about this cover, heaven forfend! It is certainly a classic, a superbly-rendered work of art by one of the finest pulp magazine illustrators. Earle K. Bergey had a long and notable career as a cover artist for magazines and paperback books, a career that was cut short by his death at the age of 51 in 1952. I’m sure I’ll be highlighting other wonderful Bergey covers in months to come in this spot. More information about Bergey and samples of his work can be found here:

http://www.americanartarchives.com/bergey.htm

http://www.pulpartists.com/BE.html

These two covers do prove one thing: even the hackneyed image of a witch on a broom (or a scimitar—luckily she’s straddling the dull edge!), seemingly more appropriate for a tacky Halloween decoration, can—in the proper hands—be creatively utilised on a book or magazine cover for that most noble of purposes…to sell more copies.

Genuine Texas Ranger Eye Mask Like All Cowboys Wear! ...

mexcine — Tue, 05 Mar 2013 14:38:00 -0500

Genuine Texas Ranger Eye Mask Like All Cowboys Wear!

(Children’s Costume Ad, 1952)

Although I usually focus on movie posters, paperback/comic book/magazine covers, and other such items, I was perusing (thanks to the Digital Comic Museum) an issue of the oddly-titled Cowboys ‘N’ Injuns comic book, and the above advertisement (on the inside back cover) caught my eye.

What distinguishes this from ads in thousands of other comic books? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that the junior “Texas Ranger” boy looks like Pee-wee Herman? [It’s not—Paul Reubens had just been born in 1952 when this comic was published, so he wasn’t the pre-adolescent fashion model pictured.] Or that the costumes themselves are amazing, and only cost $1.98! (plus ten cents postage) Such a bargain, no wonder the Illinois Merchandise Mart is able to say “We guarantee this to be the greatest Cowboy and Cowgirl Outfit value in America today or you can return in 10 days for refund.” [Don’t be asking for a refund if you find a greater value in Mexico or France, though.]

The ad copy is literally filled with jaw-dropping, snark-worthy text. For example:

—“Sized to fit all ages from 2 to 12.” Wait a minute. Are you saying that children don’t grow significantly between the ages of 2 and 12? The models in the photos look like they’re 5 or 6 years of age, and suggesting that a toddler of 2 could wear the same outfit and not completely vanish inside it, is just difficult to believe. Usually, the old “fun for ages 6 to 60” catchphrase is applied to games and such—suggesting that the activity is simple enough for children to enjoy but also entertaining for adults—but not to clothing, for heaven’s sake. I’m sorry, I refuse to accept this statement as valid. Hmmm…oh, wait. The coupon contains a line that reads “Please state age of youngster getting Outfit.” Alright, now I understand, there are different sizes available. Never mind.

—“Here’s What Each Outfit Contains!” “Genuine Texas Ranger Eye Mask like all cowboys wear.” Yes, because every time I’ve seen a cowboy, he’s wearing a black domino mask on his face. Assuming, that is, that the only “cowboy” I’ve ever seen is the Lone Ranger. Who was, perhaps not coincidentally, a former Texas Ranger. Perhaps this ad is trying to subliminally link their costume with the Lone Ranger (without going to the trouble of making a merchandising deal)? That might be possible—there were plenty of Lone Ranger imitators, especially in comic books—except that the outfits on display don’t really resemble the Lone Ranger at all. Zorro, perhaps (very vaguely). [Or Cowboy Liberace.] Claiming “all cowboys wear” an “Eye Mask” (as distinguished from what? A Nose Mask?) makes me laugh every time I read it. The only way this sentence would be true is if it said “Genuine Texas Ranger Eye Mask like all cowboys wear on Halloween while they are trick-or-treating.”

[As an aside, I’m surprised cowboy hats weren’t included in these outfits. Perhaps they were too bulky to fit in the package? This feels like a real omission to me. Not a deal-breaker, exactly, but it means you’d have to go out and buy a cowboy hat separately.]

—“144 inches of cowboy-type Rope.” That seems like a lot, actually. Not sure what their definition of “cowboy-type Rope” is, but sending you 12 feet of it is impressive. In the illustration, Pee-wee appears to be holding one end of a lariat, but the artist who put together the ad failed to connect the rope in his fist with the drawing of a rope encircling the big black word balloon at the top of the page.

—“Two beautifully-styled, full width Texas Ranger Chaps. (Cowgirl outfit has two-piece Texas Ranger skirt instead of the chaps.)” I’m not certain what a “two-piece” skirt is, but this substitution is at the same time mildly sexist and yet potentially advantageous for our female Texas Rangers (at least they aren’t called Texas Rangerettes). It’s nice that the company went to the trouble to design and offer a girls’ version of their outfit, and a skirt (while perhaps not practical when ridin’ the range and catchin’ outlaws) at least is a more complete outfit than chaps (even “full width” chaps). You will notice that there is a back view of Texas Ranger Girl, but no such illustration is provided for Texas Ranger Boy, suggesting he forgot to wear his (not included) Texas Ranger Blue Jeans under his chaps. He’s probably feeling a breeze from the South, if you know what I mean.

—“Roomy Neckerchief.” Because no one likes a cramped neck.

—“Gun Holsters” and “replica Six-Shooter Guns.” The NRA would be proud.

The fine print in the lower left-hand corner is also instructive. These outfits are made of “finest quality 12-gauge vinal.” I was going to mock their misspelling of “vinyl,” but—learn something new every day—vinal is a thing. Several things, in fact, but the relevant one is “a type of manmade fibre partly composed of vinyl alcohol units.” So chalk one up for the copywriter, he used a word I didn’t know!

This doesn’t change the fact that the outfits are essentially plastic, probably akin to that used for cheap tablecloths. But hey, it will “literally ‘wear like iron.’” [Yes, literally, because… wearing iron clothes is a thing?] “We actually refer to it as ‘tear-resistant.’” [One may “refer to it” any way one likes, but that doesn’t necessarily make it true.] “You don’t even have to wash it to keep this material clean. Just wipe with damp cloth and it stays like new each day.” [First, I guess it would be quibbling to suggest “wipe with damp cloth” = “washing.” Second, “it stays like new each day?” “Stays like new” sounded awkward to me; Google has over 1.5 million examples of that phrase, but I still don’t like it.]

Actually, the copy in this advertisement is a fascinating combination of hyperbole, excellent use of adjectives, awkwardness, and the occasional literary turn of phrase, with frequent switches in tone and mode of address (presumably the ad should appeal to children who say “I want that!” and to parents, who subsequently read the ad before sending their hard-earned $1.98 off to Chicago). For example: “Here, in fact, is an outfit to thrill every young buckaroo from ages 2 to 12.” “Parents, too, will get a real thrill when they see how beautiful these Cowboy outfits look as they help their youngsters don them for the first time.” [That’s a lot of thrills for a plastic cowboy outfit to deliver, no?] “Easily the greatest value in our history.” How could you resist that?

Cowboys ‘N’ Injuns was a juvenile-oriented humour comic published by the Magazine Enterprises company. The concept was slightly odd. The stories featured children (“Jesse Jimmy”) as protagonists in humourous Western stories, so it’s a strange, cartoony (as opposed to realistic) amalgam of Western stories and humour, aimed at young children. It’s not like Donald Duck and his nephews go out West for one story in one comic book, it’s a whole comic devoted to nothing but funny-Western-kids’ tales. Cowboys ‘N’ Injuns had a checkered history: the first five issues were issued in 1946-47, then the title went on hiatus until 1952, when two final numbers appeared. Although in a confusing bit of publisher legerdemain, the indicia says Cowboys ‘N’ Injuns No. 7 is also “A-1 No. 41,” and No. 8 is “A-1 No. 48.” A-1 was an omnibus title that came out between 1944 and 1952: the various issues were actually labeled as issues of other series as well, so the whole A-1 thing is puzzling. Probably some legal reasons for this, who knows.

By the way, a quick Google search reveals that this particular ad appeared in a number of other comic books of the era, with titles ranging from Black Diamond Western to Blackhawk, Police Comics, and Candy. Furthermore, a white version of the costumes was offered by those enterprising people at Illinois Merchandise Mart as the “Broncho [sic] Buster Cowboy Outfit.” The photos in these ads have been crudely re-touched and the text is slightly different (and not as funny). Other than the colour and name changes, the biggest difference is that buyers of the “Broncho Buster” outfit got a “Famous Clicker ‘Repeating’ Six Shooter Gun” that “Clicks noisily as it shoots,” whereas the black-clad junior Texas Rangers got two toy pistols (but theirs apparently didn’t “click noisily”) for their $1.98. Still no hats, though.

[I’ll also mention that I stumbled across a LiveJournal post from March 2006 which also pokes fun at this advertisement. Great minds think alike, I guess? I didn’t find this blog entry until mine was finished, so it didn’t “inspire” me, but in case you’d like to read someone else’s take on the same ad, here it is]

At times it may be difficult for younger generations to understand how important and ubiquitous the Western genre was in popular culture of the first two-thirds of the 20th century (and a fair amount of the 19th as well). I’d wager many members of Generation X have seen very few Western films or read Western novels, and current TV Westerns or comic books —if they still exist—are more than likely to be modernised hybrids. The familiarity with standard Western tropes, the significance of plot, character, and settings, the historical relevance, are no longer part of our national consciousness. There are still Western fans out there, but it’s a select, smaller group, and (I’m just guessing) skews older. How many of today’s five-year-olds—versus the same demographic in the Fifties—would select a “cowboy” costume from an array including superhero, zombie, soldier, Disney character? [Unless they identified it as “Woody from Toy Story.”] There simply isn’t the same cultural background. The world turns, as they say…

Well, if I’d been a kid in 1952, this flamboyant ad might have prompted me to ask for one of these Outfits…but I definitely would have wanted a hat.

When Gumbys Go Bad: California is Doomed! (Saturn Science...

mexcine — Wed, 20 Feb 2013 13:10:00 -0500

When Gumbys Go Bad: California is Doomed! (Saturn Science Fiction and Fantasy, 1957)

Pop culture cross-references are so prevalent in the media these days that no one blinks when a TV commercial for autos features a mini-Darth Vader, or when Django Unchained borrows the theme song from a 1960s spaghetti Western. This was perhaps not quite so common in the past, although comic books and animated cartoons in particular were noted for caricatures and “cameo appearances” of celebrities from the “real” worlds of politics, entertainment, sports, etc.

The character of “Gumby” first appeared on television in animated shorts in 1956, and by 1957 had his own program. Although many feel he resembles a stick of chewing gum (which would also tie in with his name), allegedly his shape was inspired by gingerbread-man cookies, with wide feet for ease of animation and a slanted head modeled after the hairstyle of creator Art Clokey’s father.

Apparently Gumby was well-known enough by mid-year to be spoofed on the cover of the October 1957 issue of Saturn Science Fiction and Fantasy. Unless the evil, rampaging green creatures from inner Earth were just a coincidence? That’s possible, of course, but I prefer to believe the unknown cover artist caught a Gumby episode on TV one day and decided to explore the evil side of the plasticine hero.

The Green Invaders aren’t exact duplicates of Clokey’s Chartreuse Celebrity: their heads come to a point, they have three clawed fingers rather than Gumby’s mitten-like hands, and their eyes are psycho voids rather than Gumby’s friendly orbs, but there is enough similarity to make one look askance at the Gumbster. I mean, do we really know where Gumby came from? He’s clearly not human. Perhaps these sinister creatures are his cousins from subterranean Gumbyland, and Gumby was merely an advance scout—prettied-up by a Gumbyian plastic surgeon—sent to prepare the way for the ultimate Gumbvasion. Can you prove it didn’t happen? (as Criswell would say)

Oh, and if you’re wondering where Gumby’s sidekick pony Pokey is, I don’t know. However, the young woman-in-peril on the magazine cover might pokey your eye out with that spikey bra she’s wearing. Her bra or halter-top or whatever it is also rocks some killer pointy shoulder-pads, so hands-off, fellows. Those blue briefs are form-fitting but not too revealing, and she’s carefully accessorised so as not to expose her navel. Her black pumps are conventional but those ankle-umbrellas make up for it: no sun-burned feet for this savvy future-babe!

I’m not sure if the “California is Doomed!” title blurb refers to the cover art specifically. The toppling skyscrapers in the background are not geographically distinctive, but the suggestion that a catastrophic earthquake has opened gigantic fissures in the ground—thereby allowing the Gumby-troops to emerge—seems to point to California as the setting for the artwork. While other areas of the continental USA have suffered from tremors in the past (heck, even the suburbs of Washington DC where I live have been struck within the past two years), California is the state most associated in mass culture with earthquakes.

A little background on this publication, which was not a “pulp magazine,” but one of the numerous replacement formats (if I may coin a phrase) that emerged in the 1950s. Standard magazines (also called “bedsheets”) and “digests” (think “Reader’s Digest”) were the most prevalent sizes, with many science-fiction and detective-fiction magazines opting for the smaller digest format (just over 5x7 inches). Saturn was a digest. Not much is known (by me) about the Candar Publishing Company, which put out a variety of comic books and magazines, beginning around 1956. The publisher/editor of many of these—including Saturn—was Robert C. Sproul. [Sproul also ran Major Publications, which issued the long-running Cracked, among other titles .]

One odd thing about Saturn was the apparent indecisiveness of the publisher, who changed the magazine’s name three times in the space of five issues! The first issue (March 1957) was titled Saturn, The Magazine of Science Fiction, issue #2 was Saturn Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, and issues 3-5 were called Saturn Science Fiction and Fantasy. Finally, Candar gave up on science fiction and the title changed to Saturn Magazine of Web Detective Stories with issue #6. The magazine eventually became Web Terror Stories, finally ceasing publication in 1965.

I don’t suppose the fluctuating name hurt (or helped) the magazine’s sales, since the changes were relatively minor: you’ve always got the main title “Saturn,” which signifies science fiction, then there are the actual words “science fiction,” and—for good measure, and to broaden your audience a bit, I guess—“fantasy” is tossed in there for the last 4 issues. Interestingly enough, the word “Saturn” was in large print for the first 3 issues, but issues 4 and 5 made the phrase “Science Fiction” much larger, just in case potential buyers couldn’t figure out the genre based on the cover art.

Saturn seems to have been a reasonably “respectable” sci-fi title, with stories by genre “names” Jules Verne (no royalty payments necessary there), August Derleth, Frank Belknap Long, and Robert A. Heinlein. The cover discussed here is the most outré of the title’s run, although scantily-clad women do appear on 4 of the 5 issues, something the “prestige” sci-fi magazines frowned upon.

[see the covers of all the issues of this title here: http://www.philsp.com/mags/saturn.html]

While not exceedingly outrageous or amazing, the cover of Saturn Science Fiction and Fantasy does portray a shocking, dystopian world of the future where greenish, humanoid sticks of chewing gum emerge from the Earth’s core to threaten oddly-garbed women. And that’s worth something, isn’t it?

Do Not Confuse With Other Movies!—“The Maniacs Are Loose!”...

mexcine — Thu, 31 Jan 2013 12:02:00 -0500

Do Not Confuse With Other Movies!—“The Maniacs Are Loose!” poster (1960s)

While not badly designed from a graphics standpoint, the poster for The Maniacs Are Loose! has to be one of the wordiest movie posters of all time. “A picture is worth a thousand words? Well, let’s have a picture and a thousand words! That will be great!” In addition to the usual tag-lines, “See!” comments, and bally-hoo for the promotional gimmicks “Hallucinogenic Hypno-Vision” and “Live Maniacs in Audience!”, the text also includes a printed disclaimer that essentially contradicts the more outrageous claims elsewhere on the poster. One has to wonder: would potential ticket-buyers stand in front of the poster and read all of this?

The Maniacs Are Loose! was actually a revised re-release of 1964’s The Thrill Killers, which had a far more conventional poster. The new version of the movie included a prologue featuring hypnotist Ormond McGill (“the Amazing Ormond”)—who, in addition to his stage work, was also apparently a “serious” hypnotherapist—and colour inserts of a “hypnodisc” interspersed throughout the black-and-white film. At these points, the supposedly-hypnotised audience would be treated to live appearances (in certain venues) of director/star Ray Dennis Steckler and others, who would run around the theatre scaring people (it is suggested this was also done during the film’s initial release, albeit without the hypnosis hook).

Steckler’s previous movie, The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies, had been shot in Eastmancolor and “Terrorama.” What was “Terrorama,” you ask? Basically the same thing as “Hallucinogenic Hypno-Vision,” i.e., live performers running around the cinema itself, although in The Maniacs Are Loose! they were wearing paper masks with the image of actor “Cash Flagg” (director Steckler’s acting pseudonym) in his role of psycho killer “Mad Dog Click,” while in The Incredibly Strange Creatures…they were dressed as characters from that movie.

These live appearances, not truly an integral part of the film narrative, were part of the roadshow release, but may have been omitted in other screenings (unless the local theatre owner was particularly energetic). In many cases, movie “gimmicks” required some technical and/or human interaction on the local level to be truly effective. One of the oft-cited reasons for the failure of 3D in the 1950s was the inability of local cinemas to properly project the films, resulting in audience eyestrain. “Percepto,” “Emergo,” “Smellovision,” and some other techniques necessitated the installation of special equipment in each movie house where a particular film was to be shown, which may or may not have been done properly (or at all). For The Incredibly Strange Creatures… and The Maniacs Are Loose!, the gimmick would have required the participation of a handful of theatre employees, dragooned into donning masks and dashing through the aisles once or twice during each show.

Since “Terrorama” is not defined on the Incredibly Strange Creatures… poster, when the “live” performances weren’t included in the show, the audience would have been none the wiser. They probably assumed “Terrorama” was typical Hollywood hyperbole and meant nothing in particular, technically. Might as well have been called “Scare-O-Vision” or something equally vague.

“Hallucinogenic Hypno-Vision,” on the other hand, is bally-hooed as a “New Screen Innovation!” The poster’s imagery and text mirror promotional materials for the 3-D boom of the 1950s. “Framing” a character or scene from the movie with a proscenium arch and artwork of a cinema audience (albeit a sparse one, in this particular case—more than half the visible seats are empty!) can be seen on numerous posters for earlier 3D movies, starting with Bwana Devil and continuing with House of Wax, It Came from Outer Space, The Charge at Feather River, Inferno, etc. The “emerging” design graphically represents the 3D experience, and the poster for The Maniacs Are Loose! sells this film in much the same way.

This “live the movie”-promo parallelism is reinforced by the poster’s text. The famous tag-lines for Bwana Devil—“A Lion in Your Lap! A Lover in Your Arms!”—emphasized the illusion that the audience would become part of the film’s action in a 3D movie. The Maniacs Are Loose! makes this point explicitly: “As you watch THIS MOVIE you become part of the picture—You are put in the middle of it.” Of course, The Maniacs Are Loose! wasn’t a 3D film and couldn’t claim that (and in fact, given the bad reputation the process had gotten after the Fifties fad faded, it probably wouldn’t have wanted to). Instead, it purported to provide a similar “real” experience via another “innovation.”

“Live Maniacs in Audience! All Over Theatre Looking for Victims! Warning to Girls! Bring an Escort to Protect You!” (i.e., buy two tickets, not just one) But, don’t worry: as the fine print points out, watching this film is “Terribly scary—but no danger—just fun excitement!” By the way, “It’ll Give You Nightmares for a Month!” Oh boy, that’s just what I’m looking for in exchange for handing over some of my disposable income: long-term psychological after-effects.

The poster text is largely aimed at promoting the viewer experience, as opposed to describing the content of the movie itself. The plot is summarised briefly: “Homicidal maniacs escape from asylum—terrorize a community! Gullible love starved women become their prey!” Oh, I guess I’m safe then, since I’m not a “gullible love-starved woman.” There are two little tag-lines buried almost invisibly in the artwork: “Heads chopped off before your eyes!” and “Girls at mercy of madmen!” These literally (and fully) describe the accompanying artwork, with a freshly chopped-off head and girl-molesting madmen constituting the entirety of the imagery, aside from the aforementioned “emerging from the screen” motif and a thumbnail pic of the Amazing Ormond.

The text line at the bottom of the poster is amusing in a way: “Do Not Confuse With Other Movies!” (especially The Thrill Killers, released a couple of years ago, which is…the same film) “Nothing Like It Ever Before!” (except for The Thrill Killers, released a couple of years ago, because…well, you know)

The Maniacs Are Loose! was a low-budget film and the poster—while professionally designed and executed—hints at this because it’s not full-colour. Duotone movie posters—black & white with a single colour—were cheaper to print and were generally used for minor films or re-releases of major movies. The poster for the original version (The Thrill Killers) was also duotone (black and red). Curiously, an extremely low-tech trailer exists for The Maniacs Are Loose! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OmRY7dSS6QI), which makes much more use of the poster itself than it does of footage from the actual movie!

[A modern “trailer” for the film which—although it is listed as The Thrill Killers, includes some of the Amazing Ormond’s colour footage from The Maniacs Are Loose!—can be seen here:

http://www.reelz.com/trailer-clips/27326/the-thrill-killers-trailer/ ]

Although it’s text-heavy and is “only” duotone, the poster for The Maniacs Are Loose! is actually quite interesting. The effective use of red highlights—certain parts of the text, the main title, and the “tasteful” amount of blood dripping from the severed head—suggests a decent level of professional design consideration was given to the poster’s creation.

Did the poster achieve its (assumed) goals? It’s impossible to say, but one should remember that posters are only part of a film’s total promotional package, and while a really amazing poster might draw people into a theatre because it makes the film look so good, this is probably not the usual (or expected) circumstance. Possibly the large amount of text could prompt a casual passer-by to pause and devote more attention than usual to the poster for The Maniacs Are Loose! and that might subsequently tempt them into purchasing a ticket. You can’t ask for much more than that.

The Skinny-Dipping Superhero & the...

mexcine — Thu, 17 Jan 2013 20:40:00 -0500

The Skinny-Dipping Superhero & the Bare-skin Dress

(Accidental Comic book cover nudity)

It must be frustrating at times to be a commercial artist. You’re at the mercy of so many outside forces, told what to draw/paint—what to include, what not to include—then your work has to be approved—perhaps first revised, perhaps even rejected—before you’re finished. Then, your final work of art might be distorted, half-covered with logos and text, and mis-used in various ways. Your art might even suffer a final indignity, faulty reproduction!

This is all a way to lead up to a brief discussion of what appears to be one, and possibly two of the most egregious, worst (or greatest) colouring/printing errors of all time, the covers of The Funnies #48 (October 1940), and Pioneer West Romances Starring Firehair #6 (1950), both of which seem to feature nudity, due to (one assumes) colourist error. It’s inconceivable nobody noticed the apparent indecency of the lead characters on the covers of these comics before they were printed, distributed, and sold, but…I guess they didn’t.

In the days before photocopying and (later) computer scanning, comic books were drawn on sheets of illustration board, then colour codes were inserted to instruct the printer. Artist E.C. Stoner (The Funnies) drew his character in such a way that correctly-applied colour was necessary to make him seem clad: in other words, Phantasmo wasn’t wearing a business suit or a uniform or trousers that—even if not tinted properly—would be easily recognised as clothing. Because Phantasmo’s normal costume consisted of only a pair of shorts, boots, and a cape, with bare legs, arms, and chest, if his shorts weren’t coloured red or orange or blue, it would look like he was swimming naked. Which it does. I suppose we should be grateful he’s not doing the backstroke.

Maurice Whitman, on the other hand, drew heroine “Firehair” fully-clad in a buckskin dress. However, since Fiction House was one of the major proponents of cheesecakery on their comic book covers (their line of adventure titles was generally aimed at an older than average comic book reader), Whitman was careful to delineate all of her feminine charms under the clinging costume. This would have been fine if the colourist had made her dress even slightly different in colour than her arms, legs, face, and neck (on the overwhelming majority of the covers and in the interior stories, Firehair’s dress is green). But NOOOOOOOO. Everything, including her dress, is flesh-coloured (except the little yellow fringe-hem), making it appear Firehair is wearing a dress made out of Saran Wrap. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Firehair’s Native American sidekick certainly isn’t complaining, as he stares intently at her derriere from about a foot away. [I swear he’s looking right at it and saying to himself “Whoo! Dat ass!”]

Another odd thing about this cover is that while Firehair did have an Indian friend in her stories, he was a young adult male named “Little Ax,” not an adolescent boy as depicted on the cover. Perhaps Maurice Whitman felt it would have been too prurient to have a grown man in such close proximity to Firehair’s butt, or perhaps he was unconsciously thinking of the youthful Indian sidekick of another red-haired Western comic book star, Red Ryder. That boyish character’s name was…er… “Little Beaver.” I’m sorely tempted to make a joke here, but…no comment…

Perhaps a little background would not be amiss. The Funnies was an early comic book—first published in 1936—put out by Dell as a competitor to Famous Funnies (which started in 1934), generally accepted as one of the first true American comic books. Both titles published mostly newspaper comic strip reprints, but The Funnies did include some original material. After Superman and Batman proved the superhero genre could be popular, a number of companies added such characters to their comics, and Dell was among them. The hyperbolically billed “Phantasmo: The Master of the World” debuted in 1940 in The Funnies: “Phil Anson, a young American adventurer, has learned the secret powers of the lamas of Tibet. By force of will, he can leave his body and become Phantasmo, Master of the World.”

Curiously, on the cover of The Funnies #47, Phantasmo also appears “nude,” i.e., his trunks and boots are not coloured any differently than his bare legs, arms, and torso. For some reason, this is not as shocking as the cover of #48, possibly because on #47 his flesh has a rather yellowish hue (at least in the cover reproduction I’ve seen), making it appear he’s wearing a full-body costume, whereas on #48 the colour is definitely “flesh-toned.” On the rest of the covers upon which he appears, Phantasmo’s shorts are variously red, orange, yellow, blue, or green! Consistency wasn’t a strong suit of Dell’s printing company, obviously.

The Phantasmo covers and interior stories were mostly drawn by E.C. Stoner. Comics historian Ken Quattro has written an excellent article about Stoner, one of the relatively few African-American comic book artists during the Golden Age (click here).

Stoner was a competent comic book artist (and apparently a talented “fine artist” as well), and of course it wasn’t his fault that Phantasmo lost his boxer shorts on a couple of issues of The Funnies. It must be said, however, that the cover of The Funnies #48 isn’t especially well-designed. Most of Stoner’s other cover art was more dynamic and dramatic, often depicting Phantasmo as a giant—which (unlike his title of “Master of the World,” which meant…nothing) wasn’t just hyperbole, since Phantasmo’s powers included growing to a great height. But on #48, it’s unclear if he’s meant to be as large as the submarine, or if it’s just perspective that gives this impression. And what’s he doing? Swimming recreationally? Racing against the sub? Attacking it? Is it an evil submarine? (In 1940, most submarines were assumed to be evil, although this one doesn’t have either a swastika or a skull-and-bones painted on its conning tower) The red bands on his body represent the “borders” of his cape, trunks, and boots, but in the absence of any other colour for the “costume,” they look like decorative ribbons (it’s difficult to see how his cape could have been included in any event: given the angle of the artwork, it would presumably have covered his body).

Firehair, “Queen of the Golden West” (not quite “Master of the World,” but still rather presumptuous), wasn’t a super-heroine, but a Western character whose origin vaguely resembled that of the Lone Ranger. Lynn Cabot’s wagon train was ambushed by “Indians” (actually, white outlaws disguised as Indians): her father and the rest of the travelers were killed, but an injured Lynn was rescued by Dakota tribesman Little Ax. Lynn recovered her health and stayed with Little Ax’s tribe, becoming a crusader for justice in the old West, sort of a semi-clone of Sheena, Queen of the Jungle (notice they were both “Queens” of their domains).

Firehair (also occasionally billed as “Warrior-Maid of the Wild Dakotas”) began her comic book run in Fiction House’s Rangers Comics in 1945 but really came into her own around 1948, when she took over as the cover feature for the rest of that title’s run (until its cancellation in 1952). Western, romance, and crime comics grew in popularity in the late 1940s, so this may be one reason Firehair was elevated to such prominence. She was also given her own title in late 1948. For unknown reasons, after the first two issues Firehair Comics became Pioneer West Romances starring Firehair for #3-7 (which includes our buck-naked-skin cover), and then changed back to Firehair for four more issues.

The cover of Pioneer West Romances Starring Firehair (now that I think of it, adding “Romances” to the title might have been an attempt to broaden the readership base) #6 was obviously drawn to fit the Fiction House cheesecake style, but it—and the other Firehair covers—for the most part presented the titian-tressed protagonist as an assertive, competent heroine rather than a damsel in distress needing rescue. This is again reminiscent of Fiction House’s biggest star, jungle queen Sheena (who was also drawn on occasion by Maurice Whitman). Firehair and her youthful Native American escort are defending a wagon train under attack by outlaws: as suggested by her origin story, Firehair stories depicted the Dakota tribe as friendly and law-abiding, while greedy whites and other, “bad” tribes were the cause of trouble in the West.

It would be interesting to know what impact the accidental nudity on the covers of these two comics had, if any, on their sales or otherwise. One might guess that The Funnies would have caused a greater stir, since the “nude” figure of Phantasmo is so blatant that I wonder if newsstand operators were embarrassed to display it. Pioneer West Romances, on the other hand, is not quite so obvious in its nudity and since many comics in this era had extremely sexy, “pinup” style covers, the transparency of Firehair’s dress might not have drawn much attention (the cover itself is busier and more detailed, and Firehair here is less prominent than Phantasmo on The Funnies). In the absence of social media, it wasn’t as easy for a “controversy” to sweep across the nation, so while a few people may have been offended by these accidents, the scandal didn’t “go viral.” And these covers were “accidents,” right? Who knows…

“Pick-Up Girls on a Ride to Love, With Satan Behind the...

mexcine — Mon, 31 Dec 2012 21:03:57 -0500

“Pick-Up Girls on a Ride to Love, With Satan Behind the Wheel” (The Devil Thumbs a Ride paperback, 1949)

I’ve written before about the use of Devil imagery in pop culture, and will probably write about it again—there are plenty of additional examples out there. The Devil Thumbs a Ride, a 1949 Avon paperback, is yet another instance where Satan intervenes, metaphorically at least, in the lives of mortals.

The Devil Thumbs a Ride was written by Robert C. Du Soe, and originally published by McBride as a $2.00 hardback in 1938. The Saturday Review called the novel “interesting,” and said it was “competently written in Hem.-Ham. style.” “Hem.-Ham. style?” Presumably, this was SatRev short-hand for “Ernest Hemingway-Dashiell Hammett writing style”—“hard-boiled” literature, in other words. The book deals with a motorist who picks up a hitchhiker (and later, two more), but quickly regrets his kindness when crime and mayhem ensue.

Not much is known about Du Soe, who penned a number of “juvenile reader” novels later in life, and received a screen credit on Twenty Mule Team, a 1940 Western film. The Devil Thumbs a Ride—an inspired title, to be sure—was sold to RKO Radio Pictures and made into a film in 1947. An unpretentious B-picture at the time, The Devil Thumbs a Ride is a well-regarded film noir today.

Curiously, the Avon Books edition of Du Soe’s novel wasn’t published until 2 years after the film was released, and is not a “movie tie-in.” Perhaps Avon believed the motion picture was so inconsequential that referencing it would have no impact on the book’s sales, and there’s something in that; furthermore, while a fair number of Avon titles had been or were subsequently adapted into films, only a handful appear to have been published in close enough proximity to the release of the film version to justify cross-references (a fairly rare example is The Amboy Dukes, which was re-printed by Avon to take advantage of the movie adaptation, City Across the River).

The cover of The Devil Thumbs a Ride was painted by Ann Cantor, one of Avon’s regular artists in this period: nearly 2 dozen examples of her work have been identified, and many others probably exist, uncredited. Avon also published comic books and occasionally recycled covers from one medium to the other, so it’s possible her work appears on some comics as well. Cantor’s work can also be seen on the covers of books published under the Novel Library and Diversey imprints, which were owned by Avon.

Ann Cantor’s brightly-coloured, poster-like illustrations at times slightly resemble the work of artists like Rudolph Belarsky, Earl Bergey, and Peter Driben, but she has her own distinctive style and most of her covers feature multiple characters—male and female—rather than a single “pin-up” style image of a woman.

A “set” of some of Ann Cantor’s Avon covers can be seen here.

Although it’s yet to be confirmed, cover-artist Ann Cantor was probably the same “Ann Cantor” who was employed as an art director at the prestigious J. Walter Thompson advertising agency.

The cover of The Devil Thumbs a Ride is colourful and well-executed, although there seems to be some abuse of perspective and foreshortening. The motorcycle cop in the foreground is only slightly larger than the passengers in the automobile that is running him down, and the car’s hood appears to be about six inches long, which doesn’t leave much room for the engine. The eye-lines of the various characters are oddly diverse: the cop isn’t looking at the car or driver, but rather at the apparition of hitch-hiking Satan in the upper left background (possibly this distraction is why he drove his motorcycle in front of the car?). While the driver and the blonde passenger are watching the policeman—the blonde with horror, the driver with an evil smirk—the redhead in the middle of the front seat is staring straight ahead, right at…us. Possibly no one warned her “don’t look at the camera!” (or at the artist, in this case) The redhead is rather oddly proportioned, with her head too far over to the left (or else she’s leaning at an acute angle), and—based on the amount of bare skin we see—she seems to be losing her dress.

I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen the driver of the car before. He’s not obviously a caricature of some actor (certainly not of Lawrence Tierney, star of the movie version), but that face definitely seems familiar. I like the details Ann Cantor works into the artwork, such as the “No Riders” sign on the car windshield. This was more often seen on trucks, whose drivers were generally forbidden (for insurance reasons) from picking up hitchhikers, but in this case it reinforces the unpleasant attitude of the driver: no only is he hitting a motorcycle patrolman with his car, he’s also scoffing at the “No Riders” rule! A sociopath if there ever was one. The blonde appears to be holding a bottle, a curious but nice little touch, as are the redhead’s red earrings. The motorcycle cop is depicted in considerable detail as well, including his leather gauntlets and Sam Browne belt. I’m not sure how many police motorcycles in 1949 were fire-engine red, but we’ll chalk that one up to artistic license, making sure the bike’s spotlight contrasts well with the black car hood. The light green background makes the figures stand out, and of course there’s our old pal Satan in the upper left corner, extending his thumb in the (not-quite) universal sign for hitch-hiking.

Once again this stereotypical Devil figure—instantly recognisable with his red skin, horns, goatee, pointy moustache, wicked grin—lets us know Evil is Afoot. He’s a metaphor, you see, for the bad guy picked up by the novel’s protagonist (said protagonist is absent from the cover painting, but it’s just as well, the artwork—not to mention the car—is rather crowded anyway). To make matters worse, he subsequently takes on two additional passengers…loose women.

The tag-line at the top of the cover is evocative: “Pick-Up Girls on a Ride to Love/With Satan Behind the Wheel.” Read it aloud: isn’t it almost like beat poetry? Better yet, read it aloud in William Shatner’s voice—“Pick-Up GIRLS…on…a Ride…to LOVE…with…SATAN…behind the wheel.” I wish I had a band, I’d write a song with that title and we’d sing it at every show.

However, if you desconstruct this, there’s a bit of a disconnect between the sleazy connotations of “Pick-Up Girls” and “on a Ride to Love.” Do Pick-Up Girls fall in love? Aren’t they just out for a good time, and maybe a few bucks for their cab fare home? Perhaps I have misjudged these Pick-Up Girls. Maybe they want, and deserve Love just as we all do. But regardless of their good intentions, this “Ride to Love” isn’t going to be smooth, because “Satan is behind the wheel.”

One of the fun things about these pop culture deconstructions is examining the interplay between the artwork and the text. Artists might complain about the words cluttering up their image, but the copy-writers were creative in their own way, attempting to encapsulate the essence of the book in a clever phrase. Without knowing anything about the actual plot of The Devil Thumbs a Ride, the casual browser at the newsstand in 1949 could glean the basics from this cover: it’s about crime, automobiles, ruthless bad guys, and attractive, not-quite-so-bad young women. If those are some of your favourite things, then fork over that shiny quarter-dollar, bud, and polish up your reading glasses!

After all, when The Devil Thumbs a Ride, why not stop and give him a lift? What’s the worst that could happen?

Attack of the Giant Pink Kung-Fu Cannibal (Uncanny...

mexcine — Thu, 13 Dec 2012 11:19:00 -0500

Attack of the Giant Pink Kung-Fu Cannibal (Uncanny Tales, 1941-42)

During the Second World War, the Canadian War Exchange Conservation Act restricted the formerly-wide distribution of certain U.S. publications in that country. Banned from importation were: periodical publications, unbound or paper bound, consisting largely of fiction or printed matter of a similar character, including detective, sex, western, and alleged true crime or confession stories, and publications, unbound or paper bound, commonly known as comics. (Statutes of Canada, 4-5 George VI, Chap. 2)

Many American comics and pulps had even carried “10 cents, 15 cents in Canada” price information on their front covers, as an indication of how popular and widespread these magazines were North of the Border. A cottage-industry in Canadian-made pulp magazines and comic books soon developed to fill the gap.

Uncanny Tales was one of these home-grown replacements, published in Toronto from November 1940 (a month before the War Exchange Conservation Act was passed) through September 1943. Although it shares a title with an American “shudder pulp” magazine—actually a continuation of Star Detective Magazine that changed its title for its final 5 issues in 1939-40—the Canadian Uncanny Tales initially published mostly locally-written material (just as the Canadian comics printed new strips, although some did feature American comic characters, under license), but beginning with the third issue began reprinting some stories from American pulps like Weird Tales, as well as stories (some previously-published) by amateur and semi-professional authors from the USA, supplied by Donald A. Wollheim and Sam Moskowitz, two prominent figures in science-fiction fandom of the era. This was actually something of a reversal of the mode of other Canadian pulps, which started out reprinting American stories and added Canadian-authored work later.

After four digest-sized issues with mono-tone text-based covers, UT became a full-fledged pulp magazine with full-colour covers for the remainder of its publishing life. The artwork on most of the covers was either extremely stylised and/or somewhat crude, but undeniably colourful and striking, nonetheless. The two covers here are not necessarily the “best” and the “worst” of the 17 fully-illustrated issues, but they’re both entertainingly bizarre and probably helped sell some copies of Uncanny Tales.

The September 1941 cover was by Walter Leslie, the fourth of five UT covers he would paint (K.P. Ainsworth also illustrated 5 and Wilf Long would do 4). The painting depicts a rather stereotypical couple—a blonde in a tattered red dress, her muscular companion wearing a wife-beater and jodphurs—wandering through the jungle, when suddenly they are confronted by what can only be described as a giant, pink, bald, angry, kung-fu fighting cannibal monster. Although it is barely possible that he’s simply a giant, pink, bald, angry, interpretative-dancing cannibal monster. Or maybe he’s just irritated by the uninvited interlopers and is saying “talk to the hands, people” (or “put on some clothes, you two”).

The craftsmanship and detail of the art aren’t up to American pulp standards, but it’s professional enough (unlike a few UT covers, which are downright crude and amateurish). The Library and Archives of Canada “Tales from the Vault!” website says Leslie “may have had a background in graphic design.” Objectively, one might criticise the stylistic disconnect between the realistic human figures (and the jungle setting) and the cartoonish image of the Pepto-Bismol-hued giant (whose right-hand thumb seems to be on the wrong side of his hand, what a monstrous freak! His neck is not exactly anatomically accurate, either).

Certainly, many (most?) fantasy-themed covers of pulp magazines depicted outlandish, even surreal creatures juxtaposed with human protagonists, but the monsters were generally painted in the same “realistic” style as the humans. To do otherwise would suggest that these creatures did not exist in the same plane of reality as their intended victims, and thus do not represent a true threat. [Films combining cartoon animation and live-action like Who Framed Roger Rabbit? are an exception, and require a more significant “willing suspension of disbelief” than all-animated or all-live action movies; furthermore, the fact that both “types” of characters are moving, talking, and inter-acting adds a greater sense of co-reality than a static piece of artwork.] I don’t know, perhaps Mr. Leslie thought he did paint the Pink Giant realistically?

Furthermore, the monster’s design, colour, pose, and the—appalled? angry? shocked? disgusted?—expression on his face are at odds with the standard tropes of horror art. The creature is turned away from the two humans, rather than menacing them. It’s virtually impossible to find a similar visual-thematic relationship between monster and human on other pulps of the era. Some covers depict humans actively battling creatures (even winning) but a mean-looking monster shying away from people? Radical revisionism from our northern neighbours. Suffice it to say this is a much more memorable image than many better-executed (in technical terms) pulp covers.

Uncanny Tales January 1942 features a cover by “Bick,” apparently the only painting he did for the title. I don’t especially “like” this artwork, which is crude and perplexing, but you can’t really ignore it either. What we’ve got here (besides “a failure to communicate”) is a devil with a wicked widow’s peak (at first I thought the strip of hair in the middle of his head was a huge gash in his skull) and whose eyebrows connect to his sideburns. One of his horns is drooping rather sadly, but of course the most striking aspect of our ugly figure is the blood he’s weeping. Blood or possibly red candle-wax. Mr. Devil is sadly gazing somewhere off the page to the left, not at the two corpses right under his chin. One of these unfortunate people is a dapperly-clad fellow with a prodigious nosebleed, while the other is a lovely red-head who displays some cleavage but has managed to keep her dress from riding up over her legs, despite her reclining position. Her open (albeit glazed) eyes and upraised knees suggest she might not be quite dead yet.

This cover raises a number of questions which cannot, of course, be answered. At what is the Devil looking? Why is he sad? Why does he weep blood? Does he have haemolacria? Perhaps he’s sad because he killed the man and the woman? Or maybe they killed each other and he’s just sad for them? Why would the Devil be sad anyway? Isn’t the Devil supposed to be evil? Maybe he’s a sad Devil?

I don’t know, this cover just feels…wrong. Why not have a sinister Devil laughing in glee over the dead bodies of a man and a woman who killed each other in a crime of passion? Trite? Maybe. But a demonic face weeping blood? Perplexing. But memorable, and perhaps just as effective, in its own way, as Walter Leslie’s Giant Pink Kung-Fu Cannibal cover, in its true purpose…to sell a copy of Uncanny Tales to casual Canadians browsing the newsstand, eh?

Profiles and information on Uncanny Tales here and here and here.

Cover reproductions here and here.

“Exploding From Alleyways and Ivory Towers…” The...

mexcine — Tue, 27 Nov 2012 13:40:00 -0500

“Exploding From Alleyways and Ivory Towers…” The Beatniks (1960)

The “beatnik” media phenomenon of the late Fifties and early Sixties was in many ways a precursor of the “hippie” fad a few years later: an actual counter-culture movement depicted in an exaggerated, humourous-but-threatening manner. The true extent and meaning of the Beat Generation—whether it was significant or not in a cultural-intellectual sense—was swamped by the pop culture representations (mostly negative) of the beatnik lifestyle.

Beatniks—a word coined by columnist Herb Caen by adding “nik” (familiar to Americans as a result of the USSR’s 1958 launch of the satellite “Sputnik”) to “beat,” as in Jack Kerouac’s “beat generation”—were depicted as lazy, pretentious, pseudo-intellectual young people who rejected conventional (“square”) society’s mores and values. If “The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit” epitomised the conservative, money-and-status oriented businessmen of the post-war USA, then beatniks were their antithesis, interested only in (so pop culture would tell us) playing the bongos, reciting odd poetry, hanging out in coffee houses, and listening to avant-garde jazz, while garbed in black berets, capri pants, turtleneck sweaters, and sunglasses. Beatnik males had scruffy facial hair, and beatnik females rejected curlers and perms in favour of long, straight tresses (and presumably didn’t shave their legs or armpits).

It’s worth noting that the film advertised by the poster we’re deconstructing today allegedly (I haven’t seen it)—despite its title—has nothing to do with beatniks. Irony! A film called The Beatniks features no beatniks, whereas pictures entitled A Bucket of Blood, High School Confidential , Dementia, The Beat Generation (alright, that one’s logical), The Bloody Brood, and even a TV series like The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis do contain beatniks-a-plenty. But, since this is a deconstruction of the movie poster, the actual vs. implied level of beatnik-itude in The Beatniks is not a problem, except as an illustration of how Hollywood promotional materials sometimes shamelessly deceived potential ticket-buyers.

The design and artwork for The Beatniks poster is quite striking: few of the standard beatnik tropes are prominently displayed, except in the blue-tinted, rather impressionistic thumbnail illustrations. The sketch in the upper right-hand corner of the poster shows bearded men wearing caps (not berets, but close enough) playing jazz instruments and bongo drums, a visual link to the jazz-loving, bongo-playing beatnik stereotype. I’m not sure if that one beatnik is supposed to be doing an Apache-dance with his partner, or if he’s about to carry her off, like a caveman. The artwork in the upper-left corner and below depicts scenes of wild abandon and sloth (it might be difficult to reconcile those two things, but this poster does it), reinforcing the popular conception of beatniks as lazy (possibly drugged) young people and yet who are also sexually promiscuous and dance frenetically (evidence of their sexuality, of course). The top drawing seems to be set in a coffee house or other beatnik lair, with characters reclining on the floor, striking overly-dramatic poses, and—one assumes—talking earnestly about existentialism.

The colour artwork includes a larger portrait of a man menacing a woman and a smaller action scene of two men knife-fighting in a garbage-strewn alley. Neither of these is especially beatnik-y, although the main male figure has been given a “chin curtain” beard (otherwise known as chin-strap style), which he does not have in the movie itself. Otherwise, this character—modeled after Peter Breck, the movie’s villain—has none of the standard beatnik features: he’s dressed in brown and yellow rather than black, wears no beret, no shades, and he’s a bit too assertive in demeanour (with that crazed smirk on his face) to be convincing as a lazy beatnik. (I’m not sure what the golden wrist-bands are supposed to imply) His buxom victim is also quite far removed from the beatnik-girl stereotype: she displays wavy (not straight) hair, a flaming red dress and bountiful cleavage. Her skull-necklace is interesting, but more of a goth thing (albeit long before goths were around) than beatnik-chic.

The main (colour) artwork seems to be more relevant to the actual film (which, some have speculated, was probably originally titled something else before marketing changed it to The Beatniks), a more generic juvenile delinquent-crime picture. The men in the switchblade fight artwork even vaguely resemble the shaggy-haired Peter Breck and the film’s short-haired protagonist Tony Travis, so one might speculate that the blue-tinted “beatnik” images were added later to at least provide some veneer of verification for The Beatniks title.

The two catch-phrases on the poster are worth examining as well. “Exploding from alleyways and ivory towers…” links the beatniks with crime, degeneracy, poverty (“alleyways”), and also tars them with the brush of anti-intellectualism (“ivory towers”). Beatniks were mocked for their pseudo-intellectual attitude and their perceived reluctance to engage in any sort of constructive endeavour. Beatniks were often depicted as (failed) “artists” who wrote and performed bad poetry, avant-garde (i.e., progressive, atonal) jazz, and created pretentious and inferior abstract art. Suggesting that the beatniks had emerged from the ivory towers of institutions of higher education—supposedly hot-beds of radical thought—marks them as individuals who are out of step with “normal” American ideals. It is no coincidence that the anti-Communist witch hunts of the 1950s did not affect only Hollywood actors, writers, and directors, but also teachers and college professors (among other professions), who were suspected of indoctrinating impressionable youth with dangerous foreign ideas. So the tagline “Exploding from alleyways and ivory towers” is a fairly clever way of subtly reminding potential audiences of the untrustworthiness of both the lower classes and the intelligentsia, in this case combined into a bunch of dirty beatniks.

The second tagline is more generic: “Living by their code of rebellion and mutiny!” First, rebellion and mutiny? Since mutiny is broadly defined as “rebellion against authority,” this is redundant (and if you go by the narrower definition—sailors rebelling against their officers—then it plain doesn’t make sense). Still, we get the idea: beatniks don’t like rules, daddy-o, they’re for squares. Except…if they have a “code,” then aren’t they actually obeying a different set of rules? I suppose one might say beatniks ascribe to Aleister Crowley’s “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law”—in other words, the only rule is that there are no rules? This actually seems a rather accurate description of the beatniks’ anarchic, “drop-out” lifestyle, but the tagline itself is a little redundant and contradictory.

A few trivia points about The Beatniks. It was the only feature written and directed by Paul Frees, one of the most famous voice artists in Hollywood, who narrated countless trailers, commercials, and documentaries and provided character voices for many, many cartoons (and appeared in various live-action films as well). The two top-billed, alliteratively-named performers, Tony Travis and Karen Kadler, had negligible careers, but Peter Breck was fairly active on television and in films from the mid-Fifties throughout the 1990s (he died in 2012). Production supervisor and co-author of the screen story “Ken Herts” was also known as Kenneth Hartford (and Leo Guild?), and produced & directed a handful of films over the years. You might say it “herts” to watch some of his movies, such as Monstroid and Hell Squad, hahahahaha… (sorry) Presumably he’s also the “Herts” behind distributor Herts-Lion International.

In summation, the poster for The Beatniks has lovely, dynamic art and design which—simultaneously—honestly reveals what the film is (a crime movie) and misleadingly suggests what the film might be (but isn’t: a thriller about beatniks).

“Why Must My Size Always Stand in the Way of...

mexcine — Thu, 15 Nov 2012 11:55:00 -0500

“Why Must My Size Always Stand in the Way of My Happiness?”

Two “Romance” comics 1954-55

Although superhero comics have always garnered the lion’s share of critical and popular attention, thousands of different titles have been published in all genres. Although many comics were aimed at “general audiences,” some genres had targeted readership and were intended for specific age, sex, and special-interest demographics. One of the most obvious examples is the “romance” comic genre, designed to appeal almost exclusively to female readers, chiefly adolescents. In fact, the first true romance comic—Young Romance (1947)—had the slogan “For the More ADULT Readers of COMICS” on the cover, and Lev Gleason’s Lovers’ Lane also carried the cover notation “Not Intended for Children.”

Romance comics took over part of the marketplace vacated by the “love pulps” of the 1930s and 1940s, just as comics in general filled some of the gap left by the collapse of the pulp magazine industry in the postwar years. “Slick” magazines did contain “women’s fiction”—both upscale magazines such as Cosmopolitan and more down-market titles like True Confessions—and paperback romance novels were also a force to contend with, but romance comic books were cheaper and required less investment of time and effort to read, all factors which helped them appeal to teen-age girls (who had probably grown up reading other types of comics and were thus familiar with the format).

Heart Throbs was published between 1949 and 1956 (with a two-year break in the early 1950s) by the Quality company. In 1957, DC Comics took over the Quality line (which featured such popular titles as Blackhawk) and continued Heart Throbs until 1972, for a grand total of 146 issues. After the first three issues, the covers of 14 of the next 15 Heart Throbs used photographs rather than artwork: most were posed shots of models, but issue 9 featuring a colour image of actors Jane Russell and Robert Mitchum. Cover drawings returned for good with #19.

Although dialogue balloons and additional descriptive text were not unknown cover elements in the Forties, the practice grew more prevalent later in the decade and into the 1950s. The covers of both issues of Heart Throbs shown above fit a fairly standard pattern for romance titles in this era: a main drawing, dialogue balloons containing melodramatic dialogue (and/or an internal monologue) by the heroine, and a listing of the additional, equally melodramatic, story titles to be found inside the magazine.

I’ll confess that this blog entry is less “deconstruction” and more snark than usual, since the cover imagery of these comics isn’t especially outré. Amusement and interest is rather to be found in the juxtaposition of image and text and—especially—the nearly 60-year gap between the sensibilities of the period when these comics were created and those of today.

Although I chose these two particular covers for their diametrically-opposed body-image themes (issue 31’s “I Was Too Tall” versus the vertically-challenged, would-be thespian on #38), my admittedly very limited exposure to actual romance comics suggests the problems faced by the protagonists in most of the stories were not related to physical appearance (aside from, perhaps, dressing in a dowdy—or overly seductive—manner, wearing glasses, or other such superficial issues). I haven’t found any stories about overweight teens with acne, or young amputees, or girls suffering from crooked teeth or cellulite: these may have hit too close to home, and readers might’ve preferred not to be reminded of their own real or imagined imperfections.

Instead, most of the stories I’ve read seem to center around a young woman (teen-age or slightly older) who makes a “wrong” decision (she’s too jealous, tries to hide a family secret, covets a male who’s an inappropriate match for her, concentrates on her career rather than her personal life, wants luxury and/or fame, etc.) that adversely affects her love life. Because it’s a decision they made, the protagonists can easily escape from their predicament by simply making the right decision. The phrase “I was a fool!” is repeated many, many times by these foolish, foolish young women when they finally discover the error of their ways. “What a fool I’ve been! My silly complex about being too tall nearly cost me the man I love!” “I realize I too was mistaken in giving you the impression I cared more for security than love!” “I was stupid…but I’m glad I learned my lession in time to appreciate you!” “I refused to give up a job…refused to make his interests more important than mine! No wonder he doubted my love!” (These quotes are all from the stories in just a single issue of Heart Throbs)

There’s certainly a mixed message here. Women are granted control over their lives—a good thing—and yet they repeatedly use it to yield any future control by submitting to men: their primary goal in life is to “find love” even if this means (and it often does) giving up their career, their free will, and their self-respect. This judgement sounds a bit harsh and is definitely inflected by our 21^st-century worldview, and might not have even been accepted by readers in the Fifties—and we must consider the source, i.e., “romance” comic books which by definition deal with the search for true love—but it’s an inescapable conclusion if you read the comics themselves, and all the images in these stories of women working outside the home (sometimes in non-traditional occupations, including—in one story I read—that of elected politician) can’t erase the strongly conservative ethos on display.

Of course, that’s just one of things that makes these comic books hilarious to read today. We’re all so much smarter now, aren’t we?

As mentioned earlier, the artwork on the particular covers I’ve singled out isn’t especially noteworthy, although it does at the very least serve as a window into youthful fashions of the mid-Fifties. The little, lavender-coloured lace-trimmed hat worn by the “too tall” protagonist on the cover of Heart Throbs 31 is cute, and apparently (based on both covers), the layered look was popular in this era, for both women and men.

Both covers feature tearful women: in fact, a survey of Heart Throbs #19 through 46 reveals that 19 of 28 issues (68%) have crying women on the cover! 5 more feature visibly distressed women, and one has both (a woman crying “tears of joy” and another woman who’s distressed). That’s a lot of tears and interpolations of *sob* in the dialogue balloons. But of course, these comics are melodrama and melodrama presupposes suffering (hopefully followed by a happy ending). It comes with the genre.

Although the cover of Heart Throbs 31 (November 1954) actually illustrates the story “My Ideal Sweetheart,” the artwork is also appropriate for another story in the same issue, “I Was Too Tall.” The uncredited artist makes the heroine appear much taller than Eddie, her rejected erstwhile boyfriend, but this could be a trick of perspective, or maybe Eddie is supposed to be kneeling down, or something. The composition is a bit odd in that the young woman is crowded off to the left, with her pert nose almost touching the edge of the page, thus making Eddie’s anguished face much larger and more detailed—and thus more prominent—than usual for this type of comic.

Beginning with this issue, Heart Throbs included very prolix word-balloons on the covers (a few earlier issues had them, but most had printed-text dialogue quotations rather than speech balloons), and the dialogue balloon occupies a lot of the cover space. On #31, the protagonist is calling it “quits” with Eddie…why? What did he do? Or what’s her problem? Why couldn’t “things work out” for these two crazy kids? To learn the answer, “See—My Ideal Sweetheart.” And while you’re at it, read “I Was Too Tall” (but now I’m not?), “We Waited Too Long” (for…what?), and “How I Lost My Man” (and then got him back?).

[In case the suspense is killing you: in “My Ideal Sweetheart,” Helen spurns Eddie because she dreams of an “ideal man,” only to learn “there is no such thing as…*sob*…a man of your dreams!” So in the end she goes back to ol’ reliable Eddie. “Too Tall” Monica finds love with Vince, who is (ever so slightly) shorter than she is, but is secure enough in his masculinity to not mind at all. Alice “lost her man” but got him back (what a surprise). Helen (a different Helen from “My Ideal Sweetheart”) waits for Greg to return from the Korean War, but he says they have to wait some more until he finishes his engineering degree before they can be married.]

Sally, the petite protagonist on the cover of Heart Throbs 38 (December 1955), has a problem similar to “Too Tall” Monica, but in reverse: she’s too short to be the leading lady in her school play, and thus she won’t “get to know” high school hunk Hank (snappily dressed in a letter-sweater and bow tie). Hank doesn’t seem to mind, as he and Sharon gaze into each others’ eyes cheerfully. “You’re of average height,” Hank seems to be thinking, “and your hair is practically the same shade of brown as mine! Why, you’re a much better match for me than that blonde Sally! She’s just too short!” Sally mentally *sobs* and curses her genes: “Why must my size always stand in the way of my happiness?” Will Sally overcome her height-complex? See “Tearful Dates!” And while you’re at it, read “On the Rebound,” “Ring on my Finger” and “I Won’t be Hurt Again.”

[Sadly, I don’t have access to a copy of Heart Throbs 38, so I can’t tell you how Sally made out, but she probably—like Monica the Amazon—found a boyfriend who loved her for herself, and cared nothing about her diminutive stature. Most of the romance comics I’ve read (to be sure, relatively few) have happy endings like this. The ones that don’t are usually couched as cautionary tales, whereby the female protagonist screws up and loses her boyfriend, as opposed to stories in which a sympathetically-portrayed young woman is unjustly dumped by her true love. I mean, who wants to read that? Not me, and I’m not even an adolescent girl.]

These romance comics might provoke laughter today, but at the time they were wildly popular. Girls and young women at last had a comic book genre written especially for them, and—whatever our opinions today of the ideology contained within—the romance comics met a need, and we shouldn’t disparage those who read and enjoyed them at the time.

“Girls in Love, Beware!” Strangler of the Swamp...

mexcine — Sun, 04 Nov 2012 21:27:00 -0500

“Girls in Love, Beware!” Strangler of the Swamp (1946):

I’ve been remiss in my blogging duties lately, but I promise to resume regular posts in a week or so when I return from Spain. In the meantime, admire this excellent half-sheet for Strangler of the Swamp (1946), director Frank (aka Franz) Wisbar’s remake of his own Fährmann Maria (1936). This version stars Miss America of 1941, Rosemary LaPlanche, future director (The Pink Panther, 10, Breakfast at Tiffany’s) Blake Edwards, and—as the ghostly “strangler” who doesn’t look quite as monstruous in the film as the poster suggests—Charles “Ming the Merciless” Middleton .

Anyway, back with more deconstruction in a week or so!

Hipster Homicide: International Crime Paperback covers of the...

mexcine — Tue, 23 Oct 2012 11:54:00 -0400

Hipster Homicide: International Crime Paperback covers of the Fifties

Popular culture varies by country, with unique aspects and local variations on “universal” tropes, but U.S. popular culture has spread around the world over the last century, thanks in no small part to the mass media. This is particularly noticeable in the case of motion pictures, but it also applies, to a greater or lesser degree, to popular music, literature, food, “celebrities,” and so on. Some fear the complete disappearance of indigenous popular culture in favour of a U.S.-dominated “global pop culture,” but this hasn’t happened…so far.

Thanks to pop culture, in the first half of the 20^th century, “America” was identified internationally as the land of cowboys and gangsters (the “cowboy” part probably dated back to the late 19^th century, when the myth of the “Wild West” was created, whereas “gangsters” became widely-known during the Prohibition era). The popularity of Westerns and crime stories led not only to the importation of American films and novels, but also to the inevitable creation of local imitations of these genres. Some had local aspects, but many were pastiches that were intended to “pass” as having originated in the U.S.

The two paperback covers highlighted in this post come from Argentina and the Netherlands, and—aside from their obvious roots in the hard-boiled tradition—catch the eye because they both feature modern-looking hoodlums wearing dark glasses (and not cool shades, either, but retro-looking dark glasses). I entitled this post “Hipster Homicide” although the thug on the cover of “Handen Af” more closely resembles a member of the Ramones or Lou Reed or someone else from the punk-rock scene of the late ‘70s. Or Richard Belzer.

Es necesario que mueras (“It’s Necessary That You Die”) was part of the “Colección Privada” published by Fentanes in Argentina in the Forties and Fifties (thanks to http://museodeliteraturapopular.blogspot.com/ for this information—although mi estimado Carlos Abraham has a frustrating habit of watermarking the photos he uses, a practice I understand but generally deplore). There are many things to like about this cover, starting with the byline: “Bronco Mike.” Setting aside the fact that this sounds like the nickname of a cowboy from Boston (and is perhaps a link to the “other” popular Yank-genre, Westerns), it also tips us off to the non-American origins of the novel, since “Bronco Mike” is not even a real name (“Mike Bronco” sounds fake, but not that fake). For the most part, fake-American novels used fake-American names: “Mike Splane” is one of my favourites, since it’s ever-so-slightly altered from “Mickey Spillane.” Ben Sarto, Hank Janson, Hank Spencer, Bart Carson, and others fall into this category, as I discussed in the entry on “The Queer Sisters,” a faux-American crime novel written & published in the UK then reprinted in the USA, the old double-switcheroo. But the credit “by Bronco Mike” is over the line and elicits laughs rather admiration for the presumed toughness of the author.

The cover art of Es necesario que mueras is more cartoonish than would be usual for an American paperback of the Fifties; this sort of colourful painting was more prevalent in the Forties, before the influence of the “James Avati” school of covers was felt. The cover is well-executed, technically and artistically, but the subject matter is curious. Crime paperbacks often featured suspense or action images on the cover: someone slugging someone, or threatening to slug someone, a woman in peril, or a moody scene rife with sinister characters in a noir-ish setting. Or, alternately, generic cheesecake (dressed up as crime/mystery by giving the scantily-clad, glamorous female a pistol or a knife, perhaps). But not Es necesario que mueras: this cover subverts the crime-novel cover conventions. It’s just two people sitting there, talking.

The young woman in the foreground appears to be wearing a black slip (or half-slip, since no straps are visible on her bare shoulder) and cute red slippers with a white pompom. She seems bored and unimpressed by the man who’s apparently invaded her boudoir. And why not? He’s not exactly the most threatening fellow, despite his unshaven jaw, brylcreemed hair, and…harlequin-style (or cat-eye) dark glasses?! Those aren’t the most…masculine frames, dude. I’ve no information about the plot of this novel, but unless the cover depicts a scene from the book in which a hipster artist tries to sell his Picasso-esque portrait to the disinterested heroine, there seems to be a disconnect between the image and the title (and thus the expected contents).

Actually, now that I think about it, the whole cover has a sort of Picasso-like design (with touches of Tamara Lempicka): flattened perspective, a semi-abstract background, blocks of colour, and so on. Perhaps the artist was deliberately going for a non-realistic style or even consciously mocking the typical crime-novel covers of the day.

Handen Af (Hands Off) is a simpler (one might say cruder—and one would be correct, but “primitive” art has its fans) cover. I’m puzzled by the “correction” of the title from Handen Op to Handen Af. This has to be a deliberate design element, right? Otherwise, the “Af” could have been pasted over the “Op” (a “snipe” is a pasted-on element; it could also have been done by over-printing, I guess), but instead the reader’s attention is drawn to the change. Not being fluent in Dutch, I tried to see if perhaps “Handen Op” was “Hands Up” but (according to the Internet’s finest translation services), apparently not. It’s odd, no doubt about it.

Handen Af was part of the “Masker Serie” and was published in 1950 by “Lectura. Zuidwal den Haag.” Although not credited on the cover, the book was apparently written by “Renald Galagan,” about whom I (and Google) know nothing. The cover is representational but minimalist, stripping away all but the most basic images of thug-and-girl. No background, just some sky-blue, gray and white shapes outlining the figures. The young woman is either wearing a bathing suit or she’s a showgirl or something, and looks mildly nonplussed (certainly not terrified) by the hulking goon who has grabbed her: “My, my! I feel faint! Could you possibly relinquish my arm, sir?” On the other hand, Mr. I-Wear-a-T-Shirt-Under-My-Sports-Jacket is grotesquely sinister, projecting a combination Fifties-greaser and Late-Seventies-punk aesthetic.

The simplicity of the cover makes it effective, memorable and unique, moreso than if it were a more “realistic” painting depicting a gangster manhandling a showgirl in a sleazy cabaret. The figures are almost archetypal in their lack of detail.

The cover design of Handen Af may be attributed to a European illustration style popular in this era. And/or it may simply be that it was easier and cheaper to print paperback covers with such minimalist artwork, as opposed to the glossier, hyper-detailed U.S. paperback illustrations.

In either case, both Handen Af and Es necesario que mueras are interesting examples of faux-American crime paperbacks, and the fact that the covers feature criminals who strongly resemble hipsters and punk-greasers from decades later is an amusing bonus.

Where Are My Pants? Oriental Hypnotic Dream Visions (Magic-show...

mexcine — Sun, 30 Sep 2012 17:46:00 -0400

Where Are My Pants? Oriental Hypnotic Dream Visions (Magic-show poster, 1895)

Posters for magic shows of the late 19th- and early 20th-centuries are often splendid in form and fascinating in content. The poster above, which dates from around 1895, is one such example, featuring multiple devils (a standard magic-poster element), angels, a beautiful woman and (surprisingly downplayed in the art) an exotically-garbed, spell-casting magician. Let’s deconstruct, shall we?

First, who were “Samri S. and Miss Baldwin?” Samuel Spencer Baldwin was born in 1848; he began performing professionally after military service in the Civil War. Baldwin, who adopted the name “Samri” and donned an “Oriental” costume, used his wives (he had two, although not at the same time) in his act (hence the “Miss Baldwin,” which is more alluring billing than the hausfrau-ish sounding “Mrs. Baldwin”). Although Samri was originally a “standard” magician (who did escape tricks and so on), the Baldwins gained fame with their “mentalist” act—perhaps the first such performance in a theatrical venue—whereby audience members passed written queries to Samri and then the blindfolded Miss Baldwin answered their questions and made predictions.

This sort of mentalist act can be seen in popular media over the years, notably Nightmare Alley (1947) and (spoofed) in Johnny Carson’s “Carnac the Magnificent” bit on The Tonight Show. In the days before wireless microphones and other technological aids, the magician and assistant relied on a variety of methods of communication to simulate mental telepathy: questions in sealed envelopes could be “read” by touch or by using a method called “billet reading,” while questions relayed verbally could be phrased to include code words.

The poster describes the Baldwins as “The World’s Greatest Psychic Sensation,” “although Samri was careful to declare himself a magician and not a medium.” The introduction to his book “The Secrets of Mahatma Land Explained,” (available to read via Googlebooks) states “Professor Baldwin does not claim to possess or exercise any supernatural powers,” but he “believe[s] there are certain forces in nature, psychic forces…” However, these disclaimers appeared in a book written to be sold to the general public: Samri was unlikely to reveal the real secret of his act in this venue, so he trod a middle path between claiming Miss Baldwin’s “abilities” were supernatural in nature and revealing them to be pure trickery. In other words, the poster showed supernatural events, Samri verbally and in writing downgraded these to psychic manifestations (with a scientific basis), but in the end his act was all a magician’s trick. [Another Samri poster bills him as “The World’s Greatest Fun Maker,” which is rather at odds with the rather solemn image of him in the artwork.]

The poster itself—as with many magic-show posters of the era—also walks the tightrope between overtly claiming to advertise a supernatural spectacle (which would probably have attracted scrutiny by the authorities, always on the lookout for false mediums who preyed on the gullible) and openly admitting the show was nothing more than staged illusions. Furthermore, references to the show containing real magic and/or supernatural manifestations might have been anathema to people of certain religious beliefs (even today, there are people who protest against Halloween, the Harry Potter books, and so forth, which—in their eyes—promote evil concepts).

Most audiences, one hopes, realised magic shows weren’t demonstrations of actual magic, but enjoyed the thrills and mystery. The spooky trappings—both on the posters and in the shows themselves—helped in their willing suspension of disbelief.

The artwork on this poster amusingly portrays the query-making “audience” as cherubic little devils, who write out questions such as “How long will the war last,”“Who will win the Derby,” “Will I ever be rich,” “Who killed Mabel,” “Who stole my ring,” “Where is my watch,” “Who stole my bicycle,” “Am I in love,” “How long shall I live,” “Is my sister living,” “Where is my papa,” “Where is my brother,” and—most amusing of all, in this flood of inquiries about missing relatives and requests for predictions of future events—“Where are my pants!” [Although this definitely is an important question—especially in certain situations—one doubts it was truly representative of the sort of queries asked during Samri and Miss Baldwin’s live performances.]

A bemused, blind-folded Miss Baldwin—dressed in what appears to be a Greek or Roman robe—seems slightly overwhelmed by the horde of importunate imps. Behind her, Samri uses lightning bolts to control a larger demon and an angel, who are possibly whispering contradictory information in her ears. Samri is wearing a turban and white robes: if one looks carefully, a mystic symbol on his forehead can be glimpsed. This poster contains an eclectic mix of cultural references, undoubtedly influenced by the late 19th-century predilection for spirtualism, mysticism, “Eastern philosophy,” and the like. Ironically, while many in the industrialised Western world deprecated the “Orient” as “uncivilised,” “pagan,” or “backward,” the East was simultaneously seen as spiritually rich and worthy of study, if not outright emulation.

Samri was billed as “The White Mahatma” (and on this poster his wife has been elevated to mahatma status as well, apparently). His own definition of the term was “one who is capable of performing strange mysteries and producing remarkable and semi-miraculous demonstrations by some occult or unknown agency,” i.e., a fakir or magician. [The use of mahatma in referring to individuals such as Mahatma Gandhi indicates they are individuals whose soul has reached a higher plane than normal humans.] His plain but evocative Indian garb reminds audiences of his mastery of the occult arts and is relatively restrained for the period—many magicians wore the traditional white-tie-and-tails, but others, especially those with “Oriental” acts, donned garish and elaborate comic-opera costumes (colourful robes, turbans, and so forth).

Miss Baldwin’s Greco-Roman costume in the poster could be an effort to link her predictive powers with the famed Oracle of Delphi (other posters explicitly call her “A Modern Witch of Endor”). Samri referred to his wife’s ability to see visions while in a trance as “Rosicrucian Somnomency” (the latter was a word he made up), but this poster describes the act as “Oriental Hypnotic Dream Visions,” which—when parsed out word-by-word—would be easier for the layman to understand. While neither Greece nor (especially) Rome was especially “Oriental,” in any case these were exotic civilisations linked in the public mind with ancient rites and practices.

Many magic-show posters from this era (a quick Google search will provide plenty of supporting evidence) contain images of the Devil, devils, demons, or imps, suggesting the supernatural origins of their powers (it would have been blasphemous to use angels, I suppose). Other repeated motifs are skulls (and skeletons), spirits, owls, bats (or creatures with bat-wings), crows, and “Oriental” figures and decor (Egyptian, Indian, Chinese, and so on). As noted earlier, the posters were usually visual representations of amazing, mystical occurrences although nowhere does the text state that what happens in the shows is in any way supernatural.

One other interesting point of note about this particular poster is the prominence afforded to Miss Baldwin, and, thus, the relatively secondary position of Samri himself. Magic-show posters generally featured “busy” fantasy artwork (as does this one), while still portraying the star attraction as the motivating force for the spectacle. In this instance, Samri is metaphorically pulling the strings, and his figure is roughly the same size as Miss Baldwin’s, but she is the central focus of the artwork. On the other hand, because she’s blindfolded (and thus depersonalised to an extent), she almost seems to be more of a prop than one of the show’s co-stars (“Samri S.” and “Miss” Baldwin receive equal billing, which is in itself out of the ordinary).

“Oriental Hypnotic Dream Visions” is a fascinating piece of magic-show memorabilia, with both typical and atypical elements of the genre. Audiences were promised spectacle, mystery, and entertainment, and—perhaps—even the answer to one of mankind’s oldest questions…”Where are my pants?”

[Note: biographical information about Samri Baldwin found on this useful site.]

Mistress of the Worm-Men! Women in Peril Redux: Dime Mystery...

mexcine — Tue, 18 Sep 2012 20:45:00 -0400

Mistress of the Worm-Men! Women in Peril Redux: Dime Mystery (February 1940)

“Weird menace” refers to a sub-genre of pulp magazines popular in the mid- to late-1930s. Now much sought-after by collectors for their outré cover art and outrageous story titles, the magazines pushed the common “women in peril” trope to the edge of respectability, and beyond. The “Spicy” pulp line—and many “straight” adventure/crime/fantasy titles—frequently featured nubile young women in danger of losing their virtue and/or their lives, but the “weird menace” pulp covers showed them threatened by or undergoing horrific torture and abuse (and the stories inside were similarly misogynistic). One curious aspect of the “weird menace” stories is that while the menaces were definitely “weird,” they were never supernatural, despite the frequent name-checks for Satan, references to “worm-men,” “spider-men,” “mole men,” “bloodless ones,” and various “monsters,” “beasts,” and “corpses.” Instead, it was all the fault of mad scientists and other insane evil-doers.

The primary purveyor of “weird menace” pulps (this term was used by the trade at the time, and the magazines were also referred to as “shudder pulps”) was Popular Publications, run by Harry Steeger. Popular was the home of hero-pulps like The Spider, Operator No. 5 and G-8, as well as various crime, adventure, western, fantasy, and love magazines. The first “weird menace” pulp was Dime Mystery, which switched to this format (from a more conventional detective-crime book) in the fall of 1933 (for a time in 1934-35, this title’s covers featured the tag-line “The Weirdest Stories Ever Told”). Popular later added Horror Stories (“Stories That Thrill and Chill!”) and Terror Tales (“The Magazine of Eerie Fiction!”) and other publishers jumped on the bandwagon with Mystery Tales, Mystery Novels and Short Stories, Real Mystery, Thrilling Mystery, and others.

[The Shudder Pulps by Robert Kenneth Jones (first published in 1975, and reprinted in 2007) is an excellent overview of the genre, with detailed information about the publishers, stories, and authors. Jones identifies a number of the artists who painted the magazine covers, but doesn’t spend a lot of time analysing the covers themselves.

Jones indicates more sex and sadism began to appear in these magazines in 1937, and that there was a backlash against such content in the early 1940s—although there had been complaints earlier than that—which led to the demise of some titles and the retooling of others.]

While glancing at the covers of the “weird menace” magazines, various motifs quickly become evident. Although these elements were utilised by artists for different publishers, I concentrated my analysis on the three main Popular Publications “weird menace” titles—Dime Mystery, Terror Tales, and Horror Stories—from their inception (1933, 1934, and 1935, respectively) until the end of 1940 (Dime Mystery continued to run until 1949, although it became less lurid as time went on, while the other two magazines ceased publication in 1941). A total of 174 covers were examined and some of the more common thematic/visual elements were:

a) The villains are often clad in robes (usually red, sometimes with hoods and/or masks): 76 covers (44%)

b) The main female character frequently wears a red dress: 65 covers (37%) (this does not include red lingerie, or pink, purple, orange or other colours of dresses)

[The frequent use of the colour red for the protagonists’ and/or the villains’ garments (it’s rare to find a cover in which both the heroine and villain are wearing red, though) seems to have been a calculated design decision. Red draws the viewer’s eye and focuses one’s attention on the threatened female or the threatening males. A quick glance at the thumbnails of the Dime Mystery covers here is instructive: even in these tiny images (which can be enlarged by clicking on them), the red-clad figures stand out.]

c) When she isn’t wearing a red dress, the main female character is often nude (including implied and partial nudity): 37 covers (21%)

d) The villain and or a henchman is bald: 34 covers (20%) [I’m not sure why this was so prevalent; there are also a fair number of covers featuring bearded villains, so it’s not a hair vs. no-hair situation. Perhaps anything that diverged from the cultural-physical norm was considered ominous.]

e) The heroines are threatened by bladed weapons (knives, swords, scalpels, meat cleavers, axes, etc.): 36 covers (21%) Guns are rarely used by “shudder pulp” villains—I suppose firearms weren’t “weird” enough.

f) Multiple (prior) victims are shown (i.e., other than the main protagonist): 31 covers (18%) This gives the reader a chance to preview the finished results of the threat the heroine is currently facing: being turned into a mummy, frozen in ice, hung upside-down as human clappers in giant bells, etc.

g) The villains are mad doctors/scientists: 23 covers (13%)

h) The heroine is threatened by fire (including molten metal, wax, lava, etc.): 22 covers (13%)

Other repeated cover elements include use of exotic weapons (needles, branding irons, whips), images of coffins and graves, “foreign” villains (Asian and Middle Eastern, mostly), and images of women in bondage. Interestingly enough, a significant percentage of the Popular Publications’ “weird menace” covers do not depict lone maniacs in action, featuring instead groups of cult members, mad doctors and their aides, gangs of bestial thugs, and so on, occasionally operating with almost assembly-line precision.

The cover formula of the “weird menace” pulps varied in details, but virtually every cover included a “woman in peril” either already at the mercy of the villains or in imminent danger of capture and execution. These women are generally conscious of their predicament and terrified of what is about to befall them. Male heroes appeared on a fair number of “weird menace” pulp covers (on 9 of the 24 issues of Dime Mystery published in 1937-38, for example), and in some cases they seem to even have an outside chance of rescuing the fair damsel in distress (although there are also covers where the hero himself is in mortal danger or at least incapacitated). But the majority of these magazines depict helpless women alone against bloodthirsty madmen, with no apparent chance of escape or rescue, no possibility of salvation.

This is different than standard adventure-pulp covers, which usually at least hinted that the heroine would elude her pursuers (or be saved by the hero); thus the overall tone of the covers of the “weird menace” genre pulps is extremely grim and nihilistic. About the only positive thing one can say about the Dime Mystery cover shown here is that slowly freezing to death is possibly less painful than being sliced in half by a giant paper-cutter, pierced by a corkscrew-drill, blasted by a burning ray, bisected by a buzz-saw, sprayed with melted wax or molten gold, dipped in lava, tossed into flames, or suffering any one of dozens of other gruesome and agonising fates (all cited examples are from actual shudder-pulp covers).

The covers of the Popular Publications “weird menace” pulps were painted by a number of artists, including Walter Baumhofer (who was the main “Doc Savage” cover artist as well), Tom Lovell, John Drew, Graves Gladney, Rudolph Zirm, Rafael DeSoto, Leo Morey and—perhaps the most prolific—John Newton Howitt.

Dime Mystery volume 22 #3 (February 1940) provided the title for this essay: the provocative story “Mistress of the Worm Men” (by prolific pulp author Wyatt Blassingame) is ballyhooed on the cover. The cover art of this issue—sadly— does not feature any actual Worm Men—in fact, very few of the covers on these pulps illustrated a particular story in the magazine itself—but the combination of the nude woman-in-peril (in the art) and the promise of monster-human sexual relations (in the title of the text story inside) was a potent sales tool.

The cover art may lack Worm Men, but it does contain a number of the standard visual elements of the genre, however: we have a (a) conscious, terrified, (b) nude woman in mortal peril (well, duh), as well as (c) previous victims (frozen in ice in the back), and a (d) mad scientist who is (e) wearing a red robe.

As mentioned earlier, the red clothing of the heroine or villain attracts the reader’s attention. Obviously, if the heroine was nude (or in her scanties, or wearing just a sheet or a towel), she wasn’t crimson-clad, so on many of the “naked-or-barely clad heroine” covers (which became more frequent as time went on) it’s the villain who’s wearing red robes, and that’s the case here. The naked victim is the center of attention, obviously, but to balance the composition and make the menace stand out, he’s dressed in a cultish red robe rather than, as one might expect, a medical smock.

The “Worm Men” cover of Dime Mystery February 1940 is a pseudo-science themed cover. The mad scientist is apparently experimenting with freezing live women in blocks of ice. Why? Who knows. Maybe he’s planning on thawing them out later on, or he wants to use them to construct a really unique skating rink, whatever. The stack of icy victims in the background indicates he has no personal grudge against the blonde currently undergoing refrigeration, she’s just his latest experimental subject. Oh, perhaps the expression of sinister glee on his face hints that the crazed scientist takes some pleasure in his work, but who among us isn’t proud of a job well done?

Popular Publications had begun using reprints of earlier covers around this time; this art had previously been used on the cover of Horror Stories Oct-Nov 1937. However, the discerning eye will notice that the painting has been slightly…altered. The young woman slowly being frozen by the mad scientist has not only had her tattered dress completely removed (although her naughty bits are carefully hidden), she’s also considerably more buxom now. This is a sort of “reverse censorship,” with the editors deciding to show more of the victim’s skin (other reprinted covers in this era underwent similar changes).

Since, as noted above, the cover paintings were rarely connected to a specific story, readers were free to make up their own narratives to match the artwork. In some cases, the villains’ motives seem clear: they are torturing and sacrificing women for some cult-like organisation, or they are involved in a bit of perverted scientific research. Too many times, however, there appears to be no “logical” reason for their actions, other than pure sadistic pleasure or some insane desire to punish women. The moral implications of this genre are therefore mildly disturbing: who would derive pleasure from contemplating these horrible acts committed against innocent, helpless women? Today, the outré activities depicted may seem campy, outrageous, even amusing, and the “weird menace” pulps are historical documents of pop culture to be enjoyed and studied. However, who was the true audience for these magazines in the 1930s?

There is a clear difference between “normal” pulps which frequently featured images of “women in peril”—pursued by hostile savages, manhandled by unshaven gangsters, threatened by bug-eyed alien monsters—and the “shudder pulps” which used artwork of tortured women in physical pain and emotional terror to sell copies of their magazine. This isn’t even saucy spanking/bondage-play material, it’s darker and more sinister than that. I’m not blaming the artists, writers, editors, or even the publishers, who were doing their job (selling magazines), because if the “weird menace” format had failed to find an audience, it would have been replaced with something else. Consequently, there obviously was something about the “weird menace” pulps which, perhaps, appealed to a darker side of the pulp magazine readership.

After 1940, Dime Mystery still depicted a woman-in-peril on virtually every cover, but the sadistic-torture themed artwork disappeared entirely, in favour of more conventional action/mystery paintings (and the stories also became more standard mystery fare). There was no single reason for the new format: as Robert Kenneth Jones wrote, a certain amount of public outrage had been expressed for several years, and perhaps it finally bore fruit. It’s also possible readership tastes may have changed, and/or sales may have fallen.

Still, from about 1934 through 1940, the “weird menace” pulps were a strange, slightly distasteful aberration in American popular culture. More than 70 years later, we can look back on them as flamboyantly horrid curiosities and wonder…what about those Worm Men?

The Elephant-Poop Crown & the Throne of Skulls: Jo-Jo Congo...

mexcine — Thu, 23 Aug 2012 21:20:00 -0400

The Elephant-Poop Crown & the Throne of Skulls: Jo-Jo Congo King #8 (1947)

It’s the way of the world: as soon as Tarzan became popular, Tarzan-clones were created. And not long afterward came the distaff counterpart, the Jungle Girl. If the concept of a white male dashing through the jungle wearing furry briefs was outré, changing the gender of the intrepid vine-swinging, elephant-riding, ape-hugging, native-bossing protagonist was truly an inspired variation. Clad in leopard-print bikinis or sarongs, Sheena, Nyoka, Rulah, Lorna, Princess Pantha and a host of others graced the pages of comic books and pulp magazines, as well as appearing in the cinema, on television, and elsewhere. How many fetishes were fulfilled (or created) by these sexy, strong, domineering, bondage-prone tropical goddesses! And the “Jungle Girl” trope remains popular and viable in the 21st century, as a quick web search will prove.

Although many comic book companies had a Jungle Girl or two in their stable, it seems publishers Fiction House and Fox were particularly enamoured of this concept. Fiction House was the home of Sheena, “Queena” the Jungle, probably the preeminent example of the type, but their other jungle-themed comics featured similar characters, albeit usually as the love interests for male jungle-trotters like Kaanga. Fox, after several years of superhero titles, changed direction in the mid-Forties with a number of jungle* and adventure comics, before making another left turn after a couple of years into romance, crime, and Western stories.

*[Fox even published two issues of Dorothy Lamour, Jungle Princess in 1950, inspired by the 1936 film Jungle Princess, an early—but not the first by any stretch of the imagination—jungle-girl movie.]

One of these “new” Fox titles was Jo-Jo Congo King, a continuation of Jo-Jo Comics, a “funny animal” humour comic book aimed at young children which had existed for six issues in 1946-47. Fox retained the main part of the title and the numbering, probably because comic books were issued second-class mailing permits from the U.S. Post Office and creating a brand new title would require filing for a new permit, whereas slightly changing a title (even if the format was completely different) would not. Thus, the Tarzan-clone in the new version was dubbed “Jo-Jo,” a rather silly name that evokes memories of the famous sideshow attraction “Jo-Jo the Dog-faced Boy” (a Russian lad suffering from hypertrichosis—excessive facial and body hair—brought to the USA and exhibited by P.T. Barnum in the 19th century).

Jo-Jo Congo King ran from July 1947 through July 1949. Of the 23 total issues, 20 featured “women in peril” (frequently in bondage) on the covers; two depicted evil women threatening Jo-Jo, and the final issue had no female character on the cover…which, I like to think, may have led to the title’s cancellation. Jo-Jo, in his leopard-print speedo, rescues his main squeeze (and the occasional other damsel in distress) from ferocious wild animals (19 covers), violent natives (3 covers) and bad white people (3 covers). There was some overlap: on the cover of the first issue, for instance, Jo-Jo confronts a white villain riding on an armoured elephant, threatening Jo-Jo’s Jungle-Girl girlfriend! Obviously, the editors had a pretty good idea of the formula that sold comic books in this genre (Zoot, Rulah, Tegra, Zegra, Zago, and All Top, more Fox “jungle action” titles in this era—yes, thinking up titles that made sense wasn’t their strong point—had similar cover-content statistics).

In almost every case, the female figure on these covers is larger and more prominent than that of Jo-Jo himself, the putative star of the comic book. Many Fox comic book covers in this era were drawn by the now-famous Matt Baker (a pioneering African-American comic book artist) and Jack Kamen (among other things, the father of the inventor of the Segway), both capable of drawing very sexy women. Kamen did most of the work on the Jo-Jo covers (as well as Rulah, Zoot, etc.), with Baker spelling him from time to time and contributing good-girl art (including Jungle Girls) to All Top, Phantom Lady, and other titles.

The cover of Jo-Jo Congo King 8 (which might be a Kamen cover, but is uncredited) is thus one of the anomalies in the title’s run, since it features neither a woman-in-peril nor a raging wild beast. Instead, Jo-Jo confronts a sinister jungle queen on a Mountain of Skulls! Although the female character here is not endangered, she does meet most of the other Jungle Girl criteria: she’s white, attractive, scantily-clad (notice that the pattern on her jungle-bikini matches Jo-Jo’s trunks) . Jo-Jo himself is handsome and muscular, although the aghast look on his face and his slight overbite make him appear rather less heroic than he might otherwise have. He’s at a slight disadvantage in this situation compared to the other Jo-Jo covers, since he’s not actively rescuing a hot babe from ravening fang and claw: he’s apparently just swung in on a vine and is shocked, shocked to see evidence of mass murder before his very eyes. Jo-Jo is impressively ripped, though (even if, like virtually all other bare-chested comic book heroes, he has no nipples or body hair, calling into question his mammalian status).

As with many other comic book and pulp magazine covers, the concepts of sex and violence are linked here, a lusty woman and a pile of human skulls. [The interior story that (more or less) matches the cover goes into a fair amount of detail about chopping off heads with machetes, boiling them down to get the skull nice and clean, and so forth. Interestingly enough, the villainess inside looks nothing like the she-devil on the cover: she has blonde hair styled entirely differently, to start.]

The female figure is, as noted earlier, one of the relatively few “evil women” on a Jo-Jo cover (and even more rare, she’s not offset by a sympathetic female). While her costume is fairly standard for the genre—good and bad women all dress this way—various little details help skew her in a negative direction. Although apparently Caucasian, her facial features are rather exotic, and she has a sexy but sinister expression on her face. Her earrings are animal claws, as are the clasps on the hips of her animal-skin bikini bottom. She’s brandishing a flaming torch (which also resembles a witch’s broom), she has red hair (not necessarily a bad sign, but unusual for a jungle comic, which generally featured blondes and raven-tressed beauties), and OMG WHAT THE HELL IS THAT ON HER HEAD?!

Well, if you read the title of this essay, you know the answer to that: she’s got a pile of poop on her head!? I swear to you that this isn’t Photoshopped. To tell the truth, I didn’t even notice it at first, but just like the meme “When You See It—”, when I saw this, I…did a spit-take. What else could this…stuff be? A mushroom? Chocolate ice cream? A beehive? A really stupid hat? (Notice the golden bone stuck through it as a decoration) The women on the Fox jungle comics occasionally wore headdresses or crowns or hats, but never anything even remotely resembling this.

Yes, my characterisation of it as “elephant poop” is a bit of hyperbole. I’m no expert in wild animal dung, I suppose it could be rhino poop, or lion poop, or zebra poop. But honestly, whatever the source, it really, really looks like she has a pile of manure stuck on her head. Jeez, it’s even brown. As I wrote above, the interior story about the “Mountain of Skulls” depicts the villainess (named “Bella Tone”) as a blonde who in no way resembles the woman on the cover, and at no time does she don any sort of head-gear, organically-derived or otherwise.

There might be some perfectly logical explanation for this bizarre pile of brown stuff on the woman’s head, but I like to imagine that the cover artist knew exactly what he was doing: on the original black and white artwork it wouldn’t be so noticeable, and possibly the editor wouldn’t even look carefully at the colour separations or proofs, but if he did, the artist could say, “Oh, that’s her traditional native headdress” (hopefully keeping a straight face while he did so).

My previous comment about Jo-Jo’s facial expression might now be reevaluated in light of this discovery. Instead of thinking “How horrible! A Mountain of Skulls created by the blood lust of this beautiful but evil woman!” he may very well be saying to himself, “Oh, gross! Why does she have a giant pile of animal poop on her head? I think I’m going to puke!”

This essay was originally going to deal with the Jungle Girl trope more broadly, but I suppose I’ll have to come back to that at a later date. Because it’s not every day you find a comic book cover featuring an exotic, bikini-clad jungle princess sitting on a mound of human skulls and…wearing a pile of elephant dung as a hat.

While not the most lurid or the most artistically accomplished of the Fox jungle-comic covers, the cover of Jo-Jo Congo King #8 is memorable nonetheless. To say the least.

A Ghost for Every Member of the Family!? 13 Ghosts (1960)...

mexcine — Fri, 10 Aug 2012 17:25:00 -0400

A Ghost for Every Member of the Family!? 13 Ghosts (1960) poster—

Gimmicks were certainly used to sell movies prior to the 1950s—even sound and colour were considered “gimmicks” at some point, in addition to things like early experiments with widescreen processes and 3D. But in the late 1940s and early 1950s, the collapse of the studio system and the drastic diminution of the number of cinema tickets sold (weekly movie attendance in the USA dropped from 90 million in 1946 to 47 million in 1956)—in part due to the encroachment of television—prompted desperate measures on the part of Hollywood. 3D was the most famous of these formal enhancements, followed by various ways of expanding the screen (Cinerama, Cinemascope, etc.). There were also outright gimmicks, often one-shot attempts to sell tickets (Smell-o-vision, Percepto, Psycho-Rama), as well as some blatant rip-offs (that is, “processes” or other alleged technical developments or techniques which didn’t actually exist, despite fancy names on the posters).

13 Ghosts was produced and directed by William Castle, a former B-movie director who in the late 1950s and early ‘60s became a sort of low-budget, Alfred Hitchockian, directorial “personality,” with a series of gimmicky (there’s that word again) films like The Tingler, 13 Ghosts, Homicidal, The House on Haunted Hill, Macabre, Mr. Sardonicus, etc. Although a competent craftsman behind the camera, Castle’s movies have a certain no-style, TV-look and feel, albeit with the occasional frisson and/or clever idea (The Tingler and Homicidal are two of his better works in this regard).

To distinguish his product from the plethora of similar pictures, Castle relied heavily on ballyhoo and exploitation. Homicidal promised a “Fright Break,” The Tingler used “Percepto” (vibrating theatre seats), Macabre had the hackneyed “life insurance” policy for viewers “frightened to death” by the picture (fat chance), Mr. Sardonicus utilised an audience-participation “Punishment Poll” to (allegedly) determine the outcome of the plot, and so on.

And…13 Ghosts had “Illusion-O” (an unimaginative name for a gimmick) and the “Ghost-Viewer,” a cardboard device with two coloured-cellophane inserts (possibly recycled from old 3D glasses). The idea was that audience members could see the ghosts on the screen through the red filter, but—if they were scared—could “remove” the ghost images by looking through the blue window. Of course, if you didn’t use the “Ghost Viewer” at all, you could still see the ghosts (the red filter merely “enhanced” them). This was because the images of the ghosts were superimpositions on tinted black-and-white film.

The poster shown above for 13 Ghosts is a horizontal-formatted half-sheet (as opposed to a standard movie poster with a vertical format, called a “one-sheet”). It’s listed as style “B,” suggesting that a different style “A” exists, although I’ve never seen it. The design and content of this poster are very similar to the “title card” in the lobby card set, and the one-sheet for 13 Ghosts contains most of the same visual and text elements, although laid out differently.

What is missing from the half-sheet (but present on the title lobby and the one-sheet) is the film’s (rather weak) tagline: “13 Times the Thrills! 13 Times the Screams! 13 Times the Fun!” “13 Times?” Compared to what? Still, this slogan does set the overall tone of the movie: it will be a non-serious, “fun but scary” horror movie where audiences can “scream” at the “thrills” but still have “fun.” Of course they will.

Instead of “13 Times,” the half-sheet substitutes a rather odd tagline “A Ghost for Every Member of the Family!” I’m not sure if this refers to the family in the movie (the Zorbas, who in fact number only four, 5 if you count the dead guy) or if the filmmakers were hoping people would attend 13 Ghosts with their families (and if that’s the case, presumably they were banking on a large Catholic viewership, eh? Zing!). [Note: or possibly they were thinking of the Gilbreth family.] This alternate tagline makes no real sense, and it’s unclear why the “13 Times!” slogan was omitted on this poster design. [A text box does indicate the Ghost-Viewer will provide “13 Times the ENTERTAINMENT.”]

In comparison, the “Illusion-O” process is somewhat more heavily sold on this poster than the other versions. The logo is larger and coloured yellow to stand out from the heavily blue/white artwork. While the same inset artwork of 3 characters from the movie (including one holding the Ghost-Viewer) appears on the one-sheet, title lobby and half-sheet, it’s proportionately larger and more prominent here (although in all cases, it stands out because it’s full-colour and the rest of the poster is not). The text-box promotes the “New Ghost-Viewer” (not that there was an earlier version of the Ghost-Viewer, but instead affirming the idea that this was an innovation) that’s “FREE” to “everyone who sees the movie!”

Actually, in the film itself the characters wear special glasses to see the ghosts—glasses that strongly resemble the infamous 3D glasses of a few years earlier—so the image on the poster of young Buck Zorba using the cardboard-and-cellophane viewer is misleading. It would have been quite a meta-moment if a character in the movie 13 Ghosts used a Ghost-Viewer emblazoned with the logo from the film!

13 Ghosts and The Mask (1961) incorporated the “special” viewing technology used by the audience into the plot of the films themselves, an interesting twist. Unlike full 3D features, where the audience wears glasses throughout, 13 Ghosts specifically instructed viewers (via text on the screen) when to “Use Viewer”/ “Remove Viewer,” and in the case of The Mask, a spooky voiceover instructed audiences to “Put on the mask…NOW!” This shared “vision” cleverly bonds the audience with the protagonists of the film: by means of similar technology in reel/real life, we are privileged to see what they can see.

The poster for 13 Ghosts does cheat fairly significantly in one area, by strongly suggesting the movie is in colour. Not only, as noted above, is the inset photo/artwork of the actors in colour, but the true-but-misleading statement “See the ghosts in ectoplasmic COLOR” appears prominently on the poster (with “COLOR” in red type). Technically, this is accurate: the ghost scenes (and only the ghost scenes, except for the main title and credits, in the original theatrical release) were in colour…sort of. The screen is tinted blue, and the ghosts are reddish (they’re visible, more or less, even without the Ghost Viewer, and can be seen in wholly black-and-white prints as well). The rest of the film was in plain old, low-budget black-and-white.

It’s really sort of remarkable: instead of saying “this is a black-and-white movie that has a few sequences where you’re required to squint through a piece of tinted plastic,” 13 Ghosts is sold as an “event,” presented in the magic of “Illusion-O!” where your FREE Ghost-Viewer will insure “13 Times the ENTERTAINMENT” of an ordinary motion picture! Huzzah!

The other point about this 13 Ghosts poster is the careful taxonomy of the titular ghosts (well, 12 of them). Although the one-sheet and title lobby do contain the ghost images, the half-sheet helpfully labels them with names and numbers (the film’s title sequence uses the same cartoonish images and numbers, but the names aren’t provided). The spirits are an odd mélange of the blandly generic and the strangely specific (in the context of the movie, they were “collected” by the late Dr. Zorba, before he became Ugly Ghost #12, so it’s not as if this particular house was coincidentally haunted by a dozen mostly-unrelated phantoms). 5 of the ghosts are vague archetypes—Screaming Woman, Clutching Hands, Floating Head, Flaming Skeleton, Hanging Woman—two have names (Emilio and Dr. Zorba), and 6 of them are linked in some narrative way (Executioner and Head, Lion and Tamer, Emilio the Cook/His Wife/Her Lover—I wonder if Peter Greenaway ever saw 13 Ghosts?).

Logic and consistency breaks down when we consider Ghost #8 [sic] and Ghosts 10 and 11. Ghost #8 is “Executioner and Head,” so this should actually count as two ghosts (unless the Executioner chopped off his own head, a nice trick if you can do it…no, wait, “Head” appears to be a woman while the Executioner’s arms are pretty brawny), whereas #10 and #11 are “Lion” and (headless) “Tamer” (I guess he didn’t do a very good job of “taming” that lion, eh?). I mean, if this pair is assigned two ghost numbers, why not “Executioner” and “Head”?

The other noteworthy ghost is #5, “Emilio,” or as I like to think of him, “Chef Boyardee” (aka “Luigi the Italian Stereotype Chef” from “The Simpsons”). Cuckolded by his wife, Emilio turns into a cleaver-wielding spirit, (apparently) wearing long, formal gloves, a tattered apron, and a chef’s hat. All of his body and facial features have vanished (unlike the other ghosts) with the exception of his proud Italian handlebar ghost-moustache. Mama mia! At’sa some spicy spectre!

The poster for 13 Ghosts hyperbolically highlights the main selling points of the movie—the large gang of ghosts, Illusion-O (possibly named by Emilio the Italian Stereotype Ghost, now that I think of it) and the Ghost Viewer—in an effective fashion, and almost certainly helped stimulate the box-office power of the movie, which is otherwise a mild and inoffensive piece of supernatural fluff that would be long-forgotten except for its gimmick.

Don’t Touch America’s Hair! “The Last Stroke” (1896) theatrical...

mexcine — Thu, 02 Aug 2012 12:17:00 -0400

Don’t Touch America’s Hair! “The Last Stroke” (1896) theatrical poster:

A fair number of historians consider the Mexican-American War (1847) and the Spanish-American War (1898) to be among the least-justified conflicts in United States history. Think what you will of Vietnam or Desert Storm or the current situation in Afghanistan, at least these “wars” (and I place that word in quotes because no official declaration of war has been made since World War Two—even Korea was a “police action”—not because I’m taking them lightly) were not imperialist in nature or result. After the Mexican-American War and the Spanish-American War, the United States took on additional territory, even if that wasn’t the stated or even the primary reason for going to war in the first place. [Yes, most of the land taken from Spain was subsequently relinquished, for reasons both altruistic and practical, with Puerto Rico and Guam the primary remaining remnants.]

Even at the time, the Mexican-American War was fairly unpopular, but the Spanish-American War, fomented by the yellow press and supported by business interests, was more acceptable to the American people. For a number of years, proponents of Cuban independence had been propagandising in the USA, casting Spain in the role of brutal imperialist occupier of the Caribbean island. This image had a certain degree of truth to it—the Cubans had been seeking independence via armed revolt intermittently since 1868, but the insurrection had escalated in 1895, prompting severe repression by the Spanish authorities. Thus, there was a certain sense of moral indignation on the part of Americans, who’ve traditionally sympathised with the underdogs. Furthermore, the actual war was short (4 months) and not especially bloody—about 3,300 Americans died, the vast majority as a result of disease rather than enemy action—so it was viewed by many as an kind of adventure in the service of a good cause.

Popular culture has treated the Spanish-American War well, although it’s certainly a footnote in the grand scheme of “movies/books/plays/songs about America’s wars.” Indeed, particularly in films, the conflict is often referred to but rarely shown in any significant detail. But, aside from the campaigns against Native Americans, the Spanish-American War was the only major military activity between the end of the Civil War in 1865 and American’s entry into World War One in 1917, so it resulted in a number of pop culture references to Spanish-American War veterans (although these had mostly vanished by WWII), catch-phrases like “Remember the Maine” and “You may fire when ready, Gridley,” and of course the “Teddy Roosevelt charges up San Juan Hill” trope. The jingoistic journalism of Joseph Pulitzer (“You furnish the pictures and I’ll furnish the war”) and William Randolph Hearst, commonly considered to have helped drum up public support for a declaration of war, also became something of a trope (not the least of its appearances is in Citizen Kane).

The play whose poster is the focus of this essay was part of the pro-Cuban campaign which eventually led the United States to intervene in the long-running rebellion on its island neighbour. “The Last Stroke” was written by I.N. Morris, about whom little information is available (the Internet Broadway Database lists 4 of his plays, from “The Last Stroke” in 1896 to “Matilda” in 1906, none of which seem to have been very successful) and premiered in March 1896 at New York’s Star Theatre.

The New York Times review stated “Cuban patriots and liberty loving Americans cheered for Cuba Libre…American patriotism was stirred to the depths and American sympathy for the struggling Cubans gave vent in a mighty shout when the American consul of the play said ‘No. We don’t want diplomacy! Where would America be if we had had diplomacy instead of Bunker Hill?’” [Apparently the cheering audience overlooked the incongruity of a member of the American diplomatic corps making such a statement. On the other hand, vigorous military action is always better than talking things over, right? Just ask Neville Chamberlain.]

The poster shown above for the “The Last Stroke” is one of about eight “scene posters” for the play held in the collection of the Library of Congress (and as a result, rather widely disseminated around the web, since they can be freely exploited for commercial purposes). I chose this particular piece because it rather neatly encapsulates—and not at all ironically—some attitudes of the period regarding America and the world. The end of the 19^th and early years of the 20^th century were the Golden Age of “Americans Abroad.” Mark Twain and Henry James wrote about the adventures of globe-trotting American tourists visiting the Old World, but in popular literature there was also a consistent motif of American journalists and engineers working in the Third World (Richard Harding Davis not only wrote about such persons, he was such a person, covering the Spanish-American War, Boer War, and World War One).

“The Last Stroke” has a complicated plot but one of the characters is an American serving with the Cuban forces of General Marcial Gómez (Máximo Gómez was a real-life Cuban hero), a typical depiction of a “freedom-loving American” who fights for liberty against tyranny in a third-world setting. Sometimes the Yank starts off as a mercenary (occasionally even on the other side of the conflict), or a neutral (perhaps a journalist), but eventually he sees the justice of the rebel cause and lends his support to their struggle. We Were Strangers (1949) and Santiago (1956) are two Hollywood films that utilise this trope in Cuban settings, while a plethora of movies set in other countries (fictional and real) also use it. The hero has married a “Spanish girl” (it’s unclear if she’s actually supposed to be Cuban, although indications are that she is not) and runs afoul of her former Spanish suitor. The Spanish villain shoots the Yank, abducts the wife, and later frames the American (who survived the attempt on his life) for espionage, which leads to the scene on this poster.

So, in the context of the play, the image of an American about to be unjustly executed by Cuban rebels is explained, but without this background the artwork might be rather confusing. After all, this is a “Story of Cuba’s Fight for Freedom,” and is thus, de facto, pro-Cuban independence in its viewpoint. So why are Cuban troops about to shoot an American? Perhaps the casual viewer assumed the American is about to be executed by the fiendish Spaniards, since the allegiance of the firing squad isn’t obvious (or at least it isn’t to us, today—possibly in 1896 there was greater public knowledge of the respective uniforms of the conflict’s opposing forces). Actually, though, it doesn’t really matter, at least as far as the poster’s message is concerned.

What we’re presented with here is the contrast between civilisation (= the USA) and barbarism (= most of the rest of the world), intermingled with the contrast between the “vigorous,” democratic, New World and the decadent Old World. These are slightly contradictory, but not illogically so.

Americans support freedom and self-determination, particularly in the Western Hemisphere (remember the Monroe Doctrine?). Huzzah! We see a heroic American, standing up for democratic values, about to be shot (one might unwittingly assume) by the forces of imperialism and oppression. [Ironically, the Spanish-American War would result in the USA become an imperial power itself, with the acquisition of Puerto Rico, Guam and the Philippines.] The American consul, an older man but brave and “vigorous,” intervenes, perhaps at the risk of his own life. He’s so confident of his moral authority, backed up by the military might of the United States, that he thrusts himself between his countryman and a firing squad. He doesn’t plead or reason with them, he orders them to stand down and warns “I’ll hang every man of you!” if an American citizen comes to harm.

“The Last Stroke” was written before various notorious, early 20^th-century American incursions into foreign countries to “protect American interests,” “restore order,” and so on, although there were certainly examples of this in the 19^th century as well. Sometimes all that was needed was gunboat diplomacy, i.e., the appearance of a warship or two off the coast of the offending region, while in other instances the order was given (or a threat was made) to “send in the Marines!” In the interests of fairness, it should be noted that the United States was not alone in having such protective instincts towards its citizens and their businesses located in other nations—the 1838 “Pastry War” was precipitated by the complaint of a French baker in Mexico, for example—but the USA has historically been given a bad rap for its allegedly over-bearing attitude and behaviour in this area.

In this particular case, since the American has been incorrectly accused of being a Spanish spy, the consul is not only preserving the life of a constituent, but also preventing the Cuban rebel forces from making a serious error which might compromise their cause in the eyes of the American public. Killing innocent people, especially American citizens, is not good public relations. As noted earlier, Cuba’s struggle for independence from Spain was popularised in the USA through the media: otherwise, the average American probably knew little and cared less about our island neighbour (although it had been coveted by imperialists for some time), and probably felt more racial and cultural affinity with the “white” Spanish occupiers than the mixed-race Cubans. Again, this may have been the source of some cognitive dissonance—the Cubans were fellow residents of the Western Hemisphere, and they were the underdogs, therefore Americans sympathised with them, but the Spaniards were “more like us.”

Which leads to the other, unspoken theme of “The Last Stroke” poster—the white, civilised Americans compared with “people of colour” in exotic lands. The setting of the poster is obviously a tropical country, given the architecture and the palm trees in the background. Remove the Cubans and this could be North Africa, Latin America, or the Middle East. Tales of Third World adventure, by definition, don’t take place in Western Europe (one slight exception are the so-called “Ruritanian” novels, plays, and films, stories of political intrigue and romance set in fictional European nations).

Consider our hero. About to be shot as a spy, he’s standing tall, white shirt immaculate, boots shined—he’s even wearing a tie! The American consul is more formally dressed in a three-piece suit, no concession to the tropical heat for him. These two men are clad properly, as befits their status as representatives of the USA (officially in one case, unofficially in the other). The other fellows, while not frightfully villainous-looking, are informal and…ethnic. The officer at the right isn’t even wearing a uniform, for goodness’ sake! He’s dressed more like a pirate, with a broad sash, boots, a sword and a dagger and a pistol, and scowls at the impertinence of the yanquis who dare intervene in his affairs. (In fact, this appears to be the villain of the piece, the real Spanish spy, Valdez) The firing squad is generally a non-differentiated mass of soldiers, although some variety has been provided in their headwear, which reinforces their unprofessional appearance. In the background, two additional figures can be spotted, one a white-clad Cuban official of some sort, and the other—apparently (based on some of the other posters for “The Last Stroke”)—an Irish caricature, probably the play’s comic relief character.

Somewhere, someone has probably done a historical study on facial hair. The 19^th-century was a “beard and moustache century” even in the USA, but at some point the tide turned and clean-shaven men became more prevalent for a number of years. “The Last Stroke” poster features a strong contrast between the clean-shaven Americans and the moustachioed Cubans (and Spaniards). Maybe it’s a cultural thing? Clean-shaven = good, and Hairy Face = bad? Except…the President of the United States at the time this play was performed was Grover Cleveland, who…had a moustache. (His 5 predecessors and 3 successors also all had facial hair)

Consequently, it seems the poster is really just trying to differentiate between the Americans and the “others” in every way possible—dress, demeanour, and facial hair (at least the Cubans don’t have noticeably darker skin, which is sort of surprising). [As an aside, the Irish-caricature has stereotypical red hair and bushy sideburns, although they can’t be seen very well in this particular scene.] The Americans, even in a war-torn tropical nation, even under intense stress and imminent danger, dress well and shave each morning. It’s called being civilised. If you let the little things go, it’s a slippery slope towards “going native.”

So in summary, what can we say about the poster for “The Last Stroke”? Monroe Doctrine, freedom is good, imperialism is bad, Old World decadence versus New World ideals, helping America’s neighbours fight for independence, Americans Stick Together, Don’t Tread on Me, and Always Shave and Wear a Clean Shirt because Keeping Up Appearances is Important.

Two Dames But Only One Eye (The Queer Sisters, 1952) ...

mexcine — Thu, 19 Jul 2012 11:07:00 -0400

Two Dames But Only One Eye (The Queer Sisters, 1952)

The fluid nature of language sometimes produces amusing results. Innocuous words or phrases of 100, 50, or even 10 years ago result in hilarity today because they’ve been assigned different meanings. Words used in pop culture of the past which now have sexual connotations are always good for a snicker or two; the campy humour in slang or colloquial references to homosexuality is one good example. “Fag” and “faggot” (formerly, a cigarette and a bundle of sticks for burning), “gay” (carefree, happy), and even “queer” are words that—while innocently and accurately used in their own contemporary context—provide us with scads of anachronistic amusement today: “Ha ha, Gay Comics published in 1945 wasn’t about gay people at all!” Interestingly enough, some older terms for gays, like “pansy” and “nance,” have mostly lost their former significance. And there were terms that had double meanings even “back then”—remember Cary Grant in Bringing Up Baby? “I just went gay all of a sudden!”

This 1950s-era paperback entitled The Queer Sisters is often cited as “lesbian-oriented” literature, or at least it’s assumed to be such, when in fact the word “queer” is probably used in the sense of “weird” or “odd.” But who knows? I suppose it is possible this novel does, as one website claims, deal with a “hard-boiled detective vs. lesbian sisters,” although the back-cover copy doesn’t hint at it. Or, perhaps the publishers wanted potential readers to think this was about lesbian sisters? So we have three possibilities: this isn’t about gays at all, we’re just applying 2012 thinking to a 1952 artifact; or it is about gays; or it’s not about gays but people in 1952 were supposed to think it might be. Oh, my head hurts…

This retroactive camp factor (a term I thought I’d made up, but a quick Google search informs me others have previously used it) makes the The Queer Sisters paperback much better-known today than it would have been otherwise. But surprisingly, in addition to the intrinsic art/camp/pop cultural-historical value of the cover itself , a further investigation and desconstruction provides several bonuses (both the author and the artist have fascinating stories of their own), neither of which I was aware when I stumbled across and then downloaded this image into my “Blog Pics” folder.

The Queer Sisters was published in the USA first by Uni Books in 1952, and then reprinted by Stallion Books in 1954. The cover art and text were identical on both editions, with the exception of the Stallion logo replacing the Uni Books imprint on the leg and blue nightgown of the blonde sister.

The front cover text is pleasantly lurid, with a nice use of adjectives: “Twisted Love and Hateful Passion in a Suspenseful Setting!” Just to let us know that this isn’t a romance novel or anything of the sort, because the “love” and “passion” are twisted and hateful. I think I’ve said it before, the copywriters working for publishers (and movie companies) deserve a lot of credit for conveying meaning in a clever tagline of only a few words. [addendum: “twisted love” could be a code phrase for homosexuality, so that’s another “clue” for potential readers that this novel might be about…dum dum DUM…deviants…]

The reader was also informed that this was “Another Masterpiece of Lusty Action by Steve Harragan!” (the exclamation point after the author’s name reminds me of Arrested Development’s “Steve Holt!”) He certainly must be an accomplished author, because this is “Another Masterpiece”—not his first one, mind you, but yet another masterpiece by Steve Harragan! Then as now, reader loyalty is built on author/character recognition, so obviously Uni Books (and later, Stallion) were attempting to cultivate a fan-base for hard-boiled Harragan!, the master of “Lusty Action,” hoping to catch a bit of the left-over Mickey Spillane market, one supposes.

“Lusty” was a code word for sexual content, and the text on the cover of a number of Steve Harragan’s paperbacks used “lust” or “lusty” to describe his work, so I’d assume he was a lusty writer of lusty stories containing a lot of lust.

The cover of The Queer Sisters is also moderately lusty. The artist was Bernard Safran (1924-1995), who attended the Pratt Institute in New York and eventually graduated from painting paperback covers to creating fine art, including 73 portraits for the cover of Time magazine (36 now in the collection of the National Portrait Gallery in Washington), as well as other well-regarded work. More information about Safran may be found here: http://safran-arts.com/bio.html

Safran, influenced by the realistic Ashcan School of art, does not paint the titular sisters in a stereotypically glamourous fashion (in fact, many 1950s paperbacks had realistic covers rather than the glossy Bergey-Belarski, etc. style of the late Forties—James Avati was one of the primary proponents of the new style). They’re both attractive, but they’re covered up (the red-head’s green nightgown is translucent but not transparent, or else she’s wearing a bra—or possibly two strategically-placed coconut shells—underneath) and there is something about their facial expressions and their poses that gives them a supercilious, condescending air as they chat with Steve Harragan!

Yes, Harragan! himself is the author and the narrator/hero of the book, fancy that! But Safran paints him in a curious manner: Harragan! is standing there literally hat in hand, looking thin and weak and unsure of himself. “Hello, honey, I’m home! Boy, did I have it rough at the office today, Mr. Blumstein really chewed me out for not finishing the quarterly payroll report…And the subway was so crowded…Oh, I see your sister is here—hello, Mabel…” (Actually, Steve Harragan! is described in the novels as a former reporter who’s now an amateur detective, and he actually does vaguely resemble a weedy newshound in this painting)

The art’s emphasis is clearly on the “sisters,” rather than the protagonist of the novel. While this goes against convention for some media—imagine a Superman comic with Superman appearing quite small and ineffectual in the background, or a Humphrey Bogart movie poster upon which his image is not the primary focus—1950s paperbacks (even “series” paperbacks about a single, continuing character) did not always follow this pattern. For instance, the original Signet versions of the “Mike Hammer” novels by Mickey Spillane never clearly showed the hero’s face (he was either depicted in profile or in shadow), concentrating instead on an image of a damsel in distress. This appears to have been a deliberate decision to avoid personalising Mike Hammer (to allow the reader to form his own mental image, perhaps?), since the cover of Spillane’s non-Hammer novel The Long Wait does feature a clear image of the face of the book’s hero (although he’s still subsidiary to the blonde in the foreground).

What about Steve Harragan!? The one distinctive thing about him on this cover is the black eye-patch, which also appears on the other Harragan! novels of the era (with the exception of Cuban Heel: although it’s unclear which of the two men on that cover are supposed to be our hero, neither has an eye-patch). Mostly associated with Nick Fury and pirates these days, there was a time when black eye-patches were considered debonair and mysterious: think Moshe Dayan, the Hathaway shirt man, Basil St. John, Floyd Gibbons, Snake Plissken… The back-cover text for The Queer Sisters says “P.S. That patch on my eye? I’ll be telling you all about it in my next book. Watch for it.” Wait, so Harragan! doesn’t even have an eye-patch in this book? Aww….

Here’s a secret about Steve Harragan! (author and protagonist)—that wasn’t even his real name. In fact, the Steve Harragan! novels were reprints of a series of UK books “written by” and starring…Bart Carson. That’s right, in the great tradition of James Hadley Chase, Hank Janson, and Ben Sarto (among others), “Bart Carson” was a British author of crime novels set in the USA. [Much has been written about this phenomenon, and I won’t attempt to summarise it here, but some diligent searching will give you the background.] But here’s the twist—“Bart Carson” wasn’t his real name either! Stunning, right?

Specifically, “Bart Carson” was a pseudonym for William Maconachie, about whom very little is known, other than the information uncovered by Steve Holland: http://bearalley.blogspot.com/2010/04/william-maconachie.html

Apparently Maconachie wrote a number of UK paperback crime novels and Westerns in the early Fifties—under various noms de plume—but “Bart Carson” was his most popular byline/character. Having never read any of the Carson/Harragan! novels I cannot verify this, but at least one source indicates Carson (the character) had two functioning eyes, which means the Harragan! books must have been at least slightly revised—in addition to the name change for the writer/protagonist—for U.S. printing.

Substituting “Steve Harragan!” for “Bart Carson” was an interesting move. Someday, someone should do an analysis of character names (and authorial pseudonyms) and look at the patterns which emerge. “Bart Carson” is one syllable/two syllables (as were “Hank Janson” and “Ben Sarto”) while “Steve Harragan!” adds a bonus syllable to the surname, in addition to a slightly Irish tinge (that might not have played well in the UK). “Bart Carson” is fine, but maybe it sounded a bit too villainous, or more like a Western hero than a hard-boiled detective…Now “Steve Harragan!” there’s a man’s name for you! “Steve” to his girlfriends and “Harragan!” to the cops, the crooks, and everyone else…

So a trip down the rabbit-hole of a faux-lesbian paperback from the 1950s reveals a pseudonymous (twice-over!) author, imitation-Yank crime fiction from the UK imported to the USA, and a cover artist whose subsequent work resides in the Smithsonian. Not a bad day’s work.

She Looks So Cute in Her Boiler Suit: Civil Defense & Murder...

mexcine — Mon, 09 Jul 2012 14:38:00 -0400

She Looks So Cute in Her Boiler Suit: Civil Defense & Murder (Thrilling Detective pulp cover 1944)

This cover might win the prize for the least-glamourous, most covered-up female figure in pulp magazine history, but that’s alright, it makes up for it in other ways.

The title of this essay is borrowed from the George Formby song “Mr. Wu’s an Air Raid Warden Now” (look it up on YouTube)—“Mr. Wu is now an air raid warden, and don’t he look cute, in his new siren suit”—but just to keep things honest, the female Civil Defense warden on the cover is probably actually wearing a boiler suit (or possibly just a trench coat, it’s difficult to tell). The term “boiler suit” isn’t much used in the United States today, but it refers to what we Yanks call “coveralls,” a one-piece jumpsuit that can fit over your regular clothes to protect them (if you have a dirty job) and/or to serve as a sort of uniform. It’s similar in design to a “siren suit,” which (in the UK, primarily), was a zip-front jumpsuit designed to be donned quickly when the air raid siren sounded and one had to go down to the shelter (often in subway stations or other places where you’d be in the company of strangers). Siren suits were therefore not necessarily made of the same sort of durable material as a boiler suit, but apparently Mr. Wu wore one while carrying out his duties as an air raid warden. (Winston Churchill was also another famous siren-suit wearer) All clear now? (Hey, an air raid pun!)

For the youthful readers in our audience, this is a wartime pulp magazine (cover-dated February 1944) and shows a female Civil Defense warden discovering the murdered body of a night watchman at a defense plant, unaware that the (presumed) murderer—a sinister gentleman of Japanese aspect—is preparing to go all Thuggee on her (well, he pretty much has to, since he carelessly left his dagger in the corpse’s chest).

I like this cover because it contains so many details which would have been obvious to readers of the day, but are most likely incomprehensible to people born in the 1960s or later. Let’s go from right to left, just to change things up a bit. The murder victim is wearing an indentification badge that, in popular culture of the war years, signified employment in a war plant. It’s possible workers in canneries or shoe factories had the same sort of IDs, but in context he’s clearly supposed to have been employed in a war-related industry. And his occupation of night watchman is indicated by the device at the bottom of the cover, a “watchman’s clock.” To make sure night watchmen made their rounds (rather than sleeping during their shift), the men carried this clock around with them and used a special key—kept in various locations—to “clock in.” (Apparently these devices are still being made and used! Who knew?) Thus, the “story of the cover” begins to unfold…someone has murdered the night watchman at a defense plant. Why? To sabotage the factory? To steal valuable plans for a new weapon?

The dead man is discovered by a Civil Defense worker, or as they were colloquially known, an “air raid warden.” The helmet and armband were standard issue (the boiler suit I’m not so sure about). The story of the civil defense programs in the USA is too long to go into here, but there were literally thousands of people participating during the war, in activities ranging from “air raid warden” (enforcing the blackout regulations) to “fire warden,” “airplane spotter,” and so forth. It’s a bit of puzzle why popular culture of the era generally treated these people so shabbily, mocking them, depicting them as officious, bumbling and incompetent, and so on. Since the U.S. mainland was never seriously attacked, Civil Defense volunteers never had the opportunity to prove their worth—unlike their counterparts in the UK, who had to deal with the Blitz and, later, the V-1 and V-2 bombs—but this doesn’t entirely explain the derision with which they were often treated in films, comic books, on the radio, and so forth. Perhaps in real life they received more respect for their willingness to serve. One can only hope so.

The Thrilling Detective covers of the war years were surprisingly free of the helpless, woman-in-peril motif (oddly enough, sister publication Thrilling Mystery was almost the complete opposite in this regard, perhaps deliberately so). In fact, 15 of the 46 covers (1942-45) feature women with guns in hand (and one with a grenade!), often blazing away at the villains. While our Civil Defense lady isn’t armed, she is doing an important, potentially dangerous job, armed only with a neat little flashlight (some wardens carried billy clubs). Sure, she’s shocked by the murder victim she’s stumbled across, but she’s not running away or fainting.

The Thrilling Detective cover trio is completed by Ubiquitous Japanese Stereotype Man. For some reason, pulp magazine covers tended to display less egregiously offensive stereotypes than, for example, comic books (and in fact, relatively few Thrilling Detective covers in the 1942-45 era were overtly war-oriented at all). I suppose it’s a matter of degree, and Asians themselves might consider it cold comfort to see pulp magazines showing 50 variations on Fu Manchu-like Chinese arch-villains rather than comic books featuring rat-like Japanese soldiers, but the difference is considerable if you take the long view. The Japanese gentleman on this cover has the usual stereotyped features—yellow skin, prominent teeth, eyeglasses—and the expression on his face as he prepares to strangle Our Heroine is fiercely gleeful (or gleefully ferocious), but he doesn’t seem to be (a) fanatic, (b) moronic, (c) depraved, or (d) all of the above. He’s a murderous spy-saboteur but this is a wartime pulp magazine, and the fact that he’s willing (eager, even) to murder a woman puts him in with the majority of pulp magazine villains—killing women is like candy to them, they love it!

Thus, the cover of Thrilling Detective Volume 50 #2 includes some of the staple elements of pulp covers—violence completed and impending, a woman in peril (albeit an atypical version of that trope), and the “Yellow Peril” (more prevalent in the Thirties)—but is also very timely and contemporary in its war-relevance.

Diligent (if brief) research failed to turn up the name of the cover artist of this issue of Thrilling Detective, but it may very well be the work of Milton Luros. I’m not knowledgeable enough to spot the styles of particular artists, but Rudolph Belarski usually signed his covers, the Norm Saunders checklist doesn’t list this as one of his credits, and this sort of resembles some other Luros Thrilling Detective covers (including at least two more in 1944 alone), so that’s my guess, anyway. Thanks to www.pulpartists.com, we know that Milton Luros (born Milton Louis Rosenblatt in Brooklyn in 1911), was a Pratt Institute graduate who later in life founded The American Art Agency (brokering the work of other artists) and became a millionaire as the head of Parliament News, publisher of scores of erotic magazines in the 1960s and 1970s (more info here: http://www.vintagegirliemags.com/creators/milton-luros).

Thrilling Detective was published by (wait for it), Thrilling Publications (although the company also went by Standard Magazines and Better Publications, and the comic book branch was also called “Nedor,” after Ned Pines, the publisher). Thrilling Detective ran from 1931 to 1953. Beginning in the summer of 1942, Thrilling pulps and comics consistently put small graphics on their covers promoting the purchase of War bonds and stamps—the most prevalent of these (after a period of experimentation with other designs) was the red-white-and-blue “pennant” seen here, with the text “Buy War Bonds and Stamps for Victory!” The efficacy of this miniscule bit of propaganda cannot be gauged, but Thrilling apparently gained nothing (in monetary terms) by including it on the vast majority of their wartime covers (November 1945 was the last issue of Thrilling Detective to carry the “pennant”), so perhaps it was simply a patriotic gesture on the part of Ned Pines. I like to think that was the case.

A glance at other Thrilling Detective covers in this era reveals a fairly consistent design scheme: the masthead, month, price, Bonds “pennant” and “A Thrilling Publication” text were standard. Generally, two (earlier, three) interior stories were singled out for cover attention, with the title, author, and a not very helpful “description”—“A Baffling Novelet [sic]” doesn’t tell the reader very much, nor does “A Gripping Mystery Novel” (except to suggest that one is longer than the other). Occasionally, a recurring character would be ballyhooed in the cover text (“A Willie Brann Novelet”) and one assumes some of the authors were “star” names that might attract readers.

The other interesting thing about the Thrilling Detective cover design was the repeated motif of varying the typography on one of the story titles, highlighting a key word. On this particular cover, it’s “Guest of Murder,” with “Guest” and “Murder” in distinctively different fonts and “Murder” tilted to make it stand out. This practice seems to have begun in the summer of 1943, and the buzz-words which were selected for emphasis include Sabotage, Death, Killer, Murder (multiple times), Doom, Kill, Homicide, Night, Phantom, Danger, and Fiend. Boy, those words make me want to buy this magazine! I’m not sure if this qualifies as an early example of subliminal messaging, but if so, it’s a nice touch.

The art is competent and the subject matter is dramatic, but it’s the historical context, content, and sub-text that make the cover of Thrilling Detective Volume 50 #2 (February 1944) even more worthy of closer examination.