The musings of Sean Paul Murphy: Editor, Producer, Screenwriter, Author. Or, Hollywood -- and beyond -- as seen from an odd little corner of northeast Baltimore, Maryland.
Most of my blogs about the movie business are inspired by questions I receive from aspiring writers and filmmakers. The most frequent question I get is whether Hollywood production companies will steal their scripts.
I previously answered this question back in 2010 in the blog Will Hollywood Steal From You? My answer was, essentially, no. I felt a reputable production company would be willing to pay you for your script, even if they planned to have one of their favorite writers redo it. The price of a screenplay is generally peanuts compared to the overall cost of a production. So why steal?
Subsequently, however, my interest in the subject has peaked since I have been called as a witness in the lawsuit between Brad Stine and John Sullivan and Pureflix over the film "God's Not Dead." Since the case is still in the courts, I have no desire to add anything to what I have previously written in the blog The Encounter, Part 1, Proof God's Not Dead. That said, I have been looking at the lawsuit Shame on You Productions, Inc. v. Elizabeth Banks involving the film Walk of Shame.
Here's the trailer of the film:
If you watched the credits, you might have missed the name of screenwriter Dan Rosen. So did he. That's what the lawsuit is all about.
Rather than recap the lawsuit myself, you can read about it here, here and here.
I find this lawsuit interesting for two reasons. The first is Dan Rosen himself. He is an old friend and fellow Baltimoron. We went to Towson University and took at least one film class together. (Wanna see my final project from that class? Here it is: The Lunch. His film was a comic international travelogue shot in Baltimore.) I always remember Dan being very ambitious. Much more so than me. When we were in college, he was already working as a stand-up comedian. If I'm not mistaken, he was also running a comedy club.
Dan was the first, and perhaps only, member of our class to move to Los Angeles. He was also the first one to sell a feature script. (The Last Supper) Throughout the 1990s, I frequently saw him on the Comedy Central show Stand Up, Stand Up and eventually he got to write and direct a few movies himself. Check out his biography: Here. His credits prove he was not some rube right off the turnip truck at the time. He had extensive Hollywood experience.
The second thing I find interesting is that the appeal before the 9th Circuit court, after the lower court found for the defendants, is available online. This was the first time I was able to watch actual arguments in a copyright infringement lawsuit. The main point of the appeal was that the lower court used the wrong criterion in deciding on the similarities between the script and the film. (An independent expert found 42 similarities.) It is fascinating and a must see for every screenwriter. But, before you watch that, watch this video Dan made for a GoFundMe campaign to pay for the lawsuit. It states the issues as he saw them.
Here's the clip of the initial appeal to the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit.
Dan and his team apparently lost the appeal. Read Here. They then appealed about having to pay the defendant's court costs.
Dan and his team also lost this appeal. Read Here.
What do I think about all of this? It's complicated.
First, I want to say that I have not read the script or seen the movie so I cannot address the specific merits of the case itself. However, this case, like every other copyright infringement case, affects the prospects of all freelance, non-union screenwriters without representation. Lawsuits like this make production companies increasingly wary about reading scripts that come in over the transom from people like me. And you. Therefore, I cringe every time I read about someone suing a production company who read their script....
But, on the other hand, there are thieves out there and unless someone stands up against them periodically, we're all screwed. It is very brave, almost insanely brave, to initiate a lawsuit like this one. The bar for proving copyright infringement is incredibly high, even if the production company read your script, and, as in this case, even met with you to talk about it. To make matters worse you may to pay the court costs of the defendant if you lose. And, trust me, your opponent will probably be a large corporation with very expensive lawyers who take very expensive lunches. In this case, Dan had to pay $319,000 in fees and costs. That's more than he probably would have gotten if they bought the script from him!
As I said earlier, I am not familiar with the specifics of the case and I don't want to make a judgement on it. I have no desire to disparage Elizabeth Banks or the other defendants. I am not implying they are guilty, or even innocent for that matter. What interests me are the underlying issues. For example, I strongly agree with the argument Dan's team gave in the appeal about the costs and fees. Having the real prospect of being forced to pay the court costs of the defendant essentially bars the courthouse door to everyone but the very rich. I understand these laws were passed to discourage frivolous lawsuits, but they also discourage legitimate ones, too. Moreover, these laws display the utter hypocrisy of the government. The government feels it is "just" to compel the losers in a civil case to pay the costs of the winners. However, that same government does not feel it is "just" to pay the legal costs of a defendant who is found innocent in a criminal trial! This is just another example of how justice is skewed in favor of the rich and powerful in our court system.
That's why I applaud people like Dan for going on such a forlorn crusade for the justice he felt he deserved. Bravo.
So back to the original question: Will Hollywood steal from you? I would say no ninety percent of the time. However, there are definitely some crooks out there and you should be aware of it. The best way to protect yourself is get serious representation and become a member of the WGA, west. All of my current option agreements are contingent on the films going union and myself becoming a member. That's how seriously I take the issue.
Here is a great list of film lawsuits: Film Lawsuits.
If you'd like Dan to read your script (for a fee), you can find him here: Rosen Reads
Here's another sample chapter of my novel Chapel Street. Keep checking back for more!
Chapter 8
A Mourner
I was on top of the world as I
drove away from the restaurant. It was hard to process the wide range of
emotions I had experienced over the last twenty-four hours. I went from haunted
to heartbroken to happy. Amazing.
Despite my assurances to the
contrary, I was already imagining what it would be like to date Teri, but I had
no illusions. I would never violate our agreement by asking her out
romantically unless she sent some very strong signals in my direction. I learned
the hard way during my thirty-six-years that dating wasn’t my strong suit. Friendship
was a reassuringly open-ended thing. Dating wasn’t. Every date was a pass/fail audition.
I wouldn’t risk a promising open-ended friendship with an attractive,
like-minded woman for an uncertain romantic future. Still, I was already hoping
that Teri would come to Gina’s wedding with me. Going to her wedding alone,
provided I was actually invited, was too pathetic for me to even consider.
My thoughts were so focused on Teri
that I didn’t put too much active thought to where I was driving. I planned to
head straight home, so I was surprised when Eternal Faith came into sight as I
crested a hill. I felt an instant pang of fear, as if some alien hand reached
deep inside of me and twisted my intestines. I took a deep breath and closed my
eyes for as long as my position in traffic allowed. When I opened my eyes, I
took solace in the bright sunlight. It dispelled the evil. There were no ghosts
or spirits. No undead. No haunting. No supernatural. Once again, my rational
pride took over. I refused to become a victim of superstition. I decided to
face my fear head on.
I turned into the cemetery. There were
few cars in sight. Sunday was a big day for visiting the dead, but most people
made their appearances after church services. It was three-thirty now. The rush
was over. People had left their flowers and returned to the places of the
living.
“What am I doing here?” I asked
myself but quickly dismissed the thought. I had every right to be here. After
all, one day, this place was going to be my permanent home.
The road took me past the rise
where my immediate family was buried, but I tried to ignore them. My Catholic
upbringing was to blame. I always remembered the lesson old Father Isidore gave
us before our first confession. People who died with mortal sins on their souls,
like suicide, were damned to hell. Although I turned my back on mother church
decades ago, those words still haunted me, especially after the death of my
brother. What cruelty! Lenny never had a chance in this world, and, if Father
Isidore was right, he was damned to hell in the next one. The fate of my mother
was even crueler. She lost a husband and a son and had to deal with cancer too.
Now she was damned to hell because of one decision she made in a moment of
weakness? A God who would do that was no God at all—even if He did exist.
Father Isidore’s words got my blood
boiling again, but I couldn’t deal with those emotions now. I kept driving on
the main road past the office. It was closed, but the mausoleum remained open
until five o’clock. I often wondered about that. Did one of the employees
actually drive into the cemetery and lock the large glass doors at five
o’clock?I doubted it. I suspected that
they only posted the warning signs to discourage curiosity seekers or possible
vandals.
“What if they really locked it?” I
asked myself aloud.
I shuddered at the possibility of
getting locked inside the mausoleum overnight. I imagined hearing the click of the
lock and racing toward the door to see Jose Garcia, the groundskeeper, driving
away. That would be a true nightmare. With the mausoleum looming ahead of me, I
quickly checked my watch again. Three-thirty-two. Still plenty of time for a
quick visit.
But whom was I visiting?Why had I even driven there? This was definitely
not something I planned to do. I drove those questions out of my head. Once
again, my rational mind pushed back against my superstitious fears. There was
no rational explanation for why I had driven to the cemetery, but I refused to
turn away. Nothing in that mausoleum could hurt me. The dead were dead.
I should have invited Teri, I suddenly thought to myself. “No,” I immediately answered
myself aloud.
Why would I think that?That was crazy. I had no desire to involve
her in this madness. I had even stopped her from looking at the Kostek memorial
online.
I calmed considerably when a brown,
four-door Mercedes sedan parked in front of the mausoleum. At least I wouldn’t
be alone inside. I didn’t think I could face that prospect now, even in the
bright light of day. I parked behind the Mercedes, grabbed my camera, and hurried
over to the large, swinging glass doors of the mausoleum. I saw the other
visitor, an elderly white man, walking slowly toward the Kostek vault.
I stepped inside as quietly as
possible. I kept my distance, feigning interest in the other vaults as I slowly
followed behind the old man. The same palatable sense of gloom that I felt the
day before still filled the place, despite the fact that most of the dead
flowers had been safely swept away. New flowers, recently placed by mourners in
the decorative bronze vases alongside the vaults today, were already withering.
They clearly wouldn’t last the afternoon.
I discreetly returned my attention
to the mourner. He was balding, but a few uncombed gray hairs made their
presence known. He wore a bushy moustache and an old, navy blue suit. His overcoat
might have seemed out of season, but it was quite appropriate in this
marble-lined refrigerator. It made me wish I had worn a jacket. Goose pimples rose
on my arms.
The man walked up to the Kostek
vault and stood silently for a moment before he knelt briefly and placed a
small bouquet of roses on the floor in front of it. Standing up, he quickly
turned around before I had the chance to look away. We made eye contact. I’m
not sure exactly what I saw in his eyes—indifference or disdain as he pointedly
turned away and kept walking toward the door in a path that would bring him
alongside me. It was unavoidable.
Over the course of the hundreds of
hours I spent in cemeteries, I made it a point never to disturb a mourner. Often
mourners asked me to help them find a grave, but I never approached someone on
my own. I knew I had to break my rule this time. I needed to speak with someone
who actually knew Elisabetta Kostek—and who could explain her strange hold over
me.
As I started toward him, the old man
pointedly turned his face further away from me. He veered toward the opposite
wall, but there was no way for him to leave without passing me.
“Excuse me,” I said. “May I ask you
a question?”
No response. No eye contact. But he
was passing me.
“Sir, may I talk to you for a
second?”
Without even giving me a glance, the
old man unexpectedly slapped my camera out of my hands. It hit the marble floor
with an expensive-sounding crack. I raced after it as it skidded awkwardly
across the floor in the direction of Kostek memorial. When I finally caught it,
I noticed a large crack in my fifty-millimeter lens. There was no fixing that. The
body of the camera seemed unscathed, and I still had my expensive telephoto
lens in the case.
I looked up from my wounded camera
to find Elisabetta staring at me from the photo on her vault. Her smile was
smug, as if she had been expecting me.
“Who are you?” I asked aloud.
She didn’t answer, of course. She
just continued to smile.
I turned away. The mausoleum was now
empty. The old man was gone. For a moment, I was tempted to check and see if he
left any kind of note with his flowers, but I was afraid to go any closer to the
vault. No, the door was the safer option. I started walking.
In a strange bout of paranoia, I
thought I could hear movement in the vaults alongside me. It was a gentle
rustling at first as the dead rose from their supposedly eternal sleep. Then
they began struggling when they realized they were trapped. They banged the
lids of their coffins against the roof of the vaults as their anger grew. As
the glass doors loomed before me, I imagined the dead would soon break their
coffins to pieces and then batter themselves against the vault doors until they
were free. By then, their anger would be unquenchable.
-->
My eyes remained glued to the door.
I was afraid what I would see if I turned either right or left. Suddenly
consumed by an additional fear that the old man had locked the door while I was
inside, I began to run. I knew I needed to get the hell out of that mausoleum—or
I would die.
I am a horror fan. Always have been. Always will be. I grew up on a steady diet of late night horror films in the bygone era of Friday and/or Saturday night horror hosts. I wanted to write a blog about my Top 10 Horror Films, but I had far too many favorites to choose from. Therefore, I plan to do a series of blogs dealing with specific decades. This time we will be visiting the 1970s.
In many ways the 1970s were my favorite decade of films. This was when I first started going to my neighborhood theater, The Arcade, alone. It was not a first run house. It didn't show highbrow films like Raging Bull and The Last Picture Show. Its fare was more plebeian. We got a steady diet of films like The Doberman Gang, My Name Is Trinity, The Legend of Boggy Creek, McQ, and, of course, a seemingly endless stream of horror films. Although I had no way of knowing it, those afternoons I spent in the dark at the Arcade would decide what I would do for a living. You can expect a few sentimental favorites on this list.
Now I must define what I consider horror. Many people place The Silence of The Lambs on their lists of top horror films. I do not consider films about murderers or criminals to be horror films unless there is a supernatural aspect. The main problem with this distinction will come in the 1990s and beyond with the popularity of "torture porn" films, a genre that was birthed with this decade's Last House on the Left and I Spit on Your Grave. However, since I generally do not enjoy those films, few would be considered for the list anyway.
I do include most sci-fi thrillers in the horror film genre, particularly if the protagonist(s) are menaced by an alien entity or man-made technological threat. I do not include films featuring unenhanced natural threats, like the shark in Jaws. Don't expect to see that film on this list!
With those limitations in mind, here's my list:
10. RACE WITH THE DEVIL, 1975
Directed by Jack Starrett
Written by Lee Frost & Wes Bishop
Two couples enjoying a camping vacation in the west witness a human sacrifice. After they report it to the police, they find themselves under assault from the shadowy cult.
This is not a great film. It definitely falls into the realm of a guilty pleasure. However, the film manages to combine a couple important themes of the early-70s. First, it had Satanism. Satan was really big after the success of Rosemary's Baby and The Exorcist. It had motorcycles. What do you expect? They had Peter Fonda. I think some law required Peter Fonda to ride a motorcycle in every film (or at least race a car.) It was also drenched in paranoia. Paranoia was the common theme of many great films of the period, from The Conversation and The Parallax View to Three Days of The Condor and Marathon Man. Except in this film, it isn't the government that should be feared. It's normal people. Anyone could be in the satanic cult.
Although this was a low-budget B-movie, I find it much more exciting than the higher budget films of today. There are number of car chases in this film. Today, most of the stunt work would be computer generated. However, nothing compares to seeing real people doing real stunts in real cars. It is definitely more thrilling when real people are in real danger.
***Spoilers***
On the negative side, the film ends too abruptly. If you were following normal screenplay structure, the Big Gloom that normally ends the second act is where this film ends. The previously chase that the couples survived really didn't supply that all is lost moment you need to end an act. That said, I am willing to cut this film some slack. When a film ends tragically, it is hard to build an all is lost moment. You can't go from all is lost to EVEN MORE is lost.
9. HOUSE OF DARK SHADOWS, 1970
Directed by Dan Curtis
Written by Sam Hall and Gordon Russell
The tale of daytime TV's favorite vampire Barnabas Collins (Jonathan Frid) is told in this big screen spin-off from the noted soap opera.
Man, oh man. I used to love me some Dark Shadows. I would race home from grade school to watch ABC-TV's Gothic horror soap opera. I had the soundtrack album. I even got a book of vampire jokes by Jonathan Frid. That said, sometimes it is best to leave the past in the past. I recently got a DVD of the show itself. I found it sadly unwatchable. This movie, however, is terrific. People unfamiliar with the original series might be at a slight loss because of the shorthand Curtis uses to set up the characters, but, once the film gets moving, it keeps moving. It is well-directed and shot with the same kind of lurid palate you would find in a Hammer horror film. Definitely worth checking out. However, I am not as fond of the second film Night of Dark Shadows.
8. THE LEGEND OF HELL HOUSE, 1973
Directed by John Hough
Screenplay by Richard Matheson from his novel.
Reprint of an earlier blog:
The Legend of Hell House is a guilty pleasure from 1973. I remember seeing the rather lurid trailer at my local movie house, The Arcade Theater, and knew I had to see the film. Considering the violence, and somewhat tasteful nudity, I am surprised the film was merely rated PG at the time of its release and I was able to see the film unescorted by an adult.
I liked the film, but I must admit I was a little disappointed initially. First, I remember thinking that I had already seen all of the scary moments in the trailer. More importantly, I felt the film was an amped-up ripoff of Robert Wise's 1963 masterpiece The Haunting. At the time I considered "The Haunting" the best ghost movie ever made. Still do. I have had considerable experience with paranormal activity. Whenever someone asks me what it was like to live in a haunted house, I tell them to watch The Haunting. (Please, whatever you do, avoid the Jan De Bont's 1999 remake of the film. It is a travesty.)
Subsequent viewing, however, have allowed me to enjoy The Legend of Hell House on its own level. The plot is simple. A dying millionaire sends a physicist, Clive Reville, and his wife, Gayle Hunnicutt, and two mediums, the tasty Pamela Franklin and Roddy McDowall to the Belasco House, described as "the Mount Everest of haunted houses," to prove or disprove the survival of personality after death. Two other psychic expeditions into the house ended in disaster. Roddy McDowall's character is the sole sane survivor of the second expedition. Needless to say, madness and bloodshed ensue before the riddle of the Belasco House is finally solved.
The real strength of the film is the script by Richard Matheson which was based on his own novel. Matheson is one of the most interesting horror/sci-fi screenwriters of his time. His credits included films like The Incredible Shrinking Man to The Night Stalker and numerous episodes of The Twilight Zone. This film itself is reminiscent thematically of Matheson's classic novel I Am Legend, in that it explores the boundary between scientific knowledge and the supernatural. Matheson always likes to have his cake and eat it, too. He accepts and celebrates the supernatural, but he always provides it with an acceptable scientific explanation.
The film is moody and atmospheric, but it might be too slowly paced for MTV-generation. The performances of the four leads are generally solid. That said, I do sometimes waver in my opinion as to whether McDowall is brilliant or hopelessly over the top in the film. It's definitely worth a look.
7. THE NIGHT STALKER, 1972
Directed by John Llewellyn Moxey
Teleplay by Richard Matheson. Story by Jeff Rice.
A cynical newsman named Carl Kolchak (Darren McGavin) begins to believe that a series of killings in Las Vegas are the result of a vampire much to the consternation of his hot-headed editor Vincenzo (Simon Oakland) in this made-for-TV film.
With the possible exception of Steven Spielberg's masterful Duel, this film the best made-for-TV film of the 1970s. I credit the success of the film mainly with the taut and literate script by the always fabulous Richard Matheson. He situates the vampire myth in a realistic, modern environment. The film plays more like a crime drama than a horror movie. The Kolchak character, expertly played by McGavin, provides the perfect mixture of concern and cynicism. This film is perhaps my favorite modern vampire film, and an influence on my own writing. It was followed by a decent sequel and a hit-or-miss series.
I couldn't find a trailer online, but here's the whole movie:
6. INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS, 1978
Directed by Philip Kaufman
Screenplay by W.D. Richter. Novel by Jack Finney.
Friends Matthew Bennell (Donald Sutherland) and Elizabeth Driscoll (Brooke Adams) discover that people around them are being duplicated and replaced by an alien life form in this paranoid thriller.
This is the second go around for Jack Finney's novel and the results were just as impressive as they were in the storied 1956 version directed by Don Siegel. Director Abel Ferrara would provide yet another excellent version with 1993's Body Snatchers. The paranoid thriller setup seems ideally malleable for any age. I thought the narrative framework was indestructible until I saw the 2007 version The Invasion. (A happy ending? Really?)
Philip Kaufman tells the tale with a stylish, inventive eye. He also benefits from an excellent cast. Aside from the aforementioned Sutherland and Adams, the film also benefits from great performances from Jeff Goldblum, Veronica Cartwright and Leonard Nimoy. A must see, like every other version of this story (except the 2007 one.)
5. PHANTASM, 1979
Written and Directed by Don Coscarelli
A teenager named Mike (Michael Baldwin), who recently lost his parents, tries to convince his older brother Jody (Bill Thornbury) and their friend Reggie (Reggie Bannister) that something very suspicious is going on at the nearby cemetery/funeral home run by an ominous Tall Man.
I love this film, but structurally it's a mess. It really is. The story is often illogical. The last couple scenes throw everything that happened before them out the window. Was it all a dream? Or a dream within a dream? Or maybe a dream within a dream within a dream? Who knows? Who cares? To me, coherence takes a backseat to mood. I believe Coscarelli, perhaps unconsciously, taps into a primordial adolescent fear of death and the things of death. There is foundational truth in Mike's performance, and the relationship between the brothers always feels real to me. Additionally, Coscarelli created a great villain in The Tall Man, played by Angus Scrimm. The flying orbs that roam the mausoleum are also a great touch.
Coscarelli followed this film with a number of sequels that expanded the universe he began in this film. Phantasm II is probably the best of them. It is a much more conventional film, and I enjoy it, but it lacks the undefined magic of the original.
4. ALIEN, 1979
Directed by Ridley Scott
Screenplay by Dan O'Bannon. Story by Ronald Shusett & Dan O'Bannon.
A large merchant spaceship answering an interplanetary distress call finds itself invaded by an unknown life form intent on killing the entire crew.
Some say that this film starts off a little too slowly for the millennial generation. If that is true, I pity those millennials who won't give this film the time to grow on them. It is a well-written and masterfully-directed piece of suspense. And the cast: Sigourney Weaver, Tom Skerritt, Veronica Cartwright (making her second appearance on this list), John Hurt, Ian Holm, Yaphet Kotto and the always fabulous Harry Dean Stanton. In its own way, the sequel Aliens, which made myTop Horror Films of the 1980s list, is equally as good in its own right. However, although some of the ensuing sequels are interesting, none of them reaches of the heights of the first two films.
3. HALLOWEEN, 1978
Directed by John Carpenter
Screenplay by John Carpenter and Debra Hill
Michael Myers escapes from a mental institution and returns to his hometown to murder teenagers on Halloween, eventually focusing on the ultimate scream queen Jamie Leigh Curtis.
This might not have been the first slasher horror film, but it is unquestionably the best of them and defined the parameters of the genre. (To learn more about the rules, watch the film Scream, which I suspect will make my 1990s list.) Carpenter made truly excellent use of subjective camera, and provided a nifty little musical theme in addition to making a star of Jamie Leigh Curtis. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of horrible copycats would try to mine the success of this film (including many of its sequels), but we shouldn't blame this film for them. This movie remains a horror masterpiece.
2. DAWN OF THE DEAD, 1978
Written and Directed by George A. Romero
A group of four survivors of a growing zombie holocaust take refugee in a large suburban mall, but will the lure of consumerism be their downfall?
Director George A. Romero invented the modern zombie genre with 1968's Night of the Living Dead. That film had a black & white, documentary vibe and state of the art gore. Ten years later, Romero upped the ante with this film. Now the blood is red and the level of gore has grown exponentially. (He would up the gore ante again in the third film of the official canon,Day of the Dead, but, story-wise, it wasn't as good a film as the first two.) The violence in this film is often so over-the-top that it inspires as many laughs and high-fives as it does screams.
The film is also enhanced by the anti-consumerism subtext that grew naturally out of the setting. My problem with later Romero films is that he tended to make socio-economic statements the text rather than the subtext. The worst example is 2005's otherwise worthy Land of the Dead. In that film, the bad guys seem obsessed with money -- by that I mean cash. Literal cash. In a post-apocalyptic world, paper money would be worthless. The characters illogical obsession with it undermines the story's credibility. Message definitely held sway over narrative in this film. (As the writer of many faith-based films, I must confess I allowed that to happen, too.)
This film is also a sentimental favorite for me because I took a girl to the Golden Ring Mall to see it for our first date. I invited her to go without even considering the fact that I didn't have a car (or even a drivers license) to get us there. Fortunately, she could drive.
BTW, the 2004 remake was pretty good on its own terms.
1. THE EXORCIST, 1973
Directed by William Freidkin
Screenplay by William Peter Blatty, based on his book.
A desperate mother (Ellen Burstyn) turns to a disillusioned priest (playwright Jason Miller) to save her increasingly disturbed daughter (Linda Blair) after modern medicine and psychiatry prove useless.
Director William Freidkin elevated this film by addressing the subject matter with a deadly degree of seriousness (and budget). He was also aided by a literate scripts and excellent performances from all of the leads, particularly the determined Ellen Burstyn, the soulful Jason Miller and the no nonsense Max von Sydow. And Linda Blair.... As a filmmaker I don't think I could ask a child to deliver such a performance.
Audiences of the time had never seen anything like it. It was a cultural sensation. People were fainting and running out of theaters screaming. I, of course, was too young to see the film during its initial release. I only saw lame, truncated versions on television until I finally saw a theatrical revival in the 1990s.
This film usually tops internet lists of the scariest horror films, but I was actually quite dismissive of it for many years. I felt it relied too heavily on shock effects. I was wrong. As time slowly takes more and more of my loved ones, this tale of a priest who loses his faith because of his inability to save his mother and a desperate woman willing to do anything to save her daughter resonates more deeply with me long after the effects lose their ability to shock.
The best horror film of all time? Yeah, probably.
Honorable Mention:
THE OMEN, 1976. A good film about the budding antichrist, but a little too Hollywood. Not transgressive enough for this list. THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE, 1974. A pivotal horror film with some strong moments, but I found some of the acting sketchy. CARRIE, 1976. Stephen King makes it to the big screen. Great performance by Sissy Spacek. The film hovers just below the Top Ten. JAWS, 1975. An undeniably great film. It's scary, but it's not a horror movie. It's a maritime adventure. SUSPIRIA, 1977. Many people consider this Dario Argento film one of the scariest ever made. I like it, but I think it is overrated. COUNT YORGA, VAMPIRE, 1970. Modern day vampire films are always a guilty pleasure for me and this is the most California of them all. EQUINOX, 1970. Cool little indie with great effects for the budget. THE MEPHISTO WALTZ, 1971. A pre-MASH Alan Alda plays a pianist with a soul to sell in this little Satanic film. SALEM'S LOT, 1979. I originally loved this mini-series, based on one of my favorite King novels, but I think the 2005 version surpassed it.
My novel Chapel Street is now available! You can currently buy the Kindle and paperback at Amazon and the Nook, paperback and hardcover at Barnes & Noble.
Anthony Bourdain, Robin Williams, Kurt Cobain, my sister Laura, my brother Mark and very nearly me. Suicide is on the rise. This chapter of my memoir to show how one well-timed phone call from a friend gave me thirty-five more years of life. (I apologize for presenting the chapter out of context, but I think you'll get the picture.)
15 – Quarter to Midnight
MAY 1983.
I got back from Morgantown and experienced a complete mental, emotional and spiritual collapse.
Looking back, I am tempted to say I was under demonic attack, which was possible. I was definitely guilty of countless sins since my conversion, but this was the first time I knowingly and willingly disobeyed the Lord and defiantly stepped outside of His will. That would certainly leave me in a vulnerable position, spiritually. However, I don’t like crediting the devil for things I can attribute to my own foolishness.
School was the first thing to suffer. That semester I took a high-level production course to finish my film major, and three high level computer-programming courses to finish my computer science minor. Before I went to Morgantown, my studies suffered seriously from my pre-occupation with winning Kathy back. Now, after the trip and the feeling of profound loss I experienced on the way home, I no longer had the ability or will to concentrate on my studies. My computer classes were doomed. If I were smart, I would have withdrawn from them when I had the chance rather than fail. Unfortunately, I had always had good grades. I had never withdrawn from a class before. I didn’t even know you could. So I didn’t. I failed the classes and crashed my G.P.A.
And I couldn’t have cared less.
The only thing that attracted my attention was my production class in the film department. Personally, I didn’t care whether I passed or failed that one either, but, I was partnered with a good guy named David Butler and I didn’t want to leave him in the lurch. Working on our final project, a 16mm, sync-sound short film called The Lunch, currently available on Youtube, was the only respite I had from my downward death spiral.
Secularly speaking, there was no reason to feel the way I did.
Although the trip to Morgantown didn’t result in the restoration of our previous full-time, committed romantic relationship, outwardly things were definitely improving. We were suddenly friends; friends with benefits, too. Perhaps more importantly, Kathy told me she and her other boyfriend had broken up. That news should have made me happy, but it didn’t. I knew she was hurt, and that hurt me.
Still, whether she had another boyfriend or not was irrelevant. The Lord had removed his hand from our relationship. It didn’t matter if I managed to keep the physical shell of it alive. I didn’t want to live without the blessing of God. Frankly, I didn’t want to live at all. I had placed all of my eggs in one basket with Kathy. I had no future plans without her. No future desires. My life was over.
To make matters worse, it wasn’t like I could turn to the Lord for comfort. He was the one who put me in this position! Granted, I had sinned, but what did He expect me to do? Why did He give me a test that He knew I would fail? God’s actions might have been just, but I certainly did not consider them fair.
I was definitely angrier with God than I was hurt by Kathy. Kathy was only human; a sinner like myself. God was God. He could do whatever He wanted. He could relent.
He could return his blessing to our relationship. It was entirely His decision. He was God.
I decided to force His hand. One Friday, sometime in May, I demanded that God have Kathy call me. If He didn’t, I swore I would kill myself. I was serious. Deadly serious.
It was also crazy. Looking back, I can’t remember why it was so important to me to talk to Kathy that night. Or why I felt it would take an act of God to accomplish it. We weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend anymore, but we were still talking. I could just as easily contact her myself. I guess I just wanted to make the Lord jump through a hoop.
Or did I?
As the evening progressed, I sat alone on the front porch swing. Part of me hoped Kathy was at home this weekend, and that I would soon see her old familiar Plymouth driving up and parking in front of my house. Part of me didn’t want to see it. What would be the point? We were ultimately doomed without the hand of God upon our relationship. Seeing her would only make a mockery of my life.
I had no future. No purpose. I was ready to die.
I waited outside until I heard my father turn off the television and go upstairs after the eleven o’clock news. Then I came inside. I looked at the clock. Eleven-thirty-five. I had given the Lord until midnight. Time was almost up.
What to do? Or, should I say, how to do it? We didn’t have any guns in the house. Hanging was out of the question. It seemed like too much work. I didn’t know how to tie the knot I always saw them use in the movies, and I didn’t think our ceilings were sufficiently high enough. I needed something simpler.
I went to the kitchen and pulled out a large chef’s knife. It had a black handle and an ugly slightly grayish, eight-inch blade. Perfect. I took it back into the living room. I sat down in the yellow easy chair near the window across from the television. My father usually sat there. It seemed like as good a place to die as any.
I looked at the clock. Eleven-forty.
I’ve read psychology books that say before young people attempt to kill themselves, they imagine their funerals. They imagine their friends’ grief. How everyone would wish they had treated him or her better.
I had no such thoughts. None.
In all honesty, I bore no animosity to anyone. I loved my family. I always found them very supportive. And I still loved Kathy. It wasn’t my desire or intention to hurt any of them. Sadly, however, I didn’t let their feelings become a factor in my decision. To me, this transaction was strictly between the Lord and myself.
As the minutes ticked away, I became obsessed with the desire to finally meet the Lord face-to-face. I wanted an interview with Him, even if it put my very soul in peril. It was time to confront Him for stealing my life away.
This was not about Kathy and me. It was about God and me.
I didn’t care if she called or not. In fact, I hoped she didn’t. This was evidenced by the fact that I decided not to wait until midnight. At eleven-forty-five, I knew the time had come to finally meet my Maker. I opened up my shirt. I knew what I was going to do. I was going to kill myself in the Japanese manner of seppuku. Not that I was an expert on the subject. I was just going to follow the general principle.
I had the knife in my left hand. I brought it to the right side of my stomach. I was going to drive it deep inside, then pull it to the left as hard as I could, essentially disemboweling myself. I had no idea whether or how much it would hurt. Nor did I consider how long it would take me to die in this manner. It didn’t matter.
I was going to see the Lord face-to-face.
I knew it was wrong. I knew I would be ashamed in His presence. But I was going to do it anyway. There was nothing to hold me in this world anymore.
I put the tip of the blade to my stomach.
It was only at that moment that I thought for a second about how my death might affect somebody else. My little brother John was only eight-years-old at the time. On Saturday mornings, he raced downstairs to watch cartoons. I hoped my parents would beat him downstairs the next day. I didn’t want my brother to see me like this. He was too young. It would screw him up.
Still, I wasn’t going to let that stop me.
I began to press the blade downward. The tip broke the skin. I was now a heartbeat away from eternity.
Then the phone rang.
I stopped, but I didn’t pull the blade away.
It rang again.
I cringed. I didn’t want an answered prayer. I wanted to die, but I couldn’t resist the ringing. I put the knife down and went and picked up the kitchen phone.
It was Kathy.
She was concerned, but she didn’t know why. Her first words were literally: “Sean, I don’t know why I’m calling, but I know I had to call. Is everything alright?”
I assured her everything was all right. Because it was. It wasn’t the fact that she called that made me put away the knife.
It was what she said. She didn’t know why she was calling, but she knew she had to do it. Something compelled her. Or should I say Someone. It was obvious to me that the Lord had intervened. That meant He wanted me to live. I might have thrown away the promise that gave me purpose in life, but His intervention meant He had something else in store for me.
While I gladly give God the credit for my continued existence, I must also credit Kathy. The Lord compelled her to call. Still, she could have easily disobeyed His command the way I had disobeyed Him before the Morgantown trip, and I would have been dead at the age of twenty-two.
Thank you, Jesus.
Thank you, Kathy, too.
My relationship with her managed to linger a while longer. We talked. We traded information about summer job opportunities. I remember asking her out to see The Return of the Jedi. She said, “No, not now. Let’s wait until I get my job back at the theater. Then we can see it for free.” We never did.
One day early in June, Kathy drove over my house to return some books and a window fan I had lent her for her dorm in Morgantown. We stood on the front porch and had a serious talk. She said she wasn’t sure what the future held, but she was sure she wanted me to be her friend. I said no. For me, it was all or nothing. If she wasn’t willing to make a commitment, this was the end.
This was the first and last time I gave her an ultimatum. The results were predictable. She wouldn’t make the commitment. Angry, she turned and walked back toward her car. As she did, I asked her if she would give me a goodbye kiss. She said no.
And that was that.
The final irony, of course, was that this farewell came about a month after the Lord offered me the choice about going to Morgantown. Had I listened to Him, supposedly, everything would have come together for us now. Instead it was goodbye.
Why did I give her the ultimatum? I don’t know. I guess because I knew the relationship was doomed anyway without the blessing of the Lord. Also, I knew I was too emotionally unstable at the time to be a true friend to her. I wouldn’t be happy for her if she came to me and excitedly said she just met a great guy. No. I didn’t want to root against her relationships. Nor did I want to take a chance on seeing or feeling anything that might put that knife back in my hand.
Kathy was my best friend. The only person up to that date I had ever truly confided in. In many ways I regret my decision to turn my back on her friendship as much as, if not more so, than I regret my decision to disobey the Lord. I lost a wife. And a friend.
I can’t blame her. Not for anything. She never lied to me. She had never promised me anything.
When I think about our relationship, it reminds me of the story of Jonah, the disobedient prophet. No, not the whale part. The part after he preached at Nineveh and the city repented. Jonah, if you remember, was extremely bitter because he didn’t want the Lord to forgive the sinful city. Here’s the story:
Jonah then left the city for a place to the east of it, where he built himself a hut and waited under it in the shade, to see what would happen to the city. Then the Lord God provided a gourd plant. And when it grew up over Jonah’s head, giving shade that relieved him of any discomfort, Jonah was greatly delighted with the plant. But the next morning at dawn God provided a worm that attacked the plant, so that it withered. And when the sun arose, God provided a scorching east wind;; and the sun beat upon Jonah’s head till he became faint. Then he wished for death, saying, “It is better for me to die than to live.”
But God said to Jonah, “Do you have a right to be angry over the gourd plant?” Jonah answered, “I have a right to be angry, angry enough to die.” Then the Lord said, “You are concerned over the gourd plant which cost you no effort and which you did not grow; it came up in one night and in one night it perished. And should I not be concerned over the great city of Nineveh?”
In many ways, my relationship with Kathy was like Jonah’s plant. It was entirely the creation of the Lord. He pointed her out to me. I would have never dated her without the encouragement of His words. He had softened her heart for me, and for three years, He used the relationship to give both of us comfort. How could I complain about Kathy when the Lord let the relationship whither because of my disobedience?
It would, however, take a long time for me to come to terms with the decisions I made and find another purpose for my life.
*****
That story takes you to the end of the second act of my book. To get the whole book, you can click below:
