Godzilla, Gill Man and Geekdom: An ode to classic horror.

I always get a little nostalgic around this time of year. Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays; it’s a great equalizer in the generation gap. Kids and adults can partake equally in the costuming …and sugar-gorging. Hell, my all-time favorite costume accomplishment was Silent Bob and I was in my mid thirties when I made it!

But beyond the get-ups and sugar-highs is the real reason for the season – celebrating that which scares the bejesus out of you. With all due respect to haunted houses and ghost tours, the most endearing Halloween scare tactic is the scary movie.

Monster movies were my gateway drug into the sci fi genre. I can remember watching Godzilla as a little kid and being quite sad when he met his demise at the hands of the oxygen destroyer bomb. This is how I knew, early on, that I was destined for geekdom.

I didn’t cry when I discovered the truth about Santa.

I didn’t cry when I lost my first tooth.

But I cried for Godzilla.

None of my early scary movie experiences were of the technicolor variety. Frankenstein, Wolfman, The Creature from the Black Lagoon and Dracula all had the same grayish complexion and bloodless visual effects that were more about suspense than gore. There was no theme music or layered sound effects when Frankenstein (actually, he’s The Monster – he was never named Frankenstein) appeared from the shadows. There was just silence. That was pretty unnerving. After all, if there’s something that lets you know there is something coming, you’re less likely to be scared when you see it.

To this day I can’t get really scared at a horror scene with a blaring sound track to build suspense and tension.

Bride of Frankenstein was a monster with emotion. She wasn’t as scary as she was disturbing; that lifeless face highlighted by those striking, huge eyes. Frankenstein’s monster didn’t have eyes like that. Dracula had a creepy, evil look about him – with the eyes to match it. But he wasn’t disturbing. Wolfman and the Gill Man (Creature from the Black Lagoon) were all about make-up and costume. There wasn’t room for subtleties there. The Bride had something more, and not just because she was a female – although that could be part of it. There was humanity in her; something that didn’t belong in a monster’s body. It was angry and terrified at the same time. That juxtaposition is really what horror is all about. The sense that something is not right; That something is blatantly not normal and yet you can’t put your finger on what it is but it doesn’t matter because it’s coming for you.

The Creature from the Black Lagoon was just cool. I never saw it as any kind of horror or scare film. Like Godzilla, the Gill Man was a freak who lashed out a the people who pissed him off. But he had one big thing going for him… he swam. Not just walking on the bottom of the lake or sinking and then re-appearing from a surface view. You saw him swimming under the surface. A few years ago, at Orlando’s annual Screamfest (now Spooky Empire) Convention, I got to meet the guy who wore the Gill Man suit in the underwater scenes – Ricou Browning.

Ricou, who was a diver at Silver Springs, Florida, was the guide for the scouting crew that was looking for locations to film Creature. He’s not the tallest guy, so his height served to make the surrounding area that much deeper. But what caught the scout’s interest was the way he swam.

“I swim the way the Creature swims,” he told me. “It’s like a crawl; I use my arms to pull me forward as my legs kick. They saw me swimming and asked if I would be willing to act in the underwater scenes.”

I spoke at length with him about the costume and how they managed to hide an aqua lung underwater so he could catch a breath… all the while thinking, “Damn! This guy was one of my favorite monsters! I’ve known this dude All My Life!”

Destined for geekdom.

When color was introduced into my scary movie experience, thanks to Hammer Films, things got weird. I remember first seeing Christopher Lee as Dracula on a PBS horror movie marathon. The vision of bloody fangs amid his grimacing visage was shocking-at-least. For the first time, I was seeing blood in a horror movie.

I don’t remember how old I was when I first saw Lee as Dracula, but it was years, literally years, before I would watch another Hammer film or any scary movie in color. That’s how effective it was. Sadly, the more blood I saw, the less scary it became. The impact of the first sight of a bloody scene wore off with every slash, stab and beheading.

Yet those bloodless scenes without a soundtrack still hold my attention like a little kid who cries for Godzilla and watches in amazement as the Gill Man swims.

All due respect to horror’s Big Three – Freddy, Jason and Michael Myers. I still love the first Halloween, and whenever AMC has it’s annual marathon, I’m there! But there is something more endearing about the classics. They hold up, in spite of the detachment and desensitizing that comes from years of gore films.

Some things change. Some things get better with age. But the best stuff takes you back.

Happy Halloween!

No Photos, Please (one for The Vault)

The cliché is true: you don’t truly appreciate something until you don’t have it.

As a photographer, I’ve always known the value of my camera equipment – both monetary and sentimental. It is, after all, how I make my living and how I’ve spent almost half my life. There have been times when I have not been allowed to use it (not everyone is a willing subject), and a couple times when I’ve just not had it with me when I wished I did. The missed opportunities never amounted to much in the way of regret – until yesterday.

During an assignment at the Hard Rock administration offices, I was offered an opportunity – nay, THEE opportunity – that anyone who has ever listened to music with any passing interest would jump at.

The assignment was a simple portrait of one of the marketing executives (who shall remain nameless). Seemingly uneventful, until his admission that he originally wanted to have the shoot in… The Vault.

The Vault is where the local Hard Rock offices keep, well, everything. Guitars, albums, photographs, costumes… and the ever-glamorous “etcetera”.

The idea was squashed by the arch enemy of all fun ideas, The Legal Department. It seems that Hard Rock is merely the curator of the items, with the former owners retaining the rights to any use. Much like taping a Sunday afternoon game, any unauthorized use is prohibited.

After the shoot, which took place in a lounge outside The Vault, I was asked if I had a few minutes to spare. This was followed by the question, “are you a music fan?”

He didn’t know me – obviously – so I resisted the urge to “DUH?!” and simply said, “oh hell yeah.”

My photo subject then offered me a walk through music history.

“You wanna see The Vault?”

… cue another silent “DUH?!”

Of course, the obvious and most-painful catch was made evident as he pointed to my camera bag and uttered the words I knew were coming but hated to hear – “you have to leave that here.”

Letting go of my bag-o-gear was never so difficult, but sometimes you have to make choices. I chose to see the stuff.

A quick stroll down the office hall; past some cubicles, a signed Doors poster, some office folk, and through the obligatory non-descript-wooden-door that usually precedes the finest of discoveries, and I was in.

A wall of guitars hanging on metal racks – about five or six guitars high and several hundred guitars wide – met my eyes like a trimmed tree on Christmas morning. Stratocasters, Les Pauls and acoustics, Oh My! And they were ALL SIGNED!

Little did I know, there was another catch or two: The autographs were less than legible and I could not handle any of them for a closer look. Nothing was labeled and my guide – the aforementioned nameless exec – could offer no information on which instrument belonged to which artist. He wasn’t part of the curating staff, none of whom were making the rounds with us on the impromptu tour.

I walked by the wall, v e r y  s l o w l y. My eyes scanned every surface and soaked in every inked line. And my mind raced.

“Does that say Richards? I think that says Richards! Does that say Dyan? I think that says Dylan! That one says Slash! LENNON?! NO! No, wait that’s not an L. What the hell is that? Where’s Sting? Wait, where are the basses? Tom Petty?! Holy Shit, What Does That One Say?!”

… and so on.

I avoided passing out. I avoided pleading for someone with a working knowledge of the archives to join us immediately. I simply strolled.

Across from the guitar wall were rows and rows and rows and rows… of shelves. My guide went on to tell me about the photos, books, artwork and record albums that filled each one. All were wrapped and protected and sealed and… not for my grubby little fingers.

There was a second level with racks of clothing. Dare I ask to venture up there? No. There was only time to admire from afar. Both my guide and I were on a schedule, and you can’t have “impromptu” without “prompt”.

I walked by the guitar wall one last time. “Somewhere on that wall is an Eric Clapton,” I thought. And I tried to linger in that idea, and in that room, as long as I could.

On the way to the door I had a brief-but-biting feeling of irony. This was an amazing opportunity, and I was happy to have it. But not knowing exactly what it was I had seen was a bit of a frustration. History is still history without the name tag. It’s just a little harder to recognize.

I briefly mused about some of the autographs I had accumulated over the years. Honestly, if I hadn’t watched as they were signed, I wouldn’t know who they were by reading the scribbled names.

As I took one last look back before the exit, I saw a shelf to my right. Not as crammed as those across from the guitar wall, I was able to make out one or two items. Those items I cannot recall now because of the impact of the last item I saw.

A drum skin. Sitting atop the shelf. All by itself. With an autograph signed in black, felt tip ink. Written clear as day.

“Peace. Love. Ringo.”

So ended my visit to The Vault.

(Insert big, goofy, smiley face here.)

Exit History, Enter Legend

History changes hands in downtown Orlando on Friday, 10.1.10, with the opening of the Amway Center; The multimillion dollar event venue that boasts state-of-the-art, hi-tech, and every other flattering catch phrase that Webster’s can dish out. It even has it its own flattering catch phrase for the grand opening ad campaign – Enter Legend. How do you not look forward to that?

Amid the pomp, circumstance and ribbon-cutting there is another, quieter side to the opening of the new venue. The closing of the old one.

As the new rings in, the old is wrung out. Despite the problems, out-dated amenities and dated appearance of Amway Arena, there is still a value that cannot be glossed over. Especially for those of us who spent many a night in the belly of the beast.

Former colleague and forever friend Jim Abbott, music writer for the Orlando Sentinel, spent much of his career covering concerts at the O-Rena (a vintage moniker that just stuck with the old building despite the name changes). As a burgeoning event photographer in my days at The Sentinel, I covered everything from minor league hockey to big league basketball to, yes, concerts.

I remember watching the Solar Bears – Orlando’s International Hockey League team – both as a fan and as a pass holding member of the media. I covered them for The Sentinel during their 2001 season when they became the last team to with the Turner Cup before the league folded.

I watched from the stands as Shaquille O’Neal played as a rookie in the Orlando Magic lineup, only to find myself – a mere seven years later – at court side, photographing the team in action.

I was there when RUSH took the stage at the grand old venue during their Roll The Bones Tour of 1992. And I photographed the concert event of a lifetime when REM teamed up with Bruce Springsteen , John Fogerty and Tracy Chapman during the Vote For Change Tour of 2004.

They will remain some of the best times I have spent in Orlando, and some of the best assignments I’ve had the pleasure of carrying out.

As those doors close, new ones will open. I have watched the Amway Center slowly emerge through each phase of construction (I pass the site every day on my way to work) and have toured the facility three times as it took shape. It lives up to every boast, and will help make many more fantastic memories.

I will enjoy the new, but I will always cherish the old. Here are just a few of those most cherished.

The 2001 Orlando Solar Bears... VICTORIOUS!

Penny Hardaway... 'member him? Yeah, me neither.

Steven Tyler belts it out at Amway in 2002. One of my favorite concert pics.

Tracy, Michael and Bruce tried to make a Vote For Change in '04. It eventually happened.

Britney in 2004 - pre K Fed. The good 'ol days.

Billie Jo and Green Day rocked the arena in '05. Another favorite.

Neil. 2005. 'Nuff said.

Star Wars In Concert: my last show at the O-Rena. A fitting end.