If Chins Could Kill: Confessions of a B Movie Actor by Bruce Campbell Page A
Authors: Bruce Campbell
Tags: United States, General, Biography & Autobiography, Entertainment & Performing Arts, Actors, Biography, Performing Arts, Film & Video, Autobiography, History & Criticism, Motion Picture Actors and Actresses, Film & Video - General, Entertainment & Performing Arts - General, Film & Video - History & Criticism, Motion Picture Actors and Actresses - United States, Entertainment & Performing Arts - Actors & Actresses, 1958-, Bruce, Motion picture actors and actr, Campbell
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us, but we proceeded to test it for ourselves -- this turned out to be good idea.
What resulted was Terror at LuLu's -- as in Lulu's Lingerie. Sam's mother had recently opened a string of these shops and it seemed like the perfect place to stage a Clockwork -like film.
We cast another aspiring actress, Liz Dennison, as an unsuspecting woman working late at night who is terrorized by a mysterious man/thing. This wasn't so much a story as a technical test, and it only took one night to put this small sequence together. We merely wanted to assemble enough shots -- light, dark and in between, to satisfy our curiosities of how each exposure would hold up in a blowup process.
On the advice of the San Francisco lab, we used a Boleau, the very best Super-8 camera we could find with a very specific film stock. We rented professional lights, for the first time, and used professional cameraman, Steve Mandell, to shoot the thing. In short, we did everything we could to make it work.
The results, once back from the lab in San Francisco, were nothing short of disastrous. Screening it again at the same local theater we stared, slack-jawed, at an image that was obscured by enormous globs of grain -- it looked like the action was taking place in a hailstorm.
This was a real blow -- our budget, meager as it was, didn't seem to support the jump to a more expensive format. On a hot, depressing day in June, the three of us sat on Rob's screened-in porch trying to make the decision to go forward or stop dead in our tracks. We reasoned that a number of the then-classic low-budget horror flicks had been shot in 16mm. By making the leap to that millimeter we were, in reality, merely making it all the more possible to pull off.
We decided, after some wailing and gnashing, to blast ahead in the format.
14
THREE SCHMOES IN SEARCH OF A CLUE
We reasoned that another impediment to raising money was credibility. Three guys with no professional experience, questionable education, and a dream to make a film in Detroit wouldn't exactly make the average investor dive into his pocketbook.
We had to shake the "flaky" image of filmmakers and conquer the Midwest, "kick-the-tires" mentality. If we were going to immerse ourselves in the world of business, we had to look like businessmen. Mostly, this meant that we had to dig up, dust off or just plain buy a suit.
Fortunately, a love of "cool old suits" gave me a leg up. I had already accumulated three or four vintage, double-breasted wool outfits. My basic theory had been to haunt Salvation Army stores with a methodical zeal, and soon I knew when and where to look for the good stuff. An annual church bazaar in a nearby wealthy neighborhood produced a great bounty as well -- castaways from the Detroit elite. Hell, if it was good enough for the Fords and the Fishers, it was good enough for me.
My usual layout for a primo suit was twenty-five bucks. Dump another $15-20 on top of that for tailoring, and $10 for some two-toned wing-tip shoes, and you've got yourself, on average, a $50 masterpiece. I was stylin' in the Motor City.
We also needed briefcases, so it was off to Montgomery Ward. I opted for the "double wide," while Rob and Sam took the sleek "slim line" models.
Aside from all the trimmings, we needed confirmation that we were for real. Of course, we felt qualified, but a second opinion from someone actually in the film business who could bless us from on high seemed like a useful thing.
The only professional person we knew, a family friend of the Taperts, was a film exhibitor at Butterfield theaters in Detroit. We set up an appointment at Andy Grainger's downtown offices.
Walking into his lobby was like stepping into a time warp. His receptionist still used the forties-style plug-and-patch phone system and the walls were adorned in a rich wood paneling. Appropriately, I was wearing one of my aforementioned vintage suits.
Andy's advice was simple: "Fellas, no matter what you do, keep the blood
What resulted was Terror at LuLu's -- as in Lulu's Lingerie. Sam's mother had recently opened a string of these shops and it seemed like the perfect place to stage a Clockwork -like film.
We cast another aspiring actress, Liz Dennison, as an unsuspecting woman working late at night who is terrorized by a mysterious man/thing. This wasn't so much a story as a technical test, and it only took one night to put this small sequence together. We merely wanted to assemble enough shots -- light, dark and in between, to satisfy our curiosities of how each exposure would hold up in a blowup process.
On the advice of the San Francisco lab, we used a Boleau, the very best Super-8 camera we could find with a very specific film stock. We rented professional lights, for the first time, and used professional cameraman, Steve Mandell, to shoot the thing. In short, we did everything we could to make it work.
The results, once back from the lab in San Francisco, were nothing short of disastrous. Screening it again at the same local theater we stared, slack-jawed, at an image that was obscured by enormous globs of grain -- it looked like the action was taking place in a hailstorm.
This was a real blow -- our budget, meager as it was, didn't seem to support the jump to a more expensive format. On a hot, depressing day in June, the three of us sat on Rob's screened-in porch trying to make the decision to go forward or stop dead in our tracks. We reasoned that a number of the then-classic low-budget horror flicks had been shot in 16mm. By making the leap to that millimeter we were, in reality, merely making it all the more possible to pull off.
We decided, after some wailing and gnashing, to blast ahead in the format.
14
THREE SCHMOES IN SEARCH OF A CLUE
We reasoned that another impediment to raising money was credibility. Three guys with no professional experience, questionable education, and a dream to make a film in Detroit wouldn't exactly make the average investor dive into his pocketbook.
We had to shake the "flaky" image of filmmakers and conquer the Midwest, "kick-the-tires" mentality. If we were going to immerse ourselves in the world of business, we had to look like businessmen. Mostly, this meant that we had to dig up, dust off or just plain buy a suit.
Fortunately, a love of "cool old suits" gave me a leg up. I had already accumulated three or four vintage, double-breasted wool outfits. My basic theory had been to haunt Salvation Army stores with a methodical zeal, and soon I knew when and where to look for the good stuff. An annual church bazaar in a nearby wealthy neighborhood produced a great bounty as well -- castaways from the Detroit elite. Hell, if it was good enough for the Fords and the Fishers, it was good enough for me.
My usual layout for a primo suit was twenty-five bucks. Dump another $15-20 on top of that for tailoring, and $10 for some two-toned wing-tip shoes, and you've got yourself, on average, a $50 masterpiece. I was stylin' in the Motor City.
We also needed briefcases, so it was off to Montgomery Ward. I opted for the "double wide," while Rob and Sam took the sleek "slim line" models.
Aside from all the trimmings, we needed confirmation that we were for real. Of course, we felt qualified, but a second opinion from someone actually in the film business who could bless us from on high seemed like a useful thing.
The only professional person we knew, a family friend of the Taperts, was a film exhibitor at Butterfield theaters in Detroit. We set up an appointment at Andy Grainger's downtown offices.
Walking into his lobby was like stepping into a time warp. His receptionist still used the forties-style plug-and-patch phone system and the walls were adorned in a rich wood paneling. Appropriately, I was wearing one of my aforementioned vintage suits.
Andy's advice was simple: "Fellas, no matter what you do, keep the blood
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