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Hosts of Horror: A History

Since the early days of TV, there have been television hosts that have made their careers out of showing (and lampooning) horror films. From “Grandpa” Al Lewis and Elvira to Sinister Seymour and Zacherle, the list literally runs from A to Z — with dozens upon dozens of hosts, local and national, having entertained audiences for over 60 years. Mosts are merely comedic figures who poke fun at bad movies. But is that all there is to the horror host? One could argue that the best among them represent more than just b-movies and bad jokes.

Maila Nurmi (1947)
Maila Nurmi (1947)

First among the horror hosts was a true original: Maila Nurmi as Vampira. I have already extensively written about her elsewhere, and can’t say enough about the impact she had on 1950s subculture. She was not a clown, by any means, and the character she created was more sardonic than comedic.

THEN THERE WAS ZACHERLE

Born in 1918, Zacherle — a University of Pennsylvania grad and repertory theater actor — got his start at WCAU-TV in Philadelphia in 1954 (the same year Maila Nurmi’s Vampira Show debuted in California). Zacherle was hired to play numerous roles; among them was an undertaker for the station’s western, Action in the Afternoon. A few year later, in 1957, he followed Nurmi’s example in exclusively hosting horror films, refining his role of undertaker, and becoming the star of Shock Theater.

John "Roland" Zacherle
John “Roland” Zacherle

As a host named “Roland,” Zacherle the undertaker lived in a crypt with his dead wife (“My Dear”), and Igor, his lab assistant. Unlike Vampira, whose humor was more subdued and subversive, Zacherle’s approach to hosting involved parodying films with comedy skits, sight-gags, and a bit of gore (including chocolate syrup as an effective substitute for blood, suitable for black & white TV). Though popular with young baby boomers, the show ran for only 92 episodes, closing shop in 1958. Like The Vampira Show (’54-’55), Shock Theater ended before it really began. Each ran only one year.

Yet each host became an icon of high camp, introducing into the horror genre a tongue-in-cheek playfulness missing from the many Universal, Paramount and MGM films they hosted (with the exception, perhaps of a few Abbot and Costello films). It was an era of excess and cold war paranoia. These were the early days of b-movies ready-made for parody: doomsday monsters and malicious alien science fiction films. These were the days of post-war commercialism. There were the days of the atomic bomb. Zacherle made the horrific silly at a time when America needed it most.

After his show ended, Zacherle parlayed a friendship with Dick Clark (who reputedly gave him the moniker “The Cool Ghoul” — into hosting gigs when American Bandstand went on the road. There was even a Dick Clark-backed recording of “Dinner with Drac,” a rock n’ roll record that made the top ten. The record — and appearances on various television shows — reinvigorated Zacherle (now sometimes printed as Zacherly) and revived his career.

He would go to New York to repackage Shock Theater as Zacherly at Large for another relatively short stint for WABC-TV in New York. From there, he had radio gigs, live appearances, a return to hosting horror films in 1963 — even playing host to a dance contest. One could even argue that his  brand of humor contributed to the success of 60s telvision’s beloved sitcom The Munsters — which debuted in 1964.

Zacherle’s career was varied and long, winding down when in his 80s with small appearances into his 90s. He died in 2016, at the age of 98. To this day, you can still pick up Zacherle t-shirts and other merchandise at horror and sci-fi conventions across the country.

Larry Vincent as Sinister Seymour
Larry Vincent as Sinister Seymour

He had imitators, most notably (for me, at least, in the Philadelphia area, where I grew up in the 1970s) Dr. Shock, played by magician Joseph Zawislak. And on the left coast was Larry Vincent, playing Sinister Seymour on Fright Night on KHJ-TV and Seymour’s Monster Rally on KTLA — both in Los Angeles.*

There were many others across the entire country, but it is with Sinister Seymour that the history of horror hosts considerably pivots.

ENTER ELVIRA

In 1981, six years after the death of Larry Vincent, producers of Fright Night, approached  Maila Nurmi to help relaunch the show. She worked with them briefly, but left the project after he choice for the new Vampira, Lola Falana, was rejected. Ironically, the producers new search for a host resulted in the woman Nurmi would go on to sue unsuccessfully for stealing her likeness: Cassandra Peterson as Elvira, Mistress of the Dark.

Elvira, Mistress of the Dark
Elvira, Mistress of the Dark

Part Valley Girl, part Goth — full of cheesy jokes and a whole lot of cleavage — Elvira brought to Movie Macabre a style that was a marriage of Zacherle humor with Vampira-esque sexuality. The combination was perfect for a new age of unbridled consumerism that not only used sex to sell everything, but was in desperate need of sophomoric humor and simplistic b-movies in a time when technology and politics were shaping a generation that dealt daily with the anxiety of their parents divorcing, and the Russians ever more inclined to drop the bomb.

Yes, Movie Macabre was derivative, but it was new to Generation X. Gen Xers knew nothing of Zacherle, and could only vaguely remember local shows like Dr. Shock’s from their formative years.  Baby boomers owned pretty much everything — except, perhaps, Gen X’s unique brand of neurosis. It was the age of AIDS, after all. Sex could kill you. So Elvira came along at just the right time.

Flippant, sarcastic, and replete with risqué double entendres, Elvira appealed directly to the disaffected, horny youth of Gen X. If Halloween and Playboy came together to create a woman, she still wouldn’t be as contagious and outrageous as Elvira.

Elvira on set
Elvira on set

She was self-aware and self-absorbed at the same time. Not afraid of cornball humor. Comfortable with being a sex symbol. Not only capable of making fun of bad movies, but also, more importantly, critiquing her own persona while exposing more than just, um, her assets; the show’s contrivances — from poor production to pathetic props — were fair game. She seemed almost annoyed with the gig of having to watch terrible movies from a red velvet sofa on cheap set in a third-rate television studio; and it made watching her watch the movies all the more fun.

By the end of the nineteen eighties, Elvira had multiple seasons of Movie Macabre under her dagger-accented belt along with a feature film and more merchandising, ads, and photos online than all other horror hosts combined. Her popularity continued well into the nineties and beyond, with Coors Light commercials, television cameos, a successful book celebrating her 35th anniversary  — even a newly-published comic book series from Dynamite. But after three and half decades, live appearances have tapered off. She has gone into semi-retirement, no doubt enjoying the rewards that come with being one of world’s most well-known brands. Visit her website at www.elvira.com.

NEW BLOOD

Now, two decades into the new millennium, one wonders if the horror movie host may actually be becoming a thing of the past.

In an age of movies-on-demand, YouTube celebrities, and short attention spans (have you really read this far?), watching a bad movie for two hours with a horror host occasionally interrupting to make a bad joke or two is no longer (if it was ever!) must-see tv. But there’s new blood keeping the low to no budget form alive (or undead, as the case may be).

An independent network called “Reel  TV” has a fanged female host in Ohio by the name of Lamia (pronounced phoenetically as “Lay-Me…Uh”) who, in addition to hosting films, holds a “Horror Hotel” film festival every year (you can find them on Facebook).  Then there’s a Rob-Zombiesque Karlos Borloff from Washington, D.C.; his multimedia assault called Monster Madhouse has been around since 2006. Mixing music, horror-themed events and traditional b-movie hosting, it has the distinction of being the first such show to be on public access television and live-streamed on the internet. Many more are out there. Your town may have its own. They are a new breed of horror hosts, taking full advantage of the intersection of goth, rock, horror, camp and gore.

Svengoolie
Svengoolie

Still, there are the traditionalists. The most popular of these may be Svengoolie (played by Rich Koz). His Saturday night show on basic cable is, in many ways, reminiscent of Zacherle. His trademark rubber chicken reminds the viewer that, when all is said and done, the horror host, in its purest form, is an entertainer more interested in chuckles than anything else.

Koz has been at it for many years, having played the role off and on since 1979. Still going strong, the Svengoolie show can be seen nationally on MeTv.

* It’s no coincidence that the 1985 horror film Fright Night features a TV horror film host named Peter Vincent. Elvira may have played herself on the silver screen, but Larry Vincent inspired a character who goes beyond b-movies to become a bona fide vampire hunter.

Sven Squad
IMP, Gwengoolie, Sven, and Nostalgiaferatoo (photo from MeTV)

Update September 23, 2023. Is it possible the Svengoolie has found his successors after all these years? IMP, Nostalgiaferatoo, and Gwengoolie (aka Pinup model and aspiring horror host Sarah Palmer) look like they have permanently joined the “Sven Squad,” assisting Sven with hosting duties.

Vampira and Subversion: From Outsider to Icon

Vampira and Me Documentary
Vampira and Me Documentary

The 2012 documentary VAMPIRA AND ME documents the blink-and-you-might-have-missed-it unlikely rise and unfortunate fall of Maila Nurmi — a.k.a. Vampira — a b-movie television hostess in 1950’s California that may well have been the inspiration for countless goth girls that have come after her. Best remembered for all of the wrong reasons — from her performance-under-protest work for Ed Wood in PLAN 9 FROM OUTER SPACE to her failed law suits thirty years with the far-more-successful horror host Cassandra Peterson (a.k.a. Elvira)  — Vampira is much more than caricature, costume, or campy comedienne. She is, in many ways, a dark subversive reflection of the seemingly perfect America of the 1950’s, and as such, a figure that should not only be trotted out for Halloween, but be named among breakthrough stars the likes of Lucille Ball (to whom Nurmi oddly enough lost a daytime Emmy).

The documentary tells all, was well reviewed, and is highly recommended. But only hinted at in its exploration of everything from the vagaries of the Hollywood system to the dark side of stalker fans is the suggestion that — with Nurmi’s beatnik roots firmly in place — Vampira was quite a subversive figure for television in 1954 and ’55. Yes, as the documentary makes clear — as does Scott Poole’s biography Vampira: Dark Goddess of Horror (2014) —Vampira, on her velvet sofa, sipping a bubbling cocktail that was “one jigger formaldehyde and two jiggers vulture blood”, was the antithesis of every June Cleaver housewife that had a gin and tonic ready for her husband as he returned from work. But she was much more sinister than that.

Vampira enjoying a cocktail
Vampira’s cocktail was “one jigger formaldehyde and two jiggers vulture blood.”

Nurmi’s Vampira was not the cheesecake model nor pinup-girl-next-door; those were acceptable images for red-blooded American men to ogle. Instead, she was part of a tradition that, for Nurmi, had its roots in the work of Charles Addams, and, for many a cultural commentator, was part of a long tradition of the vamp in twentieth century culture. She was an outsider, and a potential threat to masculinity.

Count Mora and Luna in Mark of the Vampire (1935)
Count Mora and Luna in Mark of the Vampire (1935)

Long has the male vampire’s victim been a part of the horror movie tradition. In addition to Morticia Addams, Nurmi may have borrowed from the brides in DRACULA (1931). Or perhaps Carrol Borland, the actress who portrayed Luna — the female companion / co-conspirator of Bela Lugosi’s Count Mora in 1935’s MARK OF THE VAMPIRE. But these women are tied to men: the brides, a lover. Morticia, a husband; and Luna, a father.* It’s the makeup. The pose. The presence of these women. The men who helped define them. That was the foundation.

But Vampira was all her own. Though Nurmi was married (her husband had curiously enough come up with the name of the character), Vampira had no male companion. She was the first “vamp” to step off the page or screen and be seen driven about Los Angeles, greeting fans. She would show up as a guest on other television shows, but never as seductress. Always something alien. She was sexy, certainly. But the sex seemed dangerous.

Vampira
Vampira

Men were portrayed as scared of her — not attracted to her. A surviving bit of footage from the George Goebel Show has Goebel running away when a date with the strange Vampira (and her literal smoking sofa) starts getting a little too weird for his tastes. A joke, to be sure, but one that has at is base a fear of any woman that doesn’t fit the mold of the ideal, all-american girl. Nurmi’s voice is never flirtatious. Her movements never demure. She is, in fact, threatening, best known for saying “screaming relaxes me” after an ear-piercing shriek that started her every show. Is it a scream of terror? Or ecstasy?

Unlike the over-sexualized Elvira that would follow her years later, Vampira never appeared to be so much an object of desire as one of disturbance to men. Except for her anemic (and silent) turn in Ed Wood’s terrible PLAN 9, Vampira’s presence in footage that has survived always seems to present her as something alien. Whereas men desire Elvira, men are threatened by Vampira. Why? To Vampira, men would appear to be unnecessary.

Cruel then that the surviving image most of us have of Vampira — whether we know the character or not — is that the makeup, clothing and other trappings of the character are labeled “sexy” this and “hot” that on the packaging of many a halloween costume today. It’s almost as if what was once dangerous has been tamed and made to be just another commodity in the 21st century.

Perhaps this cultural appropriation of the character of Vampira into what is now the fun and fantasy of Halloween is, in some way, exactly what the character should embody: a fantasy, yes, but also nothing out of the ordinary. Subversion succeeds not when it’s on the fringes, but in the homes of millions of otherwise “normal” people. She may be a pose only acceptable on one day a year, but Vampira has found her way into more American homes now than her small Los Angeles television show could ever accomplish in the 1950’s.

She has outlived the June Cleavers of the world.

She survives not as an outsider, but as an icon.

 

*Dracula’s own daughter, played by Gloria Holden in Universal’s first real sequel in 1936, looked nothing like Vampira, Luna, Morticia or Lily Munster for that matter. DRACULA’S DAUGHTER rightfully deserves its own post about the female monster with no need for men. Possibly the first Lesbian vampire — long before any adaptations of Le Fanu’s Carmilla — Countess Marya Zaleska is more an exercise in psychiatry than it is in vampirism.