It’s now 2021. I just closed in on my seventieth birthday, and life continues to surprise me—in ways both good and bad. In these unprecedented times, our country has taken twists and turns that I could never have seen coming. Social-justice issues are finally beginning to show signs of taking center stage, and a deadly pandemic has ravaged the country and the world, claiming millions of lives, including two friends from my past: Hal Willner, the music producer from Saturday Night Live; and Danny McElroy, the lighting director for my original TV show, Movie Macabre.
As far as my personal life goes, it’s taken almost seventy years but I’m finally learning to believe in myself and relax a little. There have been so many “almosts,” so many uphill battles, and so many difficult, trying, and heartbreaking moments. But many, many wonderful, magical things have also come my way. I have so much to be amazed by and so much to be grateful for.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that so many people connected with my first movie, Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. Look at the impact movies had on me growing up. They’re responsible for planting the seeds of ideas in my head, which sprouted and grew into real-life manifestations. While recently sorting through a box of old memorabilia, I came across a photo collection book of Ann-Margret, which she’d signed for me years ago when we first met. On the page opposite her signature, she had a quote: “To everyone who went to a movie theater and saw an image on the screen that changed their life.”
Movies and music are forms of “magic.” They’re storytelling at its best, and stories can be powerful—t hey’ve been around since the dawn of humanity, influencing lives and changing outcomes. In my opinion, music and film can channel emotions and feelings better than any other forms of art. My life has been shaped by the music I heard and the movies I saw when I was young. However trivial and irrelevant my choice of films—H ouse on Haunted Hill, Bye Bye Birdie, Sweet Charity, and Viva Las Vegas—w ithout their influence, I’d be a very different person today.
Elvira has taught me some surprising lessons. She has helped me get through the hard times and get back up when I got knocked down. I’ve come to realize her personality comes from my teenage self—the self that was young enough to believe I could do anything, be anyone, have everything. When I became a teenager, I mysteriously acquired a certain confidence. I became tough and strong, and I didn’t take bullshit from anyone. As I grew older, life burnished the edges, but along came Elvira, who picked up those traits and ran with them. She became everything Cassandra wanted to be.
Despite the crazy, chaotic family dynamic I came from, I can’t forget that, from them, I also inherited a strong sense of values, accountability, perseverance, and a never-say-die midwestern work ethic that’s gotten me through life. I’ve worked hard, become successful, and realized—while writing this book—just how much the influence of my parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins has made me who I am today. There were ups and downs, but ultimately, they gave me the tools I needed to survive, thrive, and be a better person. I love them all and am so grateful to them.
Not long ago, I had lunch with my longtime friend Pamela Des Barres.
“Look how you still pull your hair around your face to hide your scars,” she said, after one of my habitual moves. “You do that when you’re Elvira, too. Are you aware of that?”
I paused for a moment, considering, then nodded, yes.
“Oh honey,” she said, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “No one can see them anymore but you.”
Through most of my life, I could never shake the image of the little girl who was ashamed and unlovable because of her scars, both physical and emotional. I was so consumed by self-doubt and insecurity that I refused to believe anyone who told me anything positive about myself. I figured they were either lying to be polite or had ulterior motives. One time, when we were headed out to a party together, my dear friend Richard Chamberlain told me I looked beautiful. I sloughed it off and made excuses, as usual. “Cassandra, m’dear,” he said, taking my hands in his, “When someone gives you a compliment, just say thank you and leave it at that.” I took his advice, and little by little the negative voices screaming in my head have become a whisper.
I keep discovering how truly important my friends are. They remind me of where I’ve been and where I came from, and what real love and friendship means. These things are more important to me now, and life doesn’t seem like such a day-to-day struggle anymore. I no longer have to look for fame and attention. I now take more time to do the things that make me feel good: drinking a cup of coffee in the morning while I read the newspaper; taking our little rescue dog, Vincent, for walks every day with my neighbors; practicing yoga whenever I can. What is it that makes me happy? A good conversation with my interesting, creative adult child; a glass of wine in the evening with my beautiful, sexy partner; cooking a delicious meal; or traveling the world together.
It feels good to recount my experiences here: the vulnerability, the pain, the happy times, and the adventures. So many of the people in these pages are gone now—friends, lovers, and family members—but each and every one has left their indelible mark on me.
I hope this book has been not only entertaining, but possibly enlightening. Maybe it will give you an idea or a thought that will reverberate, inspire, or influence you in some small, positive way.
Decisions I’ve made haven’t always turned out for the best, but against all odds, they got me to today. With all that’s happened during my career—the good, the bad, and the funny—the Elvira brand keeps growing, and you know what? I think she just might outlive me.
Every day of my young life, when I looked in the mirror, all I could see were my scars, and I felt like the ugly little girl my mother said I was. I’ve truly come to believe that had it not been for my childhood accident, I would never have grown into the woman who embraces the strange, the weird, the bizarre. I would never have become the Queen of Halloween.
We all have our own scars. Let them be a blessing and not a curse.
In loving memory of John Paragon and Robert Redding.