August 10, 2008
It was the night we returned to the graveyard. Everybody was there—the terrifying Tall Man, Angus Scrimm; the luscious Lady in Lavender, Kat Lester; and everyone’s favorite ice cream man, Reggie Bannister.
As we arrived we saw a line down Santa Monica Boulevard with an eclectic mix of horror fans, teens, and some tricked-out hearses. A sold-out audience was sprawled on blankets on the lawn directly adjoining the graveyard. As the sun went down, the bottles were being surreptitiously passed around and the joints were firing up. The crowd was a thousand strong, and if you accounted for all the souls in the vicinity there were probably a hundred times that number. All to watch Phantasm. At night. Under the stars. In the graveyard. It would be a screening to remember.
The summer screenings in the Hollywood Forever Cemetery, run by the group Cinespia, are projected against the massive white marble wall of the mausoleum of original superstar and heartthrob Rudolph Valentino. A stellar lineup of Hollywood luminaries were guaranteed to be in attendance, even if they were no longer living. Many of these movie greats who had a huge influence on me were entombed on the premises of Hollywood Forever and would be directly in viewing distance of Phantasm. How strange and wonderful! Douglas Fairbanks Sr. was right there in the lavish memorial built by his grieving wife, the epitaph reading, “GOODNIGHT, MY SWEET PRINCE.” Peter Lorre, who scared the hell out of a young Don Coscarelli in his astonishingly creepy The Beast with Five Fingers, was there. Also in attendance would be one of the great screen actresses of all time, Janet Gaynor, star of the silent classic Sunrise, one of the best films ever. And great directors would be there too including John Huston, Cecil B. DeMille, and Victor Fleming. Even Shelley’s grandfather Max had a great view from his nearby crypt.
It might have been the best place ever to screen Phantasm and the perfect venue for a reunion with cast and crew. We had practically lived in graveyards and mortuaries during the shooting of Phantasm. Now decades later we were all returning to one to share our film with its longtime fans.
There was also something fitting and remarkable about this venue for me personally. When I started writing Phantasm as a very young man, its themes came from my deeply rooted childhood fears of death. Now, decades later, I realized that in making Phantasm, in putting those fears up on screen for all to see and working on a daily basis with the tools of the death trade—coffins, funeral coaches, embalming rooms—it served to desensitize me to my fears and allow me to come to grips with them. I cannot in good conscience tell you that I am now completely fearless of the prospect of one day entering that dark void, but the entire process is a hell of a lot less terrifying after having made Phantasm. Today, I find cemeteries some of the most relaxing and genuinely peaceful places on the planet.
Before the film started we spread out our own blanket and I was thrilled to find beside us the venerable movie star Clu Gulager, who had brought his folding chair and blanket to watch Phantasm in the graveyard. This was profoundly meaningful to me because as a young filmmaker I was so keenly influenced by The Last Picture Show, and here was one of its stars attending a retrospective screening of my film. It was a true honor and it made me feel like I had come full circle.
Along with these wonderful actors, my entire Phantasm phamily was there. Surrounding me were loyal friends who had been there from the beginning. Paul Pepperman, who had done so much in getting Phantasm made, including casting his own fingers as prosthetics for young Michael to hack off. By his side was his wife, Jacalyn, whom he met when she was an earnest young camera assistant on Phantasm. Seated nearby was Daryn Okada, our sixteen-year-old grip on Phantasm and subsequently full-fledged cinematographer on Phantasm II. Beside Daryn was his wife, Cean, who had a featured acting role in Phantasm Ravager, and their charming son Evan, who gripped on the fifth Phantasm just like his dad had on the first film. My wife, Shelley, who had become a key player in the later sequels, designing the costumes on both Phantasm Oblivion and Ravager, was on my blanket, as was my son Andy, who had worked tirelessly on the crew of Ravager as well as many of my other films, for which I am eternally grateful.
Darkness had enshrouded the cemetery, the moon was on the rise, and it was time to start the show. As they brought the cast and me up onto a makeshift stage right in front of Rudy Valentino’s tomb, the graveyard was filled with applause. The few words we spoke were greeted with warmth and enthusiasm from these loyal and, many of them, longtime fans. Our Tall Man, Angus Scrimm, finally took the stage and spoke for all of us when he slyly intoned, “I have been in a lot of cemeteries, but this do beat them all. Many of my cherished ones are here. My mother Pearl, my father Alfred, my two older sisters Lucille and Marie. But they are all interred. So for me this is a family reunion. Also with my Phantasm family and my new family here, as we all watch this landmark movie.”
Angus was right. It was a family reunion. Decades previously I had been privileged and blessed to make a small horror film with some actors and crew who became my lifelong friends. Somehow we came together, pooled our collective talents, and this indie movie of ours went on to receive worldwide adulation. Phantasm’s success allowed us to keep working together throughout most of our lifetimes. Not many have been the recipient of a gift such as this, and I now understood how rare and valuable this experience of mine has been.
The lights went down, a hush fell over the graveyard, and Phantasm began to play. And what was the response to the movie that night? Let me tell you. It was a real scream.