THE DARK HALF

You've been listening to Christopher Young's music for years, and you've never even realized it. Too often the effort that goes into any film score is disregarded by the general public in favor of what is occurring on the screen. Sure, every once in a while, scores like Titanic (yikes) or Inception (yes) are able to break that barrier and populate the mainstream. Examples like those, however, are few and far between. Film music is a largely dismissed medium - and audiences tend to take for granted that it even exists. Too often, to general audiences, the music is merely present; it affects the scene, and then it vanishes like a quiet wind. Instead of having its own life, it's there to simply service the story, like a badly timed joke.

Having provided the scores for such iconic movies as Hellraiser, A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy's Revenge, and more recently the Spider-Man sequels, Young has always (and unfortunately) remained under the radar. Outside of the rabid horror movie fans or soundtrack collecting groups, Young never quite achieved the reputation and celebrity of his colleagues Hans Zimmer, Jerry Goldsmith, or John Williams. And maybe it's because Young has always leaned towards the dark side of the film medium - something else sadly dismissed.

Young's film debut would come in 1982, supplying his untested sound for the dubiously named The Dorm That Dripped Blood. Needless to say, the film was just another in the long line of "dead teenager movies" assaulting theaters following the one-two punch of 1978's Halloween and 1980's Friday the 13th. Young would begin to make a name for himself, however, and would work continuously until 1985. The previous year, Freddy Krueger had been given to the world, and Charles Bernstein had provided what would go on to be an iconic score, the main themes which later surfaced in every Nightmare sequel...except for Nightmare 2. Young, instead, wrote all new themes for the movie, recognizing that the sequel was straying away from the previous established mythology of the first film. Freddy was no longer a dream phantom who could haunt you while you slept - he now had the ability to possess you during your dreams and use your body as a vehicle (to go to gay bars, for some reason).

For this development, Young's new themes - built on sharp, quick jarring noises and eerie ethereal tones - helped to shape Nightmare 2, if not into the most successful sequel of the series, but certainly  into the darkest entry. Whalesong was layered behind the music whenever Freddy was on screen, making the mood that much more surreal and dreamlike.

Young would continue to diligently work on little seen films until the year his career changed forever: 1987. His score for Hellraiser would make everyone - both industry members and general audiences - stand up and take notice. Pinhead, who would appear in consistently diminishing Hellraiser entries over the next twenty-five years, would never be on screen without the theme that Young had created. (Not even Michael Myers can say that, despite his arguably far more famous accompanying theme).   

Young would go on to score Hellbound: Hellraiser 2 - in which he would take the themes he had previously established and place them in the most deranged carnival setting this side of Hell. He would win numerous awards for the score, and it would go on to be considered his masterpiece. Not bad for a man only five years into his career.

And despite the A-list, high-profile movies he has worked on throughout his career (The Shipping News, Copycat, The Core), and all the while continuing to show his diversity (HBO's Something the Lord Made, Wonder Boys, Swordfish), he would never leave the horror genre behind. A self-proclaimed enthusiast for all things dark (he is an avid collector of jack-o-lanterns, horrific masks, and autographs from horror movie stars), he continues to work in the genre which birthed his career. Though the material he scores may be beneath him (Urban Legends and Species comes to mind), he never fails to produce exciting and engaging music.

One thing a fellow film score enthusiast will tell you - NEVER judge any film's score based on the film itself. (TRON: Legacy has gone on to be hailed as one of the greatest film scores of all time. Does the accompanying movie deserve that honor? Not quite.) Frankly speaking, Urban Legends is a piece of shit, and despite its successful box office take, it's a shame that Young's score was never officially released (though can be easily found by anyone with halfway decent Googling skills). It remains one of his absolute best - and would skillfully display one of Young's most famous trademarks - the ethereal choral of voices (later displayed in Drag Me to Hell, The Uninvited, and the Spider-Man sequels).

To date, Young's most recent release has been for the movie Priest, and has presented a new side of the ever-unpredictable composer: a sweeping score akin to Zimmer's work on Nolan's Batman films, but also featuring those Young trademarks fans have come to recognize - a sea of baritone voices; it has wowed not just his longtime fans, but new ones as well. It is being considered one of 2011's best scores, and ashamedly has only seen a digital release.

As a youth, and long before his expansive career, Christopher Young would one day be introduced to the work of another famous composer, known for his more horrific themes: Bernard Hermann (Psycho, Vertigo).  "Here was someone doing everything I wanted to do," Young said. "I fell in love with the music before I realized that it was written for movies." 

Essential Listening:

Drag Me To Hell

Track 01: Drag Me To Hell (Main Title)

2009

Hellbound: Hellraiser 2

Track 07: Hall of Mirrors

1988

Priest

Track 01: Priest (Main Title)

2011

Bonus: 

Music from Young's Copycat kicks in at the 1:00 mark. This has been utilized in several horror/thriller movie trailers. Here is just one of them:

BEDFELLOWS

More at:

Fewdio.com

Fewdio on Youtube

THE PORTRAITS

The Portraits

There was a hunter in the woods, who after a long day of hunting was in the middle of an immense forest. It was getting dark, and having lost his bearings, he decided to head in one direction until he was clear of the increasingly oppressive foliage. After what seemed like hours, he came across a cabin in a small clearing. Realizing how dark it had grown, he decided to see if he could stay there for the night. He approached and found the door ajar. Nobody was inside. The hunter flopped down on the single bed, deciding to explain himself to the owner in the morning.

As he looked around the inside of the cabin, he was surprised to see the walls adorned by several portraits, all painted in incredible detail. Without exception, they appeared to be staring down at him, their features twisted into looks of hatred and malice. Staring back, he grew increasingly uncomfortable. Making a concerted effort to ignore the many hateful faces, he turned to face the wall, and exhausted, he fell into a restless sleep.

The next morning, the hunter awoke - he turned, blinking in unexpected sunlight. Looking up, he discovered that the cabin had no portraits. 

Only windows.

Image courtesy of Mark Coatsworth.

THE DIONAEA HOUSE

"there was a crooked man
and he walked a crooked mile
he found a crooked sixpence
upon a crooked stile
he bought a crooked cat
who caught a crooked mouse
and they all lived together
in a crooked little house"

Follow the creepy online saga of The Dionaea House.

EL KHAIMAH DJINN

“This is a true story from Ras el Khaimah, United Arab Emerites. This picture has been released as police report evidence in the UAE. The story is that a young man went in the deserted caves of Ras el Khaimah to take pictures with a friend. He had been warned not to go. The person who had been with him called the police saying he had seen his friend’s flash go off and then his friend screamed. He called his friend but never got an answer and got scared that he’d fallen so went to the police. A few hours later they found the man in the cave dead and this single picture was in his camera.”

THE CRYING BOY

The Curse of 'The Crying Boy' was born in September, 1985, by infamous UK tabloid The Sun. In the article, "Blazing Curse of the Crying Boy," the author claimed that Ron and May Hall's home in Rotherham, South Yorkshire, had suffered severe fire damage, and the only object on the otherwise-decimated first floor that remained untouched by the flames was their framed painting of a young boy with tears streaming down his face - entitled The Crying Boy.

 

Things got weirder when Peter Hall, Ron's brother, and also a member of the Rotherham fire brigade, was informed by his station officer, Alan Wilkinson, that the Hall fire was not the first occurrence of a home burning down under mysterious circumstances, leaving behind an unharmed print of The Crying Boy. In fact, there had been "numerous" instances of the same set of circumstances. Wilkinson had allegedly and personally claimed to have filed fifty or so reports of home-destroying fires - some explained, some not - all of which had a print of The Crying Boy hanging somewhere in the structure. Panic ensued when the article's author provided one bit more of information: The Crying Boy was attributed to Spanish painter G. Bragolin (real name: Bruno Amadio; other aliases: Franchot Seville, Angelo (Giovanni) Bragolin, and J. Bragolin), and his painting had apparently been a popular piece at that time, selling 50,000 prints to families living in Northern England. 

Needless to say, The Sun was inundated by "scores of horrified readers" claiming that they presently had a print of The Crying Boy hanging in their home: 

Typical of these additional stories was [one] told by Dora Mann, from Mitcham, Surrey, who claimed her house was gutted just six months after she bought a print of the painting. “All my paintings were destroyed – except the one of the Crying Boy,” she claimed.

Sandra Kaske, of Kilburn, North Yorkshire, said that she, her sister-in-law, and a friend had all suffered disastrous fires since they acquired copies.

Another family, from Nottingham, blamed the print for a blaze which had left them homeless.

Brian Parks, whose wife and three children needed treatment for smoke inhalation, said he had destroyed his copy after returning from hospital to find it hanging – undamaged, of course – on the blackened wall of his living room.

As the stories accumulated, new details emerged that encouraged the idea that possession of a print put owners at risk of fire or serious injury. One woman from London claimed she had seen her print “swing from side to side” on the wall, while another from Paignton said her 11-year-old son had “caught his private parts on a hook” after she bought the pict­ure. Mrs Rose Farrington of Preston, in a letter published by The Sun, wrote: “Since I bought it in 1959, my three sons and my husband have all died. I’ve often wondered if it had a curse.”

Another reader reported an attempt to destroy two of the prints by fire – only to find, to her horror, that they would not burn. Her claim was tested by security guard Paul Collier, who tossed one of his two prints onto a bonfire. Despite being left in the flames for an hour, it was not even scorched. “It was frightening – the fire wouldn’t even touch it,” he told The Sun. “I really believe it is jinxed. We feel doubly at risk with two of these in the house [and] we are determined to get rid of them.”

- Source: Forlean Times 

By this time, several different variations of The Crying Boy - all painted by different artists, and featuring different children, both boys and girls - began to share the burden of the so-called curse. Stories of The Crying Boy were continually published by not only The Sun, but other publications as well:

The Sun, 9th Sept 1985: Both The Sun and The Daily Star reported that Grace Murray (Oxford) ended up in Stoke Mandeville hospital with severe burns after a house fire, but her print of The Crying Boy was almost undamaged.

The Sun, 21st Oct 1985: The Parillo Pizza Palace (Great Yarmouth) was destroyed by fire, but the print of The Crying Boy was undamaged. The newspaper invited readers to send in their ‘cursed’ paintings for destruction. By now, this story had been picked up by local papers and by individuals keen to get their 5 minutes of fame.

Daily Mail, 24th Oct 1985: Kevin Godber's family (Herringthorpe, South Yorks) was made homeless by a fire; the print of The Crying Boy remained unscathed, but pictures on either side of it were destroyed.

The Sun, 12th November 1985: Malcolm Vaughn (Churchdown, Gloucestershire) destroyed a neighbor's print of The Crying Boy. Later, his living-room caught fire.

The Sun, 24th February 1986: 61-year-old William Armitage (Weston-super-Mare, Avon) died in a house fire. The room was gutted, but an unscathed The Crying Boy was found on the floor near the pensioner’s body. Fireman quoted as saying it was "odd."

The Sun, 25th Oct 1985: An explosion destroys the Amos' home (Heswall, Merseyside). Two prints of The Crying Boy (living-room and dining room) were retrieved unharmed. Mr. Amos destroys the jinxed paintings.

Shropshire Star, 26th October 1985: House in Telford is damaged by fire. The householder is Fred Trower, an ex-fireman, who refuses to believe the curse and said his print of The Crying Boy in the hallway would remain where it was unless there was a second fire.

Western Morning News, 26th October 1985: Six months after restaurant owner George Beer (Holsworthy) installed two prints of The Crying Boy, his business was severely damaged by separate fires 12 months apart. On both occasions, the prints were not even singed. Mr. Beer did not believe in the jinx and kept the paintings.

The Sun, 31st October 1985: Sandra Jane Moore's home had been flooded after she'd drawn punk hair on her friend’s The Crying Boy. Mrs. Woodward (Forest Hill) blamed The Crying Boy for death of her son, daughter, husband, and mother.

Investigators requested the aid of "witches" and other occult students, seeking their explanation on how or why the curse came to be. The suggested explanation was that the child model featured in the print may have been abused or mistreated by the painter in some way - or perhaps had succumbed to death by fire shortly after being painted - and hence the curse.

The Sun editor Kelvin MacKenzie, who had happily kept the story alive in the tabloid, invoked his readers: "If you are worried about a Crying Boy picture hanging in YOUR home, send it to us immediately. We will destroy it for you – and that should see the back of any curse." MacKenzie got his wish, and had soon amassed 2,500 copies of The Crying Boy - all ordered destroyed by their senders.

On Halloween of 1985, The Sun organized a massive burning of the paintings. Though several local fire brigades were encouraged to attend, they declined.

It was during this time that other staff at The Sun had begun to wonder just how much credence MacKenzie attached to this story. One of these staff members took a print of The Crying Boy and hung it on the office wall. MacKenzie ordered it taken down, citing the print was "bad luck."

Station office Alan Wilkinson, upon his retirement, received a print as a joke. He smiled blithely and declined to accept. 

Chief Officer Mick Riley, who had previously issued a statement explaining that The Crying Boy paintings were printed on very durable hardboard and made them very difficult to burn, also declined one as a gift, citing his wife would not approve of its presence in their home.

The story of The Crying Boy would soon spread to the Internet and achieve official urban legend status - and with it came new myths. If you treated The Crying Boy nicely and with respect, or if you owned both The Crying Boy and The Crying Girl and hung them together, you would be freed from the curse, and even granted good luck. But with these new myths also came the need for the origin of the curse.

Some such theories:

• The soul of the child model had been trapped in the painting, and the only way to free themselves is to burn the house down and hopefully destroy the painting which binds them.
• The painting itself is a beacon for spiritual activity, and instead of being haunted by the model featured, instead attracts whatever demonic spirits or poltergeist activity happens to be within close proximity. 
• Previous misfortunes, either by the artist or the child model, had formed into negative energy and attached itself to the paintings.

In 2000, the "official" origin of the painting was finally revealed by George Mallory,  “a well respected researcher into occult matters, a retired schoolmaster."

Mallory traced the artist who had painted the original, “an old Spanish portrait artist named Franchot Seville, who lives in Madrid." Seville...was one of the pseudonyms used by Bruno Amadio, otherwise known as ‘G Bragolin’ whose signature appeared on some of the prints. 

Seville/Amadio/Bragolin told Mallory the subject of the paintings was a little street urchin he had found wandering around Madrid in 1969. He never spoke, and had a very sorrowful look in his eyes. Seville painted the boy, and a Catholic priest identified him as Don Bonillo, a child who had run away after seeing his parents die in a blaze.

“The priest told the artist to have nothing to do with the runaway, because wherever he settled, fires of unknown origin would mysteriously break out; the villagers called him ‘Diablo’ because of this.”

Nevertheless, the painter ignored the priest’s advice and adopted the boy. His portraits sold well but one day his studio was destroyed by fire and the artist was ruined. He accused the little boy of arson and Bonillo ran off – naturally in tears – and was never seen again.

The story continued:

“From all over Europe came the reports of the unlucky Crying Boy paintings causing blazes. Seville was also regarded as a jinx, and no one commissioned him to paint, or would even look at his paintings. In 1976, a car exploded into a fireball on the outskirts of Barcelona after crashing into a wall. The victim was charred beyond recog­nition, but part of the victim’s driving license in the glove compartment was only partly burned. The name on the license was one 19-year-old Don Bonillo.”

- Source: Forlean Times 

One thing has never been completely satisfied about The Crying Boy legend. Regardless of who the child featured in the painting was, what became of him, or what awful thing could have birthed the so-called curse, one question always remained: why, in the midst of horrendous infernos, were the paintings never destroyed?

As previously stated by Rotherham Fire Brigade Chief Officer Mick Riley, his official explanation for The Crying Boy's inability to burn was due to the hardboard material on which it was printed.

The wife of Rotherham Fire Brigade Station Officer Alan Wilkinson had her own theory:

“I always say it’s the tears that put the fire out.”

 

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Now Available

STRANGE AND SCARY THINGS

I'm pretty sure, as a kid, you had these books:

I certainly did. They were as essential to my youth as the Goosebumps series and Wacky Wednesday. 

The stories themselves were pretty basic and well-known urban legends. They were vague, to the point, and sometimes even silly (though trying not to be). And you can only read so many stories that end with "now jump at a nearby friend and scream" before you roll your eyes. Despite these seeming shortcomings, it was an added strength for the book. In most cases, illustrations are in place to serve the story. In the case of Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, it was definitely the other way around.

But, at the same time - at a young age, and in the right frame of mind - the stories were chilling, and even sometimes disturbing, due in no small part to the incredibly strange and often surreal illustrations by Stephen Gammell. His approach to illustration was very nontraditional - especially for children's literature. To sound like an elitist hipster douche bag for a second, his work in the Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark collection was very reminiscent of Dali, and Bosch before him. His interpretations of any particular story's monsters were horrifying enough, but even human beings depicted normally within the confines of the tale suddenly became misshapen characters born from a nightmare. Occasionally there would be an illustration that had so little to do with the events of the story that it made the happenings that much more off-putting and unnerving.

For instance, in one of the most famous stories not just in the book, but in folklore itself, a girl named Susanna returns home to her college apartment to see that her roommate, Jane (in their shared bedroom), is sleeping. Susanna quietly undresses in the dark and slips into bed, only to be jarred awake several times during the night to someone singing "Oh, Susanna." She repeatedly tells Jane to STFU. Yada yada yada, skip to the morning, and someone is still singing that song. Susanna flips out, jumps out of bed, and tears the covers off her roommate to see that she is dead.

End story.

And the illustration that accompanies this tale?

Yeah. What exactly is that? But...it somehow works. At the very end of this story, when the poor girl is assaulted with the sight of her mutilated friend on a bed only a few feet away, and the impossible sound of singing still fresh in her ears, perhaps Susanna has gone mad. And perhaps what you see is Gammell's interpretation of madness. Or perhaps he is suggesting that we're not in control of our own lives, and are helpless to defend ourselves against the dark forces that look down upon us from unseen places. 

Perhaps he is telling us there is only fate - not free will - that will determine our paths...and that we are doomed.

Either/or - the friggin' creeps.

Flipping through the pages of Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, the pictures you see before you could very well instead be hanging in a museum - and you would never think twice about their inclusion in artistic history, alongside other famous works by other famous artists. One of my personal favorite illustrations of Stephen Gammell is below - one which accompanies a story called "The Drum," perhaps the eeriest story in any of the three books. Two young children - a brother and sister - become terrible nuisances to their mother, at the behest of a young gypsy girl who possesses a strange drum for which the siblings yearn. Their mother threatens to abandoned them - to leave them with a strange woman, who has glass eyes and a wooden tail. The siblings, though fearful of this threat, continue to misbehave in order to finally possess the strange drum. At story's end, the gypsy girl explains that it was all just a game, and she never had any intention of giving up her drum. The siblings rush home...and see their new mother waiting for them in front of the roaring fireplace - their new mother with glass eyes and a wooden tail that thumps against the floor.

This illustration accompanies the story:

The painting below is entitled "Carnival Night" (1886) by Henri Rousseau.

The similarities, whether intentional or not, show that Gammell has not just a modern illustrator's mind, but a classic artist's.

As of 2011, Gammell still provides illustrations for childrens' books, and though Alvin Schwartz, who compiled the tales for the Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark books, has long since passed on, perhaps a fourth book will some day come down the pike under new guidance. And with it will come nightmares for a new generation of dark-seeking children.

"I was four at the time, thinking that I really didn't want to go to school next year... I just want to do this -- just scare other children so bad it gives them nightmares for the rest of their lives."

- Stephen Gammell