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

SOUNDS FROM HELL

"Geologists working somewhere in remote Siberia had drilled a hole some 14.4 kilometers deep (about 9 miles) when the drill bit suddenly began to rotate wildly. A Mr. Azzacov (identified as the project's manager) was quoted as saying they decided that the center of the earth was hollow.

Supposedly, the geologists measured temperatures of over 2,000 degrees in the deep hole. They lowered super sensitive microphones to the bottom of the well, and to their astonishment they heard the sounds of thousands, perhaps millions, of suffering souls screaming."

MAGIC

"For Ventriloquy, or speaking from the bottom of the Belly, 'tis a thing I think as strange and difficult to be conceived as any thing in Witchcraft, nor can it, I believe, be performed in any distinctness of articulate sounds, without such assistance of the Spirits, that spoke out of the Daemoniacks."

--Joseph Glanvill,  1681

Saducismus Triumphatus: Or, Full 

and Plain Evidence Concerning Witches 

and Apparitions

 

 

FILTERED REALITY

Found footage movies, especially in the horror genre, are very polarizing to both general movie audiences and the hardcore genre niche as well. Some people love the format (I’m one of them), and others hate it—and for a variety of reasons. Some cite the shaky nature of the camera as too nauseating to endure; others find the (sometimes) lack of a tangible and visible antagonist boring and anticlimactic (though these are actually the people who long ago abandoned the concept of using their own imagination).

My favorite argument: the filmmakers go through the trouble of making it look real, but we all know it’s not real, because it’s a movie.

Seriously?

I recall going to see The Blair Witch Project in theaters, and the crowd was quiet the entire running time, which in this day and age is almost unheard of. No one at my screening, at the film's conclusion, walked out complaining—in fact, everyone walked out quietly, as if in a daze. It was a movie I would end up loving and revisiting several times at home, along with the equally creepy and interesting Curse of the Blair Witch, a fake television special/documentary created to enhance the myth which established the foundation of the The Blair Witch Project.

And then it happened.

The inevitable.

The backlash.

The first people out of the theater doors (and probably well aware of the marketing approach) proclaimed The Blair Witch Project to be terrifying and utterly realistic. "The scariest movie since The Exorcist!" the TV spots would boast.

People, being people, reacted in the way that people do: if someone tells you something is scary, you must not only see it, but prove them wrong. "That wasn't scary! It was stupid! You don't know me! You don't know what scares me! Because NOTHING can!"

The last thing we as people like to be is predictable. This extends to every facet of our life—up to and including film as a medium.

And so we return to that one generic complaint people have about found footage movies in general: the common knowledge that what they are seeing isn't real, despite the filmmakers breaking their backs for their films to appear as such.

When The Blair Witch Project first came out, the Internet was booming—and not just for nerds in garages, but for regular, blue-collar folks like you and me. The Internet hoax was yet to be realized...until a brilliant marketing strategy from now-defunct Artisan Entertainment, the mini-studio that would go on to release the film.

Their marketing? 

Everything in The Blair Witch Project was 100% real. And those kids in the film? They weren't actors, but real students. And up to that time, they were still missing. At that point, everyone had visited the Blair Witch website, which unbeknownst to them, was secretly promoting the film, all the while seeming to instead serve as a sounding board for the missing students' heartsick parents. We all remember the photos of Heather's mom hanging up "missing" photos. We all saw the testimonies from the students' friends and families begging anyone with information to come forward.

And most people bought it like the suckers they are.

I didn't, however; and not because of my supreme intelligence or superiority over the hoi polloi, but because of my basic concept of common sense and my love for Fangoria Magazine. Yes, I knew walking into that theater that the movie was fake—yet I still managed to adore the film.

So why didn't people feel the same way?  Why—once the cast started making the rounds, and they each appeared on the covers for both Time and Newsweek, and Heather suddenly showed up on Jay Leno—did audiences suddenly feel cheated?

"We thought it was real!" they cried. "If it never happened, it's stupid!"

The irony that they had bought the lie and thought the movie was real—the intention behind Artisan's marketing—was lost, not to mention dripping with the subtle and creepy inference that audiences were disappointed to learn those kids in the film were actually quite alive and well. Audiences wanted them dead...strewn about in bloody bits and turned into witch hats. Especially Heather.

And since then, found footage movies have received lukewarm receptions by movie goers. Whatever steam had been established, up to the release of The Blair Witch Project, had suddenly dissipated.

None of it was real, you see. And that sucked.

But almost ten years later came a rebirth of the sub-genre, thanks to the recent success of Cloverfield and The Last Exorcism, movies which proved that money is to be made, and critics are to be wowed.

And so the found footage is back in a big way.

As I write this, there are more than 30 found footage movies (and probably more, considering my half-hearted Google attempt) either in production or waiting to be released. They range from low budget indies with casts of unknowns to crews of A-list talent (and Barry Levinson). Some of these films have already enjoyed film festival screenings, or await major wide releases, but regardless, they're coming. 

Break out the Dramamine. 

MEMENTO MORI: PART I

Life is short, and shortly it will end;
Death comes quickly and respects no one,
Death destroys everything and takes pity on no one.
To death we are hastening, let us refrain from sinning.


If you do not turn back and become like a child,
And change your life for the better,
You will not be able to enter, blessed, the Kingdom of God.
To death we are hastening, let us refrain from sinning.  

THE MAN WITH FIRE ON HIS FACE

Insidious is a movie you have seen before. Even the most casual movie-goer who claims not to like horror films for a variety reasons has seen a pretty famous 80s gem called Poltergeist. Directed by Tobe Hooper (kind of) but more so by Steven Spielberg, Poltergeist told the tale of a family unit that moves into a new house (in a brand new housing development). Their house features skeletons in the swimming pool, and things that go bump. Creepy things happen. A ghost-hunting crew, with all manner of fun gadgets, are brought in and provide comic relief. An oddball, older woman (Zelda Rubinstein) is their leader. In the climax of the film, we find that only one person--the father--can venture into the otherworldly dimension to rescue his daughter, Carol Ann, (played by the adorable Heather O'Rourke, an actress who at a young age tragically died of poop).

Insidious, too, follows a family who moves into a new house. Instead of skeletons in the pool, there are noises in the attic. The eldest child of the family ventures upstairs, falls off a ladder, and bumps his head...thus paving the way (or not...) for the following events:

Things go bump. A ghost-hunting crew, with all manner of fun gadgets, are brought in and provide comic relief. An oddball, older woman is their leader (Lin Shaye). In the climax of the film, we find that only one person--the father--can venture into the otherworldly dimension to rescue his son.

In all honesty, Insidious could have been officially rechristened as the Poltergeist remake and not one person would have said, "No, really??"

But here's the most important part: Insidious, a Poltergeist rip-off or not, is a damn good movie. In fact, it's better than its predecessor.

"OMG NO WAY BUT POLTERGEIST WAS MADE IN THE 80s--"

Shut up.

Face facts.

It's a better film.

Directed by James Wan and written by frequent collaborator Leigh Wannell (Saw, Dead Silence), the movie features every essential component: A cast of respectable and talented actors, a smart script, believable characters, and most important, genuinely frightening and unsettling imagery. To attempt to describe any of these images would be disrespectful to the specters that the filmmakers created. So here are some pictures!

Also, to help distance itself from Poltergeist, it features an aspect otherwise underutilized in modern films: Projection, and out-of-body experiences (the ability for your "spirit" to leave your own body at will and travel to distant places with ease). While perhaps not as explored as it could have been, the point is made, and the danger of doing so is quite clear.

What really makes Insidious work is the focus strictly on unnerving imagery instead of needless violence and jump scares. The filmmakers purposely set out to make a film where they endeavored to scare you only with genuine moments of fear--perpetrated by the onscreen haunts. You will not see cats jumping out of closets, or a character rushing on screen and saying "WHAT'S UP???" unnaturally.

Basically, when the musical score is mounting (and it's a rather marvelously unorthodox one by Joseph Bishara--think more Penderecki than Goldsmith), and you can sense something coming...well...that's because it is. And it's not going to be bullshit.

Lots of filmmakers make that same claim when working on a horror set--the emphasis on psychological fear over jump scares and gore (and 90% of the time, they are either bullshitting you, or eventually fall victim to a brainless studio). But the makers of Insidious not only meant it, they nailed it.

Besides, just fucking look at this:

If you don't find this the least bit creepy, then I don't know what to tell you.

I hear they're remaking The Monster Squad.