A Tribute to Larry Buchanan (1923-2004)

By Greg Goodsell

 

On my bookshelf stands a copy of director Larry Buchanan’s 1996 autobiography, It Came from Hunger: Tales of a Cinema Schlockmesister. Thoughtfully inscribed on the frontispiece by Buchanan are the words: "Nov. 27, 1996 -- To Greg, The one writer who is keyed into what I was and am -- all about. Really, Larry." The book and inscription was a thank you for helping him compile certain clearances for the book, which included numerous essays by yours truly, as well as championings of his work back in the 80s. It was my privilege to know Larry personally, having interviewed him for an article that saw national publication in Filmfax back in 1993. My early knowledge of Buchanan -- my articles on his work and my own working relationship with him -- was indeed, a wild and crazy trip.

My introduction to his wacky world came ironically in no small part from my late father, who held horror and science-fiction movies with the utmost disdain. It was an afternoon creature feature on a Los Angeles independent TV station, and Buchanan’s seminal ZONTAR, THE THING FROM VENUS (1966) -- his reworking of Roger Corman’s IT CONQUERED THE WORLD (1956) -- was playing on our decrepit Magnavox. My father didn’t approve of my fascination with Hollywood horrors -- yes, he was one of those parents who tore copies of Famous Monsters of Filmland to shreds in front of his son's anxious eyes -- but this screening of ZONTAR made him absolutely livid. "That John Agar! They get him down to some no-budget Hollywood set for a couple days, pay him off with a case of booze, and sell the mess to television!" (My father, a Korean War veteran, was of the old school and never forgave Agar for taking Shirley Temple’s cherry.)

But it was IT’S ALIVE (1968) that set my fascination with Buchanan in granite: a dreary amalgamation of WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE? (1962) and THE COLLECTOR (1965) with a rubber-suited monster that lasts all of 15 seconds of the film's interminable running time. I caught this film -- being all of nine years old -- when it played on a local late night TV station. I had seen the title in newspaper listings, saw that it was a year old, but had never heard of it. I saw every single last monster movie as a child, yet here was this odd bit of obscurity premiering on Bakersfield late night television. I was intrigued.

As everyone who has stumbled into Buchanan’s IT'S ALIVE will tell you, the first few minutes are highly disorienting. The camera records in one uninterrupted take a couple driving along a lonely stretch of Texas road. There is no music. We see statues of dinosaurs peeking through the trees. Rain begins to dot the windshield as a narrator says: "It is said that when it rains while the sun shines, the devil is kissing his wife." My unformed juvenile mind knew that something here was not right. It was as if someone had taken our 8mm camera, recorded one of our boring family road trips and had sold it to television.

In short -- and part and parcel -- Buchanan had recorded real life and resold it as science-fiction fantasy. Then and now, people went to the supermarket and were recorded by remote TV cameras, with sugary cereals full of new chemicals. That very year over summer barbecues we watched men land on the moon on television. It was as if Buchanan had tapped into the numbing reality around us and thrown it back in our faces. Years later, as we were discussing STAR WARS (1977) at summer camp, Buchanan?s IT'S ALIVE worked itself into the conversation. (On a selfish, personal level, Larry reprinted my essay on the film in its entirety in It Came From Hunger, to which one reviewer said "The essay is not a bad one.")

One by one, I caught every single last one of Buchanan's Azalea Production remakes -- CREATURE OF DESTRUCTION (1967), CURSE OF THE SWAMP CREATURE (1966), IN THE YEAR 2889 (1967) -- and I became aware of his singular vision: Bland, everyday locations. Monsters that are more disappointing than frightening. Canned library music that rarely matched the action. A stifling sense of hopelessness and ennui.

Buchanan, in direct contrast to other "bad" filmmakers, offered no solace with quick and cheap laughter. Edward D. Wood Jr. dazzled audiences with stupendous dialogue and less than special effects. The dialogue in a Buchanan creature feature was a word-for-word remake of the original -- and the special effects --- what special effects? The Buchanan monster films transposed the anxieties of the Eisenhower era to those of the Johnson administration, rendering their petty fears about communism and nuclear annihilation moot. ZONTAR in particular revealed the romantic lie inherent in space alien mind-control movies -- i.e., that a gas station attendant is worthy of being possessed by a superior intelligence from another dimension!

The only journal to accord these films their due was the 1970's tabloid newspaper The Monster Times, an irreverent publication that twisted many an impressionable mind, mine included. In their classic "Worst of the Worst" issue, they listed all seven of Buchanan’s remakes, along with giant photos of his negligible monsters. Of SWAMP CREATURE, they declared, "The most elaborate thing in the show is a ten-cent fright mask."

In 1981, in a free-lance writing course at the community college, I vowed to sell an article on Buchanan to a major movie magazine. I had no luck in tracking down Buchanan, but I had a friend who was able to put me in touch with actor John Agar. Agar had long since walked the straight and narrow, occasionally appearing in TV shows and bit parts in movies. When I cornered Agar on the phone to speak to him about Buchanan, he said, "Oh, dear ..."

He graciously shared his experiences about ZONTAR and SWAMP CREATURE, and said that Larry "had his heart in the right place." He went on to say that "in no way will you get me to degrade or impugn Buchanan. Motion pictures are a business, and you do what you can with X amount of dollars with the time you have allowed." Our conversation was brief and to the point.

The article never saw the light of day as many said I would have to speak to the Big Man in person for the piece to have validity. However, the fanzine boom of the 1980s was taking place, with countless small press publications trumpeting the obscure and indefensible. I was to meet these kindred spirits in Boston’s Zontar, The Mag From Venus, who championed the work of Larry, among many other bits of cultural effluvia. Since Buchanan had yet to speak to the press (save an interview in a 1985 issue of FANGORIA magazine), an aura continued to surround him.

I began to collect stories from those who had known and worked with him -- and they were usually not kind. I have since found many of these same stories ascribed to other low-budget filmmakers, and I won’t repeat them here.

After winning a certain degree of notoriety through small press publications, and a series of celebrity interviews (mostly with unpleasant outcomes), I sold the idea of interviewing Buchanan to Filmfax magazine. The article would be a summation of sorts due to its inclusion in a magazine with widespread, national distribution. Director Fred Olen Ray put me in touch with Larry, who had since relocated to Santa Barbara. In our first telephone conversation, I was pleasantly surprised that he had read my articles in the small press -- and in spite of my droll asides said that I was "a very fine writer. You should write for Playboy."

At the interview, he wore a three-piece suit and a Panama and impressed my friends and I as a very classy gentleman. At the time he had high hopes for a big-budget continuation of MARS NEEDS WOMEN, by John Avnet of FRIED GREEN TOMATOES fame.

The interview brought up many facets of his life that had been unknown to the general public, such as his acquaintance with the then-unknown talent called Stanley Kubrick. While many get a chortle that Jesus Franco worked with Orson Welles on CHIMES AT MIDNIGHT (1966), it’s amazing that the minds behind 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY (1969) and IN THE YEAR 2888 were once on friendly terms.

Everyone who knew Larry recalled him as a consummate gentleman, and he seemed genuinely happy that people expressed interest in his work. I had just dealt with personages who were resentful of their fame, or were unhappy with my recollections of their career, and so found him to be a refreshing personality.

The article saw the light of day in Filmfax #37 in early 1993, a very fortuitous time for myself personally. In between jobs, and free-lancing, I was delivered into the hands of a couple of independent filmmakers who gave me a front row seat into the arena of low-budget movie making. I learned first hand how broken promises and unpaid bills play into getting a project done. Originally hired on as a screenwriter, my chief job became shooing away unpaid help from the front door. Shortly, I too, was shooed away from the very same front door. I understood why many who had worked with Larry could be less than flattering.

We stayed in touch. I was to work with him at length in getting various clearances for his autobiography back in 1996, resulting in great chunks of my old articles being reprinted in book form (although he did not cite my 1992 interview ... odd). I was recovering from a bad relationship at the time, and he offered this bit of grandfatherly advice ... "Never be bitter! Tell them I'll write you a check for a million dollars drawn from my Bank of Appreciation!"

He was in good spirits when I spoke to him little over a year ago. Before he left this mortal coil, his autobiography was in print, he had been interviewed countless times, had contributed commentaries to the DVD of THE TRIAL OF LEE HARVEY OSWALD (1964) ... Larry would not go without his own say on his own life and times. Some of his contemporaries in the exploitation movie field would not be as lucky.

Such a warm, genial guy, generous with his time and boundless in his enthusiasm ... you had to forgive him. His insistence that he had passed off STRAWBERRIES NEED RAIN (1970) as a lost Ingmar Bergman picture ... you see the film, see old radio ham actor Les Tremayne as Death, the gal from Jack Hill’s SWITCHBLADE SISTERS (1975) in the lead, everyone speaking in twangy, Texas accents ... you just had to smile and nod.

I understand the Larry finally got around to completing THE REBEL JESUS (1972) after more than 30 years. I’m sure viewers will note all the deficits and not the sincerity behind the project when it finally sees the light of day.

In spite of my close identification with him, Larry gave his best quote not to me, but to my good friend Kris Gilpin when he declared, "I never cared if they were any good or not! I just wanted to make movies!"

 

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