the sound of vincent price


Gene Tierney (Scorpio sun, Moon in Pisces) was so beautiful. My new woman crush for sure. This film is on my to watch list. (Leave her to heaven 1945) I saw a documentary on Gene Tierney yesterday, and I was fascinated by her. She began on Broadway before signing a contract in Hollywood. She had a rough time, poor baby…Strange how some people seem to have it all in youth, and end up with nothing and no one at the end of their life. She was the ultimate femme fatale.

From what I gather, pretty much all her movies seem great. Though these are at the top of my list:

1. Laura (1944)
100% on rotten tomatoes

“In one of the most celebrated 1940s film noirs, Manhattan detective Mark McPherson (Dana Andrews) investigates the murder of Madison Avenue executive Laura Hunt (Gene Tierney) in her fashionable apartment. On the trail of her murderer, McPherson quizzes Laura’s arrogant best friend, gossip columnist Waldo Lydecker (Clifton Webb) and her comparatively mild fiancé, Shelby Carpenter (Vincent Price). As the detective grows obsessed with the case, he finds himself falling in love with the dead woman.”-IMDb

2. Leave her to heaven (1945)
95% on rotten tomatoes

“While on a train, writer Richard Harland (Cornel Wilde) strikes up a relationship with the gorgeous Ellen Berent (Gene Tierney). Ellen quickly becomes obsessed with Richard and abandons her fiancé, Russell Quinton (Vincent Price), to be with him. The couple rushes into marriage, with both of them caught up in romance and Richard intrigued by Ellen’s intensity. Only after settling into marriage, however, does Richard realize that she is psychotically jealous and highly unstable.”-IMDb

3. The ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947)
100% on rotten tomatoes

“Defying her conventional in-laws, young widow Lucy Muir (Gene Tierney) leaves London with her young daughter and moves away for a quieter life in a secluded seaside cottage. Lucy discovers the ghost of the deceased former owner, sea captain Daniel Gregg (Rex Harrison), is haunting the house, but gathers the courage to stand up to him, and woman and ghost become friends. Faced with dwindling means of support, Lucy agrees to the Captain’s challenge to write his colorful life story.”-IMDb

4. Where the sidewalk ends (1950)
100% on rotten tomatoes

“Ashamed that his father lived a life of crime, hard-boiled New York City cop Mark Dixon (Dana Andrews) has a reputation for being too tough on criminals. So when Dixon unintentionally kills a murder suspect during a routine questioning, he hides the fact from the department and tries to pin the killing on his nemesis, notorious gangster Scalise (Gary Merrill). The snag in the cop’s plan comes when his boss wrongly accuses the father of Dixon’s love interest, Morgan (Gene Tierney), of the murder.”

5. Heaven can wait (1943)
89% on rotten tomatoes

“Spoiled playboy Henry van Cleve (Don Ameche) dies and arrives at the entrance to Hell, a final destination he is sure he deserves after living a life of profligacy. The devil (Laird Cregar), however, isn’t so sure Henry meets Hell’s standards. Convinced he is where he belongs, Henry recounts his life’s deeds, both good and bad, including an act of indiscretion during his 25-year marriage to his wife, Martha (Gene Tierney), with the hope that “His Excellency” will arrive at the proper judgment.“-IMDb

6. Dragonwyck (1946)
Only 67% on rotten tomatoes but it still sounds interesting to me, plus Vincent Price.

"For Miranda Wells (Gene Tierney), moving to New York to live in Dragonwyck Manor with her rich cousin, Nicholas (Vincent Price), seems like a dream. However, the situation gradually becomes nightmarish. She observes Nicholas’ troubled relationship with his tenant farmers, as well as with his daughter (Connie Marshall), to whom Miranda serves as governess. Her relationship with Nicholas intensifies after his wife dies, but his mental imbalance threatens any hope of happiness.”-IMDb

7. The Egyptian (1954)
61% on rotten tomatoes, not great reviews but I love anything to do with ancient Egypt. The clips I saw looked interesting, and the costumes are divine.

“In ancient Egypt, Sinuhe (Edmund Purdom) is a would-be doctor who saves the life of a young man (Michael Wilding) suffering from a seizure. When the afflicted youth awakes, he introduces himself as the Pharaoh Akhnaton and makes Sinuhe the royal healer. While working at his new, prestigious post, Sinuhe suffers through a botched romance and the death of his adoptive parents. Despondent, he leaves the Pharaoh’s court to bury his loved ones, and, in the process, incurs the wrath of Akhnaton.”-IMDb

If anyone is interested in watching the documentary on Gene Tierney’s life and career the link can be found below. (Note that the documentary is chopped up into parts, but they are easy to find in the side margins):

#32: In The Nineties, I Worked As A Television Producer. Here’s Why I Quit. 

By: DoubleDoorBastard

Length: Long

It’s a popular belief that the television industry is a big, incestuous cabal of dirty dealings and messes swept fastidiously under the rug. As a person who’s worked in pretty much every job that business has to offer - from collecting the coffee to full-on producing and directing - I have no intention of dispelling any of those notions. The whole game is a goddamn toxic mess and I’m glad I got out of it, but lemme tell you, it’s what they don’t release to the public that’s so much worse.

There are a million stories about people getting eaten by the machine - chewed up, and shat out on the sidewalk to bake in the LA sun. Countless budding writers, aspiring starlets, and big, glitzy personalities have been crushed under the collective boot of the business I’ve long been a part of.

But I’ll leave those for the tabloids. I’m not here to spill the beans on the heroin addiction of a nineties child star, or the breakdown of numerous pop princesses after they’ve been built up and knocked down by the latest “groundbreaking” talent show.

I’m just here to talk about Colleen Fairweather.

She was slated to be NBC’s golden girl in the nineties - a screen presence with brains, charm, and versatility. There was a certain magic to Colleen that hadn’t quite been seen before or since, and she was one of the rare people in show business who I was sure - despite all the cut-throat politics of it all - would have her pick of the networks. I was lucky to work with her on a handful of projects, and I can attest to the peculiar magnetism she had.

Let me guess, at this point you’re probably wondering “If she’s all that, why haven’t I heard of her?”

We’ll get to that. Don’t worry.

Colleen had a handful of minor roles on talk and variety shows, though I believe those episodes of their respective shows have been cut from syndication. Bring up the name Colleen Fairweather to Letterman and I guarantee you the old bastard will get misty. That’s the nature of the trade, when you’re someone like her, everyone knows you.

And when you’re someone like her, everyone is equally willing to deny your existence once you’ve gone.

That’s showbiz, kid.

My brushes with Colleen were mostly relatively transitory, just little “Hellos” and “How’s it goings” whenever we crossed paths. My last major professional interaction with her was a production role on a pilot that’d been her baby since long before she got into the television business. She told me she’d had the idea copyrighted since her mid-twenties. Anyone else who pulled something like that would get laughed out of town, but not her. She added a certain gravitas to everything she pitched.

“It’s gonna be big, Mike,” She told me, her voice full of that trademark unwavering confidence, “It’s new, it’s fresh. It’s the enema television needs right now.”

“Are you sure it’s not a little, I dunno, esoteric?” I remember asking, while reading the written pitch over again.

“Esoteric? Nothing esoteric about it, Mike. Fear is in the blood of the American people, we love it. We feed on it.”

“Alright, Lovecraft, calm down. Look, I have faith in the fact you could execute it, but I have no idea how we’re gonna sell this to the network. It could destroy our credibility.”

“Not if it’s true.”

This gave me a pause.

“The thing is, Mike, the American public is getting sick of being drip-fed celebrity gossip and fluff pieces like they’re on some kind of shitty IV. That’s what all the other talk shows are doing. We can release something really impactful here, Mike, something that can change the game.”

“Well, Colleen, you said it yourself: only if it’s true. No network will buy some jackoff host screaming at pretend spooks.”

Time would later prove me wrong on that one, as a quick browse through modern entertainment channels will easily tell you.

“You’re gonna have to give me a leap of faith on this one, Mike. I’ve got a contact, something special - something real. We just need to produce a pilot, that’s it. I guarantee you the network will be on it like flies on shit.”

I reclined in my chair and sighed, rubbing a hand across my already balding cranium. There could sometimes be an unsettling intensity to her, perhaps just a symptom of overconfidence, but she was a hard person to say no to. In another life, she could have been a dictator on some tinpot nation in the pacific.

“Okay.” I said with a sigh, finally breaking, “But on your head be it if this thing gets rejected. Don’t expect me to take the fall for Casper the friendly fucking ghost.”

She nodded and smiled, knowing that she’d gotten what she wanted.

It was going to be called “Fairweather Nightmares”, a talk-show with guests who weren’t celebrities, but people who have had brushes with the frightening, gruesome, or paranormal. The serial killer victim that got away, the alien abductee, the person who had irrefutable evidence that their house was haunted by a malevolent spirit. If it’d been pitched to me half a decade earlier, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but the X-Files craze had been sweeping the nation and paranormal fuckery seemed to be the flavor of the month.

The show would have been an okay cash-grab if it could be produced cheaply, just making a quick buck off the American zeitgeist. But she didn’t see it like that, no, she wanted it to be some groundbreaking landmark of television rather than the corny ratings ploy I was looking at.

Perhaps back then she saw further than I, but looking back, we were both deluded.

Keep reading


Happy Birthday Vincent Leonard Price Jr. (May 27, 1911 - October 25, 1993)

“I don’t take myself seriously at all. Maybe I should’ve, but I don’t, because I really think of life as a great expression of joy. And if you take yourself seriously, you’re gonna be defeated.”

“I sometimes feel that I’m impersonating the dark unconscious of the whole human race. I know this sounds sick, but I love it.”


MUAHAHAHAHA //lightning flashes
Mad scientist Q is really fun to draw. Bond is just confused.

I wrote a mini story to go with it. I don’t write as much as I draw, and I did it in quite a rush. It’s also unbeta-ed and not Brit picked so please go easy on me :’D

ETA: Now on AO3!

Summary: They warned him not to go near the old house on the hill. They did tell him that a mad scientist lived there, and that human bodies were seen delivered to the house and that he would be next if he did not heed their advice.

So of course, Bond finds himself at the doorsteps of the aforementioned house on one stormy night.


James Bond was an observant man.

It was practically a job requirement. Agents in his field who lack this particular characteristic tend to find their career very short-lived (as well as well, their lifespan). But Bond had to admit that even the densest person could not miss spotting the huge, conspicuous house en route to the little town of Framlingham. The lightning flash behind the old house did add a dramatic effect to his first sight of the house.

“What can anyone tell me about the house up on the hill on the way to town?” Bond asked the folks of Suffolk a couple of hours later in one of the local pubs.

The question was met with a collective silence in the pub (though one of the more drunk men squeaked and fell off his seat). Some whispering occurred amongst them, glancing at Bond surreptitiously a few times before the barman, a burly old man with a fine and bushy beard, stepped up, followed by the rest of the towns people.

“The big, ol’ one with the patchy roof?”


“With the run down shutters and delipidated walls?“


“Ugly door knockers?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t gotten close enough to judge on the aesthetics of the door knockers, sir.”

“Well, then it’s better that you didn’t get close enough to be able to see them,” the barman warned darkly.

“A mad scientist lives there!” a waitress raved.

Bond snorted.

“You may scoff,” the waitress sneered, “But plenty of us have seen large packages delivered to his house. Human sized packages.”

“Maybe he’s lonely, you know those life sized dolls-”

And,” a new person cut in, this time a young man, “the store I work for supplies his groceries. I’ve made deliveries and every time I do, he never shows himself, but he talks to me using a disembodied voice at the front door. And he cackles when he thinks I’ve left. And his name on his credit card payment is Abra Cadaver. Who has names like that?”

“At least it doesn’t rhyme with cannibal,” Bond smirked.

He was met with dirty looks from everyone.

“Our point is, stay away from that house if you value your life.”


Apparently, Bond was very bad at listening to advice.

He knew this already of course, with M, Tanner and that old fart at Q-Branch taking turns in lecturing him everyday on The Importance of Listening to Their Advice, but this had to be the worst case of Very Bad Ideas.

Seventeen hours after his successful mission, Bond found himself at the front door of the house that everyone warned him to stay away from. To be fair, it was not his fault that his MI-6 issued car broke down (bloody Q-Branch) right in the middle of a fierce thunderstorm thirty minutes away from town with the house being the nearest and only shelter. But between a possible mad scientist who might or might not cut him up for crazy experiments, and the crazy thunderstorm which looks set to drown anyone who remains outdoors for five minutes, he will take the chance with the mad scientist.

But bugger him sideways if the door knocker really was very ugly, Bond grimaced as he grabbed the tongue of the gargoyle door knocker and knocked three times.

Thunder struck the moment a disembodied, crackling voice could be heard above him.

“Evening. Sorry my speaker is broken, I know I sound like Vincent Price with a cold on it. State your business.”

Well, that solves the mystery of the disembodied voice.

“Sorry, would you mind putting me up at least until the thunderstorm is over?”

A pause, some static and more crackling before the voice said, “Come in.” And the doors opened inwards with an ominous creak.

Bond stepped in, and the first thing he thought was that bloody hell, this place smells of death and decay. It was also filthy as hell. The walls were brown with grime and there were paper and unknown materials strewn about everywhere. Bond was getting giddy from the terrible smell of rotting meat. He almost did not notice the cackling in the background. Following the laughter, he trudged forward past the living room to the steel door marked “Test Chamber Ahead”, and opened it hesitantly.

The first thing Bond thought when he opened the door was, “Well shit, the Suffolk folk might be right about Mr. Abra Cadaver after all.”

The second thing Bond thought was that well, at least he was a hot mad scientist.

Really, he should not be finding a skinny looking kid with a bird’s nest for hair attractive, but there was something compelling about the boy’s slender form and red lips. The part where he was laughing evilly while mixing chemicals in conical flasks, waving test tubes in his hands and poking and prodding at what looked like a green hand while bouncing around the table was a little bit off putting though. The green, glowing goggles that the kid was wearing coupled with his tousled hair did not help with the image either. But instead of stepping away quietly while his presence was not detected from the potentially dangerous scientist who was currently picking up a glass jar that contained what looked like a human brain, Bond did the stupidest thing he could do.

Bond cleared his throat, causing the young man to finally notice him.

“Good lord!” the mop-haired man jumped, “Forgive my rudeness, I was distracted by the promising results of my experiment that I forgot that I let you in.” Bond suddenly sincerely hoped that this man would never encounter an assassination attempt because he would probably not last very long.

“The folks at Framlingham told me about you, Mr. Cadaver.”

To his surprise (or maybe not), the man started laughing heartily.

“Talked to Ben from the grocer’s I see? They tell you that I’m a mad scientist then? Though they’re probably right sometimes, experiments can be so aggravating when they don’t go as one envisioned.”

“They did tell me about your ugly door knocker, which I do have to agree about,” Bond replied.

“Barbarians. Nobody appreciates gargoyles nowadays,” the scientist sniffed.

“Your house is filthy. Your mold has mold growing on them”

“A scientist doesn’t have time for trivial matters like spring cleaning.“ the man said simply. "I never did get your name, Mr…?”

“Bond, James Bond.”

“Well Mr. Bond, I’m afraid I’ll have to kill you now, as you have seen my secret projects,” Mr. Cadaver’s glasses glinted.

Bond tensed, his hand twitching for his Walther in his holster.

“Joking, you didn’t think that I really was a mad scientist, did you?” the scientist laughed and went back to poking at the brain in the jar.

Speechless, Bond stared at the man thinking that he really was mad to joke about killing a Double-Oh. Instead of voicing this, he decided to ask a question that has been bugging him since he entered the room.

“Where did you get those from?” Bond gestured in the general direction of the various body parts pickled in jars.

“Government provided. Biomechanics is a rather important subject at the moment.”

“So you’re working for the government.”

“Technically. They did offer me a role in MI-6, but I didn’t think that it’d be interesting.”

“MI-6.” Bond deadpanned.

“Yes, and I assume that you are a Double-Oh? Based on that Walther PPK you are sporting under your jacket and that Q-Branch standard issue ear radio receiver.”


“Major Boothroyd and I happened to be friends, and he has been trying to recruit me as his successor for over a decade.” Mr. Cadaver smirked.

“I can imagine that the old man is not very happy about you continuously declining him. That pompous old man has been trying to retire for years.” Bond smirked.

“Oh I can imagine, with headaches like you Double-Ohs to look after.”

Bond laughed, maybe this mad scientist would be better company than he thought.


The next day, Bond repaired the man’s roof before returning to MI-6.

“By the way, my name’s not really Abra Cadaver,” the scientist said when sending Bond off, “And no, you won’t be able to find out my real name.”

True to his word, not even Major Boothroyd knew of the boy’s name, but it seemed that he was telling the truth about his acquaintance with Boothroyd.

Two days later, Major Boothroyd announced his retirement as Quartermaster of MI-6 and called for an emergency meeting with the entire operatives staff and the Double Oh faction to introduce his replacement. Bond was not surprised when the mad scientist he met during the stormy night stepped up to introduce himself.

“I thought you didn’t find MI-6 interesting?” Bond questioned the new Q as Q outfitted Bond for the first time for a mission.

“Mmm, MI-6 suddenly got interesting two night ago,” Q shrugged as he passed to Bond a gun and a radio.

“By the way, here’s a little extra something for your mission.” Q handed Bond a small box and left.

Bond opened the box and laughed.

It was the ugly as hell door knocker.