Book Review: Glamour Ghoul by Sandra Niemi

A compelling, moving chronicle that over-performs on every level

Do you know Vampira? If so, maybe you know her, like me, from Tim Burton's 1994 film Ed Wood, in which she is never referred to by her actual name—Maila Nurmi. Or maybe you know her from the Misfits song. Or maybe you know of her only vaguely, from the gauzy way in which her name has been attached to that of Elvira.

It is hard to overstate just how famous Vampira was for one vanishingly brief window of time in 1954. The creation of an essentially unknown actress, Maila Nurmi, Vampira was the host of a late-night program on Los Angeles' local ABC affiliate ABC 7, in which she showed public domain horror films starring the likes of Bela Lugosi and offered innuendo-laced commentary. From the launching pad of local late-night television, she wound up on live, nationally broadcast variety shows, and was featured in national magazines and papers across the country. And then a contract wasn't renewed, and... poof. Later, in the 1980s, there was a new spark of interest in the name, but soon it was attached dismissively to a failed lawsuit against Elvira, and the connotation was that some has-been was trying to cash in cynically on a new performer's success.

Maila in Vampira garb in a famous 1954 photo from Life magazine

I have written on this site many times about the impact watching (and re-watching ad infinitum) Ed Wood had on me and the direction of my professional and creative life. So I feel like going into this book I knew maybe as much about Vampira as anybody who didn't know Maila Nurmi personally. She was the actual character model for Disney's Maleficent, in addition to her TV show. But after the limelight of the 1950s faded, she was reduced to dire poverty, living by herself in an apartment that sometimes didn't have basic utilities. In her later years, Maila sold jewelry on Melrose Avenue in Los Angeles, made friends with a few people, like the comedian Dana Gould, who both helped her as her physical ailments overwhelmed her, and also were sometimes on the receiving end of her mercurial and curmudgeonly temperament. When she passed, there were online fundraisers, in the days when MySpace still stalked the Earth, for her interment and headstone, in which I participated. About ten years ago, an excellent documentary called Vampira and Me came out, which includes the only surviving kinescope footage from her TV show. I knew all of this going into Glamour Ghoul, but friends, I was not prepared.

This book was written by Maila's niece, Sandra Niemi, the daughter of Maila's estranged and never-reconciled brother. She and Maila only met once, when Sandra took a sightseeing trip to Los Angeles. Sandra is neither a writer, historian, nor researcher, so I have to admit, my expectations going into the book were pretty low. As it happens, Maila had been working off-and-on at an autobiography for many years. She kept stacks of notes and diaries, and some cassettes on which she'd recorded aspects of her story. Sandra worked through all of this material to tell a profoundly engaging story with a final emotional punch that I won't spoil, but recounts a circumstance that simply wouldn't have ever happened if the author had not undertaken the writing of this book.

Maila Nurmi grew up in a Finnish immigrant community where her most likely prospect for the future was working in a fish canning factory. So in 1941, at age 18, she got on a bus for Hollywood. A stunning beauty, it didn't take her long to catch the attention of people like Orson Welles, who impregnated her and then vanished from her life. In interviews in later years, Maila would discuss being seduced by Welles, and claim that he gave her the clap. This book reveals that instead, this was Maila's little personal code for "child," and a way to throw shade at Welles without revealing the true nature of their relationship, and the pain involved in giving her child up for adoption.

Maila Nurmi, 1947

As the decade rolled over into the 1950s, Maila became a fixture of Googie's diner, which was both a social scene and the inspiration for an architectural style. She became close friends with Marlon Brando (the book does not discuss whether or not their relationship exceeded the bounds of friendship, but given Brando's reputation, it seems like a reasonable conclusion), and was perhaps closer to James Dean than anyone else. His death destroyed Maila, and left her feeling completely unmoored, coming in close proximity to the loss of her show. Brando seems to have done all he could to help—paying for her to go to therapy and paying her phone bill for years so the two of them could stay connected and Maila could stay connected to the outside world, from which she was withdrawing.

After sliding deeper and deeper into poverty, the book discusses the afternoon where four weird-looking guys showed up at her apartment and peered through her window. When Maila went to chase them off, she discovered they were... The Misfits. They adored Vampira, and asked her to come make an appearance at their record release show that night in Hollywood. This began a return to the spotlight, and kicked off new interest in the character.

This is where the book does a tremendous service to the memory of Maila (and Vampira). Sandra dives deep into the circumstances leading up to the lawsuit against ABC 7 and Elvira, and the lawsuit itself. Contrary to the popular understanding of the suit, ABC 7 actually approached Maila and Cassandra Petersen about launching a new version of the Vampira show, in which Vampira would be Elvira's grandmother. Negotiations went on for some time, contracts were signed, but then ABC 7 decided to go ahead with the show without Maila. Cassandra Petersen became Elvira and continues her success with the character to this day. Sandra reveals through documentation that Maila was the victim of her own poverty, having to rely on ineffectual lawyers who missed deadlines and misfiled paperwork, leading to the dismissal of the suit (did didn't lose on the merits) and her being cut out of participation in the Elvira show that she was entitled to.

Even though Maila never truly rose out of the poverty that dogged her, the resurgence of Vampira's name recognition, coupled with the attention to Edward D. Wood, Jr. that came about largely as a result of the Tim Burton movie, did allow Maila to make meaningful connections with a younger generation of fans and friends. After she passed and Sandra received all of her papers and recordings, Sandra did some digging into things that Maila never had access to, and uncovers a truly powerful revelation that literally left me in tears as I finished the book.

In the end, this book is a gift to fans of old horror movies, fans of Hollywood history, and in a very real sense, to a few specific individuals who have a greater understanding of themselves in the world as a result of this book.

The Math

Highlights: A loving but nuanced portrait of a complicated individual, amazing 1950s old Hollywood vibes, unequalled context added to a pop culture mystery that seemed straightforward

Nerd Coefficient: 9/10.

Reference: Niemi, Sandra. Glamour Ghoul: The Passions and Pain of the Real Vampira [Feral House, 2021].

Posted by Vance K—resident cult film reviewer and co-founder of nerds of a feather, flock together

Review: Napoleon

Ridley Scott's historical epic is wildly weird, ribald, and absolutely breathtaking at times

Director Ridley Scott — 85 years old! — is known for his far-ranging career in sci-fi and historical epics: Alien, Blade Runner, Gladiator, The Martian, The Last Duel, House of Gucci.

Adding to his pantheon is Napoleon, which isn't a biopic in the traditional sense, isn't saccharinely grandiose and inspiring, and isn't necessarily all accurate. Does this take away from how enjoyable it is? Absolutely not.

Scott spares no expense in his grand set pieces occupying locations from the French Revolution to Egypt to Russia, and he sweeps thousands of soldiers (both real and CGI) across the plains of Europe like so many chessmen on a board. He's a master of his craft, and when I heard the first whispers that this movie was coming out, I knew I'd be there with (tri-color) bells on.

A brief detour to my love of all things French

Before we get started, I'd like to tell you a little about myself and my interest in the Little Corporal. (I found myself in the theatre wondering why every other person in the theatre was so interested in a three-hour movie about a 19th-century French general). I know why I was there, why is that grandma!?!

I have always been a history buff, and I have a degree in French literature. One thing about me—if there's a period piece set in Paris, I'm gonna see it. I've also been slowly reading the epic 900-page doorstop of a biography Napoleon: A Life by Andrew Roberts.

Our general wrote tens of thousands of letters during his life, and though I'm only 200-ish pages in, it became immediately apparent that this man was wild. More emotional than I ever imagined, brilliant, capable, and utterly obsessed with his empress, Josephine. He was, in a word, emo.

Ridley Scott has stated that he didn't have to read a book like this—that it was the poor scriptwriter's job to condense the life of one of the most famous men in history into a few short hours. The Napoleon that Scott chooses to bring to life is fascinating and weird, and the film itself has a wildly strange tone that I guarantee no one will see coming.

For this post, I'm going to structure my discussion in 5 exclamations/short phrases, along with the caveat that it's a movie worth seeing. It's just not that movie you may be expecting.

Horny

Napoleon is really two movies: The first, about a Corsican general's successes and failures on the battlefield. The other is a psycho-sexual drama between Napoleon and Josephine. 

The relationship is ribald and coarse and full of machinations à la Dangerous Liaisons. The movie follows this schema literally, too—you'll see an epic battle, then it'll cut to Nap & Jo on a couch, having a weird and tense conversation about how she never writes. 4 years will pass, another battle, another couch, rinse and repeat. There are awkward, stilted love scenes, and it's never quite clear if Josephine actually likes her emperor, though she definitely plays his games. Unfortunately, they didn't include my favorite bit of Napoleon trivia: in a letter to her, he once said, "Will arrive in 3 days. Don't wash." Man was into some pheromones!

SO interesting

Despite the weird tone of this movie, it's nearly impossible to take your eyes off the screen. I found myself waiting nearly two hours to sneak away and use the bathroom because I didn't want to miss anything. The highlight of the film is the Battle of Austerlitz, in which Napoleon beats the Austrian army with surprise tactics and then uses artillery to chase them off the ice of the frozen lake. 

The scenes where men and horses fall into the water are brilliant and artistic. There are things in Napoleon that I definitely have never seen before, and that's wild considering director Scott is nearing 90. There is also absolutely brutal gore that makes Saving Private Ryan seem like Hogan's Heroes.

Spectacular costumes

Is there anything cooler than the wild colors and extravagant tailoring of a French general? Methinks not, and this movie was a visual feast for folks like me. Ther are even impeccable small details, like the tricolor sashes wrapped around the waists of soldiers, signifying their loyalty to the republic. 

The women's dresses are equally as stunning; there's just (surprise) not as many women in the film. By the ending, Napoleon has switched to a khaki-colored overcoat that looks for all the world like the one Inspector Gadget wears. It works.

Empty, in a weird way, especially for a grandiose epic

Joaquin Phoenix was a strange choice for this role, and I'm not sure where he got his direction to play Napoleon like he does. One would assume Scott, but who knows? His portrayal is cold, weird, and surprisingly lacking in any sort of emotion. The real Napoleon suffered not from a Napoleon complex (he was actually of normal height) but from a Corsican complex: his family was Corsican, not French, and he didn't come from lofty riches. We get none of this in the movie, only his obsession with Josephine—which is definitely true, but this movie makes it seem nearly completely one-sided.

Also missing from this depiction of Napoleon is what made him a cult of personality. We see a brief glimpse of him charming his soldiers (including when he returns from exile), but that's about it. He doesn't seem like a leader, in the George Washington / Horatio Nelson / Alexander the Great type way.

Finally, I know a movie can only contain so much, but Napoleon speaks only to his success on the battlefield. In reality, he was also a keen civil organizer who introduced incredible public works, an entire civil code that would go on to influence law all across the globe, and wide-ranging and surprisingly liberal religious & educational reform.

Funnier than anyone will expect it to be

Most movies have moments of comic relief. Napoleon has yawning chasms of absurdity that crack open a scene, taking you out of the history and into a different place. I found myself laughing out loud at least a dozen times—sometimes I was the only one, though. There's one scene where he's rebuffed by the English foreign minister and Napoleon, in a fit of rage, screams something akin to "You think you're so great because you HAVE BOATS!!" It's true, the French navy was nothing compared to the ocean-ruling power of the English navy, but the way he spits out his frustration is nothing but funny.

On top of the strange one-liners ("Destiny has led me to this lamp chop"), Phoenix's performance is just so wildly weird that you can't help laugh every now and again. He's very serious, and he does a good job; you just have to wonder for the entire movie what he was trying to convey. 

Lots have been said about how the film was trimmed down. Speaking for myself, I can't wait for the director's cut that will tip it into 4-hour territory.

POSTED BY: Haley Zapal, NoaF contributor and lawyer-turned-copywriter living in Atlanta, Georgia. A co-host of Hugo Award-winning podcast Hugo, Girl!, she posts on Instagram as @cestlahaley. She is an avid Francophile and once had to announce a moratorium on gifts featuring the Eiffel Tower or art featuring croissants because her family was going overboard.

Microreview [comics]: The Fifth Beatle

Tiwary, Vivek J., Andrew C. Robinson and Kyle Baker. The Fifth Beatle [Dark Horse, 2013].

Available via: Independent Bookstores; Amazon 

The Meat

Graphic novel The Fifth Beatle, published last week by Dark Horse comics, was a labor of love by writer Vivek Tiwary, who felt that in all the mountains of volumes ever written on the Beatles, there had never been a fitting amount of ink devoted to the story of Brian Epstein, the band's manager. He's right — Epstein has largely been relegated to the corners of the Beatles' story, possibly because of his early death at age 32 in 1967, and his attendant inability to get his own version of events out there and write books and whatnot. The problem with The Fifth Beatle is that it may string together a series of events that tell a more-or-less complete story, but there's very little emotional or psychological insight or storytelling prowess on display here, so the whole thing seems a bit like a very pretty Cliff's Notes version of a better work.

Epstein was Jewish, and secretly gay, which were two big strikes against him in a blue-collar, Protestant town like Liverpool in the early 1960s. While working at his family's record store, he saw local band The Beatles perform, and got the crazy idea that they could be "bigger than Elvis." Epstein talked the boys into letting him manage them, even though he'd never attempted to do anything like that before. He paid for them to record a demo, shaped their image, got them signed to a record deal, and a couple of years later they were, in fact, bigger than Elvis. But according to The Fifth Beatle, Epstein was never satisfied, was obsessed by mistakes he had made, like negotiating a bad deal for merchandising rights, and fell into prescription drug abuse to combat his exhaustion and homosexuality, until he overdosed and died at home after Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band was released.

I kept feeling like the pieces for a compelling story were all in front of me while reading this graphic novel, but they never came together. Epstein's struggles were all internal — he certainly had every trapping of external success and accomplishment — yet this book does a poor job of conveying anything but the externalities. Sure, I can take a guess as to what it may have felt like to have always felt like an outsider, always harboring secrets and fear, but this telling doesn't help me out any. And then in the final pages, it takes such a bizarre, Surreal turn that hinges around Epstein's assistant Moxie, a character I didn't know was a composite character, made up of several people who filled many roles in Epstein's life, that I found myself lost. I had to Google Moxie, and after a little background reading, found the ending a little more comprehensible. But it seems like a big mistake to make, assuming a baseline level of knowledge in your audience about a story you're telling because you don't think enough people know about it...

The Math

Baseline Assessment: 6/10

Bonuses: +1 for the hand-painted, watercolor artwork by Andrew Robinson. It's quite remarkable, even if much of the overt symbolism on the pages is heavy-handed.

Penalties: -1 for its inability to get inside its main character; -1 for a clumsy ending

Nerd Coefficient: 5/10. Equal parts good and bad.