In the summer of 1988, whilst living in Wausau, Wisconsin, the setting of the SYFY channel's engaging Revival, (oddly enough, also Stephen King novel title) my sister Pee-Wee and I hit a bookstore much like Kenosha's long-gone but core memory, The Paperback Exchange. I waxed nostalgic about that joint here.
I bought a hardcover copy of Steve's Skeleton Crew, a short story collection. I decided my beat-to-shit paperback wasn't holding its water anymore, so I bought a beat-to-shit hardcover.
I know, it sounds stupid, but there's a logic there. A ROB logic. Anyways, when I opened it up, a leaflet fell out, which was one of the short stories from the book, The Monkey.
It was from one of those magazines that you wouldn't want your mom to know you look at. I didn't know what to make of it, but I held on to the leaflet for a while. Eventually it got beat-to-shit in nature, (tired of that hackneyed terminology yet?) and had to be tossed, and I didn't really think much of it. Now, the damned thing is selling online for an ungodly amount. (I'm not of a mind to discuss specifics). It draws up negative emotions not unlike the time that I gave a box of basketball cards to my adored nephew, a box that just happened to contain that legendary Fleer Michael Jordan rookie card...
I'm gonna change the fucking subject now. Ahem.
So, Frani and I watched Osgood Perkins' recent The Monkey. As you well know, the entertainment world is engaged in Phase Two of the Stephen King filmic explosion. A renaissance of the highest order. for the last eight years or so, the man (and I literally mean THE MAN) has had a cinematic and small-screen renaissance. I really hit that hard in last year's Samhain Project. The Monkey is brilliant. It is not a mimeograph of the short story, but contains enough of the original's creepiness to own up to its pedigree.
Perkins is the son of legendary Anthony Perkins, and the talent for the eerie has definitely been passed down. His brief appearance here is also a chucklefest. (Way back in the Anchor Bay days, his supporting turn in the zom-com Dead & Breakfast was pretty amusing, too.) Filmography wise, he's responsible for the chilling The Blackcoat's Daughter, and the absolutely menacing Longlegs. He tells a great story in general, but here he mixes in a generous sprinkling of jet-black humor that makes you laugh while (at least, if you're like me, feeling slightly guilty) looking around the room to see if anyone else is.
The concept of two brothers and their connection to a wind-up stuffed monkey that bangs his cymbals together with results from hell is retained here, but given modern sentiment, and severely twisted characters, and a comic glue that holds it all together. I loved The Monkey, while Frani was hoping for less goof, more oof, she still enjoyed it. As it is wrapped in uniqueness, I thought it would be a great start for this year's Samhain Project, which I'm sure you'll notice if you pay any attention to this thing of mine, I'm starting a tad early this year.
Why? Because I love it, and the longer what's now become known as Spooky Season lasts, the happier I am.
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