Workprint Burial Grounds…..

More obscurities……

A bootlegged work-print (– or “work-in-progress”)

Watch, as they were toying around with how to edit the ending. (A very “rough-cut”) before all the effects were “wrapped” in post-production.

You get a sense of “filmed possibilities” or unexplored tangents “mostly left on the cutting-room floor” like outtakes and miscues, taking on the appearance of an early student film.

This is called “coverage”, as in “COVER-MY-ASS” to hit all the bases once the essential celluloid is “in the can”, and what they director and editing team “have to work with”.

The moving image….. MOVIE MAGIC.

Somehow, this is all cobbled together by genius “big picture” thinkers to make a completed product, thanks to the contributions of hundreds.

You only see “the cream” on top…… as THE SLOG to get there is completely taken for granted by hyper-active 9 year-old’s. They say, too much “low-hanging fruit” will only make a youth SPOILED and quite sick with a media diet that leads to indigestion when they encounter the brutal facts of life.

Pass the NES controller, Bart Simpson!!

Workprint Burial Grounds…..



Hell…… when there is no more room, “THE DEAD WILL WALK THE EARTH”.

Exurbs, countryside…… intergalactic elevators unto hellish, degraded, LOWER forms of non-existence.

Bleaker landscapes, stormy alien worlds……. uncanny, sure. Gray crud, a mountain of cancerous, ossified skulls like mineralized intestines, BURN BLACK.

Uncanny, sure…… as “a symptom of the sick, sick universe”.

Elaborate systems, wheels of time—if not five-pointed pentagrams and general unpleasantries as described by ancient occult orders. Returning, “by hearsay” with a crude road map of scribbles and strange-signage, like an old crumpled bus schedule.

Or even a community bulletin—“the trash pick-up service” as provided by the local netherworld municipality and other bureaucratic lore.

“Bring out your dead!”

No luck for “working stiffs”…… or even the husks of those whom “died” in the after-life.

For surely, they will be recycled into the flittering, antenna mind of a stag-beetle in this burrowing earth of mud, death, “and overall shittiness”.

Molten gold, leering goblin-faces, crystal skeleton keys….. so it is written.

Hierarchies of demons are described in dusty grimoires, a kind of neo-Roman army of legionnaires, trumpeters, prefects, captains of the guard along the walls of “DEATH CAPITOL”, the mountains of Hades rising in the distance…… but one has the sneaking suspicion that despite all the pageantry and ritual, your cremated bones will be pounded to ashes “and that’s the end of you”.

A cold shiver running down your greasy spine, like the root-evolution of a knotty horseshoe crab and nerve endings like the roots of a sub-world tree….. the BIG, LONG NOW like an endless droning silence as “the punch-line” is a ghoul pulling off their face to reveal a screaming skull.

The dimensions of reality “curl back in on themselves” like a riddle, a spiraling demise, a sacred geometry. An ironic punishment, but “with no answer”.

A form reveals itself…… Beetlejuice hanging off the trash-truck, out for “a joy ride”. Along the Helldarado of bones, BORN TO RAISE HELL and TOO YOUNG TO DIE. Though he’s over 700 years old, his infectious laugh plagues the pilgrim, the tourist, the lost.

Don’t hitchhike, Lydia. I’d turn around and shuffle away “fast as you can” in those funereal black rags and mourning garb. Draw a door in the air with your finger, grab the knob-sketch, and walk back through from whence you came—like Dorothy clicking her ruby slippers together and figuring “THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME”.

Spoken “3 times”…… NO, DON’T SAY IT!!! Not the “B-word”.

But there’s another word, “B” for “Box-Office BUSINESS”.

That’s 2 “B’s”. There…… at a sequel near you.

There’s more where that came from…… Keep watching, kids!


“Could Be”……

Credit where credit is due……


Smoke ’em if you got ’em…… no more reflective than a maggot at feeding-time and twice as verbal. Ashes-to-ashes & Dust-to-dust as the property is not dead, only “on break”.

And remember, hell is Universal– only worse for “fresh meat”, right-off the slab in the misbegotten scheme of things.

Life is a gas station and a bag of chips. He puts “The Jerk” in beef-jerky and will jerk-around “the cast-off’s” hapless enough to say the name of he-who-cannot-be-named.


“Video Graveyard”…… Netherworld Obscura…… Do you call on the dark?


Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice!


“Could Be”……

Tower Grove Inferno, ’79


There was an interesting part, in both their proto-careers when Michael Keaton & James Belushi almost starred in the same sit-com about roommates, perhaps in the industrial brown-stone civic beer-hall of Pittsburgh. Or maybe “it was Cincinnati”.

But that sort of blue-collar/ethnic comedy? Speak to me about the run-down, Democratic cities and you wouldn’t have to tunnel “too deep into the netherworld” to find yourself in good ole’ south St. Louis.

Lots of beer breweries, mesh baseball caps, handle-bar mustaches, and gonzo Jim Henson Children’s Television Workshop value “this side of Cheech n’ Chong….. Ted Nugent’s “Cat Scratch Fever” wailing on the record player as they knock back dark-brown Busch bottles.

Furniture? Thy name is a milk-crate and a big-bellied, droop-earlobed plaster Buddha statue like an altar to pot and “DEATH TO DISCO”, if not an amateur herpatologist’s snake-cage humming in the corner under a pink light as simple house-plants beat in the pungent breeze by the sun-dappled window and smell of BBQ’d pork steaks.

Call it “the crash pad”…… eeking out a hole-in-the-wall existence amid the tumbled, jutting-up sidewalk where weeds grow in-between the cracks like Popsicle juice and New Left murals of peace & togetherness, ecumenical Cathedral mass and the bleeding thorns of Italian-Roman Jesus and hokey parochial school by the scratching quill of St. Aquinas.

You’d better believe it…… your day-job at ole’ “Channderson Electric” like something out of DANTE’S INFERNO with trenches of molten-metal and flying-sparks. Your roommate, in mustard-yellow and green coveralls smelling of fried wires and arc-welded ozone.

And Friday? A good ole’ party. Beetlejuice will see you there as he crashes on someone’s couch like some foul, work-shy scheme by which a dream floats like armpit stench and dark circles under his eyes. It’s the night-shift in the morgue, if you working-stiff’s didn’t know enough to gather your beer-bottles close “from free-loader’s” and faster, ingratiating talk.

Does anybody know this guy? He just “sort of showed-up” and no one knows for sure…..

And this is for all you animals, INFERNO-ROOM style at the ole’ Delta House. Don’t be “that guy”…..

Tower Grove Inferno, ’79

Netherworld “Top 40”

(Or maybe not)…..

we must make a movie pleasant to the sensibilities of the ticket-buying public.

Here’s an Article about How Harry Belafonte got involved with the original “Beetlejuice”.




Netherworld “Top 40”

The Subcontracted Plagues of Egypt


“So let it be written….. so let it be done”.

Easter and Passover fall on the same weekend and you can’t help but think of the annual broadcast of “THE TEN COMMANDMENTS” starring Charlton Heston in this biblical pot-boiler.

A 1950’s Hollywood mega-production of spectacle and manifest Christendom to lure audiences away from the free entertainment on small-screen t.v.’s.

Rollicking, blood, scalping, and thunder….. and the 10 Plagues of Egypt.

Just read over these– rivers turning to blood, the descent of frogs & locusts, and “creeping death” robbing Egyptian households “of the first-born”. This sounds like the handiwork of Beetlejuice, perhaps subcontracted “by the spirit world” to sow mischief.

After all, the spirit “set loose” in THE EXORCIST was a middle-Eastern demon arisen from an ancient curse to bedevil modern man, true enough “as it would be” back in days of yore.

As for his moral credentials? Just look at “Six Flags”…..

You can’t guarantee that the character “running the laser light-show” at a theme park is necessarily “a holy character”, along with vendors selling hotdogs and t-shirts, but as long as “the seem well-groomed, enough” and show up to work on time– promoters “will look the other way”.

I’ve seen gnarled-up, porky types snarl with snaggle-teeth as they direct ticket-buyers to their seats at the Monster-Truck rally.

Where each crowd “is a blessing” and moved-along by the more brutish means “of crowd-control” and open festival seating.

The ways of the road…… another town, another gig.

THE RODEO OF SOULS, kids “under 12” get in free. An American institution.

“We’re #1”, a giant foam finger.

Apocalypse never heard such a blood-roar from the stands…..


The Subcontracted Plagues of Egypt