reading about him, reading the story of a boy filled with anxiety and doubt and even self-loathing, was almost like a tonic: now here was an author who lived in the real world! here was a protagonist who knew exactly how i felt that day. the protagonist Lewis Barnavelt of House With a Clock was the first time i'd read about a hero who was unheroic, who lied to avoid embarrassment, who rather despised himself. a memory of a memory! i was never a bullied or angst-ridden child, so that memory pops out as almost uniquely painful. I recently re-read House with a Clock in Its Walls and was taken aback by the memory of reading it for the first time at age 10 or so - and the memory i had had back then of my moment of mortification and sudden femininity. it is interesting to think about the complicated emotions that my youthful self had to wrestle with.
I laugh at the story now but i also can't help but remember the sharp flash of humiliation, the quick decision that it was less embarrassing to be a girl mistaken for a boy than to admit that i could have been a boy who looked like a girl, and then of course the ample self-loathing that followed. i died a little bit, then squeaked out: "I'm a little girl". a young man came down to use the vending machines there, looked at me, and asked conversationally, "Are you a little boy or a little girl?". Anyway.watching this was really pointless, and I wouldn't recommend anyone else bothers to see it.One day when i was about 8 or 9, living in some chilly state, i bundled myself up until i looked like a little gray egg, hood over head, the hood's furry fringe making my face a cameo portrait of a round genderless blob, and proceded to wait for my ride in the lobby of my apartment building. He also looks dishevelled and bored and I don't blame him because that's how I looked by the time it finished which fortunately wasn't a long time after it started. He's only the narrator of the wraparound story and he's barely in the film at all. It's almost like the whole point of this film is to sell books! Anyway, for my fellow Vincent Price fans I've got to say that this is a disappointment. It's actually rather weird because they're not complete stories mostly just a couple of scenes from each book, and then Vincent Price tells us to read the book that each tale is based on.
This made me worry before I even started watching it how can a forty five minute film possibly provide three tales of terror? Well.I guess that telling tales wasn't exactly this film's intention and instead what we get is truncated versions of classic stories. The film runs for less than forty five minutes, and it's an omnibus.
Once Upon a Midnight Scary is an episode of some TV series (I guess) that I've never heard of.
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