An Oh-So-Brief Look at Flashback Weekend Chicago, 2011
No, I didn't go to the advanced screening of the Fright Night remake on Friday evening. Nor did I get to see Robert Englund co-host the Midwest premiere of The Moleman of Belmont Avenue on Saturday. But I did attend Flashback Weekend for a few hours today, with my friend, Brian.
I'd all but convinced myself that this would be on of my last horror conventions. The last few I've attended have been rather dreary affairs as far as life on the floor goes (I understand that much of the fun happens in the hotel bar after hours, but I'm a lame dad now--which is why I went on a Sunday morning). Sure, it's cool to meet your horror-film idols, but there's been an ugly war of one-oneupmanship in the last few years regarding autograph prices that has now become officially disgusting. The average price for a signature has gone up between five and ten bucks--depending on the celebrity--and in some cases a posed picture costs additional money. I get that actors spend a lot of time in alternate realities, but in this one, people are hurting.
I was pleasantly surprised to see that much of the egregious cash-grabbing was going on across the street at the Wizard World comic book convention, and had not fully infected Flashback (Seriously, where does Patrick Stewart get the balls to charge $70 for two flicks of his wrists?). I was also delighted to find that many of this show's guests were having a great time. The floor was busy but not crowded, and the whole con had a casual atmosphere of devoted fandom and good times. The highlights:
Meeting Christina Lindberg. The star of Thriller (They Call Her One Eye) was so sweet and easy to talk to. She signed a beautiful, glossy reproduction of the film's poster--the centerpiece of which is a lovely, black-and-white image of her holding the sawed-off shotgun. Ah, bliss.
Kane Hodder signing my Jason Takes Manhattan poster and then choking me. No more needs to be said, really. Check out the gallery, though, for a bit more info.
Getting slapped in the face by Malcom McDowell. While talking to Michael Rooker (of Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer fame) this site, A Clockwork Orange star Malcom McDowell wandered over to the table and began thumbing through some Black Ops: Call of the Dead merchandise. He said, "Y'know, I've done stuff for video games, too, and they never send me a fucking thing. I know what you had to do to get these, Michael: You had to get down on the floor and suck it!"
To this, Rooker just laughed. McDowell looked at a very shocked me and said, "You, you didn't hear any of that did you?" Then, back to Rooker, pointing at me, "Of course not! He's just a punter, isn't he?" At which point, he slapped the side of my face and shook my shoulder. We all nodded and laughed, and he slapped me again, I guess as his way of saying "goodbye" on his way to chat up Scout Taylor-Compton, who'd just put her leg up on her table to expose the full length of her thigh, all the way up to her ass.
Incidentally, I asked Rooker how Walking Dead executive producer Frank Darabont's recent firing had affected the creative direction going into season two. He whipped out a sign he'd written in red marker and slapped it on his forehead. It read, "You probably know more than I do."
Meeting Ashley Laurence. Brian and I spoke with the Hellraiser star at her table for a good, long while, mostly about art. She's a painter who does giant, bizarre pieces that are quite good (she recently sold one to Frank Zappa's widow, who intends to display it in a church). Ashley is also funny, whip-smart, and, I'm guessing, in league with Satan--who has granted her the gift of eternal youth. She invited us to attend a Hellraiser panel with Doug Bradley; we did, and had a great time listening to them talk about their careers and debate the merits of horror movie remakes.
Though generally wonderful, the day wasn't without problems. The first was the jag-off in the Hellraiser panel who questioned the validity of Ashley's claims that an eye injury prevents her from being able to be photographed. I don't know that she was in the room at the time he asked this, but after having heard the sad story straight from Ashley a few minutes earlier, I really wanted to belt this guy in the mouth. Such is Pissy Nerd Culture.
The second issue I had was with the guy handling Michael Rooker's money. I never got his name, but he is genuinely one of the most unpleasant people I've ever interacted with. This creep seemed disinterested in fans, was constantly flipping through the bag of money with the actor's name on it, and regarded everyone who so much as looked at the glossy photos spread out on the table as if they were merely ambulatory wallets.
But, no, I'm not giving up on horror conventions. There are still enough cool people (on both sides of the autograph tables) to give me hope. I'm certainly scaling back on the frequency with which I attend and the amount of money I drop per show. But Flashback Weekend reminded me of the gooey, warm joy of fandom, the importance of which can't be underestimated.