House of Wax

 I'm procrastinating.

The local theater, the Athens Movie Palace, has programmed a few classic scary flicks on Sundays leading up to Halloween.  The first of this year's slate ran Sunday, and it was the 1953 Vincent Price led flick, House of Wax.

House of Wax has always held a special place in my heart.  

See, I was scared of a lot of shit growing up.  I didn't do horror.  There was enough stuff in real life to be afraid of.  I spent a good couple of years scared of Count Chocula, and was pretty sure he lived in the main bathroom of my house.  I would run past that bathroom door so he wouldn't reach out to grab me.

Regular movie stuff scared me.  Darth Vader scared me.  King Kong _terrified_ me.  That scene in Star Trek II: the Wrath of Khan where Khan puts the parasites into Chekov's and Capt. Terrell's ears?  HORRIFYING.

So I didn't do horror.

But somewhere along the line, I watched House of Wax.

And it's light horror, but it's definitely horror.

 And somehow, I've always appreciated it, because I could see the human underneath all the burn tissue and gnarled hands that Price becomes, after the fire at his wax museum.  Even at 9 or 10, I understood the motivations, at least in terms of getting even with the guy who burned your art.  (And allow me a pause to say that the fire in the wax museum was always fascinating...and I think it had to be something of an inspiration for Spielberg in the scene where the Belloq and National Socialist buddies melt and explode after opening the Ark).  

I wandered a little more into horror stuff after that.  I watched and read Something Wicked This Way Comes.  a year or two later, I'd read The Shining, which began a lifelong fandom for Stephen King.

But a lot of my horror fascination stems from watching House of Wax.

Seeing on the Big Screen was neat.  Especially seeing what was meant to be 3D back in 53. ....