Paul Blaisdell, Monster Maker: A Biography of the B Movie Makeup and Special Effects Artist

by Randy Palmer

  Harmonica outro.

  Bob Burns recalled the making of “Conquest of Mars” with much fondness, even though he admitted, “It was rather crude. But we never thought about that. We never even thought that anybody other than ourselves would ever hear it. We were just messing around and having fun.”

  “The Professor and Horace in ‘Submarine Attack’’’

  Another of the duo’s skits was called, simply, “Submarine Attack.” There were some surprisingly realistic sound effects used in this recording which, again, was made in Blaisdell’s home without the benefit of studio resources.

  The German (Paul Blaisdell, using an exaggerated German accent by way of Hollywood): Acht! Those stupid English swine would never dream that I’m sitting here in my U-boat in the middle of the English Channel. Listen! There’s the ship now. Distance, about 500 meters. Load the torpedo, Hans.

  Hans (Bob Burns, also using an exaggerated accent): Ya, Kapitan.

  The German: Fire!

  A torpedo whooshes through the sea.

  Narrator (Burns): Meanwhile, back on the surface, we find a ship crossing the English Channel. On it are our two old friends, Prof. Lancelot Lushwell and his assistant, Horace Higgenbottom.

  Prof. Lushwell: Oh, I say, Horace, it’s a good thing to have a vacation on a lovely night like this. I was getting awfully sick of those exploding bunsen burners.

  Horace: Oh-hoo-hoo-ho! I was too, sir. I didn’t know if I was going to last for long. By the way, sir, look out in the water out there. There’s something shiny coming through, leaving quite a wave. I wonder what that could be, sir?

  Prof. Lushwell: Why, Horace, I believe it’s a bloomin’ torpedo!

  Horace: A—a bloomin’ torpedo? Oh, my!

  KA-BA-BLAM! The explosion subsides into an underwater bubbling. After a moment or two …

  Prof. Lushwell: Umph, cough, hack! Horace? Horace? Are you all right?

  Horace: Y—yes sir. That is, I think I’m all right, sir, I don’t know. I’m frightfully wet, I’ll tell you that. You know what happened the last time I got wet, you know!

  Prof. Lushwell: Oh, well. Give me a hand over the side of this lifeboat, will you, old man?

  Horace: All right. Here, come on, umphhh!

  They struggle to climb into the lifeboat.

  Prof. Lushwell: Do you see anything of the U-boat or torpedo?

  Horace: No, sir, I didn’t. But look over the side, sir, look underneath us. I see a long, silver object under there!

  Prof. Lushwell: By jove, I’ll bet that’s the bloody submarine. I’ll fix ’em! It just so happens I have something here in my pocket I brought along for our vacation.

  Horace: Oh, no! Not another bunsen burner, sir.

  Prof. Lushwell: Right! Now here, I’ll drop it over the side—

  Horace: Oh, hoo-hoo-hoo!

  Prof. Lushwell:—and, ah! There! All right, Horace, row like the devil!

  Horace: Right-o, sir.

  Narrator: Meanwhile, back at the sub …

  The German: Acht! See? Good, Hans! The English boat is kaput.

  Hans: Ha-ha-ha!

  KA-KLANG!

  The German: Acht! What’s that, Hans? Did you hear something hit the hull of the submarine?

  Hans: I’m not too sure. I heard something, but I’m not sure what it was. I don’t think—

  KA-BLOOM! The sound of the explosion eventually subsides into the bubbling gasps of the Germans.

  The German: Acht! A mine! We are sinking! Glub-glub!

  Narrator: And so, we leave our two friends, Prof. Lancelot Lushwell and Horace Higgenbottom, rowing on to more adventures, into the sunset.

  Prof. Lushwell: Stroke … stroke … stroke!

  Horace: Pant-pant. Y—yes, professor! Pant.

  Prof. Lushwell: Stroke!

  Horace: Right-o! Pant-pant.

  Prof. Lushwell: Stroke … stroke … stroke!

  As Bob Burns explained, most of the skits he and Paul recorded on tape were single-take episodes. None were very polished because they were meant merely as an afternoon’s entertainment for two buddies who just liked to cut up and kid around with each other.

  Untitled Poem

  Blaisdell was a voracious reader. Although he was first and foremost an artist, he occasionally tried his hand at writing. Some of his work would eventually find its way into Fantastic Monsters magazine during the 1960s. (His story “The Specimen” is included at the end of this Appendix.) At this late date, it is not known whether Paul actually wrote the poem that follows or if he was simply reciting a favorite piece by another author. The recording was made in the late 1950s.

  Shaped like a teardrop, pale as haze from down where the mirage city stands,

  Here is a blue enamel vase brought overseas from the fabled land.

  Studded with turquoise and trimmed ‘round with golden symbols that curve and flow,

  Like a guardian serpent, the flask is bound in some secret spell from long ago.

  If curious fingers should break the seal, what would be found in its narrow hole?

  Poisons to murder? Herbs to heal? Garter of roses or dust of gold?

  Beware in a cloud as black as shame, these eyes might see a form appear

  With curious wings and hair of flame, the jinni enraged is imprisoned here!

  AHH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!

  “The Strange Island of Dr. Nork’’

  Fooling around with the tape recorder every weekend strengthened Paul’s interest in writing and performing his own material. Bob and Kathy Burns had formed a radio group known as the Burbank Amateur Radio Group (BARG), which met regularly to perform their own original material. Bob was eventually able to talk Paul into joining the little group, and of course Paul brought along Jackie. The group included two other local radio enthusiasts, Jim Harmon and Ron Haydock, who worked alongside Burns and Blaisdell on Fantastic Monsters magazine. A fellow named Zeke Lapein made up the seventh member of the troupe.

  Most of BARG’s material was comedic, but there was the occasional drama as well as some science fiction and fantasy. A few of the performances that were recorded still survive in the collection of Bob Burns, who provided the tapes from which the following were transcribed. With access to a library of previously recorded sound effects and music, BARG was able to embellish its productions to such an extent that they sounded more like authentic broadcasts than amateur skits. One of the best things the team ever did was “The Strange Island of Dr. Nork,” a spoof of the mad-scientist thrillers that proliferated in radio and movie serials during the 1930s and 1940s. The recording was made at Bob Burns’s home. The musical soundtrack consisted of passages from The Man with the Golden Arm and The Mister Magoo Suite.

  Eerie musical intro.

  The Narrator, Dave Porter (Jim Harmon): The sign in front of me read “Harascus Nork, M.D. The doctor is in. Please be seated.” I had nothing to sit on except my valise. It was all I had brought with me from the monoplane that had landed me on the sandy beach of this island, somewhere between the Greater Antilles and the Lesser Antilles, along with the Medium-Size Antilles. Finding the residence, its front door, and the sign on it hadn’t been hard. The whole works was on a plateau overlooking the beach, the sea, the jungle. And of course, it’s impossible to ignore anything that overlooks you.

  A Peter Lorre-ish voice emanates from a hidden speaker near the door.

  Disembodied Voice (Paul Blaisdell): Snort … Eh-henh-eh-henh-henh-enh, who’s calling?

  Porter: That was a good question. I could’ve asked it myself when I heard that voice coming out of thin air! Instead, I said, “Dave Porter of Next-Week Magazine. I’m here to interview Dr. Nork about the experiments he’s doing out here. People get curious about a Nobel prize winner who drops out of sight.’’

  Voice: Eenh! Please enter the reception chamber and wait a few moments. Giggle-giggle, henh-eh-henh …

  Porter: I opened the door—

  C-r-e-e-e-a-a-k.

  Porter:—and went inside. The
hallway was spacious and white, like something out of an old Dr. Kildare movie. At the end of the corridor, a door stood half open, spilling out mixed blue and amber lights. I was looking around for a table with the latest issue of Collier’s when I heard—

  Disembodied Female Voice (Jackie Blaisdell): E-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-k-k-k!

  Porter: Someone was in danger! There was only one thing for me to do: I ran! Instinct made me run towards the girl who needed help. Although it didn’t seem very sensible, I dashed through the open door.

  He dashes through the open door.

  Porter: Huff-puff-huff …the harsh glare of light from the domed roof illuminated a scene of horror. A huge, steel operating table occupied the center of the room. And it was in use. Strapped securely to its surface was a half-clad girl, hair streaming, mouth contorted, eyes wide with terror. Hovering above her was a tall, thin, red-bearded man with a big nose and slanted eyes. Like a surgeon, he wore a white gown. Like a surgeon, he had a glittering knife. As I watched, he raised the cruel blade, and then his arm swooped down toward the girl’s bare, white bosom. S-stop!

  Dr. Nork (Paul Blaisdell): Henh—what? Oh! Eh-henh-henh … be with you in a second, Mr. Porter. I hope my knife isn’t too chilly, Mabel. Henh-eh-henh, I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold in your chest again, henh-henh. Y-you got it, Fred?

  Fred (Ron Haydock): Uhh … hold it a second more, Dr. Nork. Say, can ya try t’look a trifle bit, uh, madder?

  Dr. Nork: Eh-henh-henh-henh-enh! Grrrrrr … Henh-enh, like this?

  Fred: Uhhh, yell, swell. Uhhh, okay. I got you penciled on these roughs all right. Uhh, hey, Mabel, can you try to inhale a little deeper?

  Mabel (Jackie Blaisdell): Not unless the doc moves that darn knife of his back a couple of inches.

  Dr. Nork: Eh-henh, stop bragging.

  Porter: Eh, what the devil’s going on here? You mean you’re just posing a scene for that artist over there in the corner?

  Dr. Nork: Yehn, eh-henh-henh-enh, something like that. Henh-here, let me help you up, Mabel …eh-henh-enh-ummph! Curse these knots! Henh-henh, I ought to use the disintegrator ray on them, henh … henh-enh-enh-ahh! There you are, Mabel!

  Mabel: Thanks.

  Dr. Nork: Eh-henh, Fred, fix my bullup, hunh? Henh…

  Fred: Yeah, okay.

  Dr. Nork: Tomorrow, Mr. Porter, we’ll have a nice talk. Henh-enh! You look tired after your trip. Eh-henh-henh. Maybe you’d prefer to lie down? Ya-ya-henh-enh-yeah, how about right over here on the operating table.

  Porter: Uh, no thanks. So you’re Dr. Nork?

  Dr. Nork: Eh-henh-enh, of course! Eh-henh! So glad to see you. Enh-yenh-you’re with Next-Week Magazine, you say? Eh-henh. Book reviewer, I suppose.

  Porter: N-o-oo, associate science editor. I’m here to do a feature story on the experiments you’re doing out here, Dr. Nork. If it isn’t government security stuff—and I happen to know it isn’t, or I wouldn’t have gotten this far—I’d like to hear all about them.

  Dr. Nork: Eh-henh-henh, you just saw one of them! Henh, I’m engaged in industrial research. Yenh-yenh-yeah, research into the comic book industry.

  Porter: Comic books? A man of your reputation working for comic books?

  Dr. Nork: Enh, I don’t work for comic books, I work for money! Yenh, the Nobel prize plaque isn’t very tasty on toast, yenh. B. J. Flushing of the Flushing chain of comics has a lot of money, eh-henh, and I’m getting as much of it as I can from him. Yenh! He endowed this laboratory, set up a fund for research to make sure that the sixty million readers of “Captain Torture, Hatchet Man” get only the finest and most realistic literature. Yeah-eh-henh-henh! W-we work out everything in advance to make sure it’s true to life.

  Porter: I-I-I-it did seem pretty realistic when I walked in on you.

  Dr. Nork: Enh-enh-enhxactly! Ye-yeah, but before I took over, eh-henh, B. J. Flushing only published three comic books, and two of them were actually funny. Giggle! Ridiculous! Enh, and I told him so. Eh-henh! Everybody knows there’s no point in a comic book that’s funny. Hmmph. Why, people would just laugh at it. What they want is thrills, y-yeah, girls with big busts and men with big muscles.

  Porter: Well, what about the muscle boys? You may be able to stage mad doctor scenes, but how can you realistically stage the exploits of super-characters for your artists to copy?

  Dr. Nork: Eh-henh, I give them the powers. Why do you think Flushing hired a scientist, yenh-henh-henh. My experiments in physics, chemo-biology, and andro-conology have borne fruit … enh-henh, yeah, eh-hmm, strange fruit! Eh-henh, speaking of fruit, it’s time for lunch.

  Time dissolve …

  Porter: Belch! Ahh. You set a nice table, Dr. Nork. All these unusual dishes and exotic foods.

  Dr. Nork: Eh-henh, some more 7-Up?

  Porter: No, no, I’m fine. Uhh, who is this girl coming our way?

  Dr. Nork: You mean the blonde in the leopard-skin, enh, with the boa constrictor around her neck?

  Porter: Uhh, yes-s-s.

  Dr. Nork: Giggle! Enh, that’s my daughter, Albino, White Goddess of the Jungle. Eh-henh-eh-henh, she’s a sweet kid.

  Porter: Your … daughter.

  Dr. Nork: Yenh-yeah! Decided to make a female Tarzan out of her at an early age. Brought her up among the animals. Henh! My daughter was just a plain, ordinary little girl until I taught her how to behave like a monkey.

  Porter: Ooh, won’t you have a seat, Miss Albino?

  Albino (Kathy Burns): Where’d ya find this jerk, Pa? You know I don’t like sissies! … Do you want some papaya, snakey-dear? I know you like it salted. Hey! Think you could lift the salt, buster?

  Porter: D-oh, yeah … h-h-h-h-h-h-here you are.

  Albino: What are you, a new character? The Human Salt-Shaker, maybe?

  Porter. Hah-hah. Sorry, I’m afraid my hand is shaking just a little bit.

  Albino: I know! It’s shaking on my knee! Now watch it!

  Porter: Q-quite an aggregation you have for lunch, doctor.

  Dr. Nork: Y-enh-yeah, the result of years of experiments. Eh-henh! Take Water-Boy there. One of my most difficult cases.

  Porter: Uhh, who…?

  Dr. Nork: Water-Boy, the Flushing chain’s answer to Aqua-Man and Sub-Mariner. Eh-henh, as a result of a unique series of experiments, he’s now more frog than human. Henh, it was risky business to turn a man into a frog, eh-henh. Once I thought he’d croak.

  Porter: I … see. Now, who’s the guy eating licorice?

  Dr. Nork: Not licorice, coal. That’s Firebug, the Human Torch. Eh-henh! Crime makes Firebug hot under the collar, and he’s pretty quick to flare up. I’ve developed his metabolism to the point where he can actually live on fire!

  Porter: And the one with the space helmet and flying belt?

  Dr. Nork: Enh-enh-enh, that’s our spaceman Rogers.

  Porter: Oh, Buck Rogers?

  Dr. Nork: No, Two-Dollar Rogers. Enh, he’s twice as good as Buck.

  Porter: Uhh … yes. Very interesting. Uhh, now, you mean to say that this Firebug is really eating coal?

  Dr. Nork: Not just eating it, he’s wolfing it down! Enh, if he keeps it up …

  Firebug (Ron Haydock): B-u-u-r-r-r-rp! Oh, pardon my heartburn. Hi-hi-wh-o-o-o-o-s-s-h-h-h!

  Porter: Hey! H-he hiccuped fire! It singed Water-Boy’s gills, and … g-great Scott! Firebug’s caught himself on fire!

  Dr. Nork: Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it. Henh … I see Water-Boy opening his mouth….

  Water-Boy (Zeke Lapein): B-a-a-r-r-r-f-f-f!

  Water-Boy discharges a stream of water.

  Firebug: Glug, glug, glug… H-hey, stop it!

  Dr. Nork: All right, all right, that’s enough of that! You behave yourselves or I’ll sic the Faceless Fiend on you.

  Albino (to Porter): If these characters scare you, wait until you meet the Faceless Fiend.

  Porter: I think I can wait a long time, thanks. Who is he, Dr. Nork?

  Dr. Nork: Eh-henh, one of my few failures. My agent spirited away
a mass murderer from the penal colony in French Deanna. Yenh, that’s where I get most of my subjects. Enh, you’ll find that comic book characters are best when they have criminal minds, eh-henh-henh! Enhyhow, this time I intend to create a super-criminal for a new book, eh-henh! The man was frightfully disfigured, and I attempted plastic surgery, enh-henh, to give him a new face.

  Porter: A new … face?

  Dr. Nork: Sigh! Yenh-yenh-yeah. Naturally I had to get rid of his old face as the first step, but he escaped before I got around to the second step. Enh, when he removed the bandages and found that he no longer had any face whatsoever, eh-henh, he developed a deep resentment of me and the world in general. Mm-eh-henh-henh, as a result he became the perfect super-criminal. Yenh-yenh … the Faceless Fiend.

  Porter: You mean he’s loose on the island and just—

  Cr-crash!

  Porter: Hey! Somebody threw a rock through the window!

  Dr. Nork: Mmm … there’s a note wrapped around it. Enh-henh, let’s see … henh … “Hail and fire well, Dr. Nork, and all your stooges. Enh, I have planted a time bomb under your house, eh-henh, to blow you all up at one o’clock. Signed, enh, the Faceless Fiend.” Eh-eh-enhyone got the time?”

  KA-B-BOOM!

  An unknown amount of time passes.

  Porter: When I opened my eyes, I was strapped to a table in a long, narrow, underground chamber. Blue light flickered a pathetic gloom. Crouching above me was a cloaked figure. I stared up and was rewarded only by a blank look. This creature … this monster … this being with an empty gap between neck and hairline, something not to be countenanced, was beyond all doubt the Faceless Fiend. His chuckle came out of the emptiness, slithering off the slimy walls.

  The Faceless Fiend (Bob Burns): Don’t look so unhappy, my friend. You ought to thank me for rescuing you. Here you are safe and sound in a nice, comfortable sewer, when above us the entire laboratory has collapsed. And your friends have all perished. No one is left but the two of us.