You’ve never been afraid to mix moments of raw emotion with elements of horror, particularly in the It’s Alive trilogy. What’s the secret of not letting the pathos negate the scares and atmosphere you are attempting to construct?
The first and most important thing is that you have a valid premise that has some kind of relationship with reality. Just doing a film about a giant tarantula that is running around eating people doesn’t give you much of an opportunity to do that. When you have a subject that deals with the interrelationships of people and the misunderstandings they have, and the pain they cause each other, and the guilt they feel, then you have something meaningful to write about. It’s Alive was the extremely painful story of a family in crisis. It paralleled the real-life agonies that a lot of families experienced when they had a thalidomide child or some other kind of unfortunate birth where the kid just didn’t turn out right. I mean, you still hear about parents who have had children with mental and physical disabilities, and they always blame themselves for what is happening. The parents feel it’s their fault; it’s all because of something they did; and they suffer for it. The characters in It’s Alive are also experiencing a lot of suffering. When I made the three It’s Alive pictures, I was dealing with a lot of truths about how parents feel about their children. They can feel responsible and guilty, and this idea also extends to their children’s actions. In reality, even the parents of somebody who goes out and commits a bunch of murders is dealing with that same kind of pain. Whether their kids are serial killers, kidnappers, or whatever, all of these people who are committing awful crimes have parents, too. How do they feel about raising a child that has become a monster and killed people? How do they deal with the tremendous guilt they must feel about bringing a person into the world that has done such harm? There was a certain basic truth underlining the whole of It’s Alive, and when you deal with something as powerful as that, then you are off and running. You can now write a screenplay that has some veracity. It’s not just about the horrors and the scares revolving around some kind of giant spider or giant rabbit that is running around nibbling at people. So, many of the horror pictures back in the 1950s were like that.
The horror films and monster movies that are firmly rooted in a recognizable reality are often the most profoundly disturbing.
Yes, of course, and it’s the relationship of that monster to the normal people, or the so-called normal people. Sometimes the so-called normal people are pretty monstrous themselves. Even when you go back to the great classic movies like Frankenstein, you have the guilt of Dr. Frankenstein for having created this creature out of the assorted parts of dead people. He’s brought this thing to life and somehow he is responsible for it. I guess that theme of responsibility and guilt is made even clearer in Mary Shelley’s original novel than it was in many of the movies of Frankenstein that have been made. The novel was not so much a horror novel, or a genre piece, as it was a legitimate piece of writing with great ideas.
Interestingly, at one point, Frank confesses to confusing the identities of Frankenstein the creator with his creation.
What I’m saying in that scene is Frank is now thought of by people as being akin to the monster. He is seen as the creator of the creature, much like Dr. Frankenstein is the creator of the Monster. The creature has become known as “The Davis Baby” or “The Davis Monster,” and he is the father of the monster. So, his identity has suddenly become entwined with it and always will be. He’s got this inescapable connection to the monster which, of course, is what we all have with our children. As in Frankenstein, the monster has now taken his creator’s name and Frank is trying to get out of the situation he finds himself in. That is why he is cooperating with the police and is so intent on killing this creature and getting it out of his world. However, in the end, we see that when Frank has to deal with it directly, he can’t help but feel emotionally tied to the monster. He then desperately tries to save his child and that is what gives his character an emotional arc.
The climax, which sees Frank finally confront his offspring down in the storm drains of Los Angeles, is unexpectedly moving. In my imagination — and I may be wrong about this — I get the impression that the cries of the baby in that final scene are less monstrous and more human.
I think we did subtly alter the sound effects of the baby, yes. I believe we tried to make those wails softer, more human-sounding. You know, for most of the movie, the monster is relating to people who it perceives to be its enemy. At the end, it is relating to somebody who it perceives to be its parent. So, of course the creature has a different, more appealing sound to it. It recognizes that its father is now here and they are both reunited, if only for a very short time.
Many view the ending of It’s Alive as a conscious nod to the classic 1954 film, Them! [6] Is that indeed the case?
Well, I can tell you that back in the 1950s, I did see Them! I was just a kid at the time, but I was actually the first one in line the day that film opened in New York. For some reason, I desperately wanted to see that picture and was there for the very first show. It’s my understanding that they created the storm drains in Them! on a soundstage, but we actually shot It’s Alive down in the real storm drains of Los Angeles. Everything was there for us to shoot, except we knew that if it started to rain the drains would fill up very quickly and we would have to get the hell out of there. Fortunately, it didn’t rain, so we were okay, but everybody was working in water up to their ankles. There were a lot of electrical cables, lights, and other equipment, so it was dangerous to be walking and running around with all that electricity. Somebody could have been electrocuted. Luckily, we got through it without anybody getting hurt.
You’ve voluntarily revealed in previous interviews that your pet dog is actually tucked under the blanket in John Ryan’s arms when Frank emerges from the storm drains.
Yeah. [Chuckles] We had to have something moving around under the blanket for the moment John flees from the storm drains and is confronted by all these cops who want to kill the monster. To get the desired movement, we wrapped my dog — a Pekinese dog — up in the blanket. Actually, it was my daughter’s dog. It’s funny how putting a dog under a blanket and telling everybody that it’s a monster seems to work. The audience’s imagination then does the rest. I personally like the idea that you can use virtually nothing to scare people and create a certain effect. Of course, it’s easy enough with CGI and the millions of dollars that people spend on movies to create things. But to be able to create something out of nothing — out of sheer imagination — is fun and deeply satisfying. If you look carefully at that scene again, you can see part of the dog sticking out from under the blanket in some shots. I deliberately made some of the dog visible so that you could see it. I wanted to tell people about it, so they could go back and watch the movie again and see it for themselves. I mean, if you are not specifically looking for that you would never see it.
You earlier mentioned the great Bernard Herrmann. How did he become involved with the film?
Bernard Herrmann was my favorite composer, and so when it came time for me to hire a composer for It’s Alive, Benny was of course my first choice. He had scored Citizen Kane, The Devil and Daniel Webster, The Day the Earth Stood Still, Psycho, Vertigo, North by Northwest, and so many other great films. I was very excited at the prospect of maybe employing him to do the score for It’s Alive, and I knew that he had recently done the music for Brian De Palma’s Sisters and was apparently approachable. When I asked Warner Bros. to contact him, they came back and said that he wasn’t available as he was doing The Exorcist for William Friedkin. Then he and Friedkin had a falling out and Benny walked off the picture. What happened was Benny had gone to New York to see The Exorcist and after the lights came up Friedkin said to him, “I want you to write me a better score than you did for Citizen Kane.” To which Benny replied, “Well, why didn’t you make a better picture than Citizen Kane?” Friedkin, having no sense of humour, reacted poorly. The two of them th
en got into an argument and that was the end of their association. I was suddenly advised that Bernard Herrmann was available, and so I asked Warner Bros. to approach him and make him an offer, which they did. Benny agreed to look at my film and so I sent him a black and white dupe, a rough cut, of It’s Alive. He called me up and said that he and his wife had liked the picture, and that he would write the score for it. We then closed the deal and I said, “Do the music your way. Do whatever you feel is right. I’m not going to make any suggestions. I would just like to see what you come up with. I’ll come over to England if you want me to, but if you prefer that I didn’t come over, that’s okay, too. Just do whatever you want.” I think he liked that attitude, but he did eventually ask me to come over for the recording sessions which were held inside Cripplegate Church in London. This was the same historic church where John Milton was buried and Oliver Cromwell was married. Benny chose that place to record the music because of the organ they had in there. I remember the resonance of that organ would make the whole church tremble when it was played. This was around Christmas, and I do recall that it was freezing as there was a power shortage in England at the time. Benny had brought a generator into the church in an attempt to heat the place, but we all had overcoats and scarves on.
Were you concerned at all about Herrmann’s notorious reputation for being short-tempered with his directors?
No. I had no difficulties with him whatsoever, except for one small altercation over the telephone. There was a scene in the movie where a cartoon was playing on the television set, and I asked Benny if he could write a little music to accompany the cartoon. He suddenly exploded and said, “I don’t write music for cartoons! Get yourself another composer!” I then said, “Okay, don’t write music for the cartoon. I’ll just use sound effects, it’s no big deal.” He calmed down, and that was the end of the argument, and we continued on. Other than that incident, I had no problems with him and, as I say, we became very close friends. He liked me and I think he liked my wife at the time, Janelle, too. I remember the first time we met him, we picked him up from his house in a chauffeur-driven car to go to the recording session for It’s Alive. His wife, Norma, kissed him goodbye, and Benny got in the car with us. As we were heading down the street, Janelle said, “Oh Mr. Herrmann, you have a lovely daughter.” Benny looked at her for a moment and said, “That’s my wife. Ah, the world’s oldest composer with the world’s youngest wife!” Then we all started laughing and after that we became good friends.
Herrmann clearly had a sense of humour as he labelled one of the music cues for It’s Alive “The Milkman Goeth.”
Yeah, that’s the scene where the milkman gets killed by the monster. You know, Benny always had this reputation for being a very acerbic person. Yes, he would insult people, but that was just his sense of humour. If you insulted him back, or laughed and got the joke, he was just fine. If your feelings were hurt and you sulked and looked unhappy then, naturally, you were not going to be his friend. All you had to do was take the remark as it was intended — which most people couldn’t — and then you could get close to him. Benny would open up to you and after that you couldn’t do anything wrong in his eyes. As a matter of fact, Benny’s wife wrote me a letter just a few months ago. We were corresponding as Norma still lives in England. She wrote, “To my memory, you are the only person that Benny never got angry with.” That was certainly a compliment. I mean, out of all the people he knew, I was the only one he didn’t lose his temper with, and he actually had a couple of good reasons to get angry with me. I remember one time I went over to his house and he started playing me his opera Wuthering Heights. We sat down in the living room and Benny put the records on. Now this opera was very, very long and about half way through it I fell asleep right in front of him — while he was playing me his music! Later, when I woke up, Benny said, “Uh, I think we’ve had enough of this.” He then simply got up, took the record off and didn’t get mad, which he could have. He could have gotten furious if he’d wanted to, but he didn’t. He just didn’t ever want to get angry with me. We got along fine and would have dinner at least twice a week when I lived in London. Our friendship aside, I would also say that my working association with Benny was one of the most creatively satisfying of my entire career. I only wish it could have continued further on my subsequent movies and that he was still here with us.
What do you remember about the final days you spent with him?
Well, Benny came over to Los Angeles to do the music for Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver and, on the last day of recording, he finished the score. Actually, they had a few more cues they planned on doing the very next day, but Benny suddenly said, “No, let’s finish it up tonight.” So, they stayed a little while longer and completed the score. Then he and Norma came over to the Goldwyn Studios, and I was there with my wife. We ran God Told Me To for Benny in the screening room because he was going to compose the music for the film. In fact, God Told Me To was the last movie he ever saw. After the screening, Benny took us out to dinner at a restaurant and we discussed the film. He was making notes and had already worked out in his mind what he wanted to do with the music. Unfortunately, that night, there had been a fire in the restaurant’s kitchen and there wasn’t much food left in the place. They did eventually serve us dinner, but the menu was rather truncated and the meal wasn’t very good. Anyway, we enjoyed each other’s company, and afterwards we drove Benny back to the Universal Sheridan Hotel where he was staying. Oddly enough, Benny always said that he never wanted to go back on the Universal lot after his break-up with Hitchcock on Torn Curtain. Of course, Universal had been instrumental in coming between Benny and Hitchcock, and ending their successful association. Despite all that history here Benny was again, a few years down the line, spending the night on the lot overlooking the sound-stages and Hitchcock’s bungalow. That evening we kissed Benny and Norma goodnight, and they went upstairs and we drove back home. The following morning, I got a call from Martin Scorsese’s girlfriend. Apparently, she and Marty had gone over to Universal to have breakfast with Benny, only to discover that he’d died in his sleep during the night. [Sighs] Well, I couldn’t believe it. We rushed back over there and the composer John Williams also showed up. We went inside and saw Benny and he was lying in bed, looking very peaceful. We then took Norma back to our house and that’s where she stayed for a week or ten days afterwards, before returning to London. All the condolences and the reception after the funeral were held at my house. Benny had died the day before Christmas Day and so Norma had Christmas dinner with us. She drew a picture of everyone sitting at the table and she drew Benny into the picture, too, as if he was sitting right there with us. I still have that picture and I treasure it.
What do you recall of the funeral?
Benny’s funeral was conducted by a funeral home here in Los Angeles. The most memorable thing about the service for me was as we were all sitting there, I turned around and looked to the back of the chapel and standing there, at the very last row, was François Truffaut. [7] I said to Norma, “Truffaut is back there.” So we both got up and walked to the back and she spoke to Truffaut in French. I then invited him to come back to the house after the service for the memorial party we were going to hold in memory of Benny. Truffaut said that he couldn’t come because he had his car waiting outside to take him back to the airport. We then learned that Truffaut had flown in from Paris and come directly from the airport to the service. His car was waiting to take him back to the airport again. He had actually flown all the way from Paris on a round trip just to attend the funeral and say goodbye. I thought that was certainly a great tribute to Benny. A lot of other wonderful people attended the funeral: Marty Scorsese, Brian De Palma, Robert De Niro, Norman Lloyd, and a number of venerable composers also came. They had set up a stereo to play Benny’s music, but it was this terrible piece of equipment. No doubt if Benny had still been alive, he would have probably smashed it with his cane! [Laughs] He certainly wouldn’t have wanted his music
played on that contraption; the sound was just awful. But the oddest thing about the funeral was that Benny wasn’t even in the coffin. His body had already been transported to New York City to be buried in Brooklyn in the family plot. He had his daughter in the New York area, so the body was quietly shipped back there and our service was conducted to an empty coffin. So he wasn’t actually present at the time of his own funeral.
Despite their well-documented falling out, did Hitchcock come to the service to pay his respects?
No. Hitchcock was not there but his assistant, Peggy Robertson, did come. She claimed that Hitchcock was out of the country. I don’t know if Hitchcock was out of the country or not, but that was the excuse given for why he didn’t show up. Actually, it was me who called Hitchcock’s office at Universal and spoke with Peggy on the phone. I told her that Benny had died in case Hitchcock wanted to pay a condolence call or something, but he sent his condolences through her and she came to the service. Then, after the funeral, everybody came back to my house for the reception. I remember the Rabbi who was officiating wanted to have what they call a minyan, which is a Jewish prayer for the dead. However, you need ten Jewish men to perform the ceremony and we didn’t have ten Jews in the place. So, instead we got Scorsese, De Palma, and De Niro and put yarmulkes on their heads. They joined us in the living room, and we all stood in a circle to perform the minyan and started praying. I remember De Niro actually came over to me and said, “What should I do here?” I said, “Well, just keep nodding your head. No matter what the Rabbi says keep shaking your head, that’s all you have to do.” So, I actually got to direct one of the greatest actors of our time in a Jewish ceremony. I only wish I had taken a photograph of it. I mean, here were all these Italians, standing there in my house with yarmulkes on their heads, saying farewell to Bernard Hermann. It was quite a sight.
Larry Cohen Page 19