The Magnificent Vincent Price

I nabbed the 1953 edition of House of Wax starring Vincent Price a few days ago and finally popped the DVD in last night. On the cover in small font read, "Mystery of the House of Wax included (1933)." I hadn't realized Price's version wasn't the original. Unfortunately, the 2005 version of House of Wax, starring Paris Hilton, is a painful belly flop on a leech-filled lake.

Back to the 1953 Wax, Price portrays an artist obsessed with beauty, his figures as living history, and above all, his beloved Marie Antoinette. His business partner and financial backer urges him to leave history in the past. 'There should be shock value!' he said. But Price's character disagreed, and continued reassuring Marie Antoinette that she is his esteemed pleasure. The business partner lights a match, saying that the insurance money ($25,000) would make them rich. A fight broke out between the two of them while the gallery went up in flames. Price's character was said to be dead. Years later, with hands disfigured, the wax artist starts again with a new gallery. This time, he highlights the tormented souls of history instead of the gentle and beautiful. The new gallery also features recent crimes that one would read in the newspaper, such as his old financial partner hanging himself in an elevator shaft.

It's interesting that Price's character shifts from a gentle artist to a man of grim shock in this film, especially when Price himself is a man of showmanship. What we would now consider cheap gimmicks, the audiences considered awe-inspiring. The 1953 House of Wax, for example, was one of the first 3-D movies to be a success at the North American box office. In House on Haunted Hill (1959), a skeleton jumps out to attack the wife of Price's character. While the film was traveling the country, theater to theater, a 12-foot blow-up skeleton was released swinging into the audience. Of course, all of the younger boys loved this, told their friends, and saw the film again.

Oh Vincent, if only the remakes of your films were half as good as yours...

Depression and That One Panic Attack I Had

Depression is a killer, I can tell you that. It used to overwhelm my entire existence, but now it's a wasp buzzing in my ear that I can't whip around fast enough to see. I hate this. I haven't been to a psychiatrist in almost a year, it seems. Since I'm no longer paying tuition, I can't use the university's psychiatrist. I have to see a new one within this next month... I just refilled the last of my anti-depressants this week. I'm scared the new psychiatrist will want to drastically (over time) change my medications. For those of you who have never been on mood-altering prescriptions, it's not guaranteed that any one medication will work for you. Sometimes you have to combine them, switch them up, lower or increase the dosages.

Every time they switch you, there can be up to two or three weeks of intense nausea, mood swings, and "My entire world is crumbling before me" thoughts. I switched from medication to medication, lowering one and adding another, upping the dosage to the highest only  for it to not specifically be the right medication for me. I was weaned off and overloaded with too many different anti-depressants for me to remember. None of them worked, I felt as though I was too deep in the hole, and all of the nausea and head-spinning from settling into different meds was making it much worse. That led to my first and only panic attack I've ever had. I was in college and working at a cafe at the time. Our customers flowed in and out of our doors by the hundreds every shift. I was on my fourth medication in probably three months- it takes up to a month for anti-depressants to seep into your system and actually start working. I remember my body feeling very rigid and my mind very absent that day. I'm not so sure what triggered it, but by that stage of my life I had reverted into increasing self-isolation. More and more, as I went through the shaded walkways of campus, I quietly panicked as others walked towards and past me. I couldn't look anyone in the eye, for fear they would know I was in trouble and would kick me down further. Friends became acquaintances, acquaintances became strangers, strangers enemies. Each and every person came with their own hopes and fears, likes and dislikes, and perceptions of reality. Then of course each of those people had their own friends and family. It was all very distressing.

Back at the cafe, all of these thoughts were rushing and swirling in my head, and I finally burst open. I quickly walked then ran to the bathroom, with hundreds of eyes following me. I started hyperventilating and couldn't get enough oxygen, I felt weak and minuscule, as if I were about to faint, and the women rushing out of the bathroom were going to kick me in my sides and step on my fingers when I went down. A coworker came in asking if I was alright. No, of course I wasn't alright, you filthy whore. Leave me be. I walked out with her to my boss, telling her I threw up so I could leave this icey death trap. I couldn't explain to her and I was still hyperventilating, people were staring and most were ignoring me. My boss wasn't understanding, I ran outside behind the building, rocking back and forth as my hands covered my ears and my eyes were shut as tight as they could go. It was as if a nuclear fallout was about to happen and I was alone.