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[Script To Scream]: Gerald Dies And Gizmo Becomes A Butterfly In ‘Gremlins’!

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A film lives many lives before it ever hits the screen. The script is usually revised multiple times before a single foot of film is exposed (or the digital equivalent thereof). I’m not just talking about smaller stuff like dialogue polishes and the addition or deletion of scenes. Many times the core story is reworked in profound ways. Sometimes it’s downright shocking how different the final film can be from the initial drafts.

In this new (semi-regular) feature for Bloody-Disgusting, I’m going to take a look at some early drafts of scripts for horror films that you may have already seen and discuss the differences, whether they took a turn for the worse, better or just different. There are also a handful of scripts for sequels and remakes that never happened that are worth checking out – just to see what might have been.

These aren’t script reviews, and only rarely will I be breaking the stories down on a beat-by-beat basis. I’m just going to point out some cool, interesting and/or disastrous choices that happened along the way. Each installment will be different, and each installment will be fun. I’ll also be including sample pages (when available)* so you don’t have to take my word for it!

*This applies only to older and previously released films that are already part of the culture. We’re not in the business of leaking or sabotaging projects in development.

First up is Joe Dante’s Gremlins, written by Chris Columbus. Hit the jump to check it out! For years people have talked about how dark Chris Columbus’ first draft of Gremlins was. Many of us have heard the story in which, after the kitchen confrontation scene, Billy arrives home to find his mom’s severed head tumbling down the stairs.

The version I have (Seventh Draft – February 18th, 1983) doesn’t contain that scene – Mrs. Peltzer lives. Suffice to say that brutally killing Mrs. Pelter wasn’t an idea that was going to stay around for more than a pass or two, especially considering that this is an Amblin film. However, some of that darkness is still very much on the page. For instance, it’s very clearly spelled out that The Futtermans die. Even though the film alludes to their demise (and Gremlins 2 obviously retcons their survival), it’s never explicitly stated*. It is here. It’s only a minor deviation (if you can even call it that) but it’s an interesting one.

*EDIT – Reader Adam Harmless has correctly pointed out that they are declared on the radio as surviving in the film. I can’t believe I forgot about that!

One of the huge differences in this draft is the character of Gerald, the douchey Junior Vice President of the bank where Billy works. In the film he’s an enjoyably smug dick played by Judge Reinhold at the top of his affable game. His character is there to provide a counterpoint to Billy’s current path in life, something that’s accomplished handily in the first act. After that, he more or less disappears.

In the February 18th, 1983 draft he has a much bigger role and a more completely developed arc. Not only does he join Kate and Billy in their plan to blow up the Gremlins as they watch Snow White

… he also gets the monologue. You know what I’m talking about. That amazingly black lump of coal that someway found its way into a PG Christmas movie. In the film, it’s a revelatory moment for Phoebe Cates’ character. But in this script, it’s all Gerald.

In this draft, the speech provides a sense of damage and some motivation for Gerald’s overall profit driven and Grinch-like perspective. It’s much easier to understand why the banker is such a jerk around the holidays if he had to smell his dad rotting in the chimney as a result of playing Santa.

I think the decision to give this speech to Cates in the film (and basically excise Gerald) is a wise one. From the beginning moments we’re rooting for Kate and Billy to end up together, and the personal nature of her disclosing this information to him (along with them taking on the Gremlins sans Gerald) ratchets up the intimacy factor.

So Columbus redeems Gerald a bit, and then he kills him.

Another huge change occurs at the end, in which Gizmo DIES and is reincarnated as glowing butterfly-like creature.

This is a cool effect, but it undercuts one of the major themes of Dante’s film. That American society is too clumsy, irresponsible and exploitative to properly interact with anything delicate or beautiful. In short, “this is why we can’t have nice things”. Because we make them ugly.

This theme is largely diminished, at least as overt text, in the earlier iteration of the story. Here, he simply just flies away.

All in all, I think the February 18th, 1983 draft is a fascinating look at the development mechanics of the project. But personally I prefer the final film that we all know and love.

What about you? Do you think Gremlins is perfect as is? Or would you have liked it better with some of these original elements present?

Editorials

‘The Company of Wolves’ at 40: One of the Most Underrated Werewolf Movies Ever Made

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There’s a compelling idea in anthropology that many ancient werewolf legends are derived from our species’ need to rationalize the more animalistic side of humanity – which is why lycanthropy has historically been used to explain everything from medieval serial killers to cannibalism. While I personally think there’s a lot more to unpack when it comes to tales of wolfmen and women, this is still a great example of why so many of our most enduring fairy tales involve big bad wolves.

And in the world of film, I think there’s only one feature that really nails the folkloric origins of werewolf stories, namely Neil Jordan’s 1984 fairy-tale horror classic, The Company of Wolves. Even four decades later, there’s no other genre flick that comes close to capturing the dreamlike ambience behind this strange anthology, and that’s why I’d like to take this opportunity to look back on one of the most underrated werewolf flicks ever made.

The Company of Wolves was originally a short story contained in the 1979 anthology The Bloody Chamber, a collection of deconstructed fairy-tales intended for mature readers penned by English author Angela Carter. With the book quickly becoming a hit as readers became fascinated with its subversion of classic folk stories and (then) controversial feminist undertones, it was soon transformed into a duology of BBC radio-dramas which adapted both The Company of Wolves and Carter’s reimagining of Puss-in-Boots.

These radio-dramas soon attracted the attention of then up-and-coming Irish filmmaker Neil Jordan, who decided to meet with Carter to discuss expanding on her stories and bringing them to life on the big screen. The duo soon realized that a single short story wasn’t enough material for a feature-length film, so they decided to adapt all of Carter’s werewolf tales into a single anthology.

With a completed script and a $2.3 million budget, Jordan decided to tackle the project like a hybrid between a theatrical period drama and a schlocky monster movie. Effects-heavy creature features were a hot commodity back in the ’80s, with films like The Howling and An American Werewolf in London proving that there was an audience for horrific lycanthrope transformations, so the director soon recruited a team that could turn this odd collection of feminist folk stories into something commercially viable.

Not exactly a great pick for family movie night.

Shooting would eventually take place almost entirely within the England-based Shepperton Studios, with notable production designer Anton Furst (who would later be known for his work on Tim Burton’s Batman films) helping to bring Jordan’s vision of a darkly romantic fairy-tale world to life. Appropriately enough, production would also involve a real pack of trained wolves (as well as a collection of dyed dogs), though extensive puppetry and animatronics were also used to flesh out the more gruesome parts of the flick.

After a grueling nine-week shoot where budgetary constraints led to corners being cut on props and costumes, The Company of Wolves was finally released in September of 1984 – just in time for spooky season. In the finished film, we follow the strange dreams of a sulky teenage girl named Rosaleen (first-time actress Sarah Patterson) as the film unravels an Arabian-Nights-inspired tapestry of both familiar and not-so-familiar stories about big bad wolves.

From sexually charged cautionary tales to parables about female empowerment, this surreal collection of deranged bedtime stories is much more than the creature feature that the marketing initially suggested. Like a more horror-oriented version of Jim Henson’s Labyrinth, The Company of Wolves exudes that same kind of hormonal teenage energy that transports us back to a time when the world was both scary and exciting in equal measure.

That’s not to say that this is an entirely pleasant experience, however, and I’m not just talking about the film’s horror elements. A big portion of the flick’s overtly sexual moments involve the then 13-year-old Patterson coming to grips with her blossoming womanhood and the dangers of predatory men (usually marked with a humorous unibrow), something that naturally makes for some intentionally uncomfortable viewing – especially in the year of our lord 2024.

Obviously, I don’t think it’s my place to dissect (or even judge) the effectiveness of the film’s commentaries on being a young woman, but even as a man I can still appreciate the thought and care that went into crafting this Jungian cocktail of serious themes in a genre-movie package that almost certainly went on to inspire future werewolf movies like Ginger Snaps.

Not the worst wedding I’ve been to.

That being said, what really keeps me coming back to the film is the absurd amount of memorable imagery. From a wedding party being taken over by canines to lonely treks through snowy groves, this is exactly the gloomy world I imagined as a child when reading Grimms’ Fairy Tales – and the dreamy atmosphere is only enhanced by the movie’s overall theatricality.

This also extends to the effects, as it’s easy to forgive decapitated dummy heads and ripped rubber skin when everything is happening in a magical hyper-reality, with a great example of this is being the scene where Grandma’s head unexpectedly explodes like a porcelain doll when it’s knocked off by a wolfman. That’s not to say that the effects are bad, as several of these transformations are downright grisly and likely influenced future lycanthrope effects like those in Underworld and even Trick ‘r Treat (even if the wolf-dogs here often look more cute than scary).

Of course, these aren’t the only things that The Company of Wolves has going for it, as the main trio of Patterson, Micha Bergese and the late, great Angela Lansbury exceptionally bring these exaggerated caricatures to life and the orchestral score is an absolute delight. I also really get a kick out of that bizarre ending implying that the dangers of adult life have literally come crashing into Rosaleen’s bedroom.

The Company of Wolves may not be a perfect film, suffering from some wonky pacing and the classic anthology problem where some stories are clearly much more enjoyable than others, but I’d argue that the flick’s iconic visuals and powerful thematic throughline more than make up for any minor flaws. And while we’ve seen bigger and better werewolf films since then, when it comes to adult-oriented fairy-tales, this is one psycho-sexual journey that is still worth revisiting 40 years down the line.

The Company of Wolves

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