Casino of Frankenstein (Pt. 4)

Beyond the Heart of the American Drive-In

(Missed the first three installments of this road trip? Here they are: Pt. 1; Pt. 2; Pt. 3)

On the way back to El Cortez, the sun tried to kill me.

Nothing personal, I’m sure. But the angle of the rising sun meant that its fierce rays were perfectly aimed at my eyeballs, even behind the protection of a pair of Ray Bans. I also had been awake for the past 24 hours. Thankfully, the hotel was only 10 minutes away, and streets of Las Vegas were mostly empty. I steered Mildred, my 2013 Honda Accord, into her space without incident. I took the parking garage elevator to the ground floor, then shuffled past folks playing slots at 8 a.m. Then I tried to sleep.

Following an all-nighter in years past, I’d usually make the foolish attempt to power through the next day. This would definitely be a mistake today, since I had a second night of dusk-til-dawn movies ahead of me.

Several hours later I woke up with partial amnesia. Where was I? What had I been doing? Why does my body feel so strange? And where can I find dough, cheese and grease immediately?

The answers to the first three questions came floating back soon enough. As for the fourth, I found the answer after pulling a black baseball cap over the top of my head and staggering out into the sunlight. Just one block away was my salvation: Evel Pie.

Do you remember Evel Knievel, the motorcycle-riding daredevil in patriotic garb? If you grew up in the 70s, he was a real-life superhero right up there with Muhammad Ali and The Harlem Globetrotters. I didn’t have any Evel toys, but coveted them. I’m also pretty sure Two Year Old Me watched Devlin, the Saturday morning cartoon series inspired by Evel’s daredevil persona.

Yes, there we go again with the personas! Evel’s birth name was Robert Craig Knievel; he adopted his nickname after spending a night in jail (for reckless driving) with a dude named “Awful Knofel.” Along similar lines, I spent years trying to make “Insane Duane” happen, but alas…

Anyway, you may be asking yourself: What does Evel Knievel have to do with Las Vegas? I didn’t know the answer to that question until I tumbled down an Evel rabbit hole. The stunt that made him famous, arguably, was a 1969 motorcycle leap over the fountains in front of Caesars. Evel put his last hundred bucks down on the blackjack table, lost it, down a shot of Wild Turkey, and then made the leap that would…

… well, send Evel to the hospital with a concussion, a crushed pelvis and femur, and multiple fractures.

But the legend of Evel Knievel pulling himself from the brink of death (not exactly true) would kickstart his career, leading to more daredevil stunts, more bone-shattering injuries, a whole line of toys and games. and eventually… New York-style pizza served up in a glorious Fremont Street dive.

And yes, this is exactly the fuel I needed to return to the land of the living. One of the many things I miss about the East Coast? The pizza. New York style. Able to be folded in half and crammed into your mouth. A thin yet crispy crust with the perfect cheese-to-sauce-to-dough ratio. You know it when you taste it. And yes, Evel Pie has the goods. If you do one thing in Las Vegas, hit up this place.

Soon it was time to return to the drive-in. Tonight’s headliner? Chicago’s own Svengoolie.

Every major city has its horror host. I grew up in Philly and was a bit too young to catch Zacherle in his prime. But I was a huge fan of Saturday Night Dead’s Stella, the Man-eater from Manayunk (a.k.a. Karen Scioli, actually from South Philly). I’m proud that my high school marching band once marched in a parade (in Manayunk, come to think of it) featuring Stella as the grand master.

Chicago, however, had Svengoolie (a.k.a. Rich Koz), whose name is a play on Svengali, the character from the 1896 Gothic horror novel Trilby by George du Maurier. (And wow, did that novel send me down an entirely different rabbit hole… maybe I’ll write about it some other time.)

Joe Bob played a Svengoolie highlight reel as a kind of crash course for us non-Chicagoans, and from what I gathered, Svengoolie has an affinity for classic horror flicks (the Universal Monster movies in particular) as well as rubber chickens. So many rubber chickens.

Despite being an undead ghoul from the Windy City, Svengoolie came across as sweet… even a little humbled to be here in Las Vegas. (Actually, it was Rich Koz’s first-ever trip to the city, according to Joe Bob.) And while the event was framed as a duel to the death between Joe Bob vs. Svengoolie, the vibe was not so much adversarial as two monster kids trying to impress each other with deep-dive trivia about their beloved Universal Monsters.

Which brings me to the night’s lineup, which Joe Bob announced in advance. First up was James Whale’s Frankenstein (1931). You know, the film inspired by the four slot machines at El Cortez, which in turn inspired Mary Shelley to write the novel version more than 200 years in the past… or something like that. (That’s how IP works these days, right?)

I really like this version of Frankenstein, and I was happy to watch it again in the desert air. But it will forever be overshadowed by the very first movie I ever saw in a theater: Mel Brooks’ Young Frankenstein. Clips of this movie are among my very first memories, specifically Dr. Frederick Frankenstein (Gene Wilder) meeting Igor (Marty Feldman) for the first time:

DR. FRANKENSTEIN: You must be Igor.

IGOR: It’s pronounced eye-gore.

DR. FRANKENSTEIN: But they told me it was eee-gore.

IGOR: Well they were wrong then, weren’t they?

(Making things even more surreal: my college diploma was handed to me by none other than Peter Boyle, who played The Monster. But that’s also a story for another time…)

Film number two was Tod Browning’s Dracula, from the same year. Joe Bob sent shock waves through the audience when he ran down the drive-in totals, then ended up awarding this landmark vampire film… a lousy two and a half stars? Out of four!? Come on, Joe Bob! What did Tod Browning ever do to you?

Is this Drac a little slow and talky in places? Sure. Does it feature Renfield (Dwight Frye) visiting Dracula’s castle instead of Jonathan Harker (David Manners)? Guilty as charged. And is Count Dracula (the immortal Bela Lugosi) never actually seen biting someone’s neck? Okay, fine! But that’s what makes it refreshing to me.

I’ll also admit to having Tod Browning on the brain, having listened to the late David J. Skal’s wonderful biography on a cross-country drive a couple of years ago.

Before the third feature, Joe Bob showed a Three Stooges short, “We Want Our Mummy” (1939) in tribute to both Universal Monsters and Svengoolie, who moonlights as a Three Stooges expert. It was also a way to sneak in an extra monster without having to screen The Mummy (1932).

Around this time I felt the exhaustion creeping in. But I was determined make it just a little while longer, at least past midnight, so I could watch the entire third feature of the night: James Whale’s 1935 masterpiece, The Bride of Frankenstein.

The second night of Joe Bob’s Jamboree also happened to be the 72nd birthday of Clive Barker, who produced (and championed) Bill Condon’s 1998 feature Gods and Monsters, which focused on the final days of director Whale (portrayed by Ian McKellen).

Not long after the Bride (Elsa Lancaster) let loose her final horrified shriek, I decided to slink off to my own tomb. It was well after midnight, and I still had one full day of Vegas ahead of me. Namely: a walking tour at noon sharp the next day, led by Joe Bob himself. So I folded up my REI chair and told myself that I’d be able to watch The Wolf Man, Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein and Creature from the Black Lagoon at home. I may be part mutant, but I’m also human. (And very middle-aged.)

I didn’t make it back to El Cortez until around 2 a.m., and Fremont Street was still very much in party mode. The streets were jammed, bass lines were throbbing, and I swear I could hear the Bride’s shriek coming from the SlotZilla Zip Line just a few blocks away.

The casino floor was also mobbed (this was still Saturday night, after all), and I glanced over at the four Frankenstein slot machines, wondering what Mary Shelley would make of all this.

My Frankenstein weekend wasn’t over, however… oh, not by a long shot. I still had one day of adventures featuring dead mobsters, atomic blasts and extraterrestrial beings ahead of me…