The Ghastly One: The Sex-Gore Netherworld of Andy Milligan
Jimmy McDonough
A Cappella, 2001
If you had told me ten years ago that someone would be putting out a hardcover book about Andy Milligan, I wouldn’t have believed it. Mind you, this assertion would have been made before a movie was made about Ed Wood, and before similar books had been written about other Grade Z filmmakers, such as Al Adamson. Indeed, before there was a resurgence of interest in what we commonly refer to as schlock movies, former Times Square exploitation filmmaker extraordinaire Andy Milligan had already passed away, and his legacy was nearly forgotten. And even then, for those who have any familiarity with his work, the mere mention of Milligan’s name strikes fear in the darkest corner of a person’s heart.
People respond so violently to his name, usually because they are thinking of these gory horror movies he made in the late 1960s and throughout the 1970s, done on impossibly low budgets yet with an abundance of disdain towards film as an art form. Nonetheless, his films, with can’t miss titles like Bloodthirsty Butchers and The Ghastly Ones were hits in the 42nd St. grindhouses. Customarily, we think of Milligan by the work he did in this genre: tawdry Gothic horrors, done in period costumes which nearly fell off the backs of the Times Square low-lives who populated his films, often made with impossibly long takes as they were shot with a 16mm direct-sound Auricon, which discouraged any possibility of shooting coverage. Even more, their characters (I use that term loosely) are the most dysfunctional lot of humankind, committing the most unholy acts of depravity and degradation on one another, spewing their lines at one another with such uncontrollable venom (at the director’s insistence). Think of De Sade distilled through Poe, done as a home movie. Because Milligan’s films were made without compromise, it was hard for anyone to find any justification in such claustrophobic work: the films were too vile to be campy, and they were made under such poverty row conditions to be considered as art.
On the other hand, Jimmy McDonough’s incredible book, The Ghastly One, journeys way, way into the heart of darkness, and emerges with a striking biography, which is also a living, breathing character sketch of a very tormented man. The first few chapters of this book bring to mind John Rechy’s classic novel, City of Night. Both books depict an oppressive home life in very cinematic ways, and they both deal with central characters that seek their salvations amongst the societal dropouts and sexual deviates that prowled Times Square.
Coming from a hellish childhood dominated by a psychotic mother (evil matron figures would be a constant in his film work), and then working as a puppeteer, and as a dressmaker (Milligan would be the costume designer on his own movies under the pseudonym “Raffine”), Milligan got his first taste at directing in the Caffe Cino, an infamous off-off Broadway venue, in which he would hone his skills by adapting plays by Genet et al, featuring the actors giving one another real fisticuffs on stage! These plays were disturbing to say the least, but they illustrated the sadistic tendencies of the director that would only continue in his forays behind the camera.
Those who only know Milligan for his zero-budget horrors would be surprised to learn that his first film was an experimental short Vapors, which at the time correlated him with other underground filmmakers like Kenneth Anger and Jack Smith, and gives insight into his thoughts about his homosexuality by portraying gay characters with such over-the-top drag-queen posturing that seemed archaic then as now. Then he did a series of sexploitation films (like The Filthy Five) which, history records, were actually quite well made on impossible budgets, however many of these titles no longer exist. In fact, this is where the masochist couples with the sadist, when Milligan began his complex relationship with the Mishkins, the thieving producers of 42nd St. who would give only just enough to make films, and then screw the filmmaker again by making a mint from a pittance of an investment.
Several times throughout the book, McDonough segues into lengthy segments about certain cultural venues like the grindhouse circuit to give the reader an idea of the environments that Milligan would work in. In fact, much of the narrative of the book comes from Milligan himself, thanks to transcriptions the author had made after befriending the director in the 1980s, when he was attempting a comeback to the film world. Although McDonough actually finds some merit in the notorious films of the 1960s and 70s, he finds zero in any made in the twilight of Milligan’s life.
The Ghastly One is a result of years of painstaking research- the author incredibly managed to track down a lot of the people that appeared in the man’s films. While one reads this story, one compares Milligan’s life and career to that of Rainer Werner Fassbinder, especially in that each had a stock company of actors sadistically dependent on their director. Fassbinder’s group would go on to be art house film stars, and Milligan’s, well…
Someone should do a movie about Andy Milligan, directed the same way he made his own films, but shot in garish 16mm to compliment the seedy and claustrophobic nature of his world. (And of course, they would have to include the running black joke that seemingly every old house he moved into was haunted!) The book continues to give moments that are cinematic: traveling 100 miles to see a midnight revival of Bloodthirsty Butchers that is attended by a whopping four people; Milligan cruising the streets of his new home in L.A. seeing emaciated drag queen hustlers infected with AIDS… moments like these serve to remind the reader how desperate the life of Andy Milligan was. This story of a pathetic, tormented, complex man is impossible to put down- although Andy Milligan is hardly someone you’d invite over to a barbecue, his sordid life from troubled childhood to his death from AIDS is also strangely compelling. Perhaps we become as weirdly fascinated by the man as did many of the interviewees for this book.
At the end of Milligan’s life, he was broke and mostly forgotten, and what remained of his films were tattered remnants of his glory days. Jimmy McDonough has done an incredible job of research, and also continues to uphold the legacy of a forgotten figure. I am also reminded of Rudolph Grey’s biography on Ed Wood- both men realize how special and, dare I say it, important their body of works are. The Ghastly One concludes with extracts from screenplays, including one for an unrealized project on Jean Cocteau. The dialogue is typically overflowing with bile, and the characters are absolute parasites. This would have been another classic.
Originally published in Vol.#1, Issue #15. UPDATE! Jimmy McDonough recently re-released The Ghastly One in a new hardcover edition with more illustrations.
Greg Woods
Greg Woods has been a film enthusiast since his teens, and began his writing "career" at the same time- prolific in capsule reviews of everything he had watched, first on index cards, then those hardcover dollar store black journals, then an old Mac IIsi. He founded The Eclectic Screening Room in 2001, as a portal to share his film love with the world, and find some like-minded enthusiasts along the way. In addition to having worked in the film industry for over two decades, he has been a co-programmer of films at Trash Palace, and a programmer/co-founder of the Toronto Film Noir Syndicate. He has also written for Broken Pencil, CU-Confidential, Micro-Film, and is currently working on his first novel. His secret desire is for someone to interview him for a podcast or a DVD extra.