Julia Cotton: scariest woman in cinema

Played by Clare Higgins, the character of Julia Cotton is the most terrifying part of Hellraiser and Hellraiser 2: Hellbound.

Those films score pretty high for me on the creepy factor, and it’s testament to the power of both her performance and Clive Barker’s writing that she is so memorable in a story full of blood, death, men with no skin, and actual non-metaphorical trips to hell.

The transformation she goes through, from detached housewife who screams at the sight of a cockroach, to deadly gore-caked Lady Macbeth is chilling.

In the sequel (spoiler alert, but keep reading anyway), when she too shows up without skin, back from oblivion, and goes through a series of outfits ranging from classic Mummy bandages, to 80’s power suit, to elegant ball gown, Julia Cotton even comments in the dialogue that she looks “surreal… like something out of a nightmare”.

But this isn’t Julia at her scariest. She achieves those heights in a heavily shoulder-padded business suit, with hair as tall as the roof, and some preposterous incognito sunglasses (in London, of all places!)

Chilling in a wine bar, lying in wait for desperate lonely yuppies to prey on her, ready to lead them quietly away to the most awful death imaginable – whacked on the back of the head with a cheap hammer, trousers round their ankles, before being torn asunder by her undead boyfriend.

Shivers down my spine. Proper shivers.

Bravo Clare Higgins.
You’ve given us a bogeywoman for the ages.

Radio // Future Sounds

As I write this I’m at Radio // Future Sounds, an event that’s part of Brighton Digital Festival.

I just spoke as part of a panel about “the podcast explosion”. It was fun, it was interesting, and mostly it was just really enlightening to find how many wildly different perspectives there are about podcasts.

Lots of people here are asking questions about radio, and it honestly never even occurred to me that podcasts are more than distantly related to radio.

I’ve never really listened to the radio. For me, I’ve pretty much always relied on “on demand” media for entertainment.

VHS, cassette tapes, vinyl. Then later, DVDs pretty much constantly until Netflix arrived. Now podcasts.

I’ve never watched a TV series as it broadcasts “live”. I’ve never tuned in for a live event streamed in real time.

Have I been missing something? If I surrendered to (I guess you’d have to call it) “off demand media”, would I live a more open, enriched life?

Would that mean I’d stumble upon things hitherto unknown to me? Would I be a better person?

Probably not. But it’s food for thought.

The podcast problem

I went to a two-day podcasting conference over the weekend, and while I met with some incredibly nice, inspiring, creative people there, I left with the overwhelming feeling that the whole thing was a bit… wrong.

A large number of the speakers at the conference make their living by teaching people how to podcast. Some of them charge thousands of pounds for their courses, promising an easy future of earning a high income through your passion (if your passion happens to be podcasting).

The thing is though, podcasting is super easy to do. Not just that, but it’s super DUPER easy to teach yourself how to do it, completely free of charge.

I reached the conclusion that people were paying the extortionate rates in the hope that, having paid the money they would be more motivated to finish the project, in order to justify the spend.

As in, part way through the project, if their interest wanes, they can’t quit because then they’d be £50000 in the hole with nothing to show for it.

But does forcing yourself to finish a project result in a good end product?

I guess the answer is, sometimes.

But only for a small percentage of people. There will be countless more paying £5000 that they can’t afford, to live a dream that doesn’t exist.

The only way to become a podcast millionaire, it seems, is by teaching people how to podcast.

Three road trips

And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead have lots of records, but they only have three that I like.

Those ones however, I really really like.

It occurred to me today that each of the three “good ones” reminds me very distinctly of riding in cars at different times of my life.

I don’t drive, and so whenever I’m in a car it’s because somebody is driving me somewhere. These days I tend to listen to the vast majority of my music on headphones – so basically, alone. Being in cars is often the only time I listen to record music along with other people.

Each of the three really great Trail Of Dead records hit me at a significant time, on some significant car journey, listening along with significant people. I thought I’d write about it.

Madonna (1999)

I am 16 years old. My friend Jim has given me a home-taped cassette of Trail Of Dead’s 2nd album, “Madonna”. Me and Jim have decided we’re going to start a band, so my Mum kindly drives me to the guitar shop to pick something out. We listen to Madonna the whole way.

Source Tags & Codes (2002)

I am 19 years old. I’m on my first proper tour with my band, driving from town to town. The 3rd Trail Of Dead album has just come out, and we’re all big fans, so we blast it as loud as we can stand in the van, screaming along together as we tear through the Welsh hills. It’s a big adventure.

Worlds Apart (2005)

I am 22 years old. I’m now living in London, at University. One of my new London friends picks me up in his car and we drive to a party nearby. He puts on Trail Of Dead’s 4th album, and I tell him about how I have a band in Brighton, but I’m not sure if we’re still together. Listening to the Trail Of Dead songs together, I tell him how much I miss band practice, and he convinces me to work on a new album.

It also occurs to me that Worlds Apart has Trail Of Dead’s best ever song on it, but isn’t their best album. This is the last Trail Of Dead record I will buy.

Cool in the summertime

This story is part of my ongoing 2015 monthly horror challenge.

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My parents basement was cool in the summertime. It smelled musty but I didn’t mind.

There were no windows, just one wooden door. It led off from the wine cellar, four stout stone steps behind the barrels to a rectangular brick room.

I always went down there on the hottest days. I didn’t like sports like the other children on our street. I sunburned easily, and the basement was a great place to hide – full of mystery and fun little secrets.

My parents would go down there occasionally, maybe once or twice a year, so the rest of the time it was my private little hideaway. I’d crouch in the corners watching spiders and making up stories.

The only rule was that I was supposed to leave the basement just as I’d found it. I always followed the rules, and so my parents never gave me too much of a hard time about missing out on the sunshine.

Sometimes it was tempting though. There was always one of Mum and Dad’s friends in the corner. They were no good to talk to, as they always had gags in their mouths, but I’d tell them my stories none the less. I’d practice the jokes I’d made up to see if they’d laugh. I was never very good at jokes though.

Sometimes the friends would look at me and shake their shoulders, lifting their wrists up where they were tied. I thought about using Dad’s stanley knife to cut the electrical tape, but I remembered the rule to never touch.

Every so often I’d scurry down into my secret basement clubhouse and discover that Mum & Dad and brought a new friend down there in the night. Those were always the best days. The new friends were the most lively. I’d chase them about in circles, watching them hop on their barefeet.

They’d tire quickly of course, and when they got too tired, I’d let Dad know and he’d be so angry!

He always made it clear though, he wasn’t ever angry at me, just angry at the situation. This always meant that Dad had to go down to the basement and turn the friend into wood, which looked like a lot of hard work. I never tried to touch Dad’s axe (because of the rules), but it certainly looked heavy.

I really miss those carefree childhood basement days. I truly think they may have been the happiest years of my life.