Monday, 6 July 2009

George McBride Obituary

While many a celebratory dies and are feted, no matter how unsavoury some parts of their lives were, some passings go unnoticed. One of those is George McBride, an elderly gay director whose career spanned many eras, from fifties quota quickie sci-fi to sixties nudie zombie biker movies, Roger Corman and American TV.

His producer, Jackson Tulord Breen DeWitt Delauncy 111, an elderly gent himself, (over 100 years old), remembers McBride fondly.

Old George was a strange one. I first laid eyes upon his ghastly nervous shell as he rebounded from a car driven by a thirteen year old child. He got up, took it with grace and got back to work, although the scenes he shot that day for me were a little lacking. Strangely the film made money, yet it was about a dog fighting an alien and its pet floozy in a small English village, so I think it was partially the writing. I remember a great suggestion of repressed sexuality in that one, that George would know all about.

George hated being asked personal questions, especially about his sexuality, which he would try to hide by buying obscene amounts of adult literature. Even the most perverted man could not get through a third of what he bought. He would be an exhausted shell, like the victims in one of George's infamous Nazi-fetish German alien invasion film Herr Slutz Die Neiberling. He was also deathly dull. That line from that semi-remake of George's 1965 bomb Abomination Wolf said it best. "Have you ever talked to a corpse. It's boring." George was like that.

Also, now I come to think of it, many a time could be stunningly unobservant. He always thought I was seventy when I was only twenty years older than him, the cheeky bugger. And his films were deadly and grotesquely paceless, to the point of masochism in regard to watching them, which why he has a following many have observed. They didn't intrigue, rise the passions, dip a little while the writer was drunk, then have have an orgy of either sex or violence (my rule, one, the other, or both!!!!).They meandered on like a serial killer looking for his next skin, like having sex with a vicar, a subject in which many, including myself and George, know a lot about. So they were bloody boring. God, I hated dailies when he was directing coma victims. In my day, producing quota quickies, we would hire the most pervy sicko's just to get through the day, on-screen and off. George had no truck with that so I only saw his films by contractual obligation.

Continuity bothered him even less than me. As I was a producer, that is damning. He didn't really show any interest in actors, actresses, dialogue pacing, story progression, scripts even. His motto was how many pages and where's the pub. And that's an attitude unfortunately lacking in today's directors.

After I fired George for giving oral sex to a leading man five minutes before a start of a day, I never saw him again. Oh I heard of his projects yet I never bothered to look them out as they seemed trashy, probably not in a good way. I never really had any interest in his personal life and would probably have walked by him in the street, given the choice.

I went to his rainy, cheap vulgar funeral, as I felt I should. His few friends had expired years ago from AIDS, there being ten people who sort of knew him. They said it was lung cancer officially but most youngsters sulking around the grave,, trying to cry with passion said it was the booze finally that left him adrift and exiting this mortal.... you know the rest. Ah well. So George McBride is dead. This may sound cruel buts its probably for the best.

A note: Some McBride fans object to the suggestion of why McBride left DeLauncy's employ, most saying it was other studio's offering him work. They also refuse to acknowledge his gayness, which is odd. But McBride was a strange, probably over-rated director. His cult continues to grow.

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