Supporting Audio Candy:
45 Grave Party Time
Okay Grueheads here’s the scoop, straight from the tip of the Crimson Quill. Today I am thrilled to reveal that I will soon be breaking bread with one of the most revered of eighties scream queens, the irrepressible Linnea Quigley or, as I often refer to her, Linnea “Motherfucking” Quigley. The additional expletive is a mark of monumental respect and not an action I partake in willy nilly. We have Tom “Goddamn” Savini, John “The Balls” Carpenter”, Dario “santo cazzo Madre di Cristo” Argento and, of course, Linnea, that chick with the chainsaw. In what possible manner could you approach the gargantuan task of interviewing such eminence? With kindness clearly, with great reverence most definitely, with doey eyes undoubtedly. Soon I will be faced with such a conundrum as Ms Quigley has agreed to an exclusive Q&A with Keeper to be published right here on Rivers of Grue in the very near future. In the words of Noah on the twelfth day of incessant downpour, “Holy piss!”
Okay so we’re all friends here right? First I suggest we deal with the elephant in the room as it will only eat me up if I choose not to come clean. I yanked my chain rather excessively as a teenager and, while I wisely used enough moisturizing lotion to prevent any outbreaks of calluses, I’m fairly assured the national average rose as a direct result of my frequently contested monkey spank heptathlon. There were a number of visual aids to encourage adolescents to break the seal on their untapped resources but few more magnanimous than Quigley. Quote, I love Linnea, unquote. All things considered; why the devil wouldn’t I? I shared so many rapturous moments basking in her divine majesty and spent enough mind shrapnel to take out Rambo III so it’s fair to say that, while she may not recognize my penis in a line-up, it sure as shit balls knows who she is. Indeed, my entire sexual awakening was largely invested in this brassy blonde bubblegum beauty.
Her résumé is 123 strong and still rapidly expanding with no less than six more movies currently in production. After making her debut in 1975’s Psycho from Texas Barmaid, she went on to become one of the most prolific women working in the industry, endearing herself to us all with her insatiable drive and fierce commitment to the cause. It would be fruitless offering full inventory so, in typical Keeper tradition, here are some particularly ripened cherries from her heyday. Don’t Go in the Park in 1979, Graduation Day in 1981, Silent Night Deadly Night in 1984, Creepozoids in 1987, Dead Heat and Elm Street IV: The Dream Master in 1988, Guyver in 1991, Pumpkinhead II: Blood Wings in 1994, Kolobos in 1999, 2009’s Night of the Demons reboot, and Dead End a year later. That’s an impressive index by anyone’s calculations. And don’t get me started on John Landis’ stupendous Innocent Blood in 1992, Let’s just say she was a busy girl.
No one committed themselves so selflessly to the cause of horror through my favourite decade and she tantalized us with a plethora of peppy performances in some of the finest B-Movies of the epoch. However, as Trash in Dan Bannon’s 1985 zombie tour de force , The Return of The Living Dead, she finally graduated to the wall directly above my slumber patch. The customary flaxen locks were curiously absent and replaced by a deep red punk cut which she wore with considerable resplendence. After teasing us sufficiently, she commenced to derobe until left clad in only her leg warmers, before taking a bite from the undead party animals and joining them in the festivities. If you’re a fan of this classic movie then you may remember Spider’s reaction when she dropped that linen. Well, let’s just say, that my facial rejoinder echoed his. I’m not 100% sure but I believe hers was the first shaved kitty ever to grace my screen. I was doing fine with seventies bush until she came along, gyrated those hips, and kickstarted the great pubic drought single-handedly.
Dennis Michael Tenney Night of The Demons
Then we have the tiny matter of Kevin Tenney’s equally bombastic 1988 behemoth, Night of The Demons. As salacious good-time girl Suzanne, she provoked something of a Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama from Keeper, wiggling that dainty little tush until I was left gurning like an infant before unbuttoning her blouse and feeding her blushing areola a lipstick. I was in touch with my inner new romantic, thus that event may have coincided with my brief rendezvous with women’s cosmetics. I was only fourteen and the idea of ladies’ breasts acting as flesh-colored Pez dispensers appeared both logical and rather ingenious. It was all going swimmingly until I attempted to slide my house key into my urethra. That reminds me; I shall have to ask how the hell she did that. That remarkable special effect still dumbfounds me to this very day.
Anyhoots, by the turn of the nineties, those wondrous leg-warmers were set to make a more than welcome return as Linnea Quigley’s Horror Workout hit the treadmill. In addition to busting out her finest Lycra, she also brandished the most famous of toothy dispatchers, the chainsaw. She had already become known for wielding this titanic eviscerator after getting her kicks in Fred Olen Ray’s Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers in 1988. Now, for any minors currently tuning in, I would like to point out that wielding one such fueled beast whilst partaking in your bi-daily stomach crunches is strictly not advisable and to left to trained professionals like Linnea. However, it made a nice mental break from Leatherface every time the revving and flailing began and I squeezed my eyes tight once more. There’s wasn’t a great deal of cause for hard-ons during Tobe Hooper’s magnum opus; all the activity was around the back. Linnea focused on those tight groin muscles. God bless her for that.
The eighties are a decade remembered fondly for their majestic female leads. Sigourney Weaver and Jamie Lee Curtis led the charge for sisters to begin doing it for themselves, becoming strong independent role-models in the process. Linnea continued the trend but had a darned sight more fun in her role. Whereas Weaver and Lee-Curtis became increasingly stern-faced, almost masculine in their roles, there was always a welcome frothy innocence to Quigley. Any feature, no matter how lousy, benefited infinitely from her very presence but behind that bubblegum bodaciousness was a true professional; voracious and fiercely committed to her beloved horror.
Back to the elephant in the room once more. While Linnea regularly appeared scantily clad in bikinis and garbed in cheerleader attire, she often misplaced her garments altogether. This was to the perpetual gratitude of her legion of doting devotees as, lets lay our cards on the table, she simply gushes sexuality. Should I have been endowed with the natural beauty and shapely assets of Quigley, then damn right I’d flaunt it some too. Her supple pelt wraps around her like a fine hand-woven American quilt, while those treasure trove eyes dazzle akin to precious stones, and that infectious smile extends warmth, touching all of us in one way or another.
There has always been something about this particular scream queen that set her apart from her contemporaries: and I speak now of her virtue and humanity. It is evident that she was, still is, and forever will be, a sex symbol. However, she has always been more than that to me. Linnea is iconic, erotic, hypnotic and a true ambassador for women in horror cinema. Mention must be made of my dear friend and collaborator C. William Giles, who almost popped like a primed pimple when I informed him that this killer Q&A was inbound. You see, I’m not alone in the mad love I have for this sultry sexpot and fine human being. It will, of course, be an exclusive honour to pitch the upcoming posers and I trust I will supply you cherished Grueheads the questions you all desire answered. The reason I can assure this is elementary. Strip away any bravado and swagger, cut me to my core, and I am just a wide-eyed boy with a ferocious passion for all things horror. It just so happens, Linnea Quigley figures dominantly in that equation.
The young child inside is bursting with pride
Dear Linnea to kneel down before thee
such grace and such style, indisputable guile
such infinite cause to adore thee
My bubblegum pops as you open that top
and flop out the fruits of your loom
then just as my waistband commences to stretch
you go rev up that motor of doom
Now Keeper won’t lie and refuses to try
many times you helped me blow my stash
but there was much more truly grace and demure
Rest assured you’re a long way from trash
With chainsaw in hand there is no sight more grand
one could say you look simply serene
no lipstick is safe with the slight of your hand
you’re a scream and moreover our queen
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
#BrutalWordWrangler #CrimsonHoneyDripper #CruelWordSculptor
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013 (Director’s Cut 2015)
In Linnea We Thrust
If, like Keeper, you are around the forty mark and either sex, then you will likely appreciate the following optical montage. I grew up in the era of Porky’s and, while Paulie The Penis was prodding lard ass from the wrong side of the girl’s dorm shower wall, I was too busy taunting Linnea’s chainsaw teeth with William The Winky to care for that rush of blood to the head. Throw in Kelli Maroney and DeDee Pfeiffer and you have yourself an untrumpable band of blondies. However, it’s Linnea who wears the leg warmers. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have being fifteen again to catch up on. Here comes the lipstick!