When one thinks of quirky, odd horror movies, Larry Cohen's name generally comes to mind first. More astute fans may bring up Jeff Lieberman.
Lieberman wasn't really a prolific horror director, but he did some real gems in his career. The squeamish grindhouse shocker Squirm. Blue Sunshine, which dealt with the horrific long-term affects of LSD. A satire centering around the home video phenomenon called Remote Control, which was a big favorite of mine. And the genuinely subversive Satan's Little Helper.
Jeff Lieberman has given us a book of his memoirs. The book is saddled with the unwieldy title, Day of the Living Me. It's a rambling series of accounts of his adventures and misadventures in life, mostly around show business. He certainly hobbed and nobbed with interesting people, such as John Lennon, George Burns, and Rod Serling, There are some funny stories, but other times it feels like name-dropping.
Day of the Living Me is sometimes amusing, and sometimes a bit tedious. His writing is loose, and sometimes as awkward as the book's title. I enjoyed the book for the most part, despite the usual assortment of typos in an independent book. Authors miss a lot of these, and that is what professional proofreaders are for. One or two are forgivable, but there were a few too many. He could have at least taken the trouble to spell Schindler's List correctly.
I never felt a real connection with Lieberman the way I do with Stephen King in Danse Macabre and On Writing. Or John Waters in Shock Value. Despite authoring some real genre classics, Jeff Lieberman isn't really a horror person. When describing horror conventions he comes across like a tourist. There's nothing fundamentally wrong with that, but he isn't really one of us.
I don't regret reading Day of the Living Me, but such a slim volume is a bit overpriced at $16.95. You could pass it by without missing out on too much. If you haven't read it yet, try Don Coscarelli's True Indie instead.
Written by Mark Sieber
Lieberman wasn't really a prolific horror director, but he did some real gems in his career. The squeamish grindhouse shocker Squirm. Blue Sunshine, which dealt with the horrific long-term affects of LSD. A satire centering around the home video phenomenon called Remote Control, which was a big favorite of mine. And the genuinely subversive Satan's Little Helper.
Jeff Lieberman has given us a book of his memoirs. The book is saddled with the unwieldy title, Day of the Living Me. It's a rambling series of accounts of his adventures and misadventures in life, mostly around show business. He certainly hobbed and nobbed with interesting people, such as John Lennon, George Burns, and Rod Serling, There are some funny stories, but other times it feels like name-dropping.
Day of the Living Me is sometimes amusing, and sometimes a bit tedious. His writing is loose, and sometimes as awkward as the book's title. I enjoyed the book for the most part, despite the usual assortment of typos in an independent book. Authors miss a lot of these, and that is what professional proofreaders are for. One or two are forgivable, but there were a few too many. He could have at least taken the trouble to spell Schindler's List correctly.
I never felt a real connection with Lieberman the way I do with Stephen King in Danse Macabre and On Writing. Or John Waters in Shock Value. Despite authoring some real genre classics, Jeff Lieberman isn't really a horror person. When describing horror conventions he comes across like a tourist. There's nothing fundamentally wrong with that, but he isn't really one of us.
I don't regret reading Day of the Living Me, but such a slim volume is a bit overpriced at $16.95. You could pass it by without missing out on too much. If you haven't read it yet, try Don Coscarelli's True Indie instead.
Written by Mark Sieber
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