I’ve always been an enormous fan of the films of Roger Corman and one of his shrewdest skills was the uncanny ability to hire talented people at a low price. He worked with a lot of terrific writers, including Richard Matheson, Charles Beaumont, John Sayles, William Hjortsberg, Ray Russell, among many others. But one of [...]

I’ve always been an enormous fan of the films of Roger Corman and one of his shrewdest skills was the uncanny ability to hire talented people at a low price. He worked with a lot of terrific writers, including Richard Matheson, Charles Beaumont, John Sayles, William Hjortsberg, Ray Russell, among many others. But one of his most prolific scribes was Charles B. Griffith.

Charles Griffith began his long and fruitful collaboration with Corman on The Gunslinger, a cheapo western that starred the very va-va-voom Beverly Garland. It, like most of Corman’s films, was a financial success and it led to Griffith working on films like It Conquored the World, Not of this Earth, Attack of the Crab Monsters, The Undead, Teenage Doll, and others, including the celebrated trio of Corman Comedies, A Bucket of Blood, Creature from the Haunted Sea and Little Shop of Horrors.

As Roger Corman matured as a filmmaker, so did the scripts he used. Humor was sharper and more socially conscious and Griffith penned such drive-in classics as The Wild Angels, Eat My Dust! and The Swinging Barmaids.

However, if Charles B. Griffith had only written one film. One. He should be remembered virtually forever. I’m talking about what is arguably the greatest, most remarkable and revered exploitation movie of all time: the immortal, the brilliant, the one and only Death Race 2000.

Charles Griffith also did some directing and he helmed the Ron Howard hot rod classic, Eat My Dust!. Other films made by Griffith include the underwater monster epic, Up From the Depths, Smokey Bites the Dust and Dr. Heckle and Mr. Hype.

The name, Charles B. Griffith, is synonymous with what made going to the drive-in fun. He wasn’t the best writer the screen ever saw, but he always gave the viewer a good time and maybe, just maybe, a little something to think about when the final credits ended. That’s more than good enough for me.

Charles Griffith died on Friday, September 28th. He was 77 years old. Way too young for such an inspiration to pass away from this world.

Goodbye, Charles B. Griffith. You will never be forgotten.


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