So begins James Whale’s 1933 film The Invisible Man, the story of a man driven power-mad by a chemical that causes invisibility. Yet the laughter continues.Īnd reader, I felt as though I’d fallen in love. Off come the glasses and gloves, the bandages and shirt. Laughing maniacally, Griffin throws his plastic nose at the crowd. Two scenes later, when a police officer and small mob have shown up following a fracas between the other innkeeper and Griffin, they are even more surprised. Hall can’t wait even five seconds to put down Griffin’s wet clothing before spreading stories about the odd man upstairs. “Bandages!” she proclaims to the bar, “right up to the top of his head… looks like some kind of ‘orrible accident.” Mrs. Why is he bandaged up? Is he dangerous? Should the safe be locked up? Not long after Griffin has moved in and been brought dinner, Mrs. Hall, head upstairs, the bar begins discussing the stranger in hushed whispers. ![]() He comes to The Lion’s Head wanting a warm room, a place to sleep and work, and most importantly, his privacy.Īs Griffin and one of the innkeepers, Mrs. The innkeepers aren’t even prepared for guests, not at this time of year. Everyone’s eye is drawn to this mystery person, an odd-man-out in an environment not used to strangers. The drunkards at the bar, drinking, gossiping, and mimicking Chopin at a player piano, all fall silent. Jack Griffin, covered in apparel from head to toe and face swathed in bandages, walks out of a snowstorm and into The Lion’s Head, a local inn. ![]() This is the first installment of Unconventionally Hot Monsters: a collection of essays about the monsters we love to tie in with our latest Zine.ĭr.
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