"Growing up in small town Ontario, most kids my age spent their Saturdays at hockey practice or at “the show”. Since my Father was the manager of the biggest theatre in town…a pretty cool job for a Dad, my particular extracurricular preoccupation was somewhat preordained. I went to the movies. Not to my Dad’s theatre though. Not on Saturdays. On Saturdays, I’d go to the Center Theatre. That’s where you could see three horror movies for fifty cents. Actually, I never had to pay the admission at all because I had a certain business connection. I remember going into the theatre at noon and getting out at around dinner time. I remember the song for the Shopsey’s hotdogs. I remember being scared. I remember walking home in the dark. That was neat. I remember Peter Cushing, and Peter Lorre and Vincent Price and Dracula and The Mummy and The Invisible Man and The Green Slime and…Frankenstein. I think I remember the Frankenstein movies most of all because somehow, they weren’t as frightening as all the others. The monster was big and mean and ugly and he killed a lot of people, but he was also a sympathetic character. Part of me felt sorry for him every time he died. Maybe that’s why Frankenstein was never completely satisfying to the Saturday afternoon crowd at the Center Theatre. Maybe it doesn’t make a great horror movie. 

Maybe it’s just a great story "