by Alexxus Young

I may be the first Native American (Cherokee) who is indelibly linked to Fantasy and Sci-Fi films. Better yet, I may be the only woman tailored into an iconic "genre" presence. Okay, let me slip into the abridged bio mode (those who could care less may want to scroll down a few paragraphs)-

Born in Los Angeles 19 years ago, I was later transplanted to an Arkansas horse plantation. Yielding to fantasy as a pastime, I was especially enamored with the medieval milieu: I loved the pageantry, the mythology-Morgan le Fey is so cool-the sorcery. My buds and I scared the hell out of one another with seances. Movies like LEGEND and LABYRINTH ruled! Attendance at a couple of STAR TREK conventions subsequently clinched my alliance with science fiction. But my preferred genres were handicapped by a deficiency of female role models. The only existing heroines were literally animated-She-Ra (the distaff He-Man), Sailor Moon and the computer-synergized Jen. Out of sheer practicality, I was determined to translate myself into a Sci-Fi Siren…not another Lara Croft or Lady Death clone, but a hybrid who can flexibly embody kick-butt crusaders and the retro damsels-in-distress who cowered on the covers of pulp magazines and 1950's B-movie one-sheets (I collect original vintage posters. My fave? It's a toss-up between MONSTER FROM THE OCEAN FLOOR and the Japanese HUMANOIDS FROM THE DEEP rendering. Camp to the max).

During the past few months, I posed for esteemed artists David Nestler, Robin Evans, Monte Moore, et al. Daniel Horne, who developed the LORD OF THE RINGS toy franchise, has sculpted his steamy Egyptian princess-she arouses the mummies of deceased lovers-into my likeness. Cool beans! I'm consistently shooting with Duane Polcou-New York's finest photographer-for pix that evoke a fantasy/horror/sci-fi panache. We all risked arrest when I posed at Edgar Allen Poe's tomb: the graveyard was padlocked, a consequence of a nearby construction site. Duane, yours truly and Bill George, my producer/manager, scaled a 19th century wall, slid down the roof of a mausoleum, took the pictures and got the hell out of there. Last week, I did the XENA thing: we cruised to the Misty Manor Riding Stable within very provincial Maryland County. Slipping into medieval duds, I mounted a horse named Big Boy (it was the first time that beast had been ridden bareback). Everything was smooth until I started to wield this big-ass, phat sword: Big Boy buckled and I fell right on my butt. Bill flipped-out but-adhering to ye 'ole adage-I (literally) got back on that horse again.

Anyway, Really Scary is an addiction. [Editor's note: *blush*] I love horror movies. I'm also heir to a tradition cooked-up by Bill and his partner, Jennifer Huss: whenever they get together, just before retiring, they watch BAD horror movies (Bill says that he and Jenni are sustaining a ritual originally co-conspired by the late Rick "Them!" Neff). We're talking El Stink-o. Bottom of the barrel. The big crapper. As a public service, I'd like to caution RS aficionados to films that prompt a retreat to gas masks. This week's candidate: a shot-on-video turd called HELL ASYLUM. It's a rip-off of HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL but camouflaged as a spoof of reality shows (specifically FEAR FACTOR). This one is shot on a gnat's shoestring (if, indeed, gnats actually wear shoes): the conservatory of the "haunted" house appears to be a school auditorium-little wonder that I was thinking more about bake sales than bogeymen. There are a couple of (what I presume to be) cute in-jokes: the host weaves a ghost story that plagiarizes the plot of PIECES. And one of the victims is named Rainbow (homage to drive-in diva, Cheryl "Rainbeaux" Smith?). But mired in its amateurish constrictions and 10 cent budget , this cow pie is fueled on unbridled misogyny: every one of the girls-all are vapid and/or bitchy-are split open like laundry bags (the gore f/x more often incarnate Gumby than Grand Guignol). My speculation about the film's Sadean streak?: the guys who made this anti-woman tract probably had no choice but to stay at home on Prom Night.

This week's flashback: check-out 1952's BLACKBEARD THE PIRATE. The movie was originally pitched by Val Lewton, the Horror Cinema's Renaissance Man, as a vehicle for Boris Karloff. But the whole thing was eventually subverted into butcher shop for Robert Newton's deliciously hambone performance in the title role (I suspect that scenery had to be hurriedly dismantled before he ate it). The film's sex/violence quota (i.e. horror content) somehow eluded the censors. Newton's Blackbeard cracks a joke about Linda Darnell's ample cleavage, which is barely concealed within low-cut, crimson-colored finery ("Har-har, Little Robin Red Breasts," lustily growls the pirate, after stripping-off Darnell's scarf. "I be a lover of nature," he smirks while ogling her chest, "however, we'll go into that later." Darnell's reaction: "If I had a pistol, I'd shoot out your gizzard pin." Were these double entendres so subtle that they weren't branded as provocative by the Hollywood watchdogs?). Also pretty risque for '52: a very stark image of Darnell's betrothed swinging from the yardarm, a noose around his neck. Darnell, oblivious to the corpse, inquires about her suitor's whereabouts. Blackbeard's comeback: "Hee-hee. He's aboard alright. I left him hanging around somewhere." If he weren't a bloodthirsty pirate, Blackbeard would be doing standup. Check-out his act on AMC broadcasts or rent the cassette. Another shock scene: a severed head is suspended from a rope in the town square. Gruesome stuff (remember, this film debuted during the same year that THE ADVENTURES OF OZZIE AND HARRIET myopically turned the American family into a Rockwell painting with canned laughter). Equally impacting is Linda Darnell's heroine, who deflects stereotype: never registering fear, she smuggles loot, kicks ass and twice tries to blow-away Blackbeard. Cool beans.

Someone should translate Blackbeard, an authentic 18th century buccaneer, into the new millennium's horror icon: trust me, he'd make Freddy Krueger look like a Make-A-Wish volunteer.

Hey, I'm starring in ARACHNIA, a "horror thriller" lensing in Vermont. Directed by Brett Piper (THEY BITE), the movie is a hybrid of TARANTULA and NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD. I play "Kelly," a party girl who is afraid of the dark and Gargantuan spiders -- oops, hope that's not too much foreshadowing.

Anyway, I'll be writing RS upon my return. Until then, I bid you adieu with a warm smile and a shameless plug (www.alexxusmodel.com).

[We want to thank Alexxus for a brilliant breaking in on our new Scary Voices feature. We hope to continue this feature with more of the same great commentary. And we've got more outstanding stuff coming from Alexxus - definitely stick around!]