One thing the Amazing Criswell didn’t predict: the existence of Edwin Lee Canfield’s Fact, Fictions, and the Forbidden Predictions of the Amazing Criswell, the first biography of the “psychic,” “actor” and other professions you could put in ironic quotes. Published by the great Headpress, which makes perfect sense, the book is so exhaustively researched, it gives itself chronic fatigue syndrome.
If at all, older generations are most apt to know Jeron Charles Criswell King through multiple sits on the hallowed couch of Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show, from where he spouted outrageous prophecies. Younger generations, however, likely came to know him through the films of Ed Wood, most notably Plan 9 from Outer Space, in which he plays himself, and Orgy of the Dead, in which he doesn’t, but may as well be since his approach is unchanged.
Since the Ed Wood rediscovery — roughly from the Medveds’ The Golden Turkey Awards in 1980 to Tim Burton’s Oscar-winning biopic of 1994 — Criswell has become a semi-legend of outré cinema. As Canfield demonstrates in detail, Criswell’s corniness wasn’t confined to the screen; the Renaissance (or Rent-a-Sance, perhaps) man was an outré figure in real life itself.
While the Wood association-cum-collaboration is well-explored, so are the less visible aspects of Criswell’s nearly eight decades on this mortal plane. His close friendship with sex symbol Mae West — then so past her prime, she was practically a recluse — may be oddball, but appears to be the definition of normal compared to his relationship with one Halo Meadows: that of longtime spouse, despite almost certainly being homosexual. Although Criswell was no stranger to embellishment when he met his Meadows, the wannabe theater icon thoroughly schooled her husband in self-promotion and -delusion.
All too often, figures on the cultural fringe are dismissed as mere crackpots to be laughed at like obliviously masturbating zoo animal, but Canfield gives Criswell the bio he deserves. Not because Criswell wasn’t a crackpot; he totally was, but he also was human. His Walter Mitty-style life comes across as both blessed and miserable, because while he enjoyed a mild celebrity, he seemed unable to fully capitalize on it, with he and Meadows always scraping for the next buck, not always legally.
If you’ve never read a Criswell prediction — as bold and brazen as they are baffling — Fact, Fictions has plenty loaded in its chamber, from his newspaper columns and books. The samples reprinted number many — sometimes too many, as a little goes a long way. Readers definitely get a full sense of his soothsaying showmanship … and wonder not only how anyone could take it seriously, but if it were all an act. You’ll find the answers — and more! — in this thick ’n’ quick read. For close to 400 pages, Canfield cannily celebrates Criswell’s bullshit while pulverizing right through it. —Rod Lott
I’ve not seen Anthony DiBlasi’s 2014 film, 
Befitting the inescapable social media and selfie culture it derides, the British-made 
