Vincent is a 1982 stop motion short horror film written, designed, and directed by Tim Burton. It’s produced by Rick Heinrichs. It is the second Disney horror film, the first being The Watcher in the Woods. At approximately six minutes in length, there is currently no individual release of the film except for a few bootleg releases. It can be found on the 2008 Special Edition and Collector’s Edition DVDs of The Nightmare Before Christmas as a bonus feature and on the Cinema16 DVD American Short Films.
While working as a conceptual artist at Walt Disney Productions, Tim Burton found himself two allies in Disney executive Julie Hickson, and Head of Creative Development Tom Wilhite. The two were impressed with Burton’s unique talents and, while not “Disney material”, they felt he deserved respect. As such, in 1982, Wilhite gave Burton $60,000 to produce an adaptation of a poem Burton had written titled Vincent. Burton had originally planned the poem to be a children’s short story book but thought otherwise.
Together with fellow Disney animator Rick Heinrichs, stop motion animator Stephen Chiodo and cameraman Victor Abdalov, Burton worked on the project for two months and came up with the six-minute short film. Shot in stark black-and-white in the style of the German Expressionist films of the 1920s, Vincent imagines himself in a series of situations inspired by the Vincent Price/Edgar Allan Poe films that had such an effect on Burton as a child, including experimenting on his dog â a theme that would subsequently appear in Frankenweenie â and welcoming his aunt home while simultaneously conjuring up the image of her dipped in hot wax. Vincent Malloy, the main character in the film, bears a striking resemblance to Tim Burton himself.
The film was narrated by Burton’s childhood idol, Vincent Price, and marked the beginning of a friendship between them that lasted until Price’s death in 1993. Burton credits the experience as one of the most formative experiences of his life.
The film was theatrically released for two weeks in one Los Angeles cinema with the teen drama Tex. Before it was consigned to the Disney vaults, it garnered several critical accolades when it played at film festivals in London, Chicago and Seattle, winning two awards at Chicago and the Critics’ Prize at the Annecy Film Festival in France.
The film is narrated by actor Vincent Price, a lifelong idol and inspiration for Burton. From this relationship, Price would go on to appear in Burton’s Edward Scissorhands. Price later made the following statement:
“Vincent was the most gratifying thing that ever happened. It was immortality â better than a star on Hollywood Boulevard.”
Treehouse of Horror is a series of Halloween-themed episodes of the Adult animated series The Simpsons, each consisting of three separate, self-contained segments. These segments usually involve the Simpson family in some horror, science fiction, or supernatural setting. They take place outside the show’s normal continuity and completely abandon any pretense of being realistic, being known for their far more violent and much darker nature than an average Simpsons episode. The first, entitled Treehouse of Horror, aired on October 25, 1990, as part of the second season and was inspired by EC Comics horror tales. Since then, there have been 30 other Treehouse of Horror episodes, with one airing every year. Episodes contain parodies of horror, science fiction, and fantasy films, as well as the alien characters Kang and Kodos, a special version of the opening sequence, and scary names in the credits.
Take a look, if you dare, at the episode that started it all: the original showcase of Halloweâen goodies that have come to be know as The Treehouse of Horror, found in the Simpsons archives, season 2 episode 3. Following, I have included Edgar Allan Poeâs The Raven for reference to The Simpsons unique take on the classic poem.
The Raven
Edgar Allan Poe (1845)
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten loreâ While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. ââTis some visitor,â I muttered, âtapping at my chamber doorâ Only this and nothing more.â
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;âvainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrowâsorrow for the lost Lenoreâ For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenoreâ Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled meâfilled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating ââTis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber doorâ Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;â This it is and nothing more.â
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, âSir,â said I, âor Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard youââhere I opened wide the door;â Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, âLenore?â This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, âLenore!ââ Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. âSurely,â said I, âsurely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery exploreâ Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;â âTis the wind and nothing more!â
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber doorâ Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber doorâ Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, âThough thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,â I said, âart sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shoreâ Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Nightâs Plutonian shore!â Quoth the Raven âNevermore.â
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaningâlittle relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber doorâ Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as âNevermore.â
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he utteredânot a feather then he flutteredâ Till I scarcely more than muttered âOther friends have flown beforeâ On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.â Then the bird said âNevermore.â
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, âDoubtless,â said I, âwhat it utters is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden boreâ Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of âNeverânevermoreâ.â
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yoreâ What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking âNevermore.â
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosomâs core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushionâs velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated oâer, But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating oâer, She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. âWretch,â I cried, âthy God hath lent theeâby these angels he hath sent thee Respiteârespite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore; Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!â Quoth the Raven âNevermore.â
âProphet!â said I, âthing of evil!âprophet still, if bird or devil!â Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchantedâ On this home by Horror hauntedâtell me truly, I imploreâ Is thereâis there balm in Gilead?âtell meâtell me, I implore!â Quoth the Raven âNevermore.â
âProphet!â said I, âthing of evil!âprophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above usâby that God we both adoreâ Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenoreâ Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.â Quoth the Raven âNevermore.â
âBe that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!â I shrieked, upstartingâ âGet thee back into the tempest and the Nightâs Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken!âquit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!â Quoth the Raven âNevermore.â
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demonâs that is dreaming, And the lamp-light oâer him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be liftedânevermore!
The prisoner strapped under a descending pendulum blade. A raven who refuses to leave the narratorâs chamber. A beating heart buried under the floorboards. Poeâs macabre and innovative stories of gothic horror have left a timeless mark on literature. But just what is it that makes Edgar Allan Poe one of the greatest American authors? Scott Peeples investigates.
Treehouse of Horror is a series of Halloween-themed episodes of the Adult animated series The Simpsons, each consisting of three separate, self-contained segments. These segments usually involve the Simpson family in some horror, science fiction, or supernatural setting. They take place outside the show’s normal continuity and completely abandon any pretense of being realistic, being known for their far more violent and much darker nature than an average Simpsons episode. The first, entitled Treehouse of Horror, aired on October 25, 1990, as part of the second season and was inspired by EC Comics horror tales. Since then, there have been 30 other Treehouse of Horror episodes, with one airing every year. Episodes contain parodies of horror, science fiction, and fantasy films, as well as the alien characters Kang and Kodos, a special version of the opening sequence, and scary names in the credits.
Treehouse of Horror: The Raven
Matt Groening (2020)
Take a look, if you dare, at the episode that started it all: the original showcase of Halloweâen goodies that have come to be know as The Treehouse of Horror, found in the Simpsons archives, season 2 episode 3. Following, I have included Edgar Allan Poeâs The Raven for reference to The Simpsons unique take on the classic poem.
The Raven
Edgar Allan Poe (1845)
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten loreâ While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. ââTis some visitor,â I muttered, âtapping at my chamber doorâ Only this and nothing more.â
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;âvainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrowâsorrow for the lost Lenoreâ For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenoreâ Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled meâfilled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating ââTis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber doorâ Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;â This it is and nothing more.â
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, âSir,â said I, âor Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard youââhere I opened wide the door;â Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, âLenore?â This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, âLenore!ââ Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. âSurely,â said I, âsurely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery exploreâ Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;â âTis the wind and nothing more!â
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber doorâ Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber doorâ Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, âThough thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,â I said, âart sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shoreâ Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Nightâs Plutonian shore!â Quoth the Raven âNevermore.â
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaningâlittle relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber doorâ Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as âNevermore.â
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he utteredânot a feather then he flutteredâ Till I scarcely more than muttered âOther friends have flown beforeâ On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.â Then the bird said âNevermore.â
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, âDoubtless,â said I, âwhat it utters is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden boreâ Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of âNeverânevermoreâ.â
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yoreâ What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking âNevermore.â
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosomâs core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushionâs velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated oâer, But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating oâer, She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. âWretch,â I cried, âthy God hath lent theeâby these angels he hath sent thee Respiteârespite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore; Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!â Quoth the Raven âNevermore.â
âProphet!â said I, âthing of evil!âprophet still, if bird or devil!â Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchantedâ On this home by Horror hauntedâtell me truly, I imploreâ Is thereâis there balm in Gilead?âtell meâtell me, I implore!â Quoth the Raven âNevermore.â
âProphet!â said I, âthing of evil!âprophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above usâby that God we both adoreâ Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenoreâ Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.â Quoth the Raven âNevermore.â
âBe that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!â I shrieked, upstartingâ âGet thee back into the tempest and the Nightâs Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken!âquit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!â Quoth the Raven âNevermore.â
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demonâs that is dreaming, And the lamp-light oâer him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be liftedânevermore!