Born in Gloucester, Massachusetts, Maila Elizabeth Syrjäniemi spent her youth in Astoria, Oregon working for fish canneries.  After high school, she developed grander ambitions and headed to New York and Los Angeles, where she acted, danced, and flirted with greatness.  Finally, in 1954, now known as Maila Nurmi, she entered pop culture notoriety, initiating a fine tradition for weirdos across the land, the television horror host.  Crafting a look based partly on Charles Addams’s maternal figure from his creepy New Yorker cartoons, later named Morticia for the famous Addams Family sitcom, Maila morphed into Vampira, and for a year, she held Los Angeles spellbound with her macabre quirkiness laced with innuendo and her strong individualist nature, briefly hitting the big time, all while hosting B-grade horror and mystery films on The Vampira Show.

Today, stills and snippets bounce around the Internet, but no complete episodes or passages of length exist other than Nurmi’s appearances on The Red Skelton Show and The George Gobel Show. My first encounter with her was Ed Wood’s Plan 9 from Outer Space.  So was yours, I imagine.  Thanks to punk rockers, goths, and horror aficionados, Vampira has been enjoying a cult renaissance over the last decade and a half.  She was the first, people!  She launched a phenomenon that includes Zacherly, Seymour, Bob Wilkins, Ghoulardi, Sammy Terry, Svengoolie, Mr. Lobo, Joe Bob Briggs, Morgus the Magnificent, Elvira, and others sharing their love for cheap horror over stations, public access, and streaming platforms.  Wanting to learn more about her, I read four books about or related to Nurmi. Each approaches her from different aspects—the sociocultural by a Professor of History at the College of Charleston, the purely biographical presented by a loving niece, and two illustrating how her landmark efforts spawned a magnificent industry. Feel free to scream. Vampira found it relaxing. You might too.

Vampira: Dark Goddess of Horror by W. Scott Poole

W. Scott Poole admits that his book isn’t a traditional biography of Vampira, whom he describes as a “religion without a holy scripture.”  The problem?  Nurmi rarely spoke about her childhood, and what she did share were fabrications designed to boost her image.  She adopted the last name “Nurmi” after Finnish runner Paavo Nurmi, insinuating that they were related. Poole flatly states that Nurmi “lied a great deal about her background.”  This is no indictment, however.  Nurmi sought acclaim in an industry based on a fantasy world that believed Mervyn LeRoy discovered a 16-year-old Lana Turner at Schwab’s Drugstore, where Marion Morrison rode across the screen as John Wayne, and where Archibald Leach evolved into the eternally suave Cary Grant.  Creative imagery and mythical self-promotion define the Hollywood game, but unfortunately for Nurmi, it didn’t pan out well at all.

Rather than the subject herself, Poole explores social forces happening around Nurmi, forces that influenced the birth of Vampira while she partly influenced them. What bits and pieces we know about Nurmi and her Vampira – how her costume garnered notice at Lester Horton’s 1953 Bal Caribe, leading to a job at KABC-TV, and thus becoming the first television horror host, for example – provide a framework for the author’s discussion about 1950s cultural trends, particularly those affecting women.  Domestic containment, the pin-up phenomenon, Cold War paranoia, and rampant consumerism all receive attention.

Those hoping for details about Nurmi herself might feel disappointed unless they willingly let go of expectations and go with Poole’s flow because Vampira: Dark Goddess of Horror offers an excellent discussion. Nonetheless, I can’t help wondering how he reacted upon encountering the next book, which is filled with revelations about Nurmi based on information Poole couldn’t access.

Glamour Ghoul: The Passions and Pain of the Real Vampira, Maila Nurmi by Sandra Niemi

During Vampira’s early days, Nurmi once related “facts” about herself to a Los Angeles Tribune Reporter. Scott Bradfield of the Los Angeles Times outlines the encounter:

“There isn’t much to tell,” she said. “I was born in Lapland …. I have an owl for a house pet. I have a 19-inch waist, 38-inch bust and 36-inch hips. My earliest recollection as a child is that I always wanted to play with mice. I’m very antisocial. I simply detest people. I don’t like snakes; they eat spiders, and I’m very fond of spiders.” Asked how she felt about children, she didn’t miss a beat: “Oh yes … delicious.”

Sandra Niemi, Nurmi’s niece, burrows straight for the truth behind this constructed persona.  With unlimited access to Nurmi’s diaries and family records, Niemi reveals an intelligent woman who, at times, couldn’t cut a break while at other junctures shot both her feet while aiming at only one.  After discovering her performing in Mike Todd’s Spook Scandals, Howard Hawks brought Nurmi from New York to Hollywood for his unrealized horror film, Dreadful Hollow, scripted by William Faulkner — unfortunately, it a non-starter because after becoming annoyed by a photo shoot, Nurmi marched into Hawks’s office and tore up her contract.  Then there’s the famous Bal Caribe costume affair and her successful stint as Vampira, which lasted only a year until Nurmi descended into obscurity once again over ownership and contract issues.

Most stunning is what Niemi uncovers about Nurmi’s relationships with famous men, especially how Nurmi gave birth to Orson Welles’s son.  They’d begun a romantic entanglement after meeting at the Brown Derby, but Welles had married Rita Hayworth, so the 20-year-old Nurmi gave her son up for adoption.  Nurmi also had on-and-off encounters with Marlon Brando, a private “guitar lesson” from Elvis Presley, a long-term association with Anthony Perkins, and that legendary platonic relationship with James Dean, who essentially abandoned her once his career started skyrocketing. It’s that Hollywood image machine again, friends.  How could such a magnificent young icon be seen hanging out with WABC-TV’s Vampira after hours at Googie’s Deli, conveniently next to Schwab’s Drugstore, where many a star and entertainment journalist cooled their heels?

Throughout, I wondered how Niemi could substantiate the Nurmi-Welles situation. Given Nurmi’s penchant for fanciful self-reportage, how much of this is true? All of it is, actually, but I won’t spoil the big reveal. I will say, though, that I teared up a bit upon reading it.

Niemi’s love for her aunt comes through page after page.  She’s blunt about Nurmi’s shortcomings, but she gives the Glamour Ghoul the due she never received while alive. There are minor gaffes (Trina Robbins co-created Vampirella, not Trina Roberts), but this volume is a must for Vampira fans.

Vampira and her Daughters: Women Horror Hosts from the 1950s into the Internet Era by Robert Michael “Bobb” Cotter

Now, the focus moves beyond Vampira herself, and we consider the legion who at least took partial inspiration from her pioneering efforts.  Even those not fans of horror have heard of Elvira, but who knew there were so many female horror hosts?  Not really a study per se, Vampira and Her Daughters contains an alphabetical list including, among many others, Elvira, Penny Dreadful, the three Misty Brews, Marlena Midnite, Dixie Dellamorto, and even a couple of drag performers, like Aunt Gertie. Many have hung up their capes and cobwebs, but a sizeable number still haunts us.

Where information is scarce, entries run short, but Cotter does manage to interview a few.  His interview with the San Francisco Bay Area’s own Miss Misery, who hosted The Last Doorway from 2007 to 2011 (Cotter claims it ended in 2009), is delightful.  I’d wondered what became of her, and it turns out she’s still ticking via the Internet and streaming platforms. Long may she terrify!  Maybe future editions will cover recent arrivals, for example, Tangella, co-host of the current Creature Features filmed at the Coulter Mansion in Bodega Bay, California.  We’ll see.

Oddly, Cotter devotes most of Elvira’s entry to synopsizing her two films, Elvira: Mistress of the Dark and Elvira’s Haunted Hills. Initially, he’d been working toward a biography of Elvira (Cassandra Peterson) before shifting to this encyclopedia. Peterson was writing an autobiography, so I thought perhaps Cotter didn’t want to crowd her space.  But Peterson suggested he write an unauthorized biography, so I’ll attribute his gushing about these mediocre films to fanboy exuberance.  His “then this happened, and then this happened” summaries are grating (pro-tip: resist such urges). There’s also strange cross-referencing that may reflect individuals portraying different characters or characters that operated across platforms or channels – I can’t tell.  The few instances of this connect almost blank entries.  But what’s a book about mysterious women without a few mysteries peppered into the mix?  So be it.

Yours Cruelly, Elvira: Memoirs of the Mistress of the Dark by Cassandra Peterson

When Cassandra Peterson accepted the role that would skyrocket her career, she was to play “Vampira’s Daughter,” having never heard of Vampira previously.  In 1981, KHJ-TV was planning to revive Vampira for television, and, as Peterson points out, “Maila was in her sixties and not up to the task.” Once determining that the job must go to someone else, the station offered Nurmi an executive credit on the show and a weekly royalty for the use of the character.  Peterson describes the primary meeting with Nurmi held at the beginning of this project:

Our meeting that day was seriously awkward. It was plain to see from the photos she shared that she’d once been a very statuesque and beautiful woman, but it was clear that she’d lived a tough life. She had only a tooth or two left in her head and she rambled incoherently about subjects that didn’t relate at all to subjects we were there to discuss.  She talked a lot about her relationship with James Dean, but in the present tense, as if it was ongoing.  I wasn’t familiar with James Dean, but I knew enough about him to know that he was dead.  It was sad to see an older lady like her alone and down on her luck.  I was happy the show would be an opportunity for her to make some money for the use of the Vampira name. (172)

Nurmi had other thoughts, wanting singer/actress Lola Falana for the part, and sued both KHJ-TV and Peterson, attempting to keep control of the trademark. So, the name “Vampira” couldn’t fly, and the world said hello to Elvira, Mistress of the Dark.  After horrendous commotion and Peterson eventually out $35,000 for legal fees, the matter ended when Nurmi failed to appear in court.  Sandra Niemi reports matters from Nurmi’s side, saying in Glamour Ghoul that her aunt’s attorney based his argument on the Lanham Act, which defines a trademark as “a mark used in commerce or registered with a future intent to use it in commerce (15 U.S.C. § 1127).”  The court deemed that Nurmi’s case didn’t meet this standard.

Peterson reflects, “Coincidentally, Maila and I had a lot in common.  She had previously worked as a showgirl and modeled for men’s magazines before turning to horror hosting.  She’d even worked as a hatcheck girl like me. And according to Hollywood legend, she was a bit of a star-fucker too (172).”  Additionally, both had troubled relationships with their mothers and dreamed early about escaping their small-town lives for bigger things.  Eventually, this developed well for Peterson but not so much for Nurmi. Under different circumstances, the two may have been great friends.  Peterson does admit that without Vampira, there would be no Elvira.

Read Yours Cruelly not because Elvira is the most famous horror host ever, but because Peterson herself deftly narrates her amazingly colorful life. The majority of the book deals with events before she birthed Elvira, with maybe the final fourth devoted to that entertainment juggernaut.  She has realized Nurmi’s original dream, starring in films, accepting endorsement deals, and never quitting, even now in her seventies. What led to her thriving while Nurmi mostly struggled, only nearly succeeding intermittently and only achieving notoriety through fringe societies and dedicated fans?  Pick up this and the other books and see for yourselves.