My Favorite Fangs: The Story of the Von Trapp Family Vampires (17 page)

“No, Captain,” Maria said. “Your daughter insisted upon reading the entire novel. So stretch out those legs and get comfy.”

We’ll spare you the details of Gretl’s pompous reading of Bram Stoker’s classic; suffice it to say that even with Kurt acting out all the characters—and acting them out quite well—Gretl’s snotty voice made the whole thing difficult for one to sit through without repeatedly stabbing oneself in the eye with a pointed stick. Fortunately, Max was lost in dreams of glory, and Captain von Trapp was lost in a gin-induced stupor, so they suffered through the seventeen-hour-long performance piece none the worse for wear.

After some tired applause for Gretl and Kurt, the remainder of the children met on stage for a curtain call. “Well done, brats,” the Captain said. “I’m quite impressed.”

In unison, they said, “Thank you, Father.”

He turned to Maria. “You certainly seem to have whipped them into shape, Governess.”

Maris shrugged modestly. “They’re your kids, Captain. All their good attributes come from you. They just needed a little push.”

The Captain took Maria by the elbow and pulled her in close. Their eyes met, and in that silent moment, thoughts were exchanged, secrets were told, and hormones flew. They moved their faces toward one another, and they might have kissed had a voice not called from the doorway, “Is there anything you can’t do, Governess?”

It was Baroness Elsa Schrader.

The Captain and Max chuckled. “Oh, Governess,” von Trapp said, “I have confidence that you could do anything you set your mind to. And I have confidence that you’ll be with us for a long, long time.”

As the children cheered their Vampire mother, the Baroness said, “Not if I have anything to say about it.” And then she barked out a series of sharp, sinister laughs that would have made Bela Lugosi proud.

A TRANSCRIPTION OF NPR’S “BOOK WEEK,” NOVEMBER 1, 2012
LIVE FROM THE 92ND STREET Y
HOST: ARIEL PORTNOY

ARIEL:
Good evening, everybody. Thanks to all of you in the audience for coming out on this snowy day, and thanks to all of you listening to us on your local NPR outlet … especially those tuning in on Chicago’s WBEZ. Now I’m certain everybody out there’s thinking about next week’s big election—as am I—and I don’t know about the rest of the country, but I need a break from all these serious issues, which is why I’m thrilled that we’re devoting today’s entire show to the acclaimed, no,
revered
comedic novel
My Favorite Fangs: The Story of the von Trapp Family Vampires
by Alan Goldsher. We have a wonderful panel on the stage here at the 92nd Street Y on Manhattan’s Upper East Side, so first off, please join me in welcoming the author of nine books including his new memoir-in-essays,
Frankly Speaking: An Old School Monster in a New School World
, Dave Frankenstein. Good to have you back on the show, Dave.

FRANKENSTEIN:
Great to be here, Ariel. And I apologize to those of you in the audience who suffer from seizure disorders. I missed the weather forecast, and didn’t bring my hat, which meant snow on my ear sockets. And as all my fellow monsters know, when those things get wet, they blink like mother-you-know-whats.

ARIEL:
That’s great, Dave, that’s great. To Dave’s left, making his Book Week debut, book critic for the
New York Observer
, The Blob. Thanks for joining us, Mr. Blob.

BLOB:
Thanks for inviting me, Ariel. I’m a long-time listener, and I’m thrilled to be here. And please, call me The.

ARIEL:
Will do, The. Finally, off to Dave’s right, please give a nice round of applause to a gentleman who flew in all the way from Cairo to be here, author of the international sensation
A Crypt With No View
, The Mummy.

MUMMY:
Thanks, Ariel. All of Egypt sends their regards. We loves ourselves some
Book Week.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Unnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhh.

ARIEL:
Glad to hear it, Mummy. So let’s dive right in.
My Favorite Fangs
. Transylvania meets the Great White Way. Any opening comments?

FRANKENSTEIN:
I’ll field this one, Ariel. It’s a nice piece of work—very nice—but, like most of today’s paranormal parodies, it has some inherent flaws, the most obvious one being that the characters’ voices sound nothing like their on-screen counterparts. Me, I’m wanting Goldsher’s Maria to sound like Rogers and Hammerstein’s Maria, but most of the time, well, it’s almost like they have nothing in common.

BLOB:
I’ll agree with Dave that the book characters and the film characters are radically divergent—as is the majority of the plot, for that matter—but that’s part of the fun.
Viva la difference!
Throwing in subtle sprinkles of lyrics and dialogue is exciting for both casual and hardcore fans of the original film. And it’s also completely legal.

FRANKENSTEIN:
I can’t argue with that. But I do have a quibble, and this one is, well, this one’s a biggie. Over the last few years, the huge majority of these paranormal parodies has utilized Vampires or Zombies, and nothing else, and that’s flat-out exclusionary.

ARIEL:
Terrific point, Dave. Anybody care to comment? The?

BLOB:
Dave’s absolutely right, but frankly, I don’t have an issue with that, because …

FRANKENSTEIN:
Because there’s no way that any author would use The Blob as source material, so you have no expectations. Robots comprised of dead people’s body parts offer the parodist myriad possibilities. Admittedly, Zombies and Vampires are ideal for this sort of thing, because they have templated mythologies that you can plug anything into, i.e.
The Sound of Music
, or the Beatles …

ARIEL:
If I may interrupt, regarding the Beatles, Dave is, of course, referring to Goldsher’s 2010 outing,
Paul Is Undead: The British Zombie Invasion
, the acclaimed remix novel in which Lennon, McCartney, and Harrison were Zombies, and Starr was a Ninja. The entire
Book Week
staff—heck, the entire NPR nation—was appalled that didn’t get a National Book Award nomination.

FRANKENSTEIN:
As was I. But as wonderful as that was, and as wonderful as
My Favorite Fangs
is, Goldsher could have gone to the next level. He could have included a piecemeal monster such as myself, or even a Mummy, or, yes, even a Blob. Heck, he could’ve even done something with an NPR host!

ARIEL:
Ah, that’s hilarious. Great stuff, Dave, just great. But I should point out that Alan did have a Succubus in there.

MUMMY:
Alan had to have a Succubus in there. Ddddddddrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrnnnnnnnnnnn. Maria couldn’t have a human rival, because there’s no way a human could take a Vampire in any kind of battle. No way, no how, no sir, no hhhhhhhhhhnnnnnnnnnnnnn.

BLOB:
But why a Succubus? Do you know any Succubi? Because I sure don’t. I do, however, know plenty of Blobs. Even female ones.

FRANKENSTEIN:
Of course you do. And I know plenty of robots, and Mummy here probably knows plenty of his kind, but, as Blob said, none of us know any Succubi, because—are you ready for this?—Succubi don’t exist. That being the case, why didn’t Goldsher use an existing entity … like me? Heck, he could’ve even interviewed me for verisimilitude. I’m easy to reach on my Web site … which, by the way, is Dave.Frankenstein.com. Plenty of great merch on there. For instance, I’m offering autographed copies of
Frankly Speaking
for only ten bucks, while supplies last. And if you order today, half of the proceeds will go to National Public Radio.

MUMMY:
Must be nice to have a Web site. For that matter, it must be nice to have fingers that aren’t permanently wrapped up in gauze so you can type on a laptop and add content to your Web site. Nnnnnnnnuuuuuuunnnnnnhhhhhhh.

BLOB:
Hey, quit complaining. I don’t even have limbs.

FRANKENSTEIN:
Which explains why there aren’t too many Blobs around. I mean, how in God’s name do you guys reproduce?

BLOB:
We lay eggs.

FRANKENSTEIN:
Where do they come from? I don’t see any exit holes.

ARIEL:
Gentlemen, let’s get back to the book. Throughout the novel, there are numerous mentions of the great saxophonist, John …

BLOB:
Listen, Frankie-boy, I may not have limbs or genitals, but I can handle myself in a fight.

FRANKENSTEIN:
Is that right? You want to go at it? Right here on the 92nd Street stage? Hell, I’ll wipe the floor with you the way John Irving wiped the floor with Susan Orlean.

ARIEL:
If I’m not mistaken, that was the other way around. But regardless, we won’t be having any fights today. It’s not …

MUMMY:
Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrnnnnnnnnnnnnnnmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmppppppppppppppppppppooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmggggggggggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

FRANKENSTEIN:
Hey, no fair using chairs, you Mummy freak! Just fists.

BLOB:
I don’t have fists, Frank. But I have this!

FRANKENSTEIN:
That’s it? That’s what you’ve got? That’s the best you can do? Didn’t feel a thing.

MUMMY:
Hey, watch it, Frank. Lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.

ARIEL:
Gentleman, if I can ask you all to sit … ow! Jesus Christ, Dave, watch it with the kicking!

FRANKENSTEIN:
Sorry. Who knew that if you kick a Blob, your foot goes right through?

BLOB:
Nobody knows that. Which is why Goldsher needs to do a book with Blobs.
The Great Blobsby. The Blobber in the Rye. Wuthering Blobs
. I could go on forever.

MUMMY:
Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnoooooooooooooooooo. Please. No. Don’t.

ARIEL:
I’m afraid we’re … ow … going to take a quick … ow … break, but when we get back … ow … we’ll be … AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Goddamn it, guys, this is a major clusterf—

IRA GLASS:
And now, a very special edition of
This American Life.

CHAPTER 6

T
HE BRAINCHILD OF
a failed Austrian composer named Rudolf Schteinmetz, the Graz Gala of Gaiety debuted in 1925. Initially, it was strictly a musical event, and the majority of the participants were
a capella
singers. Audiences stayed away in droves—solo vocal versions of Austrian folk tunes had not yet caught on; that wouldn’t happen until the last revolting days of the thirties had come and gone—so Schteinmetz decided to allow any type of performing artist to participate: string quartets, forty-member choirs, solo bassoonists, oompah bands, clowns, gymnasts, magicians, hypnotists, synchronized goosesteppers, and, beginning in 1932, Vampires.

Every year since 1929, Max Detweiler had brought multiple acts to the Gala, and each year, his acts finished out of the top three. As a talent scout, Max’s primary problem, musically speaking, was that he had what his fellow Austrians liked to call
ohren aus zinn
, or ears of tin. What sounded beautiful to Max sounded cacophonous to the average music fan, and vice versa. After years of failure, he came to the realization that, at the very least, he should hedge his bets and mix things up, so from 1936 on, Max came to the Gala with a variety of diverse acts in his back pocket. His non-musical talent scouting proved to be equally questionable, and the only client of his who ever sniffed one of the top three prizes was a contortionist who could bend himself into a pretzel. Unfortunately, one of that year’s entrants was
another
contortionist who turned himself into the spiral, and there was no way the Gala judges would award prizes to two contortionists, so Max and his talent went home empty handed.

When Max saw the von Trapp Vampire extravaganza, he knew he finally had a winner.

The morning after the command performance, Max stood in the middle of the living room and yelled, “Attention, everyone! I have an announcement to make! Out of bed, everybody, rise and shine! Uncle Maxie has some news!”

The Captain was the first von Trapp to lumber down the stairs. Holding his head with his right hand and rubbing his bloodshot eyes with his left, he grumbled, “Why is the house spinning?”

“The house is perfectly still, Georg.”

“So you say. What are you doing up this early?”

“Well, Georg, yesterday, after yet another long and desperate search, I’ve finally found a most exciting entry for the Graz Gala of Gaiety.”

“And this announcement couldn’t be put off until after breakfast?”

“Since when do you eat breakfast? You’re usually too busy expelling last night’s libations to enjoy a plate of bacon and eggs.”

The Captain—whose face had taken on a greenish tinge—placed his hands over his stomach and winced. “Don’t discuss bacon or eggs right now, Max, please.”

“Fine, but only if you get your brats down here. I’d like them to hear this, too.”

“If you want to wake them up, you’re more than welcome to. Me, personally, I think it would be smart to let those little Vampires sleep. I have no idea what kind of mood in which they’ll awaken. What if they’re cranky and hungry? I have no urge to get bitten.”

“Get them now. They have to get up eventually.”

“Do they?” the Captain asked. “I’m not sure about that. My Vampire mythology is hazy at best. Maybe they sleep all day. Maybe they sleep all night. Maybe they sleep all week. Maybe they don’t sleep at all. All I know for sure is that it’s too early for
me
.”