“Carnival of Souls” has become one of my favorite movies. I say, “has become,” since it didn’t start out that way, but rather grew on me. It’s one of those eerie movies that makes an impression, then the impression slowly deepens and almost becomes obsessional. It’s a haunting film, professionally made despite being done on a shoestring budget. Telling the story of church organist Mary Henry and her untimely death and stay in limbo, it probes the mysteries of the human condition. Like every other animal, we die. Unlike most (or perhaps all) we’re aware of it every moment of our lives, and this makes us different. Not just different, but alone, in an excruciating way that alienates us not just from others, but from ourselves.
“The Odyssey and the Idiocy: Marriage to An Actor, A Memoir” is the autobiography of Candace Hilligoss, the actress who portrays Mary. She discusses the making of “Carnival of Souls,” and its curious cinematic afterlife as an enduring cult item after a period of initial neglect. The bulk of the book, though, if you can’t already tell from the subtitle, deals with Ms. Hilligoss’s ill-fated marriage to a terminally narcissistic actor. She uses a pseudonym but about ten seconds of internet sleuthing can reveal the malefactor’s real identity.
Hilligoss and “Richard” meet as young, struggling actors in New York City, still ambitious but not quite as idealistic as when they started. They hitch their fortunes and, after a short honeymoon period, things get bad. Richard engages in infidelity after infidelity, squanders money the family needs on a scuba diving hobby and insists Candace put his career first. By the time Ms. Hilligoss realizes her error in marrying the man, it’s too late. She is pregnant and wants to keep the child.
Of course, there are two sides to every story, and there’s no way to objectively evaluate the author’s claims regarding Richard’s caddish behavior. Still, reading about her courtroom tribulations and struggles to achieve enough alimony to avoid the streets, it’s hard not to feel for Ms. Hilligoss. It also becomes a difficult slog, and makes me wonder why she chose this particular tact with her book, and moreover, why I chose to follow along.
If living well is the best revenge—and Richard has already consumed so much of her life—why dedicate her memoir to the miserable narcissist? “Carnival of Souls” might not have provided the steady source of residuals Richard got from his various soap opera and advertisement appearances. But it has slowly, through the decades, become a cultural item that has transcended its roots as the second half of a double feature. The movie means a lot to a lot of people for many different reasons, and has inspired everyone from graphic artists to musicians. Ms. Hilligoss’s performance as Mary—a liminal creature, trapped in her own strange limbo—strikes a nerve, unsettles and discomfits in a lingering way. The performance, while morbid, is iconic, and she should have taken more time to recognize that she has her own legacy apart from her husband.
In many ways she should be having the last laugh, yet instead decides to chase ghosts. Ironic, since her onscreen avatar, Mary Henry, spent most of “Carnival’s” duration trying to outrun a slew of ghouls, most of them male.
With Photos. For hardcore fans of “Carnival” and those interested in the workings of the divorce courts, law, and the struggles of a middle-aged woman to retrain as a paralegal.