Where Have All the Corpse Flowers Gone? Remembering "The Little Shop of Horrors"

I’m not convinced that Roger Corman ever saw (or even heard of) a Corpse Flower. But I have. This past Sunday I was lucky enough to catch the rare blooming of Amorphophallus titanium at the Huntington, that being a marvelous rare book library and botanical garden in San Marino, California. In case you’re interested, the so-called Corpse Flower is actually the world’s largest unbranched inflorescence. Its bloom can grow over twelve feet in height and can open to a width of four feet across. It’s a tropical plant that comes originally from Sumatra; its gruesome name refers to the stench it gives off when in flower, similar (it is said) to the smell of a rotting corpse. In the wild, insects attracted to this pungent scent arrive in time to pollinate the flower during its short blooming period, which may last a mere 24 hours. Lucky me, that I arrived just in time to see (and smell) this stinky marvel of the natural world.

 The one I saw blooming in the Huntington’s Conservatory has been nicknamed Odorysseus, not Audrey Junior. And I’m happy to report that no one was swallowed up by the gaping purple petals while I was around. Still, I couldn’t help thinking about the giant carnivorous plant immortalized by director Roger Corman and his inimitable screenwriter, Charles B. Griffith, back in 1960, when they discovered that they could have a full weekend to make use of a standing set that was about to be torn down. Their horror comedy, The Little Shop of Horrors, soon attracted millions of fans (most of them young and ready for anything) to drive-ins and low-rent movie houses, and soon became a late-night staple on the brand-new medium of television. Not all the actors in Little Shop went on to fame and fortune, but the name Jack Nicholson should ring a bell. (No, despite what I sometimes see in print, Nicholson did NOT have the leading role of hapless flower-shop underling Seymour Krelboined, but his tiny part as a masochist in a dentist’s chair is hard to forget.)

 Two young fans of Corman’s 72-minute film turned out to have real musical talent. In 1982, composer Alan Menken and lyricist Howard Ashman launched an off-Broadway musical adaptation so infectious that it soon moved to Broadway and London’s West End. (It also became hugely popular in high schools and community theatres throughout the world; I’d be surprised to hear that there’s no production of it going on somewhere at this very moment.) In 1986, Hollywood got into the act, with Frank Oz of Muppet fame directing an elaborate big-budget version boasting Rick Moranis in the leading role, Steve Martin, John Candy, and Bill Murray in featured parts, and an ending that softened the grotesque outcome of the original.

 In my years as Roger Corman’s story editor, I had no immediate connection with the Little Shop film. Nor with the child-friendly 1991 animated TV series whose gore was toned down for the younger set. But in the early 1990s Roger toyed with the idea of launching a Little Shop sitcom: writers were hired and I remember some meetings at Fox studios with rather thick-headed young execs before we all gave up. I also remember the frustration of Chuck Griffith and others regarding the debut of the stage musical: because Roger had assured the producers that all the members of the original cast and crew were dead, none of them was invited to the show’s world premiere. Roger’s baseless assertion, I can’t help thinking, was an act as ghoulish as anything a Corpse Flower could claim.

 

                                          Odorysseus at the Huntington, 7/12/26

Do I Buy This “Little Shop of Horrors”?

Last week I was on a transcontinental flight. Looking for an entertaining movie to watch, I came upon the 1986 musical version of Little Shop of Horrors. Yes, this was the all-star Technicolor adaptation of the 1960 horror comedy cranked out by Roger Corman and his pals when they suddenly had access to someone else’s sets for two days and two nights. The movie musical evolved out of the Off-Broadway musical adaptation that launched the stellar careers of composer Alan Menken and writer Howard Ashman, both of whom adored the darkly funny Corman original. Conveniently, the ever-thrifty Corman had never bothered to copyright his movie, so it was cheap and easy for two novice musical comedy guys to adapt it to the stage. The cast was small, the sets were modest, and the cleverness of the concept held up beautifully both in a modest Off-Broadway space and, later on, in community theatre venues all over the world. 

 Corman’s all-purpose screenwriter, Charles B. Griffith, resented for the rest of his life how hard he had to fight to get some money out of the stage adaptation of his highly-original screenplay. Eventually the plucky little musical transformed into a big-name cinematic project featuring Rick Moranis and Steve Martin, with cameos by John Candy, Jim Belushi, Christopher Guest, and Bill Murray in the masochist-in-the-dentist-chair role that had been originated by an unknown Jack Nicholson back in the Corman days. Critics and audiences quickly decided that the new film was just too big and too lavish to capture the wacky charm of the original Corman/Griffith project. As Chuck Griffith himself told me, when I was researching for my Roger Corman: Blood-Sucking Vampires, Flesh-Eating Cockroaches, and Driller Killers, “The original cost $27,000 and broke even in the first hour of release. The [movie] musical cost $33 million, and they never got it back.” (Since that megaflop, several attempts have been made to remake the movie musical—one with Roger himself involved—but all have come to nothing. I should add that when I was Roger’s story editor, circa 1990,, there was a serious attempt at a live-action TV series. That too eventually died an unheralded death,)   

 When I watched the musical film on that airplane, I realized that I’d never actually seen it before. As a fan of the stage musical, I hadn’t wanted my memories spoiled by what was purported to be an overblown spectacle. So, after all this time, what did I think? To me, some aspects of the stage musical work very well in their screen adaptation. One of the Menken/Ashman team’s additions to the movie musical was a trio of girl singers—Crystal, Ronette, and Chiffon—who act as a sort of Greek chorus while adding a Motown groove to the soundtrack. In the film they’re very good, and the zany costumes they wear in various scenes (like kitschy Suzie Wong garb when Seymour buys his plant from a mysterious old Chinese man) are a delight. I also fully appreciated the hapless-looking Rick Moranis as Seymour, as well as the unforgettable Ellen Greene, a star of the Off-Broadway show, as a deliciously befuddled Audrey. In the sadistic dentist role (much expanded from the Corman original), Steve Martin is clearly having a ball. But the producers have seen fit to heighten the comedy by cramming in every comic TV star they can find, which is why John Candy, for one, makes a totally unnecessary cameo appearance. And the light-as-a-bubble story ends up, alas, like a fallen soufflé.  Horror comedy is, you might say, a delicate thing.

 Dedicated to Jackie Joseph, Corman’s Audrey, and the one original player I’m sure is still around. Also to Adam Abraham, who interviewed me for his quite enlightening 2022 homage, Attack of the Monster Musical: A Cultural History of Little Shop of Horrors.