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Brain Cancer Claims Horror Maestro Wes Craven At 76
New submitter JamesA writes: Wes Craven, the famed writer-director of horror films known for the Nightmare on Elm Street and Scream movies, died Sunday after a battle with brain cancer. He was 76.
Though he's far less known as a novelist than for his various horror film jobs (writer, director, producer, actor ...), Craven also wrote a few books; I can't vouch for "Coming of Rage," but "Fountain Society" is pretty solid speculative fiction. Wikipedia notes that Craven also "designed the Halloween 2008 logo for Google, and was the second celebrity personality to take over the YouTube homepage on Halloween."
And I hope he doesn't come back to kill us all in our dreams.
here is the logo he designed.
slashdot editors are seriously slacking off.
Anons need not reply. Questions end with a question mark.
died Sunday after a battle with brain cancer.
For people who live with cancer, it's actually been found that's it's better to not use martial metaphors. For many cancer patients, the emotional journey is hard enough without feeling like they are "losing a battle" or "losing a fight" etc. with cancer. Even family members of those who've died with cancer often struggle with the emotions of feeling like someone "lost" or they "didn't fight hard enough". Living with cancer is not always something that has to be fought, especially brain cancer.
More on topic, Wes Craven was an artist and we will miss his art. Go well Mr. Craven.
My Jr. High music teacher died from brain cancer. He was brilliant, highly-skilled, and excellent with showing kids their vocal potential. He remembered everyone; name, rank, serial. And he never gave up on any of them.
One of the more painful memories I have, ever, is of meeting this man a few years later, at work: He's browsing movies, and I'm coming back from a long day of installing satellite dishes -- my first "real" job.
I'm all "Mr. [ZZZ], how are you? I haven't seen you in awhile."
And he's all "Uh, hi. Yes! Yes, I remember you! You're uhm, Jason? No that's not it. Andy? No no. I'm very sorry, but they tell me I've got brain cancer and it's really hard to remember..."
Me: "Can I help?"
"No, no, they say I've still got 72% of my brain left. I've got brain cancer, haven't you heard? Let's see, uh, I know I know you and I'm very embarrassed that I can't name you."
At this point, I let the then-old-to-me damaged dude (45-50-ish) know my name, which still drew a blank. It was difficult excusing myself from that situation, and apparent that the missing 28% was inclusive of all of his genuinely-beloved students. He died a year or two later. Mein herz brennt -- I used to could talk to the guy about anything.
I mean, FFS: My grand-dad died from Parkinson's, which is a terrible fucking way to die when it gets stretched to multiple years of uselessness: You still know everything, but you can't do anything about it. (He was an engineer, but couldn't communicate his ideas at all. One scribbled note, discarded by the nurses because they'd since moved/re-adjusted him and no longer cared, said "Neck hurts." By the time I got there, they didn't care about my interpretation. He cried, which was perhaps the best he could do, paralyzed and unable to speak but having successfully had his written complaint understood only to be ultimately ignored).
My other grand-dad died from a bad stroke, leading to other strokes. This is also a terrible fucking way to die, especially it also involves years of uselessness. (He was a salesman and a wildly successful realtor and a lot of other first-party things, but couldn't reach the people he used to know after the first real stroke)
Fuck all brain diseases, in general. But brain cancer? Sheesh Fuck that one in particular. Brain cancer is silly-crazy-scary. Shell-of-a-ghost-of-a-human scary. I wish we could fix that one. At least my grand-dads knew who I was.
(I'd tell you about the staph infection my school-teacher aunt got in her own brain, but she's mostly better, ish: She used to know everything, and she's sure that she still does, but she's a bit more reserved about relaying that than she used to be.)
Kid-proof tablet..
The shit this guy dreamed up to scare the fuck out of people? Brain cancer? I believe it!
Scaring the crap out of people since at least 1971.
Haunting our nightmares since 1984.
We'll miss you Wes. Just...don't come back and kill us in our sleep? Please?
Chas - The one, the only.
THANK GOD!!!