Hello all!

This is somewhat braggy – ok, just braggy – but I am somewhat reveling in this whole self-isolation thing. It is, of course, a point of major privilege: I don’t have kids, I don’t work in the summer, etc. It’s been a wild few years for me, and I didn’t realize how much I needed a deep-seated rest. Not just “not working,” but actually having a chance to sit with myself, without any distraction, and get back to what I love and want to work on. I mentioned this in the Barry blog, and the saga of pop culture/arts consumption continues, with some deep dives back into old favorites. The most recent of these being one of my all-time favorite shows Celebrity Ghost Stories.

To say that I’m obsessed with this show is an understatement. I am a long-time fan of ghosts, repeatedly checking out the single book in my elementary school library focusing on some of the spirit realm’s most famous specters.

While not a big monster or horror movie fan, I adore all things ghosts, easily going down Reddit rabbit holes of people posting their encounters, smiling smugly to myself in an empty apartment as someone describes the flickering of lights. “Ah yes,” I think as I sip my black raspberry calorie-free soda at 2 a.m., “That’s how it starts!”

Celebrity Ghost Stories premiered around 2008, right at the peak of All Things Spooky. It was, really, a fantastic period for weirdos like me. There were so many ghost hunting shows full of EDPs and spectral photography that you could actually rank your favorites. On the surface, how could a simple, single-person retelling of a ghost story compete with a barely decipherable demonic voice whispering, “I’m going to eaattt yooouu!!!” as some guy named Chad adjusts his trucker hat and yells, “DUDE!” at an annoyed PA?

Well, that’s the thing. There’s a lovely simplicity to it that is so incredibly engaging. While currently the term “celebrity” is, uh, wide open to interpretation, the guests on CGS are performers for the most part – they make their living based on their delivery, whether actors, writers, or musicians. I don’t know a ton about production, but it seems as though there are three cameras with consistent angles, and only the spooky-tale-teller (STT from now on). There’s no host offering insight in between stories (3 – 4 guests per show), nor the voice of a producer or whoever interrupting with questions or guiding the person along. It’s just a really good storyteller telling a ghost story . . . that happened to them.

And what storytellers. I cannot believe the pull the creators of this show had. I need to know from executive producer and director Seth Jarrett (who I discovered is also the man behind another classic of the adjacent genre, I Killed My BFF) how he got all of these people to do this. The first story, in the first episode, is Joan Rivers. Same episode? John Fucking Waters. Later, the Queen of It All, Carrie. Fisher. Not to mention (and there are literally too many good ones to list) Gina Gershon, Carnie Wilson (twice!), Illeana Douglas, Sammy Hagar, Dee Snider, Morgan Fairchild, Ahmad Rashad, Daryl Hannah, Margaret Cho, FRED WILLARD!!!, Sugar Ray Leonard, Cheri Oteri . . .

I remembered that there were so many people I legitimately adored, but I didn’t quite realize how many until I went through the guests all at once.

I don’t care if they made the whole thing up. I may be incredibly naive, but I don’t think the majority of them are because . . . I just feel like maybe Carrie Fisher had better things to do than appear on a cable ghost story compilation? Not to mention that there is this extremely potent amount of vulnerability throughout the entire series that I’m not sure is possible to consistently fake. Speaking of Fisher, her story was based in one of her good friends literally dying in her bed next to her. We all have different levels of Freak in us, but how many people – celebrity or not – are quite that morbid to make up something that grotesque? (A lot of the “Is it fake?” question would be resolved if I knew how much they were getting paid. I can’t imagine it’s a “make up a story about your good friend haunting you after his tragic and horrifying death while you slept next to him” amount, but then again, I don’t know how the majority of the world works.)

Some of these guys were legit tortured by entities (Kelly Carlson – yeesssh), and some exhibit that kind of sheepishness that makes clear they’re resisting a total reveal of themselves. If it’s all acting, it’s phenomenal acting, and I simply do not care. I have a proposal for all future magazine features on celebrities: Ask them to tell you their ghost story. I don’t care who it is, judging by Celebrity Ghost Stories, this retelling is a window into an amount of context and previous life experience that even a well-trained psychologist with years of experience couldn’t get out of someone. So many STTs offer extremely personal disclaimers to their stories, like, “Ah yes, I was coming down from the worst bender of my life,” or “Just after I had a series of miscarriages,” or “My mom, being a total monster, forced me to come home from summer camp early after I lit my nemesis’ cabin on fire . . .”

And we’re back to the issue of vulnerability and its role in the addictive nature of this on-the-surface-silly program. The real stars of it are, of course, the stars themselves, and the show is totally shot to maintain that “like us, but, uh, different” energy that is necessary for any show with the word “celebrity” in its name. I don’t know who the hair and makeup people are, but Good Lord, these folks are glowing. These perfect visages, speaking clearly and into a camera, with creepy music playing as they talk about being scared out of their minds, creates a fantastic dissonance in which you really hadn’t thought about it before, but you really hope Morgan Fairchild is doing okay!

You’re not always creeped out though – there are some really sweet stories sprinkled throughout, it’s not all Gina Gershon searching through abandoned ballrooms. And the expression of joy, unfortunately, has become at the same time another expression of vulnerability – cynicism and dry wit are de rigeur. 

How can you not smile back at a beaming Ali Landry talking about how her already-deceased stepfather gave her some reassurance with a phone call from beyond the grave? Again: Who cares if it’s made up? There isn’t a single guest on this show who you don’t like by the time they’re done with their story, and that, my friends, is a triumph in and of itself. If you’re familiar with the STT, then you’re most likely reassured that they come off exactly as you’d expected. John Waters, for instance, never forgets the genre in which he’s dealing – his tale has a cliché structure (haunting around a summer camp campfire) filled in with the sly, mischievous tone that can only come from the camp director himself.

Speaking of camp, I considered as I parceled out the greatness of this series as to whether there was, indeed, a campiness to it that made it so appealing. I kept trying to think of a quote from the Met’s Camp exhibit about uselessness and I finally just found it in a photo on my phone:

I’m not dumb enough to even remotely attempt a meditation on camp, a subject I know next to nothing about, but the description – “it feels . . . camp?” – kept popping into my head while I thought about CGS and maybe it’s that this quote was also in the recesses of my mind. “A retreat from the fascism of usefulness.” Ha! The opposite of the “fascism of usefulness,” the nature of that retreat, is, to me, delight. There’s something delightful and, yes, inherently useless about this show that makes it so fun. All of these famous people are swimming in a context that is entirely useless to them and their career. What is the point, except to share and delight or dwell in a bit of subversiveness, if the macabre is also inherently subversive? Sometimes there’s even a mood of the person stopping by on their way to somewhere much, uh, more important than whatever the hell it is they’re doing. And it adds to the earnestness; why would they be doing this, if it weren’t true, if they didn’t need someone to hear it? A modern-ish version of listening to Mary Shelley share the first bones of Frankenstein in a creepy-ass house at Lake Geneva, shut inside due to the rain.

And maybe that’s it – maybe it’s extra delightful due to its uselessness and pure entertainment value when we’re all shut in, watching the same things over and over that gives us some comfort. Familiar faces, telling stories that are, in some ways, the oldest stories. Embracing what’s useless.

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Not to sound like an ad, but you can stream Celebrity Ghost Stories on Amazon Prime, or, it looks like, the IMDB app? Is that a thing? I dunno, they crossed streams at some point. Also, these are some of my absolute favorite stories in case you’re curious but also don’t want to commit, I mean really, who can blame you? Also, if you like The Sopranos, this is the show for you, because literally anyone who has ever been on The Sopranos (save for the core cast) has been on Celebrity Ghost Stories. It’s totally fuckin’ wild how many people from The Sopranos, which I’ve never seen, are on there. Also how many People You Might Think Were on The Sopranos But Maybe Weren’t, like Joe Pantoliano, telling his story like only Joey Pants can.

If you still need more, the show moved over to Lifetime Movie Network, which I’m currently trying to figure out how to finagle, and finally in a new form on A&E. Post LMN, pre-A&E, another phenomenal show, The Haunting Of . . . takes people who previously appeared on Celebrity Ghost Stories “back to the place of the haunting” with psychic Kim Russo, a total baller. The latest season of CGS is essentially a hybrid of the original version and The Haunting Of . . . 

Also, I would like to implore every celebrity on the planet to please be on this show, and for the original format to be reinstated. I absolutely adore Kim Russo, I really do, but I need the comfort of some of my favorite people telling me a scary story – it helps me sleep. Conan O’Brien, Karen Kilgariff, Marina Diamandis, Florence Welch, Henry Winkler, Bill Pullman – don’t ask me why, I have a feeling they all have a good ghost story, partly because the women I listed I sincerely believe to be witches. And Bill, well . . . I just really love the sound of his voice, and when I met Henry Winkler he exuded the utmost warmth and joy. If you don’t feel comfortable going to a producer about this, I have a ring light in my dining room and I’ll wear a mask! Truly, all celebrities are welcome to email me their ghost stories at whatthehellisonmyface@gmail.com.

Finally, if you find yourself curious, here’s Ahmad Rashad’s story, one of my overall favorites. (My absolute favorite, Keshia Knight-Pulliam, isn’t available to post, sad face, but it’s on an episode streaming on Prime.)

Stay spooky, friends!