Robert A. Burns, art director on the original “The Texas Chain Saw Massacre,” was obsessed with actor Rondo Hatton aka the Creeper. Burns was average looking but brimming with odd creativity. Hatton, who suffered from acromegaly, had a strangely unique appearance but was a regular guy. In “Rondo and Bob,” their two stories intersect.
True Heads know the story of B-horror actor and newspaper reporter Rondo Hatton. Like many, I first became acquainted with him after Joe Johnston’s “The Rocketeer” featured a mob thug made to resemble his visage from films like “The Brute Man.” He was a formidable monster to a kid, with the face of a gargoyle and the dead stare of a sociopath. Rondo Hatton scared me, like many others, despite his being one of the nicest people ever to grace show business.
Before acting, Hatton was a reporter for the Tampa Tribune and a soldier in WWI. Though being voted the Handsomest Boy in his senior year of high school, his underlying medical condition began developing during his service years. Studios claimed that exposure to mustard gas led to elephantiasis, though it turned out to be acromegaly. In layman’s terms, his bones would not stop growing.
Despite Hatton’s work, his legacy is horror-specific. You’d have to search far to find references outside of “The Rocketeer” in the mainstream.
“Time covers his footsteps rapidly,” a former editor of the Tribune once prophetically wrote of the man. “Rondo and Bob” sets out to right that course, juxtaposing Rondo’s rise with that of his biggest fan, art director Bob Burns.
Not without some seriously unfortunate missteps along the way, however. “Rondo and Bob” opens in potentially the most unappealing way a documentary can – with a low-budget recreation of a pivotal moment in horror history. The moment is the emergency casting of actor Gunnar Hansen in “The Texas Chain Saw Massacre” by Burns. The performances are below B-picture quality, and the lighting and sets aren’t much better.
The recreations persist throughout the narrative, and one would think it would make for an unpleasant viewing experience. Until one remembers the spirit and amount of money “Massacre” was made for and the grueling conditions they worked under. “Rondo and Bob,” produced two years ago and only getting a streaming release on June 7th, has its share of faults – most of which are forgivable.
That’s not to say the recreations aren’t a distraction or a mistake, just an understandable one. Many involved have since passed on, with likely little footage of what they wanted to get across available. While that’s unfortunate, they could have done without the Rondo Hatton Halloween mask.
Burns is an equally fascinating character, though his condition may have been internal, or at least that’s what the family speculates. One of the most practical art directors in the industry, Burns would create easy solutions that made certain sets iconic – the creepy, bone-filled dinner set in “Massacre,” the realistic morgue in “Re-animator,” and countless others were all created partly with Burns’ assistance.
More than that, Burns was a fan. His house in Austin was something like Guillermo del Toro’s on a smaller budget, with props from studio classics and projects currently in production. That love of the genre inspired Burns to seek out Hatton’s widow Mabel, a former actress, to attempt to make a film about him.
Like a few of Burns’ other projects, that film was never finished. “Rondo and Bob” is an appropriate tribute to both men, articulating what made them special and what brings people together in horror.
The horror community has become renowned for its positive fandom. Recently, on the Podcast “The West Wing Thing,” screenwriter Josh Olson discussed being invited to Mick Garris’ annual Masters of Horror dinner. Despite the nature of their output, he was awe-struck by how compassionate and friendly every attendee was. This has been one of the most common observations about the genre for years, and it’s finally a joy to have a film that speaks to that ideal.
Hatton was perhaps one of the most exemplary men in horror, disarmingly generous and kind. The film offers no shortage of charming anecdotes. When a newspaper columnist wrote that he was “the ugliest man I’ve ever seen,” Hatton sent a response. It read: “Thanks for letting me crash your column!” Everyone speaks just as glowingly about Burns, focusing on his commitment to Hatton and the city of Austin. However, “Rondo and Bob” loses focus after a while, drifting too far away from one of its subjects.
The film offers a defense for its recreations, including a lengthy scene about cosplay at conventions being a great honor to the filmmakers. It’s a fair point, but they also mention the time and money fans invest in their costumes. You cannot help but feel like they skimped on the Rondo mask here.
The talking heads are a parade of horror legends, superfans, Austin locals, and weirdos. Even a Velvet Elvis impersonator/comedian/magician pops in for a minute or two. In that same “Texas Chain Saw Massacre” spirit, “Rondo and Bob” is an imperfect celebration of outsiderhood that explores the reasons why we weirdos feel a shared connection. It’s a connection not even death diminishes.
Now Available on Streaming Platforms from Electric Entertainment
