By Michael McKown
Ed Wood, the guy who turned low-budget flops into cult classics, left behind a trail of cinematic oddities, or wreckage, that never quite saw the light of day. You know him for Plan 9 from Outer Space and Glen or Glenda, but there’s a whole shadowy corner of his career filled with lost or abandoned projects that sound like they fell out of a fever dream.
I’m Michael McKown, a certified film freak and president of Ghostwriters Central, Inc., a Southern California, USA, professional writing service. Among other things, we provide the best screenwriting services to those with an idea for a movie but without screenwriting skill. If that’s you, all you have to do is click the link. I guarantee the script we write will be far better than anything you would have received from Ed Wood!
These unfinished flicks and half-baked scripts are a testament to his wild imagination, and his knack for biting off more than he could chew. Let’s dive into this messy, fascinating pile of “what could’ve been” and see what gems (or disasters) got left on the cutting room floor, or never made it past the typewriter.
First up, there’s Streets of Laredo, Wood’s stab at a Western way back in 1948. Picture this: a 24-year-old Ed, fresh out of the Marines, trying to wrangle cowboys and shootouts on a shoestring budget. It was his first gig behind the camera, and he poured his heart into it, even roping in his buddy John Crawford to star. But the cash dried up faster than a puddle in the desert, and the whole thing got shelved.
But wonder of wonders, decades later, someone dusted off the footage, slapped it together with some narration, and released it as Crossroads of Laredo in 1995. It’s rough around the edges — think silent film vibes with Wood’s trademark quirks — but it’s a peek at where he started before the flying saucers and angora sweaters took over.
Then there’s Rock and Roll Hell, or maybe it was called Hellborn, nobody’s totally sure because it barely got off the ground. This one’s from 1956, right when Wood was riding high (or low, depending on who you ask) on Plan 9. He wanted to cash in on that Rebel Without a Cause teen angst wave, dreaming up a story about juvenile delinquents gone wild. He shot about ten minutes of footage before the money ran out, and that was that. Imagine Ed trying to direct greasers with switchblades while wearing his favorite pink sweater under the director’s chair. It’s a shame it fizzled. Those ten minutes might have been gloriously awful.
Speaking of awful in the best way, let’s talk about The Only House in Town. By 1970, Wood had slid into the sexploitation game, churning out softcore flicks to pay the bills. This one was based on a novel he wrote called The Only House, and it promised some steamy, weird vibes, classic Ed territory. He got partway through filming, but like clockwork, the funding vanished. What’s left is a mystery; some say it’s lost forever, others whisper there’s a reel rotting in a basement somewhere. Knowing Wood, it probably had bad lighting, worse dialogue, and a plot that made no sense, but I’d still watch it in a heartbeat.
One of the juiciest lost projects is Lugosi Post Mortem. Ed adored Bela Lugosi, the Dracula icon who became his muse and tragic sidekick. After Bela died in 1956, Wood couldn’t let him go. He even stitched leftover footage of the guy into Plan 9. But Lugosi Post Mortem was bigger: a full-on biographical script about Bela’s final years, penned by Wood himself.
It never got past the typewriter, though. By the time Ed passed away in 1978, it was just another stack of pages gathering dust. You can almost feel the heartbreak in that one; Wood pouring his soul into a tribute that never hit the screen.
There’s also this wild little rumor about an untitled script Wood bought for a buck. The story goes it was about a washed-up horror actor bumping off producers who’d wronged him, a revenge tale with a bloody twist. Sound familiar? It’s got shades of Scream or Theater of Blood, but this was pure Ed Wood, decades earlier. He never got it rolling, maybe because he was too broke or too drunk by then. Still, it’s fun to picture him cackling over the idea, dreaming of a comeback that’d stick it to Hollywood.
And we can’t skip Necromania, though it’s not totally lost, just misplaced for a while. This 1971 porno flick was Wood’s deep dive into adult films, complete with coffins, sex, and his signature absurdity. For years, folks thought it was gone, but it popped up in the late ‘80s like a zombie rising from the grave. It’s not high art — think grainy shots and awkward line readings — but it’s a survivor from his late-career skid. Some argue it’s a lost classic; others say it’s just trash. Either way, it’s Ed being Ed.
Lastly, there’s a whisper of Wood’s hand in Meatcleaver Massacre from 1977. He might’ve co-directed a scene or two, uncredited, about a professor’s family getting hacked up by a psycho student. It’s murky, Wood was a mess by then, drowning in booze and poverty, but if he touched it, you’d bet it had his fingerprints: over-the-top gore and dialogue that’d make you groan. No proof, though, so it’s more legend than fact.
What ties all these lost and abandoned works together is Wood’s relentless hustle. The guy never stopped dreaming, even when the checks bounced and the critics laughed. His unfinished projects are like ghosts haunting the edges of his legacy, half-formed, bizarre, and totally him.
They didn’t make it to the big screen, but they tell a story of a man who’d rather crash and burn than play it safe. And honestly, isn’t that why we still love him? Ed Wood didn’t just make movies; he made a mess worth remembering.