Wisconsin Movie Quotes

You think all teenagers care about are musicians and movie stars? Spend some time in Wisconsin. We'll blow your socks off.

Both of the twins exhibited a sort of prized Wisconsin Aryan-ness that excused them from blame for almost any caper. they looked liked the protagonists from a Disney movie but behaved like After School Specials.

The roots of the slasher movie stretch back to Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960), based on Robert Bloch’s book of the same name. While Bloch stated many times that his book was based on the real-life crimes of Ed Gein, far more clippings were found in his files regarding Wisconsin’s infamous children’s entertainer and serial poisoner, Floyd Scriltch. When Hitchcock purchased the rights to Bloch’s book, he also optioned the life rights from the sole survivor of Scriltch’s infamous “Easter Bunny Massacre,” Amanda Cohen. Cohen was instrumental in the detection and capture of Scriltch and paid a heavy price for her bravery. This book is dedicated to her memory.

Great horror stories of books and movies have seemingly come from some aspect of real-life events, and human behavior. This is evident as far back as Alfred Hitchcock’s movie, Psycho. The movie was based on a serial killer named, Ed Gein in Wisconsin.

My father fell hard for Spade. He was impressed by Spade’s fame and enjoyed having someone around who was as encyclopedic about old movies as he was. But their connection was deeper than that. They had both grown up bookish, lonely, only children with family roots buried deep in the Wisconsin permafrost. Both men had caught the big midcentury culture swell and ridden it to respectable fame and reasonable fortune. Both wrote in first draft, both were published by Alfred A. Knopf, both had questionable personal hygiene and an abiding love of processed meats. Both of them loved me devoutly. Whenever I brought them together, I could feel something knit together inside of me.

The problem with crack dealing is the same as in every other glamour profession: a lot of people are competing for a very few prizes. Earning big money in the crack gang wasn’t much more likely than the Wisconsin farm girl becoming a movie star or the high-school quarterback playing in the NFL. But criminals, like everyone else, respond to incentives. So if the prize is big enough, they will form a line down the block just hoping for a chance. On the south side of Chicago, people wanting to sell crack vastly outnumbered the available street corners.

The room is full of color. Clothing strewn here and there, art, and posters. On the corner of a desk, a framed photograph. A girl my age leans into another girl, her hip cocked, arm slung over her friend’s shoulders. They are both smiling as though they’ve just shared a secret. One of the girls is clearly the one from the family portrait in the hall, but older here, with her friend. They wear ripped jeans. One of them has on a midriff-revealing tank top, the other what I think is a band or movie T-shirt, though I don’t recognize the name. Again, like the magazines, the sense that there is so much more color to these girls, to their lives, than my own. I turn my attention to the rest of the desk. Cluttered with rainbow pens, coins, to-do lists, jotted-down notes on scraps of paper, highlighters, stickers. A University of Wisconsin red hoodie draped over the chair. Photographs, drawings, ripped homework pages, clothes, and more variations of lip gloss than I would have thought existed. This is the bedroom of a teenage girl. Mine is that of a child. There are no crosses in this room. There’s no framed painting of Jesus, no stuffed animals or Bible.