I just saw in the paper that Bobby Mauch of the famous Mauch Twins had recently died, I knew I couldn’t let it go by without saying something. I hope we all take a moment to remember this wonderful actor and his identical twin brother, Billy, who died a year ago. Bobby’s obit appeared in the New York Times yesterday. Why it took ten days after his death on October 15th to be published, I do not know. But perhaps it is because his family didn’t think the paper would bother. Billy’s earlier death did not seem to merit an obituary in the Times, at least I haven’t been able to find one, although I did find one online that included a recent photo of him. He managed to maintain his childlike smile which won over so many hearts during his and his brother’s heyday in Hollywood.

Nowadays, the world is full of twins. What used to be an enigma and a cause for curious comment has lost its rarity and hence its novelty. Today there are twins, triplets and who knows how many other groupings in the performing arts and even in porn. The wafer-thin Olsen Twins have achieved a kind of sordid fame that is typical of this era’s celebrity-crazed fixations. But in Hollywood there has only been one pair of truly superstar twins: Billy and Bobby Mauch who starred in the magnificent film The Prince and the Pauper. They were truly the stars of the movie, even though they had to share the silver screen with legendary actors Errol Flynn and Claude Rains.

What set the Mauch Twins apart (apparently the name is pronounced “mawk” to rhyme with “talk”, rather than the “mowch” as I had always assumed), was their incandescent simple beauty. They were guileless. Free from affect. And seemingly as naive as the characters they played. These two boys were a dramatic contrast to the scruffy hooligans of the Dead End Kids and must have appealed to both parents and children, male and female, young and old. They were not above pulling pranks, however, as the recent obit in the Times confirms. To this day we do not know which of the twins was playing which role at any given time in the making of the film since they have admitted to switching parts as it pleased them. This is even harder to decipher since the basic plot of the film involves a switching of identities. Bobby was cast as the poor peasant boy, the street urchin; while Billy was cast as the more refined (and spoiled) prince. So when looking at photographs shot during the making of the film, it is impossible to know whether this particular shot is one of Billy in his assigned role as the Prince, or is it Bobby posing as the Prince? Or is it Billy pretending to be Bobby posing as the prince? Or is it Bobby pretending to be Billy pretending to be Bobby posing as the prince? You see how the mind reels from the implications. Clearly they relished the confusion.

What is most remarkable in watching The Prince and the Pauper is not only how truly identical these two boys really were, but how virtually alike they were as actors. At first glance, I thought Bobby was outshining his brother by playing the juicier role of the pauper. But as Billy takes on the persona of the beggar boy he fully lives the part and proves the equal of his brother. While there have been other twins in movie parts, usually in secondary roles, none have come anywhere near this level of acting ability and sheer charisma before the camera.

The boys were born in 1921 in Peoria, Ill. Their father was a ticket agent for the Toledo, Peoria & Western Railway. Their mother started teaching the boys to dance when they were mere tykes. At seven, they were singing and acting on the radio. In 1935, Mrs. Mauch took them to Hollywood where they were were spotted and soon turned into stars. They seemed to represent the best and the brightest virtues of young manhood of the period. Beautiful clear skin, disarmingly sweet smiles, a playful tomfoolery. Theirs was an aw-shucks apple-pie innocence that seemed completely genuine without being hokey. They were as quintessentially American as Mark Twain himself.

Sadly, neither Billy or Bobby managed to build on their triumph as The Prince and the Pauper. They did a few Penrod movies that are shown occasionally on TCM. In Penrod’s Double Trouble, Bobby makes his entrance in drag! Why these two talented boys did not go on to make more films is something that has not been fully explained. Perhaps they resented the focus on their being twins, the trap of always being double-billed, cast together for the novelty rather than their own intrinsic merits. Or perhaps like many other talented young stars, they were turned off by the phoniness of Hollywood and its publicity machine. Both of them went on to work in the business, but behind the cameras. Bobby became a film editor. Billy was a sound editor who did the effects for the famous Steve McQueen film Bullitt.

For years, I’ve been collecting memorabilia about the Mauch Brothers, mostly on eBay. It’s not so easy! When you search for Mauch Twins, you inevitably come up with material relating to Gene Mauch of the Minnesota Twins! But over the years, I’ve gathered some wonderful original studio photographs, a copy of the Time Magazine they appeared in on May 3, 1937 and other ephemera. I even have a snapshot of them taken in downtown Los Angeles with their mother. There’s not a lot to choose from. So I apologize for putting “Not For Duplication” on these scans, but I own several rare original prints from the studio and I don’t want them posted all over the internet. If you have other images you’d like to share, please let me know. My email address can be found above under About Me.

I’ll be the first to admit I am not sure why I am so mesmerized by these two boys. Perhaps it is because I remember watching the film countless times when I was a child. It seemed to always be on television back then. Today it comes up occasionally on TCM. It was an essential part of my growing up experience. And who can not be seduced by the storyline? The chance to be able to switch places with someone for a few days to escape the humdrum chores of ordinary home life? And yet, its message seems to have been lost with time. Another overlooked classic. Yes, I know, it was 70 years ago! Even so, its wry appeal lingers on.

Most people I know have never even heard of the film. There was a dreadful remake of sorts that I found on Netflix, The Prince and the Surfer, about a skateboarder who switches places with a royal heir. Alas, neither of them ever goes surfing. According to Netflix, it is a charming retelling of an old Dickens story! [I am sure Mark Twain is rolling in his grave over that mistake!] I recommend you skip it. Joey Lawrence actually made a remake of the story for TV about a pizza boy who switches places with a raucous rock star. It had its moments. But nothing can compare to the original which required no special effects, no trick photography. It featured real-life look-alikes in the title roles, the irreplaceable Mauch Twins.

Tonight Dexter returns to Showtime. I will be among the millions of viewers glued to my seat, snacks and refreshments at hand, watching murder after murder unfold eerily over the next few weeks. I enjoyed the series last season and am quite sure I will enjoy it equally as much this year. That is due in no small part to the witty and often wildly unpredictable script, the canny acting of some of the performers (my favorite is Lauren Velez as the Lieutenant) and the fact that I have always been fascinated by serial killers.

And yet, I find my own interest in Dexter and that of my compatriots to be disturbing, symptomatic of a strange malaise in our culture that focuses on the darkest elements in our society. While I was looking on the internet to research this post, I found that Showtime has carefully placed ads for the premiere of Dexter on websites devoted to real life serial killers. Talk about pinpoint marketing! Should we really be applauding the return of a new series glamorizing the world of serial killers? The way it is being promoted, too, eerily underscores the fine line between poking fun at grand guignol and making murder and mayhem chic.

Yes, I know that Dexter is an anti-hero. He is the serial killer with a heart of gold. That is what makes him so appealing and devilishly cute. But the greater issues surrounding this highly stylized series revolve around our culture’s increasing fascination with the personas of these killers. By constantly covering them in the media, are we not encouraging people to become serial killers? Since we as a nation addicted to celebrity do not distinguish between a no-talent star like Paris Hilton, and a stellar talent like Pavarotti, who just died, it is not surprising that murderers are given as much airplay. Serial killers are big money.

People have always been mesmerized by psycho killers (and long before Talking Heads made them as catchy as bubble gum music). In ancient cultures, they were idolized. Mythic heroes. Hercules was the first superman, but he also slew a lot of people, and not always for noble purposes. In Medieval times, serial killers were simply part of the lethal landscape. Vlad the Impaler comes down to us as the inspiration for Dracula, but let’s not forget he was a brutal killer, not the sexy batman of Hollywood glamour.

Gilles de Rais, who was accused of killing hundreds of young boys, was one of Joan of Arc’s great supporters and a hero in his country, until he was discovered to be a mass murderer. And yet, as Bluebeard, he is reverently invoked as a symbol of evil for the ages.

King Henry, the VIII may have been a charismatic leader, but what he did to several of his six wives was nothing more than sanctioned murder. In the 19th century, Jack the Ripper became an icon in our culture due in no small part to the fact that he never got caught. Each year another book comes out claiming to prove his identity. For a good laugh, you might read Patricia Cornwell’s Jack the Ripper: Case Closed in which she lays the blame on British artist Walter Sickert who by some reputable accounts was not even in England at the time of the murders.

But very few people, I think, would cosy up to Jack. Perhaps because he does not yet have a face. He lacks the approachability of so many of modern times’ celebrated psychos, such as John Wayne Gacy, Ted Bundy, Son of Sam, Jeffrey Dahmer, Ed Gein, and Henry Lee Lucas, some of whom have websites devoted to them, complete with photographs of people posing for fan photos and getting autographs. With the freedom provided by the internet, the cult of “sickos” has reached a new fever pitch. People sell “funny” clown-themed John Wayne Gacy t-shirts on eBay.

My concern is that shows like Dexter, no matter how amusing, or the intense media coverage that we give to each new serial killer (and old — the Boston Strangler and the Zodiac Killer have been revived for further exploitation), only encourages other demented souls out there, who really aren’t that different from you and me, to go out and outdo their predecessors. Isn’t that the American Way? Competition? I once wanted to write a novel entitled The Tally about a guy so obsessed with serial killers that he becomes one himself, just to get into the Guinness Book of World Records for outkilling the others. When the focus is more on the number of people slain, and the people doing the killing, rather than the victims themselves, we have lost touch with something basic in our society. Celebrating death and murder as the latest entertainment is really no different than what the Romans did at the end of their civilization when the powers-that-be staged gruesome blood spectacles in the Colosseum to distract the mobs. What’s next? A reality show about serial killers? Stranded on a desert island together? Which one will get out alive? Stay tuned.

One of my favorite ebay stores, Camp-Classics, is hosting a special Steve Reeves sale this week. You’ve got to check it out. There’s a link at right on my favorite websites list.

As a huge fan of this American Goliath, I can’t stop looking at the pictures posted alongside these auctions. For me, Steve Reeves represented absolute perfection.

He was not only extremely good-looking, one of the finest bodybuilders (natural, before the influx of steroids and other physique enhancing drugs), who won numerous titles, including Mr. World, Mr. Universe and Mr. America, but also was one of the nicest guys on the planet.

He was gracious, considerate to others and an emblem of all that is fine about America. He became an international legend and icon by portraying Hercules in numerous films.

He appeared in non-mythic roles as well, including the hilarious Jail Bait by none other than camp film director, Ed Wood, as well as one of my faves, Athena, opposite Debbie Reynolds and Jane Powell. And let’s not forget, Morgan the Pirate.

For many he became the symbol of American virility and masculine beauty. .

Even into his 60s, he was godlike and stunningly handsome. Sadly, he died in 2000 at the age of 74. Steve Reeves was one of those heroes I thought would live for ever.