At the Mansion of Madness

With Spirits of Death, I’m reminded of how pleasing it is to keep discovering new worthwhile Eurocult movies of the vintage variety. Years ago I thought that I might have been coming close to exhausting my selection of every notable Eurohorror / giallo / surreal-art-house-drama film. However, that notion seems to become more and more untrue with time, which is counterintuitive, as it would seem that the more movies of this type you see the closer you would be to seeing them all, but it nonetheless keeps opening up a world that always seems bigger the further you go in.

Spirits of Death is one of those arty, Eurohorror, giallo movies of a particular brand that I can’t believe I went so long without knowing (let’s see if we can coin the term “Sleeping Eurocult” – in winking reference to Agatha Christie’sSleeping Murder). Spirits of Death is directed and cinematographed by Romano Scavolini, who many may know as the director of an infamous Video Nasty from the early ‘80s, Nightmares in a Damaged Brain. He is also the brother of Sauro Scavolini, director of another marvelous “Sleeping Eurocult” Love and Death in the Garden of the Gods.

The film is essentially a gathering of colorful guests, who have been invited by one of the proprietors, Marialé (Ida Galli aka Evelyn Stewart), with mysterious motives, to a spooky old castle. It might sound familiar, and it is, but the gathering turns into a fascinating, candlelit journey into the underground caverns of the castle as well as a delirious entertaining descent into a batshit crazy Fellini-esque masquerade dinner party before things turn over to a more traditional murder mystery, as party guests start getting knocked off by an unseen assailant in the latter half.

Most of the male characters in the film are abusive towards the female characters. The exception is Massimo (Ivan Rassimov) the poet, suggesting that the artist is a more compassionate individual in comparison to the more brutish, philistine individuals with a propensity towards sexual violence and causing humiliation. It’s also interesting that two of the abused female characters, Mercedes (Pilar Velázquez) and Semy (Shawn Robinson), find solace and love by getting away from their racist male chauvinist lovers and into one another’s arms, a possible message about some women being better off leaving their abusive men to pursue lesbian relationships.

While the gothic sights can be somewhat traditional, there is still something much grander about the visuals in Spirits of Death, in comparison to some of its more subtle gothic horror predecessors. The party ultimately shifts to the dark lower levels of the castle, affording an opportunity for the abundance of characters to travel in procession, with multiple characters each holding a candelabra, resulting in a busy but pleasing gothic sight, as the party-goers explore the castle depths.

It gets remarkably surreal when an inexplicable indoor storm picks up in the underground crypt-like caverns. The setting starts to become very disorienting, as we start to abandon logic for a more favorable nightmarish experience and the first implication of any spirits of death. With all the screams and emotional outburst for seemingly little reason, it starts to feel a little like a Renato Polsellifilm – think about the tape recorder scene from Delirium. There are several dressed mannequins in the underground area that almost resemble rotting corpses. Eventually, the storm softly subsides from what feels like the result of a few characters relighting the candles, assumedly blown out from the storm, and the film's calming, enchanting theme chiming in. Everyone regains their composure in what feels like some sort of reawakening. The candles are lit and everyone seems in awe at their surroundings now that the storm has passed.

Eventually, the party transitions into a masquerade, as characters borrow different costumes from the corpse-like dummies and undergo bizarre cartoon-like transformations. The movie toys a little with the idea of their being possessed by the spirits of death but ends up feeling more like everyone getting in touch with their wild, primitive sides, a kind of liberalization, becoming informal and hedonistic, acting out behaviors they wouldn’t normally act out. Basically they’re partying, but what peculiar partying it is. It isn’t classy at all but still entertaining to watch. As usual the soundtrack contributes a lot to the crazy dinner party.

The dinner party would have to be the highlight of highlights. It feels climactic despite taking place in the middle of the movie. There's some underlying suspicions that the film might be escalating into a mass sex orgy, but instead, it turns the insanity meter down afterwards and begins to play out as a more low key murder mystery with an immodest body count and, for their time, adequate murder scenes. Also, I never seem to tire of the “oh, it’s you” cliché, establishing that the victims are familiar with their killer.

Luigi Pistilli plays a somewhat similar role as his character from Your Vice is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key, and, as usual, he’s incapable of disappointing. Also, I truly enjoyed Ida Galli as Marialé, appearing almost ghostlike in the background sometimes, overseeing, possibly manipulating, but never really quite participating in most of the events. Aside from Queens of Evil, I always felt she seemed a little underused in everything else I’d seen her in.

Spirits of Death does predict the violent childhood flashback scene that Scavoliniwould explore more graphically in Nightmares in a Damaged Brain. The flashback scene isn’t overused here, used at the very beginning and brought up again at just the right time during the climax to cap the proceedings with a chilling sense of continuity. The climax isn’t that shocking, but I still really like it (especially the way two characters fall dead in each other’s arms). I also couldn’t help thinking a little of the spaghetti western standoff climax.

Upon further re-watches, I found Spirits of Death to be a rather mind-expanding experience. I think it’s a movie that viewers should get a little deeper with and view as art as opposed to simple entertainment; although it’s still very entertaining.

© At the Mansion of Madness

If you haven’t noticed, Female vampires in movies have been a long-running theme I’ve enjoyed exploring with this blog. It’s an appealing aspect of fiction to me, and I just can’t get away from the archetypical idea of the vampiress: her gothic image, seductive power, hidden feral side, and deadly sexuality. Some time ago, around the time I reviewed The Blood Spattered Bride, I finally gave Sheridan Le Fanu’sCarmilla a read and wasn’t too surprised at realizing how much Carmilla’s influence is felt in a large number of cult female vampire films. Although, there seems to have been a bit of a debate as to whether or not the perceived erotic subtext in Le Fanu’s novella has been misinterpreted by non-Victorian readers, yet many filmmakers have nonetheless taken the subtext at face value, taking whatever supposed eroticism is there in the writing of the book out of the implicit and into the explicit; and, for its time, Jess Franco’sFemale Vampire (a.k.a. La comtesse noire,Bare Breasted Countess, Erotikill, and many more) has to be the most erotic lady vampire piece, even more so for the XXX version Lüsterne Vampire Im Spermarausch. (On the opposite end of the spectrum is perhaps, and also recommended, Let’s Scare Jessica to Death — a Carmilla influenced movie that hardly features any eroticism).

As should be obvious from the various aforementioned titles, Female Vampire is about a killer nymphomaniac lady vampire, Countess Irina Karlstein, played by Franco muse and Eurocult legend Lina Romay, born Rosa María Almirall Martínez.

Irina is a mute vampire and somewhat sympathetic. As the occasional mental reflection voiceover suggests, she is a remorseful and trapped victim herself. Lina plays Irina with an appropriately somber face, with languid mannerisms and simple gestures. Despite being accompanied by her creepy, hulky manservant (Luis Barboo), her existence feels lonely.

Lina has the right look and talent for what is a kind of double sided role: unabashed, bare-breasted creature-of-the-night one moment and a humble, ethereal creature in a white gown the next.

Irina isn’t quite the typical sexy femme fatale vampire, either, due to a few interesting nuances and variations, such as her need to feed, not just on blood, but on the hormones in the sex fluid of her victims. It’s an odd idea and a little gross, but it sure does set Irina apart from other vampires and makes sense from the commercial sexploitation angle. The idea of being killed in mid-orgasm does have a lot of macabre erotic potential, and in the end, the idea does end up working, primarily thanks to the way Lina handles her sexual kill scenes with an enthusiasm and finesse not found in too many other actresses (seriously try to imagine someone else in the role – you can’t).

Some would fault the movie on its use of out of focus shots, but, as with the soft-focus effect, they are used deliberately to achieve a mystical, dreamy feel. There has been one instance where I was annoyed with deliberate out of focus shooting with Jess Franco in 99 Woman (a sex scene with Rosalba Neri), but here the technique feels natural and adds to the experience. It’s therefore rather unfortunate that some would say certain shots in this film are “out of focus” like it’s a bad thing or poor, sloppy technique. I find it ironic that in more recent times “out of focus” digital photography has been considered an art form and an advanced technique.

The narrative is punctuated, in familiar Jess Franco fashion, with a number of macabre, as well as erotically poetic, sex scenes that tend to pad out more than would seem necessary, hence the most likely reason for the trimmed down “horror” version Erotikill. This will be nothing new to the initiated, but it might be a deal breaker for some. There are, nonetheless, strokes of genius throughout that keeps things interesting, such as Irina’s necrophilia indulgence after finishing off the hotel masseur (Raymond Hardy a.k.a. Ramon Ardid – Lina’s then husband who she eventually left to be with Jess Franco), which, again, works primarily on account of Lina’s commitment to the scene. Also, who could get bored of watching Lina get freaky with one of those elongated bolster pillows.

Another star in the film has to be the Madeira Island shooting location, which I’ve come to heavily appreciate a lot more after watching Al otro lado del espejo / The Other Side of the Mirror. Irina walking through the misty forest in Madeira, towards the camera, has to be one of Lina Romay’s most iconic images. Even the way she bumps her chin into the camera seems oddly natural. The otherworldly feel of the misty forest location (also seen in The Rites of Frankenstein) causes it to feel more like a representation of the spiritual plane, with Irina’s lone dark figure emerging from the mist, indicative of her solitude and gloom in an immortal life. In addition, consider the way Irina and the journalist Anna (Anna Watican) are walking the forest plane together after Irina has killed her, as if she is guiding Anna’s soul into some sort of afterlife.

Franco babes Monica Swinn and Alice Arno are on hand as some kind of gothic princess and her servant, respectively, for a nifty little de Sadean segment. It’s unclear why the princess and her servant were expecting Irina when she arrived (it would seem that something Irina did with the pieces in some kind of game of esoteric chess caused them to recognize her), but this lends a charming mystique to the segment. Irina is taken to a dungeon to be chained and whipped, putting her into somewhat of a predicament. It’s a little disturbing that another lady’s chained, tortured, unconscious body is already present when the three enter the dungeon, a nice gruesome touch that reminds me a little of Inquisition strappado torture, a theme not far off from Franco’sTheBloody Judge and Les demons.

Arno’s character kind of looks like a biker chick and is in charge of whipping Irina in a bondage scene, and like Irina she does not speak a word, making her seem mute, a common trait between the two that made me think she might be a vampire as well. It might have been some kind of seductive mind control, but I like to think that the two seem to recognize the similarity in one another, which ends up turning the tables, as the servant turns on her master, freeing Irina in the process, so they can double team the princess.

Something else going for the movie is the chemistry between Lina Romayand a poet, played by film genre favorite Jack Taylor, who seems to be deriving inspiration from the mystical elements in Madeira, predicting his meeting with Irina in his writing, emphasizing a kindred soul like bond between the two that is another take on the romance fantasy between human and vampire; and its inevitable conclusion certainly does emphasize the ennui and loneliness of Irina’s malediction. While they are connecting as lovers atop the misty mountains, as Irina struggles to come to terms with her feelings for her new love and what she is, Lina's portrayal of Irina's sadness is genuine and should be a testament to her ability as an actress outside of erotica.

Longtime fans of Lina Romay have no doubt already seen Female Vampire; it was her first starring role for Jess Franco, and it can definitely be considered a good starting point for anyone interested in Lina Romay. She’s been in an ungodly amount of movies, and I still have a lot of exploring to do, but so far I’ve not been disappointed by any film with Lina in a leading role (I even enjoyed Mansion of the Living Dead). I think I’ll forego recommending any additional Lina Romay titles and just say happy exploring to new and longtime fans, because, for many, there are most likely still plenty of pleasant surprises to track down and experience for the first time, not to mention the fact that the films usually seem better after second viewings.

As Wm R. said on Facebook “Lina FOREVER”

© At the Mansion of Madness

City of the Living Deadis part of a high point in Lucio Fulci’s career that would make him synonymous with gore, zombies, and splatter and also cause him to be more generally regarded as a horror director, despite having worked in numerous other film genres. Being the first film in what has become known as The Gates of Hell trilogy, which also includes The Beyond (1981) and House by the Cemetery (1981), Cityfeels a little rough around the edges, a step down from the previous Zombi 2 (1979) but at the same time a stepping stone or prototype to The Beyond, a film that masterfully embodies a dreadful but surreal atmospheric ascetic that I like to call nightmarish horror, which abandons logic to create a sense that anything can happen, usually something bad involving the eyes.

While there is an interesting Lovecraftian story (co-written by Fulci and Dardano Sacchetti) and plenty of dialogue and characters to fill it, City feels a bit like a compendium of gore scenes and set pieces, most of which exemplify Fulci in top form. It has its flaws and issues, yet it’s one of those films where you can talk just as much about what’s wrong with it as you can about what’s right with it, and what’s right is pleasing enough to supersede what’s wrong.

Despite having a dodgy narrative, a few silly moments, and somewhat shallow characters, who have grown on me with time, such as Bob (Giovanni Lombardo Radice), the film is quite a macabre experiencethat has become known for its top-notch ambiance and gore FX (by Gino De Rossi), as well as succeeding as a horror film overall. It’s like a product of low quality that nonetheless continually hits the sweet spot throughout its runtime so that you just can’t help loving it. It’s almost the masterpiece The Beyond is.

Mary the psychic played by Fulci lead favorite Catriona MacColl, who has to be one of the best screamers

"Lady, you're either on grass, or you're pulling my leg." -- Sergeant Clay / Martin Sorrentino

City is considered a zombie film, but, like The Beyond, the zombies don’t come until much later. Yet it's more than a just a zombie movie, which might be because we’re getting the kitchen sink treatment, as there is so much going on, with it being more of a supernatural gore film with zombies thrown in for good measure, and the film makers weren’t afraid to take a few liberties and break some zombie “genre rules.”

I love the Manhattan skyline visible from the graveyard (filmed at Calvary Cemetery, Queens, New York), cleverly juxtaposing the city, the living, and the dead, in a foreboding reminder of the film's title and what's to come.

The story is based around an epoch where a priest, Father Thomas (Fabrizio Jovine) commits suicide in a graveyard at a place called Dunwich, a town built on the ruins of Salem (I suppose in a reality where Salem no longer exists?). The act is so blasphemous that the gates of Hell have no choice but to burst open in Dunwich. A psychic in New York, Mary (Catriona MacColl), has a vision of the hanged priest and learns that it happened in Dunwich by reading a doomful inscription on a tombstone that more or less paraphrases a well-known quote by HP Lovecraft. Mary inexplicably dies during a seance, and later in the cemetery undergoes a miraculous rebirth while trapped in her coffin. Fortunately a reporter, Peter (Christopher George), investigating her mysterious death, was there to save Mary by tearing the coffin open with a pick axe, nearly tearing her face off in the process. It was all foretold in a book called Enoch, and now Mary and Peter must go to Dunwich before All Saint’s Day to close the gates of Hell and prevent zombies, ghouls, and an undead priest from destroying humanity. It’s as fun as it sounds.

I hadn't seen Hitchcock's The Birds since I was a kid, but after re-watching it recently, I see where the inspiration for this maggot swarm scene came from.

Feeling a little uneven, the first half of the film transitions back and forth between characters from New York and Dunwich. A plethora of characters are introduced from both locations, and it might feel a little messy, but I like the way the main characters come together by the third act, with Mary’s psychic vision being the catalyst for the union between the film’s heroes and their fiery, all-too-easy but still climactic and sensationalistic catacomb showdown on a very impressive set.

Character development might be a little shallow, but everyone manages to be memorable in their own way. Despite not having a whole lot to do with anyone, other than being a red herring and the town scapegoat for the bad things happening in Dunwich, Radice’s character, Bob, stands out the most as the dodgy looking but ultimately innocent pervert. During those brilliant moments where the film cuts to Bob looking around with a seedy gaze, in the midst of some heavy fog and wind machines, he looks like a serial killer up to no good. However, despite seeming a little depraved, he’s usually just looking for a place to have-a-wank, squat, or sleep. Turning our expectations around, he’s always revealed to be rather harmless, being the central victim of a few of the film’s many gruesome moments, the most poignant being the infamous drill to the head bit, where Mr. Ross (Venantino Venantini), who’s already convinced Bob is the reason for Dunwich’s murders, finds Bob with his daughter and after a struggle runs poor Bob’s head through an industrial drill, in spectacular gory Fulci fashion. Considering Bob’s innocence, the take home message I get here is that it is folly to assume that all perverts are bad people. While Bob expires as the drill through his skull is still rotating, Fulci seems to impose the question: who’s-the-monster-now? as Bob has just undergone an unfounded summary execution based on unproven assumptions. In a way, Mr. Ross is equated to the same ghouls and zombies that are still out there murdering people.

There's a little bit of creepy melodrama going on during this part between Gerry (Carlo De Mejo) and Sandra (Janet Agren) that's a little like a Dark Shadows episode.

It has to be said that the film is surprisingly creepy, mainly thanks to a consistently eerie mood that is set by the film’s ambiance, which is wonderfully augmented by Fabio Frizzi’s soundtrack. In addition, Sergio Salvati’s masterful cinematography shines during moments such as when the camera roves down the dark, empty residential streets of Dunwich, also contributing to the proper mood by evoking a sense of dread and isolation.

In fact it has been said that the success to the most highly regarded Fulci films like Zombi 2and The Beyond does not lie on Fulci alone but might rather be attributed to the collaborative mix between Fulci, Sacchetti, Salvati, and Frizzi.

Fabio Frizzi's synth theme makes this part oddly epic and exciting.

Due credit should also go to Gino De Rossifor staging some of the most brutal and most talked about gore FX. The intestine puking scene with Daniela Doria, an actress Fulci seemed to like to repeatedly kill in gruesome ways, should be considered a gore milestone in the history of film. I’m impressed with how shocking and gross it is, but I really like how beautiful it is at the same time; the way the blood tears stream from both of Doria’s eyes has a gothic horror semblance to it that beautifies things before they get real disgusting. Being hypnotized by the undead priest, I also like the way Doria maintains a still, trancelike, melancholic expression, as opposed to a hysterical fit, as Fulci has her regurgitating real sheep intestines for the scene. She’s a little like one of those weeping statues that cry blood.

Michele Soavi as a wormy Fulci zombie -- Soavi would later direct a piece of zombie history himself with The Cemetery Man.

Some ideas like the teleporting zombies seem a little off-putting, and this movie’s faulty closing scene probably had movie audiences thinking that one big joke had been played on them and probably wanted their ticket money back. I’ll admit to being a little disappointed at having teleporting zombies and a broken ending waiting for me as payoffs, but, like I said before, there’s so much wrong but so much right about this film. Over the years, I’ve come to accept the film's flaws, which feel more like quirks to me now.

Has anyone ever noticed the zombie reflection on the far right?

Today, I really like the ending, but not for the same reasons I love The Beyond’s ending. It just wouldn’t be City of the Living Deadwithout its much talked about and confusing closing scene. There have been rumors that the editor spilled coffee on the film reel, but according to Fulci it was some kind of last minute idea that was edited into the movie, even after filming had completed, to change the tone of the ending. Here’s what Lucio said:

“Originally, the child ran towards the camera and we cut to the two adults smiling to themselves. That was it, a happy ending. One day I was in the editing room, and we watched the footage of the adults who were arguing in the shot- they didn't get along. So we cut to the little boy running and cut back to the footage of them arguing. But in that shot, there was an aberration on the film where it looked like the image started to break up. So we used that. Now it's not a happy ending.”-Lucio Fulci

You would think Fulci's statement would clear it up, but I don’t think I agree that it was all post editing, because if you watch the ending, MacColl and De Mejo aren’t shown arguing as Fulci claimed, but they can be clearly seen looking out towards the little kid, John-John (Luca Venantini), smiling just before MacColl’s expression subtly changes to fear.

It feels like zombie Emily (Antonella Interlenghi) might be having a poignant moment of recognition after encountering her brother and friend/psychiatrist from when she was alive. She disappears after this part to never be heard from again.

"At this point, a good stiff drink is the only medicine." -- Gerry / Carlo De Mejo

I like the fact that no definite consensus can be made about the ending, giving it an ominous ambiguity at this point. The ending in the Danish version makes it even more ominous with the way it transitions to some kind of dreadfully dark place, after the freeze frame is dissipated by the cracking effect, which makes me think an apocalypse just happened.

© At the Mansion of Madness

The alternate ending from the Danish version

This article is part of Blood Sucking Geek's Month of the Living Dead:

At present, little is known about the European actress and dancer Aurora de Alba. Her film career is varied, although consisting mostly of rare, hard-to-find movies, with a handful of Spanish horror films being the most well-known and accessible. What little I could find out is that her name was Aurora Galisteo before being known as Aurora de Alba, and she is the cousin of famed Spanish dancer/actress Carmen Sevilla, who was born Maria del Carmen Garcia Galisteo. This would also make Auroracousins with Spanish cinematographer Jose Garcia Galisteo. Aurora danced at the Venice Film Festival in 1953, from which a number of historical photos were made. She married Chico Scimone on June 23, 1954, in Taormina, Sicily, and later had a son, Gianfranco Scimone on March 11, 1955. She died February 24th, 2005.

Throughout the ‘50s, Aurora starred in a number of Spanish/Italian comedies and dramas, most of which seem to either have been forgotten or fallen into obscurity. As the Euro film industry shifted its output to different genres in the ‘60s and ‘70s, Aurora managed to land roles in Euro-westerns: Un hombre vino a matar (1967) and Su le mani, cadavere! Sei in arresto (1971) (under the direction of Leon Klimovsky); Euro-spies, Agente X 1-7 operazione Oceano (1965) and Top Secret (1967); and Euro-horrors La Marca del Hombre-lobo (1968), La rebelión de las muertas (1973), and La orgía de los muertos (1973). The three aforementioned horror films also starred Paul Naschy and seem to have been the most accessible. In addition, she was frequently directed by José Luis Merino. After starring in a line of comedies and dramas in the latter half of the ‘70s, her movie career seemed to have taken an abrupt halt at the end of the decade. What she was up to after that is probably anyone’s guess.

Some sources list her as an Italian actress,while others show her as a Spanish actress. Aurora is actually of Spanish origin, however she did get married in Italy and most likely lived there for a time. Another source lists her birth date as February 2nd, 1948; this cannot be true, however, because, as was mentioned before, she was married in 1954, and the following image of her below is from the 1953 Venice Film Festival, and looking to be somewhere in her early twenties at that time, it is probably not a far cry to assume she was born sometime in the ‘20s or ‘30s.

While horror made up a very small portion of her filmography, many Euro-horror fans today fondly remember Aurora as the seductive lady vampire in Naschy’s first Spanish werewolf movie, the werewolf vampire mash up La marca de hombre lobo (1968) – AKA Frankenstein’s Bloody Terror. Auroraplays the venomous vixen Wandessa Mikhelov alongside Julian Ugarte, who plays the Dracula-like Dr. Janos Mikhelov. Dr. Mikhelov is called upon to help Paul Naschy’s iconic cursed lycanthrope Waldemar Daninsky with his werewolf malediction, but when the doctor arrives with his wife, they turn out to be vampires who have other plans for the two werewolves in the film, in what seems to be the start of a tradition of vampires and werewolves not getting along; Aurora’s Wandessa Mikhelov is one of three lady vamps that made Waldemar Daninsky’s cursed life more difficult than it already was, with Patty Shepardplaying Countess Wandesa Darvula de Nadasdy in TheWerewolf versus the Vampire Woman (1971) and Julia Salyplaying Countess Elisabeth Bathory in Night of the Werewolf (1981).

Not only is Aurorastunningly beautiful in this role, but what also stands out is her maturity; she does look a little older, but it’s a sexy maturity, and I think it is part of what makes her vampire character work here, in an ageless beauty sort of way. I’d guesstimate Aurora was about forty, at the time.

What primarily makes Aurora’s performance in La marca de hombre lobo as memorable as it is is her seduction scene with Manuel Manzaneque. The scene itself, where the two of them are on the bed and the vampiress is dominating and preying on her victim, is sexually stimulating to watch, considering the way she holds his arm down and goes for his neck. There’s a really nice stylish touch where a shroud floats in from the left to cover the couple, leaving a terrific gothic visual to close the scene with.

A nice little visual that emphasizes Wandessa's seductive power over Rudolph (Manzaneque), after she had been nibbling at his neck a little

Also with Paul Naschy, Aurora appeared in a moody, supernatural gothic drama with zombies, La orgía de los muertos (1973) AKA The Hanging Woman, directed by José Luis Merino, where she worked with her cousin, Jose Garcia Galisteo, who worked as camera operator. Aurora plays the character mentioned in the film’s English title, and, as such, she spends most of the film as an inanimate corpse but is still significant to the storyline. The movie is rather steadily paced but a treat for vintage gothic horror fans. Despite being very low budget, the nineteenth century era setting feels authentic and the corpses and zombies look impressively gruesome.

Aurora has a bit part as a roommate, trying to get some sleep, who has to witness an unpleasant beating from mobsters on Erika Blanc’s character, in the somewhat violent, Ernesto Gastaldi penned, mystery crime movie L'uomo più velenoso del cobra(1971) AKA Human Cobras (1971), starring Giorgio Ardisson in a real good tough guy role.

Aurora appears in another small but memorable role in Paul Naschy’s voodoo-themed La rebelión de las muertas / Vengeance of the Zombies (1973) as a mind-controlled zombie (more White Zombie than Night of the Living Dead), and Aurora also has a titillating nude scene. There’s a lot going on in the film, and it is quite fearsome, macabre, and entertaining, combining elements of giallo, zombie, gore, crime, and the cinemafantastique. It was written by Naschyand directed by Leon Klimovsky, and it is known for its sassy, giddy, and deadly zombies in see thru negligees, which is where a lot of the fun comes from. I do believe that Aurora’s smile outshines here.

As said before, Auroradanced at the Venice Film Festival: The oldest and most prestigious international film festival in the world. It is now on its seventy-first year; Aurora de Alba appears briefly in a documentary/publicity video dedicated to the fourteenth annual festival in 1953, where she can be seen (at the 5:45 mark) boarding a plane before giving the pilot a kiss.

Aurora de Alba at the Venice Film Festival in 1953:

ALLPosters.co.uk

Nowadays, with the internet, it seems bold to throw the word obscure around, but in this case, as far as Aurora’s life and most of her films are concerned, obscure definitely applies. The mini-biography I made is unfortunately incomplete, but I hope we someday can learn more about this wonderful but elusive entertainer. A place and date of birth would be a good start. Anyone is welcome to help out if they happen to know more about her.

(There’s an enthusiastic thread featuring Aurora de Alba on The Latarnia Forumswith fans sharing their admiration and photos, including some humorous photoshopped work.)

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Aurora de Alba with her husband Chico Scimone during a magical evening at the La Giara Restaurant. This photo is used with the kind permission of Mirko Malambri of Archivio Fotografico Malambri V.

This article is part of Movies at Dog Farm's Pre’ween 2014.

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When looking over the lengthy cycle of mummy movies, one in particular often goes heavily unmentioned, and that’s Spanish actor, filmmaker Paul Naschy’s take on the mummy myth, The Mummy’s Revenge / La venganza de la Momia.

Being somewhat of a tragic love story, The Mummy’s Revenge is rather faithful to the original Universal film and is also easy to compare to the 1959 Hammer reboot as well. What sets The Mummy’s Revenge apart is that it’s a Paul Naschy film, meaning it’s going to be a little more erotic, a little meaner, more fearsome, more violent, and more personal. There is also a sadomasochistic element too, with a number of maidens strung up for both amusement and sacrificial purposes.

The film is directed by Carlos Aured and is written by and stars Naschy. It is one of four collaborations between Naschyand Aured, with the other three being theseminal Horror Rises from the Tomb (1972), part of the Waldemar Daninsky Werewolf cycle Curse of the Devil (1972), and the Spanish giallo Blue Eyes of the Broken Doll (1973). The Mummy’s Revenge is Naschy’s second, and more focused, take on the mummy, as the creature did appear in Naschy’s horror/sci-fi monster mashup Assignment Terror (1970), along with aliens, a werewolf, Frankenstein, and Dracula.

Just like in Vengeance of the Zombies, Horror Rises from the Tomb, and Howl of the Devil, Naschy plays multiple roles, an Egyptian cultist Assad Bay, his ancestor the pharaoh Amenhotep, and the mummy – bad guys across the board in this case. During the prologue, set in ancient Egypt, the pharaoh is painted as a sinister, sadistic tyrant, which is more in line with the mummy’s killer appetite. Owing to some elaborate makeup and Naschy’s muscular frame, the movie’s monster is an imposing, powerhouse of a mummy that can talk, climb, and move with ease, somewhat breaking the stereotype of the standard skinny, shambling mummy.

While gore may not be front and center, the film does have some gory moments, particularly a nasty head crushing part, where the mummy effortlessly, and quite wastefully, smashes the skulls of kidnapped virgins, one after another, in a line of rejected vessels for the rebirth of his beloved, because they aren’t perfect enough (it’s definitely one nasty mummy).

With a Paul Naschy film, one can almost always count on the presence of top-tier babes, with Eurocult fan favorite Helga Liné andexotic looking Rina Ottolinabeing the main attractions, who viewers can admire in both Egyptian and Victorian costumes. Despite having an erotic angle, there is surprisingly no nudity in The Mummy’s Revenge, which is unusual being that the other Aured/Naschycollaborations had their fair share of it (apparently there is a highly elusive "hard" version).

Liné has an interesting different look to her in this one,playing the villainous role of Sanofed, the lover and assistant to the cultist Assad Bay. She has both either a brownish red-haired or black-haired look at different times in the film. I’m a little more accustomed to seeing Liné as a sultry redhead, but seeing her with banged black hair, playing an Egyptian woman, is an enticing variation to her usual look. In contrast to her more conservative Victorian garb, she definitely breaks out the sexy when adorned in her belly dancer getup.

Ottolina plays a dual role, as well, playing the pharaoh’s concubine Amarna, from the ancient Egypt segment at the beginning of the film, and her descendent Helen. Anyone that has seen most other mummy films will probably know where the movie is going by having a descendent character that bares an exact likeness to the pharaoh’s beloved from thousands of years ago. When Helen and the mummy cross paths, the soul-mate like connection is actually something that works really well in this film, being a kind of inevitable return to ancestral romance.

I also like the tender connection that slowly develops between Helen and Sanofed. It's something that adds an air of ambiguity to the otherwise venomous Sanofed, who has a soft side when she’s around Helen. They meet up together alone in a lotus flower greenhouse and confide in one another (Helen is half Egyptian and was raised by her English father (Eduardo Calvo -- a familiar face in Naschy films) in London). It’s the start of an interesting atavistic development in Helen, who knows little about her heritage and is somewhat socially distant around most everyone else in London but seems to warm up to another Egyptian woman. Being that Helen’s mother is deceased, Sanofed ends up being like a mother figure to Helen, filling a void, telling her of the lotus flower and its significance in Egyptian culture. The theme of atavism explored herein strengthens the idea of Helen’s retrogression to a reincarnated Amarna after she meets the mummy for the first time, in what results in a hypnotic, bizarro kiss scene between human and monster. Being that this kiss is poignantly significant to the outcome, it perhaps would have also sufficed to call the movie The Mummy’s Kiss.

The traditional mummy myth in horror films was influenced by the fatal so called ‘curse of the pharaohs,’ a supposed real curse placed on those that would violate the pharaoh’s tombs, never meant to be touched or opened, with the killer mummy being the most recognized manifestation of the pharaoh’s curse in popular culture. An objection to the excavation of Egyptian tombs by western archeologists, with discovered artifacts being removed and transferred to museums in different countries, is very clear in The Mummy’s Revenge. Paul Naschy’scharacter delivers an inspirational line: “It’s paradoxical that we, the native Egyptians, have to travel around the world to study our own civilization”. The mummy’s revenge, here, not only has to do with the pharaoh being betrayed, dethroned, and entombed alive thousands of years ago by his own people, but the curse itself is also a kind of vengeance on the archeological “violation” of sacred tombs.

The always well composed Jack Taylor and Maria Silva are on hand as the primary archeologists and eventual heroes. There isn’t a whole lot to love or hate about Taylor’srole in the film; he’s still always a welcome presence for me. He naturally falls into more laid back, poetic, and intellectual roles, but he’s given a bit of a chance to breakout with some action scenes at the climax.

The set for the climax is awesome, but it does end up feeling like a hasty wrap-up, that feeling that it’s time for the main monster villain to die because the movie’s almost over. It’s an ending seen numerous times save for a nice little tragic inclusion at the closing.

The music by Alfonso Santisteban is terrific, especially the main theme, an epic piece that plays over the credits and the montage of London exteriors that nicely pulls one into the London location after the film’s prologue in Egypt. In a roundabout sort of way, the theme reminds me a little of The Legend of Zelda theme.

It has to be said that this is one beautiful film, with a number of sets that are a pleasure to behold, such as the nicely decorated Egyptian sets and the Gothic Victorian London interiors, where numerous characters usually stand and sit around in some of the more talkative scenes, which can be a little unexciting to those not digging the gothic vibe. Aside from a few exterior shots in London where traffic can sometimes be seen in the far background, The Mummy’s Revenge is an appealing and convincing era piece, both in nineteenth century England and ancient Egypt. It also makes for a cool, more adult, classic monster movie, with a little more of a Spanish horror style to it that might be of interest to anyone with a sudden urge for a mummy movie this coming Halloween. And most importantly, it will no doubt appeal to fans of PaulNaschy.

What are your favorite Paul Naschy films?

This article is part of Movies at Dog Farm's Pre’ween 2014.

(Click the image below to check it out)

Mario Bava’s final, full-length film as director Shock (AKA Beyond the Door II) is like TheAmityville Horror (1979), Repulsion (1965), and The Shining (1980) combined into a progressive-rock tinged haunted-house Italian horror/mystery thriller that does manage to be scary. Bava again employs the vengeful ghost story, as in his child-themed Kill Baby Kill (1966), but keeps it in the family, creating a ghost story about marital vengeance, which was based on a true story that Bava weaved in to an already existing script, about a living house, he had co-written with Dardano Sacchetti several years prior. The end product is a slow-paced but ultimately exhilarating experience that succeeds at being one of the creepier Italian horrors. Bava’s son Lamberto Bava, who also contributed to the script, said they were influenced a little more by Stephen King and were attempting to make a modern horror film.

The film also has a possession angle that takes a few cues from The Exorcist (1973), which might have been in response to the success of The House of Exorcism (1975): producer Alfredo Leone’s revamping of Bava’sLisa and the Devil (1973), with newly filmed possession scenes spliced in.

A big attraction in Shock is Daria Nicolodiin the leading role, a role that Bavaoffered her during a time of self-exile from her lover Dario Argento, due to a nervous breakdown that resulted from a discrepancy between the two. Nicolodi claimed that Argento took all of her ideas behind the hugely successful Suspiria (1977) and publicly claimed them as his own, something that was devastating for her. Nicolodi maintains that she and Argento developed Suspiria together, basing it off of a horrific true story her grandmother related to her about a dance school she had attended that secretly taught black magic.

Nicolodi was in a dark place at the time, underweight from not eating right, when her agent told her that Mario Bava wanted her for the leading role in his next film, and never having met Bava, but being an admirer of his movies, she enthusiastically accepted.

Her role in Shock, as Dora, a newlywed housewife haunted by her ex-husband’s ghost, is her personal favorite, and it is also regarded as Nicolodi’s greatest movie performance. It’s definitely a big step away from her breakout role as a strong independent journalist in Argento’sDeep Red (1975), as she plays a dependent, unstable housewife in Shock.

Daria is, of course, dubbed, so evaluating her performance here based on line-delivery might be a little inaccurate if not unfair, but she doesn’t ever come off as wooden and does have the ability to convincingly seem distressed, which works for a story that does rely a little on the descent-into-madness theme. She’s OK when interacting with the other adult characters, but she really shines when she is left alone in the house with her creepy son, Marco (David Colin Jr.). She’s also fantastic during the climax, but what really worked for me is that drug-induced cold stare and subtle twitch of her mouth during a chilling flashback scene towards the end.

As a Mario Bava film, Shockdoes stand out, being somewhat singular in his horror output for a number of reasons. In addition to Lamberto’spush for a more modern horror film, there’s also a little more restraint from Bava’s characteristic visual style, although there’s still plenty of beautiful stuff to look at, and a little more focus in telling a story rather than bedazzling with colorful sets and lavish gothic cinematography. Yet Shock is still full of stylish touches and nuances (how about that porcelain hand?). One thing that still feels very Bava is the remarkably simple yet successful visual effects. The simple but creative technique behind one of the best parts involving the kid’s, Marco’s, transformation into an adult ghost (a successful jump scare) was Lamberto’s idea.

The surreal factor is sectored off in individual segments, as opposed to being a part of the entire experience, a laLisa and the Devil. A couple highlights include a nightmarish dream sequence involving a flying box-cutter blade and a bricked up window, involving some ear-bleeding screams from Dora, as well as an ingenious dream scene with Dora seductively looking out into space, into the camera, with her hair flowing around on its own, on account of her lying on a rotating table during filming (this segment was also Bava’s sincere and successful attempt at capturing Daria’s beauty on film).

There’s definitely something awkward about the kid in the movie that just works for the kid-possession angle, and I don’t think it has to do with the dubbing. Here the child is portrayed as a kind of bridge between the spiritual and the physical world. Most curious is the way Marco never seems frightened at anything, something the movie establishes early on while he and his mother are attending a puppet show that he refers to as being fantastic when his mother asks if he’s scared. The one night when he wants to sleep with his mother, in her bed, might have to do more with him being possessed by his father’s ghost rather than being too scared to sleep alone. There ends up being an uncomfortable incestuous undercurrent that results during several instances between Marco and Dora, with the most awkward example being when Marco, or possessed Marco, sends some kind of strange message to Dora by cutting up her underwear and leaving it in her drawer to find later (This is one in several scenes that Mario let Lamberto direct, to give him a chance to direct on his own, as I believe he had only ever worked as an assistant director up to this point).

I also can’t tell if David Colin Jr. was just a strange kid actor or if he was doing a good job at playing a strange kid. I thought he was pretty strange in Beyond the Door (1974). In any case, he was definitely the right choice, capable of childlike innocence as well as creepy insidiousness.

John Steiner (Tenebre) plays Bruno, Dora’s second husband. There isn’t a whole lot to say about Steiner’s role other than that he gets the job done while leaving Nicolodi in control of the show. Ivan Rassimov has a rather minimal role as Dora’s psychologist, Dr. Aldo Spidini. There really isn’t anything that made Rassimov as memorable in so many other movies that noticeable here. As Dora’s personal psychologist, he has one interesting part that, to me, feels a little more detached from traditional Bava, where the doctor treats Marco by psychoanalyzing his drawings, which he in turn uses to explain Marco’s strange behavior to Dora as an apparent distantness he feels with his mother.

The progressive rock music heard in the film is by former Italian rock band I Libra, and if you’ve noticed that the music sounds like it could’ve come from Goblin (Suspria, Deep Red, Dawn of the Dead (1978)), it’s because there were a couple members who were in Goblinin I Libra at the time: Walter Martino and Maurizio Guarini, who contributed to a cool soundtrack that definitely aids the excitement of the conclusion.

Shockmight be an acquired taste for some; it’s been referred to as Bava’s worst film by some as well as his final masterpiece by others. According to Lamberto, Shock has a lot less of his father’s writing in it, which might be the reason it feels like the odd one out among Bava’s horror films; and the house in the film is a little more contemporary rather than the frozen in time gothic mansion. It’s still very stylish and creepy, with terrific prowling camera work, a good story, and a few segues into gothic horror territory, such as the segment where Dora slowly descends the stairs to investigate a haunting tune coming from the piano. With several bouts of twists and shocks lining the last twenty-five minutes, there’s definitely an exceptional payoff at the end that always leaves this viewer satisfied, and Nicolodiis a fantastic lead.

© At the Mansion of Madness

"The sun shining in my dreams
The light is getting hot
Saved by eternity
I have seen death so close
Away, awhile the angels crossed the sky
But I'm condemned to stay here." -- Heavenly

In his memoirs, Paul Naschy said he had referred Argentine film directing stalwart Leon Klimovsky to be director of his seminal Spanish horror classic La noche de Walpurgis, AKA The Werewolf Versus the Vampire Woman (1971), because one of the film’s financers wanted a quick and reliable director.

It would seem that Klimovsky was known for his fast shooting and workmanlike skills, and yet he managed to direct some real atmospheric classics of Spanish horror, often on low budgets and high pressured shooting schedules, and he introduced an oft-imitated technique of filming vampires and zombies in slow-motion, capturing a uniquely nightmarish plane of existence in the process.

Klimovsky’s vampire films are exceptional and interestingly varied, and they belong alongside the best of Jess Franco and Jean Rollin. The aforementioned The Werewolf Versus the Vampire Woman was a record breaking box office success that revived the Spanish horror fantasy genre. The other Klimovskydirected vampire films that followed were the epic The Dracula Saga (1973), the more grindhouse flavored The Vampires’ Night Orgy (1974), and the romantic, adventurous, and somewhat eclectic Night of the Walking Dead / The Strange Love of the Vampires,the topic for tonight

It is obvious that Night draws some inspiration from RomanPolanski’s brilliant horror-comedy The Fearless Vampire Killers (1967), telling a different story in a similar setting, minus the snowy ambiance, even reinventing the memorable vampire ballroom dancing scene. The Spanish take, being memorable in its own, odd way, is an amusing, and Fellini-esque, party-scape with hedonistic, hyperactive vampires amidst candles and colorful balloons, really livening up some old decrepit ruins. These party scenes do end up being a lot of fun.

Although there are a few comical elements, particularly with the character of Mijai (Barta Barri), Night really isn’t a comedy. It is still quite a remarkable accomplishment with an impressive, poignant exploration of the immortality of a vampire, Count Rudolph de Winberg (Carlos Ballesteros), made most apparent by the bittersweet closing scene at the film’s end.

Both of its alternate contrasting titles could be said to have arisen from a peculiar duality in the film, as it offers two different styles of vampire lore in the same movie, that of the romantic more human vampire in love with a mortal (The Strange Love of the Vampires) and the more ghoulish vampires who rise from their graves at night (sort of like zombies) to kill villagers (Night of the Walking Dead). Both routes could easily make for their own separate movie, but they are nonetheless satisfactorily explored herein, at times running separately in different directions, momentarily being fused into one, and also running side by side with charming juxtapositions.

An interesting dichotomy that envelops the central story premise is the separate light and dark worlds presented in the film, the living and the undead, split in to two opposing cultures, with its lead Catherine (Emma Cohen), suffering from a terminal illness, being drawn from one side to the other by a gentlemanly undead count (Ballesteros) who has fallen in love with her. She falls for him too, but complications and conflicts inevitably ensue as both cultures are at war, with humans hunting vampires and vampires hunting, and converting, humans, leaving Catherine with an interesting decision as to whether or not to succumb to her terminal illness or become an immortal but cursed being in the world of the vampires and in turn forsake her father (Cristino Almodóvar) and become an enemy to her own kind. A vampire would normally be like a parasite to their victim, but thinking about it in a certain way Rudolph is more like a savior in Catherine’s case.

A little patience is required at first, as the movie takes its time developing its intriguing premise, first setting the stage of a superstitious nineteenth century village with a vampire problem, establishing the conflict between both species confined solely, with little regard to the outside world, to the small isolated village, its forested surroundings, graveyard, and castle ruins.

A despondent mood is established early on with Catherine being introduced at her sister’s (Amparo Climent) wake, where, per village custom, a stake is hammered through her chest, despite protests from the deceased’s mother (Tota Alba) and the village doctor (Lorenzo Robledo). It is mentioned in passing reference by the doctor that Catherine’s days are numbered as well, painting a depressing, dismal existence for the reclusive, frequently bed-ridden protagonist that is, like in Al otro lado del espejo(1973), another sad character role for Cohen, complimented beautifully by her naturally sad eyes. Furthermore, the nature of the movie requires a protagonist beautiful enough to soften the lead villain into something not so much like a villain anymore, and Emma Cohen has that beauty.

There’s this underlying feeling that becomes more and more certain that another world is calling out to the doomed protagonist. It is attracted to Catherine and is trying its hardest to attract her, developing a pathway, literally and figuratively, for her, ultimately creating an evolutionary change in Catherine from innocent to corrupt. Her misfortunes, such as her illness, her dishonest, cheating lover, and her sister’s death followed by her undead resurrection, make Catherine vulnerable to count Rudolph and what he can offer her.

The count is so gentlemanly; I admire his smooth remarks towards Catherine at the dinner table when they first meet. Some of the most interesting in-depth moments occur when she and Rudolph are connecting and having somewhat profound conversations, romanticizing the idea of death, at his castle late at night in his stylish and wonderfully lit chamber, while his hordes of vampire followers are in the background partying like it's 1999.

I also sense a rebellious youth analogy, which can be detected after Catherine falls further for Rudolph, who represents a love interest that is at odds with her vampire-hunter father’s interests, as Catherine becomes ever more conflicted with her father and more affected by outside influence. He’s the un-approving father who only wants what’s best for his daughter, who is stubbornly disobeying him. Rudolph is almost like a substitute father figure who, in Catherine’s mind, can offer her more than what her real father can.

Catherine’s evolutionary change first becomes quite startling when she is given the opportunity by the count to make a personal decision as to whether or not to pardon her past unappreciative, unfaithful lover Jean, freshly captured and brought before her so she can either grant him forgiveness, sparing his life in the process, or deny him, dooming him to be communally drained by vampires. Her decision is most pleasing.

Her change reaches an apex when she seduces and kills the butler, after being put on house arrest by her father.

Aside from Catherine’s interesting dilemma, the film also plays out like a traditional monster movie, as well, with angry mobs--the kind seen numerous times--setting out in the name of all that’s holy to destroy the monsters.

A scene where a villager hammers a spike into the forehead of a sleeping female corpse/vampire is very realistic to the point of being uncomfortable. (I hope it wasn’t done with a real corpse. My guess is that it was a hallow spike that crumbled away from the bottom as it was hammered down.)

Night was filmed in Talamanca de Jarama, Madrid, Spain. With its old buildings and ruins, it feels steeped in history and makes for a terrific natural shooting location that adds a lot more impact to the film. One memorable and frequently repeated shot is of an old castle on a hill, with a legend behind it, that Catherine usually views from her bedroom window, which serves as the count’s lair.

(Stereotypically, being a count, having a castle, and a hunchback servant, Rudolph feels a lot like a very popular literary vampire character that has been and continues to be re-realized countless times in film, video games, comics, etc.)

It’s probably the most unusual out of the Klimovskydirected vampire entries, and it’s hard to determine if it's complex or just plain messy, but there’s a lot to like about Night of the Walking Dead. It’s full of excellent moments, and perhaps a few slow ones, but overall it’s surprisingly good, given how underexposed it is. There are some slightly comedic sexploitative elements thrown in no doubt for commercial reasons, but these are practically forgotten over the movie’s stronger points. The ending is unexpected and leaves one feeling impressed.

© At the Mansion of Madness

Images sourced from: http://www.ebay.co.uk NIGHT-OF-THE-WALKING-DEAD

You might not know it from looking at the playful erotic movie posters and DVD covers, but Simona is no sex comedy. Though still playful and sexy in certain parts, Patrick Longchamps’Fellini-inspired adaptation of the French novel Story of the Eye (1928), is a dark oddity of avant-garde filmmaking with a heavy undercurrent of social alienation.

At the time the film was released, its lead actress Laura Antonelli had recently achieved overnight fame from her award winning role in Salvatore Samperi’s sexy, controversial dark-comedy Malizia (1973). She had made such an impact that moviegoers flocked to see Antonelli in Simona, which was actually shot about a year before Malizia (Simona was shelved for a while before being released).

Simona was unfortunately confiscated in Italy for its explicit content. One time Belgian filmmakerLongchamps had a friend with connections in the Vatican who organized a private screening of the banned film for four priests, and after finally being approved by the church, Simona was released in Italy, where it made a lot of money (the film was never released in its native country of Belgium). Eventually the original film negatives were acquired by "distributors of ill-repute," and as it currently stands, a properly restored version of Simona, as far as I know, remains unrealized.

What makes Antonelliappealingly standout as the titular character in Simona, aside from her good looks and acting talent, is her character’s tendency to be the aggressor in the sexual situations with her male lover (Maurizio Degli Esposti), antiquating a notion that it is the male who dictates the sex, with Simone always being the seducer and always being the one on top, somewhat ironically predicting the controversial climax to Malizia.

The story to Simona is one big flashback, being a kind of composition of experiences, most of which are of a surreal nature, which might lead one into thinking that the narrated story comes from Simona’s memory, being more of a subjective account, illustrating what Simona thinks may’ve happened rather than what really happened. However this notion becomes slightly conflicted considering that the story is narrated, not by Simona’s own voice, but by a male voice (Arturo Colonello), narrating about Simona during the present day at a bullfight and continuing to narrate once the story flashes back to the past events. In addition, there are a number of segments in the story that occur in Simona's absence, further supporting the idea that viewers are getting the objective story rather than one based on her memory.

The movie opens during a bullfight in Spain, and Simona appears to have her mind on other things. In contrast to the joyful audience, the festive killing of a bull prompts Simona to take on a near melancholic expression, being reminded of a personal tragedy. The narrator hints at some sort of sexual near death experience, before the film flashes back to tell a story that will clarify not what happened to Simona but rather what happened to an unfortunate girl named Marcelle (Margot Margaret), of whom the story is primarily about, despite the film’s title.

The flashback story begins in a lonely, low populated seaside town, where two young attractive characters, Simona and George (Esposti), curiously spot one another for the first time on the beach and naturally become interested in one another. Simona longs for George to take the initiative and intimately approach her, but as he proves too shy, she assertively ‘breaks the ice’ with an erotic invitation involving a plate of milk. From there on the two become inseparable lovers.

One day while George and Simona are on a joyride, they crash into a girl, Marcelle, crossing the road on a bike. Simona recognizes her as the girl who lives in the castle, someone she hasn’t seen since she was a little girl. Marcelle wakes up uninjured, yet she is reluctant to communicate with Simona and George. She then gets on her bike and rides off as the couple laugh out loud together, amused at her strangeness.

Later on, while they are having sex on the beach, Simona and George spot Marcelle watching them from behind a grassy hill. The skittish Marcelle flees as soon as she is discovered, but the two lovers chase and catch up to her and seeing that she is still reluctant to talk with them, Marcelle is pretty much coerced into a threesome, despite her initial protests. She quickly warms up, no longer resisting but embracing the orgy, and afterwards she becomes closer, not just as friends but on a deeper level, to Simona and George, as if their intercourse sparked some sort of spiritual union. (Most of the beach scenes have a similar sensibility to that of the beach scenery seen in several paintings by Belgian surrealist artist RenéMagritte).

Eventually the setting shifts to a more oppressive atmosphere in a castle where Marcelle lives a very isolated existence with her overbearing, possessive father (Patrick Magee from A Clockwork Orange) and abusive uncle (Raf Vallone looking like he came right out of the middle ages). Stemming from an obsession with his dead wife, Marcelle’s father unnaturally and tyrannically preserves the past, most notably with the preservation of dead things, cleverly illustrated with his having a penchant for taxidermy and having stuffed dead animals around. It probably doesn’t help his sanity that Marcelle bears a resemblance to her dead mother. The environment is socially unhealthy for the troubled girl, who is a prisoner in a time frozen world her father maintains.

One day, Simona and George take Marcelle to a graveyard, in what I believe is supposed to be her family burial plot, to have a little fun. These particular scenes would have to be the most visually interesting parts of the film, which indulge on intricate and stylish shooting (this sequence was likely the result of Longchampshaving been inspired from a time he was able to watch Federico Fellini work, where Longchamps claims to have learned more in a couple days by watching Fellinithan from several years in school).

Being that Marcelle comes from an aristocratic family, the burial plot is grand and full of living statues, and the three eventually find themselves partying with a large group of newly arrived young people as well as the living statues (memorials of the dead), giving the impression of being outside of time, where it doesn’t seem to matter anymore if one is dead or alive. At one point, Simona and George shed the outer layer of their clothes, while at the same time different actors are seen in the background wearing these same clothes, creating a real disorienting effect.

During most of the party/orgy, Marcelle seems to watch on without participating, probably because the graveyard is the same place her mother was buried. After being disgusted with how everyone has profaned the sacred place, she retreats and locks herself in a wardrobe cabinet with a nude female torso painted on it, as she reverts to an infantile state.

The police show up to spoil the party and haul most everyone away except for the three main characters, who were fortunate enough to be hidden. It becomes apparent who called the police as Marcelle’s father and uncle arrive to pick her up and lock her away for good, in her father’s castle, for her disobedience.

Despite her being locked away, Marcelle, due to their spiritual connection, is still able to make love with Simona on what could be described as some kind of ether or spiritual plane.

Finally, Simona and George take it upon themselves to rescue Marcelle in the third act, which plays out like a horror movie with a gloomy conclusion.

Because the film ends with a quote from Italian author Alberto Moravia: “We can be Saints in a religious way or in an erotic one,” it is not far fetched to assume that the movie implicitly contains familiar Moravian themes such as social alienation and sexual communication.

I believe the main theme underlying the story is that of characters made incommunicable or taciturn, as a result of social alienation, and reestablishing a connection with reality through sexual intercourse.

Because of his obsession with preserving the past, Marcelle’s father alienated himself as well as his daughter, to the point of imprisonment. Losing touch with reality, Marcelle’s father, in a sense, froze time, trapping his daughter, who is then unable to engage in life.

Simona and George represent a world to which Marcelle belongs, yet she instead suffers a static existence, not being able to propagate with the rest of the evolving world.

With her initial encounters with Simona and George, Marcelle is unable to communicate verbally, not because she can’t speak but because she has been rendered incommunicable due to her having been socially alienated.

Alberto Moravia said that "sex is the most primitive means of communication."

When Simona and George spot Marcelle spying on their sexual escapade on the beach, they attempt to confront her, and instead of verbally communicating, they become friends with her by having sex. Sexual communication (as opposed to verbal communication) develops an instant connection between the three souls, establishing sex as a symbol of unity and a superior means of communication. Through sex Marcelle establishes her place in reality. The idea of humans developing a relation with reality through sex in this movie is symbolically illustrated with the copulating bodies of Simona, Marcelle, and George superimposed over the ocean.

Through sex, Marcelle has thus become a part of Simona and George, and without her a piece of them is missing. This unity is what propels them to try and rescue Marcelle from the time frozen mansion. It’s also like a battle between the young and the old.

The young and the old are often juxtaposed in the film, with the young having very little respect for the old or dead, expressing the idea that the old, like the dead, no longer belong to this world. The elder characters all seem to live an outdated, static existence with an inability to propagate with time and for all intents and purposes are practically dead.

Jokingly, in one instance that’s a little outside of the story, Simona places a picture frame over her elderly mother, who's holding an egg (a symbol of birth) and sadly reminiscing of a past time when her daughter was born. Simona says “rest in peace, mom,” and it becomes apparent that her mother now resembles an ancestral portrait, suggesting that, because they’ve been displaced by the young generation, the elderly are practically deceased just like ancestors who are memorialized with framed portraits. Simona and George, who only have a chief concern for the present rather than what’s dead and buried, show their irreverence for the memorialized dead by throwing eggs at several ancestral portraits.

Simona seems to be a major defiance of viewer expectations, not really being what it says on the tin as well as dabbling in numerous genres and influences and becoming a mixed bag as a result. It is definitely weird, whether or not in a good way will depend on viewers’ tastes. When I first watched it I didn’t think the story seemed to matter that much since I was more taken in by the mood and plethora of provocative images, many of which include Laura Antonelli, but I’ve come to rather like the story, its flashback structure, and the themes underlying it. I never like to have to see the poor bull get killed during the epilogue, but I do like the way Simona becomes distressed during this part, giving it an impact and creating a strong feeling of irony as she relives her horrific memories while witnessing the bull’s defeat among a cheering audience, in what is referred to as “the moment when death was celebrating.”

© At the Mansion of Madness

Although commonly referred to as a giallo, Alberto De Martino’sThe Man with Icy Eyes would have to be a rather atypical example of the genre, if not an ostensible one. It is set and filmed in a southwestern desert city called Albuquerque, NM (where I’m from, but we’ll get to that later). It doesn’t follow the violent murder mystery plot set forth by Mario Bava and popularized by Dario Argento, nor does it have any of the attractive gothic horror crossovers with ultramodern psychedelic fashions or drug-induced delirium. If anything, the film is more of a rustic detective story with a smattering of the crime thriller and a climax not entirely unlike that of Lucio Fulci’sOne On Top of the Other (1969). Given the film’s mystery element, tense soundtrack, and early ‘70s era, and considering the presence of key players like Antonio Sabato (Seven Blood Stained Orchids1972) and Barbara Bouchet (Don’t Torture a Duckling 1972), I can still dig the giallo tag. It also flirts with the supernatural, just a little, and there’s a colorful nude photography scene with Bouchet to give the film a minimally erotic edge.

De Martino really seemed to savor the chance to film the movie’s lead Eddie Mills (Sabato) riding around town on his motorcycle, an image that figures prominently in the earlier half of the film, which feels a little like an embodiment of the traditional western hero in modern times, with a bike in place of a horse and a cool brown leather jacket replacing the duster coat. He’s a journalist for the Albuquerque Sentinel and also a lone Italian looking to ‘make a name for himself’ in an American town by covering the recent murder of a politician.

A suspicious man, Valdez (Giovanni Petrucci), who was picked up by the police while fleeing the scene of the murder was identified by a stripper, Anne Saxe (Bouchet), as the killer who also had a mysterious accomplice, described as the titular character, a man with eyes like two pieces of ice. Based on Anne’s testimony, Valdez is sentenced to death. The murder story makes headlines, but new leads in the case cause Eddie to suspect that Anne’s testimony was false, and an innocent man may be headed for the gas chamber. The possibility of a false headline weighs on Eddie’s conscience as a journalist, so he takes it upon himself, with the invaluable help of his editor, John Hammond (Victor Buono from the original Batman series and Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? 1962), to get to the bottom of things. Not only that, an occultist astrologer predicts that Eddie will die before midnight. With the execution of Valdez set for midnight as well, the clock is ticking.

This movie gets a lot of flak for its pacing problems and for being too talky, making it less of the exciting thriller it’s supposed to be. It’s perhaps better to think of it more as a somewhat restrained detective story that doesn’t necessarily pride itself on delivering the most riveting conclusion.

Indeed, the clock is counting down in the third act, with a falsely convicted man’s life at stake, but time seems to be moving slower than natural in the film’s world. While under immense pressure, an hour can just fly by, but the final hour before midnight (when a lot is happening and the pressure is up) moves at an unnaturally convenient speed for everything to fall in place in just the nick of time - providence when you need it the most. However, I kind of like this. Whether or not it was a flaw, I think it is suspenseful, in a way, to constantly feel like you’re at the edge of a fatal deadline for an elongated period.

The plot might seem a little bit stuffed and convoluted, especially when watching the film for the first time, but I liked the way things turned out in the end; although, if you shave off the last three minutes, the movie would have a gloomy wrap-up (could that have been what they were originally going for?). None of the mystery clues and twists ever seemed all that shocking, but they’re still decent enough and do not end up being bad or too confusing. If you allow yourself to get absorbed in the movie, without distractions, kind of like a book, The Man with Icy Eyes does end up being enjoyable.

Sabato may not be the most charismatic lead here, but there’s still something cool about him, in look and in attitude. He and Buono’s character, who’s also cool and stylish in his own way, made an 'alright' team despite their quibbling in the newspaper office.

There are a couple of well-placed street fights that might seem a little routine, with Eddie and John somehow being great fighters, able to fight off groups of thugs that arrive on the scene to turn up the excitement for a short time before being somewhat easily fought off, like the putty patrol from Power Rangers or the foot soldiers from TMNT.

I liked Bouchet’s role as a stripper who’ll do anything for money. It could be said that she was a little underused, but what we do get of her scandalous character is still memorable if rather minimal.

Some of the more tense and exciting moments are aided by certain cuts in the film’s cool soundtrack by Peppino De Luca, which also features a couple exquisite female vocal layers with the legendary voice of Edda Dell’Orso.

I actually didn’t know it going in, but when I first watched The Man with Icy Eyes, it was a pleasant surprise when I noticed, right away, that it was shot in Albuquerque, NM. I’ll admit that this was an enhancing factor, as it personally appealed to me to see the city I grew up in circa 1971 (twelve years before I was born) and as the setting for a giallo with Barbara Bouchet, no less.

I dig the way Eddie Mills' outfit blends in with the desert setting

OK, so it excited me a little more than it should, but you got to admit that it is a rather unusual location for this kind of genre (I can’t help wondering what made these Italian filmmakers decide to shoot a film in Albuquerque all of a sudden). By seeing a style of film that’s near and dear to me in a location that’s just as near and dear to me, it almost became like a personalized experience. Since I am familiar with a lot of the locations in the film, I couldn’t resist doing a ‘then and now’ comparison sort of thing.

I actually didn’t recognize any interiors just the outdoor, mostly street side, locations. However, instead of just merely using Google Street View, I decided to visit these locations personally and try and capture present day counterpart images of different screen shots from the movie, all the while remembering that over forty years ago, in a very different era, Alberto De Martino and his cast and crew were once standing in the exact same locations creating this little southwestern giallo that would become a diverting time capsule to someone like me. It’s also my neck of the woods, so I figured, “why not?”

Top (then): A scene from the film with a view of Historic Route 66 facing west at the Central and Broadway intersection at the eastern tail end of downtown Albuquerque that is very recognizable
Bottom (now): That large building seen in the movie directly to the left of the intersection is no longer there (it looks to be a parking lot now). Visually not much else seems to have changed between now and then except for the new stoplight and the J-style light poles and of course the untimely construction barricades. The railroad bridge seen further back down the street in both shots is for the rail runner train to Santa Fe.

Top (then):Antonio Sabato parks a motorcycle across the street from the First Baptist Church at the corner of Broadway and Central, with Barbara Bouchet riding in back
Bottom (now):Well, the pole is obviously different now, and I’m glad there was a car parked nearly in the exact same spot as the older car in the movie (a modern counterpart). The services of this church have since moved to a different location on the west side of the city; it has been empty for a long time now, but the University of New Mexico purchased the building this year with plans of making it an innovation site dedicated to hosting new companies and ideas for downtown.

Top (then): A small backstreet leading from Old Town to Rio Grande Boulevard included as part of the intro credits montage of Sabatoriding around town on his motorcycle
Bottom (now): When I saw this alleyway in the film, all I could think of was Walgreens. Well, after searching around Old Town a little to find it, I see why, as the side of a Walgreens can be viewed when looking down the street. Not surprising, being that it’s Old Town, everything looks practically unchanged; even the parked black car on the left in both images looks similar; and I think I took the picture at the same time of day the scene from the film was shot, because the tip of the pointed shadow, spreading from the left, is touching the gutter in almost the exact same spot, in both images.

Top (then):Sabatoconsults with a paranoid correspondent, over spirits, in rustic Old Town, regarding the assassination of a senator
Bottom (now): It’s not perfect, but I tried to get the exact same angle with the stop sign and everything else (I realize now that the movie camera was situated a little further back and to the right). Unfortunately, in the present day shot, the tree overgrowth is blocking the view of the two towers from the San Felipe de Neri Parish Catholic Church, which serve as a remarkable backdrop to this particular shot in the movie.

Top (then):Sabato looks on as his paranoid correspondent flees the scene at the sight of three approaching thugs right before a street fight scene stirs things up - the La Placita Dining Rooms restaurant sign can be seen above Sabato’s shoulder.
Bottom (now): The La Placita Dining Rooms restaurant is still in operation today and is supposedly haunted.

Top (then):Sabato successfully parries a knife lunge from his attacker
Bottom (now):What can I say about this shot other than that the white bench is still there? I once sat in that bench and read three chapters of Carlo Collodi’sPinocchio. It’s also interesting to note the time lapse involving the sidewalk tree, which appears to be in its infancy in the film.

Top (then): The movie theater exterior seen in the background is used more than once in the film and plays a role in solving the story’s mystery. Looking closely at the marquee, a double bill of Elvis Presley films can be discerned: Elvis: That’s The Way It Is (1970) and Speedway (1968). This one was a bit of a challenge. Just by looking at it in the movie, I couldn’t quite pin down the location of this theater. At first, I thought it was the Lobo Theater, which ceased its movie showing operations in 2001, but when I visited the site of the Lobo Theater, it just didn’t match. Through a bit of Internet searching, I found out that the theater used in the film was actually known as the State Theater at the time, now long closed. The gray-green (xanadu) colored building to the left with the interesting arch way wall panels really fascinates me; it’s not a typical example of the more recent architecture but rather one of the 19th century style buildings from downtown that still stand today.
Bottom (now): I was surprised to find out that today the ground level of the former State Theater is now the New York Pizza Dept., a restaurant I’m actually familiar with. As can be seen in the present day image, though no longer having that peculiar xanadu color, that interesting old building with the arch ways is still there, and it consists of a Chicago Dog restaurant and a company called PRISM Technologies. The upper stories of both the adjoined buildings are mostly offices.

© At the Mansion of Madness

The Italian-Spanish co-production La mansión de la niebla / Maniac Mansion was the directorial debut of Spanish filmmaker Francisco Lara Polop, who had been previously working as a unit production manager for about ten years. He would also produce the Paul Naschy classics The Hunchback of the Morgue (1973) and Count Dracula’s Great Love (1973).

Made at the height of the Spanish horror boom, Maniac Mansion really is quite the fanciful gothic horror film with enough giallo and murder mystery influences to make it appealing to all Eurocult fans.

The fiery intro credit sequence is hypnotic and a nice mood setter, featuring a killer theme and a couple of chilling evil-witch cackles. The beginning of the story is a lot more grounded in reality with a somewhat unremarkable setup involving numerous shady characters, among which are a few familiar faces including Jess Franco regular Alberto Dalbés, before derailing into a foggy nightmare world, where things get a lot more interesting. Initially, you might start feeling better off just reading a mystery novel instead, but it does start to get good when all of the characters seemingly enter what feels like Silent Hill all of a sudden.

In traditional murder mystery fashion, the movie does introduce quite a few unscrupulous characters, no doubt for the sake of eventually getting them all together in an eerie cozy mansion by a cemetery. I’m usually better at remembering faces than names, and fortunately the faces here are suitably varied, unlike in Sex of the Witch (1973) where some of the characters kind of looked the same. The character archetypes here are easily resolvable too, such as the cold business woman, the widow, the lawyer, the philandering husband, the biker and his girlfriend, the drunk, the strange woman who just sort of came with the house, etc. Possible motives and character relations were a little difficult to keep track of, so the second time through I found that it helped to write down everyone’s name early on.

I’ll admit to having been attracted to its cool movie poster and the fact that Maniac Mansionwas most likely going to be a pretty cool gothic horror, which I’m happy to say it is, but I was also looking forward to the presence of Ida Galli aka Evelyn Stewart, so I was happily surprised to see her not being underused and in a role actually quite similar to her role in Spirits of Death (1972). I’m definitely starting to notice an appealing typecast with Galli playing women who aren’t what they appear to be (see Queens of Evil (1970)), while also feeling kind of ghostly and ethereal underneath.

In addition, I underestimated the character of Elsa (Analía Gadé), who went from being one of the weaker and annoying characters to my absolute favorite by the film’s end. She embodies the unstable woman on the brink of insanity cliché, and I like the way she handles it. When she does go crazy, Elsa all of a sudden becomes the strongest character, just slightly surpassing Ida Galli’s witchy red herring. Her screaming scene in the basement is hair-raising and was used as the face model for the terrified woman on the movie poster. Elsa also ends up being one of the more fleshed out characters with a nicely realized backstory that explores her troubled relationship with her husband (Dalbés) and her elderly father (George Rigaud), who had a habit of hooking up with her young college friends, much to Elsa’s dismay.

Unless there’s an alternate version, there’s no nudity to be had in Maniac Mansion (there are love scenes, but the ladies are all so modest with their nudity), but I’m not going to knock it for that, because nude scenes aren’t really necessary, yet they are an added plus.

When the film does make its supernatural transition, the ambiance really thickens, as characters get lost in the fog, with familiar roads seemingly disappearing or rearranging all together. Despite previously separating, everyone loses their way in the fog before mysteriously meeting up in the titular spooky house, which leaves a little to be desired with regards to its exterior, but its interior is marvelous, with the usual old fashioned décor, unsettling occult paintings, and appealing color gels. Weird things begin to happen in the usual gothic horror fashion, characters start getting bumped off by, what seems to be, a ghost witch and her undead chauffeur, and everything climaxes to a reasonable but unlikely explanation.

It bears mentioning that Maniac Mansion is surprisingly creepy. I’m not that big on jump scares, but there’s a decent one here to look out for.

The answer to the mystery isn’t the most satisfying, but the ending itself is saved by Analía Gadés' unhinged performance and her character’s dramatic final act of vengeance (you go, girl!). I love the way she keeps pulling the trigger even after the bullets are all used up.

Thanks to the soundtrack, a feminine malevolence pervades the whole thing. Even with a slow startup that makes it a little hard to get into at first, I’ve come to like the way the movie is structured and what many have already pointed out as a Scooby Doo style story. Maniac Mansion is a good representation of the, then, fashionable style of horror films in Europe during the late ‘60s and early ‘70s.

© At the Mansion of Madness

The astounding gothic chiller Lord of Tears is an official selection for the 32nd Brussels International Fantastic Film Festival(BIFFF), one of the biggest genre film events in Europe. Lord of Tears will be screened against some of the best independent and studio-based films. The event runs from April 8th to the 20th.

In other news, Lord of Tears' very own Owlman has been making the rounds stalking users on the chat roulette site Omegle, a site that randomly pairs people around the world to have a go at a webcam-based conversation. Watch the amusing responses from terrified users who found themselves face to face with The Owlman, on the video clip below.

There’s also a new official trailer for Lord of Tears.

Furthermore, Lord of Tears directorLawrie Brewsterdiscusses what’s in store for Hex Media.

Anyone who read my article on Lord of Tears from back in October knows how much I loved watching and reviewing this film. It’s truly an impressive start from Hex Mediaand Dark Dunes Productions, and I congratulate them on the success of Lord of Tears.

Being a conversation heavy drama mystery with a bit of a dreamy languor about it, Love and Death in the Garden of the Gods may require a little focus from viewers if they hope to get absorbed in its compelling story, beautiful scenery, and tragic characters, but it is worth it. The plot is more or less structured to be an exploration of a hazy backstory that slowly crystalizes before eventually catching up with the present.

The film is directed by Sauro Scavolini, a prolific screenwriter (All the Colors of the Dark, amongst many others) with few directing credits. He is the brother of director Romano Scavolini (Nightmares in a Damaged Brain), who also helmed cinematography for Love and Death in the Garden of the Gods.

The story is fed to us in fragmented bits and pieces from an inquisitive Professor of ornithology (Franz von Treuberg), restoring and listening to a heap of tangled audio recording tape he discovered in the forest outside the villa he’s rented to study the non-indigenous birds of the region. As the Professor listens to the tape recordings, the film cuts to flashbacks of the previous inhabitants of the villa, making the place seem haunted by a past that is both alarming and fascinating. While the past is the primary setting of the story, the film still emphases events in the present, particularly the relation between the professor and the seedy estate administrator, Dominici (Vittorio Duse), giving the Professor dimension and making him more than just an avenue of backstory disclosure.

The mystery element to the past storyline seems to stem from trying to find the truth behind, what seems to be, a suicide attempt from the lady of the house, Azzura (Erika Blanc). One of the movie’s most compelling images is of the fiery red headed, nude Erika Blanc with her wrists slit, lying unconscious in a tub of red water. The conversations between Azzura and her psychoanalyst, Dr. Martin (Ezio Marano), regarding her suicide attempt, her past, her marriage to her husband, Timothy (Rosario Borelli), and her incestuous relation with her brother, Manfredi (Peter Lee Lawrence), permeate throughout the course of the backstory, making the movie feel like a Freudian psychoanalysis. There’s sometimes a lot of reverb in the characters’ voices to indicate the discussions happening in the past, or as in a dream.

Azzura’s marriage to Timothy causes her brother heartache, driving him away from the villa, only to turn up a few months later with a photography studio and a new love interest, Viola (Orchidea de Santis), a free-spirited vagabond. Viola is the one who later finds Azzura with her wrists slit in the tub, and, after saving her life, becomes sexually involved with Azzura. It becomes apparent that Azzura has insidiously been the cause of severe torment for her brother. Despite being a highly disagreeable and unsettling character, Manfredi manages to be sympathetic and, one could say, the tragic hero of what does end up feeling like a Shakespearean play. (Lee Lawrence’s life was tragically cut short. There had been a false notion that he committed suicide, but his wife of the time, Cristina Galbo (What Have You Done to Solange?) recently confirmed that he died after a battle with brain cancer at the age of thirty.)

The emblematic spooky, disturbing, yet beautiful dream sequences are a Eurocult hallmark and are appreciated very much here on this blog, and Love and Deathhas a nifty little dream scene of its own, related by Azzura to her psychoanalyst, that’s definitely a highlight. The dinner table setup in a lush beautiful garden reminds me of the Mad Tea Party from Alice in Wonderland, which could probably be called a Mad Fried Chicken Party, in this case.

There’s also a frequent tendency from the director to film Erika Blanc walking or running through long passages and alleyways, sometimes with the camera stationed or following from behind. She’s a phenomenal leading lady here as an actor, but as a visual delight, she shines like a fiery idol and really seems to compliment every stunning backdrop. In addition, there’s a pink lamp in the nicely decorated living room that shows up a lot and matches Blanc’s pants and vest in a couple scenes, a nice way of integrating the leading lady into the foreground, as well.

Despite an absence of anything supernatural, Love and Deathstill manages to feel eerie, with a moody and atmospheric environment that is wonderfully complimented by the dramatic and haunting classical music, by Giancarlo Chiaramello. There does end up being quite a body count, and the chemistry between Blanc and Lee Lawrence is intense, as their characters together embody the Eros & Thanatos theme so aptly promised by the film’s title. The actress playing Viola, de Santis, is a pleasant new face for me, whose presence in the story, driving the infidelity theme, completes a dysfunctional love square.

Patient viewers who don’t mind a bit of melodrama to go with their thrillers will discover a hidden gem in Love and Death that’s also a reminder of how underrated Erika Blanc is.

© At the Mansion of Madness

Considering movies like Barbarella (1968), Top Sensation (1969), and Russ Meyer’sVixen! (1968), it would seem that the late ‘60s, the peak of the sexual revolution in the western world, was a turning point for erotic movies. Sexually charged films from this era were not only challenging censorship but were also challenging the monolithic wall of puritanical behavior that associated sex solely with marriage, which also mirrored the changing attitudes towards sex during the revolution.

With both “the pill” and penicillin on the market, pregnancy and STDs were less of an issue, and a woman’s sexuality outside of marriage was becoming more widely accepted, unlike before when it was more permissible for unmarried men to have sex, the so called “double standard.” Naturally, sex began to saturate the media, was used to sell products, and became a big part of mainstream culture. In addition, more and more married couples began experimenting with extramarital sex.

After the Hays Code was put to sleep in 1968 sexploitation cinema would really begin to thrive. With hopes of being free from the restraints of censorship, erotica would be used to explore new creative avenues of film making.

Inevitably, a lot of these so called sexploitation movies were taken to court, but a good way erotic filmmakers could get passed this was to not only make their movies sexually explicit but to make them intellectual and artful as well, which was particularly more common in foreign sex movies. On the VH1 documentary Sex the Revolution, John Waters said that in order to win in court you had to prove that a prosecuted sex film was socially redeeming, which would then make it acceptable.

While it really isn’t sexually explicit, save for a brief bit of nudity, the sunny nautical thriller Interrabang is still an interesting product of its time, with plenty of social commentary interlacing the dialogue and plot. If Federico Fellini’sLa Dolce Vita (1960) foreshadowed the sexual revolution, Interrabang is one of its more obscure reflections.

A ritzy photographer, Fabrizio (Umberto Orsini), lives a luxurious jet-setting lifestyle with his wife and business partner Anna (Beba Loncar). The source of their luxury is pretty evident, as their profession seems to be sexy pinup and fashion photography in exotic locales. Their business trips aboard their yacht to scout for photography locations are naturally more like swanky vacations. It’s made obvious that Fabrizio likes to get intimate and physical with his model and muse, Margerita (Shoshana Cohen), something that his wife appears to tolerate. Fabrizio is definitely “la dolce vita” (the sweet life) type – a photographer, jet-setter, philanderer, etc. It’s hard to tell if he and his wife have an open marriage or if she reluctantly tolerates him. The two seem a little annoyed with one another, but it could be a love-hate thing.

Despite her knowledge of Fabrizio’s philandering ways, Anna still likes to tell herself that she thinks she loves her husband, professing that if she does love him then it’s for him and not his mind, which might suggest infatuation, but I think she is trying to say that it’s something deeper. Her reason for not being jealous is because she's certain that he loves her; she’s his "personal model" and the one he comes home to at the end of the day (interestingly enough, Margerita also refers to herself as Fabrizio's "personal model" later). It's like a kind of personal philosophy that makes their marriage work, supporting the idea that love can still exist even without monogamy, which is in context with the rise of extramarital sex during this period, something that was thought of as the solution to marital boredom, and both Fabrizio and Anna seem bored with one another. Later, Anna also proves to be somewhat adulterous.

Along for the trip is Valeria (Haydée Politoff), Anna’s sister and a second model for the island photo shoot. Valeria wears the titular interrabang symbol (a superimposition of an exclamation point and a question mark) around her neck, almost like a piece of trendy jewelry. She describes it as the new symbol of doubt and uncertainty in today’s world. She brandishes it like a fashion accessory, like something that’s becoming a cool new thing amongst the young crowd. It’s an appropriate symbol for the young and sassy Valeria, as there does seem to be something mysterious, uncertain, and ultimately alarming about her.

While on the boat ride to find a suitable place to do a photo shoot, a radio broadcast alerts of three escaped convicts, with two being captured and one still being on the run. The police are searching an island for the lone escapee, foreshadowing that our lead characters might be headed for a danger zone.

When they arrive at a suitable secluded island (the shoreline footage was shot at Monte Argentario), we get to see how Fabrizio works and how significant his camera is to his identity. His camera is like an extension of himself; he’s almost always carrying it and liberally taking pictures of everyone. Without his camera mojo he wouldn’t have much to work with anymore. His camera is his pride, power, and identity. He proves to have the sensibility of a frustrated artist and is the type of photographer who likes to get vibrant and demanding when he’s snapping his camera at his models. Once he starts shooting Margerita or Valeria, he feels little inspiration, seems annoyed and unsatisfied, like he’s trying to find that one realization or feeling to achieve orgasm and is having trouble finding it. Of course when Margerita invites him to do nude shots he's not as unsatisfied. Anna makes an almost sarcastic comment about Margerita being stupid as a woman but having value as a model, paralleling the criticism that female pinup and nude photography, which was exploding in the market in the '60s, only gives significance to females for their bodies and not their minds.

When it is discovered that their carburetor is broken, the group ends up stuck until help comes, but no one seems too worried. When a small motor boat eventually comes along containing another attractive girl in a skimpy bathing suit, Fabrizio is all too happy to leave, presumably to get fuel and a carburetor, leaving the three ladies alone and to eventually meet with the lone man wandering around on the island, Marco (Corrado Pani).

The thriller element, itself rather marginal, is introduced with the presence of Marco, who claims to be staying on the island alone to write poetry, but he’s too suspicious to not most likely be the escaped murder convict previously mentioned on the radio, although he's quite friendly and personable. The writers could've taken a more straight forward route from here, but I like how odd and bewildering the movie gets at this point. Marco is not a flat one-dimensional antagonist; he’s actually quite the romantic poet and seems to be making the best of the situation of being on a secluded shoreline with three beautiful supermodels. Both Valeria and Margerita separately stumble upon the dead body of a police officer, but things get mysterious when Valeria doesn't seem to mention it to any one and when the body vanishes. Somewhat peculiar is that despite the risks, the ladies still take a liking to Marco and still take the opportunity to enjoy themselves, sunbathing at every opportunity.

Marco is romantic and full of profound wisdom. Although he lied about being a poet who’s retreated to his villa on the island, he’s still like a poet. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to feel intellectually stimulated from his words or if it’s just rubbish used to impress the ladies, because he’s also a kind of jokester too. He’s got this mysterious allure that the girls can’t resist despite their suspicions that he’s the one who might’ve murdered the police man.

There are two depictions of newfound-liberation on this secluded island that are subtly contrasted: that of Marco experiencing new freedoms (assuming that he's recently escaped from a dark prison cell to a sunny paradise) and that of newly sexually liberated women, who from a cultural viewpoint in 1969 had recently escaped the prison of sexual inequality. Women had overcome the "double standard" and now had the freedom to a sex life outside of marriage, just as men did before. However, there are repercussions to being irresponsible with sexual freedom. Margerita is shameless enough to be with Fabrizio in front of his wife. In addition she has a readily open interest in Marco. At one point she expresses protest for people thinking she is a nymphomaniac, but there would have to be a reason people think she is a nymphomaniac, and that might be apparent in her having a sort of sexual irresponsibility. Being liberated means new freedoms, and with new freedoms comes a need for new responsibilities, and without responsibility there are consequences. Before apparently killing Margerita, Marco tells her that he must kill her for everyone she made suffer, "for me it is like a clear order from those who've suffered," suggesting the idea that she is facing redemption for those who were affected for her irresponsibility.

Interrabang isn’t much of a thriller, although to be fair it doesn’t try to be. Its more stylistic and philosophic offerings override the thriller elements for the most part, which doesn’t seem to hurt the film too much in this case, because it still works on many other levels. It’s hard to tell at first, but the film is working towards a twisty conclusion that is perhaps its biggest strength as a thriller. It really isn’t an explicit movie and whatever sex there may be is implied, and the apparent murders are either tame or done off camera, but again this doesn’t really hurt the film.

Close to the end, a police man says, “I’m curious to know how this one ends,” which is practically channeling the thoughts of the audience. The first twist makes sense yet is somewhat predictable and not quite enough to make for a memorable ending, but the final twist is surprising and a little troubling to believe, definitely feeling at odds with everything that has occurred before, but it still works. It’s a terrific sequence and a final reminder of how great the film’s soundtrack is (Edda Dell’Orso’s voice can sometimes make an entire scene), as the truth slowly comes into view from the distance.

Interrabang is so very perpetually sunny, sexy, and conversationally deep, and I personally enjoyed every minute. However, anyone not caring much for the poetic and existential side of it, and only concerned with moving the story along, might find the film’s many conversations to be painfully slow, but the payoff will most likely hit the sweet spot for almost anyone.

© At the Mansion of Madness

Morgiana, by Slovak director Juraj Herz,is a seldom spoken of curio from the Czechoslovak New Wave that’s heavily stylized with regards to its visuals and mood but is straightforward with its story and might feel a little influenced by the ‘Grand Dame Guignol’ horror of What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?. Much like Poe’sThe Black Cat, there is an escalating sense of guilt in its protagonist, aristocratic villainess Viktorie (Iva Janzurová), that’s not particularly out of remorse or regret for her crime, but from paranoia, constant annoying reminders of her misdeed, and fear of being found out, which is where I think a lot of the suspense comes from.

I like that there is a lot of appeal to its detestable, unsympathetic villain. Viktorie (Viki) is probably one of my new favorite villains. She emanates a wicked aura, primarily due to her excessively evil gothic look that pretty much gives away the nature of her game at first glance. Janzurová's performance is frightening, stellar, and versatile. I say versatile because she also plays Viki’s sister, Klára. The personalities and appearances between the sisters are like night and day, and I don’t know if I was a bit naïve at the time, but after watching the whole movie for the first time, I had no idea the same actress played both sisters.

The music is by Valerie and Her Week of Wonders composer Lubos Fiser and it is exquisite, with a main theme that has a terrifying foreboding in its melody, which I think works as a leitmotif for Viki and her cat, Morgiana.

The story concerns the conditional inheritance granted to Klára and Viki after the recent funeral of their father. Klára must have been the favorite because she inherits the villa and all bank accounts and shares, while Viki only gets the country house. It really isn’t Klára’s fault fortune shines on her; she’s also very innocent as well as respectful and kind to her less favored sister. The men are more interested in her, too. A tarot reading convinces Viki that she is the Black Queen, deserving great fortune, while an obstacle, the Queen of Hearts, stands in her way. Not surprisingly, Viki acquires a slow acting, unidentifiable poison and slips it to her sister. Klára’s health slowly declines as Viki’s sense of guilt increases.

Something most will remember from this movie is the large but fabulous looking Victorian feathered hats the upper class females in the movie wear. They seem oversized and almost look like they are ready to fall off or be blown away by the wind at times, and I do think the excessive gothic feel this movie has does owe a lot to those excessive feathered hats.

Color is used to define and contrast characters, and it isn’t subtle at all. The good and evil human duality is an obvious theme, a la Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde but split into two different characters, with the light and dark sister, yin and yang, or, given their high social standing and nobility, a possible black queen and red queen in what could be compared to a game of chess.

Scenes with Viki in the attic reflect her paranoia and unease but are also an exemplification of her vanity and conceit, reveling in ancestral garments and jewels, without the slightest bit of remorse for her sister she’s poisoned. She is a psychopath. These scenes in the attic, though detached a little from the central story, are some of the best, very chilling and beautiful.

An odd and creepy part where Viki takes off her luscious black wig reveals a more accurate appearance that resembles her tainted soul, unveiling the grime beneath the grandeur. It reminds me of when Captain Hook lost his wig in Hook.

The plot rides on a simple yet effective idea, and at the same time the stylistic flair is top notch. I love the visual of the gothic noble lady, holding her cat, walking through the country house sectors with her loyal house servants following in a kind of single file. Another stylistic treat, which would have Argento applauding, is the roaming cat cam point-of-view shots.

Disorienting camera prism effects are used to give a subjective point-of-view from Klára as her central nervous system seems to be deteriorating from the slow-acting poison. It’s nothing too technically spectacular, but it gets the point across and translates her exhaustion into the viewer a little. Hallucinations of herself, or maybe a kind of nonexistent third sister in red, are creepy and surreal but are nonetheless a little inconclusive as to its significance. Perhaps a suggestion of schizophrenia?

Morgiana shares a similar aesthetic to another Czechoslovak New Wave film, Valerie and Her Week of Wonders, but the story is so much more straightforward, here. It’s a little more theatre dramatic than Herz’ previous disturbing political thriller The Cremator. The ending is good, if perhaps not the most climactic; I like the way the cat was involved, but it probably could have been a little more twisty and shocking.

There are a number of additional characters to supplement the central story, such as a persistent blackmailer (Nina Divisková) throwing a wrench into Viki’s plans, as well as a love interest for Klára, Marek (Josef Abrhám), in what does amount to an authentic love connection. While Morgiana may not be the most exciting at times, it is very well made, with an imaginative yet convincing Victorian era setting and beautiful gothic ambiance. It may roll heavy on the melodrama side, but this doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

During an interview included on the 2006 Blue Underground release of Succubus, Jess Franco spoke of a sixteenth century book he had come across on a bookshelf entitled Necronomicon that had belonged to a wealthy actor and film producer Pier A. Caminnecci, who had invited Jess over to his house to indulge in his extensive jazz collection, as the two were mutual jazz fans. Jess read a short story from this particular book that was so extraordinary he had to make it into a movie. Of course, this incarnation of the Necronomicon was most likely an imitation since this popular mythical tome came entirely from HP Lovecraft’s imagination in the early twentieth century, but it’s still fun to think that Jess may’ve been influenced by the actual ‘book of the dead’ written by the “Mad Arab” Abdul Alhazred. Jess blended the material from the book with a script for a horror movie he had previously worked on, and the result is one of his most provocative films.

Originally titled The Green Eyes of the Devil, Succubuswas the first film Jess Franco made outside of his native country of Spain. Due to frustration from the heavy censorship imposed in Spain at the time, he opted to seek German financial backing and shoot the film in Berlin and Lisbon. After the German funders eventually pulled the plug on financing, the film’s producer Adrian Hoven contacted Pier Caminnecci, who was his associate at Aquila Movie Enterprises (Castle of the Creeping Flesh (1968)), to finance the movie. He was on board after being besotted by Succubus’s leading lady, French model and actress Janine Reynaud, who had an affair with him during the production of the film. Interestingly, Caminnecci has the official writing credit to this film, and his character seems to be attempting to lure Lorna into an affair when her boyfriend William (Jack Taylor-his first role in a Jess Franco film) is distracted.

Janine was introduced to Jess by her then husband Michel Lemoine, who plays the devil-like Pierce in the film. Finely matured and with lioness-like facial features, Janine Reynaud is a strong, spellbinding presence as Lorna Greene, a violent S&M nightclub performer, an erotic love queen, a countess, and probably a lot of other things. Janine’s experience as a model shows, and she’s a good actress too, which is most apparent in her demeanor during the de Sadean segment at the start that will have you feeling dirty, until it’s revealed to be a swanky nightclub act that’s all in good fun, for the time being of course.

Succubus should be viewed more as a memorable experience rather than a movie with any kind of definite meaning (although anyone interested in deconstructing the film should check out a well written essay on Succubusby Jack W. Shear in chapter six of the book Dracula’s Daughters: the Female Vampire on Film). The script sometimes feels improvised; even Jack Taylor claimed that Jess would continually add to the script during filming, but like the Jazz music in the soundtrack, the outcome is stellar. The film offers a unique and consistent sense of traversing between real and unreal worlds, a conscious and a subconscious aspect, with a primary inspired focus on Janine Reynaud and her appealing aesthetic features that, in a way, foreshadows future legendary Jess Franco muses Soledad Miranda and Lina Romay.

Thanks to his having free creative rein (and perhaps being a little out of control), Jess was able to reach a new level of surreal eroticism with Succubus that manages to transcend strict horror film boundaries and become something quite unconventional, a characteristic trait that would be further developed in a lot of Jess’s best work from hereon.

The great Howard Vernon is here too in a small role as The Admiral in a standout short segment between him and Lorna, some kind of esoteric word dueling game, which is basically Jess namedropping a lot of his influences, that comes off as a little pretentious but it’s too unusual to lose interest in; and I like the way it suggests that Lorna’s countess alter ego has her own unique past by being in intimate company with a different man who she knows very well.

Since this is a trippy film from the late ‘60s, it’s no surprise that it features a somewhat memorable LSD party, where the film reaches some of its more bizarre moments. Party goers crawl on all fours like dogs; partake in clothed orgies, and Adrian Hoven’s shrink-like character narrates by reading aloud passages from a book off a shelf. A lot of it might not have any real meaning, but it is still quite avant-garde and entertaining.

Succubus had to be one of my first art-house experiences, and it left a pleasant impression, most notably my memories of a beautifully old looking limestone river castle (the Belém Tower in Lisbon) in the film that seems to exist at the edge of reality. Lorna’s visits to this castle in a hazy, soft-focused dream-world feel like subconscious memories of a different life, where she is a countess living in a castle.

The biggest strength for me is the movie’s ability to create a convincing sense of being inside Lorna’s mind. With the free flow narrative, schizophrenic voiceovers, and Hoven’s psychoanalyst character sporadically appearing at times, there’s a pervading feeling of subconscious thoughts and images. Just like the film, Lorna is rather enigmatic by nature. She’s the movie’s title succubus, a kind of predatory femme fatale, but her deadly impulses come from a different identity, the countess from the castle, who emerges and becomes Lorna. It’s unclear if Lorna abandons her identity when she is the countess or if the countess is her real identity. When Lorna retreats to her dream castle, the film achieves a beautiful fantasy/gothic horror semblance. The omnipotent presence of Lemoine’s penetrating glance and malevolent voiceovers suggest Lorna is some sort of “devil on earth”, who’s been handpicked for some nefarious scheme.

As confounding as it can be sometimes, everything about Succubus is still ingenious. Ostensibly it might come off as cheap sexploitation, but it turns out to be a surprisingly rich experience. Reynaud is such a strong and alluring lead, and something about her makes her seem born for this role.

Thanks to my friend Terence, I was able to see the German version of the film as well as a startling alternate intro and finale scene in the Italian version, which includes Lorna’s birth and her death, where she turns into a skeleton. The German version wasn’t that different from the US version, but I was amused by a scene where Lorna breaks into a vocal song and dance that was edited out in my DVD version.

© At the Mansion of Madness

Jess Franco could film movies faster than I can write reviews for them. His films can sometimes have an overwhelming low quality feel to them, making them difficult to digest for the majority. The natural location shots, haunting tone, memorable and well-chosen female actors (Franco definitely had an eye for female leads that just seemed to resonate with the camera lens), and Franco’sbrand of bizarre surrealism and eroticism don’t seem to be enough to save the films for many, but they are nonetheless a huge hit for others. Al otro lado del espejo contains all of the aforementioned elements and yet has a higher-than-usual quality feel to it, most likely due to the terrific acting and screen presence from its leading lady (Emma Cohen of Horror Rises from the Tomb and Night of the Walking Dead) and a believable tragic story.

Jazz pianist/singer Ana (Cohen) is profoundly affected by her father’s (Howard Vernon) suicide shortly after her engagement. After calling off the wedding, Ana leaves her homeland on Madeira Island only to undergo several failed relations when she intermittently becomes hypnotically driven to kill any man that becomes close to her.

It isn’t just enough to say that Ana is haunted by images of her dead father in the mirror. She doesn’t just see him, but she finds herself at times in the mirror, in Franco’s looking glass world. It can also be viewed as Ana’s mental reflection on her emotional trauma. The memory of her father’s suicide driven by his stubborn disapproval of her marrying and leaving him is intertwined with Ana’s psyche, manifesting itself when she murders any man that shows any sexual interest in her. Ana’s traumatization, spurned the moment of her outcry into the mirror, yields a malediction that could either be viewed as some sort of curse or spell from her father’s ghost or played off as the result of a kind of posttraumatic stress disorder. If taken at face value, the goose bumps inducing ending, made more dramatic with church bells signifying the wedding that never was, reveals which one happens to be the case.

The story is versatile and multilayered. Each time Ana stabs and kills a love interest, it usually feels like the end of an act or episode. After murdering her jazz friend, Bill (Robert Woods), someone seemingly new, a stage play director Miguel (Ramiro Oliveros), who Ana appears to already be acquainted with, is sporadically mixed into the story. Likewise, an impeded attempt at Ana killing herself yields the introduction of a new female friend, Carla (the majestic Alice Arno). With Miguel and Carla, we don’t see when or how they were introduced to Ana, yielding the notorious “who’s-this-person-all-of-a-sudden?” feeling. It makes it seem a little fragmented but not necessarily disjointed, as the story does maintain continuity with leitmotifs and staying focused on its eye catching lead character and her tragic journey that stems from her past trauma.

The characters of Pipo (Philippe Lemaire) and Tina (Franςoise Brion), a vacationing couple in Madeira, are introduced late in the story, the start of a new act (act 3 maybe?), when Ana goes back to Madeira Island for the first time since her father died. The tone shifts and the story seems like it might be a little distracted from its initial focus. This is not necessarily an offense because it corresponds to Ana going through personal changes and new developments after surviving suicide, as she claims to want to rediscover Madeira as a tourist, suggesting a fresh start, which is what the film is starting to feel like at this point. Pipo’s immediate interest in her, despite the fact he’s supposed to be with Tina, is consistent with Cohen’sattention grabbing screen presence.

I couldn’t help noticing that Pipo’s enthusiasm for the Brisa beverage he raves about to Ana, Tina, and Carla seems too exaggerated to not be an advertisement for Brisa, a tropical soft drink found only in Madeira. “Brissas, cooler than ice!” This forty-one year old product placement still works, because I’ve found myself interested in obtaining some. (here’s a place where you can order it: http://www.madeiratoyou.com/index.php?route=product/product&product_id=42)

Some of the extended Jazz numbers might take some out of the movie, but I came to appreciate them a lot more on subsequent viewings, especially after realizing how downplayed they are in the French and Italian versions of this film. It helps to be a fan of ‘70s era Euro club scenes and jazz music because it’s one of this film’s major focuses. Like Franco’sVenus in Furs,the lead is a cool jazz musician, and the musical performances feel like nifty music videos, which, although superfluous to the story, manage to be essential to the viewing experience.

What fascinates me most with Al otro lado del espejo is the way it integrates a poppy jazz song “Madeira Love”, written by, I’m assuming, the film’s soundtrack composer Adolfo Waitzman, into the story. The song is conceived, born, and eventually realized in the film, coming from the mind of its lead. It has two dominant melodies, a solemn downbeat passage (the verse) and a joyful upbeat melody (the chorus), that act as leitmotifs, emerging at different times under different guises. The song is also performed in full by Ana and her band at a turning point in the story. Just as a recurring melody can create an identity all its own for a story/world created for an opera, musical, film, TV series, or video game, the recognizable phrases in “Madeira Love” are a memorable thematic characterization of the film.

Cohen’seyes have a natural sadness to them, attributed to a slight exaggerated outer downward slant in her upper eyelids, which lends a somber tone that compliments Ana’s tragedy. The movie’s occasional melancholic tone does, nonetheless, feel nicely balanced with some of the more colorful and upbeat aspects of the film, Alice Arno’s poolside dancing, to give an example; and Ana even has a few chipper moments.

It should be mentioned that Emma Cohen won the Best Actress Award from the Círculo de Escritores Cinematográficos for her performance in Al otro lado del espejo; and the full version of “Madeira Love”, performed by Ana and her band is a treat. However, in the French version, the voice is different during this song and doesn’t sound as good, and, sadly, this entire song performance is entirely cut out in the Italian version.

I’ve seen all three versions of this film, and I think the Spanish version (the one being reviewed) should be considered the definitive version, as it is the director’s cut. The alternate French, Le miroir obscéne, and Italian, Lo specchio del piacere, versions of this film seem to be the most viewed on account of usually being the easiest to come across. They differ significantly from the Spanish version, with the biggest difference being that they do away with Ana’s father committing suicide, replacing that aspect with Ana’s sister, played by Lina Romay, killing herself. Ana is instead haunted by images of her dead sister, who doesn’t exist in the Spanish version, in the mirror, committing obscene, explicit acts of sexual intercourse. As much as I don’t disagree with seeing Lina Romay, I don’t think this works as well and seems more like an excuse to insert hardcore porn shots into the film, cheapening it and being a possible reason for why this film hasn’t been more widely discovered and praised until more recently. I would recommend seeing the Spanish version, more than once, and only watch the other two out of curiosity (the DVD containing both Spanish and French versions can be bought here: http://www.artusfilms.com/le-miroir-obscene).

This film does have some parallels to A Virgin Among the Living Dead, most noticeable the spiritual connection between father and daughter, yet Al otro lado del espejo feels surprisingly down to Earth in comparison, likely attributed to the heavier focus on realistic relations between the characters. Howard Vernon, like Paul Muller in AVATLD, appears in the guise of his hanged self before his daughter, to creepy effect. An interesting difference is Vernon’s protruding tongue, which does happen sometimes in the case of strangulation by suspension hanging, as opposed to the instant death caused by cervical spine fracture with drop hanging, a method used more for execution that is less common in suicide.

Anyone feeling content with having only seen the French or Italian version should revisit this film by watching the restored Spanish version. The former versions really short change viewers both musically and conceptually and likely won’t strike a chord with harder critics. I wouldn’t call the alternate versions terrible in comparison, because I had felt pretty satisfied with what I experienced with Lo specchio del piacere and couldn’t quite understand why it was insisted that I watch Al otro lado del espejo as well, but after viewing it I realized it’s because the original intention is diluted with the alternate storyline, and to say the Spanish version works a lot better is not an overstatement.

It’s amazing what Mario Bava could accomplish when he had free creative reign considering films like Lisa and the Devil (1973) and Twitch of the Death Nerve (1971), but with 5 Dolls for an August Moon (5 bambole per la luna d’agosto), we have an example of Mario Bava as a director for hire, being pressured to return to the newly booming giallo genre he helped create with the previous entries Blood and Black Lace (1964) and The Girl Who Knew Too Much (1963).

Admittedly, 5 Dolls is a more conventional affair in comparison to Lisa and Twitch and is obviously influenced by Agatha Christie’s seminal Ten Little Indians. I wouldn’t call it an adaptation but more of a self-conscious tribute with several trendy updates and sly nods to the source material. It turns out that Bava didn’t think highly of Ten Little Indians at all. When he was approached with the script, written by Mario di Nardo, and asked to direct the film he mainly accepted the job, despite some apprehension, because he would get paid up front, which disputes a previous notion I had that 5 Dolls was Bava’s own take on Christie’sclassic novel. Making an Agatha Christieinspired giallo was the fashionable thing to do at the time, and, not being able to add much to the script, Bavadirected a giallo he would end up having very little regard for, which is unfortunate because it’s one of my favorites. It also has one of my favorite soundtracks, by Piero Umiliani.

The story concerns ten characters, five of them women (most likely the titular 5 dolls), on an island. In the spirit of Ten Little Indians, with no way of presently leaving the island, they are killed off one by one by an unknown assassin whom they eventually realize has to be one of them.

The movie opens to one of the five dolls, Isabel (Ely Galleani– her first film), wandering and trotting around the island alone, as the camera has a fixation on her and the complementary island scenery while a kitschy style of music is heard that will seduce certain viewers and might turn off others. Isabel runs through the woods to peer with curiosity into the window of a modern, swanky mansion to view what has to be one of the best mood setting intro party scenes in a giallo. It’s a real eye opener and will hit the spot for fans of the medium, as Mario Bava has the camera zoom in-and-out on a groovy Edwige Fenechdancing at the center of the party, where all of the suspects are lounging around, managing to look suspicious, decadent, and classy. This is probably my favorite Edwige Fenech moment.

Things do slow down after a mock murder scene at the party, as the story takes a more scandalous turn to try and set the stage for a high body-count murder mystery, as it becomes apparent that things are going to get ugly.

Showcasing a bit of adultery, Edwige Fenech’s character Marie has an affair with the ‘houseboy’ (because calling him ‘the butler’ wouldn’t be hip enough for this film) on his yacht. The wives gossip about their husbands, two of them secretly express intimate feelings for each other, and the three seedy looking industrialist characters (Maurice Poli, Howard Ross from Fulci’sThe New York Ripper (1982), and Teodoro Corrà– all of whom have exceptional bad guy faces) try to pressure the obstinate scientist (William Berger) to sell them his undisclosed revolutionary formula for a million dollars apiece. (Poli would continue to work with Bava in Twitch of the Death Nerve, Baron Blood (1972), and Rabid Dogs (1974). Corrà would work with Bava again in Roy Colt and Winchester Jack (1970)).

Despite its attempt at building a scandalous setting, the story does seem rather plain, and like Ten Little Indians, most of the murders are aftermaths, which might not cut it for viewers expecting more stalk ‘n’ slash. I kind of like it, because it ends up being confounding with the way characters keep turning up dead like magic and how the killer can do it so efficiently without getting noticed. It almost makes you admire their expertise. This film’s been referred to as a disaster saved only by Bava’s masterful and unique directing style, but I honestly did enjoy the buildup to the climax and the outcome. The ending’s a little confusing; but taken as is, it ends up feeling like a proper unexpected and ironic conclusion for this type of movie. I like the way they finally put vocals to the running musical theme to the soundtrack when it closes out.

Anyone who’s seen this film will most likely not forget the brilliant corpse pileup in the freezer. It is supposed to be one of Bava’sown additions to the film, and with its repetitive use and the witty music, you can almost feel Bava’s sense of humor here. In the book the murdered characters were carried to their rooms and laid out on their beds, and pretty much left to rot, which quickly would’ve resulted in a rotten smelling mansion. 5 Dollsseems to be satirically correcting this lapse in logic by humorously putting each successive murdered character into a deep freeze.

The interior mod art style to the island mansion almost makes you feel like you’re on another planet. In spite of the modern art look there are still the classic gothic candelabras that can be spotted in the background against the walls. They seem out of place but are also welcoming.

Although it provides an effective visual of a quirky architecture hanging dangerously over a cliff, the exterior of the beach mansion is obviously not real and part of a glass matte setup along with the boat that is sometimes seen docked at the island. It’s been suggested that the mansion is actually a maquette (small scale model) fixed in front of the camera. Before Isabel stands in front of the mansion to shoot an epic backward glance (one of my favorite clichés) you can see her reflection in the glass.

What would 5 Dolls have been like without Mario Bava’s direction? Hard to say, but despite being paid only to direct the film, aesthetically it still feels very much like a Bava film, and story-wise it does bear some similarities to Blood and Black Lace. The rotating bed definitely had me thinking of Danger: Diabolik (1968), and the shoreline reminded me of The Whip and the Body (1963), in fact it was the same beach at Tor Caldara. The style is all there; it’s just that the script is a little more conventional, but it’s not that bad. There are a lot of memorable sequences and characters, and it excels stylistically, as a visual treat, and as a murder mystery (although it's a little messy in that department).

© At the Mansion of Madness

I’ll admit that about three years after seeing The Vampire and the Ballerina (L’amante del vampire) the only thing I could seem to remember about it was the dance numbers. The movie had left a good impression on me for some reason, and I don’t think it was just because of the dance scenes, which were surprisingly sexy for 1960. During a recent re-watch the rest of the movie was like viewing it for the first time. It’s a fun, atmospheric Italian vampire piece from the gothic horror golden age, and after seeing a lot of those, they tend to get lost in the memory over time if you don’t re-watch them on occasion.

This one, along with the same years’ The Playgirls and the Vampire (1960), does have enough sexy gimmicks to help it standout in the mix; and what might also make it a little more interesting to some is that it is an early effort from Renato Polselli, someone whose particular brand of erotic, expressionistic madness touches my heart. Polselli’s cinematic characteristics seen in films like Delirium (1972) and The Reincarnation of Isabel (1973) aren’t quite as apparent in The Vampire and the Ballerina as they would be in Polselli’sVampire of the Opera (1964) later on, but it’s still a charming attempt at a gothic horror film, in romantic B&W, that Polselli co-wrote with prolific screenwriter Ernesto Gastaldi as well as Giuseppe Pellegrini.

In one of those small European villages that almost always seems to have a vampire problem, a company of young dancers are temporarily living together to train and prepare for a ballet production at a rich professor’s house. During the dark early morning hours, a servant is attacked in the woods by a vampire, and her screams alert the cow stable workers. Their arrival drives off the vampire, before they carry the swooned servant back to the house, awakening several attractive ladies in skimpy nightgowns with near childish personalities, which introduces the film’s alternate playful tone that is interspersed with the more traditional, sullen gothic horror elements.

The Vampire and the Ballerina has the added benefit of having actresses who are also professional dancers. It isn’t apparent at first, but, among the group of performers, Luisa (Hélène Rémy) and Francesca (Tina Gloriani) end up singled out as the leading ladies. It has to be said that Hélène Rémy is an awesome gymnast. There’s no stunt-double needed for her; she flips and spins like no one’s business, and she makes it look effortless.

It isn’t long before audiences are treated to a fun, flawless cabaret fused dance number that adds a degree of sexuality and naughtiness to the ballet that, despite seeming tame today, would likely have caused moralist at the time to faint. Jazz hands, bare legs, and seductive looks are displayed with panache.

There’s a particular dancer in black (Ombretta Ostenda) who stays in reserve, leaning against the fireplace, for the first part of the dance, like some kind of secret weapon; when she goes into action, the focal point shifts to her. This is supposed to be the girls’ practice session, but they obviously don’t need the practice since they nail it in one take. Ombretta melds in a little more with the other dancers during the sensual vampire inspired dance number in the second half of the film.

The dancing only makes up several minutes of the whole movie. There is a decent vampire story here that not surprisingly borrows a little from Bram Stoker’sDracula, particularly Lucy Westenra and Dracula, with Luisa and the Dracula-like Herman (Walter Prandi– who’s been referred to as the Italian Dracula) being suitable counterparts but also with an added metaphor of substance addiction with regards to the female victims, sort of like when someone starts acting differently after secretly becoming addicted to some sort of drug.

There are two primary story locations separated by a stretch of woods, the mansion in the village where the girls practice dancing and a supposedly abandoned castle deep in the woods, both of which provide an important contrast between the present and past, with the sylvan castle setting being like a time machine.

When there’s an abandoned castle in the woods, it only stands to reason that it will be inhabited by a mysterious, beautifully siren-like countess (with epic cleavage), who appears to have stepped out of the middle ages and who also has a 400 year old portrait of her “direct ancestor” who bears her exact likeness (you know where this is going). Aside from having a fabulous medieval femme fatale look to her, Countess Alda (Maria Luisa Rolando) is also a sympathetic villainess, something that ends up giving the ending an ironically tragic feel. She and her “servant” Herman are a reclusive, enigmatic lot feigning to be misanthropists. The fact that they are vampires is obvious, but the nature of their game is rather grim.

An interesting part I like that is kind of subtle is when Francesca, concerned for the changed behavior of her friend, decides to spy on Luisa running off to visit Herman at the castle. The tables end up turning, with Luisa stalking Francesca through the forest instead, leading her into the castle and locking her in the dungeon. I almost didn’t notice, since I had a hard time distinguishing between the two characters for a while, as they look a little bit similar. The trip through the forest is slightly elongated and oddly enhanced with intrusive but mesmerizing jazz music. The movie does have plenty of classical style orchestra music endeavoring to make it scary, but in this scene Polselli opts for a more experimentally stylish approach. When they get to the castle it becomes quiet and seemingly more conventional, but the previous jazzy trip through the woods is just fantastic.

There’s a certain typicality to it, yet at the same time there are plenty of unexpected twists, especially considering what Herman does to the undead maid right after he promises her passage to the “kingdom of the dead” or the exact nature of the perverse relationship between Herman and the countess. The conclusion is enjoyably dramatic, and a little bit grotesque, with a convincing sense of pathos accompanying the villains’ demises. There ends up being an ambiguity as to which one of them is the evil one controlling the other, as well as if a certain main character lives or not. It’s true that the whole ballet deal is a gimmick, but the dance performances are inspired, professional, and totally memorable.

© At the Mansion of Madness

Beyond the Darkness (1979) was my first Joe D’Amato experience and one of my earlier Italian horror revelations, and it quickly ramped up my respect for D’Amato, who, for me, at the time was like the ‘other guy’ who seemed like he was going to be my new grimier gore-master alternative to Fulci and Argento.

D’Amato'sAnthropophagus(1980), despite its notoriety, didn’t quite measure up to the expectations I had based on what I experienced from Beyond the Darkness. Incidentally, I did end up ultimately enjoying D’Amato’s line of odd, softcore (sometimes hardcore) Emanuelle films, most of which starred the exotic and goddess-like Laura Gemser. Somewhere along the way, I got ahold of D’Amato’s poetic and beautifully gothic Death Smiles on a Murderer / La morte ha sorriso all'assassino, his first horror film as sole director. I didn’t quite connect with it on the first run, but I’ve really come to appreciate it today.

D’Amato thought highly enough of Death Smiles to direct it under his real name Aristide Massaccesi, a title he would always use for credit as a cinematographer, which was his primary occupation, and he did not want to jeopardize it by attaching his real name to the directorial credit of any lousy movies. Curiously, Death Smileswould be the last time he would direct a film without using a pseudonym.

Death Smiles is the only traditional gothic horror from D’Amato that I know of, and, despite being the usual low budget genre picture, it benefits greatly from high quality cinematography (helmed by D’Amato), terrific locations, and a perfect soundtrack by the great and underappreciated Berto Pisano (Burial Ground, Interrabang), all of which are integrated together to create one of the best looking and sounding gothic horror era pieces that’s the stuff of dreams and nightmares.

The film contains seeds to certain traits that would characterize D’Amato’s filmography to come, such as nudity, sapphic love scenes, cheap gore, and voyeurism, elements that are restrained enough in this case to not really undermine the story, which contains an agreeable meld of classic literary influences from the likes of Sheridan Le Fanu, Edgar Allan Poe, and even HP Lovecraft.

When looking over the assortment of characters in the film, it ends up being a little difficult to discern who the protagonist might be, or even if there’s meant to be one. Nominally it might be Walter (Sergio Doria), but I believe the protagonist is actually the bewitching Greta von Holstein (Ewa Aulin). It’s established in the film’s prologue that she has died, met with some cruel fate unbeknownst to viewers at this point. Her incestuous, hunchback brother, Franz (Luciano Rossi), is grieving over her, in some sort of dark, candle-lit shrine, blaming others as well as himself for her death, foreshadowing the film’s theme of cosmic justice. A series of flashback vignettes (one superbly dreamlike) explores their disturbing past sexual relationship, and introduces a much older man (Giacomo Rossi Stuart) who came between them, leaving it unexplained as to how she died, for now.

Following the prologue, the story transitions to a different time, one in which viewers would naturally believe to be in the past, when Greta was alive, but all I’ll say is the movie is quite clever in this aspect. If you didn’t understand how it all comes together in the end, watch it again. The second watch is beneficial because you’ll know a lot more, since the movie, being of the mystery genre, purposefully leaves you in the dark for the most part, and it’s fun to pick up on things the second time around. Although the number of inaccurate synopses I've come across is probably testament to its confusion.

The moment when a fast moving double horse carriage crashes in front of the von Ravensbruck mansion, and reveals a mysterious and bewitching girl, Greta, of weak health and lost memory, who the family takes in, is quite reminiscent of a similar moment in Le Fanu’sCarmilla. The doctor that tends to the bedridden Greta is played by Klaus Kinski, who naturally brings something very “Klaus Kinski’ to the role. The film production only had Klaus for a limited time, and it shows, because he’s taken out of the movie, murdered off, just as things start getting real interesting with his character, Dr. Sturges.

The movie alludes to the fact that Dr. Sturges secretly realizes Greta is undead and that an Incan formula engraved on her medallion is the key to reanimating the dead, which creates a side branch in the narrative to a slightly different mad scientist direction for a short time, with Kinski quietly and frantically working in his lab with an obsessive zeal, as it’s kind of implied that he had spent his entire career trying to discover the secret to raising the dead and now finally has the solution thanks to the key data he observed on Greta’s medallion. Watching Kinski work with his glassware and writing esoteric math formulae on the blackboard is terrific, and even the sign language he uses to communicate with his mute assistant is nuanced by Kinski in a way that makes it oddly stand out. Dr. Sturges succeeds in raising a fresh human cadaver back to life in a memorable shot that I thought had Lovecraft’sHerbert West -- Reanimator written all over it.

The mad scientist plot-branch ends with Dr. Sturges' death from the classic off-screen killer’s hands; it’s interesting to think where the movie might’ve gone with the re-animator plot had the production been able to keep Kinski longer. However, I do like the irony in this death scene; Dr. Sturges has just completed his life’s work, and in the moment of scientific triumph is immediately garroted by an assassin from behind, never to be credited for his discovery, with the added assumption that it will lay to rest forever or that someone else will steal the credit. During the struggle, the newly reanimated corpse blankly watches on; too bad he doesn’t smile because that would’ve made a neat little visual reference to the title.

Back at the mansion, another story is developing now that Greta has fully recovered. Everyone loves her and wants her to stay, and she in turn romantically warms up to both Walter and his wife Eva (Angela Bo– here dubbed by Carolyn De Fonseca) in what turns into a short lived sex triangle melodrama. Greta, being so beautiful, has captured Walter’s interest, but this makes Eva jealous, and she later tries to drown Greta in the bath tub, but stops short. The two of them smile at one another, as if Eva was playing around, prompting a love scene between the two. Later on, Eva spies on her husband and Greta making love, which is like a double heartbreak for her, since she loves them both. It ends up being too much for Eva to stomach, and she endeavors to get rid of Greta in what leads to a murder plot influenced by Poe’sThe Black Cat that is the most intense walled up murder scene I’ve ever seen. The pleas Greta makes for her life are very convincing.

After a most brilliant exposition during a masquerade party, which I like to think is a slight tribute to Poe’sThe Masque of the Red Death, Ewa Aulin’s character transitions into some sort of death angel of deliverance, where the movie will definitely seem like it’s picking up for the more restless crowd.

Even with its gothic beauty there’s something uneasy about the portrayal of humanity in the film, as it kind of paints a bleak view of human interaction. A lot of the characters, especially Greta, Franz, and Dr. Sturges, are very appealing and memorable, but there are no good or moral characters, save for the clueless Inspector Dannick (Attilio Dottesio). There’s an empty sense of cosmic redemption after Greta claims a number of immoral victims, all of whom had wronged her in some way in her life or afterlife.

Aulin plays Greta with an externally sweet, innocent look, before and even after her deadly transformation, and I really think it works. The visuals of her stalking around dungeons and graveyards, slowly pursuing and claiming her victims, kind of like Jason Voorhees, is a marvelous visual that makes for some great imagery to stick in the memory long after the film has ended. The quick-edit, close-up spook shots of Greta in excessive, so-so zombie makeup gives it just the right measure of added grotesque monster movie flair.

Written, directed, and photographed by Joe D’Amato, Death Smiles is arguably his best work. It really succeeds as a moody gothic horror film that isn’t adverse to showing a little giallo influence with an off-screen mystery killer and roaming POV cam that’s usually peering around walls or trees. One of the images that always stuck with me in this film is the low camera angle shot of Luciano Rossi traveling with a peculiar gait through the forest. I get hypnotized every time when the maid, Gertrude (Carla Mancini), is being chased by the creepy Franz, who may or may not be real at this point, through a long and dreamy forest, before she meets her grizzly demise by a freakin’ double barrel to the face!? Moreover, most of the murders in this movie are surprisingly brutal and unpleasant, including the most terrifying and elongated deadly cat attack I’ve ever seen; anyone with a phobia for ocular trauma might have a hard time with it.

© At the Mansion of Madness

I used to not be able to stomach gory zombie films very well. Despite being excited and thoroughly fascinated after watching zombie films in my youth, I suffered from a loss of appetite for a while. Anytime I was trying to eat, my brain would be like “you know what’s a good movie? Dawn of the Dead (1978),” and images from the scene with zombies eating in the cellar would pop into my mind, and I would be turned off to eating meat or anything savory for that matter. Sweets or French fries were fine, but my mind just would not cease to relate the taste and consistency of anything else, especially if it was slimy, to what it was the zombies were chomping on. I was disgusted by zombie carnage but still thought it was so cool.

The zombie film that grossed me out the most, which is really saying something, was Lucio Fulci’sZombie. As a kid, I used to hate looking at the VHS cover with the iconic, rotting, worm eyed, conquistador zombie (Ottaviano Dell'Acqua). I wasn’t scared; I was repulsed. Being a growing boy on the verge of puberty, I didn’t think it wise to be turned off to protein, either. And so, the tape just sat on my movie shelf, after only being watched once, collecting dust, never to be touched again for quite some time.

Needless to say, I eventually overcame this sort of appetite-loss problem and no longer felt sick after watching zombie films. I don’t know if it is enhanced mental discipline or desensitization, but I can now eat pizza while watching movies like Zombie and Burial Ground without getting nauseous.

Anyone who may have read my article for The Beyond during last year’s gore-a-thon may recall that I wasn’t a fan of Zombie for a while. It took seeing The Beyond for me to re-evaluate what was my negative stand on Zombie. I was guilty of hoping for another Dawn of the Dead, ignorantly overlooking every one of the film’s strengths.

The film’s biggest strengths would have to be the gory set pieces, the tropical setting, and the zombies themselves. I like the way Fulci’s zombies appear to be sleepwalking, hardly moving at all, with eyes closed. They’re more like nightmarish monsters rather than a satirical reflection of us, as is the usual reasoning behind the modern fascination with zombies. Makeup artist Giannetto De Rossi utilizes a resourceful method of combining dried mud, blood, slime, and worms to give an elaborately gruesome look to the monsters.

The post edited groans and heavy breathing from the zombies are terrifying and do sound peculiarly inhuman, and the noisy eating sound effects are unnerving. In fact, while re-watching Zombie, I noticed that sound is a major contributing factor to the suspense.

For me, what is being heard is more disturbing than what is being seen during the infamous eye splinter scene with Olga Karlatos. The splinter piercing the eye is very visceral and a wonderfully excessive display of ocular trauma in detail, but what makes it more exciting is the distorted, bloodcurdling scream that’s heard as the splinter pierces the eyeball. After the splinter breaks off the door, we see the victim still alive and very much in agony, and, as some kind of calming contrast, the narrative jumps abruptly from highly intense brutality to a calm visual of a yacht near the shore of the island, possibly to give viewers a chance to comprehend and respond to what they just saw.

Fabio Frizzi’s melodic and haunting zombie waltz is catchy and memorable and does contribute to Zombie’s epic feel, with the thumping beats always popping up at just the right time, particularly when the theme accompanies the rising dead in the conquistador graveyard. With the near-static way the zombies slowly arise during this part they almost seem like they are on display, but it’s still ultra-creepy and would make a nice zombie exhibit for a theme park.

The underwater cinematography is a delightful plus. Some say the unforgettable zombie vs. shark scene is overrated, while others can’t stop talking about it. I thought it was original, well done, and entertaining. Some also feel it’s a little too random, but the zombie appearing underwater has significance because it’s an indication that the characters are close to the island of Matool, and it’s not that unlikely that two carnivorous predators would cross paths and not get along.

Many of the actors in Zombie have made a surprisingly big name for themselves in the underground cult movie world with their roles in this film. Some have a higher pedigree than others, such as Richard Johnson and Al Cliver, but would we still have known Ian McCulloch, Olga Karlatos, and Auretta Gay as well as we do without this movie, or that Mia Farrow has a sister, Tisa Farrow?

I do like all of the actors and the characters they play in this movie, but Johnson, as Dr. Menard, seems to out-act everyone, doing a lot with very little to work with. With some of the conversations on the island, there’s a lot of insinuation of voodoo, zombies, and other odd happenings on the Island, and Johnson’s grave devotion to the role helps make a lot of this believable. There is also a subtle amount of pathos in Dr. Menard having to keep shooting his patients and friends, before or just as they’re coming back, who pass away in his care.

Another disturbing aspect that brought out an ever present threat of disease and death is how convincing the sick patients in Dr. Menard’s hospital/lab were. The ill bed-ridden natives look terribly sick in a way that’s discomforting.

The sunny, sweaty setting on the island that most of the movie takes place on lends an exotic flavor to Zombie that I think is responsible for a lot of the movie’s enjoyment, aside from the gore and zombies. It’s a fun zombie jungle adventure as well as a gross out horror movie with a pretty cool final showdown between humans and zombies in a flimsy wooden church/hospital, with enough Molotov cocktails and flammable zombies to make one hell of a Fourth of July celebration. The only parts that remind me a little of Dawn of the Dead are the opening and closing scenes in New York City, but it’s more like a reminiscence that feels more nostalgic and endearing, rather than an inferior imitation.

Although it was generally flamed by critics at the time of its release, Zombie eventually became a fan favorite and one of the most important and definitive zombie films of the twentieth century. Watch it again and share it with a loved one or that someone special in your life. It’s a great date movie, but you might want to warn them a little before the ocular trauma, and have dinner before not after the movie.

Anyone remember this Windows 7 commercial that features footage of the zombie vs. shark scene from Zombie? I remember the surprise I felt when I first came across this commercial on TV. I was excited but also a little perplexed since I couldn’t help wondering what Fulci had to do with Microsoft. I also can’t tell if they’re making fun or not.

Don’t forget that this article is part of the 2014 Gore-a-thon, and I hope you all find some great splatterific material on the participating sites. Show how great the horror blogging community is and really make the traffic stats to these great sites skyrocket.

90s Horror Movies

Blood Sucking Geek

Candy-Coated Razor Blades

Craft Fear

Disturbing Films

The Info Zombie

Love Horror

Midnight Cinephile

Movies at Dog Farm

Slasher Studios

Terrorphoria

Wide Weird World of Cult Films

Spirits of Death / A White Dress for Marialé (1972)

Female Vampire / La comtesse noire (1973)

City of the Living Dead / The Gates of Hell (1980)

Venomous Vixens: Aurora de Alba

The Mummy’s Revenge / La venganza de la Momia (1973)

Shock / Beyond the Door II (1977)

Night of the Walking Dead / El extraño amor de los vampiros (1975)

Simona / Passion (1974)

The Man with Icy Eyes (1971)

Maniac Mansion (1972)

News Update: Lord of Tears

Love and Death in the Garden of the Gods (1972)

Interrabang (1969)

Morgiana (1972)

Succubus / Necronomicon (1968)

The Other Side of the Mirror / Al otro lado del espejo (1973)

5 Dolls for an August Moon (1970)

The Vampire and the Ballerina (1960)

Death Smiles on a Murderer (1973)

Zombie / Zombi 2 (1979)