Black Candles (1982): or, Sometimes You Get the Goat, and Sometimes the Goat Gets You

José Ramón Larraz's 1982 Satanic cult thriller Black Candles starts off with a bang. And by that I mean it begins with a balding, middle-aged man whiling away his afternoon by banging his much younger, much more attractive mistress. Rightly pleased with himself, the elder lover chuckles at his girlfriend's silver necklace, calling it, "The Devil's Paw" in a dismissive, smarmy way. Things go from titillating to tragic, however, when somebody spears a voodoo doll with a nasty looking hat pin, leading our depiliated debauchee to suffer a massive coronary while wrapped in the arms (and legs) of his lady. To her credit, the girl seems completely unfazed by this turn of events. The camera then  pans to a photo of the man's newly widowed wife Fiona (Helga Liné), which glares disapprovingly from the nightstand at her late philandering husband and his paramour. Could she be behind the supernatural assassination that abnegated his assignation?

Spoiler: yup.

Originally titled Los ritos sexuales del diablo (The Sexual Rites of the Devil), Larraz's film is jam packed with dysfunction, depravity, and sex sex sex, sprinkled with enough outrageous cult-centered shenanigans to keep horror/exploitation fans happy. You want an old dark house filled with evil family secrets? You got it. You want a hapless, disbelieving heroine menaced by a Satanic cult with its fingers in every strata of village society? Happy to oblige. You want necro-incestuous dream sequences and an extended sex scene involving an actual, factual goat? Step right this...waitaminnit, what kind of fucking sicko ARE you?

"It's a family heirloom. My grandmother had it fashioned from the first farthing she made as a prostitute!"

 After the credits, we join the deceased man's sister Carol (Vanessa Hidalgo) and her husband Robert (Mauro Ribera), who have come to comfort Fiona in her grief and to see about the dispensation of her brother's estate. Unfortunately it's a very dark and stormy night when they arrive, and the electricity has been knocked out at the mansion. Luckily Fiona has a metric shitload of BLACK CANDLES around to light the way. When Robert--a defrocked priest and now professor of theological studies at some unnamed university--comments on the occult symbolism of the light sources, Fiona admits to a fascination with demonology, laughing, "Intelligent people all over the world continue to make pacts with the devil!" I hope for their sake they don't also bet a lot of money on poker.

Despite her misgivings about her sister-in-law's interests and her already burgeoning suspicions about her brother's death, upon being shown to her room Carol immediately strips down to lingerie and knee-boots to make sweaty Eurolove with her sacrilegious hubby, who in these scenes looks a lot like an Italian Jamie Gillis. A hot and bothered Fiona fondles herself while spying on them through a peephole in the wall, making good the old saying that the lady of the house comes first. And third. And fifth.

Helga just had an orgasm. And boy, is she pissed about it!

That night Carol dreams of wandering the estate's gardens in her white stockings and garter belt, followed by her brother's ghost. After a few vaseline-coated fish-eye lens shots and some nonsensical jump cuts, she finds herself in her bedroom, suddenly having hot passionate sex with her dead brother! Fiona pounds on the door, then teleports inside to make out with Carol while her brother licks her legs. She wakes up in a sweat, and 15 minutes into the movie we've already sent the "taste" bar through the floor.

Think there's nowhere to go but up? Keep dreaming.

"Well here's a bush that needs tending!"

 With nothing left to be gained by keeping the audience in the dark, Larraz next has Fiona talking to a devilish-looking fellow in priest garb about how they need to get rid of Carol and her husband by the Sabbath, since there's a big party planned and they haven't got enough place settings. To that end Fiona's maid pilfers a necklace from Carol's suitcase, which will be useful in their scheme to mystify her into leaving. (Apparently just chucking them out is not an elegant enough plan.) While Carol continues to hear ghostly voices telling her to leave the place forever--which she ignores, naturally--the maid and a stable hand make suggestive small talk in the barn. (Her: "I'm sure you've never seen a billy goat mounting a woman...and later coming inside of her." Him: "No, never.")

Lest you think these Satanists are all talk, we cut almost immediately back to the barn, where the brother's lover from Scene One lies on a tuffet of hay in her knee-high, fringed suede boots (and little else), waiting for--wait for it--A GOAT. And if you're thinking they won't go there...well, I didn't think so either. But here we are.

"Wait, Mr. Larraz...what's my motivation?"

Turns out the goat's...erm, stuff...is needed for their ritual, which is some convoluted thing to make Carol believe she's going crazy before she tumbles to the fact that everyone around her is actually worshiping the devil. Which is a long way to go for Gaslight, but I guess just because you're a devil worshiper doesn't necessarily make you a great planner. Still, I shouldn't judge too harshly, since the plan seems to work like goatbusters: Carol sees all kinds of crazy visions (though nothing as crazy as what the audience just saw), and Fiona seduces Robert like a rabid minx, several times, finally making him a member of their coven. (We know he's completely gone over to the dark side because he stops wearing the gold crucifix that has decorated his tufty chest mane for the whole flick--well, that and he forces anal sex on Carol, to her moderate, understated distress.)

You'd think there'd be no trumps left once you've played the Fucked By a Goat card, and in fairness you'd be right. The filmmakers give it a go, however, by having the middle-aged maid cuckold her drunken husband with a young farm hand--while the husband is right there in the bed, egging the sweaty stud on! Later the drunk tries to warn Carol about the cult, and for his trouble is skewered with a sword Edward II-style by his former friends. Thereafter it's a short trip to the Final Sacrifice, where Fiona initiates Robert into the coven by letting him do her on the altar (a fair trade, imo), then takes on the Evil Priest before they all hold Carol down for similar treatment and sacrifice. Completely overpowered by the cult and with no savior to be seen, it looks like Carol is doomed...

"That's Fred, Sheryl, Bobby, Johnson...and of course you know our accountant Maury."

In the excellent book Immoral Tales, authors Cathal Tohill and Pete Tombs quote Larraz on the director's opinion of Black Candles: "I don't like that film. That film made a lot of money...No one in that film could act. So what do you do with them? You put them in bed and have them jump on each other!" And that's bad because...? Still, from a serious artistic point of view, you can't really argue the point. The movie suffers from nonsensical plotting, bad dialogue made worse by the usual atrocious dubbing, and a cop-out ending of the sort that usually infuriates me. And to Larraz's point, the acting across the board is pretty bad, except perhaps in the case of Helga Liné, who is a fine actress in my humble and does what she can with an underwritten role.

That said, for fans of the more outrageous end of the Eurotrash sexploitation spectrum, Black Candles more than delivers the goods. The movie is jam packed with sex, most of it about as explicit as a softcore movie can get. (Though for what it's worth, the goat sex scene is pretty tastefully done.) In addition to the bestiality and backdoor forcing, Larraz betrays a real oral fixation here, with Fiona on the giving and receiving end of such on more than one occasion. (Ed. note: zang.) Most of the girls are gorgeous, particularly the young Satantic "vessel" (Lucille Jameson, maybe?) who displays remarkable dedication in a nonspeaking role. It's worth noting that Helga Liné performs several nude scenes, and still looks gorgeous in lingerie, thigh-high boots, and the altogether despite being over fifty years old at the time of filming. However, for the "full-length" shots, as it were, an obvious body double is used.

"Don't mess with me, dear. I crap bigger than you."

 Sex aside, the Satanic Panic elements are handled reasonably well, and the way the whole village from the doctor to the local constable is part of the cult--a cult that kills Carol's brother and absorbs her only other protector into its ranks--really works to generate some suspense for our the hapless damsel in undress. (There are some clear nods to Rosemary's Baby, as contractually required.) I also found the sets and some of the lighting very effective, and for all his sniffery Larraz does manage some stylish shots and compositions. Art will out, one presumes.

In closing, Black Candles is sexy, outre, never boring, and entirely MAD, and for that I can only salute it. Sure it has its shortcomings, but don't we all? 2.25 thumbs. 

Some more photos from Black Candles (1982):

Looks like someone's horny.

Markie Post in an early role.

She'll eat your heart out.

It was the last time Mario agreed to "go first" at Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey.

"Honey, would you still love me if I'd had sex with a convict when I was younger?"
"Why of course, darling!"
"Well...what if I'd banged a goat? Like...yesterday?"

Resuscitate Me

"Relax, baby--I'm a professional."

MORE MADNESS...

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The Mummy's Revenge (1973): or, Never Slip a Mummy the Tongue

It's no secret that Karl Freund's 1932 Universal Monsters classic The Mummy shares a LOT with Tod Browning's triumph of the previous year, Dracula. Boris Karloff's Imhotep/Ardath Bay and Bela Lugosi's vampire count are both creatures of ancient evil who find themselves in modern London, chasing down their reincarnated loves while dealing with the inconvenient intelligence of Edward Van Sloan and the pretty-boy uselessness of David Manners. Except for the opening tomb-crawl and the lack of a bug-eating servant, Imhotep really has more in common with Dracula than with any of the foot-dragging brutes in Universal's string of quality-dwindling sequels.

No stranger to repurposing monster lore to fit his unique cinematic vision, Paul Naschy took a similar tack when scripting his sole excursion into the land of the pharoahs, 1973's The Mummy's Revenge (La Venganza de la Momia), paying attention to his character's Egypt-specific lore while also infusing him with the characteristics of other cinematic monsters. And since the well-established Naschy Monster Mantra is always "MORE IS MORE IS MORE," he didn't stop with Dracula--he used elements of no less than five classic monsters together with one of his own most celebrated characters to create a Fusion Mummy that is pretty much unlike any other.

Shortness of breath was the Ceremonial Corset's main drawback.

We open in the court of Amenhotep (you see what he did there?), a brutal despot from a forgotten dynasty. From a portentious voice-over we learn that the Pharoah (Naschy, of course) and his wicked consort Amara (Rina Ottolina) rule over Egypt with extreme cruelty: "Amenhotep murdered beautiful young women, satiating his shameful, repugnant appetites!" Like you do. Of course we get to see a few of these unfortunate nubiles strung up in chains (CHAINS!) in the Pharoah's court and sacrificed in various ways. Later we learn that far from being the jaded entertainments of an all-powerful emperor, the sacrifices have a far more sinister purpose:

"Amenhotep, monstrous pharoah of Egypt, wrought the most horrendous tragedies on its people, making an alliance with the forty-two evil spirits of the unknown...Employing them for his own despicable crimes, drinking the blood of virgins and eating the flesh of his fellow man at diabolical banquets, he honored these same renegade spirits..."

If all that blood-drinking and flesh-eating sounds familiar, it should...but we'll get to that in a minute. For now the important thing is that the High Priest of Amen-Ra (who looks disturbingly like a slightly made-up Sir Ben Kingsley), spurred to action by the King's atrocities and the people's suffering, has Armana stabbed and slips Amenhotep a paralyzing poison before cursing him to the anceint Egyptian's worst fear: denied entrance to the world of the dead, Amenhotep is doomed to eternal life in his earthly form. Unbowed, the paralyzed king swears his descendants will carry out his will and bring him back for his revenge. Not exactly cursed from the pyre, but the same principle, obviously.

"I'll give you 15 for the grapefruits. How much for the dildo?"

Time passes. Eventually the tomb is discovered by a team of American archaeologists financed by the British Museum of Natural History, Stock Footage Wing, including repeat Naschy collaborators Jack Taylor (Dr. Jekyll and the Wolf Man) and María Silva (Curse of the Devil). Wearing enough eye-liner to make Ozzy Osbourne blink twice, Taylor quickly transports the golden Paulcophagus and accompanying hieroglyphic scroll back to London for further study. At a dinner party hosted by wheelchair-bound Dr. Landsbury and his young daughter Elena (Ottolina again--you see where this is going), Taylor spills the beans on their important find while Egyptian professor Assad Bay (Naschy again) listens with keen interest.

Of course unbeknownst to his colleagues, Bay is a direct descendant of Amenhotep, and with the help of his eeevil and completely SMOKIN' HAWT lady-friend Zenifer (ice-queen extraordinaire Helga Liné) plans to resurrect his forebear in exchange for the limitless power and immortality Amenhotep will doubtless grant him. And how will they accomplish this dastardly feat? By sacrificing seven virgins to the 42 Unknown Evil spirits, mixing their blood with crushed tana leaf tea, and feeding it to the Pharoah's mouldering corpse.

Of course seasoned Jacinto-philes will recall that Paul and Helga had teamed up memorably just a couple of years earlier in the classic Horror Rises from the Tomb as blood-drinking, flesh-eating eeevil aristocrat Alaric de Marngac and his lover Mabille, who likewise needed the blood of seven innocents in order to regain their diabolical powers after centuries of living death. Yes, de Marngac is the Dracula to Naschy's Mummy, right down to Paul's dual role as both the evil ancestor and his modern-day descendant.

Helga: a Perfect 10

Derivative? Maybe, but if you're a fan of the earlier film you won't scoff at the opportunity to see one of the greatest evil couples in cinematic history at it again, and Osiris be praised, Naschy and Liné are more than up to the task. It's not long before the pair have chained and tortured three finishing-school girls to get enough blood to jump-start the mummy. Soon the ceremony is complete (worth the price of admission for Helga's OMG HAWT Egyptian Nymphet garb, complete with headdress, Bo Derek-style braids, and a midriff-baring top displaying her frankly STUNNING navel in all its glory), and the corpse of Amenhotep walks among the living again.

The Pharoah has lost none of his beefiness despite 3000 years in the grave, and Paul wastes no time letting his audience know this is NOT your grandfather's lumbering pile of bandages. Neither slow-moving like Kharis nor shying away from human contact like Karloff's wrinkled spectre, the risen Amenhotep stalks through the museum, crushing a guard's head like a melon before heading out into the London fog to seek a proper body to house the spirit of Amarna--because like Alaric de Marngac, his first order of post-resurrection bidness is to reincarnate his WOMAN.

It's here that Naschy really fires up the stove for some fusion-cookin', as Amenhotep goes on a KILL-CRAZY RAMPAGE throughout London in search of the remaining virgins he needs to solidify his powers and raise Amarna from the dead. First he spies on a honeymooning couple through the window of their cottage, watching the girl undress before eschewing stealth completely to BURST THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR DANINSKY-STYLE, grab the flummoxed groom by the throat, and splatter his brains against the wall with a mighty flex of his dessicated triceps! After delivering this first virgin back to the temple, Amenhotep creeps through the foggy moors of Hyde Park, stalking another victim and again acting like some kind of awesome Werewolf/Mummy hybrid.

That's going to leave la marca.

But that's not all--next we see him walking nonchalantly by the Thames, scaring the bejeezus out of a London streetwalker (Jack the Ripper), leading two Bobbys on a merry chase through the fog-shrouded streets (Mr. Hyde), and descending into the shadowy sewers beneath the city where the feeble police are no match for his cunning and strength (Phantom of the Opera). Later Amenhotep somehow finds his way to some stables where he surprises a young couple in flagrante de hayloft, tantalizing with the possibility of an upper-story Mummy LEAP ATTACK but opting instead for a pitchfork spear to the young lover's gut. Why he kidnaps this obviously un-virginized chick is unclear; obviously this is a mummy who lives by his own rules.

Relations get strained between the Pharoah and his mortal servants. Inspecting the bodies Assad and Zenifer have procured on their own, Amenhotep expresses his displeasure by crushing each corpse's head like a cherry cordial, giving us several shots of pulped heads (complete with jutting teeth and what looks like actual sheep's eyes) that are miles above any of the other gore fx in the flick. When Zenifer starts planting the seeds of doubt about the Pharoah's good intentions toward them, Assad must choose whether to serve his master or stick with his girl.

Naschy's Buffet Du Babes

Of course Jack Taylor and his girlfriend soon get suspicious of Assad Bay, thinking he's faking the mummy attacks in order to revenge the looting of his country's tombs. Their investigation leads them further and further into danger; meanwhile, Amenhotep discovers Amarna's spitting image in young Elena, and so kills her father and one of the old man's servants (with a museum-quality pole-axe!) in order to get her in his rotting clutches. This leads to a scene in which it is strongly implied that Elena, hypnotized in her bedroom by the charismatic corpse, engages in a little between-the-sheets necro-boogie with her past-life love. How often does a movie mummy get laid? About as often as a hunchback, I'd wager.

Kiss of the Mummy

There are a lot of not terribly sensical but nontheless entertaining scenes scattered throughout the last half of the movie, including Elena's guilt over her father's paralysis, a few shifty-eyed corpses, dandyish footman livery, Taylor's investigation interrupted by a tree being struck by lightning, the wimpy archaelogist somehow employing a grappling hook to get himself and his girlfriend into Naschy's abode, Amenhotep shaking off bullets to the chest, arms, and face, and in the most unrealistic scene in the flick, Jack Taylor besting Naschy in a fist-fight. Which took me right out of the movie, I have to say--I can buy all the rest, but that shit would just NOT HAPPEN.

It all leads to a confrontation in the temple during the final ceremony that is typical Naschy excess (read: excellent) complete with a telegraphed face-turn, liberal use of a weaponized hanging kettle (aka HOT SOUP WRECKING BALL!), and the deployment of every mummy's kryptonite--a burning torch--leading to the expected fiery cataclysm.

Amenhotep wonders whether he remembered to put the jackal out before locking up 3000 years ago.

The Mummy's Revenge has only been released once or twice in the US, on videotape, and according to the indespensible Mark of Naschy website, neither version is the true "hard" export version--you can tell there are several places where sex and gore scenes have been cut, and what's left is so suggestive you can't help but wish for that uncut print to turn up. (Don't hold your breath, though--the website further states "This 'hard' version is so elusive and sought-after that even Naschy himself has hunted for it.") As usual director Carlos Aured captures many effective compositions, with the opening Egyptian scenes and the atmospheric shots in the museum being standouts. And Naschy's script--well, MORE IS MORE IS MORE.

As for the acting, Naschy is in top form as usual, both as the modern day schemer Assad Bay and in the Kharis-style zip-up bandage suit as Amenhotep. His take on the Mummy as less a heartbroken romantic who risked his soul and lost it for love, and more a force of sadistic, sexually perverse evil steeped in the powers of the occult, is one I hadn't seen before, and a refreshing change. (However, the Pharoah's English dub voice here--all gruff and cartoon-villany--is unfortunate.) Liné is Naschy's perfect match as usual, cold and calculating, seductive and dangerous, elegant and ruthless. And enough cannot be said about the way she wears that Egyptian outfit. ZIGGITY ZANG. As for the rest, Taylor is wooden and stern as usual, and the remaining cast members perform their roles without distinction.

I'LL BE IN MY BUNK.

It may be true that I never saw a Naschy film I didn't like, but The Mummy's Revenge really brings the gravy. Fusion-monsters, self-referentiality, implied perversity and periodic flashes of disturbing gore, and a total WTF ending, all tied up with typically Naschyan plot developments and Helga Liné's navel to boot? What's not to like?

As if there were any doubt: 3+ thumbs. You can find this movie at various places on the internet, though sadly not on any official DVD release yet. Sacrifice a few virgins to Amen-Ra and see if we can change that, m'kay?

It's Good to Be the King

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The Dracula Saga (1972): or, Keep It in the Family

Every day, in every way, I find new reasons to thank God for that fateful afternoon I found a $1 copy of Paul Naschy's Vengeance of the Zombies in the Halloween bin at my local discount store. Not only did that purchase introduce me to the fantastic, uplifting, and life-affirming movies of Jacinto "Mighty Mighty" Molina--his legendary cursed nobleman Waldemar Daninksy, his evil-to-the-core sorcerer-knight Alaric de Marnac, and the rest of his unique, awe-inspiring filmography--it has since helped open my eyes to whole realms of the fantastique that otherwise might have remained dark to me. That seemingly chance discovery many Octobers ago has changed my life, and awakened me to pleasures that have enriched my experience of mad mad mad mad movies in ways I cannot even begin to catalogue properly.

That movie also introduced me to the cinematic vision of Argentina-born director León Klimovsky, who helmed not only VotZ but also collaborated with Naschy on Dr. Jekyll and the Werewolf, The Devil's Possessed, A Dragonfly for Each Corpse, and all-time Vicar-fave The Werewolf versus the Vampire Women. With a true painter's eye for eerie, effective compositions and striking supernatural imagery, Klimovsky helped shape the Naschy legacy and doubtless influenced Molina's own directorial style when he finally stepped behind the camera himself.

But of course Naschy made movies without Klimovsky, and so did Klimovsky without Naschy--and if his 1972 spooky vampire tale The Dracula Saga (released in the US this year by Deimos DVD, which has also been putting out excellent editions of many of Naschy's great films) is representative of the rest of his body of work, he is a director whose name every fan of horror, the fantastique, and the MAD should hold in even higher reverence.

We open with some very stylish titles--black background marred by a splash of brilliant red blood, growing larger with each subsequent drip. Simple, classic, beautiful. Count Dracula himself speaks to us in voice-over, recalling a time when the Dracula family was all but extinct. Fearing an end of the aristocratic bloodline, the Count's great-grandfather (the previous Count Dracula) sends for his newly married and 5-months-knocked-up granddaughter Berta and her skinny blond slip of a husband Hans to visit the castle where Berta grew up and, he hopes, stay long enough to drop an heir to the Dracula line.

On the coach ride to Bistritz, Berta is plagued by horrible, wonderful nightmares. Shot through what looks like one of those marbled glass mirrors your grandma had in the 70s, the visions find Berta running through an abandoned, sunlit house, in a seemingly endless Hall of Doors. Every now and then she opens a door to find a hideous, hissing Man-Bat creature waiting for her! The freakiness of which is not to be understated. She awakens with a start in Hans's spindly arms, only to find that the horses have been spooked by something and refuse to go any closer to the Borgho Pass. However, the feisty coachman offers to walk with them the mile or so into the village, carrying their bags himself, since obviously neither Berta nor Hans has the physical strength to manage it.

The Man(bat) of Her Dreams

In the village we get the requisite superstitious townspeople, including a long-haired hunchback type who regales the travellers with tales of lamias in the woods and an abandoned churchyard fifteen leagues distant whose eerie bell can be still be heard, rung by no human hand. "The cemetery of Vlad Tepes," he warns them, "is inhabited only by the dead!" Well, duh. Despite the nice, creepy warning, the travelers decide to continue on foot to their final destination.

Soon they're off traipsing through the creepy woods, and a soundtrack blast of that famous sampled wolf howl tells us that something evil's afoot. (At least we can infer the creepiness from the soundtrack--the pristine digital print Deimos has given us, while it gives us some truly gorgeous colors and creepy contrasts later, certainly doesn't do the day-for-night cinematography any favors.) Sure enough the pair soon stumble over the body of a peasant girl--topless, with tell-tale fang marks not only in her neck, but on her exposed boobs! The girl is not dead, however--she gets up and takes a few steps before collapsing from loss of blood. Somehow Hans and Berta get her back to the village.

The villagers are a colorful lot--we have the gruff superstitious innkeeper, the wanton one-eyed drunken gadabout who finds every horrible thing extremely hilarious, the inquisitive doctor/investigator who also happens to be crippled for some reason, and the more-than-slightly manic village preacher, who opines that the girl (now stretched out on a table in the pub for examination) "provoked wickedness" with her looks and got the wages of her sin. "There on the table you see LUST stretched out!" he cries, a little too enthusiastically IYKWIM. The innkeeper's wife gives Berta some info on her family history, none of it good, and a previously bitten barmaid puts the moves on Hans, only to be REJECTED but later taken up on her offer by a mysterious cloaked figure in her room (to whom she bares her breasts Hulkamania-style...zang).

Girls Cant Resist the Pop-Collar Look

Berta, meanwhile, is having more awesome dreams, this time involving an old woman in a black choker who really loses her head if people mess with her jewelry (an old story, and creepily well-done here). In the morning a suave stranger named Gabor, a servant of the Count, has come to bring them to the castle at last. Gabor is a real pleasure to watch, an understated Renfield character with young Oliver Reed-handsomeness and crazy eyes second to none--well, maybe one. His oily smiles and strange nonchalance--as when Berta discovers what appear to be the graves of her grandfather and cousins in the family crypt, despite having been told they were all waiting for her at the castle, and Gabor laughs manically and sighs, "Oh, don't let it worry you." Seriously, some people are just so uptight.

Hans and Berta are forced to eat lunch alone when none of their hosts show up, and they help themselves to a cold dinner of nearly-raw meat and Chateau du Temprapaint wine that Hans pronounces "horrible!" and yet continues to drink; Berta wisely abstains. After dinner Hans notices a portrait of a regal, commanding, beautiful woman whom Berta doesn't recognize--and who we later learn is the count's new wife. Hans quickly becomes hypnotized by it--and since the countess is played by Eurobeauty Helga Liné (Naschy's gorgeously icy partner in evil from Horror Rises from the Tomb), well, no fucking wonder.

A couple of things worth noting at this point. First of all, it appears that Klimovsky is playing around a little with some visual experiments, much as he pioneered the creepy and effective slow-motion vampire sequences in WWvVW. For scenes inside the castle, for instance, there often seems to be a gauzy fabric or something over the lens, lending a dreamlike, almost "canvas" quality to the visuals. I'm not sure how effective it is (at first I thought it might be a flaw in the transfer, or something wrong with my TV), but it is interesting. Also, Berta's history with the family is a bit confusing, since apparently she grew up at the castle, had her two female cousins for playmates, and remembers her grandfather fondly and without a hint as to his vampirism. It's implied that perhaps Helga brought the curse with her, as one might easily believe--her character exudes evil commanding sexuality in every frame--but since grandpa's name on his tombstone reads "Ivor Vlad Tepes"--well, you can't help but wonder.

"Well, I don't eat flies, IYKWIM..."

Be that as it may, when dinner time rolls around Gabor announces that the family is ready to receive them now, presumably since the sun has set. Everyone is there: the Count himself (played wonderfully weary and aristocratic by Narciso Ibáñez Menta), the new countess Munia (Liné), and Berta's beautiful young cousins, one of whom is played by another HRftT alumnus, Cristina Suriani (the painter's blonde girlfriend from that earlier film). The makeup on the vampire family is GREAT, it has to be said, especially on the Count and the Countess--unnatural, otherworldly pale skin and glittering eyes. (The Count explains they suffer a "family illness" that causes the odd skin tone.) Despite the Count's aristocratic bearing, Munia is obviously in charge of things here, turning her cold, commanding gaze on Hans with a seductive, hungry look.

From here things really pick up, with lots of wonderful, creepy set-pieces and plenty of gorgeous Euroflesh on display. We soon learn that the Count hopes Berta's son will be the healthy, vibrant shot of fresh blood needed to keep the Dracula line going, since the only remaining heir is an inhuman monster--"The result of the excesses and degradations of my anscestors!" the Count explains--they keep locked in the attic and periodically feed a villager or errant gypsy girl to. (The makeup on this creature is truly nightmarish and unsettling, and unless I miss my guess must have influenced some of Guillermo Del Toro's fantastical creations in Pan's Labyrinth.) Helga Liné seduces Hans with a vampire dance of love that really made me want to go stake someone IYKWIMAITYD, while the undead family watches pervily from the shadows. Won over to the dark side, Hans tries to inject Berta with his vampire love, but is denied to the tune of two vicious stab wounds and the old "It's not me, it's YOU" breakup speech.

Unable to seduce her to vampirism, the Dracula clan inistead locks Berta in the house and reduces her to a human incubator, waiting patiently for the new heir to be born. In the meantime she starts going a little crazy, wandering the halls of doors during the daytime (just like in the dream!) and chewing on her hair while subject to disturbing abdominal pains ("Don't you understand?" Dracula intones, "She's being eaten from the inside!"). Meanwhile the cousins find the Pervy Preacher walking in the woods and have their wicked way with him (after getting their kits off--double-zang), and two amorous yet still dirty, thieving gypsies break into the castle and get screaming death for their trouble (one at the hands of the Last Son of the Dracula Klan, the other in an amazing head-knocking fall down a spiral staircase). Finally the baby is born, apparently dead, leading Berta to off Gabor Scatman Crothers-style and hobble down to the crypt to finish things off for good and all. It's tied up with an amazing and off-putting final image that I wager will stick with you long after the credits roll.

"That's all, folks!"

Enough cannot be said about the visual style of León Klimovsky--this is just a beautiful film to look at, from the bright and wonderful castle sets to the cramped and darkened dungeons and pub. The haunting look of the vampire family, the wild creature design of the Last In Line, the dream sequences, the seductive walking dead, the almost-okay-definitely-too-much red of the family's special "wine"--all work together to create a near-fairy tale ambiance that permeates the whole film. The Deimos print brings all this out wonderfully, with the exception perhaps of the too-bright day-for-night scenes, but hey, this is the 70s--whatchagonnado?

Performance wise, Tina Sáinz as Berta starts out the flat, two-dimensional damsel in distress, but actually pulls out a good "crazy prisoner" turn near the end that I found effective and surprising. Menta as Count Dracula is the picture of world-weary aristocracy, and a scene where he creeps into Berta's bedroom (presumably to feed) starts out feeling pervy and wrong but thanks to his bravura acting turns into a touching, poignant expression of lost nobility, as he finally decides not to take his grandaughter's blood.

She can neck with me any time.

But the star of the show for me is Helga Liné, who just absolutely OWNS every moment of screentime she gets. Having only seen her in concert with Naschy before, perhaps I felt that some of her lustre was due to the reflected glory of Jacinto. Here she proves this is not so--she's regal, beautiful, and dangerous, a screen villainess definitely NOT to be trifled with. And her seduction scene with Hans--WOW. ZANG. ZANGWOW.

It's not a perfect film--the experimental gauze filter (if that's indeed what it is) is interesting, but often more distracting than effective. And some of the performances--I'm lookin' at YOU, Hans--leave a bit to be desired. Still, for fans of the fantastique who'd like to see an interesting variation on the Dracula story with added helpings of monsters and Euroflesh, this is one you should seek out. 2.75 Thumbs. And here's hoping we get to see more of Klimovsky's work stateside in the near future.

OBEY!

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Horror Rises from the Tomb (1972): or, How to Get A Head in Life

If you've been paying attention at all, then you know the undying and slightly disturbing passion that the Duke and I have for the movies of Paul Naschy, the charismatic and tireless actor/writer/director born Jacinto Molina and called "The Lon Chaney of Spain." His Waldemar Daninsky Werewolf saga is rightly hailed as one of the most entertaining series of films in the Mad Mad Mad Mad Movie canon, and anyone who loves both the ridiculous and the sublime has no reason not to be a full-fledged Naschy fanatic. The character of Waldemar Daninsky--a good man cursed with both La Marca del Hombre-Lobo and sexual irresistability to women--is one of the most admirable tragic heroes in movies, for my money.

But Jacinto is not without his dark side, oh no. It's not all tragic curses and noble quests against villainous vampire women and witches. In 1972's Horror Rises from the Tomb, Naschy shows us his dark side and then some, but without sacrificing the outrageousness and fun that are his trademark.

In Horror Rises from the Tomb we witness the origin of Alaric de Marnac: the vile, Satan-worshipping, witchcraft-practicing, blood-drinking, flesh-eating, knight-killing, baby-sacrificing, booty-slapping MACHINE that Naschy created as the dark yin to Waldemar Daninsky's formidable yang. Everything that makes Daninsky so great and tragic--his nobility, his kindness, his emotional depth, his cursed remorse--finds its opposite in de Marnac. In fact the only things de Marnac and Daninsky share is the incredible and irresistible manliness that any character played by Paul Naschy must indeed possess. That, and the fact that the babes just can't stay away.

We open the movie, as we so often do, with a procession of armored knights on horseback, as seen through a close of bushes and tree branches. It is winter, and the plants have lost their leaves, giving us a better view through their barren, bone-like limbs. In the rear of the procession is an ox-drawn cart containing the shackled magnificence of the Nasch. His glower, glare, and maleficent defiance of his captors is chilling, even from our hiding spot in the bushes. It makes the viewer glad he's chained, though still a little nervous, for what shackles could possibly contain such evil?

They're on their way to the Hangin' Tree, where a sentence of death against de Marnac and his partner in crime Mabille is about to be carried out. The reading of the charges is just fantastic, as all those I listed above and more are trotted out--what a laundry-list of crimes!-- while de Marnac sneers pridefully at his "accomplishments." Of course before they get around to carrying out the sentence the foolish kniggits give the unrepentant warlock a chance to spew a vitriolic curse at them, their anscestors, and his own twin brother, who grins down from one of the horses, scarred on one side of his face. This is reminiscent of the brothers from Vengeance of the Zombies, except in this case the scarred one is not the villain (though to be fair, we've nothing to convince us the brother isn't ALSO a bastard). Alas, that's all we'll see of the Marnac twin, as Jacinto probably rightly concluded that 3 Naschys in one film was just too much for the world to bear.

"That's right. I ate a baby. Want to make something of it?"

The whole execution scene is very well-executed (ha!) as de Marnac is beheaded and we get to see a particularly nice head-roll using one of the better prosthetic heads I've seen in movies of this era. Then they strip Mabille buck nekkid and hang her upside down from the tree, tarot-card style, to whip and torture her a bit before her own execution. Of course this allows HER to spew curses for a good five minutes as well. You'd think the inquisitor would say, "Hey! Somebody shut her up, for God's sake!" But they just never learn.

After some great organ music over low-rent opening credits, we flash forward to modern day Paris, or at least stock-footage thereof. In what is undoubtedly the same office used by the doctor in the sequel Panic Beats (watch for a future review!), a painter is working on his latest creation. He is interrupted by a friend, the beefy and swaggering Jacinto Molina himself, who invites him out to drinks. When the arrive at the drinkin' place the painter is reunited with his old flame, and immediately (I mean IMMEDIATELY) tries to suck her ribs up her neck. Get a room, you two! In the intro scene we learn that Paul is a witty but womanizing cad--a really great role for him.

On a lark they go to a seance (always a good idea), where the spirit of Alaric de Marnac is summoned and tells them the location of his and Mabille's tombs on Paul's ancestral estate. Of course that sort of thing can't go uninvestigated, so the friends agree to take a long weekend to check it out.

The seance scene is GREAT, lots of good camera angles and trickery, and some fine acting by the medium and Paul as the spirit of evil. Later, back in his studio, the painter starts working in a hypnotic frenzy, unaware of what he's painting until he stops to see it's a headless body holding the bloody head of de Marnac in its fist. In a truly creepy moment, Alaric appears as a floating head above the painting, dripping blood onto the picture and laughing evilly. Of course the painter dismisses it all as a dream, and tells no one.

Let's not get ahead of ourselves.

On the road to Paul's estate, the friends are waylaid by highwaymen, naturally.* The painter proves himself useless in a scrap, but Paul kicks enough ass for the both of them. Just as he's got things under control, a mob of villagers shows up and summarily executes one of the robbers with a shotgun! This is really a showstopper sequence, as Paul and Co. negotiate renting a car with the head villager while the rest of the posse goes about getting ready to hang the other robber, and another takes the fallen criminal's ear as a souvenir for his girlfriend! A more sadistic mob you will not see in the annals of cinema.

* (The attack by highwaymen is a recurring motif in Naschy's films, and one wonders whether some event in his past led him to keep revisiting it in film after film. Sadly no mention of it is made in his excellent autobiography, Memoirs of a Wolf Man, leaving Naschy scholars to guess and conjecture.)

From there things play out predictably but satsfyingly. They arrive at the estate and quickly find the remains of de Marnac and Mabille. Just as quickly one of the villagers is enslaved by black magic and brings both evildoers back to life, so they can rise horrifically from the tomb. Another great scene ensues as they take de Marnac's disembodied head and reattach it to his body--a recapitation, if you will--again, with some of the best use of a prosthetic head I've seen, cutting it back and forth with the real head of Naschy almost seamlessly. They sacrifice a Eurobabe to bring Mabille back in a fantastic and chilling ritual, and then Mabille and Alaric go on a romp for 7 full moons, seducing and murdering villagers and being as evil as possible until the painter and Paul discover the amulet of Thor's Hammers (?) that is needed to overcome the black magic of de Marnac. But will they prevail?

I loved this movie, of course. Paul's look is great throughout as de Marnac--very pale skin and dark stylized evil beard, with his crazy eyes workin' overtime. There's plenty of Euroflesh on display too, and one scene where de Marnac disrobes that will have you aghast and Paul's washerboard-style abs, not to mention the Hairy Pecs of Doom. The gore is great as well, with beheadings, lashings, slashings, and more than one chest-ripping heart-extraction. There's even a chilling zombie attack late in the movie, as de Marnac's victims now serve his evil wishes.

"Hi, we're lost. Can you tell us how to get to Manchester?"

There are some great shots as always from director Carlos Aured, including a beautiful death scene with bright red blood flowing down a bank into a running stream. Add some real sadism and preversity going on and it's enough to keep any fan happy.

But what's really great is the way that you're never sure who the protagonist is--for a while it's the painter, then Paul, then the daughter of the caretaker of the estate, then the painter again, until you really don't know who to follow. Several scenes where you are conditioned to expect a rescue (one of the main chicks is captured by the witches and held for quite a while in preparation for a Black Mass), let's just say you don't get what you are led to expect. Evil triumphs when you expect good to intervene, and keeps you guessing as to what exactly will transpire. The disorientation is delicious, and one of the best things about the flick.

Other good things:

Best Use of Nightgown in the Movie: the obligatory nighttime walk through the castle, with see-thru nightie over black undies. Zang!
Undeniable sign you're watching a 70s Euro Horror flick: a grief stricken teen wears a miniskirt to her father's funeral. I LOVE EUROPE!

So another Mmmmmasterpiece from the filmography of Paul Naschy. DeimosDVD has put out a fantastic special edition (with commentary from the Man Himself!), and it should really be on every horror fan's shelf. 6 thumbs, easily. Surrender to de Marnac, and may God have mercy on us all!

Can't sleep. Paul will eat me.

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