THE DEMONS (1973)

Jess Franco, 1973

Starring: Britt Nichols, Anne Libert, Howard Vernon, Karin Field

Redemption and Images’ latest Blu-ray release, Les demons aka The Demons (1973), is a welcome addition to their growing catalog of Jess Franco films, which include Nightmares Come at Night, The Awful Dr. Orloff, A Virgin Among the Living Dead, and more. Though it is one of the late, beloved Spanish director’s more obscure entries, The Demons is a welcome addition to any Franco fan’s collection, as it finally presents the complete, uncensored version of the film for the first time in the U.S.

The film opens with the torture of a witch, who is later burned at the stake and curses those responsible for her demise. The plot is convoluted, but it focuses on two orphaned sisters, now adults living in a convent. The blonde and innocent Margaret (Britt Nichols) disapproves of her sister Kathleen (Anne Libert), who masturbates and has sex dreams. A local aristocrat, the Lady De Winter (Karin Field) convinces the convent that Kathleen is a witch and is possessed by the Devil. As such, she must torture her for her confession with the help of her right-hand man, Thomas Renfield (Alberto Dalbés). Renfield quickly falls in love with Kathleen and allows her to escape. Enraged, Lady De Winter insists that Inquisitor Lord Justice Jeffreys ( Cihangir Gaffari) punish Renfield, but he gives the man a chance to bring Kathleen back. Instead, he runs off with Kathleen and the two are eventually caught, imprisoned, and nearly tortured to death.

It turns out that the two girls are the daughters of the witch burned at the stake years ago. The innocent Margaret is visited by the Devil while still in the convent and is raped by him. Now possessed by his diabolical will, she is determined to get revenge on anyone who has punished her sister or mother. She pays a visit to the home of Lady De Winter and quickly worms her way into the Lady’s good graces, which kicks off an orgy of sex and death.

While Franco may have been riding the coattails of Ken Russell’s masterpiece The Devils, The Demons is fortunately not a direct rip off of that film. Early on, it seems like it’s going to be a fairly straightforward nunsploitation film, but dramatically veers from that path into more traditional witch-hunting territory with torture, exploitation, political machinations, and plenty of sex. It actually pairs up more closely with films like Witchfinder General, Franco’s The Bloody Judge, and Mark of the Devil. The Devils notwithstanding, this is probably the most erotic witch-hunting film of the period and puts far more of an emphasis on sex than it does on violence.

As with many of Franco’s other films, there is also a nod to his love of the female revenge film. As with She Killed in Ecstasy, Venus in Furs, and many others, Margaret spends much of the film seducing and then killing anyone she plans to get revenge on, including Lady De Winter. In a somewhat bizarre move, she kills them and then plants a supernatural kiss, so that her victims smoke and dissolve to just a skeleton. Franco never bothers explaining this.

Admittedly, this does have much more of a straightforward plot than a lot of Franco’s other films from the same period with far fewer nonsequitors in the plot. There is an excessive amount of soft-core sex and female masturbation scenes that seem to go on forever, not necessarily helped by the constant use of the zoom lens. As far as gore or violence, the torture scenes are pretty lackluster. The majority of the effects go towards Margaret’s supernatural kisses, which are seemingly thrown in for good measure

This is a period piece really at face value only. The historical accuracy is laughable, particularly where the costumes are concerned. There’s a dash of political intrigue that focuses on William of Orange’s rebellion and subsequent British invasion, but this gets little more than a mention. The real strength of this production is in the acting. Franco regular Anne Libert (A Virgin Among the Living Dead) is lovely as the wanton Kathleen, though she is quickly overshadowed by the incredibly sexy Britt Nichols (The Erotic Rites of Frankenstein), who costars as her murderous sister. Karin Field (The Mad Butcher, Web of the Spider) is lovely and gleefully malevolent as the sadistic Lady De Winter, one of the film’s most compelling characters.

The strong and interesting roles essentially all went to the female characters. Franco regular Howard Vernon (Zombie Lake, Bob le Flambeur) is delightful in a small role, though both he and Cihangir Gaffari (Bloodsport) as the handsome, though callous Inquisitor are essentially wasted. Other Franco regular Luis Barboo (Conan the Barbarian, The Case of the Scorpion’s Tale) and Alberto Dalbés (A Quiet Place to Kill, Cut-Throats Nine) also put in nice performances.

Redemption’s latest Jess Franco release is certainly a more obscure entry, but it looks fantastic. The 1080p HD transfer with as aspect ratio of 2.25:1 is one of Franco’s cleanest looking prints and was transferred from the original 35mm negative. It has certainly aged better than recent releases like Nightmares Come at Night, and suffers from none of the age damage and speckling present in some of his other films from the period. The only real flaw is that the print can occasionally look soft and a bit fuzzy, but I think is more an issue with the cinematography than with the transfer.

The linear PCM 2.0 audio track sounds decent with clear audio and effects, though it is a little underwhelming. The inclusion of the original French audio track is certainly a bonus. There are optional English subtitles included, as well as a German language track. One way Franco’s stamp found its way into the film is with the wild, jazzy soundtrack, with prog rock stylings totally out of place in a medieval period piece. Composed by Jean-Berbard Raiteux (Diary of a Nymphomaniac), there are some frenzied bongos during the sex and masturbation scenes that make it clear this is most definitely a Franco film.

There aren’t an abundance of extras with this release, but Redemption did provide a nice, 16-minute interview with Jess Franco, some deleted scenes, and a handful of trailers. It really would have been nice to have a commentary track, particularly one placing this film both within the witch-hunting and nunsploitation subgenres that were so popular during this ‘70s.

Perhaps because it is one of the most atypical Jess Franco films of the ‘70s, The Demons will likely appeal to a fairly wide range of horror fans. Though this lacks the more surreal, nonsensical, and dreamlike elements of films like A Virgin Among the Living Dead and Nightmares Come at Night, it is a must-see for Franco fans. Anyone interested in witch-hunting films and nunsploitation will also find a lot to love. The film’s arrival on Blu-ray uncut and with the original French language track more than makes up for a lack of special features, and the release comes recommended. Hopefully Redemption and Image will keep up the good work and continue moving through Franco’s catalogue. 

WHO CAN KILL A CHILD? aka ¿QUIÉN PUEDE MATAR A UN NIÑO?

Narciso Ibáñez Serrador, 1976

Starring: Lewis Flander, Prunella Randsome, Antonio Iranzo, Maria Luisa Arias

The film opens with a series of documentary clips showing the fate of the world’s children from WWII through the wars and disasters of the early ‘70s, including starvation in famines, abuse, death, medical experimentation in the concentration camps, and more. This cuts to the Spanish coast, where Tom and Evelyn, an English couple, are vacationing. Tom speaks some Spanish and is hoping to visit a remote, serene island he was on some years ago. Evelyn is pregnant, but they make the trip by borrowing a small boat from the area postman. Though picturesque, the island at first appears to be abandoned, though they soon spot children playing in the streets.

No adults are anywhere to be found, though Tom and Evelyn attempt to enjoy their day anyway. Abruptly, they come across a little girl beating an old man to death with his cane and everything begins to unravel. It seems the children of the island are playing a very violent, fatal game with the area adults, and Tom and Evelyn are caught up in the middle. Will they go so far as to kill a child in order to escape?

Based on a novel by Juan José Plans – El juego de los niños, The Children’s Game – this is one of the bleakest, most underrated films in all of Spanish horror. You need to prepare yourself from the very beginning, because the film is set up with a series of some very graphic, mondo-style clips of children during wartime – WWII, concentration camps, the Korean War, Vietnam, famines in Africa, etc. It’s extremely grim and unpleasant, but this should give you a sense of what’s to come. It also presents a loose explanation for the children’s later actions.

The children here are thoroughly unlike the characters in other kids’ horror, including The Bad Seed, The Omen, Children of the Corn, Village of the Damned, or The Brood. For much of the film, they appear to be normal children, laughing, playing in the sunlight, and acting out some sort of elaborate game. Individually, they are not dangerous, but as an innocuously gathering group, they are terrifying. This, ultimately, is what makes Who Can Kill a Child? disturbing so many years later.

There isn’t a lot of graphic violence in the film. Serrador keeps everything close to his chest, subtle, and effective. In the film’s most brutal scene, where a young girl beats an old man to death with his cane and the children later string him up and hit him like a piñata, much of this is implied or shown briefly. It still packs a powerful punch and is a moment of truly rare horror. Another moment of terror is Evelyn’s pregnancy, which at first endears her to one of the children, but soon becomes an element of unavoidable doom. There is also a touch of murder mystery early on, as a sense of menace is introduced when a young woman’s body washes up on shore in the beginning of the film. The police discuss that she’s been badly stabbed and cut up, but the investigation doesn't go forward after this.

As with the animalsattack films of the ‘60s and ‘70s, Who Can Kill a Child? feels very much like a nature run amok movie in some parts. The children are a swarming, natural force, such as in Day of the Animals, The Birds, The Swarm, Wild Beasts, and many more. They aren’t demonically possessed alien offspring; they are simply normal children who turn against humanity.

Director Serrador previously made an early Spanish horror film, La residencia, an interesting slasher-like movie with a Gothic flair. Waldo de los Rios, who scored that film, returned to work with Serrador on Who Can Kill a Child? and produced a wonderfully creepy score centered on children singing and humming. The cinematography from José Luis Alcaine is stunning and focuses on the lush, scenic Mediterranean shore. Like a handful of other effective horror films from the period – namely The Wicker Man – this is a brightly lit, sunny, daytime horror film. There are no dark corners or menacing shadows, because the threat of violence is right out in the open. Just as the loud, fast-paced village was somewhat anxiety-inducing, the abandoned town is eerie, sinister in its silence. Tom and Evelyn try to keep up a cheery facade as store after store appears abandoned, but the horror quickly sinks in when they receive strange phone calls and are gradually swarmed by the children.

Lewis Fiander (Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde) and Prunella Ransome (Far from the Madding Crowd; boy, what a name) give excellent performances and have comfortable chemistry together. Outside of the mostly anonymous children, they are largely the only actors here, though there’s a nice appearance from Luis Ciges (Horror Rises from the Tomb) as the wary postman who lends them a boat to get to the island.

Who Can Kill a Child? was released under a variety of titles – Island of the Damned to cash in on the Village of the Damned series, Trapped!, Island of Death, Death is Child’s Play, etc. It was impossible to get a hold of for years, but was fortunately released on a good-quality DVD from Dark Sky that comes with the highest recommendation. If you’re going to watch any of the Spanish horror films I've reviewed recently, this should be at the top of your list. It’s a truly excellent film that has managed to stand the test of time. 

LET SLEEPING CORPSES LIE

Jorge Grau, 1974

Starring: Cristina Galbó, Ray Lovelock, Arthur Kennedy

In the English countryside, a young woman, Edna, accidentally hits a motorcycle at a gas station. It belongs to an antique shop-owner named George, and she agrees to drive him to a village near her sister’s home. They get lost on the way and George stops for directions. A strange man nearly attacks Edna, but gets away before George returns. At her sister’s house, they discover that Edna’s brother in law has also been attacked and killed. Local police don’t believe her story about the previous man. The head inspector also doesn’t like the look of George and considers Edna, George, and her heroin-addicted sister to be the main suspects. What they don’t realize is that a local environmental experiment using radiation has caused the dead to rise from the ground and begin feasting on everyone in the area…

Though Let Sleeping Corpses Lie obviously borrows a number of elements from George Romero’s earlier Night of the Living Dead, it is one of the most interesting zombie films of the ‘70s and remains highly underrated. The idea of Mother Nature as a violent aggressor was explored in a number of animals attack films – Day of the Animals, Long Weekend, Grizzly, Wild Beasts, and many more – though most of these were made a few years after Let Sleeping Corpses Lie. Unlike most of these, there’s an eerie, almost supernatural element at work from the beginning of the film, something director Grau largely manages to maintain throughout.

The zombies don’t have a lot of make up or affects added to them. Outside of menacing red eyes, they generally look like dirty homeless people wandering the English countryside to feast on the living. The character that I would call the lead zombie (Fernando Hilbeck from The Possessed) is perhaps the most effective, sneaking up on Edna when she is stranded alone in the car. Overall, the zombies are so effective because of this quality of appearing and disappearing at will, more like ghosts than shuffling, decaying denizens of the undead.

There’s a lovely setting and this is certainly one of the most beautiful, pastoral films of ‘70s Eurohorror. This aspect of it reminded me a little of the country-bound U.S. film Let’s Scare Jessica to Death, and the element of isolation and rural ignorance is a major factor in the film’s effectiveness. The soundscape is wonderful, nearly as fantastic as another Spanish zombie film from the same time, Tombs of the Blind Dead. There are interesting, breathy sound effects used with the zombies and a relatively subdued score.

As with most Spanish horror from this period, there’s an anti-authoritarian streak a mile wide in response to General Franco’s era of fascism. The main antagonist in the film does not actually seem to be the zombies, but rather the hard-headed, authoritarian detective who won’t listen to reason simply because he doesn’t like the look of the protagonists. Played by Arthur Kennedy (Fantastic Voyage), the detective is thoroughly unlikable and forces George and Edna to only rely on each other. Not only do they have to face zombies, but he also makes sure they are pursued as murder suspects. The inspector, thankfully, gets his just desserts during the film’s bleak conclusion.

Like a lot of Eurohorror from the ‘60s and ‘70s, this is a mishmash of locales and financial sources. A Spanish-Italian coproduction, the film was partially shot in Italy, but is set in the English countryside. The English accents, ranging from posh to cockney, are absolutely hilarious. George, in particular, is hard to take seriously, adding “bloody” before everything and sounding a bit stereotypically flamboyant gay man at times.

Despite the dubbing and the fact that this is a ‘70s zombie film, there are some surprisingly solid performances. The lovely Cristina Galbó (What Have They Done to Solange?) is likable as the unfortunately named Edna. She doesn’t have much chemistry with Ray Lovelock (Autopsy) as George, but it’s nearly impossible to get around his British cockney dubbing and sexually ambiguous attitude. The essentially spend the first half of this carefully paced film uncovering a mystery and the horror doesn’t really unveil itself until the second half. Let Sleeping Corpses Lie isn’t particularly heavy on the gore, though there are a handful of scenes with well-done effects. The hospital scene towards the end of the film is one of the goriest sections, including a moment where a woman gets her breasts actually torn off by a zombie.

Let Sleeping Corpses Lie comes recommended – particularly for anyone who enjoys unusual zombie films or atmospheric horror – and is available on two-disc DVD or Blu-ray. Don’t be confused by the plethora of titles, 15 to be exact. The film was also released as Living Dead at Manchester Morgue, Don’t Open the Window, Breakfast at the Manchester Morgue, Weekend with the Dead, and a few other ridiculous titles. 

SPIRIT OF THE BEEHIVE aka EL ESPIRITU DE LA COLMENA

Victor Erice, 1973

Starring: Fernando Fernan Gomez, Teresa Gimpera, Ana Torrent, Isabel Telleria

In rural Spain, during the '40s and after the Spanish civil war, a young girl named Ana catches a traveling cinema showing of Frankenstein with her older sister Isabel. The film sticks in Ana's mind and instead of being terrified by the monster, she is fascinated by him. Her sister plants further seeds in her head by telling her the monster is a spirit that can be summoned. Ana, young as she is, stumbles confusedly between fantasy and reality, particularly because Ana and Isabel’s home life is strained. She finds an injured, escaped prisoner, whom she understands to be the monster. She wordlessly feeds and protects him. Unfortunately, he is captured and shot by the police and when Ana discovers the monster gone and fresh blood on the ground, she runs away in horror…

Spirit of the Beehive is one of those films like Valerie and Her Week of Wonders that is difficult to totally wrap your brain around on the first, second, or possibly even third viewing. It belongs in some obscure group of films that are so magical and dreamlike it would be easy to say – on a superficial level – that nothing really happens. But Beehive does take us on an extensive, frequently painful, emotional journey and, though this is rarely done well on film, captures the experience solely through the eyes of a child. I think it richly deserves to be known as one of the greatest Spanish films of all time and comes highly recommended.

Spirit of the Beehive is a risky film with little action and less dialogue, but somehow it works. Ana's inner world comes rushing forth and when language is used – especially in the second half of the film – it is often a jarring experience that draws her back into normal life. Director Victor Erice also flawlessly incorporates the "film within a film" technique, using the plot of Frankenstein, its monster, dialogue, and many scenes from the film. These scenes help to create a lingering, pervasive air of dread and dissatisfaction in the film. Though we only see brief moments of Ana’s parents' lives, they seem to sadly or angrily go through a mundane daily routine, their passions and lives permanently crippled by the previous civil war. Ana’s father works with and writes about his beehive and their mother writes letters to a faraway lover.

Beehive benefits from some very strong central performances, namely from little Ana and Isabel. Ana Torrent was just seven years old at the time of filming and gives the most incredible child performance I’ve ever seen. She went onto to an interesting career, which includes the delightful Tesis, Cria Cuervos, The Tulse Luper Suitcases, and more. Though Torrent is the centerpiece of the film, Isabel Telleria in her only role as Ana’s sister, Fernando Fernán Gómez (All About My Mother) and Teresa Gimpera (A Brief Vacation) as the parents, and Jose Villasante (Crypt of the Vampire) as the “monster” give excellent side performances.

The feeling of dread and fear that pervades the film is mostly a political dread, no doubt inspired by Franco’s fascist Spain, the staggering weight of daily monotony is crushing. Beehive was made during the end of Franco's reign, at a time when it was still difficult to make a film about anything overtly political. Erice manages to get his message across through a network of visual and written symbols. Interestingly, the beautiful images were filmed by cinematographer Luis Cuadrado, who was going blind at the time. The more I think about Beehive, the more it seems like an amazing coincidence, where different elements just happened to come together at the right moment, despite everything working against the film.

Though I would highly recommend catching this film in a theatre for your first viewing, it doesn't get shown very often. Luckily there is a beautiful double-disc released by Criterion. There is a new digital transfer, new English subtitles, interviews and a documentary, The Footprints of a Spirit. While this is not a horror film per say, I think it is useful for horror fans to watch. Frankenstein is intrinsic to its plot and it is a powerful example of how horror can be used within other genres to create a unique, but powerful vision.

THE CORRUPTION OF CHRIS MILLER aka LA CORRUPCIÓN DE CHRIS MILLER

Juan Antonio Bardem, 1973

Starring: Jean Seberg, Marisol, Barry Stokes, Perla Cristal

In a mansion out in the middle of the country, Ruth lives with her strange stepdaughter Chris. They have a somewhat unusual, codependent relationship, and are waiting for the return of Chris’s father, who abruptly abandoned them some time ago. Chris has additional problems – she was raped while in the shower at school and has violent flashbacks whenever it rains, during which she blacks out and stabs anything in front of her. A handsome drifter comes to stay with them and at first seduces Ruth, but then begins to fall for Chris. Meanwhile, a killer is roaming the countryside and slaughters a retired dancer and an entire family. Could the drifter be responsible?

In some ways similar to Paul Naschy film Blue Eyes of the Broken Doll, this is essentially a story about the dysfunctional family relationship between two women and how it is interrupted by the arrival of a sexually charismatic drifter. In both films, a killer just happens to be loose in the background. Ruth’s relationship with Chris is particularly disturbing – there are suggestions that they have a sexual relationship or that Ruth is sexually abusing Chris. She makes it clear about halfway through the film that Chris is the ultimate object of her revenge against Chris’s father. She is doing something to Chris to make sure that she will be a very different person if her father should ever return.

This little seen, underrated film is one of the finest Spanish attempts at a giallo film and deserves a bigger audience. Director Juan Antonio Bardem (father of actor Javier Bardem) also directed Death of a Cyclist and did some uncredited work on A Bell from Hell after its original director, Claudio Guerin, died on set. Screenwriter Santiago Moncada (A Bell from Hell, Cut-Throats Nine) also worked on Mario Bava’s Hatchet for the Honeymoon, another film about an abusive family situation set in a dark, foreboding house with murder in the foreground. Though not stylistically on par with Hatchet, Chris Miller benefits from some lovely cinematography, particularly of the death scenes, shots around the countryside, and inside Ruth and Chris’s foreboding house.

The abrupt murder scenes are eerie and effective, including the first, where a woman is stabbed to death with scissors by someone in a Charlie Chaplin mask, and the second, where an entire family is slaughtered by a raincoat-clad figure with a scythe. The violence is not overly gory or explicit and much of it is implied rather than directly shown. Where Chris Miller really excels is in atmosphere. Liberal use is made of the thunderstorms that drive Chris into fits of violence and the dark corners of the Miller family manse.

The lovely Jean Seberg (Breathless, Saint Joan) is excellent as the beautiful, but conniving Ruth. Seberg allegedly was embarrassed about the role and only agreed to appear in the film for financial reasons. One-time child actress Marisol (Carmen, Blood Wedding, The Last Circus) is able to hold her own against Seberg and possesses a very different kind of beauty – wild, untamed, and dark – compared to Seberg’s reserved, coiffed, and cool blonde looks.

Barry Stokes (Prey) is quite likable as Barney, which puts an effective wrench into automatically believing he is the killer. His character is surprisingly well written, if a bit predictable, though Moncado’s script surprises on occasion. The addition of a drifter feels predictable at first, but Moncado at least attempts to move in a fresh direction, though a direction surprisingly close to Paul Naschy’s character in Blue Eyes of the Broken Doll.

The film’s biggest fault is that the plot does leave some threads unresolved. Who is Barny really? The women eventually discover that he has a connection to Chris’s father, but this detail isn’t further addressed. And the killer’s motivations seem so ridiculous that I was waiting for the whole thing to be a red herring and for the real solution to reveal itself, but alas. We also don’t know why Chris’s father left Ruth (though we can guess) or specifically what Ruth is doing to corrupt Chris. The rape is also another complicated element that is never fully explained or addressed.

Though Chris Miller has a few plot blunders or predictable elements, this can be said of nearly every giallo film. It is sadly not available on region 1 DVD, though there is a decent, if somewhat fuzzy print floating around online. The Corruption of Chris Miller comes highly recommend, particularly for fans of Spanish horror and giallo films. 

A BELL FROM HELL aka LA CAMPANA DEL INFIERNO

Claudio Guerin, 1973

Starring: Renaud Verley, Viveca Lindfors, Alfredo Mayo, Maribel Martin, Nuria Gimeno

The young Juan (John in the bad English overdub), a rebellious practical joker with an anti-authoritarian streak a mile wide, is being released from an asylum. He heads home to seek revenge on his aunt and three cousins; they had him placed there on false charges so that they could steal his inheritance after his mother’s death. Juan works in a slaughterhouse for a while, apparently just long enough to learn a few tricks about killing animals and preparing corpses. Then he returns to his mother's home, which has been empty since her death and his imprisonment. He prepares a series of complex "jokes" as revenge and invites his aunt and cousins over to see the house, which he has restored to how it looked when he lived there. Juan prepares to slaughter all four women, partly in revenge and partly to be free of them, but will he go through with it?

A Bell from Hell is a subversive, surreal, and occasionally funny slice of Eurohorror that must be seen to be believed. It ranks as one of my favorite horror films of all time and there is nothing else quite like it. Much Spanish horror from this period – The House That Screamed, The Blood Spattered Bride, Cannibal Man, Spirit of the Beehive, the works of Jess Franco, and more – is a reaction against the fascist yoke Franco forced upon the country for many years. These films managed to tell subversive, often horrifying stories while avoiding the gaze of fascist censors, but none of them go quite as far as A Bell from Hell. Almost Buñuel-like in its use of humor and surrealism to deliver a scathing indictment of fascism, the combination of practical jokes and violent and/or sexual acts are impressively creative.

This truly singular film has been sadly neglected, but is a fine example of Spanish horror cinema, bearing a close relationship to other darkly surreal works of Franco-era cinema. It is awash with an atmosphere of the Gothic and has numerous Poe references. In many ways, it's kind of a weird horror hybrid of Jean Rollin and Buñuel. There is a dreamy, disturbing atmosphere, as well as an insistently anti-bourgeois flavor.

Much of the film's strength relies on protagonist Juan, who is genuinely likable despite some of the horrible acts he commits. This is, at its core, a revenge film and writer Santiago Moncada (Cut-Throats Nine, All the Colors of the Dark, Hatchet for the Honeymoon) pulls out all the stops to make Juan convincing. He is filled with rage, but also sympathy, and like several other Spanish cinema protagonists of that era, views the world fundamentally differently than those around him. The magical Renaud Verley (The Damned) is perfect as Juan, displaying disgust at some of the things he must do and a genuine doubt as to whether or not he is mad. He is also seemingly the lone voice of reason in a town full of criminals and hypocrites.

Though some of the acting from the side actors is a little rough, there are fine performances from all the leads, which include a number of genre regulars. Viveca Lindfors (Creepshow, Frankenstein’s Aunt), Maribel Martin (Blood Spattered Bride), and Christina von Blanc (A Virgin Among the Living Dead) are all beautiful and do their justice to their roles as Juan’s deceitful relatives. Alfred Mayo (The Hunt) and Saturno Cerra (Tristana) also make welcome appearances.

Director Claudio Guerin famously fell from the bell tower on the last day of shooting and died, so the final shots of the film were finished up by Juan Bardem (uncle of actor Javier), who is also responsible for the imaginative editing. This beautiful, haunting film feels a little disjointed, probably because of Guerin's death, but gleefully dives into the unexpected and rips the ending right out from under you. Playfully subversive, Guerin uses the conventions of cinema to fool characters within the plot and viewers (make-up, soundscape, storytelling, etc.). 

Surreal, subversive horror is my favorite kind and A Bell from Hell is an excellent example of this. It comes with the highest possible recommendation. Fortunately, it has become easier to find in recent years. It's finally available on region 1 DVD from Pathfinder, though it's not the completely uncut Spanish version and suffers from poor dubbing. Hopefully someone will release an uncut, restored Blu-ray version sometime soon.

THE BLOOD SPATTERED BRIDE aka LA NOVIA ENSANGRENTADA

Vicente Aranda, 1972

Starring: Simón Andreu, Maribel Martín, Alexandra Bastedo, Dean Selmier

A young woman named Susan is on a honeymoon with her husband, but becomes anxious and distressed when she imagines a man raping her in their hotel. A strange woman also seems to be following them, though only Susan sees the woman. Her husband agrees to leave and they travel to his ancestral home, a mansion out in the countryside. Still anxious and remote, Susan explores the house and learns that the portraits of the female Karnstein descendants are all kept in the basement and one of the portraits has had the face cut off. Her husband explains there is a family legend that the woman, Mircalla Karnstein, killed her husband on their wedding night when he tried to do unspeakable things to her.

Susan begins to have increasingly bad dreams and finds a dagger on her pillow, which returns regardless of how many times her husband tries to hide it. She begins to have nightmares where the mystery woman encourages her to murder her husband. He is out on the beach one day, when he discovers a nude, disoriented woman buried in the sand. He takes her home to recover and she bonds closely with Susan. The woman says she is named Carmilla, but can’t remember anything else about herself, though Susan recognizes her as Mircalla Karnstein and the woman from her dreams. Though Susan is at first afraid, she and Mircalla begin an affair and Mircalla drinks her blood. Her husband finally believes her, but it is too late, as Susan and Mircalla go on a killing spree across the Karnstein estate.

Also known as The Bloody Bride, Bloody Fiancée, Blood Castle, and ‘Till Death Do Us Part, Blood Spattered Bride belongs to a tradition of similar films from around the same period, many of which were adaptions of Sheridan Le Fanu’s tale of lesbian vampire love, “Carmilla.” Examples include Belgian film Daughters of Darkness, Hammer’s Karnstein trilogy, including Vampire Lovers, Lust of a Vampire, and Twins of Evil, Jean Rollin’s handful of erotic vampire films, Roger Vadim’s sublime Blood and Roses, and even a Z-grade American film like The Velvet Vampire. But if you find the aimless erotic romps of Rollin’s films frustrating, the unsettling Blood Spattered Bride may be for you. There is the requisite amount of gore, gothic sets, and girl-on-girl action, but not of it is particularly excessive. There is always the sense that writer and director Vicente Aranda puts the story first, bolstered by plenty of surreal and nightmarish moments.

While the beginning of the film is full of unspoken dread and menace, thanks to Susan’s rape hallucination and tensions with her new husband, the second half becomes a full-fledged lesbian vampire flick, mostly due to the fact that her husband refuses to believe anything she tells him. There is the dagger that just won’t go away and, like Susan’s growing subconscious fears, the threat of death and violence manifests in the seductive form of Mircalla. It’s particularly interesting that the film changes at the point when Susan’s husband summons a doctor to examine her – it he is who introduces the idea of vampirism.

As with basically every lesbian vampire film ever made, the pacing is slow and the plot is dreamlike. This is surely one of the most effective though, with some very memorable scenes like Susan’s imagined rape and Mircalla’s introduction – buried alive in the sand, breathing through a snorkel, with her breasts exposed. In another dream sequence, a heart is cut out, but that is probably the most overtly violent thing that happens in the film.

You are either going to love this film or find it incomprehensible. There’s some wonderful cinematography from Fernando Aribas and plenty of effective, dreamlike imagery, for example a wonderful scene where a terrified, silent Susan locks herself in a giant bird cage to get away from her husband. She ties the key to a bird, which flies away. The gloomy ending packs a punch and concludes on a wonderfully ambiguous note, where Susan’s husband will be punished for her literal crimes and his more figurative sexual ones.

Aranda also leaves some nice ambiguity as to whether Mircalla is really a vampire or not, which ties in nicely with the film’s themes of female sexuality and the historically repressive nature of heterosexual love. This is one of the few horror films with an overtly feminist theme that I’ve been able to enjoy, probably because it tries to operate on the level of the primal, instinctive, and subconscious.

Maribel Martin (A Bell from Hell) is excellent here as the confused, naïve Susan. Her nude scenes were apparently done by a stunt double because of her young age in this film. Alexandra Bastedo (The Ghoul) is lovely as Mircalla and uses her limited dialogue effectively, remaining more a figure of fantasy than a solid, developed character. Simon Andreu (Trauma, Death Walks on High Heels) is fittingly unlikable as Susan’s invasive, insensitive husband. While he obviously has affection for her, he doesn’t seem to view her as a person capable of her own thoughts or feelings and this attitude is ultimately why events spiral out of control. Genre regular Angel Lombarte (Autopsy, Horror Rises from the Tomb) also makes a welcome appearance as his thoroughly unsympathetic servant.

Blood Spattered Bride is a strange film and probably an acquired taste, but it comes with a very high recommendation. It’s available on DVD, though it was also released in a two-disc DVD set with the similarly themed and equally excellent Daughters of Darkness (1971).

THE CANNIBAL MAN aka LA SEMANA DEL ASESINO

Eloy de la Iglesia, 1973

Starring: Vicente Parra, Emma Cohen, Eusebio Poncela

Marcos, a butcher working at a slaughterhouse, has an altercation with a cab driver and accidentally kills the man. His young girlfriend witnessed the murder and begins to nag Marcos about marriage. She decides to go to the police about the cab driver, so Marcos strangles her and stows her body in his home. This quickly spirals out of control, as anyone who ventures into his house and threatens to find the growing number of bodies also becomes a victim, particularly as Marcos grows more paranoid. He doesn’t know how to dispose of the increasingly ripening corpses, but gets the idea to cut them up and bring them down to the slaughterhouse, where he will mix them in with meat to be sold to the community…

Cannibal Man is a thoughtful, challenging film that — at least in terms of reputation — is overwhelmed by its title. The only cannibalism takes place off screen, when Marcos disposes of the bodies in the bulk soup made at the meat factory, something that is sold to the poor citizens of the neighborhood. Director and writer Eloy de la Iglesia — also responsible for Bulgarian Lovers and underrated giallo film The Glass Ceiling (1970) — made a sort of Spanish blend of Maniac, Repulsion, and The Tenant. It’s more a psychological thriller than a gory horror film and has a definite Kafkaesque feel. 

As with most horror made during this period in Franco-controlled Spain, there is a political context at work. The cab driver is a clear example of this and Marcos ultimately is forced to kill him because of his repressive, violent attitude (he attacks Marcos and his girlfriend because they are kissing in the back of the cab). Poverty is another major issue of the film and Marcos’s latent rage is due to the poverty that he seemingly cannot escape from. 

This was one of the infamous Video Nasties, though I suspect this is more out of thematic content than the actual violence. The violence mostly occurs off screen, though there’s a strangulation and throat slitting that are mildly graphic. Though this is a subtle film, it moves at a decent pace as Marcos kills basically everyone in his life. De la Iglesia mostly keeps the tone serious and grim, though there are some occasional, effective uses of comedy. There’s a particularly tense and comical scene when Marcos is bringing a duffel bag full of body parts to work to dispose of and his coworkers snatch it. They spend an anxiety-inducing few moments tossing it around and keeping it from Marcos. 

It’s a somewhat silly plot device that Marcos doesn’t know what to do with the increasing number of bodies in his home, particularly since he works in a meat plant and deals with animal corpses all day. I think this also relates to his desire to keep the people he loves with him, even after they are gone. 

Nearly all the major characters are desperate for love or at least some physical affection, including Marcos’s unfortunate girlfriend, his brother and his fiancee, the barmaid Rosa, and Néstor. This at the heart of Cannibal Man and Marcos himself is struggling with more than just what to do with the mounting bodies — he seems to only really be comfortable and relaxed around Néstor, though gay relationships were forbidden both in public, private, and on screen during this period. 

Marcos kills in girlfriend while kissing her, in an odd, though effective scene, and one that is thoroughly un-erotic. Like few other horror movies from the period, Cannibal Man conveys the fear of being trapped in a domestic life and anxiety about conventional sexual mores. There’s plenty of class tension and much of Marcos’s frustration is due to the lot he has been given in life. Néstor, of course, is the contrast of all of these things - release, relaxation, wealth, and forbidden, unspoken homosexual love. 

Vicente Parra (Soft Skin on Black Silk, Cotolay) is quiet, but compelling as Marcos. He’s excellent at building tension and anxiety throughout the film, both directed at him and his victims. He’s a sympathetic figure because he doesn’t want to kill, but keeps doing so because he made (and continues to make) bad or stupid decisions. Eusebio Poncela (Matador, Law of Desire) is likable as Néstor, Marcos’s neighbor and friend.

Cannibal Man has somewhat of a unique place in Spanish cinema. It’s different from the monster films being made by Paul Naschy, and much more thoughtful than the Spanish attempts at the giallo being produced at the time. It is the most similar to A Bell from Hell, Cannibal Man opens at a slaughter house and concerns a reluctant, inexperienced murderer. Both films share elements of the surreal, the absurd, and have a stubborn strain of anti-fascist, antiauthoritarian sentiment. It comes highly recommended and is available uncut on DVD. 

NIGHTMARES COME AT NIGHT

Jess Franco, 1970
Starring: Diana Lorys, Colette Giacobine, Paul Muller

Les cauchemars naissent la nuit aka Nightmares Come At Night is one of three Jess Franco films that Kino and Redemption are releasing on Blu-ray in the wake of Franco’s death earlier this year. Only originally distributed in Belgium, the film was believed to be lost for several decades until a print was discovered in the mid ‘00s. Though there was a Shriek Show DVD released a few years ago, Kino and Redemption have lovingly restored the film and included a number of nice special features that make this a must have for fans of Franco or Eurohorror.

Anna (Diana Lorys), an erotic dancer, fears she is losing her mind. Her manipulative lover, Colette (Colette Giacobine), forces her to stay at their mansion home and insists that her psychiatrist friend, Dr. Lucas (Paul Muller), regularly visit Anna. She has reoccurring nightmares about killing a man and begins to doubt Colette’s affection and intentions. Meanwhile, a man and a woman spy on the house from next door, patiently waiting. 

Nightmares Come At Night is somewhat difficult to review, because while I loved the film, it is an acquired taste and many others will no doubt find it frustrating, boring, and difficult to follow. There is little in the way of conventional plot structure, but I found the film to be a compelling mystery nonetheless. It is almost hypnotic, drawing you towards the somewhat surprising and violent, yet almost anticlimactic conclusion. The atmospheric and visual splendor make the film well worth checking out, particularly if you are a fan of Franco, Jean Rollin, or more obscure Eurohorror. Though this is his lowest budget film, it still looks beautiful and is really only hampered by a series of lengthy shots from the inside of a car. 

Voyeuristic, erotic, slow, and dreamlike, this isn’t one of Franco’s best films, but it is a hidden treasure worth seeing for fans of his less linear, more introspective works. As Tim Lucas mentions in his commentary, it is interesting to think of the film in terms of a progression in Franco’s career. Many themes here are certainly found in other films, such as brain washing and mind control, and Nightmares Come At Night bears much in common with Succubus. Franco also regularly uses characters and side characters who are erotic performers. 

While this film is somewhat similar to the plots of Fulci’s Lizard in a Woman’s Skin, Sergio Martino’s All the Colors of the Dark, and Franco’s A Virgin Among the Living Dead, and features a woman on the verge of losing her mind, plagued by nightmares and hallucination, it is far less linear than any of those films. At first I was skeptical about the opening credits, which are essentially a collage of scenes from throughout the film, but it makes a lot more sense the second time around. Franco’s use of dream sequences, moments that could potentially be hallucinations or memories, and some hazy sex scenes greatly contribute to the thin plot, which is not totally revealed to us until the end of the film. 

Nightmares Come At Night benefits from some great performances, particularly star Diana Lorys, who is really given an opportunity to shine, though she had smaller roles in some of Franco’s other films (namely The Bloody Judge) and gave a good performance in one of my favorite Spanish horror films, Blue Eyes of the Broken Doll. She is naked or partially naked for nearly the entire film and is incredibly vulnerable throughout. Paul Muller (I, Vampiri) is also excellent and gives a complex, sensitive performance. The lovely Soledad Miranda makes a welcome appearance. Though she isn’t in the film long, she spends much of the time lounging around bottomless in a room with “Life Is All Shit,” written messily on the wall. These scenes were shot during the filming of Eugenie de Sade, which is why they almost look like they belong to a completely different film. 

Where Franco uses a lot of his normal elements here - voice over narration, mirror images, framing, and reflection - they work together very well for a much more mature, poetic film than some of his flashier horror or erotic efforts. Though there is some violence, much of it is subdued and the use of blood is sparing. Be forewarned that the film is full of almost constant nudity, frequent sex scenes, and a lengthy, if somewhat boring strip tease. 

With a 1.66:1 aspect ration and 1080p AVC print, Nightmares Come at Night looks lovely in certain scenes, but suffers from a lot of filming issues and age damage. There are a number of scenes that are almost black, making key parts of the plot confusing, and many that suffer from extreme grain, particularly the dream sequences. I’m sure it will never look better than this and it would be easy to watch the film and feel a sense of nostalgia at some of the faded colors and age issues. We are lucky to have this film on Blu-ray at all and any fault is due to the existing 35mm print. 

While there are two audio tracks available, a French LPCM Mono track with English subtitles and an English dub, the latter is simply not worth watching. The French mix is just far superior and gives the film a more natural flow. The audio is clear, particularly the infrequent dialogue, though there is some obvious age damage and occasional hissing and crackling, but not to an annoying or distracting level. Bruno Nicolai’s score, though not quite as thrilling as his work on A Virgin Among the Living Dead, still sounds wonderful and benefits the film with some very diverse themes. 

As with all three of the Franco titles Redemption has recently released on Blu-ray, Nightmares Come at Night has a number of excellent special features. First and best among them is the thoughtful and informative commentary from Video Watchdog’s Tim Lucas. While most people may not want to watch Franco’s films two times in a row, I have been unable to resist doing this to listen to the commentary tracks, which are indispensable. Also included is "Eugenie's Nightmare of a Sex Charade," a twenty minute documentary about the making of the film with a number of valuable interviews, including a vintage one with Franco. "Jess! Where Are You Now?" is the tribute feature included on all three of these releases and "About the Master" is an interesting short piece narrated by Bret Wood about transforming Nightmares Come At Night into HD. 

While Nightmares Come at Night is not for everyone, it is a special film and is one of Franco’s most obscure, dreamlike efforts. If you enjoy films about madness, mind control, dreams, memory, and hallucination, this comes highly recommended. With their Blu-ray releases of this film, A Virgin Among the Living Dead, and The Awful Dr. Orloff, Kino and Redemption have really done Franco (and his fans) a great service and all three of these are must haves for Franco fans and anyone who enjoys more adventurous horror and erotic cinema. 

A VIRGIN AMONG THE LIVING DEAD

Jess Franco, 1973

Starring: Howard Vernon, Christina von Blanc, Britt Nichols, Anne Libert

Prolific Spanish director, actor, and writer (and much more) Jess Franco sadly passed away early in 2013. Though his catalogue is largely an acquired taste, he is one of the most important figures of Eurohorror and each of his films, no matter how small the budget, are marked with his indelible personal style. Kino and Redemption are honoring his sizable contributions to genre cinema, including horror, erotica, women in prison films, crime and spy movies, and many more, by releasing a few of his films on Blu-ray. A Virgin Among the Living Dead (1973) is one of Franco’s better known efforts, combining horror, erotica, lovely ladies, lush visuals and a surreal plot. 

Originally known as The Night the Stars Died (La nuit des étoiles foilantes), Christina, Princess of Eroticism aka A Virgin Among the Living Dead is the loosely plotted tale of a young woman, the titular Christina, who returns to her isolated family estate after the death of her father. She hasn't seem him or any of her family members since childhood and was raised at a boarding school. Locals insist the estate is abandoned, but she finds the house full of her somewhat creepy extended family, led by her Uncle Howard. After her father’s will is read and she is plagued by frequent nightmares, Christina learns her family members are actually dead. She is forced to endure a number of bizarre scenarios, including a sexual assault that ends in a satanic ritual, zombies rising from the earth, and odd conversations with a blind girl who wanders the mansion. Christina witnesses a fair amount of sex, including an erotic scenes involving blood and scissors, and more. 

Despite its low budget, the film benefits from a beautiful Portuguese setting, the lovely house, some unforgettable imagery, and cinematography from Jose Climent. As with some of Franco’s other works, this doesn't follow logic or linear storytelling in a particularly faithful way and the film feels like half fairy-tale, half nightmare, which will please some viewers but frustrate many more. While the pace sometimes moves slowly, the film is packed with odd events that keep things moving towards the melancholic conclusion. There is also a surprising amount of black comedy, including one wonderful scene during a funeral where a bored character paints her toenails.

Christina von Blanc is lovely as the titular Christina, but fails to take the place of Franco’s former leading lady, Soledad Miranda. Though she isn't a particularly compelling actress, she serves the role well and wanders the film looking suitably doe-eyed and anxious. Franco regular Britt Nichols as Christina’s chain-smoking cousin Carmencé and Anne Libert (Diary of a Nymphomaniac) as the Queen of the Night are particularly beautiful, welcome inclusions in the somewhat odd cast. Franco himself plays the creepy Basilio and his regular lead Howard Vernon (The Awful Dr. Orloff) is compelling as Uncle Howard. Ernesto Pablo Reiner (The Devil’s Commandment) is only on screen briefly, but he is memorable as Christina’s dead father. 

In his commentary track for the film, Tim Lucas notes the similarities between the plot of this film and Bava’s magical Lisa and the Devil, a haunting, surreal meditation on death. Like Bava’s late masterpiece, Christina may be disjointed and nonsensical, but it is a deeply personal reflection on death, depression, and grief. Soledad Miranda died a few years before this, in 1970, and she was undoubtedly still on Franco’s mind during the writing and filming of Christina. The suicide of Christina’s father and her longing for family, regardless of how odd and sometimes menacing they are, lingers throughout the film and provides something of a grounding point in the midst of the dreamlike story. It is often difficult to tell what is real and what's happening in Christina's mind, whether we are dealing with fantasy, dreams, nightmares, or, as we later learn is a possibility, Christina’s hallucinations. 

Presented with a 1080p resolution from an MPEG-4 AVX codec and the original aspect ratio of 1.66:1, A Virgin Among the Living Dead looks better than it ever has. One of the things I respect so much about the Kino and Redemption Blu-ray releases is that their remastering is all natural and is simply intended to make ‘60s and ‘70s cult films look as good as possible without the flat texture often left behind by digital remastering. As a result, both prints of the film do have some age damage, namely debris and scratches, but once the opening sequence has passed, it is not really noticeable. Franco’s colors look wonderful and balanced and overall the film is incredibly clear. There are moments of muddiness and some blurring during darker scenes, but they are likely due to the cinematography. 

The real treat here is that Kino and Redemption provide both versions of the film. Christina, Princess of Eroticism is essentially Franco’s first complete cut of the film and is the version I prefer. A few years after it came out, during the European zombie craze, extra scenes were shot by French horror-erotica director Jean Rollin and cut in. This version is known as the wonderfully titled, A Virgin Among the Living Dead. There is yet another softcore version, sort of Christina version 1.5, with more scenes of erotic cut in, and some of this extra footage is included in the special features. 

There are two LPCM 2.0 Mono tracks, the original French track, with optional English subtitles, and an English dub. I watched both and while I generally don’t prefer dubbing, the English track isn't that bad. Though there is some slight hissing and a few other age related issues, the film sounds great, certainly better than past releases. Dialogue is clear in both the English and French versions. The real star here is Bruno Nicolai’s impressive and wide ranging score that perfectly matches Franco’s film. As Tim Lucas states in his commentary track, Nicolai and Franco had an excellent working relationship and Nicolai often encouraged Franco (a musician in his own right) to contribute to the score arrangement. There are some jazzy, Goblin-like moments, but overall Nicolai’s score is haunting and ethereal. It also benefits from Ennio Morricone collaborator Edda Dell’Orso’s vocals.  

There are some nice extras, chief among them a great commentary track from Tim Lucas. It not only explains many elements of the production and Franco’s career, but may shed some light on the film itself if you find the limited plot frustrating or confusing. Also included is “Mysterious Dreams,” one of Franco’s final interviews where he discusses A Virgin Among the Living Dead. There is also a five minute compilation of extra softcore erotic footage. “The Three Faces of Christina” discusses the different versions of the film and “Jess! What Are You Doing Now?” is a sad, but heartwarming tribute to Franco where his friends discuss what they think he is doing after death. 

A Virgin Among the Living Dead is certainly acquired taste, but if you enjoy more surreal and introspective horror with an emphasis on eroticism and black humor, it comes highly recommended. Kino and Redemption have really outdone themselves with this release and it is the only way you can currently see the two major versions of the film together and on Blu-ray. This release, along with equally excellent Blu-rays of Franco’s less seen Nightmares Come at Night and his more popular The Awful Dr. Orloff, is a fitting tribute for Franco and I hope to see many more of his titles from Kino and Redemption. 

SHE KILLED IN ECSTASY

Jess Franco, 1971
Starring: Susann Korda (aka Soledad Miranda), Fred Williams, Paul Muller, Howard Vernon, Ewa Stromberg, Horst Tappert, Jess Franco

She Killed in Ecstasy  is a sort of sister film to another Franco-Miranda production I've already reviewed, Vampyros Lesbos. It has a handful of the same actors and is also a Spanish-West German production. Hueber and Schwab, the musicians who composed the amazing score for Vampyros Lesbos, also scored this film. And like Vampyros Lesbos, She Killed in Ecstasy has a meandering, nonsensical narrative structure, but works on the strength of Soledad Miranda's performance, charisma, and visual appeal.

A doctor (the sexy Fred Williams, a Franco regular) is criticized and alienated for his experimental research that involves human fetuses, which leads to his suicide. His wife, very much in love with him and driven a little insane by his death, gets bloody vengeance on the team of doctors who drove him to death. Unsurprisingly, she dons a number of paltry disguises and seduces the men (and one woman), hypnotizing, deceiving, and then killing them. There is some random necrophilia, which is effectively creepy and also sadly sweet. The death scenes are completely implausible, but it doesn't matter within the loosely surreal narrative world of Franco’s film.

As with many of Franco’s films, this is a rehashing of familiar themes and includes elements from his enjoyable Venus in Furs with Klaus Kinski. He reused much of the same crew from Vampyros Lesbos, which explains the similarly robust (and very ‘70s) sense of style. I don’t think this was a direct influence on Franco, but lately I’ve been reading a lot of Cornell Woolrich novels, particularly his “Black” series and its themes of obsessive love and murder. Woolrich has several characters who lose a loved one (the death is usually accidental) and then going a killing spree to get revenge for his/her death. Truffaut adapted the first of these – The Bride Wore Black – and She Killed in Ecstasy has a similar, if campier and more exploitative feel.

There is a sort of je ne sais quoi at work that I am completely unable to explain. This film, along with Vampyros Lesbos, is slow and dream-like and operates on some sort of otherworldly Eurotrash reality. There is an air of genuine sadness that is absent from most "black widow" killer type of films. Soledad Miranda is lovely and charismatic and, fortunately, is in almost every shot. Also fortunately, the film is short, running about 80 minutes, so anyone who doesn’t generally have a whole lot of patience for Eurohorror may want to give this a chance. It comes across more as a series of sexy, murderous vignettes than a particularly coherent narrative film.

In addition to Miranda, who steals the film, as always, there are some nice appearances from other Franco regulars. Paul Muller, the always-enjoyable Howard Vernon, Horst Tappert, and Ewa Stromberg (also in Vampyros Lesbos) do a decent job here, though the dialogue and script is all over the place. Franco himself also makes a cameo here as one of the malicious doctors. 

I'm reviewing the Synapse DVD, which is out of print. The Image DVD is basically the same, but remastered, so it has a slightly better print, but nothing mind-blowing. I recommend this film if you like Franco and Soledad Miranda, or if you enjoy Eurotrash. This is a bit faster paced than Vampyros Lesbos, so Franco newbies or sceptics might do alright checking this one out. I think it is one of his most accessible films and one of the most enjoyable female-centered revenge-horror films of the ‘70s. 

VAMPYROS LESBOS

Jess Franco, 1971
Starring: Soledad Miranda, Ewa Stromberg, Dennis Price, Jose Martinez Blanco, Andres Monales

Linda (Jess Franco regular Ewa Stromberg) begins to have disturbing dreams about a mysterious woman (Franco’s first muse, Soledad Miranda). She encounters the woman during a strange striptease show in a club and again later when her job as a lawyer takes her out to a Mediterranean island. The beautiful woman is Countess Carody, who holds a dangerous, erotic sway over Linda. It turns out that Carody is the heir of Dracula and has her vampiric, lesbian designs fixed on Linda. Will she drive Linda mad, turn her into a vampire, or sacrifice her own, immortally perfect body and spare Linda out of love?

Vampyros Lesbos is undoubtedly an acquired taste – as are all of director Jess Franco’s films – but those who enjoy slow, dreamy, arty horror films will find a lot to love here, namely the performance of the exquisite Soledad Miranda (Count Dracula, She Killed in Ecstasy). Miranda is certainly one of the sexiest women of ‘70s cinema and was Franco’s muse until her unfortunate, early death as the result of a car accident. Though Ewa Stromberg (She Killed in Ecstasy, The Devil Came from Aksava) is enjoyable, she doesn’t hold a candle to Miranda. There are also average performances from Dennis Price (Kind Hearts and Coronets), Franco regular Paul Müller (I Vampiri, Count Dracula), and an uncredited cameo from Franco himself. 

The plot is supposedly based on Bram Stoker’s story "Dracula's Guest," which I’ve read a handful of times. Vampyros Lesbos has about the same connection to "Dracula's Guest" that Dracula, The Dirty Old Man has to Stoker's novel. Franco does take a number of strange liberties with vampire myth, including one scene where Carody sits outside, sunbathing, and doesn’t burst into flame or turn into a pile of ashes. Her ridiculous manservant, Morpho, adds another element of the strange and surreal to the proceedings. There is also a Renfield-like character, a girl named Agra housed in an asylum who looks remarkably similar to Linda. Apparently her obsession with Carody drove her mad.

Like many of Franco’s other films, plot is secondary to style and surrealism. Perhaps frustratingly, there are a lot of random images and shots throughout the film of objects that relate, in no way, to the story as a whole, such as shots of a kite or a boat. If you’ve seen enough Franco films, this isn’t unusual, but it is likely to confuse Franco newbies. Both sleeping and waking dreams have a constant presence in his films and this one is no exception.

Like many of Franco’s films, Vampyros Lesbos is deeply flawed, and yet I enjoyed it despite (or perhaps because of) these issues. A lot of things work against the film, such as the dialogue, but it has a certain surreal charm that soaks through most of Franco's work. Soledad Miranda has an inexplicable sort of charisma where she can say nothing, do little, and as long as she's on screen you can’t help but watch her. This film defies logic. I really enjoyed it, but I have no idea why. I’ve read plenty of reviews where the critic passionately hated it, but, again, Franco’s work has always been an acquired taste. 

This West German-Spanish coproduction with a Turkish setting is very stylish and is a delightful reminder of jazzy, ‘70s flavor. The Turkish sets are lovely and there’s some excellent cinematography. The dubbing is absolutely appalling, but that shouldn’t surprise fans of Eurohorror, where the productions are generally made up of actors from all over Europe speaking dozens of languages on set. 

Vampyros Lesbos comes highly recommended to fans of other Eurohorror fans. If you’re new to the subgenre, chance are you will either love it or fall asleep. I do, however, highly recommend the amazing psychedelic jazz score by Manfred Huebler and Siegfried Schwab, released on CD as Vampyros Lesbos: Sexadelic Dance Party. 

There is no definitive print of this film. I'm reviewing the out of print German-language Synapse region 1 release, though from what I understand the Image region 1, which is currently in print, is the same, dubbed in English instead of German. This isn't really the type of film where it matters what print you get, just beware of a version called Las Vampiras, which is the cut version. And no one in their right mind wants to watch a Jess Franco movie with less nudity. 

NIGHT OF THE SEAGULLS aka LA NOCHE DE LAS GAVIOTAS

Amando de Ossorio, 1975

Starring: Víctor Petit, María Kosti, Sandra Mozarowsky, Julia Saly

A doctor and his wife move to an isolated coastal town, where he is to begin a medical practice. They are at worst rudely shunned by the villagers and at best ignored by them for reasons they can’t quite discover. One night they hear what seems to be a party on the beach and soon learn that every seven years, undead, evil Knights Templar rise from the sea and the town must sacrifice a virginal woman for seven knights in a row. Along with Teddy, the village idiot, the doctor saves a young woman, not realizing he has just doomed them all.

Also known as Don't Go Out at Night is the fourth and final film in the Blind Dead series written and directed by Amando de Ossorio. As with the third film, The Ghost Galleon, Ossorio’s script for Night of the Seagulls is more inspired than the second entry in the series, Return of the Blind Dead. Where Ghost Galleon borrowed loosely from legends about ghost ships, Night of the Seagulls has a mythic feel to it. The plot centers around the sacrifice of a virgin every seven years, tied to the rocks like Andromeda and the sea monster. I absolutely love this element of the script and while I felt the film could have gone a lot further – much like Ghost Galleon it is pretty tame in terms of nudity and violence – it is still a successful effort in the Blind Dead series. 

Though there are some great locations in the first film, I think this might have the most impressive set over all. It’s hard to top a castle on a cliff overlooking the sea or a crumbling old coastal village. The atmosphere is consistently dark and gloomy, though there aren’t quite as many scares as in the first films. The scenes of black-clad women leading a procession down the beach to chain a virginal girl in all white to the rocks is very effective. One of the best moments of violence involves the Templars ripping the heart out of a woman’s chest and offering to some unmentioned deity, perhaps Satan (or Cthulhu or a Greek sea monster).

Where the other films had slightly different variations on why the Templars were cursed to become the undead, this film refreshingly doesn’t bother with an explanation, because chances are, if you’ve seen Night of the Seagulls, you’ve seen the others first. And, if you’ve seen the other films, you’ll know not to expect a lot from the acting or the often laughable dialogue.

The doctor is a sadly dull and unlikable protagonist, though actor Victor Petit does his best with the role. His lovely wife (Maria Kosty) wants to leave, but he refuses, presumably out of sheer stubbornness. The wife’s character is barely sketched out, while the townsfolk (including Teddy, the mentally-impaired man) are all either stereotypes or basic, two-dimensional outlines of characters. There are at least some welcome faces from genre regulars Maria Kosty (Night of the Sorcerers), Julia Saly (Night of the Werewolf), and the young Sandra Mozarowsky (School of Death).

Eurohorror fans will definitely want to check out Night of the Seagull, particularly anyone who enjoys the dreamy, vague, and atmospheric works of Jean Rollin. While it isn’t quite as lovely as some of his seaside films, there’s a lot to enjoy. It’s available in the wonderful Blind Dead box set, which includes all four films, special features, and is packaged in a coffin.