German Robles at the Bash

Don German Robles in front of two posters for the films that made him a legend in Mexican fantastique (photo: Jim Clatterbaugh)

One of the most luminescent and important of actors in Mexican fantasy and horror, German Robles, was honored at the Monster Bash over the weekend, and received his Monster Kid Hall of Fame Award at the Lugosiphilia Room on Sunday afternoon. Unfortunately, I couldn't make it (perhaps Don Robles will stop over one day in New York for some tapas!), but from all accounts the 78 year-old Robles was delightful at the Bash and everyone came away with splendid memories of the actor, his talk and the award presentation. Below are photos graciously provided to this blog.


Jim Clatterbaugh, publisher/editor of Monsters From the Vault, and Don Robles (photo courtesy Jim Clatterbaugh)


Richard Sheffield, German Robles, and Marian and Jim Clatterbaugh. In Sheffield's hand is the cover of the next Monsters from the Vault, which features a stunning painting of "El Vampiro" (photo courtesy Jim Clatterbaugh)

Thanks to Jim Clatterbaugh, Marian Clatterbaugh, and the Classic Horror Film Board

Before the Deluge: The Early and Mid-1950s

Though assuredly the success of El vampiro (1957) stimulated Mexico's golden age of horror, the country had produced a good number of fantastique films before that time, from the 1930s onward, many of them of considerable interest, and a few even classics of the genre. The early and mid-1950s are of particular interest, as it was during this period that Mexican fantastique began to unequivocally mature and foreshadow what was to come.

These are some of the notable films during these years:

El hombre sin rostro (The Man Without a Face, 1950)
El monstruo resucitado (The Revived Monster, 1953)
Retorno a la juventud (Return to Youth, 1953)
La bruja (The Witch, 1954)
Ladron de cadaveres (The Grave Robber, 1956)

This blog will take a brief look at each film in the next couple of weeks.

The Curse of the Doll People (1960)

While CasaNegra Entertainment has been getting a lot of very good publicity for its Mexican horror DVDs (and rightfully so), BCI has been mining Mexican horror territory, too, with several releases from the Cinematografica Calderon catalog. Thus far, seven Mexican horror films have been released by BCI, a three-film set of the Aztec Mummy trilogy and two double-disc sets: Night of the Bloody Apes/Curse of the Doll People and Cemetery of Terror/Grave Robbers. The latter sets are part of BCI's CRYPT OF TERROR series.

Of the CRYPT OF TERROR sets, The Curse of the Doll People (Munecos infernales, 1960) is the only film that's part of Mexico's Golden Age of Horror. It is a splendid example of the outre nature of the fantastique emerging from Mexico at this time--wild and nearly ridiculous, but hypnotic and chilling at the same time.



Inspired by Tod Browning's The Devil Doll (1936) and the profanation-revenge motif of many mummy films, The Curse of the Doll People relates the fate of group of visitors to Haiti, who steal a sacred figure from a voodoo sect and bring it back to Mexico. Naturally, there's a curse attached to stealing this idol, so very shortly members of the expedition are being mysteriously killed off, one by one.

We soon find out that the killers are dolls--mobile, mute little assassins with transfixing paper-mache like faces--who employ long needles to strike at and murder their victims. At each murder they also pick up a strange hair thread knotted in nine places. This we learn later is "the sorcerer's ladder"--actually more commonly known as "the witch's ladder," an item crafted by a sorcerer or a witch that carries with it the omen of a fatal death. These machinations are the work of Zandor, a high priest of the cult from whom the religious object has been stolen. Zandor has made the journey to Mexico, along with his prune-faced, zombie helper, Staloon, who plays a wind instrument that guides and helps the killer dolls come back to safety, much like Bela Lugosi's Ygor did for the monster in two Frankenstein pictures.

Atypically for the time, the strongest and most intelligent protagonist of the film is a woman, Karina (Elvira Quintana), a doctor who has an impressive knowledge of archeology, medicine and voodoo traditions. She even takes it upon herself to courageously visit, on her own, the evil den from where the murders arise. Nowadays, when strong females are fashionably prevalent in horror films, the choice of actress would probably be some anemic waif who doesn't look suitably rigorous for the part or some gym-muscled knockout who goes overboard in Tomb Raider-like capacities and needs to knock out a few male characters to prove her strong female traits. Elvira Quintana, however, looks both feminine in that robust "I am a woman" European way (she was born in Spain) and assertive enough to hold her own in a company of men, which her character does all the time in this film.



Though not the lead male character, Molinar (Roberto G. Rivera) is also a unique presence in Mexican film. He appears to be some crime boss, with his "muscle" always around to help him, yet he is a congenial part of the gathering of friends that includes those who have been cursed. This sympathetic portrayal of a criminal and an acceptance of his lifestyle among the "good" characters in the film is unusual and oddly refreshing, as it takes into account the natural and easy cohabitation of the criminal in society. It is Molinar who finally decides to take the law into his own hands in dealing with the murders of his friends, though it will be up to Dr. Karina to find the most effective means of doing so.

What's instructive about this film, and other Mexican horror films as well, is that the performances are generally top-notch. Despite the outre subject matter of much of Mexican horror, it's difficult during this time to come across bad acting in the main principles that falls into an amateurish Ed Wood zone. (Any Woodisms are typically sourced to the risible English-language dubbing familiar to most American fans.) Mexican fantastique, at least up to the end of its golden period, was crafted by professionals, even if the films were frequently of low budget. The resumes of the artists involved are usually always impressive and involve other genres, to include serious art or drama films. While the United States had its plethora of amateurish horror films with amateurish acting, Mexico remained relatively free of these impulses, undoubtedly because of the limited options for making truly independent films. Even the masked wrestlers in luche libre films were given a veneer of acting skills, as their voices were dubbed by professional actors.

From an American perspective, the only area in which Mexico seemed deficient was in the make-up department. Mexico never produced a Jack Pierce, for instance, or a Paul Blaisdell. That said, the monsters arising from Mexican cinema are certainly unique and, in their own way, impacting. Delicacy was not a strong suit here; a powerful, immediate impression was the intent and perhaps a need to outdo the visual weirdness being manufactured in the horror cinema of Mexico's northern neighbor. As it is, The Curse of the Doll People has some of the best make-up of Mexican horror cinema. Simply and ingeniously done, the adult-faced masks of those little devils are memorable and searingly impacting to anyone who may have seen this film as a kid. Even now, from an adult's perspective, these guys are damn creepy looking, though kinda cute, too.

A member of that impressive list of exiles from the Spanish Civil War, Elvira Quintana's career in Mexico took off when she got a nose job and purportedly added more measurement to her breasts with silicon. (With her upturned nose, Quintana bears a remarkable resemblance to euro-cult actress Edwidge Fenech.) Unfortunately, in those early days silicone injections were problematic, health-wise, Elvira may have been aversely affected by them. A multitude of serious health issues began to imped her in 1967, including acute pancreatitus, and she died a year later at the age of thirty-two.

At least she outlasted her co-star Roman Gay. Gay, a popular romantic actor of the time, appeared to have been a ladies' man on and off the stage. He was shot dead by a jealous ex-husband in May of 1960. Both Quitana and Gay played with each other before, in Bolero immortal (1958), a seminal film for Quintana, and El vestido de novia (1959), so The Curse of the Doll People became a sad send-off to their brief partnership, considering that Gay would not outlive the film's premiere.



Quintin Bulnes is suitably austere and commanding in his role as Zandor, the voodoo high priest. A noteworthy character actor with a long list of credits in Mexican cinema, many in the western genre, Bulnes is a familiar face from other Mexican fantastique. He appeared in two of Boris Karloff's Mexican quartet of horrors, Dance of Death (Macabre serenade, 1968) and Isle of the Snake People (La muerte viviente, 1968) and played a vampire in Frankenstein, the Vampire and Company (Frankenstein, el vampiro y compania, 1962) and Little Red Riding Hood and the Monsters (Caperucita y Pulgarcito contra los monstruos, 1962) He's also seen in a couple of Gaston Santos westerns, as well, including the horror-tinged The Living Coffin (El grito de la muerte, 1959), which has been recently released on DVD by CasaNegra.

The director, Benito Alazraki, had a varied career in cinema that included not only genre films like Santo vs. the Zombies (Santo contra los zombies, 1961) and Spiritism (Espiritismo, 1961), but a string of well-received documentaries made during the 1950s for his own production company, Teleproducciones. He spent ten years in Spain, beginning in 1962, directing and writing television programs, and directing two co-productions with Mexico, Los jovenes amantes (1970) and Las tres perfectas casadas (1971). After returning to Mexico, Alazraki became heavily involved in managing positions in television, and kept his hand active with the occasional directing assignment.

Several members of the cast of The Curse of the Doll People (Elvira Quintana, Roberto G. Rivera, Quintin Bulnes) already appeared together for director Benito Alazraki in La ley de las pistolas (1959), likewise scripted by Doll People's screenwriter Alfredo Salazar and produced by Cinematografica Calderon (and Roberto G. Rivera). Excepting for Bulnes, the same team made an earlier western, Pistolas invencibles (1959). These were artists familiar with each other, moving smoothly from genre to genre.

BCI's The Curse of the Doll People is presented in the original Spanish version, as well as the K. Gordon Murray English-dub on the flip side of the disc. The source material appears to be from a video master provided by Cinematografica Calderon, the original producers of the film, so the quality on the Spanish version is not up to the finer Mexican horror emerging from CasaNegra. The right side of the credits are slightly cut off, obviously indicating that we are not seeing all of the picture, and scenes end with the picture getting temporarily brighter before the next scene takes over. Inexplicably, at 3:42 into the film, a second of an exterior pan scene intrudes itself into the film. Having the K. Gordon Murray dub available was a commendable idea that went wrong when a cut version of the Murray dub was mistakenly used. The Spanish version clocks in at 1:21:57, while the Murray version present here is only 1:10:00. Despite these rough edges, the BCI presentation is the best that this film has seen in any format in any version, and this one has the considerable benefit of being the original Spanish version with English subtitles. When coupled with two versions of Night of the Bloody Apes and David Wilt's excellent liners (housed in an eight-page booklet), the price is superbly right for acquiring the DVD set and making it part of anyone's Mexican horror collection.

The BCI set of The Curse of the Doll People and The Night of the Bloody Apes is available at Amazon.com for $12.99.

Meet German Robles at the Bash!

The legendary actor German Robles is scheduled to appear at this year's Monster Bash, June 22 to 24, at the Airport Four Points Hotel in Pittsburgh, PA. This is a rare appearance by Robles in the United States, certainly in the eastern states, so those who can make it, should definitely be there for this notable and, yes, historic event. Call for info at (724) 238-4317, and also check the Monster Bash page at Creepy Classics (www.creepyclassics.com).



If you will be at the Bash and taking photos of Don Robles, please feel free to send a couple to me at eurosin@aol.com, so that I can post them on this blog. Many thanks!

And don't forget that "German" is not pronounced like the word for a person from Germany, but it's pronounced more like "Herman," as the "G" has an "H" sound in Spanish.

El hombre y el monstruo (1958)

El hombre y el monstruo (The Man and the Monster), producer/actor Abel Salazar’s follow-up to his two successful "El vampiro" films (El vampiro, 1957, and El ataud del vampiro, 1957) moved away from vampire myths to seep itself in a delirious combination of Faustian legend and Robert Louis Stevenson's classic Jekyll & Hyde tale. Shooting on the ABSA production began on June 23, 1958 at the Churubusco Azteca Studios, and if some of the sets are recognizable to the Mexican horror initiate, it is because the filming followed the helming of another horror film, Misterios de ultratumba (English title: The Black Pit of Dr. M), and employed some of the same sets and decorations. Interesting enough, though undoubtedly coincidental, both films share an underlying warning for man against desiring more than is meted out to a human in life.

The film starts with a bang--almost literally, as the first image in the wonderful prologue is a car heading at furious speed down a night road to almost immediately smash into a tree. (Why the woman driver is driving so furiously is never made known--it's almost as if she is escaping from a horror that precedes the one she will face in a few minutes.) The woman driver gets out and seeks help at a nearby hacienda mansion--a foreboding, run-down dwelling, from inside which a piano is heard. The heavy courtyard door is open, but the door to the hacienda is locked. When the woman knocks on the hacienda door, the pianist stops his playing. As the woman moves away in trepidation, the pianist pleads with her to open the door and set him free. Curiously, a set of keys are lying not far from the foot of the door. The woman hesitates, but, compelled by the begging voice and her human duty toward suffering, she picks up the keys and opens the door. The title of the film is played over her screaming face. (In the K. Gordon Murray American edit, not present on the DVD except for an English audio track, the English title of a film is seen against a black background, while we hear the audio of the woman’s scream.)

This exceptional and atmospheric beginning, almost European in nature with its blonde female, sleek modern car and sophisticated camerawork, heralds a genuine classic of Mexican horror cinema. The moralistic story tells of a famed pianist, Samuel Magno, who has nowadays retreated from the world to focus his time on developing the talents of his protegee, Laura, a woman who is the exact image of Alejandra, a female pianist whom Magno had killed in fit of envy and after making his Faustian deal with the Devil. ("Magno" is derived from the Latin "magna," meaning "the great," so the character is slyly named, in code, "Samuel the Great.")

Faustian tales have been around for ages, both in legend and artistic works. The great violinist Paganini was thought by some to have sold his soul to the devil in return for being such a virtuoso on the violin. So much was this taken to heart that for five years after his death the Church refused his body’s burial in consecrated ground! 19^th century musical works such as Franz Liszt’s Faust Symphony (1854) and Charles Gounod’s opera Faust (1859) dealt with the fable, underlying how effective and entertaining a combination music and damnation can make. It is to the credit to the man responsible for the story, Raul Zenteno, that he chose to develop his plot from this folktale that has spread to many cultures through the years. Music is the link throughout the entire film, with the suspenseful climax taking place in a concert hall, where Laura performs with an orchestra under the direction of Samuel Magno. The final scene is operatically emotional (by far the most emotional of all of Salazar's horror films) and ends on a perfect note, much like a classical piece of music.

Aside from its many strengths, what makes the El hombre y el monstruo particularly intriguing is that Samuel only kills his rival, Alejandra, after she plays in a concert a “strange melody” from sheet music that is, sinisterly, white notes on black paper. As she tells Samuel in a later scene, she has no idea where the sheet music came from and it bears no composer’s name. We realize at this point that the Devil has set up a trap and Samuel will fall into it. The hand of cruel fate is evoked here, much as in the aforementioned Misterios de ultratumba, though the ABSA film refrains from highlighting any religious message.

Rafael Baledon, one of Mexico’s notable craftsmen of genre cinema, directs with a superb eye for framing, making each scene count aesthetically, despite the quick shooting schedule of the film. It is quite an impressive directorial outing, reaching beyond just an ordinary journeyman's work for a paycheck, a criticism that could be applied to another ABSA horror director, the notorious Chano Urueta.

The major leads--Enrique Rambal, Abel Salazar, Martha Roth and Ofelia Guilmain--all perform superbly. Roth does a heroic job of keeping still in the scenes in which she plays the corpse of Alejandra, but I do believe several nearly unnoticeable tricks were used, including a photographic cut-out of the actress when the camera is looking over her character's shoulder. The most amusing performance, intentional or not, must go to a black cat, who jets out of the hands of Magno's mother whenever Magno or trouble approaches.

The highly regarded pianist Maria Teresa Rodriguez played the classic compositions in the film and probably the wilder, non-classical compositions as well. Born in Hidalgo on February 18^th, 1923, Teresa Rodriguez was a child prodigy who performed Beethoven’s First Concerto with an orchestra at age eight and graduated as a concertista at fourteen. Her participation in the film, noted in the credits, shows the classiness that Salazar was attempting to give his production.

Much has been made, negatively, of the make-up used for the monster. I think it's intentionally a conflicting mixture of repulsive-horrid and pug-ugly lovable, as we are meant to not just be frightened by the monster, but alternately also be sympathetic to it. The gross largeness of the features is also in keeping with the horror make-up of several earlier Mexican horrors, including the classic El monstruo resucitado (1953), though the inspiration here seems to be the Hyde make-up used on Frederic March for the 1931 filming of the classic Robert Louis Stevenson tale. Just add a lot more hair and some facial elephantiasis that balloons up nose and lips.

The DVD from CasaNegra is up to the usual high-standards the company has consistently attained with its previous Mexican horror releases. The print quality, for a film this old, is as good as it gets, and CasaNegra has done a nice job of subtitling the Spanish audio, rendering the lettering in a pleasing and easily readable bluish font that just about glows. The K. Gordon Murray English dub is available as an audio option. Special features include a Mexican horror movie poster "slideshow," a US radio spot (when the film was paired with El vampiro sangriento/The Bloody Vampire), and cast bios by an uncredited David Wilt. The only negative in the entirety is the ugly color photo that graces the cover. The photo has nothing to do with film, but was placed there in a misguided effort to attract the casual buyer. It is one of the most misleading and unnecessary of DVD covers and, thankfully, as evidenced by the advance cover art for CasaNegra's next two Mexican horrors, it's a mistake the company won't make again.

It cannot be stressed enough that fans of Mexican horror need to support this release, and CasaNegra's other Mexican horror ventures, in order for the company to keep on investing in the genre. While no official word has emerged from CasaNegra concerning the sales of its DVDs, the logical surmise, based on the financial troubles that all niche DVD companies are going through these days, is that the plethora of sterling and authorized presentations of foreign horror may be coming to an end. The market will determine this, and it's up to us who love and respect these films to make sure these releases are as successful as possible.

CasaNegra's The Man and the Monster is available at Amazon.com for $17.99.

Abel Salazar's Horror Eight

Even those who are not novices to Mexican horror cinema, may be unfamiliar with all the horror titles that emerged from Abel Salazar's Cinematografica ABSA productions. There were eight films in number, and here's the list, with director credit, production and premiere dates:

1 - El vampiro/The Vampire, D: Fernando Mendez (May 1957; premiered 10/4/57)
2 - El ataud del vampiro/The Vampire's Coffin, D: Fernando Mendez (start date: November 14, 1957; premiered 8/28/58)
3 - El hombre y el monstruo/The Man and the Monster, D: Rafael Baledon (start date: Junes 23, 1958; premiered 10/8/59)
4 - El mundo de los vampiros/The World of the Vampires, D: Alfonso Corona Blake (start date: August 17, 1960; premiered 11/2/61)
5 - El espejo de la bruja/The Witch's Mirror, D: Chano Urueta (November 14, 1960; premiered 7/12/62)
6 - El baron del terror/The Brainiac, D: Chano Urueta (February, 1961; premiered 11/9/62)
7 - La cabeza vivente/The Living Head, D: Chano Urueta (March, 1961; premiered 3/1/63)
8 - La maldicion de la Llorona/The Curse of the Crying Woman, D: Rafael Baledon (November/December, 1961; premiered 8/15/63)

With the September releases of The World of the Vampires and The Living Head, CasaNegra Entertainment will have issued on DVD all eight films from the finest elements available. One's ABSA Horror Library will be complete.

Forthcoming Mexican Horror DVDs

Considered a lost film for a long time, El vampiro y el sexo, the nude variant of Santo en el tesoro de Drácula (Santo in the Treasure of Dracula), will finally emerge on DVD from BCI's Deimos Entertainment. Pictured above is a rare promotional still from the film. No word yet on a release date, but the transfer is being currently done in Mexico. An English audio track has been found also, though it's missing for one reel, so that portion will be subtitled. I'm assuming a Spanish audio track will be present as well.

Meanwhile, CasaNegra maintains its classic Mexican horror course with the September releases of El mundo de los vampiros (The World of the Vampires) and La Cabeza Viviente (The Living Head). Both films are Abel Salazar productions. El mundo de los vampiros is particularly outre and mesmerizing.

German Robles Audio Commentary for EL VAMPIRO

Yes, it's true. "El Vampiro" himself, German Robles has recorded an audio commentary for El vampiro, the Mexican horror classic that celebrates its 50th anniversary this year. Unfortunately, at this point in time, the commentary will only surface on a special edition Mexican DVD due for release in October. The DVD is being produced by Daniel Birman Ripstein of Alameda Films. Considering that CasaNegra Entertainment has inroads with Alameda Films (CasaNegra's Mexican horror DVDs are from Alameda's film holdings), it's possible that this important commentary will see a subtitled release here in the United States sometime in the future. CasaNegra already has a "Special Edition" DVD, released last year, of El vampiro and its sequel, El ataud del vampiro, but unless it's too late for a 50th Anniversary Edition of El vampiro, a "Special, Special Edition" may be warranted if sales of the first DVD proved satisfactory.

Another Big Night for PAN'S LABYRINTH

On March 20th, Mexico City's Palace Of Fine Arts held a ceremony for the Ariel, Mexico's version of the Oscar. The big winner of the night was Guillermo del Toro's El laberinto del fauno (Pan's Labyrinth) with nine wins:

Best Film - El laberinto del fauno
Best Director - Guillermo del Toro
Best Actress - Maribel Verdu
Best Cinematography - Guillermo Navarro
Best Score - Javier Navarrete
Best Production Design Eugenio Caballero, Ramon Moya, Pilar Revuelta
Best Costume Design - Lala Huete
Best Makeup & Hair - Jose Quetglas, Blanca Sanchez
Best Special Effects - Edward Irastorza, Everett Burrell, David Marti, Montse Ribe

Will the amazing worldwide success of Guillermo del Toro's film inspire other Mexican filmmakers to make films in the fantasy and horror genres? Will audiences take an interest in the rich history of Mexican fantastique that predated and led up to Guillermo del Toro? Questions to which we will know the answers in the near future.

Mexican Horror Pleases Rondo!

The results are in! Among the winners of the Fifth Annual Rondo Hatton Classic Horror Awards, given out to the best work in the horror/fantasy/sci-fi genres, are Guillermo del Toro's PAN'S LABYRINTH for Best Picture and CasaNegra Entertainment for Best DVD Company. CasaNegra did an exemplary job last in year in bringing to the public several classics of Mexican horror cinema, including El vampiro (The Vampire, 1957) and El baron del terror (English title: The Brainiac, 1961). Their handsome editions featured great print quality, English subtitles for the Spanish-language original tracks, and also, when available, an English dub option. Each disc had generous supplements as well. Congratulations to Guillermo del Toro and CasaNegra Entertainment!

It doesn't end there. The legendary German Robles received the coveted "Monster Kid Hall of Fame" Award for his groundbreaking work in Mexican fantastique. Hopefully, when he receives news of this award, someone will explain to him just what is a "monster kid"! Congratulations to Don Robles, who should be at this year's Monster Bash in June to accept the award.

1,480 classic horror fans voted in the competition. More on the Rondos at:

www.rondoaward.com

Orlak, the Hell of Frankenstein (1960)

After completing their scripts for the Nostradamus quartet of films starring German Robles, screenwriters Alfredo Ruanova and Carlos Enrique Taboada crafted a Frankenstein script for producer/director Rafael Baledon. As director, Baledon was already familiar with the demands of a horror film with his impressive El hombre y el monstruo (The Man and the Monster, 1958) and the less than impressive El pantano de las animas (English title: The Swamp of the Lost Monster, 1956). Though the Frankenstein monster and other similar creatures had turned up in Mexican cinema in brief appearances, such as the horror comedy El castillo de los monstrous (The Castle of the Monsters, 1957), Ruanova and Taboada’s script dealt exclusively with the Mary Shelley literary creation--the first Mexican film to do so, in fact. Baledon must have been inspired by the popularity of vampires in recent Mexican cinema and saw an opportunity to mine another familiar monster found in Universal’s Golden Age of Horror and the newer successes of Britain’s Hammer Films with The Curse of Frankenstein (1957) and The Revenge of Frankenstein (1958). The production was helmed at the America studios, which meant that like the Nostradamus series this film, due to union regulations, had to be scheduled as a serial, this time in four parts lasting, roughly, twenty-five minutes each. Filming began on July 4 and lasted to July 21, 1960, and the film premiered that same year, on December 8, 1960.

Working in a chiaroscuro landscape and with not much funding, Baledon cleverly reverted at appropriate times to the minimalist approach of certain German filmmakers of the silent era, not in duplicating expressionistic poses and design, but in evoking an expressionistic sense of positioning and drama; at other times, he created a visual delight, part expressionistic, part surrealistic, as when filming about a wedge shaped building whose center juts toward the audience in the middle of the screen. Sets still standing from the Nostradamus series were used, and enough craftsmanship is in evidence to impart a moderate richness of production.

He's back! Carlos Ancira reprises a similar scarred makeup from Misterios de ultratumba
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Ruanova and Taboada’s script kept some traditions of Frankenstein cinema. So, the film has the evil human, Jamie Rojas (Joaquin Cordero), who uses Dr. Frankenstein's creation, here named Orlak (Cordero also), to revenge himself on the people who sent him to jail, replicating the motivations found with Ygor in Son of Frankenstein (1939) while anticipating Hammer’s Evil of Frankenstein (1964). The determined brutality of Rojas even extends beyond the wickedness of someone like Ygor, as when Rojas instructs the Orlak automaton to murder the wife and child of one upon whom he seeks vengeance. While the child's death is kept offscreen, the scene leading up to it shows a crying child (clearly upset at what’s being staged during filming) being threatened by the advancing Orlak. The film also presents an ugly assistant of Dr. Frankenstein, the scarred Eric, played by Carlos Ancira, who desires a transformation of his pitiful condition and helps Rojas in criminal activities with that aim in mind, another motivation shared by previous cinematic deformed assistants of Dr. Frankenstein. (Ancira wears similar make-up to that he wore in his impressive performance in Misterios de ultratumba/English title: The Black Pit of Dr. M, 1958.) And the fiery ending with townspeople chasing Orlak has clear antecedents in many a Frankenstein film, including the first one from Universal with Boris Karloff made in 1931. Despite these borrowings, Orlak emerges as interesting on its own merits thanks to Baledon’s efficient and at times inspired direction, the adroitness of the script that keeps things moving, the general excellence of the cast, particularly Joaquin Cordero's dual role as villain and an automaton killer, the creepy atmosphere of the impressive subterranean vaults housing Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory, and one’s own fascination at watching a different country’s respectful take on the Frankenstein legend.

As with the better Frankenstein films, the Frankenstein creature shows a sympathetic emotional side that makes him more human (and humane) than some of his normal flesh-and-blood counterparts. Finally freed of Rojas’ control, Orlak journeys to Elvira, the woman Rojas has fallen in love with in an attempt to exact vengeance on her father. Seeing Orlak, Elvira naturally mistakes him for Rojas and offers up her desire to elope with him, decrying her loneliness without his presence. Orlak responds that she doesn’t know who he really is. “I fell in love with you because I needed peace,” he adds, perhaps not only speaking for himself but for Rojas as well. Remarking on his apparent sadness that Elvira picks upon, Orlak replies, “No, it is not possible. Only men know sadness. I am not human.” As he speaks of the torments of doing evil deeds that seem compelled by a power outside of him, Orlak sits facing the fire, which captivates him as it warms both his undead body and soul. As he continues sitting and talking, a tear running down his cheek, his artificial face begins to melt and give way to a mass of hideous lumps. It is both an emotional and physical breakdown, the highlight of the film, and a rich setup to the revelatory moment when he will turn to Elvira, revealing the fallen-apart reality of his being.

Orlak (Joaquin Cordero) gazes into his soul...

...and comes apart
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Though Baledon’s earlier El hombre y el monstruo is more dramatic and sustains the resonance its monster’s inner turmoil longer, Orlak, el infierno de Frankenstein impresses with its simmering gothic meditation on duality, and the sincerity of its filmmakers who were determined not to undervalue or make fun of the original source material. The film remains a tantalizingly unique and successful interpretation of the Frankenstein legend.

Cover of the Tekila Films DVD
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Orlak, el infierno de Frankenstein is available through Tekila Films as a standalone DVD and part of a four part Mexican horror collection that is sold as three films with a bonus film added. Marketed solely toward the Hispanic population in the United States, neither of the DVD presentations are subtitled in English. The standalone DVD has a nice sepia cover and an interesting menu design, but the menu sloppily misspells Frankenstein and incorrectly adds an “en” into the film’s title. The back copy mistakenly states that the film is in color and 99 minutes long, six minutes longer than the actual running time. The source of the film is clearly a video format. A frisky stretch line is visible near the top of the frame when the DVD is viewed on a computer monitor, though a television monitor’s over-scanning alleviates the problem. Despite the video source element, the picture quality is generally good and certainly far better than any of the fuzzy dupes that hardcore Mexican horror addicts have had to deal with in the past.

Unfortunately for Baledon’s goals, the film was never dubbed into English for a release to the Anglo market in the United States, either theatrically or on television, so any future DVD release geared toward the English-speaking viewer would have to be subtitled. It would be a worthy endeavor for a welcome DVD release.

The French DVD Releases

Misterios de ultratumba/The Black Pit of Dr. M


El hombre y el monstruo/The Man and the Monster


La maldicion de la Llorona/The Curse of the Crying Woman


La marca del muerte/Creature of the Walking Dead


El pantano de las animas/Swamp of the Lost Souls

While CasaNegra and BCI/Deimos are bringing out classic Mexican horror films on DVD in the United States, a small French DVD company, Bach Films, is doing the same for the French market. Bach Films has twelve releases, all of which stem from the Alameda Films catalog, the same company from whom CasaNegra is acquiring its films. The twelve, with their commonly known English titles, are:

El vampiro/The Vampire
El ataud del vampiro/The Vampire's Coffin
El baron del terror/The Brainiac
La cabeza viviente/The Living Head
El espejo de la bruja/The Witch's Mirror
El hombre y el monstruo/The Man and the Monster
La maldicion de la Llorona/The Curse of the Crying Woman
La marca del muerte/Creature of the Walking Dead (the Warren-edited version)
Misterios de ultratumba/The Black Pit of Dr. M
El mundo de los vampiros/The World of the Vampires
El grito de la muerte/The Living Coffin
El pantano de las animas/Swamp of the Lost Souls

Based on French reviews of the DVDs that have already been released in this series, it appears the quality is very good, indicating that the same upgraded masters are being, or have been, used by CasaNegra. None of these DVDs have English-subtitling, btw.

Mexican Fantasy/Horror at the Oscars

With several Oscar nominations, the Mexican-Spanish El laberinto del fauno (Pan's Labyrinth, 2006) picked up three Oscar wins last night: Best Achievement in Cinematography (Guillermo Navarro), Best Achievement in Art Direction (Pilar Revuelta, Eugenio Caballero; pictured above), and Best Achievement in Make-Up (David Marti, Monste Ribe). Crafted by Mexican director Guillermo del Toro, certainly the most impressive contemporary artist in cinemafantastique, the film lost out to Germany's Das Leben der Anderen for Best Foreign Language Film.

Of the winners for El laberinto del fauno, only Guillermo Navarro (pictured to the right) is Mexican born. Navarro has had a long-standing working relationship with del Toro that started with Cronos (1993). Interestingly enough, another Mexican cinematographer, Emmanuel Lubezki, who had been nominated for Children of Men (2006), may have once worked with del Toro on the Mexican horror TV series, Hora marcada (1986-1990), which represented del Toro's first professional directorial efforts.

Congratulations to all the nominees and winners!

The Caprices of EL BARON DEL TERROR

Does this look familiar?



If you are a fan of Mexican horror, you should recognize one of the images in the opening credits of El baron del terror (The Brainiac, 1961). The first image, in fact. From Goya's "The Caprichos" etchings and prints. Now, why would the filmmakers opt to use images from Goya's "The Caprichos" to set the tone of El baron del terror?

Think of the irreverent Baron d'Estera, mocking the Catholic inquisitors of New Spain; think of his general disdain for humanity. And then reflect on this, written about "The Caprichos":

"The entire set of some 80 prints cover subjects of prostitution, child sexual abuse, witchcraft, numerous specific superstitions, and satiric critiques of doctors, politicians, and clergy, among others. Nearly half of the imagery concerns itself with witchcraft, often in a mocking tone that shows that Goya's use of this particular subject was meant to have more than just one single understanding for the viewer." http://eeweems.com/goya/sleep_of_reason.html

Or this:

"The series known as "Los Caprichos," which, loosely translated, means "the caprices," shows Goya's rancor at the unpredictability of life, combining acerbic commentary on the Spanish aristocracy, the clergy and human nature itself with images of monsters, ghouls and other supernatural figures." http://www.columbia.edu/cu/record/archives/vol19/vol19_iss3/record193.27

It seems there was a method to the outre madness of those behind the Brainiac!

Closing In

I'm really pushing myself to finish up the Vampiros and Monstruos book by the end of March. Though a chunk of work still remains to be done, there is light at the end of this long tunnel and I'm very hopeful a publication date can be finalized for the summer. The book will cover the Mexican horror and fantasy film of the 20th century and is guaranteed to be the most comprehensive book on the subject yet. (Though, admittedly, there are only a few books that touch upon the subject at all!)