The Vampire Lovers (1970)

It could be stated that the 70s were a tough time for the legendary Hammer Film Productions, as after ruling the 60s with their trademark brand of lavish Gothic horrors, their classic formula was beginning to show its age, and on top of that, times were changing, and the company began to face strong competition from the new breed of grittier, edgier films that appeared in that decade. "The Vampire Lovers" is an attempt to spice things up a bit by adding an even stronger dose of eroticism to the Gothic horrors the studio was famous for. Ever since the release of "Dracula" (1958), Hammer Films had subtly played with eroticism in their productions, but "The Vampire Lovers" would be a step ahead. The experienced Roy Ward Baker (of "A Night to Remember" fame) was put in charge of the movie, but it would be the introduction of one of the studios' most iconic actresses, the gorgeous Ingrid Pitt, what would turn the film into a cult classic. This free adaptation of Sheridan Le Fanu's classic Gothic novel "Carmilla", is rightfully, one of the best Hammer films, not only of their late period, but of all time.

In 19th century Styria, a remote region in Austria, a series of deaths amongst the villagers brings back the ancient rumors of vampires, specially when Laura (Pippa Steel), the niece of General Von Spielsdorf (Peter Cushing), falls sick to the same strange disease that it's killing the villagers. Marcilla (Ingrid Pitt), the daughter of a Countess, is living with the General's family as a house guest, after General Von Spielsdorf agreed to have her under his care while her mother is away. Laura quickly befriends Marcilla, who does everything she can to comfort young Laura. Sadly, all is in vain and the beautiful young girl dies. The mysterious Marcilla, vanishes from the General's home without leaving a trace. Several weeks later, the disease returns to the region, this time affecting Emma Morton (Madeline Smith), the daughter of a British nobleman (George Cole) who doesn't believe in vampires. However, Emma has a friend that looks after her, a young woman named Carmilla, that bears more than a passing resemblance to the disappeared Marcilla. Death has arrived to the Morton's house.

While scriptwriters Harry Fine, Tudor Gates and Michael Style do take some liberties with "Carmilla"'s plot, "The Vampire Lovers" is actually one of the most faithful adaptations to Le Fanu's novel, in the sense that it remains true to the novel's spirit and its balance of sheer Gothic horror and classy eroticism. The plot is quite well developed and there's an interesting attempt at building up a new mythology separated from Hammer's Dracula films. Also, the story plays nicely with suspense remarkable, as even when the story is told from the point of view of the "antagonist", the tension (both sexual and non-sexual) is always at the upfront. Keeping a balance between horror and eroticism is hard, but "The Vampire Lovers" manages to make a vivid portrait of those important aspects in the nature of the vampire myth. Carmilla is a temptress and a predator, a wild force of nature that, true to the vampire iconography, represents chaos and wilderness. What's interesting is how despite the outcome of the fight between the vampire and the civilized men, the vampire is always treated as the most charismathic figure.

The experienced Roy Ward Baker (who had already done a film for Hammer, "Quatermass and the Pit" in 1967) brought to Hammer Film Productions his extraordinary ability to do wonders with limited resources, a trait that suited like a glove the lavish look of the low budget horror films that made Hammer famous. What director Roy Ward Baker gives to the film is certainly class, a certain subtlety and elegance in his use of the camera that work wonders for the eroticism inherent in the story. While this subtle approach may seem restrained, it actually enhances the eroticism of several scenes, as what's implied is often more tempting than what is shown (and it's shown a lot). Despite the low-budget, the movie looks very good, as Roy Ward Baker makes an excellent use of his resources allowing him to create nightmarish scenes despite the budget constrains. An instrumental figure in this is cinematographer Moray Grant, who employs his talents to give the film a haunting atmosphere of dark fantasy that fits nicely with the Gothic tone of the story. "The Vampire Lovers" is one of the best looking horrors from the Hammer house.

It's more than clear that "The Vampire Lovers" is basically a star vehicle for the beautiful Ingrid Pitt, and she truly makes the most of the chance. As the lead character, Carmilla, Pitt is simply breathtaking, and not only because of her imposing beauty. Pitt manages to create a character that's both seductive and terrifying, alluring and destructive, the very essence of the horror tale. With her powerful screen presence, Ingrid Pitt carries the film with ease and creates an iconic figure in the process. And her strong personality makes a pretty good contrast with the innocence portrayed by actress Madeline Smith as Emma Morton, her counterpart in several scenes. Smith makes a fine job in her role, but her character is sadly a tad underdeveloped and ends up as just another damsel in distress (the real star is Carmilla of course). Kate O'Mara delivers another of the great performances of the movie as Mme. Perrodot, a governess infatuated by Carmilla's power. George Cole, Douglas Wilmer and the legendary Peter Cushing complete the cast, bringing excellent support due to their experience and great talent.

It would be very easy to dismiss "The Vampire Lovers" as just an erotic film about lesbian vampires, particularly now that the theme of lesbianism in vampire films has been overdone, but this movie truly offers a lot more than that. For starters, it's a horror movie centered around its characters, with Carmilla at the center, playing with the rest of the characters as pieces of a game of chess. The atmosphere plays an even more important role in "The Vampire Lovers" than in usual Hammer films, as Roy Ward Baker aims for an aura of romanticism for the movie. Certainly, the low budget is at times noticeable and it may lack the dynamism and energy of the Hammer films directed by Terence Fisher, but this approach to the vampire film was not only daring and refreshing in its time, it was the next step in the road that Hammer had been taking the vampire film since "Dracula" (1958): the vampire was not only a monster, it was an attractive monster. Roy Ward Baker's version of "Carmilla" began its own "subgenre", becoming the main influence to the many subsequent erotic films about vampires that were done across the world.

The 70s would prove to be a difficult time for Hammer Film Productions, as in order to keep up with the times the company would begin to produce all sorts of variations to its horror films. Some would be set in modern times, while other would be bizarre combinations of genres ("The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires", mix of Gothic horror and martial arts is a perfect example of this). Nevertheless, "The Vampire Lovers" is one of the forgotten gems of that period in Hammer history where experimentation was needed to survive. In the case of this film, the experiment worked, and two more films were done in this model, making what is now known as the "Karnstein Trilogy" (with the films "Lust for a Vampire" and "Twins of Evil"). Despite its problems, "The Vampire Lovers" can be considered amongst the best Hammer films, not only of the late period of the company, but of all its history.

8/10

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Asylum (1972)

When talking about 70s British horror, the obvious reference is of course the classic gothic horror films produced by Hammer Film Productions during that decade. Nevertheless, Hammer Films and their monsters weren't the only horrors coming from the United Kingdom at the time. Inspired by the success of Hammer Films in the horror genre, Amicus Productions began to produce their own genre films in a similar visual style (in color, and often with the same cast), though with several obvious differences: while Hammer was making period gothic horror films, Amicus set its films in contemporary times, and instead of gothic horror the Amicus films were mostly anthologies, portmanteau horror films consisting of four or sometimes five short horror stories linked by a common theme or frame story (inspired by the British classic, "Dead of Night"). "Asylum", released in 1972 and directed by Roy Ward Baker (whom already had spent a time at Hammer, directing "The Vampire Lovers" in 1970 among others), is a perfect example of the kind of horror films that Amicus would be producing during the 1970s.

"Asylum" (also known in the U.S. as "House of Crazies"), takes its title from the fact that its framing tale is about a physician, Dr. Martin (Robert Powell), whom arrives to the asylum of the title for a job interview. Dr. Lionel Rutherford (Patrick Magee), the man who is conducting the interview, decides to put Martin to test: one of the inmates at the asylum is Dr. Starr, the former head of the Asylum who lost his mind after a complete mental breakdown. Dr. Martin will have to interview the inmates at the asylum and identify which one of them is actually Dr. Starr. If he manages to recognize him, Martin will get the job. So, Dr. Martin gets into the asylum, meeting each patient in their solitary confinement cells and listening to their tales. Patient Bonnie (Barbara Perkins) will tell a tale of ambition and voodoo, while tailor Bruno (Barry Morse) will reveal his bizarre experience with a quite special fabric. Barbara (Charlotte Rampling) will detail her cherished friendship with the mischievous Lucy (Britt Ekland), while Dr. Byron (Herbert Lom) will talk about a terrifying experiment with soul transference.

Writer Robert Bloch (author of the novel "Psycho", adapted to the screen in 1960) takes on the scriptwriter duty in "Asylum" taking as basis four of this short stories, to which he adds the asylum theme as framing story for the film. While the use of a framing story as bookend for the rest of the tales is a pretty common device in Amicus Productions' anthologies, the fact that Bloch uses the asylum motif gives the movie a quite particular identity of its own, as it allows the tales to move between the more realistic horror to the realm of pure fantasy with great ease, as after all, these are the stories of a group of mad people. Two major themes appear in each one of Robert Bloch's stories: the animation of inanimate objects, and the concept of identity and its deviations. This one ultimately echoes through the whole film, as the framing story involves Martin trying to discover whom amongst the inmates is actually Dr. Starr in disguise. however, this theme ends up a bit forced in the framing tale as it0s obvious that at least two of the interviewed inmates are too young to be seriously considered as candidates to be Dr. Starr.

By 1972, director Roy Ward Baker was already considered as one of the most experienced filmmakers in the United Kingdom, having directed classics as "Morning Departure" (1950) and "A Night to Remember" (1958). While working at Amicus Productions meant lower budgets, Baker already had the talent and experience to do more with less, and "Asylum" shows this at its best. If there's something inherent in anthology films is that, by their own nature, they have the tendency to be uneven in terms of the quality of the stories that conform them, and sadly, "Asylum" is no exception. However, director Roy Ward Baker manages to lessen this a tad by keeping an equal degree of quality and stylistic coherence through every story. While the tales may shift in tone, the visual style that Roy Ward Baker keeps through the whole film gives the movie an ominous atmosphere of uneasiness, of dark abnormality that benefits the film a lot. So, even if Robert Bloch's screenplay is no the strongest element in "Asylum", its impeccable manufacture certainly is.

Like most of the movies released by Amicus Productions, the cast is made up of a mixture of legendary stars of the horror genre (Peter Cushing and Herbert Lom), and young rising artists looking for the chance to shine (Britt Ekland and Charlotte Rampling). The result, as in every portmanteau film, varies from tale to tale, though in general the acting in "Asylum" is of great quality. On one hand there are haunting performances, as the ones by Mores and Cushing in "The Weird Tailor", in which both actors manage to capture perfectly the slightly hammy tone that a tale of dark supernatural fantasy like this one demanded. On the other side, Britt Ekland and Charlotte Rampling aren't as fortunate in their tale, which moves in the terrains of psychological horror. While the story where they work, "Lucy Comes to Stay", is perhaps the dullest of the four, a better work by the two actresses may had meant a significative improvement. Patrick Magee, who plays the sinister wheelchair-bounded Dr. Lionel Rutherford in the framing story, makes a terrific work as the authoritarian and devilish doctor.

Despite some rather mediocre performances, "Asylum" doesn't have its weak spot in the acting department, as the cast as a whole makes an effective job. The film's weakness is perhaps hidden deeper in the Robert Bloch's screenplay. As mentioned before, it's common in anthologies that some of the stories are less functional than the rest, and that's unfortunately the case in "Asylum", as while "The Weird Tailor", "Frozen Fear" and the framing story are brilliant and quite interesting, "Mannikins of Horror" and particularly "Lucy Comes to Stay" fail to reach that level. The case of "Lucy Comes to Stay" is specially interesting as its plot is some sort of variation of the one in "Psycho" (so it's not a strange territory for author Robert Bloch), though set in a more youthful atmosphere that doesn't match the solemn way the story is developed, making it feel a bit slow and dull in comparison to other stories from "Asylum". A similar case is the problem of "Mannikins of Horror", as it has a quite interesting premise that would had benefited from a less campy, and more serious and somber tone.

While of a budget considerable lower than the gothic horrors of Hammer Film Productions (and that's saying something), Amicus Productions' anthology films could be as interesting or more than some of its rivals' horror movies, and "Asylum" is perhaps the best proof of that. While it may not be the best work of writer Robert Bloch, the movie benefits enormously from the masterful way director Roy Ward Baker crafts the movie, as well as the classy work by cinematographer Deny N. Coop, who manage to return that mysterious and somber atmosphere of classic gothic horror to the very modern contemporary England. It's a perfectly done mix of the old and the new. Despite being lesser known than the movies from Hammer Film Productions, it's worth to discover the oeuvre of Amicus Productions, and "Asylum" is a great way to start.

7/10

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Leptirica (1973)

According to an old Serbian legend, in the village of Zarožje there was a man named Sava Savanović, who worked in the mill that was close to the river Rogačica. Despite already being an old man, Sava Savanović married a beautiful young lady he loved. However, the young lady was in love with Sava's brother, and the couple began an affair. In an act of fury, Sava Savanović murdered the two lovers inside the mill. When the villagers of Zarožje discovered the crime, they captured and lynched Sava Savanović, and then buried his corpse deep in the woods. Soon after this rumours were heard about Sava Savanović, who supposedly now was a vampire roaming the old mill. With this legend, Sava Savanović would become one of the first vampires in Serbian folklore, and his popularity was such that celebrated writer Milovan Glišic wrote a novel based on the old story ("Posle devedeset godina" or "After Ninety Years" in 1880). The plot of this novel would be taken as basis for a TV movie released in 1977 by director Djordje Kadijevic with the name of "Leptirica" ("Лептирица").

"Leptirica" (literally "The Moth" or "The She-Butterfly", which is the English title of the film), begins with the mysterious death of the town's new miller, Vule (Toma Kuruzovic). As he prepares to spend the night at the mill, Vule is murdered by a strange creature with dark skin and long fangs. The following day the villagers are worried since Vule is the fourth miller in the year to be killed under strange circumstances while spending a night at the old mill. In the meantime, the humble Strahinja (Petar Božovic) is madly in love with the beautiful Radojka (Mirjana Nikolic), the daughter of rich landlord Živan (Slobodan Perovic). Strahinja asks Živan to allow him to marry his daughter, but he refuses to accept his daughter marrying someone as poor as young Strahinja. Disappointed, Strahinja decides to leave the town, but instead ends up convinced to take the dangerous job of miller. Strahinja spends the night at the mill and manages to survive the monster's attack. After this, Strahinja and the villagers decide to discover the nature of the creature, so they find out about the legend of Sava Savanović.

Adapted by director Djordje Kadijevic himself, "Leptirica" is developed precisely as the thing that originated it in the first place: a folk tale. That is, at taking "Leptirica" to the screen, Kadijevic opts to give it a simple approach, avoiding to make the plot too complicated and focusing in enhancing the legendary (or better said, mythical) aspects of the story. Thus, the characters are basically a group of classic fairytale archetypes, in a story that transcends its origin in Serbian folklore and becomes a universal tale: "Leptirica" becomes essentially the story of a young humble man who must prove his worth to society and himself. The vampire myth in "Leptirica" is more a force of nature, with Sava Savanović acting as demon of the woods, an opposition to the civilized villagers. There's also in "Leptirica" a subtle subtext of vampirism taken as an equivalent to sexual awakening inherited from Glišic's novel. With a certain touch of comedy, Kadijevic keeps his plot between horror and fantasy, using a light-hearted tone that evokes the rural fairytale origin of the story of Sava Savanović.

Director Djordje Kadijevic makes a simple yet effective work in his making of "Leptirica", capturing the atmosphere of myth that the story has with great skill. In fact, this atmosphere is perhaps the most important element in "Leptirica", as Kadijevic manages to give his film the sensation of being set in an undefined period of history, in a timeless fantastic Serbia where myth is mixed with reality. This is particularly obvious in the horror scenes of the film, which have a certain surreal beauty in their craftsmanship thanks to the great use given to the work of cinematographer Branko Ivatovic. However, Djordje Kadijevic isn't that lucky in the making of the comedic scenes of his movie, which feel a tad forced and stagy, in sharp contrast to the aforementioned horror scenes. Certainly, Kadijevic is a devoted horror fan, (in fact, his 1969 film "Darovi moje rodjake Marije" was the first 100% Yugoslavian film with horror touches), and this becomes obvious in the great care given to the making of the horror scenes. Nevertheless, it would had been better if the same care had been put in the rest of the film.

The performances in "Leptirica" are a bit regular, as while there are a couple of great quality works, others aren't really that good. Of the former it's worth to point out the work of Petar Bozovic, whom plays young Strahinja, the archetypal rural hero of the story. Poor and humble, but noble in heart, Strahinja would rather leave before watching his beloved married to another man. While looking a bit too old for the part, actor Petar Bozovic makes a pretty good job and manages to capture the naiveté and nobleness of his character. However, it's actually Slobodan Perovic whom shines the most in "Leptirica" as the harsh landlord Živan. Perovic makes an excellent job, to the point that it would had been good to see more of his character. Young actress Mirjana Nikolic also makes an effective performance as Radojka, the beautiful daughter of Živan. The change her character endures as the film unfolds makes her an iconic figure of Serbian horror. The rest of the as isn't really up to the level of the aforementioned, and this is probably one of the film's weakest elements.

Done as part of a series of horror movies for the Yugoslavian television (the other films are "Devicanska svirka", "Sticenik" and "Zakletva", all directed by Djordje Kadijevic), "Leptirica" suffers from the technical and budgetary limitations of being a product made for television. However, the real problems of "Leptirica" aren't really related to its poor production values (director Kadijevic manages to do wonders with limited resources), but with his screenplay, which seems to be divided between a desire for being both a true horror film and an accessible rural comedy at the same time. Kadijevic fails to keep a balance between both genres, resulting in haunting horror scenes of great quality and moments of comedy that feel cheap and rushed. The contrast between them is abysmal, and truly show that the real interest of director Kadijevic was in the horror moments of his film. Despite this problem, "Leptirica" is still a quite interesting vampire story that, spiced up by Serbian folklore, gives a nice spin to the classic myth.

Considered as a classic of Serbian horror, the work of Djordje Kadijevic offers an interesting vision of the genre deeply rooted in his country's folklore. From amongst his works, "Leptirica" is perhaps the better known film, a movie that perfectly captures the essence and symbolism of Serbian folktales and transports them to the screen. Owner of a surreal atmosphere and an interesting visual design, "Leptirica" presents an interesting twist to the vampire myth, portrayed in the film as a force of nature that evokes the ancient fear to the unknown, to the savage: the woods, the darkness, the night. More symbolic than descriptive, the film is a faithful representation of a mythic struggle in film. While far from being a masterpiece, "Leptirica" has a certain charm that could only be described as "magic".

7/10
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La corta notte delle bambole di vetro (1971)

Having done a career as assistant director during the last years of the decade of the 1960s (in works such as Bernardo Bertolucci's "Il conformista" and several films with director Maurizio Lucidi), Italian filmmaker Aldo Lado got his chance to debut as a director with a story of mystery and horror (a giallo film) with the title "Malastrana". Executives from the film's distributor thought the title, which was a reference to the Malá Strana neighborhood in the city of Prague (where the story was set), was a bit too ambiguous and wasn't working, so it was decided that the film would be titled "La corta notte delle farfalle", meaning "Short Night of the Butterfly". To director Aldo Lado's misfortune, that very same year another tale of mystery was being released in Itay with butterflies in the title: "Una farfalla con le ali insanguinante", so another title changes was required at the last time, settling for the more ambiguous and poetic "La corta notte delle bambole di vetro", or in English, "Short Night of Glass Dolls". The film would end up being considered one of the most celebrated and unusual within the giallo subgenre.

"La corta notte delle bambole di vetro" begins with the discovery of the corpse of Gregory Moore (Jean Sorel), an American reporter who had gone missing a couple of days before. However, while it's apparently clear that Moore is dead, he is actually alive and conscious, trapped in a body that he can't control and unable of any form of communication. Confused by this, Moore tries to understand what has happened to him, remembering how everything started: with the mysterious disappearance of his beautiful girlfriend Mira (Barbara Bach) after a party they had attended. Moore begins to remember the events that took place after her disappearance, as while the local police had quickly dismissed the case as the bitter splitting of a couple, Moore had discovered a link between Mira's disappearance and other cases of missing girls in town. Moore's co-workers, Jessica (Ingrid Thulin) and Jacques (Mario Adorf) try to help him, though without really believing the clues that Moore follows, clues that will lead him to discover the morbid secrets of Prague's high society.

Written by director Aldo Lado himself along veteran scriptwriter Ernesto Gastaldi (writer of several Italian films of the genre), the story of "La corta notte delle bambole di vetro" presents an unusual spin to the mystery thriller at basing the plot in a series of flashbacks to reporter Gregory Moore's memories, while at the same time he tries to recover the control of his body. It's in this element where suspense comes into play in the story, as Gregory Moore isn0t really dead, just completely paralyzed by some reason unknown to himself, so tension rises by having him unable to communicate or defend himself. Mystery is perhaps the most important element in "La corta notte delle bambole di vetro", because as the plot unfolds it makes some unpredictable twists and turns that take the story each time closer to more extraordinary and morbid terrains. Certainly, "La corta notte delle bambole di vetro" moves away from the classic model of Italian giallo (stylish thrillers with great emphasis on graphic violence and eroticism), however, it truly keeps the horror and tension typical of the genre.

Another giallo element that remains intact in "La corta notte delle bambole di vetro" is its great visual stylization. Director Aldo Lado creates in "La corta notte delle bambole di vetro" an ominous atmosphere of mystery that reaches a haunting oneiric level as the plot unfolds and Moore gets deeper into the horrible secrets of Prague. It's interesting how what starts as a somewhat typical thriller get a greater stylization as Moore descends into darkness. Despite this being his feature length debut, director Aldo Lado shows a great domain of his camera and a quite developed visual narrative, as he manages to take full advantage of the awesome work of cinematography done by Giuseppe Ruzzolini. As mentioned before, suspense is a fundamental thing in "La corta notte delle bambole di vetro", and the film has director Aldo Lado showing his great domain over it. Besides this, it's worth to point out the truly remarkable musical score composed by the master Ennio Morricone, which truly enhances the ominous atmosphere of surreal nightmare that Lado's film has.

Acting in "La corta notte delle bambole di vetro" is in general of great quality, even taking into account that the work of dubbing done in the film (a common practice in Italian cinema) is less than stellar. Leading the cast is French actor Jean Sorel (known for his work in Luis Buñuel's "Belle de jour") as reporter Gregory Moore. While nothing truly outstanding, Sorel makes a pretty acceptable job and, despite his dubbing, manages to carry the weight of the film without problem. However, he is a bit overshadowed by Ingmar Bergman's legendary muse, Swedish actress Ingrid Thulin, who plays his coworker and former lover, Jessica. Thulin manages to create a pretty complex character despite having a character with less weight in the plot, showing her talent as a woman divided between what she feels for Moore and her hatred towards his new girlfriend. As Mira, Barbara Bach (in her second giallo after "La tarantola dal ventre nero") makes an acceptable job, and even when her character is limited to looking good, Bach manages to fill the screen with her great presence.

The rest of the performances are pretty good, and even the dubbing isn't really that aggravating (with the sole exception being the case of Mario Adorf's dubbed voice). "La corta notte delle bambole di vetro" reveals itself as a quite atypical giallo, gifted with a great visual beauty and an attractive plot that aims for tension and suspense instead of graphic violence. If there's any problem in "La corta notte delle bambole di vetro" is that probably director Aldo Lado at times abuses too much of the resource of having Gregory Moore's narrating the film, resulting in moments that could seem a bit ridiculous. Another problem is that the film becomes a bit slow in occasions, however, it's worth to point out that it never becomes tedious or boring. Certainly, the premise where the story rests requires a bit more suspension of disbelief than what would be desired, given how extraordinary the situation is. Fortunately, the film more than compensates this with an unpredictable plot and a superb finale full of tension.

In this his debut, director Aldo Lado manages to create an excellent story of suspense and mystery that breaks the classic conventions of Italian giallo. Focused more on mystery than on violence, "La corta notte delle bambole di vetro" opts for a kind of horror a bit different, one based on tension and paranoia rather than in visual shock (which isn't bad, really). Lado keeps his moments of violence for carefully established moments, which enhances a lot the film's suspense. While far from the traditional style of "thriller all'italiana", Director Aldo Lado's film "La corta notte delle bambole di vetro" is one of the best films ever done within the giallo subgenre. With a haunting visual beauty and a captivating musical score, "La corta notte delle bambole di vetro" is a forgotten classic of horror and mystery.

8/10
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Zombi 2 (1979)

In 1978, ten years after having revolutionized horror cine with the classic film "Night of the Living Dead", American filmmaker George A. Romero would return to the subgenre of his creation with a new zombie film: "Dawn of the Dead". The success of his new epic about the living dead was astounding, particularly in Europe, where director Dario Argento had distribute it under the title of "Zombi". The success of "Dawn of the Dead" was so huge that soon the Italian film industry would try to capitalize the zombie genre, and the most famous of those attempts was the retitling of a modest horror film that was being produced at that very moment, under the command of a filmmaker better known for his comedies, westerns and gialli (thrillers), Mr. Lucio Fulci. While released with the not so subtle title of "Zombi 2" (in the United Kingdom the title was "Zombie Flesh Eaters" and in America simply as "Zombie"), Fulci's film would depart from Romero's canon by its inclinations to the supernatural and mainly, its more realistic graphic violence that Fulci had already employed in his gialli. Thus was the birth of the Italian zombie.

"Zombi 2" begins with a yacht apparently abandoned, drifting to the New York's coast apparently without crew. The coast guard arrives to the scene in order to investigate when a monstrous decomposed body attacks them. After this event, Ann Bolt (Tisa Farrow) is questioned by the police, as she recognizes the ship as being owned by her father (Ugo Bologna), whom had been missing. At the ship, Ann finds a note from her father, discovering that he is at Matool island; so with this in mind she decides to follow the clues and find out what's happened. To do this, Ann recruits the help of journalist Peter West (Ian McCulloch) when he offers to help her in exchange for the exclusive rights to publish the story. The two head for the tropic, where with the help of a local couple, Bryan Curt (Al Cliver) and Susan BAttett (Auretta Gay), find the Matool island. However, they realize that the island is curse, and the dead rise to devour the living. At the island they'll meet Dr. David Menard, who has been doing research about the mysteries behind the curse of Matool island.

Written by Elisa Briganti and Dardano Sacchetti (who had previously worked with Fulci in the giallo "Sette note in nero"), "Zombi 2" really has very little in common with "Dawn of the Dead", as even when Filci's film follows the general rules established by Romero in his "Night of the Living Dead", the creatures in "Zombi 2" are closer to their roots in mysticism and the supernatural than Romero's ghouls. The monsters in "Zombi 2" are ancient corpses, reanimated by a strange curse that makes them rise and exterminate the inhabitants of the island of Matool. Certainly, while it's probable that neither Briganti nor Sacchetti had intended to include a social commentary in "Zombi 2", it is interesting to point out that the story makes a stark contrast between the main characters (all coming from the first world) and the islanders, who live under the scourge of disease, poverty, superstition and now the zombies. In fact, "Zombi 2" has a constant atmosphere of decay and despair in its plot, which director Lucio Fulci manages to translate successfully to the screen.

And this atmosphere of dread is perhaps the greatest achievement of Lucio Fulci in "Zombi 2", as he manages to transform this tropical paradise in a true zombie apocalypse, where the rotting corpses attack with a terrifying brutality. The chief characteristic in Fulci's brand of horror in "Zombi 2" is precisely his very creative use of violence, displayed in several sequences that are as imaginative as they are explicit, making them both fascinating and repulsive at the same time. A lot of the visual power contained in the gory violence of "Zombi 2" rests in the talented work of make-up artist Giannetto De Rossi, who was in charge of bringing to life the decidedly realistic vision of Fulci, and created many of the most powerful images in Italian horror. The contrast between graphic violence and the natural beauty of the island is captured by the eye con cinematographer Sergio Salvati, who makes an effective job and with Fulci, generate this atmosphere of constant desolation that the film has. In a way, while Romero is the creator of the subgenre, Fulci's "Zombi 2" is the film that defined it.

Unfortunately, one of the biggest problems in "Zombi 2" is the uneven quality of the acting through the film, made even worse by the low quality of the dubbing done for the film (dubbing was a common practice in Italian cinema of its time). Actress Tisa Farrow (sister of Mia Farrow) doesn't do a bad job, and as the protagonist Ann Bolt, she manages to carry the film with her talent despite not having a very developed character. Unfortunately, the same can't be said of Scottish actor Ian McCulloch, who looks a bit stiff in his role, yet still somewhat acceptable in his role. Actor Richard Johnson (famous in the horror genre for the classic "The Haunting"), shows a bit of overacting, but that exaggeration is an important part of the obsessive nature of his character, desperate to find a rational explanation to the zombie outbreak. The rest of the cast is less fortunate (particularly Olga Karlatos), though the always reliable Al Cliver (familiar face in Italian horror) has some very good moments in his supporting role.

Despite its many virtues and is status as a classic of the genre, "Zombi 2" is far from being a perfect film, and some of its flaws are sadly quite notorious. The most obvious is perhaps the inclusion of a couple of scenes that can only be described as silly given the sharp contrast they have with the serious and raw tone of the film (exactly, the famous scene of the fight between the shark and the zombie is one of them). Besides this, it's necessary to admit that the screenplay has its fair share of holes and illogic situations that downgrade a bit the impact of "Zombi 2". It's very probable that the lack of care in the developing of the screenplay had been due to the urgency of the production company to release a film related to the successful "Dawn of the Dead". Nevertheless, it's worth to point out that after all, there are more good things than bad in "Zombie 2", and despite its problems, it's perhaps the most influential film that filmmaker Lucio Fulci made in his career (generating a style of making zombie films).

Violent, aggressive, yet owner of a strange charm, "Zombi 2" is an Italian classic that lives up to its reputation, and serves a the perfect introduction to the Eurohorror of the 70s. With its beautiful work of cinematography contrasting with the graphic explicit violence, it shows all the typical traits of Italian horror with brutal intensity. "Zombi 2" was a landmark in the career of Lucio Fulci, whom after the film would become a real icon of the horror genre, making a couple of masterpieces of horror cinema later in his career. While it probably will always live under the shadow of Romero's "Dawn of the Dead" (impossible to talk about one without mentioning the other), the truth is that the influence of "ZOmbi 2" still reigns supreme to this day.

8/10
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Morgiana (1972)

While often considered separate from the Czechoslovak New Wave, director Juraj Herz began his career right at the core of the movement that would redefine Czechoslovak film industry. The fact that he wasn't a student of the Film and TV School of The Academy of Performing Arts in Prague (Herz was from the Theatre Faculty) distanced him from the movement, but also allowed him to shape his very own style, which was a bit more traditional in form yet not less subversive. In fact, Herz' willingness to work around the constrains of genres allowed him to keep his eccentric and idiosyncratic vision intact even during the years of the Normalization, when the liberalization of the Prague Spring ended and a new time of censorship began. Herz' horror film "Morgiana", released in 1972, shows once again that taste for the horrific previously shown in his classic "Spalovac mrtvol" (1969), though in this case, his fight against censors wasn't that successful.

"Morgiana" is a tale of two sisters, Klára and Viktorie (both played by Iva Janzurová), who live in a large mansion after the recent death of their wealthy father. Viktorie grows jealous due to the fact that Klára has inherited most of their properties, including their family house. Klára's popularity with men is another source of annoyance for her, a feeling that becomes downright hate when Viktorie discovers that the man she loves, Marek (Josef Abrhám) is in love with Klára. Full of rage, Viktorie decides to poison her sister, so she buys a lethal potion from the mysterious Otylie (Nina Divísková). However, Viktorie's plan doesn't go exactly as planed, as the poison she go from Otylie is a slow-acting one. Due to the poisoning, Klára begins to suffer from hallucinations, while Viktorie's impatience grows stronger with each second. To make things worse, Otylie attempts to blackmail Viktorie, and the sister's cat Morgiana is a silent witness of the madness.

Set in a decadent world that seems stuck in mid 19th century, "Morgiana" is based on the story "Jessie and Morgiana" by Russian author Alexander Grin. The screenplay, by Vladimir Bor and director Juraj Herz himself, tells a story that's in essence a fairy tale in which the "good" sister faces the "bad" sister's schemes. However, it's a fairy tale with a dark spin: the story is told from the perspective of the "bad" sister of the story, exploring the growth of Viktorie's hatred for her sister, rooted in their sibling rivalry and her envy of Klára's beauty, popularity and fortune. Everything done with an exaggerated tone of melodrama that ultimately makes of "Morgiana" a Gothic parody of the classic elements of Romantic literature. And this isn't unintentional, because there's an undeniable dash of black humor in the exaggerated plot of "Morgiana". Exaggeration is the key of the story, and this extends from the screenplay to the film's carefully orchestrated visual design.

Taking as basis the conventions of traditional costume drama, director Juraj Herz exaggerates them to give "Morgiana" a highly stylized atmosphere of grotesque decadence. Instrumental for this is the work of cinematographer Jaroslav Kucera (famed for his work in Czechoslovak New Wave classics like "Perlicky na dne" and "Sedmikrásky"), who uses his talent to bring to life Herz' deliriously surreal vision of the sisters' Gothic world. Kucera's camera is highly dynamic, roaming freely through the mansion as it follows the sister's drama (of great interest are the shots that take the point of view of Morgiana, the cat). Playing with color and light, Kucera creates a dreamy atmosphere that enhances the tone of dark fairy tale that "Morgiana" has. As he previously did in "Spalovac mrtvol", director Juraj Herz makes heavy use of wide-angle lenses, not only for the aforementioned cat's point of view, but also to reflect the distorted minds of his characters.

As written above, "Morgiana" plays like an exaggerated melodrama, so a fair share of over-the-top acting is to be expected; however, even this kind of overacting requires great skill and a certain subtlety to work correctly and avoiding looking artificial, and fortunately, actress Iva Janzurová achieves this feat. Playing both Klára and Viktorie, Janzurová delivers two very different yet equally remarkable performances. As Klára, she looks sweet and frail, and manages to convey the mix of juvenile naiveté and tedious indifference of the spoiled girl's personality. The complete opposite is her performance as Viktoria, which is vibrant and full of energy, making a quite believable portrait of a woman driven by hate. Through the layers of make-up Janzurová disguises her beauty to give her character an identity of her own. Two remarkable performances indeed. The rest of the cast is less fortunate, but while their work doesn't reach the the point of being downright bad, there's a noticeable difference in quality.

Hauntingly atmospheric and deliciously grotesque, Juraj Herz' "Morgiana" is a horror film that's more unnerving than shocking, as it's based on the subtle distortion of a familiar setting. Unfortunately, despite its many interesting elements, "Morgiana" is far from being perfect, as the final third is a messy and rushed climax that feels forced and out of place. As if the scriptwriters hadn't been able to find an ending to it. In fact, there may be a reason for this unsatisfactory finale, as originally "Morgiana" was supposed to include the revelation that the two sisters being actually two different personalities of the same woman (actually a key twist of Alexander Grin's source novel). It certainly sounds like a more appropriate ending, but sadly the administration got in the way and Herz was forced to devise a different second half for the film. Remnant of this original idea is the fact that Iva Janzurová played both sisters.

Perhaps this change in the screenplay would had resulted in a more coherent and complete film, but unfortunately, it's one of those things that will never be known. Nevertheless, despite its problems "Morgiana" still holds up well as a prime example of surreal horror; and while far from being one of Juraj Herz' best works, it's a nice showcase of the style and talent of this often forgotten member of the Czechoslovak New Wave. Quirky and grotesque, "Morgiana" may not have aged that well (it may even look kitsch to modern eyes), but it's a quite interesting surreal horror film that combines horror and melodrama to create something unique. "Morgiana" is, in a way, a sadly imperfect masterpiece.

7/10
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Oni (1972)

Bunraku, a traditional form of puppet theatre, captivated the mind of a young Kihachiro Kawamoto, who decided to dedicate his life to the fine art of puppet making. However, it would not be the only thing that would fascinate the young Japanese artist. Years later, Kawamoto would discover the works of legendary Czech filmmaker Jirí Trnka, whose work in stop motion animation impressed Kawamoto so much that the puppet master decided to learn the craft. Kawamoto began working with another legend of animation, Tadahito Mochinaga, and later he traveled to Prague and met his hero, Jirí Trnka himself, in order to perfect his craft. Trnka would suggest Kawamoto to find inspiration in his own culture, and so combining what he learned from the Czech master with his background in Bunraku theatre, Kawamoto would produce several short films in which he would show Japanese culture to the world. "Oni", released in 1972, is the third of these independently produced short films that would earn Kawamoto a place in the history of animation.

"Oni", which can be translated as "Devil" or "Demon" (name in which the film is known in English) is the story of two brothers who live in the mountains with their old mother. The brothers are hunters, and their mother is very ill and frail due to her age. One night the two hunters decide to go deep into the woods in order to hunt deer. The brothers set traps for their prey, which they intend to kill with their arrows. While the younger of the brothers is setting up a trap near a tree, a pale white hand comes from above and grabs him from the hair, pulling him into the crop the tree. In panic, the captured hunter calls for help, and his older brother arrives with his bow and arrow ready to shoot. The shoot is difficult, but the hunter manages to save his brother, as the arrow severed the arm that was holding him. The two brothers check the amputated arm and discover it's a demon's arm. They decide to return home and take the arm with them. When they finally get home, the two hunters will make a shocking discovery, when they find that their mother is hurt, and her arm amputated.

As in most of his early shorts, the story of "Oni" was written by director Kihachiro Kawamoto himself, taking inspiration from ancient Japanese folklore. In "Oni", Kawamoto presents a fable which explores two main concepts: the fear and respect to the spirits of the woods, and most importantly, the fear of old age. In Kawamoto's "Oni", when age becomes too much for old people, they become demons willing to eat their own children. The demon in "Oni", originally a frail woman weakened by her old age, becomes a monster in order to devour her sons. However, while Kawamoto could make his story a full fledged horror tale, he actually makes of "Oni" a tragedy. After the horror has been overcame, what is left is an ominous sense of sadness. The woman's transformation is not only a horror, but a tragedy. It's not treated as something she willingly wants, but something that actually possesses her and dehumanizes her. This dehumanization of old people with age may be a commentary on the mental degeneration that old age can bring.

In "Oni", Kawamoto displays his craft at his best, showing not only his roots at Bunraku theatre, but also the great influence that Noh theatre had in his formative years. "Oni" works like a Noh play, though certainly, Kawamoto's film is anything but stagy. The camera-work is highly dynamic, and by creatively playing with light and shadows (work of cinematography by Minoru Tamura and Ken Yoshioka), Kawamoto gives his story a surreal atmosphere that suits perfectly the story's narrative style, which works like an ancient fable. In "Oni", Kawamoto creates one of his most impressive puppets in the Oni herself, which is based on the Japanese artistic representations of the demons. The stylish demonic face looks impressive when captured by the camera of Tamura and Yoshioka. The film is silent, and the story is narrated in intertitles. However, this aren't intertitles as those of classic silent cinema, but dynamic texts that move and fade following the film's visual design, flowing with its rhythm, being themselves an integral part of the film.

Visually breathtaking, and full of a haunting beauty, Kihachiro Kawamoto's "Oni" is a powerful fable that displays perfectly the craftsmanship of the legendary puppet maker. With its surreal cinematography and its brilliant music (a score in the traditional way by Seiji Tsuruzawa), "Oni" is almost like watching the traditional Japanese art forms come alive through the magic of cinema. Melancholic and ethereal, "Oni" is more than a supernatural horror film, it's a powerful drama that in barely 8 minutes presents the tragedy of losing oneself in old age. After "Oni", Kawamoto would continue working in several short films of the same style, in which he would tackle classic themes of Japanese folklore, creating several masterpiece of stop-motion animation in the process.

8/10
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La plus longue nuit du diable (1971)

According to folklore, there were female demons that appeared in dreams, taking the form of a woman in order to seduce men and have sexual intercourse. They were called succubi, or in singular succubus (the male counterpart is called incubus), and supposedly their visits not only represented a big risk of damnation for the soul, but also a rapid deterioration of physical health that could lead to death. With this mix of dangerous evil and sexuality, it was only natural that the myth of the succubus would enter fiction, and can be found in the works of authors ranging from Honoré de Balzac to Orson Scott Card. In film, succubi were naturally suited for the horror genre, and one of the films that explore this concept is an Italian-Belgian co-production from 1971, known in Italian as "La terrificante notte del demonio" and in French as "La plus longue nuit du diable", which could be roughly translated as "The Devil's Longest Night". The film also had several names in English, though the most common is "The Devil's Nightmare".

Also known as "Vampire Playgirls", "La plus longue nuit du diable" is the story of six tourists who travel through the Belgian mountains in a bus driven by Mr. Ducha (Christian Maillet). They find the road blocked and night is coming, but to their fortune, a farmer (Daniel Emilfork) tells them to go to castle Von Rhoneberg, where the Baron will surely allow them to spend the night. The group arrives to the Baron's castle, and to their surprise, they are informed that they were expected, so they enter the castle. Baron Von Rhoneberg (Jean Servais) gets to meet the group of travelers, which is made of young seminarist Alvin Sorel (Jacques Monseau), the old Mr. Mason (Lucien Raimbourg), Howard and Nancy Foster (Lorenzo Terzon and Colette Emmanuelle), and two friends, Corinne (Ivana Novak) and Regine (Shirley Corrigan). An eight guest arrives to the castle, Lisa Müller (Erika Blanc), a young and beautiful woman looking for refuge. However, her presence will trigger strange events related to the Von Rhoneberg curse.

Producer, Pierre-Claude Garnier, along writer Patrice Rohmm, wrote the screenplay for "La plus longue nuit du diable" with the central idea of having each of the guests represent one of the seven deadly sins. The succubus begins to murder the tourists using their vices to entice them and having them to die in mortal sin, so the Devil can collect their souls. A fairly original premise that makes for several interesting situations, as while most of the characters are merely archetypes of their respective sin, Garnier and Rohmm manages to built out of them a group of well defined characters. Particularly interesting is the relationship that's built between the seminarist and Lisa, as the young man begins a battle between his beliefs and his desires. Unfortunately, there's nothing more besides the seven deadly sins concept, as the theme of Von Rhoneberg's curse is only thinly explored, and there is also the odd inclusion of a subplot about a murdered reporter that doesn't go anywhere.

However, if the plot is thin, director Jean Brismée surely makes the most of it, as he makes of "La plus longue nuit du diable" an enormously atmospheric Gothic film of a surreal beauty. Two elements stand out in the film: the remarkable work of cinematography done by André Goeffers and the haunting, ethereal score composed by Alessandro Alessandroni. Giving great use to Goeffers' eye, director Brismée constructs a movie with the logic of a nightmare. Taking full advantage of the beautiful location he had for the film, Brismée conveys a nightmarish atmosphere of dread that give the film an ethereal mood. The dose of eroticism he adds to the film is appropriate, fitting the story's tone without detracting the attention to the horror in the film. In fact, "La plus longue nuit du diable" perfectly conveys that mix of malicious evil and sensuality that the succubi myths evoke. Alessandroni's score is perhaps the film's highlight, as he creates a haunting work of somber beauty, enhanced by the vocal work of his sister Giulia.

The acting is a mixed bag, as while there are some very good performances, others end up being too bland. As Alvin Sorel, Jacques Monseau is appropriate in his portrayal of a doubting young man, torn between the dignity he aims to represent, and his carnal desires. The gorgeous Erika Blanc (of "Operazione paura" fame) plays Lisa, the mysterious young woman who turns out to be the herald of the devil, the succubus. As Lisa, Erika displays her enormous talent to look both seductive and classy, often transmitting more with a simple facial gesture than with her lines. However, this facial expressiveness of her is shown best when her Succubus persona appears, as Erika Blanc manages to fully transform her image from one of great beauty to an horrific representation of Death. Certainly, the decision of having a subtle make-up helps, but it's Blanc who truly elevates the result. The rest of the cast is perhaps less interesting, with the exception of Daniel Emilfork, who's particularly chilling as the Devil himself.

"La plus longue nuit du diable" is a film of extremes, having elements of great quality yet at the same time being particularly weak in several aspects. Perhaps what harms the film the most is the bane of so many films: a poorly developed screenplay. Certainly, the seven deadly sins angle is notable in the way it's explored, and the film really takes off once the tourists begin to meet their demise. However, this happens later in the film, with the first part being not only the tourists' arrival and introduction, but the strange segment about the reporter. This is perhaps the strangest element in the film, as it serves no purpose other than to introduce the VOn Rohneberg curse. Anyways, it's a testament of Jean Brismée's talent how he managed to create such an atmospheric film out of such a thing screenplay. Also, the lack of budget is particularly notorious, as despite its great locations, the film does have pretty cheap special effects that deter from the viewing experience.

Despite its problems, "La plus longue nuit du diable" is a heavily underrated jewel of European horror that deserves to be better remembered. It was Jean Brismée's last film before retiring (he became a teacher at Belgium's Institut national supérieur des arts du spectacle et des techniques de diffusion) and showcases one of the best performances by the beautiful Erika Blanc. Certainly it's not a film that has aged well, but amongst the many horror erotica films done in the 70s, Brismée's take on the succubus myth is a remarkable work of great beauty. It's certainly tame for today's standards, but the important thing about "La plus longue nuit du diable" is its surreal atmosphere. It certainly lives up to its English title of "Devil's Nightmare", as that's the kind of logic the film has.

7/10
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La Guerra Santa (1979)

The Cristero War (or Cristiada) was a conflict that took place from 1926 to 1929, in which Roman Catholics formed an uprising against the Mexican government of President Calles, due to his enforcement of the anticlerical laws. What began with peaceful resistance, soon became a formal rebellion in 1927, and the rebels (known as Cristeros army and formed mainly by rural inhabitants), with the support of the Mexican bishops, began to pose a serious threat to civil order. Peace would only come with the ending of Calles' term as president, and despite grave difficulties (such as the assassination of president-elect Álvaro Obregón by a Catholic radical), an arrangement was reached with he Church and finally the Cristero War ended. The Cristero War left a profound impact in Mexico, as a Civil War in which Mexicans fought against each other instigated by religion. It certainly left a deep sentiment of indignation in filmmaker Carlos Enrique Taboada, as he would portray his vision on the conflict in one of his most accomplished films: 1979's "La Guerra Santa".

"La Guerra Santa" ("The Holy War") chronicles the story of Celso Domínguez (José Carlos Ruiz), a shy and cowardly inhabitant of the poor town of Rincón del Cobre. It all begins when the town's priest, Father Miguel (Víctor Junco), informs at mass that he will close the Church's doors and stop giving mass until the Calles' law is abolished. Father Miguel begins to manipulate the panicked population, convincing the men to join the Cristeros, the rebel army of Catholic loyalists. Celso is afraid of death and doesn't want to go, but seeing how the town begins to shun him, he reluctantly joins the army. Celso enters under the command of Colonel Ursino Valdez (Jorge Luke), a skillful strategist who believes fanatically in his mission and follows the advise of Father Soler (Carlos Cámara). In Ursino's army, Celso will be forced to fight and to kill, joining them in their ventures. The humble peasant will discover the horrors of war and the atrocities committed by both sides in the fratricidal war later known as the Cristero War.

Based on his own research on the subject, "La Guerra Santa" was written by director Carlos Enrique Taboada himself, who took the film as his most personal project. Bleak and full of hopelessness, "La Guerra Santa" is a story about an innocent and calm man being dehumanized and degenerated by the horrors of war. A symbol of the everyman, Celso expresses constantly his unwillingness to join the Cristeros, but does it out of peer pressure. Following the words of the priests, the Cristeros completely believe that their cause is right, and that everything done for the cause is good. However, under the fanatical leadership of Colonel Ursino, soon this "everything" includes raping and pillaging as well. Outspoken about his own anticlerical ideology, Taboada makes no secret about whose side he is on, and portrays the peasant army as the victims of the priests' manipulations who take advantage of their fears and ignorance. Taboada's thesis is that war is always hell, even those justified as "holy". Or better said, specially those justified as holy.

Director Carlos Enrique Taboada translates nicely the bleak tone of his screenplay and makes Celso's descent to hell a visually arresting anti-epic, in which the desert rural landscape reflects the abandon and solitude of the Cristero army. The war is experienced through Celso's eyes, and through him Taboada introduces a series of interesting characters that reflect his pessimism about humanity: the cruel and fanatical Colonel Ursino, the cold and ambitious Father Soler, Celso's amoral friend Jacinto, each one of them enters the conflict with the mission of fighting for God, but Taboada makes clear that God, if exists, has seemingly abandoned his army. A particularly moving scene between Celso and a captured atheist schoolteacher (Claudio Obregón) becomes the focal point in which Taboada centers his vision. Certainly, the film lacks subtlety in its approach and makes no concessions about its ideology, however, Taboada succeeds in crafting a moving portrait of a nation manipulated by its political and religious leaders.

The work done by the cast in "La Guerra Santa" is mostly remarkable, with José Carlos Ruiz delivering the best performance in his career. Certainly, there are moments in which Ruiz overacts a bit, though for the most part his delivery as Celso is of great quality, and his transformation very vivid and haunting. It's remarkable how subtle the change from shy villager to soldier of God is, as Celso looks the same, but something is just different. Equally remarkable is the work of Jorge Luke as the violent colonel Ursino. Luke perfectly portrays the fanatical side of his character without going going for the stereotype. The ruthless colonel is a fanatical, but he is not a caricature, on the contrary, he's vividly dangerous because of how natural Luke's performance is. As Father Soler, Carlos Cámara is pretty effective with his stoic and dignified look, which balances the wilder nature of Luke's Ursino. Nevertheless, Cámara's character is also flawed, and the subtlety of the actor makes the character multidimensional.

Not everyone in the cast is as good as Ruiz and Luke, and some are particularly bad (Roberto Ruy for example), though for the most part is one of the best casts that ever appeared in a Taboada film. In fact, "La Guerra Santa" showcases Taboada's talents at their best, with pretty good use of Miguel Araña's cinematography (which is not exactly special, but does the job right) and his great sense of rhythm resulting in a quite fluid storytelling. As written above, Taboada's film has the subtlety of a sledgehammer, but despite its lack of objectivity, in this ambitious anti-epic Taboada manages to avoid any degree of cheap sentimentalism. It is a tale of defeated people, but it's far from condescending with them. Perhaps its major flaw is once again, a Taboada too enamored with his screenplay to cut it, as there are a couple of vignettes in this war tale that seem either unnecessary or too long. Nevertheless, it's hard to deny that "La Guerra Santa" is one of Taboada's greatest achievements.

To the general public, director Carlos Enrique Taboada is better known as the mastermind behind four classics of Mexican horror: "Hasta el viento tiene miedo" (1968), "El Libro de Piedra" (1969), "Más negro que la noche" (1975) and "Veneno para las Hadas "(1984), his famous horror cycle. And this is not without a reason, as the rest of his varied filmography lacked the spirit and energy of his horror films. The great exception is "La Guerra Santa", an anti-war film in which Taboada was able to fully express his idiosyncrasies regarding religion openly. And this perhaps proves a common trait in Taboada's filmography: the quality of his effort depended on how involved the director felt about the project; and in the case of "La Guerra Santa", that was a lot. "La Guerra Santa" is an unfairly forgotten war film that's not only one of Taboada's best, but one of the best war films in Mexican cinema by its own right.

8/10
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Más negro que la noche (1975)

In Mexican cinema, the name of director Carlos Enrique Taboada is forever linked to the horror genre thanks to four films that made what is nowadays labeled as his "Gothic cycle". Four horror films that quickly earned a cult status due to their high level of craftsmanship and their ominous Gothic atmosphere. Of the four, the first couple, "Hasta el viento tiene miedo" and "El Libro de Piedra" are the better known thanks to their repeated exposure in Mexican television, however, the last two are movies equally as haunting despite not having the same level of fame. The third film in the cycle, titled "Más negro que la noche" (literally "Blacker than the night"), was released in 1975, and meant a return to form for Taboada after having spent the first half of the 70s crafting a series of low budget thrillers with a chiefly commercial goal. In "Más negro que la noche", Taboada returns to supernatural horror in a story about a haunting in an old mansion involving a group of young female friends and a black cat. A cat that's blacker than the night.

The story in "Más negro que la noche" begins with a death. Old Susana (Tamara Galina) is a wealthy rich spinster who lives in a huge mansion with the sole company of her beloved cat Becker, and Sofía (Alicia Palacios) the maid. Susana dies of a heart attack, and the only heir of her vast fortune is her niece Ofelia (Claudia Islas), now a young woman who had almost forgotten about Susana. Ofelia shares an apartment with three of her friends: Aurora (Susana Dosamantes), Marta (Lucía Méndez), and finally Pilar (Helena Rojo), who stays with them as she is considering divorce from her husband Roberto (Pedro Armendáriz Jr.). However, the inheritance has a condition, Ofelia must take care of Becker until his death. While all her housemates dislike cats, they all decide to accept Ofelia's invitation and live in the mansion with her. Soon strange events begin to take place in the house, specially as the girls seem to have little respect for the past. And it all gets worse once Becker is found death.

As usual, the screenplay for "Más negro que la noche" was written by Carlos Enrique Taboada himself, and amongst his horror films, it is perhaps the most "traditional" and straightforward of the bunch. Lacking the ambiguity and the complexities of his other horrors, it is certainly a simpler ghost story; however, this by no means make it any less interesting. "Más negro que la noche" is practically an exercise in developing a horror story at its most classic style, as Taboada plays with all the elements one can find in a typical ghost story: huge mansion, creepy servants, naive young people, black cat, and the darkness of the night. And yet, all the typical obsessions in Taboada's filmography find their place in the story, particularly the major running theme in his films (and not only in his horror ones): selfishness is payed with death. Perhaps the most notable element of "Más negro que la noche" is how as the story unfolds, it borrows some elements from Italian Giallo, as Aunt Susana's vengeance manifests in a quite physical presence.

The story in "Más negro que la noche" may be simplistic, even clichéd; however, Taboada's film seems to be constructed with one single idea in mind: atmosphere. Atmosphere is the key word in "Más negro que la noche", which showcases a masterful use of lighting and camera-work to create an effectively ominous atmosphere of dread that begins to surround the four main characters. Stylish and elegant, Taboada's borrowing of Giallo elements does not limit merely to plot devices, but also to the striking visual style found in "Más negro que la noche", which shows a more than obvious influence from Mario Bava. In the film, Taboada once again excels in his visual narrative, which is fluid and dynamic, developing the story at a nice pace. Certainly, "Más negro que la noche" is a lot more plot-driven than Taboada's usual output, but this is actually beneficial for Taboada's style, which tends to be tedious in more character-driven situations. Ultimately, "Más negro que la noche" is visually, Taboada's triumph of style over substance.

Interestingly, the cast includes several actors who would later become big stars of Mexican cinema or TV (Helena Rojo, Pedro Armendáriz Jr. and Lucía Méndez), and for the most part the work done is effective. Unfortunately and exception is lead actress Claudia Islas, who plays Ofelia, as her turn is considerably weak and unconvincing. Certainly the lack of character development has a hand in this, but Islas' work pales in comparison with her three cast-mates. For example Helena Rojo, who plays Pilar, displaying a strength and passion in her role that Islas lacks. Susana Dosamantes is less fortunate, though she manages to come up as an effective actress that adds more than her natural beauty to the role. Her scene at the library is perhaps one of the film's highlights. Like Dosamantes, it would seem that Lucía Méndez was picked for the role based only on her looks, however, Méndez makes an acceptable role as the young and impressionable Marta. Veteran actress Alicia Palacios is a highlight of the film, as the loyal servant Sofía.

As written above, the film is an exercise of style over substance, and this is like a double-edged sword. On one hand, it's a masterful example of Taboada's brilliance when it comes to purely visual storytelling. But on the other, it's still a somewhat typical ghost story overtly reliant on the clichés of the genre. While this in no way demerits the film's craftsmanship (definitely one of Taboada's best in purely technical aspects), it certainly diminishes it's main impact, as ultimately "Más negro que la noche" can't avoid being a quite predictable movie with some pretty obvious twists and clichéd situations. In the end, this is after all a matter of taste, as certainly, a good classic ghost story never goes out of fashion, and in this way, "Más negro que la noche" certainly delivers the goods. It would only be advisable not to expect a groundbreaking narrative or unexpected twists, not even Taboada's familiar ambiguity or subtle subtexts. "Más negro que la noche" is set to be a traditional ghost story and that's what delivers.

As part of Taboada's thematic tetralogy of Gothic horror, "Más negro que la noche" certainly comes up as the weakest of the four, however, it is by no means a bad movie. As an stylish ghost story, "Más negro que la noche" ranks amongst the best of the 70s, with its striking visual style and its attractive cast, it's still a joy to watch. Despite its thin-layered plot, this gem of Mexican horror cinema is a quite satisfying ride full of thrills, perfect for a creepy night of scary movies. Perhaps Taboada's most accessible and commercial horror film, "Más negro que la noche" is the perfect introduction to the darker side of Taboada's filmography, a side that like Becker the cat, is blacker than the night.

8/10
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Rapiña (1975)

In 1968, Mexican screenwriter turned director Carlos Enrique Taboada earned cult status with the release of a Gothic horror film that quickly became a classic of the genre, "Hasta el viento tiene miedo". The following year's "El Libro de Piedra" had the same luck and cemented Taboada's popularity as a horror filmmaker, but during the 70s, Taboada abandoned horror and began to explore different genres, crafting a series of low budget thrillers during the first half of the decade, in a decidedly more commercial vein. However, thanks to governmental support, Taboada would be able to return to a more personal style of filmmaking. During the seventies, the Mexican government began to have a greater interest in cinema, and decided to generate new ways to support Mexican filmmakers. One of these ways was the creation of Conacine in 1974, a governmental institution that helped the production of new Mexican cinema. With the support of Conacine, Carlos Enrique Taboada crafted a more ambitious story: 1975's "Rapiña".

"Rapiña" (literally "Rapine"), is the story of two humble woodcutters, Porfirio (Ignacio López Tarso) and Ebodio (Germán Robles), who live in a poor community located deep in the high Mexican mountains. One day Porfirio visits the town doctor (Enrique Pontón), and while waiting, he overhears the doctor complaining about his life in the rural community, and his longing for a more "civilized" work. Porfirio feels upset about it, and decides to do whatever he can to move away from his town and become "civilized". His wife Rita (Norma Lazareno) tries to comfort him, but Porfirio is restless about his plans. When a plane crashes near their mountains, Porfirio discovers that everyone in the flight has perished, so he decides to get everything he can from the crashed plane before the authorities come looking for it. Porfirio convinces Ebodio to help him, and the two men plan to become rich with their discovery. However, as Porfirio gets more obsessed with his plan, the darker side of humanity begins to arise.

Written by director Carlos Enrique Taboada himself (as usual in his filmography), "Rapiña" is essentially a study about obsession, and the degeneration of a person, in this case Porfirio, as his obsession begins to take control of him. Interestingly, Porfirio's obsession is actually born from a noble ideal: he wants to improve the financial situation of his family, to discover the world beyond his small town, and to do something more with his life beyond working as a woodcutter. However, this initially noble idea begins to be slowly transformed into a dangerous obsession, bringing out the worst in Porfirio's nature in a similar way to captain Ahab in Herman Melville's novel "Moby-Dick; or, The Whale". If Porfirio is a wild passionate force driven by his obsession, Ebodio is the polar opposite, sharing Porfirio's desire to be rich, but keeping always a more rational approach, which makes him act at times as Porfirio's conscience. However, this also makes Ebodio to be constantly doubting about his actions, while Porfirio' intense personality makes him more active.

Shot mainly in location, Taboada makes great use of veteran cinematographer José Ortíz Ramos' work to capture the natural beauty of the Mexican mountains and at the same time, generate a dark and haunting atmosphere of despair and desolation. Taboada's visual narrative is elegant and subtle, and the story flows at a quiet, slow pace that suits the story's development (though it must be said that at times it does feel a bit too slow for its own good). The upside of this is that Taboada allows his characters to breath and grow, developing nicely the relationship between them and setting up the ground for their conflicts. And while the vast landscape of Mexican countryside is the background, in "Rapiña" Taboada keeps the story focused on the small group made by Porfirio, Ebodio and their respective wives. In "Rapiña", Taboada's pessimism about humanity is more than apparent, perhaps more than in any other of his films. particularly in his view that even the noblest intentions end up degenerated by our own flaws.

Certainly, the acting in most of Carlos Enrique Taboada's films tend to be a mixed bag, with some great performances placed along some truly awful. Fortunately, "Rapiña" is an exception in this aspect, as the four actors in the main roles make a great job in the film. As Porfirio, Ignacio López Tarso is a strong leading presence. While a tad overacted in his representation of an indigenous villager, his handling of Porfirio's descent into darkness is notable. Nevertheless, the film's highlight is without a doubt Germán Robles performance as Ebodio. The legendary actor literally disappears in the role and delivers a work so natural and vivid that gives enormous realism to the film. Another great work of acting is the one by Taboada's regular collaborator, actress Norma Lazareno, whom playing Porfirio's wife gives one of the best performances in her career. As Ebodio's young wife Josefina, actress Rosenda Monteros is truly effective, and rises up to the level of her cast-mates despite having a relatively minor role in the film.

With its great cinematography, beautiful locations and great work of acting, "Rapiña" is certainly one of Taboada's best efforts outside the horror genre. However, there are also several flaws that stop the film from being a real masterpiece, and unfortunately, most are related to Taboada's work as a director. Perhaps the film's greatest problem is that at times it seems to digress around certain plot elements for too long, with some scenes being unnecessarily slow and long. As written above, the slow pace allows a great deal of character development, and that's certainly welcomed; however, Taboada exaggerates a bit in this, resulting in some moments of tedium. It wouldn't be the first time that Taboada seemed to be so fond of his own screenplay that left things that could had been trimmed down. Also, despite the bigger budget Taboada had for "Rapiña", some special effects related to the plane crash look pretty bad, even for its time (being obviously beyond the industry's financial limitations), though this is certainly a much more forgivable flaw.

After his series of commercial low budget films done during the first half of the seventies, "Rapiña" inaugurated a new stage in the career of Carlos Enrique Taboada, a stage that soon proved to be one of more personal and mature filmmaking. Bleak and pessimist (and even a bit patronizing), "Rapiña" is an interesting character study about a man driven by his obsession into the darkest side of the soul. Despite its many flaws, director Carlos Enrique Taboada manages to prove in this ambitious film that his talent extended well beyond the constrains of the horror genre. In the end, "Rapiña" is worth a watch not because of its place in Taboada's filmography, but mainly to enjoy the great performances of actors Germán Robles and Norma Lazareno.

7/10
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El Deseo en Otoño (1972)

While better known for his remarkable output in the horror genre (particularly 1968's "Hasta el viento tiene miedo" and 1969's "El Libro de Piedra"), Mexican filmmaker Carlos Enrique Taboada tackled a wide variety of themes and genres in his several contributions to Mexican cinema, both as a writer and as a director. Nevertheless, these ventures outside of the horror genre were rarely as successful as his famous "Gothic horror cycle", and would make a pretty good argument to state that the quality of Taboada's filmmaking depended on how interested was the director in the movie's theme. Two good examples of this are a couple of films Taboada made for veteran producer Alfonso Rosas Priego in 1972, "El Arte de Engañar" and "El Deseo en Otoño", two dramas with thriller elements that showcase the best and the worst of Taboada's style. Of the two, "El Deseo en Otoño" is the most successful, as even when it wasn't written by Taboada, it contains several common elements in Taboada's filmography: revenge, suspense and a not-so subtle lesbian subtext.

In "El Deseo en Otoño" (literally "The Desire in Autumn"), Maricruz Olivier plays Elena, a high school teacher who has spent the majority of her adult life taking care of her ill mother (Pilar Sen). A victim of her mother's manipulation, Elena has never pursued any romantic relationship, influenced by her mother's distrust towards every male. Her only friend is Clara (Sonia Furió), a fellow teacher who has secret passionate feelings towards Elena. One day Elena's mother dies, leaving Elena the enormous amount of money that she had secretly amassed. Now a millionaire, Elena invites Clara to live with her, hoping to avoid the feeling of loneliness that her mother's dead has brought. Clara delightfully agrees, and promptly moves with her beloved Elena, who remains oblivious to the feelings Clara has for her. The school's principal, Don Esteban (Enrique Pontón), suggest Elena to take a vacation, and she decides to visit Acapulco on her own. To Clara's surprise, Elena returns from Acapulco married to a mysterious man, Víctor (Guillermo Murray), an event that prompts in Clara great feelings of jealousy, worsened by her suspicions about Víctor's true intentions.

"El Deseo en Otoño" is atypical amongst Taboada's films because it wasn't written by him, but instead it was adapted to the screen by writer Toni Sbert from a story by popular soap opera writer Fernanda Villeli. The story does have many elements in common with soap operas, particularly a plot filled with several unexpected twists and a narrative structure that feels a tad episodic. In a quite interesting fashion, the story shifts tone and atmosphere, moving progressively from what initially seems to be a melodramatic character-study to a tragic tale of jealousy, which later ends up transformed into a darker suspense thriller in the vein of Hitchcock's "Suspicion" (an obvious major inspiration for the last third of the film). Writer Toni Sbert unfolds the story slowly, probably too slowly for its own good; though he succeeds in keeping things interesting until the end.

Director Carlos Enrique Taboada helms "El Deseo en Otoño" with his usual fluid narrative style and efficient craftsmanship. As written above, the story enters progressively into darker territories, and certainly the film could be divided in two well-defined segments: first Elena's emancipation and eventual discovery of love, and later Clara's schemes and Elena's growing suspicions about Víctor's past. While during the first half Taboada develops his film in a pretty standard fashion (to the point that it even gets dull at times), it's on the second half where Taboada seems right at home as suspicion, mystery and double crossing become the focal point of the film. If Taboada's take on romance is dull and passionless, his take on suspense is undoubtedly powerful and chilling. It's clear where Taboada's interests are, he handles the mystery about Víctor's intentions with great care and tact. Despite the poor job cinematographer Raúl Domínguez does in the film, Taboada manages to create a pretty good oppressive atmosphere inside Elena's house, reflecting the oppressive life that Elena seems to choose for herself. First under her mother's influence, and later under Clara's and Víctor's.

The cast is for the most part good, and at least the actors in the lead roles make great jobs in their performances. Actress Maricruz Olivier, who had previously worked with Taboada in "Hasta el viento tienemiedo", creates an interesting and vivid character in Elena. Certainly, the role is thinly-developed as an archetypal victim, but Olivier adds a good mix of sweetness and strength that benefits her character a lot, particularly in the last half. As the suave and mysterious Víctor, Guillermo Murray is pretty effective, and manages to keep a good balance between genuinely charming and disturbingly annoying, which make perfectly believable the suspicions that Clara and Elena have about his role. Finally, Sonia Furió is remarkable as Clara, the jealous friend of Elena who secretly longs for her in a romantic way. The way she handles Clara's romantic disappointment is a classy display of subtlety.

The rest of the cast is unfortunately pretty poor, with the worst offenders being young cast members Silvia Mariscal and Juan Peláez, who play Elena's worst students in a films' subplot. Their performances are truly weak, looking artificial and forced in their roles. Along Raúl Domínguez' already mentioned work of cinematography, Mariscal and Peláez' work ranks high amongst the film's biggest problems. However, the main problem in "El Deseo en Otoño" is perhaps the director's apparent lack of interest in the initial half of the story. While the second half is filled with interesting twists and culminates in one of Taboada's grimmest finales, the whole build up for this is done in a terribly dull and boring way that's closer to the worst vices of Mexican television of the time, only saved from its tedium by the quite interesting addition of Clara as a complex lesbian figure. The abysmal difference between both halves is unfortunate, as while the second half is truly a masterful display of a director handling suspense at its most Hitchcocknian, one has to endure the terrible dullness of the first half to enjoy it.

Certainly "El Deseo en Otoño", or "The Desire in Autumn" is far from being one of Taboada's best films but, despite its notorious problems (made worse by the obvious low production values), the film has enough elements of interest to be worth a look. The last half of the film alone is a nicely constructed piece of suspense, and a pretty good homage to Hitchcock. If one forgives the staggering dullness of its first half, "El Deseo en Otoño" proves to be an actually intense and rewarding thriller that showcases the visual talents of Taboada. While not Taboada's best work, "El Deseo en Otoño" isn't really a bad film after all.

6/10
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