Terror en la Casa
by Kristin Battestella
These slashers, ladykillers, and
murder mysteries bring the horror home with period piece nostalgia
and international flavor.
Cemetery of Terror – Retro TV
static, eerie horror sounds, gory slices, and elevator shocks waste
no time in this 1985 Mexican slasher. The English subtitles don't
exactly match the spoken Spanish, but the hip tunes come from
diegetic cassettes and boomboxes as the randy medical students and
bathing suit babes plan to party in an abandoned house on Halloween.
Though fitting with cobwebs, covered furniture, and evil grimoires,
it's bemusing that the house doesn't seem old enough to be so
abandoned thanks to the seventies paneling and shag carpets. A suave
psychiatrist who knows the killer's satanic history and the police
captain who think it's all routine add Miami
Vice style
as more local youths test each other's courage by going to the
graveyard. That station wagon fits six adults – cruising along with
the satanic killer's body in the back, no big. It's both humorous and
demented as the morgue stretchers and dares to summon the dead
escalate to Latin incantations in the cemetery on Halloween under the
full moon. Sudden storms and scary, point of view suspense from our
resurrected killer provide well
done people in fear with no need for stereotypes, torture porn, or
exploitation. Disturbing death blows happen fast as the killer gets
intimate with his bloody, claw hands in well paced motivations that
aren't drawn out for unnecessary effect. There's little to indicate
it's Halloween besides jack-o-lanterns and vintage masks, for the
skulls, crypts on fire, open graves, and tattered zombies rising are
scary enough. Smoke and red lights accent the simplicity of kids in
peril – unable to phone their parents and running in fear right
back to the terrible manor. Sure, wielding a cross deters the zombies
who can somehow walk through an entire cemetery full of cross grave
markers anyway, but the multi layered horrors are effective without
today's in your face hyperbole. Fiery black books and one on one
battles with our man of action psychiatrist lead to a fun topper
striking the right balance between genre winks and chills.
It Happened at Nightmare Inn
– Originally A Candle for
the Devil, this
1973
Spanish parable opens with swanky cityscapes and airplanes leading to
our quaint village hotel run by two seriously uptight sisters. They
violently object to their pretty blonde guest sunbathing on the roof
and call her fatality divine providence for her indecency. After they
chop up some lamb and scrub up the evidence, the elegant, soft
spoken, less provocative sister of their late guest arrives alongside
another tourist in hot pants dancing in the town fountain and a young
mother with a baby knocking on their door. The perky and carefree
blondes contrast the older, self righteous, harsh brunettes in dark
button up clothes, and severe Gothic furniture, villa arches, stained
glass, and organ crescendos match the medieval artwork, Inquisition
past, and Catholic atmosphere. These ladies insist on running a
respectable establishment, but one has a dalliance with the servant
boy and the other gawks at the raunchy local men. She gets herself
torn up in the briers as a mea
culpa zen
before donning a silky dress and saucy stockings. Our sisters almost
turn on each other over the cash box, but it's time to sharpen the
knives and tut tut at the hussy guests as innuendo and shaming layer
the pent up attacks. Who gave them the right to be so high and mighty
when they are women just the same? These supposed hasty departures
make the townsfolk suspicious as a few slaps escalate to kidnapping,
woman on woman violence, and fatal penetrations mirror the underlying
guilt, repression, and demented joy. Snooping for evidence, vats in
the basement, village intrigue, and close calls suspense culminate in
food poisoning, gory revelations, axes, and eyeballs. Today this
would be so unnecessarily heavy handed, and of course there are
varying versions – a sixty-seven minute sanitized edition and a
longer seventy-three minutes that still has awkward cuts on the sex
and kills. Fortunately, this is an entertaining examination on female
stereotypes via horror and it's worth pursuing the proper blu-ray
edition.
Murder Mansion – There are
varying versions of this 1972 Spanish/Italian La
Mansion de la Niebla,
however the organ music, dangerous
mountain drives, and sexy hitchhikers set the snowy, seventies suave
nonetheless. Gossipy couples, love triangles, and business before
pleasure affairs are initially confusing, but the dubbing is well
done – bemusing bickering rather than monotone banal. Soren to
Milan overnight drives on the old valley road and ominous turns not
on the map lead to squealing tires and car accidents near the foggy
cemetery. A man with a sickle walks along the side of the road before
more fearful figures in the mist and cackling echoes. Classic cars,
cigarettes, guns, and creepy portraits add to the gothic atmosphere
as one and all become stranded at the titular manor. The nearby
village is abandoned, and our suspect hostess recounts local vampire
legends and tales of the town witch to her hysterical guests. Hear
tell of prior decapitation and impalements are dismissed despite the
increasingly uneasy, eerie mood thanks to mirrors, evil eyes, and
occult images looming over every room. Bare ladies' backs, lez be
friends suggestions, and father/daughter jealousy or worse create
innuendo before the dirty dude knocking on every bedroom door gets
what's coming to him in chilling ghostly encounters. Billowing
nightgowns escalate to blurred visions and fatal heartbeats as
creaking doors and cobwebs lead to underground tunnels, chapel
crypts, and coffins. Contemporary films often fail at this kind of
surprising reveal, and although the edited editions excise the saucy
violence, the genuine frights are effective without the skin and
splatter overused today. The talkative set up and party flashbacks
pad time on a thin story and too many uneven characterizations, but
fortunately, this moody midnight scary remain swift and entertaining.
Retro
Television Bonus
The Ghost of Sierra de Cobre –
This eighty minute 1964 CBS television film written and directed by
Joseph Stefano (Psycho) was
originally envisaged as a horror anthology pilot. Martin
Landau stars (Mission:
Impossible) as
charming architect
cum ghost hunter Nelson Orion
”as
in the constellation” amid steamy kisses, picturesque beaches, and
a mod bachelor pad. However screams, foggy cemeteries, and a family
tomb with a horseshoe phone beside the un-embalmed interred provide
Poe references and gothic atmosphere. Creepy housekeeper Judith
Anderson (Rebecca)
lurks about the grand manor, and the frazzled son of the deceased
receives sobbing phone calls from a mother who's been dead for a
year. The coffin is open and the receiver is warm but the skeleton is
undisturbed, and midnight graveside meetings wax on how the wealthy
make such elaborate art wasted on the dead while so many live in
squalor. Howling winds, flickering lanterns, and closing crypt doors
acerbate locked in the vault fears while the black and white lighting
schemes accent wrought iron fences and marble tombs. Chandeliers,
overhead angles, and multiple staircases make the mausoleum or manor
appear larger amid rattling furniture, “psychical” powers, and
science versus dogma debates. Orion doesn't charge for genuine
hauntings but enjoys catching pranksters. He's not a medium but is
wary of unbelievers – for he believes in freeing people of what
haunts them be it guilt or ghost. Largely twofer dialogue carries the
plot as Orion ponders what kind of mother expected a grown married
man to always be home beside the phone. His sassy old housekeeper
helps his “morbid adventures” as the sounding board for his
exposition or deduction. Numerous up close shots of Landau push him
as star, and this really could have been a delicious show with weekly
horror guests. While the Spanish history on the titular missions and
a whiff of religion are fine, the hear tell bleeding ghosts Orion's
previously debunked feel tacked on when we could have seen that
story. And Judith Anderson is supposed to be Hispanic? Seriously? At
times the skepticism and music are laid on thick with repeated camera
shots and unnecessary padding scenes. However the primitive chromakey
overlays and phantom figures on the beach remain eerie. The then
contemporary sleek and classical art work well with gothic candles,
glowing paintings, and poison tonics as fatal pasts lead to stabbings
and surprisingly well filmed vehicular revenge. Though at times
somewhat Scooby Doo
thanks
to obvious supposition for modern viewers,
this
has some surprisingly creepy moments and fun performances for a late
night watch.
