THE NIGHT OF THE SORCERERS

A cinema entrenched in the traditional sins, religion, and myths of its native land, Spanish horror wears a face more intimate to the traditions of its people than do many other genres. The Spanish have the distinction of making films consistently unsettling and more honest when depicting the grime and terror of living. A sense of inevitability informs Spanish cinema, and often the occult nightmares of religion and myth, folklore and legend, are merged artfully (if not always subtly) with believable representations of everyday life. Ghosts and demons stand alongside (and often work with) everyday politics and strife. One of Spain's more legendary directors, Amando De Ossorio, captures this lyrical marriage between beauty and despair, legend and psychological realism with poetry and exploitative fervour. While not as haunting as his celebrated Blind Dead series, Night of the Sorcerers is a compelling dance of death and desire -- a prime example of trash cinema offering decrepit atmosphere and sexually charged demonic power.

In a plot emphasizing blood, breasts, and black magic, the themes of Night obviously focus more on sensationalism than nuance of character. In Ossario's hands, this rather mundane story structure is livened with style and an earnest sense of wonder, making the lame story a successful expose of carnal destruction and occult nemesis. Years after a woman is whipped, raped, and sacrificed in techno-color glory, soldiers break up the good time and kill the natives responsible . . . only to reveal that the rite has worked as the gal's decapitated head rolls around and screams. Some time later, in 1974, a group of explorers arrive in this same area. This party is comprised of Professor Jonathan Grant (frequent Franco actor Jack Taylor), who is investigating the dramatic decrease in wild life, Karen, a photographer (Barbara King?), Tunika, an exotic native, and Liz, daughter of the founder of the expedition. When Tomunag shows the party the areas voodoo ceremonies, Karen hopes to capture them on camera, ignoring the man's dire warning. Next morning she is missing and Grant and Carter, with the help of Tomunga, search for her. Instead they find a camera and blood next to a ceremonial stone. Soon the adventurers find that they are in a fight for their lives and souls -- with their modern cynicism of little avail against the powers of darkness.

In many ways Night of the Sorcerers is inept, bungling, and unworthy of the director's legacy, especially when compared with the Blind Dead. Yet it still manages to arouse and frighten, surprise and inspire laughs. More importantly, beneath the exploitative gore and sex is a surprisingly serious examination at a native people and their cultural traditions. While many fans may not realize it, this director often graced even his sleaziest moments with social commentary, examining within the context of the genre the cultural manners that his characters expressed towards sex, rape, and violence. This is seen throughout this film as well. While the effects are crass, the music repetitive, and plot logic often lacking, there is an essential sense of suspense that, combined with some damn fine showmanship, makes this macabre experience strangely successful. Perhaps the film's chief merit is Ossorio's ability to charge even the most ridiculous situations with menacing atmosphere, drenching everything in shadows, blood, and breasts. The director creates a sense of moroseness and exotic loneliness that extends to the characters. Similar to his other films, isolation both physical and emotional is a chief nightmare for characters. An isolated group is again placed against an enemy from myth and superstition, following the familiar Spanish motif of natural danger combined with occult intrigue. While these voodoo inspired vampires are nothing particular to Spanish lore and lack the startling effect of the Templars, they are nevertheless effective metaphors for blind hunger and destruction, and bare more than a little resemblance to the slow-mo vampires of Leon Klimovsky, to haunting effect. Decrepit eye candy, this is a movie clearly more devoted to supernatural posturing than character. Thankfully the colors, premise, and lack of pretense are worth it here, evoking a black spell of supernatural creatures that suck in all the right ways.

Available via television, which cut much of the sex and violence, and grey market video, which suffered from such technological mishaps as blurry imagery and soft colors, BCI presents Night of the Sorcerers in a wonderfully sleek and polished incarnation. Despite the fact that there are a few scenes missing from this print -- ones that can be seen on the Japanese disc -- the BCI cut offers many of these even as supplements. On a mor3e confusing note, it cannot be determined if the scenes this disc doesn't include were envisioned by the director or inserts. So, while not a perfect release, missing some lines of dialogue that put certain violent rape scenes in a more informed cultural context, this is the most definitive currently available. Including 13 minutes of alternate scenes. Due to the number of versions available, it would be difficult to discover (and impossible to prove) which cut of this international film was THE preferred edition. In short, there are scenes missing from this print but it is doubtful whether or not they significantly alter or ruin the integrity of the story itself. To make your own mind up you might want to take a gander at the debate currently going on at the Laternia website and Midnight Video, each of which weigh in on the pros and cons of the release, including a more thorough examination of which scenes are cut.

This debate is similar to the furore that was expressed a few months ago about Severin Film's release of Perversion Story. Like that film, NOTS exists in several cuts with a variety of scenes substituted for one another. In short, there is no one definitive edition of the feature. Indeed, if there is any ruler by which one can measure the difference between this official release and the grey market prints out there it would have to be picture quality. The BCI version is nigh flawless in terms of visual integrity and audio quality, making it the favored choice. Culled from the original negative, the visual presentation is clean and bright, with miraculous detail. Colors are bold and vibrant, capturing the moody atmosphere that makes the film so memorable. Audio specifications are also top-notch, including the original Spanish (Castilian) track in Mono (with optional subs), and the more familiar English dubbed track, also in Mono.

While not as generous as the BCI Naschy releases, the extras for Sorcerers are both informative and fun, adding context to the film. These include the International Trailer, Spanish beginning and end title sequences, and alternate "clothed" scenes. In addition we see some additional scenes, a still gallery featuring rare poster, press art, video covers, and photos. Again Mirek Lipinski writes the informative liner notes, exploring valuable biographical information on the director, the film's inception, and the tangled history of its various versions. For my money, this is as fine a presentation as one could currently hope for of a film that just a few years ago would never have stood a chance of finding a legit release. BCI is doing a fine job, and aficionados of rare Spanish horror can only hope they continue their wonderful work.

Review by William Simmons