HORROR FROM SOUTH OF THE BORDER, Vol.2

Mexican horror offered repressed and sensation-hungry middle classes passports to other realms. They provided entrainment that spoke of 'real' anxieties while dressing them in the imaginative cloth of fantasy. These pictures were both graphically sensational and thematically subversive, peeling back the boils of respectability and politically motivated morality. The evolution of Mexico's dark and fantastic cinema was also rooted in the folklore of a people who had been raised listening to tales of weeping spirits and thirsty vampires. In the 1950s Mexico moviegoers were fond of Westerns, Comedies, and the Lucha Libre genres. This last, featuring popular masked wrestlers, was most pleasing to the masses, emphasizing broad escapist storylines. Horror found a foothold with the release of such classics as La Bruja (1954) and Fernando Mendez's El Vampiro (1958). The Golden Age of Mexican monster cinema was soon to come, rivalling Universal's fear factory by making do with ingenuity. A people who had been raised on macabre religious symbolism found their fears and desires reflected on the silver screen, and proved hungry for the dark miracles of Black Pit of Dr. M (1959), Baron of Terror (1960), and Curse of the Crying Woman (1963).

Following their fun if uneven package of 80s Mexican horror movies -- many of which reflected contemporary taste and therefore lacked the atmospheric elegance of older titles -- BCI now brings us Horror South of the Border (2), a collection of seven supernatural chillers that reflect the more 'fun' side of Mexi-horror. These films are from the 1950s and 1960s and reflect that era's unique marriage of fright and Camp. An admirable balance is found between serious horror and comedy in these pieces Stronger on atmosphere than those titles from the first box set, these films are unfortunately uneven in quality and presentation. Many have already been released on DVD, two of them are repackaged from earlier BCI releases, and two look to be the same transfers used by Something Weird Video. Packaging is also a problem this time out, as the back cover declares that these versions are in the original Spanish language and include English sub-titles, when in actuality each film in the set is dubbed in English with no Spanish options available, immediately decreasing their value. It's also interesting to note that the anxiously awaited Masterworks of Terror anthology film which was rumored to be included has been replaced by The New Invisible Man (maybe this isn't so shocking considering the film was Argentinean and therefore not relevant to this collection). Despite these flaws and contradictions, the set is a wonderful introduction to this eccentric and moody sub-genre, enticing if you don't already own the films, and an affordable way to build your collection.

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Disc One features NIGHT OF THE BLOODY APES (1969) and, on the flip side, CURSE OF THE DOLL PEOPLE (1961). These features were released in 2006 as a double set that was, sad to report, superior to this presentation. Whereas BCI's first release featured each film with both English-dub and Spanish versions, here, we only get the dubbed features. The films themselves are worthy footnotes in the development of the Mexi-horror genre. Perhaps in no other two films could we find better glimpses into some of the major themes, stylistic flourishes, and 'cheesy' hysterics of this culture's cinematic style. Night of the Bloody Apes, an underground fright favorite, has long been available only via the grey market or washed-out prints. Here we see it in a stunning new transfer, as though its meaty stew of madness, depravity, and blood shed were being revealed for the first time. Directed with panache by Rene Cardona, Sr. from a screenplay co-written by his son, La Horripilante Bestia Humana (The Horrific Human Beast) is a wild ride combining elements of the dark comedy, medical drama, Mexican Wrestler thriller, and the gothic. Similar in scope to Dr. Doom and its ilk, this film, under Cardona's direction, is more suspenseful and better paced. The Horrific Human Beast, the cut of the film crafted fro Mexico distribution, lacks the gore and skin often (and in this case erroneously) attributed to the film, these lewder aspects added for Horror Y Sexo (an alternate export version), and, more to our point, Night of the Bloody Apes. Delivering a dark gift for Mexican horror fans, BCI offers us the chance to view both the Mexican and US versions, so a comparison can be made.

In a plot jammed full of coincidences, convoluted veering, and visceral surface action, The Horrific Human Beast features a injured female wrestler whisked away to a hospital where Dr. Kraumana (Jose Elias Moreno), a mad doctor, desperate to save the life of his son, Julio, conducts an ape-to-human transplant. As this lurid potboiler ensues, the doctor, believing that he's been successful in the procedure, is mortified when his son transforms into a Simian monster. Escaping the hospital, this ape-man wreaks deliciously photographed havoc, with his father striving to bring him back to the hospital so that he can replace the animal heart with a human one . . . Could the female wrestler's heart be just the one needed? Committing murder to prolong his son's existence, the doctor inadvertently creates a monster that terrorizes the community as police and the hospital track it down. While the second side of the disc, featuring Night of the Bloody Apes, doesn't differ much in plot, it does feature additional moments of nudity and gore. This US version is less elegant than its earlier incarnation but certainly more bizarre and graphic, sure to please the sensation seeker. The differences include such choice scenes as a bloody heart transplant, throat ripping, an eye gouging, meatier attacks, and enticing shots of female skin.

Unpretentiously pulpy, both versions of the film never pretend to be anything but entertainment. Still, amidst the monsters and mad science, there lurks surprisingly effective themes: the cold demands of fate, the danger of playing with the forbidden, hubris, etc . At the same time, the movie walks the tightrope between glorifying and warning against violence and sex, Photographed by Raul Martinez Solares, the film looks realistic at the same time that it veers towards the decadent. While both Human Beast and Night are professionally directed with mood and expressive atmosphere, the former, in its native language, should appeal most to purists. in search of suggestive elegance while gorehounds will find more of interest in the gutsier spectacle of the later.

The script and direction -- not to mention the fine acting of Jose Moreno, Carlos Lopez Moctezuma, and Norma Lazareno -- add up to a lively experience. It is a pleasure to wash yourself in the spectral light of this crazed tragedy of sin, redemption, and irresponsible fatherly love. Clean picture quality allows you to appreciate the movie as never before, and while a small amount of lines and blotching remain, The Horrifying Human Beast and Night of the Bloody Apes look as good as they ever have (and in all probability ever will!). Audio is proficient, with the first film featuring the Spanish language version with optional subtitles, and the US cut dubbed in English.

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Challenging cultural preconceptions while they terrify and titillate, Mexican horror deserves greater popular attention and critical re-assessment. Crafting dark miracles of awe, fear, and adventure -- and just as often surprisingly erotic thrills -- with subtexts including such provocative themes as alienation and cultural degeneration, Mexican filmmakers made much with little. Compensating for lack of funds with imaginative prowess, these south-of-the-border storytellers remind us of shamans of old, spinning their fear fables across the flickering image of the screen rather than by firelight. Bold and sometimes graphic, they were just as often daring in their views of Self, the cosmos, and the contradictory enlightening/liberating influence of science. Mexican horror has a wonderful penchant for interconnecting various genres and aesthetic forms, creating sensational new hybrids. Interweaving cosmic terror with the primal instincts of self preservation and desire, Mexi-horror carved for itself a shadowy border-land wherein ancient superstitions meet the technological horrors of science; likewise, and to similar effect, personal anxieties stand alongside philosophical fears.

Entrenched in the soil of a native land whose domestic terrors included civil strife and bloodshed, Mex-horror draws its strength from its people. Digging deep in the soil of folklore, these movies depict the fears of the contemporary with symbols of the past. This is particularly apparent in Curse of the Doll People, a disturbing and poetic visit to the night-side of human experience. More lyrical, understated, and emotionally effective than The Horrifying Human Beast, this supernatural fable of angry Voodoo practitioners, killer dolls, and the occult feels similar to the US horror movies of the 1940's, exhibiting a lush atmosphere and storyline somewhat reminiscent of Val Lewton. A battle between science and superstition, this is also a beautifully photographed story, with shadows and distorted angles suggesting the dangers and alienation of the human heart. Sinister interior shots and low-lit, carefully composed black-and-white exteriors of looming sidewalks externalize the doubt and suspicion -- the danger -- of the living characters, adding suspense to a delightfully creepy storyline.

Scientists Karina and Valdés are invited to the home of one of their colleagues where Karina learns of an expedition carried out by four men to Haiti. Witnessing an occult ritual forbidden to them in Coombas, the men thieved a stone idol from a voodoo temple, incurring the malevolent wrath of a sorcerer. Luis -- one of the gentleman and, it seems, the leader of the expedition -- believes the curse will loose its grip after midnight. Going in to look after his sleeping daughter, he is found dead. As the remaining members of the group race against time and belief, more of their friends are found dead of mysterious needle-pricks. Slain by genuinely uncanny looking dolls who obey a mysterious stranger, each doll resembles the previous victim. Impressive for such a dated film, the performances and atmosphere (if not always the script) sustains fear. Feeling somewhere between a detective story and a Lights Out! Old Time Radio show, this moodily lit and menacing film tightens its grip as a handful of demonic dolls methodically, and with an impressive degree of realism, stalk the dwindling survivors.

Curse of the Doll People is treated with the same respect as Night of the Bloody Apes, available in both the original Spanish version and the K. Gordon Murray US edition. Wile the English dubbed US cut of Curse is fine, a more authentic viewing experience is available in Munecos Infernales (Infernal Dolls), where the Spanish language track makes more sense, and the dialogue is more natural, including optional English subtitles. A rougher print than Apes, both versions of Dolls retain grain and scratches. Yet, just as with the above, these are the cleanest prints available on the market. For the most part, the picture is clean and solid, with the crisp black and white photography lending a funeral air to the production.

Highly entertaining melting pots of bloody-fun surface action, chills, and surreal atmosphere, these two films differ greatly in their basic aesthetic goals, filmmaking styles, and results. Apes is a sensation of dismemberment, forced operations, and stalking years before such motifs became fashionable. Shocking sensibilities of its time, this early psycho-sexual thriller proudly declares its intentions from the beginning. Doll People, on the other hand, is a wondrous exercise in restraint, showing far more by suggestion. Relying on ancient folk belief in magic, this entry has more of Robert Wise than H. G. Lewis resonating within its moodily draped shadows. Apart these two films represent diverse aspects of a common shared heritage of Mexican horror, together they are a feast of occult possibility and physical horror.

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More interesting to this package is The New Invisible Man a 1958 hybrid of science fiction, adventure, and horror, mimicking Universal's The Invisible Man Returns. Directed with workmanship if not inspiration by Alfredo B. Crevenna, this is an intriguing if not particularly original or frightening addition to the Mexi-horror library.

In a plot that patches together themes and plot elements from various sources, the principle narrative sees Charles Hill (Arturo de Córdova), a soft spoken gentleman, accused of a murder that he is innocent of. Sent to prison to rot, his only hope is his brother Lewis. It seems that Lewis (Augusto Benedico) has been experimenting with invisibility on unlucky lab animals, developing a liquid that produces invisible. He injects Charles during a visit to the infirmary, encouraging him to strip and escape. Following the formerly mentioned Vincent Price vehicle point by point, this narrative sees Charles, still wanted by the Law, chased by Police. Meanwhile he seeks shelter with his fiancee Beatrice, who soon discovers that the power of invisibility is releasing the evil instincts of her man.

Rich in imagery and startlingly poetic photography, the best classic Mexican horror movies were also notable for treating their subjects seriously. This isn't one of them. Laughable when it doesn't mean to be, lack of focus robs the story of tension. Thankfully, what it lacks in chills is makes up for in foolishness. One of the few Mexican horror movies NOT brought over by K. Gordon Murray, this slow paced thriller lacks the Catholic guilt and supernatural mystery of other, better efforts. A cold, rather sterile atmosphere shadows the story, and the effects are poor. Still, in the right frame of mind, this is one for the whole family, as it is definitely 'kiddy' friendly.

BCI offers The New Invisible Man in an aspect ratio of 1.33:1. The print is marred with scratches, grain, and soft imagery. While this is sure to have 'techies' howling in the streets, and IS rather agitating, the print is acceptable for such an affordable set. If you're not paying for a special edition re-mastered film, you're not going to get it! In no way comparable with BCI's Spanish releases, and lacking the quality print of the above titles, this is still clear enough to enjoy. Audio is also problematic, plagued with background noise and pops in its regrettable English dubbing.

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An evocative if not overly faithful adaptation of W. W. Jacob's "The Monkey's Paw," a classic ghost story focusing on suggestion and implication rather than gore, Spiritism is a grim and brooding exercise in spectral terror. Directed by Benito Alazraki, this chilling occult fable focuses on the dangers of toying with the supernatural, delighting in its morbid moralizing. Changing characters and the central supernatural object, the plot revolves around a warning gleaned from a Ouija board at a séance. Mary is told by a psychic that she will do something that will result in dangerous consequences for her family, particularly her son Rudolph (played by Rene Cardona Jr.). Soon after, her husband gives her the deed to their estate as an anniversary present. Rudolph, an ambitious and opportunistic young man, asks his parents for a loan to embark upon a small business, which will require them to risk the house and possible financial ruin. To further complicate matters, an enigmatic women brings Mary a sinister box that, when opened, throws a shadow of horror over the entire family.

Spiritism is an uneven but often good representative of the spiritual/supernatural thriller that combined Mexican respect for the unknown with the sensationalism that drove its film market. Surrounded in a moodily lit atmosphere of nightmare, this story merges conservative Catholic moral 'values' with shockingly explicit themes. The witches and vengeful wraiths from Mexico's history are no longer the sole property of leathery skinned grandmothers rolling tortillas and whispering legends. Demonic terrors are the direct result of a believable character's actions, ushered into the everyday context of work and financial worries, making them more believable. While slow moving and unevenly paced, the direction is assured, and the cautious progression of the plot allows for a greater heightening of suspense.

Presented in full frame, BCI's Spiritism looks slightly better than past DVD releases, lacking the grain and picture distortions of other discs. The picture is generally sharp, details clean, and the black and white photography attractive despite glitches. Crackling and background hissing disrupts the Mono soundtrack but is not devastating.

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The last two features in this collection may also the most colorful, if not the most dramatic (or serious). These films represent another side of Mexican horror, one more interested in sheer spectacle and adventure than in tragedy or serious representations of horror, supernatural or otherwise. Merging the Mexican love of monsters and masked wrestlers, these hybrids are similar to cartoons, sporting larger than life figures and broad plot lines. Doctor of Doom and Wrestling Women vs. the Aztec Mummy are eccentric as only truly individualistic popular entertainment can be. Exploring general horror and mad science themes with tongue firmly in cheek, each of these Lucha Libre adventures appeal to children -- as well as to the child in adults who can remember seeing them originally on television thanks to K. Gordon Murray. Featuring popular masked wrestlers, the Lucha Libre genre was more popular than horror to the masses, offering working class people storylines broad enough to remove them from their everyday worries. These crowd pleasers began to feature archetypes from traditional folklore in no time, including vampires, ghouls, mummies, and mad scientists; they were already establishing that strange, wonderful orgy of camp and terror that would later become so essential to the genre. Doctor Doom was the first and most influential template for what would become known as the "Las Luchadoras" series, featuring lovely wrestling beauties in place of sweaty men facing down maniacs and monsters. Directed by Rene Cardona, La Luchadoras Contra El Médico Asesino is a manic bombardment of B-movie thrills.

The plot of Dr. Doom could have came directly from a comic book, exhibiting similar flair, division of action, and cliff-hanging excitement . A classically 'over the top' mad scientist disguised in a hood gets his kicks murdering young women for brain transplant experiments. When his experiments fail due to the stupidity of these beauties, his sidekick recommends he find a smart female upon which to operate. He soon finds one . . . with equally disappointing results. Next he turns to her wrestler sister, Gloria Venus, who desperately tries to solve the murder with the help of police. Meeting wrestler Golden Rubi, the two of them divide their time between kicking ass and tracking the villain. But the doctor transplants ape man Gomar's brain into the body of a wrestler named Vendetta who is urged to kill the two girls. Gasp! What will they do?!

A high spirited but moronic cocktail of madcap mayhem, Doctor Doom is in no way a classic horror film. It doesn't try to be. It is a brainless and unarguably entertaining piece of brain freeze. The plot structure and action are nostalgic throwbacks to the serials of Golden Age Hollywood, filled with colorful characters, broad action, and enough pulp that you can squeeze a glass of orange juice from it. The dubbing adds to the unintentionally humorous 'camp' aspect, as does the horribly over-acting villain and the worst gorilla suit ever to ramble across the screen. Of course two wacky scantily clad young women going around wrestling every five minutes or so is also appreciated!

Doctor Doom is presented by BCI in a print that looks rather like the version used by Something Weird Video in their double release of this title and Wrestling Women Vs. the Aztec Mummy. Featured in Full Frame transfers, the black and white photography is fair if not flawlessly preserved, with scratches and grain throughout. Despite this, the film sports sharp edges and solid blacks. The dubbed English track is clean with a little background interference. Again, no subtitle tracks are offered.

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A born salesman and an innovator, K. Gordon Murray approached the business of marketing horror movies to the masses -- primarily children and teens -- with all the showmanship of a circus performer. Murray had a penchant for finding movies that married the grim realism of mortality dressed in the colorful costumes of fantasy. It was natural that he should find himself enamoured with Mexican horror, which made a celebration of darkness. Murray, responsible for bringing such exotic and fun filled features as Doctor Doom to the screen, was quick to follow this with Cardona's Wrestling Women Vs. The Aztec Mummy ((La Luchadoras Contra La Momia). A direct sequel, this second kick to the testicles once again combines humor with gothic tropes, resulting in another fine freaky mess of bad acting, worse dubbing, and a sense of the strange impossible to duplicate. Repeating their roles, Campbell and Velázquez again face off against fiends -- this time an ancient Mummy. While this time Valazquez is called Loreta, everything else remains close to template, with the same detectives/boyfriends returning, and the plot as convoluted (and just plain silly) as the previous entry.

The 'plot' focuses on the Black Dragon, a stereotypical Evil Asian who uses his sinister gang to follow and murder a group of archaeologists because they are associated with a mysterious three-piece codex that leads to an ancient Aztec treasure. Soon Black Dragon finds that Loreta and Rubi hold a piece of the puzzle and he suggests a match between them and his deadly Kun-Fu sisters. When Dragon doesn't loose graciously and takes the piece anyways, our daring team follows them to an Aztec pyramid where an ancient mummy has been unleashed . . .

Lacking the originality or initial impact of Doctor Doom, this bit of hokum somehow satisfies despite being, at heart, a really, really bad movie. The action often lags but is saved time and again by a surreal sense of absurdity. While there is too much 'mock' police work and the wrestling scenes soon grow monotonous, the playful -- even childish-- sense of 'look at me Ma, I'm making a movie' is endearing. The Mummy, the focal point of the film, is also held in the background for far too long, and is rumored to have been borrowed from footage in La Momia Azteca, the first and superior Aztec mummy feature.

Similar to Doctor Doom, the film is presented full-frame (again, similar if not directly used from the Something Weird release), with some grain and print damage but sharp in its black and white photography. Audio is featured in dubbed English, and while this is always frustrating for purists wanting to hear the original language, it does add to the camp feeling of the package.

Review by William Simmons