BLUE EYES OF THE BROKEN DOLL

One needn't look too deeply at Paul Naschy's films to notice how wonderfully varied their themes and styles are. Merging homage and imitation with a distinct Spanish sensibility, Naschy's movies are lent fresh perspective by his sense of doomed romanticism. From the tragic werewolf he's so often identified with, to his classic monster mashes, Naschy's work is a cinematic stew of juxtaposed styles. Having tackled the werewolf, Dracula, zombies, and even the Mummy, Naschy broke from supernatural tradition when the Italian giallo became a worldwide sensation. Using Argento as a creative template, he embraced the psycho sexual fetishism and ultra violence of the Giallo with Seven Dragonflies for Each Corpse and Human Beasts. Yet it is with the thriller Blue Eyes of the Broken Doll that Naschy came closest to duplicating the sensationalism and psychological deviancy of the Giallo. Much of the credit for this film's success (albeit belated) can be traced to director Carlos Aured. Film, it is often remarked, is a collaborative effort, and Naschy found an intelligent craftsman and visionary in Aured. Retaining many of the themes, visual set-pieces, and the stylistic flair of Italian thrillers, Aured injected this sleazy and sexy pot-boiler with a hard- edged sensibility. Naschy's grimly believable performance injects this shock-fest with a profound sadness as well as sensationalistic chills.

The plot for Blue Eyes of the Broken Doll is surprisingly complex, even structured, and emotionally scathing. A vivisection of human loneliness, desire, and obsession, the story centres on Naschy as a conscience torn strangler of women who is hired as the caretaker for an estate owned by three icy sisters. Once there, his violent tendencies are tested by these cold, seductive women, each of which harbours mental problems and sexual frustration. A hearty heaping of sadistic sexuality, eye violence, and mental cruelty ensue, as Naschy attempts to placate the women, finds love (for perhaps the first time, mirroring the Bruno character in Human Beasts), and struggles with his past. Seeking redemption, the fairy tale becomes washed in blood and regret as a faceless Giallo-style killer begins slaughtering blonde, blue-eyed women, leaving their eyeballs in a bowl of water. Naschy is the prime suspect as an increasingly suspicious local police department dig into his past.

All the classic elements of the Giallo are present and accounted for. Unseen killer? Check! Gratuitous violence executed with relish? Check! Psycho sexual sadism? Yes! Red herrings and convoluted storylines? Character misdirection? More style than substance? Check, check, check! Blue Eyes sports all of these, making it an intriguing, fun, and visually compelling addition to the Giallo, with an exotic Spanish flavour of Catholic guilt and sensuality thrown in for good measure. Naschy is edgy and believable as the haunted gardener -- a bitter, hopeless, opportunistic drifter unable to flee from his instinctive blood-thirst. This performance, and the film's tone in general, marks a stage in Naschy's life/career when the biter conflicts of his personal life and philosophy found personification in his acting. While the identity of the killer may be no great surprise, and some of the effects are sadly outdated, the tone, movement, and hard-edged cynicism of the movie is both emotionally painful and strangely attractive. Aured's visual skill is on display, as is his sense of pace and love of atmosphere. It is no surprise that his already established preference for mood over logic was a perfect fit for the Giallo formula, resulting in excruciating suspense, copious blood shots, and an overall shadow of strangeness.

Familial decadence hangs thickly over the entire cast and grounds. "WANTED," the old VHS box of the film (under the title of House of Psychotic Woman) says: "ABLE-BODIED MAN FOR DEPRAVED WOMEN. NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY." This captures the sleazy and nihilistic mood of the film excellently. However, it glosses over the tragic tenderness of the story, for the doomed romance and unreliability of perception is this story's heart. Eva Leon, Diana Lorys, and Maria Perschy bring seductive danger to their performances, sharing the amorality and desperate yearning of Naschy's sexual predator. Practically every visual and thematic element here is used to fine advantage, resulting in a polished poem of perversion.

Sadly, BCI's special edition release of Blue Eyes of the Broken Doll streets after the director's death. Fittingly, it is a gorgeous and lovingly assembled package paying tribute to one of Naschy's most offbeat performances and perhaps one of Aured's most masterful pictures. Mastered in high definition from the original negative, the film is presented in Full Screen (4x3). While there has been some talk suggesting that the disc suffers from minor visual dragging, I couldn't find any evidence of this. In fact, I found the picture quality very good. There is simply no comparison between this and past home video versions. Colors are spot on and vibrant, blacks solid, and skin tones natural. Audio is featured in English Mono 2.0 and Castilian Mono 2.0 with optional English subtitles. The English track is well balanced and crisp but the more organic experience is found in the native track.

Like Human Beasts, this disc sports impressive supplements which create an in depth aesthetic and cultural sub-text for the feature. Most impressive is the Audio Commentary with Paul Naschy and Carlos Aured, which is in Castilian with English subs. Aured entered the industry by assisting director Leon Klimovsky and proved to be a valuable collaborator to Naschy, working fast and cheap with impressive results. In this track he overviews some of his earlier days and his love for cinema, focusing on Blue Eyes. Challenges on and off set are discussed, and both men treat one another with respect -- a sense of homecoming, of reunion is felt. One likes to think that some of the alienation that had developed between the two was forgotten in this discussion which, despite some strained lapses of silence, is important for this reason alone. Other extras include an Introduction with Naschy cheesing it up, and a trashy Theatrical Trailer. Mirek Lipinsk's Liner Notes are as intriguing as ever, detailing the films inspiration, Naschy's opinion of it, and Carlos Aured's contribution, as well as a nostalgic ramble along Times Square of old. A Spanish Credit Sequence and impressive Still gallery round out this indispensable release.

Review by William P. Simmons