THE BRAINIAC

As noted for its campy humor and moments of near surreal ridiculousness as for its Italian Gothic-inspired atmosphere, The Brainiac succeeds as both horror cinema and shlock. Delivering an experience both lighthearted yet surprisingly suspenseful in its scenes of confrontation between cosmic evil and bumbling if well meant humanity, this legendary mingling of supernaturalism and science fiction was ahead of its time in its combination of genres. At the same time, however, the story's tone is simplistic, even conservative in its strict moral rigidity. Nowhere here do we see the moral ambiguity that lent later Mexican horror films more complexity and emotional power. Good and Evil are depicted fairly rigidly here, inviting no enigmatic emotion. While this stance is somewhat disabling, draining the plot of its plot of psychological resonance, the major purpose of this movie is to have fun, and this it accomplishes. Brainaic simply isn't a thinking man's film. Nor does it pretend to be. The simplistic if powerfully felt battle between primal forces -- expressed in the guises of individuals -- is successful precisely because the filmmakers approach the moral simplicity of their concept with little if any self consciousness. Not distracting the audience with philosophy, we're encouraged instead to imply settle back and enjoy the weird celebration of bizarre imagery.

Baron Vitelius (Abel Salazer) is condemned to death for sorcery in 1661 in Mexico City by a court of the Spanish Inquisition, who decree that he be burn for his many crimes against man and God. During this moodily shot if unintentionally hilarious scene, the Baron, watching a comet soar high above him, curses the Inquisitors, vowing to return in 300 years to bring doom upon their descendents. Three centuries later, in 1961, the Baron's curse comes to pass, upsetting the lives of Vickie Contreras (Ariadne Welter), a descendant of one of the judges who condemned Vitelius, and Ronnie (Ruben Rojo), her boyfriend, both astronomers studying under scientist Prof. Milan (Luis Aragón). The later, by studying ancient records, predicts the appearance of a mysterious comet unseen for 300 years. Appear it does, landing in a forest close to Milan's home. The celestial rock reveals none other than the demonic Brainiac, Vitelius reduced to his purely evil nature. Attacking a hapless extra with a foot long forked tongue, Vitelius transforms into human guise, absorbing the suit of his victim, and pretends to be a European businessman when meeting Vickie and Ronnie, who're searching for the meteor. Sucking human brains, robbing a jewellery store for money, and plotting to enact his revenge against the descendents of his tormenters, the Baron performs his deviant duties with tragic magnificence (although the makeup and the effects are anything but, which, strange as it sounds, is part of this film's appeal). As the inept police race to solve the murders and Prof. Milan begins to unearth the identity of his sinister neighbor, Brainaic combines gothic atmosphere and suspense with an odd, offbeat sense of humor original to this film alone.

Casa Negra Films follows up its successful release of The Witch's Mirror and Curse of the Crying Woman with a movie that may well be the weirdest viewing experience available to the adventurous film fan. Despite occasionally over-the-top performances, sloppy effects, and a plot entrenched in the camp-sensibility of comic books (or perhaps because of these elements!), Brianaic is a pleasure to watch and reflect on. Although neither the plot, the production values nor the story's themes, invite much in the way of criticism, the story is refreshingly direct, the period settings lush, and the direction serviceable. Like a good pulp novel, the movie grabs your attention and wraps you within the screwy sensibilities of its characters. Asking nothing more than an investment of your time, it supplies enough theatrical eye candy and cliff-hanger moments that, without quite realizing it, you buy into its story, ignoring the loopholes in plot, and the unconvincing yet oddly charming monster masks. Weaving between hysterical and thrilling, this revised rendition of Mario Bava's superior Black Sunday is as valuable as a cultural artefact as it is pure Saturday night fun. Director Chano Ereta lends the stripped down, bare-bones plot a decadent beauty and elegance similar to the atmosphere he achieved (albeit with more seriousness) in his earlier effort, The Witch's Mirror. His evocative photography and somber lighting lends further dimension to the actor's performances. Alternating mercilessly between joviality fright, Brainiac is everything you've been warned it is . . . And odder still. Thankfully, it's also freakishly fun. Perhaps an acquired taste, it is nevertheless one which, once developed, becomes a habit.

Casa Negra again pulls no punches in their presentation of this camp favorite, delivering technological quality that satisfies at all levels. Featuring the film digitally mastered and uncut for the first time in the United States (and in DVD) from newly restored elements, the film includes several moments not seen in the US version. The picture, presented in full frame (1:33) is sharp and clean, free from the speckling and grain that have marred other VHS and DVD releases (culled from public domain prints). Audio is featured in Dolby Digital Mono (1.0) in its original Spanish version with optional English subtitles or in the K. Gordon Murray dubbed English which many of us first saw the movie in. Both are largely free from the echoes and white noise that usually hampers the soundtracks for foreign film releases. As a further thoughtfulness, menus are bilingual in English and Spanish.

Extras are on par with Casa Negra's earlier releases, including first the informative essay "Keep Repeating, It's only the Most Bizzare Horror Film Ever Made. Written By Casamiro Buenavista, this piece is as funny and irreverent as it is thoughtful, going into Salazar and the production of this feature in February 1961. Audio commentary with Kirb Pheeler is next, and easily the most substantial featurette. While thoughtful, Pheeler never becomes tedious. He knows his stuff, but more importantly, he knows how to make it interesting, discussing specific scenes and going into detail about Abel Salazar's career and influence on the genre. Next is "The Official Brainiac "Interactive" Press Kit," which earns kudos for its sheer inventiveness, containing "outtakes" from the film and focusing on several distinct scenes. The original 1969 U.S. Theatrical Release Radio Spot is atmospheric and suspenseful, taken from a double bill with Curse of the Crying Woman. Besides the delightful CasaNegra Loteria Card Game (tucked behind the disc), further extras include an attractive Poster and Still gallery, and, finally, Cast Biographies that cover Abel Salazar, Ariadne Welter, David Silva, German Robles, and Rene Cardona. Making Mexican horror titles available in packages that combine exploitative fun with earnest respect, Casa Negra scores big time with Brainiac.

Review by William P. Simmons