CRYPT OF TERROR: NIGHT OF THE BLOODY APES & CURSE OF THE DOLL PEOPLE

There is something special, something unique, about Mexican/Latin horror. Despite the occasional slap-dash production qualities and admittedly inferior special effects (which themselves instil these fright features with a nostalgic charm), a strong sense of cultural identity and belief strengthens these celluloid representations of wonder. Raw emotional torrents of grand gothic imagery, supernatural themes, and cultural beliefs derived from a folk tradition still alive in rural Mexico and its neighbors lend these pictures excitement and deeper thematic sub-text, with questions of scientific progress, Faustian compacts, and culpability mirroring the more sensationalistic plot elements of occult terrors, supernatural vengeance, and both madmen and monsters. Endearing themselves to the adventurous film fan, Mexican exploitation cinema, be it entrenched in the occult thrills of the paranormal, stemming from deceased minds of psychopaths, or occupying those shadowy border-lands between surreal possibility and the horrific everyday, often manages to please our primal desires for eroticism, violence, and fear even as it challenges us with new, sometimes subversive ideas and imagery.

Such is certainly the case in CRYPT OF TERROR #1, the first double feature of fun, fetishistic horror shows from BCI/ECLIPSE. In what promises to be a promising, adventurous catalogue of horror films culled from around the world, this presentation preserves the nostalgic atmosphere of Grindhouse and the gory-glory days of the Midnight Movie. Proving that horror didn't begin (and won't end) with the tame, rather insipid American product currently bombarding screens, this series looks to be a genre devotee's dream. And in perhaps no other two films could we find better glimpses into the major themes, stylistic flourishes, and conventions of the Mexican horror movie than in the series' debut pairing of Night of the Bloody Apes and Curse of The Doll People -- both presented uncut, complete, and digitally re-mastered for the first time.

Night of the Bloody Apes, an underground fright favorite of collectors and the curious, has long been available only via the grey market or washed-out VHS. Here we see it in a stunning new transfer, as though its meaty stew of madness, depravity, and tongue-in-cheek bloodshed were being revealed for the first time. Directed with panache and style by Rene Cardona, Sr. from a screenplay co-written by his son, La Horripilante Bestia Humana (The Horrific Human Beast) is a mad, wild ride combining elements of the dark comedy and medical thriller with Mexican Wrestler thrillers and the gothic. Similar in scope and appeal to Dr. Doom and its ilk, this film, under Cardona's direction, is more suspenseful and well paced than similar outings. The history of the making and distribution of the movie is almost as colorful as the feature itself, facets better explained David Wilt's liner notes. 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, plans on conducting an ape-to-human transplant. As this wonderfully lurid (yet remarkably restrained) pot-boiler 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 (if cheaply conceived) havoc, with his father striving to bring him back to the hospital so that he can replace said 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 to a satisfying if not unexpected conclusion. While the second side of this disc, featuring Night of the Bloody Apes, doesn't differ in the details or progression of the plot, it does feature various worthwhile added moments of nudity and gore not present in Horrific Human Beast. This US version is less elegant than its earlier incarnation but certainly more bizarre and graphic, sure to please the sensation seeker on the look out for breasts and blood. The differences include such choice scenes as a very bloody heart transplant, throat ripping, an eye gouging, much more violent attacks, and several enticing shots of the female body in various stages of distress.

Unpretentiously pulpy, both versions of the film never pretend to be anything but entertainment. Still, amidst the scantily clad females, monster attacks, and mad science, there lurks such surprisingly effective themes, filmed with particularly sensitivity in Human Beast: the cold demands of fate, the danger of playing with forbidden science, the sin of hubris, and, most obvious, the dangers of tampering with nature. At the same time, the movies walk the tightrope between glorifying in, and warning against, violence and sex, Attractively photographed by Raul Martinez Solares, the film looks realistic at the same time that it veers towards the unnatural in grandly decadent imagery. While both Human Beast and Night are remarkably directed, moody, quick-paced and expressively atmospheric, 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. A double does of horror and thrills, this first disc rolls out the red carpet for a film that has often been talked about but rarely seen.

Mexican and Spanish horror movies offered their politically repressed, sensation-starved citizens passports to other realms of experience and entrainment that spoke of real anxieties and suffering while poking fun at them through symbols. These pictures were both graphically sensational and thematically subversive, peeling back the boils of hypocritical respectability and politically motivated morality. While Night of the Bloody Apes is an example of this, the script and direction -- not to mention the fine acting of Jose Moreno, Carlos Lopez Moctezuma, and Norma Lazareno -- are too busy telling an exciting story to preach. It is a pleasure to wash yourself in the spectral light of this crazed tragedy of sin, redemption, and irresponsible fatherly love. This double feature is a blessing for several reasons. Besides giving us the chance to compare and contrast the two versions of the film, both are featured complete and uncut for the first time in wonderful looking prints. Clear, clean picture quality allows you to appreciate the filming 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 also impressive, with the first film featuring the Spanish language version with optional subtitles, and the US cut dubbed in English. Extras, while not exhaustive, are appreciated, including a juicy theatrical trailer and TV spots, a Still Gallery (not mentioned in the print advertising), and a booklet by David Wilt, which is a treasure trove of information concerning both this and Curse of the Doll People. Most significantly are the gore and sexy outtakes, featuring even more blood, writhing, and dementia not included in either of the discs. All said, Crypt of Terror is essential (and a value at the cost!) for this film alone!

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Challenging cultural preconceptions while they terrify and titillate, even the shlockiest of Mexican horror deserve 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, creativity, and independent spirit, 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, daring, and sometimes graphic in imagery, they were just as often daring in their views of Self, the cosmos, and the contradictory enlightening/liberating influence of science. Mexican horror cinema also has a wonderful penchant for interconnecting various genres and aesthetic forms, creating sensational new hybrids. Interweaving cosmic terror with the more primal and animalistic, more intimate, instincts of self preservation and desire, Mex-horror carved for itself a shadowy border-land wherein the ancient superstitions of collective folklore meet the technological horrors of science; likewise, and to similar effect, personal anxieties, fears and desires stand alongside more philosophical spiritual fears.

Entrenched in the soil of a native land whose domestic terrors includes a formidable amount of civil strife, bloodshed, and supernatural folklore, Mex-horror draws its strength from the very soil and roots of its people's beliefs. Digging deep in the soil of folklore, Mexican horror cinema, more than most, 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 encroaching occult looks and feels similar to the US horror movies of the 1940's, exhibiting a lush atmosphere and storyline reminiscent of Val Lewton. A portrait of the battle between science and superstition, Doll People is also a slice of film noir, with its beautifully photographed alleyways, shadows, and distorted angles suggesting the danger 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 further suspense to what is perhaps one of the most understated horror films of the genre.

In a story where style is more important than plot, 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 then 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, scarce moments away. Going in to look after his sleeping daughter who complains of a missing doll, he dies. As the remaining members of the group and their party race against time and belief to discover the source of a rash of sudden, inexplicable deaths, others are targeted, leaving corpses with mysterious needle-pricks. Slain by malicious, genuinely uncanny looking dolls which resemble the faces of previous victims, and which answer to the haunted piping of a mysterious stranger in the night, this tale of supernatural vengeance and the battle between modern disbelief and the supernatural is at once both believable and heart-stopping. Impressive for a dated film, the performances and atmosphere (if not always the script) sustain fear of the unknown. Feeling somewhere between a detective story and a Lights Out! Old Time Radio, the film tightens its grip as a handful of demonic dolls methodically, and with an impressive degree of realism, stalk the survivors. Attacking not only the scientists who made up the original party but also their families, this unique rendition of the 'sins of the father revisited upon the son' motif is an awe-inspiring incarnation of primitive belief.

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, splotches, and lines. Yet, just as with the above, these are the cleanest prints available on the market, and these slight tarnishes are to be expected given the rarity and shape of the original print source. For the most part, the picture is clean and solid, with the crisp black and white shots retaining their integrity, and lending a sombre, funeral air to the production. Extras are limited to an unadvertised Still Gallery.

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. The first, Apes is a sensation of dismemberment, forced operations, and stalking years before such motifs became fashionable. Shocking sensibilities of its time, this early psychosexual thriller of medicinal horror proudly declares its intentions from the beginning. Doll People, on the other hand, is a wondrous exercise in restraint, mood, and atmosphere, 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, physical horror, and examples of terror that titillate while their sub-texts explore such disparate issues as cultural culpability, logic vs. faith, and perception itself -- the very way in which we interpret the world and our place within it. Any way you look at it, BCI's Crypt of Terror series is off to a strong, impressive start, and looks to be THE source in months to come for rare and outlandish horror!

Review by William P. Simmons