Tragic Ceremony

One of the horror movies Camille Keaton made during a sojourn to Italy in the seventies prior to attaining infamy with I Spit on Your Grave, Tragic Ceremony (1972) was also one of Riccardo Freda's last films as director.  I always hope that there is renewed interest in Freda's work, a fresh light cast on him as a film-maker to be savioured in the same way that Fulci and Bava might be.  As it stands only a handful of his films have made their way to disc for posterity and present fans to cherish, and a couple I think desperately need to be restored before they vanish forever (if they haven't already).  Tragic Ceremony itself is marginally clumsy at times but with enough going for it to make it an enjoyable, fairly unique viewing experience.

A group of teens are lazing about, generally having a good time thanks to one of them being quite well off before his time (Bill, played by Euro-horror regular Tony Isbert, the Spanish equivalent of James Franco).  Their ebullience is cut short when the jeep gives up the ghost during a stormy night.  They find refuge in an isolated mansion, with reluctant acceptance and little hospitality from their hosts.  Jane (Keaton), however, seems to receive superior treatment for reasons unknown, and she herself develops an uncanny affinity for the place and situation.  While the rest of the group grow increasingly bored cooped up in one room, she goes wandering in the dark, rainy night through the passages of the house, only to become the unwilling - or perhaps destined - participant in a black mass sacrifice that's already underway.  Before the ritual is carried through to logical conclusion, the rest of the group discover what's going on.  Unwittingly they become the catalyst for a bloodbath, as one bloody killing leads to another before their very eyes.  Somehow surviving the massacre the traumatised group head back to Bill's rich dwelling, only to be turned away from there.  It's not long before the mass murder is formally discovered and the police are fumbling through to figure out what happened.

Tragic Ceremony has some great moments and a slight supernatural undertone.  The black mass is a near-surreal nightmare preceded by Keaton fetchingly wandering around the mansion with flimsy attire and candlesticks, much as Barbara Steele might have in the decade before.  It also culminates in the aforementioned massacre, quite a scene as one kill triggers another.  The only complaint here is that either Freda or the editor decide to replay certain shots later in the film to ridiculous excess, thereby diminishing them of their power somewhat.  On route, the film delivers some trademarks of Italian gothic horror, a genre Freda had been involved with before on a number of occasions.  Here it collides - as it often did in the early seventies - with the contemporary, almost as if the horror baton was being handed on between the decades to suit a changing audience.  I think Keaton was brilliant in these European films, her facial expressions alluding to much more going on underneath combined with her very much being an appealing presence generally.  It must be stated that Tragic Ceremony is not all it could have been.  However, with its surreal edge and at times nightmarish logic ever present, over the years I've not grown tired of rewatching it, something that I cannot say for much that spews forth from identity-politics obsessed Hollywood this century.

The film was released by Dark Sky Films on DVD about 2008, and more recently by the incredible Vinegar Syndrome on Blu-ray.  They both present the same cut of the film (running a few seconds longer on Blu only because of the presence of VS's iconic ident at the end), albeit with revised subtitles on the later edition.  Amusingly the incredibly cumbersome onscreen Italian title is translated as is on the Dark Sky disc (roughly speaking to Extract from the Secret Archives of the Police of a European Capital), whereas the same title on the VS is simply translated as 'Tragic Ceremony'... Aspect ratio is 1.78:1 on each disc, perhaps a smidgeon more information being visible on the VS.  Italian language-only (I'm not sure if there is an English dub) audio quality is at a higher bitrate on the VS Blu, although it is limited to the standards of the time and thus the viewer would be hard pushed to notice much difference I think.  The picture quality itself is where the Blu-ray excels, being significantly cleaner and more detailed.  The DVD was reasonably good for its time but is put to bed here without much doubt.  The Blu-ray contains an audio commentary and picture gallery (of Keaton) that the DVD does not, while they both contain the same 13 minute interview with Keaton herself.  The DVD does have a trailer that the Blu-ray is missing for some reason; I wouldn't say this is a huge loss.  In terms of region locking, the DVD is fixed to region 1, whereas the Blu-ray covers all regions.  Finally the VS disc (at least the edition in the first run Camille Keaton in Italy boxed set that it came in) thoughtfully has a reversible cover adorned with appealing art on both sides.  Overall the 2K restoration (reportedly of the 35mm negative) performed by VS is superb, the best edition available, and preserves the film the way it should be for generations to come.

The Seventh Victim

Val Lewton’s 40s genre productions have become much more renowned thanks to Warner putting together their fabulous DVD collection of his work quite a few years ago now. But long before that his pictures for RKO studios were considered quite special, formulating as they did quite chilling little tales of the morbid without resorting to overt manifestations of the supernatural. This was always a pleasing contrast to the output of Universal and helped to push forward the idea that the genre didn’t really need inhuman monsters to succeed critically and commercially. In fact their conception was partly the result of the failure of the mighty Orson Welles productions so we could say we have Citizen Kane to thank, as if its legacy hasn’t snowballed enough. The Seventh Victim begins with young college student Mary being called up to be informed that her Manhattan-based sister, Jacqueline, is no longer paying her tuition fees. In fact nobody can seem to get in touch with Jacqueline so Mary packs up and heads off to the great city of NY to find out what’s happened to her older sibling. First stopping off at the restaurant once owned by Jacqueline, Mary finds out she was seen at a local boarding house and goes off to enquire. There it seems the missing woman has hired a room - seemingly not to stay in, rather it’s there as some sort of haven for a potential suicide that forces Mary to realise her sister‘s situation is much more sinister than the innocent youngster‘s mind would like to have contemplated. She comes into contact with the man who loves Jacqueline and with the help of a private investigator (who is soon murdered for his curiosity) they delve deeper into a plot that leads to a satanic cult that has drawn Jacqueline into their macabre world.

A very noir-esque atmosphere is established once Mary arrives at the city: shadowy streets, darkly lit corridors, harsh contrasts (cinematographer Nicholas Musuraca was clearly an expert technician and artist) - it’s an ideal world to conceal the goings-on of a group of devil-worshipping people. In fact the cult reminds me of the sinister neighbours that later turned up in Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby, and are quite a creepy bunch considering this was the forties. Mary (Kim Hunter’s feature debut, amazingly the same woman who went on to play Zira in the first three Ape movies) is lovely and innocent, making her treacherous journey a tad more engaging as she stumbles into a threatening city that could almost consume her, though it seems as though something is watching over her shoulder as more harm comes to those around her than to Mary herself. An interesting moral seems to have been wound into the narrative that makes itself apparent by the end, and one which possibly reflected the way Val Lewton pondered upon his own existence (a cardiac illness was making itself known at the time, this eventually leading to a premature demise): humans may at some point, or with eventual inevitability, come to question whether they wish to continue living and both angles are represented by two characters. Jacqueline herself (resembling Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction) evidently possesses a fixation with her own death, perhaps fantasizing about suicide itself until it becomes an on-going obsession, whilst crossing her path is a woman who is terminally ill but would prefer to avoid death - one person is living but wants to die, the other is dying but wants to live. Indeed the opening statement of the film (about running to death but death meeting one just as fast) suggests to me that the story is ultimately an exploration of man’s relationship with death, something which underpins all of horror in some ways. This gives what once began as B movie material (in fact, just a title really) a certain degree of greater depth than what might have been anticipated by the funding studio (the last thing they wanted was conceptual depth after Orson Welles had drained them of cash). Along the way we come across a number of smartly thought-out sequences; Mary and the PI standing at the end of a dark corridor, both afraid to advance before she persuades him to effectively walk to his doom, Mary’s subway ride where three ‘drunks’ stumble on to the train only for the hat to fall from the one being carried revealing him to be the very PI that was murdered earlier - his body obviously in the process of being disposed of, and not least the shower scene that surely must have influenced Hitchcock years later, such is its similarity to Psycho's most famous murder sequence. The Seventh Victim is a movie than can be appreciated by both fans of the macabre and noir alike.

Warner’s 1.33:1 black & white transfer was exemplary given the movie’s 1943 period of creation, and it came accompanied with a highly informative 53 minute documentary on producer Val Lewton. Perhaps some of the interviewees (the likes of William Friedkin, Joe Dante, etc.) go a little overboard in their praise, as is often the case with back-slapping Americans, but appreciation for Lewton will certainly flourish as a result of viewing this comprehensive piece. There’s also a feature commentary from historian Steve Haberman that is sometimes a little quickly spoken, though this also means that there’s a large amount of information and considered opinions divulged. He discusses an omitted subplot concerning Tom Conway’s character as well as the critical and commercial response to the film following initial release, among many other things. One thing Haberman drew my eye to during listening to the commentary was the point when Mary is offered the bad news by the school’s headmistress - watch her silent assistant who is staring at Mary throughout the dialogue, it’s a pretty creepy image as she continuously looks Mary up and down in far too suggestive a manner. The region 1 disc could be picked up as part of the superb boxed set that came with Lewton’s other RKO genre productions - note, a later release of this also includes a Martin Scorsese documentary as an additional bonus.

Curse of the Devil

1973, Spain, Directed by Carlos Aured
Colour, Running Time: 84 minutes
Review Source: DVD, R1, Anchor Bay; Video: Anamorphic 1.85:1, Audio: DD Mono

Following indirectly on from several earlier films Curse of the Devil continues the mythic saga of Waldemar Daninsky. In the middle ages one of Daninsky’s ancestors is cursed by a worshipper of Satan as the love-loving witch is burned at the stake, a curse that is intended to be carried down through the generations until the ‘present day’ where we catch up with the aristocratic Waldemar as he roams the woods shooting at stray wolves. At a local black mass orgy Satan himself makes an appearance, sending one of his females on a mission to infect Waldemar with the werewolf virus by having him bitten with the skull (!) of a wolf, after the woman has made love to him of course. Elsewhere there is a lunatic on the loose, randomly chopping up various people with an axe - as Waldemar gradually begins transforming into a werewolf the homicidal activities of man and beast segue into one another as townspeople speculate whether the perpetrator is human or not.

Whilst the continuity of the film is slightly uneven in places, events and people jumping around almost to suit the requirements of a chaotic narrative, compensation materialises in the form of a satisfactory supernatural ambience as well as a dose of directorial panache (Aured made a number of good films with Paul Naschy, including Horror Rises From The Tomb). As with the other Daninsky films that I’ve seen (not all of them are easy to locate) Curse of the Devil (or El Retorno de Walpurgis) happily sits within an odd universe all of its own creation, mixing up its own rules and forcing its dazed inhabitants to abide by them. The eventual manner in which the werewolf (played by Paul Naschy as always) is introduced is gradual and non-sensationalist - our first glimpse of him/it is from a distance as he slaughters two villagers, with no clear view of his features. As the mayhem snowballs Waldemar himself (in between love-making sessions with other women) is falling for a woman he saves in the woods, a prerequisite no doubt designed to add to the inherently tragic nature of the character. In fact she plays a greater role than mere love interest, actually becoming pregnant with the child that she ultimately retells the tale to in flashback, in addition to becoming instrumental in the werewolf’s fate, as he was in hers. She’s quite a tough soul too - despite being confronted with violent death in the family, discovering a man with his head squashed by a rock, etc., she seems remarkably unperturbed by her exposure to the terrors of the countryside. Despite her apparently unfeeling nature Waldemar becomes involved with her nonetheless, and thus his ultimate destiny is cemented. The werewolf himself is quite an uncanny creation, modelled by Naschy’s own admission on the Lawrence Talbot character of Universal’s The Wolf Man and its sequels. He won’t exactly put the frights up anyone nowadays but his inhuman ghastliness is an acknowledgeable factor that makes him compulsively viewable - these films are pleasingly addictive. The ominous rural locations are a suitable boost to the hostile world, enveloping the characters in a mysterious bubble from which there’s no real escape. Naschy achieved what he set out to do: update Universal’s formula with added sex and gore for a modern audience, and in the process he pretty much kick-started the Spanish horror movie industry that would bring us so many cool films along the way. Curse of the Devil is a surprisingly violent entry in the series considering when it was made, it features sizzling Euro women in various states of undress, Naschy’s doomed werewolf, an alien world, and a mob of angry villagers to boot - just about all the ingredients one needs for a good night in!

There are two US DVD releases of this that are worth considering and relatively easy to obtain: Anchor Bay’s disc features a detailed print with an almost sepia colour scheme that seems to aid the otherworldly story, but alas there is only an ugly English dub to listen to. Actually it’s not that bad compared to many I’ve heard but given a choice I’d take the Spanish dub every time. BCI Eclipse’s Spanish genre series (sadly long defunct) put out the same film with a slightly inferior transfer in all respects (in fact after the first batch hit the streets a number of technical corrections were made before a reissue) but with a choice between Spanish or English soundtracks, therefore it’s down to personal requirements which disc would be more suitable. Extras are slim in either case. If you know what to expect from Paul Naschy and in particular his peculiar Waldemar Daninsky werewolf series then Curse of the Devil won’t be a complete surprise, but it’s an appropriately morbid part of the franchise that should please fans.

Satan's Blood

1977, Spain, Directed by Carlos Puerto
Colour, Running Time: 82 minutes
Review Source: DVD, R1, Mondo Macabro; Video: Anamorphic 1.78:1, Audio: DD Stereo

It was comparatively late in the game that I discovered the macabre cinematic beauty that can sometimes emanate from the slightly offbeat world of Spanish horror. Until a few years ago I generally considered the Italians to be the gruesome kings of genre in its European variety but several brushes with some of Paul Naschy’s better known films along with oddities like the truly nightmarish The Vampire’s Night Orgy, the dreamily enticing A Bell From Hell, etc., have illustrated that the Spaniards once gleefully produced their own (now unfortunately dead forever) peculiar brand of sexy ghastliness, a brand that happily coexists with and complements the output of their Italian neighbours. DVD has brought some of these delights to us in a quality that enhances their appeal as far as I’m concerned - for example, back in the grim old days of bootlegged video tapes I had a copy of Horror Rises From The Tomb, a film that I considered at the time to be worthless excrement. Picking up the BCI Eclipse special a few years back, however, diametrically shifted my opinion. Around 2006 I stumbled across the wonderfully titled Satan’s Blood (AKA Escalofrío) for the first time, thanks to those amazing people at Mondo Macabro, and it has since become one of my perverse favourites. Considering the originality of the plot one has to remember that this was made in the seventies and it’s not really a bad stab at the Satanism/occult arenas that were repeatedly pummelled by screenwriters throughout those classic decades. Bruno and Berta, a young and relatively happy couple, are out driving one day when the passengers of another vehicle beckon them to pull over. One of them claims to have been to school with Bruno and despite the latter not actually remembering the man they’re persuaded to accompany the strangers to their country mansion for an evening of drinks and, later on, a sleepover. After an hour or so of driving they arrive at the remote house and settle down for apparently harmless chat, however certain clues indicate that their hosts lead unorthodox lifestyles, while there is an omnipresent sense of palpable unease. During the night there are disturbances in the house - Berta is indecently attacked by an intruder, then Bruno and Berta stumble across the other couple engaging in sexual activity downstairs. Seemingly entranced they join in for a transcendental orgy (is there any other kind?). But it’s not all good - as the weirdness snowballs the couple find themselves unable to leave the premises as the dog they brought with them initially goes missing, their car won’t start, and they’re stranded in the middle of nowhere with two people who appear to be worshippers of the devil.

Typically manic for a Spanish production Satan’s Blood zips along once it has taken necessary time to build an aura of the supernatural, often without resorting to overt manifestations of the unseen world. The couple who befriend the protagonists are suitably mysterious throughout and there are thematic resemblances to Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby in some respects: the strange, beguiling neighbourly people who pretend to be working in your best interests but are actually aiming to seduce you over to demonic forces largely unseen. I’m impressed with Puerto’s conveyance of the sinister couple and their macabre intentions, contrasted with the innocent proclivities of the ’good’ couple. Whilst there is a little of the titular blood on display here and there (in the sense that it’s consumed of course) the film’s references to sex are more pronounced, this being epitomised by the show-stopping orgy sequence that our couple discover downstairs in the middle of the night and hypnotically become involved in. Psychedelic and adequately deranged, it is both titillating and haunting in equal measure. The film also reaches a satisfyingly creepy finale following the couple’s desperate attempts to release themselves from the captivity of the sinister duo and their imposing mansion. It’s one of those movies I feel I can watch repeatedly and never really grow tired of, hence Satan’s Blood remains one of the more interesting and satisfying examples of the Spanish contributions to the genre.

Satan's Blood was previously available briefly in the UK by Redemption, and more recently from Scorpion in the US. Prior to both those wonderful people at Mondo Macabro granted us this once very obscure Euro gem on DVD, presented attractively in an anamorphic widescreen ratio with an essential Spanish language soundtrack accompanied by English subtitles (along with optional English audio dub). This is the perfect way to bring a film like this to fans and it’s a shame that the likes of Mya Communication can’t do the same with the mountain of desirable films they keep releasing without original language/English subtitle combinations. Both the Scorpion and Redemption discs came with similarly framed transfers, however the Scorpion DVD unfortunately omits English subtitles (which were present on the Redemption surprisingly), rendering the original language track useless to non-Spanish speakers. For the Mondo disc we are also bestowed with a documentary about Satanism along with some previews of other MM releases (always fun), whilst extras are minimal (mainly trailers) on the other two. In conclusion the best option for fans of the movie and Spanish horror generally is definitely the Mondo Macabro DVD, though now being out of print along with the Redemption disc, the Scorpion release will do the job in their absence.

House of the Devil

2009, US, Directed by Ti West

Colour, Running Time: 95 minutes

Review Source: Blu-ray, Region B, Metrodome; Video: 1.78:1 1080p 24fps, Audio: DTS-MA

Heading into House of the Devil somewhat blindly I was admittedly expecting a traditional haunted house movie, having avoided reading much in way of reviews simply because I liked the look of it and didn’t want too much revealed before seeing it. Without spoiling much it’s more of a movie that’s ultimately about devil worship and ritual sacrifice, a world that Samantha, the young college student who is onscreen almost throughout, unwittingly gets herself tangled up in. Looking for some survival cash Samantha finds an advertisement for a babysitter role out in the countryside. On an evening happening to coincide with a widely publicised lunar eclipse, Sam persuades her friend Megan to drive her out to the place, which turns out to be a creepy old house near a cemetery. Meeting the strange old owner of the house it turns out the ‘babysitter’ advert wasn’t entirely truthful and the resident couple in fact want someone to make sure the lady’s mother is okay while they go out for the evening. Megan is suspicious of the whole thing but is persuaded to arrange collection of her friend around midnight after a substantial amount of money is offered to Sam for just four hours of vigil. After some time alone downstairs Sam starts looking around the house but sees no sign of the mother, however things start happening to suggest not all is normal in the household - Sam’s imagination may be overly active given the mystical climate of the night (and the fact that Night of the Living Dead is on TV!) but it’s clear there’s an air of uncanny discomfort in the isolated house.

Most of the film does take place within the creepy titular building and there’s a surprisingly slow build up before any nasty stuff starts happening. I do generally like slow developments in a story personally, as it provides opportunity to appreciate the hell that eventually breaks loose, and its with this latter aspect that I have small issues - after all happens it feels a tad anti-climactic, without a solid point to acknowledge. There is a generous dose of atmosphere, plus the central performance (by Jocelin Donahue) is quite likeable and proficient, reminding me a little of Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween. There are amusing nods to the genre with the emergence (sometimes brief) of several cast members who’ve appeared in movies you’ve probably already seen: Mary Woronov was a genre regular from the likes of the funky Night of the Comet, to the not so funky Chopping Mall; Dee Wallace was of course in The Howling, Cujo, and a million other things (she’s still pretty prolific); Tom Noonan played one monster in Manhunter, and another kind in Monster Squad. Certainly a fun cast to help elevate the lower budget movie to the realms of the credible. What the director and his team have commendably managed to achieve is to create an incredibly authentic late seventies/early eighties vibe and appearance - you could really be fooled into thinking this had been shot in the around 1980 rather than a couple of years ago. Overall an efficient film that I think (after one viewing) needed a bit more chaos to balance out the slower pace of the first hour; as some films take time to grow on you it’s something I’ll return to possibly in a year or so.

A specially commissioned VHS tape of House of the Devil was produced in the US to celebrate the film’s encapsulation of seventies/early eighties horror, apparently the first VHS to be commercially released in several years. I believe some time back Dark Sky (the US distributor) were doing a pretty cool VHS/DVD bundle that could be picked up by more dedicated fans. More interested in the best possible A/V presentation I opted for the movie on Blu-ray Disc. The 1080p/24 frames per second Blu-ray transfer looks very good with plenty of detail, though darker scenes are a bit swamped with black. Viewers will undoubtedly notice that there’s a fair amount of grain - some may be unhappy about this, however, it is to be expected more so than usual when a film is shot on 16mm (an unusual choice nowadays, but one I’m sure is deliberate given the objective). I still think it looks better than DVD, so once you get used to the grain it’s no real problem. The sound mix is less retro - DTS-HD makes sure there’s plenty going on with loud music effects often coming from behind and edging up the tension a bit. I certainly enjoyed the higher resolution sound mix myself (plus there are some nice music choices along the way). Extras include some deleted scenes, a 14 minute ’shooting’ documentary, trailer, plus two audio commentaries. Generally a good package of a film that will work well for some, yet need more time for others I suspect.

Devils of Darkness

1965, UK, Directed by Lance Comfort
Colour, Running Time: 88 minutes
Review Source: DVD, R1, Fox; Video: Anamorphic 1.85:1, Audio: DD Mono

Prologue: we get a glimpse into the past of some foreign land where a vampire (parading by the name of Count Sinstre!) curses the local gypsy community with his malevolent presence. Choosing one of the more nubile specimens to be his bride (presumably this being nothing to do with the titillating dance she performed just moments prior) he swiftly drains the life from her, to the horror of her genuine newly acquired husband, before granting her shell with undead re-animation so that her now pitiful existence is entirely focussed on serving him from that point on. Jumping forward to the sixties, a few friends are enjoying either general tourism or potholing trips in a French village. Whilst tunnelling underground a couple of them discover two coffins, one of which is empty, the other revealing an emerging hand! Of course not only does the adventurer quickly disappear but also so does the female friend of Paul, one of the men staying at the hotel. In the place of his abducted friend, Paul finds a bat-shaped talisman lying on the floor, unbeknownst to him this being an important part of a ritual that the aforementioned vampire is soon to hold whilst accompanied by his growing posse of hexed followers. Back in England the sceptical Paul attempts to find out more about people who believe in supernatural forces such as witches and the like. What he doesn’t realise is that Sinsitre is also in town, looking for the stolen amulet as well as a little revenge to appease his discontent. Paul befriends an elegant and solipsistic woman at a party before even she is lured in by Sinistre’s hypnotic advances, though this time for sacrificial purposes…

Decidedly anaemic in terms of sex and violence and living in the shadow of Hammer‘s output of the time, Devils of Darkness is a reasonably efficient albeit ploddingly paced take on the vampire theme, entwining ideas of what was then increasingly popular satanic worship practices. The film tends to (leisurely) explore fears of devil-worship through a desire (represented by the thoughts/actions of the main character) to find sense in a practice increasingly at odds with a scientifically propelled new world. William Sylvester makes a decent mark as said central character Paul, a man whose rational mind is thrown off course by the barrage of strangeness that comes his way - you may remember Sylvester for his prominent role as Dr Floyd in Kubrick’s 2001. On the other hand I can’t make up my mind whether the campy Frenchman Hubert Noël is an asset to the film as Sinistre. I get the impression the production team were taking Hammer’s lead by introducing hints of sex and bright red blood at various intervals - Paul’s new London girlfriend is quite a sleek and voluptuous thing, baring as much flesh as the producers dared (which is not that much, believe me), and it’s no wonder Sinstre’s wife gets a tad jealous when she sees his new ‘acquisition’! Making fine use of the Eastman process, this colourfully shot film (transferred well for DVD) is talky and lacklustre is many respects, but does adequately demonstrate a couple of the fears of the time with some thought. Perhaps a more lively approach could have embedded this slightly deeper into the annals of cinema history, although at the hands of tired director Lance Comfort this would never be - this film was the end of his cinematic career and pretty much the end of his life (he died just a year later).