Spotlight on Severin: EXORCISMO, Christopher Lee Eurocrypt Box Sets

Since the days of VHS, I've been collecting and reviewing physical media.

It's an amazing privilege to have the kind of access we do now. I remember searching for three years for a VHS copy of Let's Scare Jessica To Death (1971) in the early 2000s. When I finally found one, it was in a small video store near my in-laws house in Three Rivers, Michigan.

Duping VHS was still a little complicated, so I had to rent it, take it back with me to Chicago where the duping machine was, and then send it back to the store via Fedex so my conservative father-in-law didn't discover the rental on his card. Best money I ever spent. I wore that tape out.

Those days are long gone. Now we have access to almost everything in durable formats and original aspect ratios and with special extras that often offer the equivalent of a master's degree analysis of our favorite movies. So why would anyone go back to VHS?

I must admit I do find it bemusing to watch younger people fill their shelves with them these days. But you know what? I love that those people love movies. When I think about VHS, I think about how incredibly awesome it was to be able to actually own a copy of Frankenstein (1931), or Dead Alive (1992, unrated cut, please) or Barton Fink (1991) or, or, or. There was a time when I had my own huge collection.

But as I've continued to collect, and moved into DVD and now 4K, VHS has continued to haunt me beyond the nostalgia related to my hour-long wanderings through mom and pop video stores in the 1990s. You see, when I collected VHS there were simply fewer movies to choose from.

If I ended up with a VHS tape, I almost certainly watched it. There was still the understanding that there were movies out there I might never get to see simply because they'd never become available on VHS. Then DVD hit and options exploded. It seemed like every movie ever made wound up being released in a special collector's edition.

Then came the piles. You're probably picturing yours right now. Those movies you intend to get to, or get back to. That pile just grows and grows and grows. We run out of shelf space, stack them on the floor, on any flat surface.

Those piles can feel a little threatening sometimes eh? A bit mocking? A bit demanding? But for me, the idea of never being able to see 'em all has taken on a different aspect. I've noticed of late that the image of a coffin being lowered into the ground looks a lot like putting a VHS tape into a VCR and watching it disappear. My tombstone is liable to read, "Here lies Dave. He tried to see 'em all. If only he could still press PLAY."

These days I know deep down I'll never see 'em all and that's okay. What I do is a labor of unrequited love. A devotion to the fact that, for me, movies really have been life-changing, life-directing, life-giving. It's a devotion I'm glad to pay forward by sharing films with family and friends now and, in the future, with strangers.

I'm collecting for another collector that I'll never meet. Or some kid who needs to discover Godzilla. Or some shut-in that desperately needs distraction from silence they live around.

I also like to think I'm collecting movies for people who, like me, suffer from a chronic sense that they aren't valued, don't belong, wouldn't be missed. I can't count the number of times movies have saved me from those ugly inner voices and helped me to reconnect to what it can mean to just keep showing up and bringing myself to the conversation.

I'd like to think that's what boutique physical media labels like Severin are doing as well. It's a sentiment that I think is borne out admirably by the titles discussed here.

First up is The Eurocrypt of Christopher Lee Collection 3. The first two box sets in this series have been a Lee lover's dream, containing stellar remasters of gothic shockers such as Castle of the Living Dead (1964), The Torture Chamber of Dr. Sadism (1967), and hard to find vampire parodies Dracula and Son (1976) and Uncle Was A Vampire (1959). This third set contains one of the most sought after Christopher Lee shockers, The Virgin of Nuremberg (1963), in 4K. All told, the three box sets contain 17 films, a TV series and 41 hours of special features. Add in three lavishly illustrated perfect bound books totaling 340 plus pages by Lee biographer and expert Jonathan Rigby.

The other box set might easily be one of the most important home entertainment releases of the year. Exorcismo: Defying a Dictator & Raising Hell in Post-Franco Spain contains 19 feature films on 10 discs, a 168-page booklet and more than 21 hours of special features that cover the movement of Spanish cinema, from Franco-era censorship to the frightful freedom of Spanish cinemas Clasificado S, detailing a cultural exorcism of oppression and the explosively transgressive early work of Eloy de la Iglesia, Leon Klimovosky, Javier Aguirre and Eugenio Martin.

I've just started digging into this set and I'm already blown away. The three feature-length documentaries offer what is surely the most comprehensive examination of Spanish cinema's role in Spain's movement from Francos dictatorship to parliamentary democracy.

The People Who Own the Dark (1976) is a transgressive bit of dystopian futurism starring, among others, Paul Naschy, in which a group of privileged men gather at a remote countryside mansion for an orgy, only to end up defending themselves against a group of blind apocalypse survivors.

Supernatural (1981) utilizes a theme common to this era of Spanish cinema, that of a woman being haunted by the spirit of her dead but vengeful husband, and infuses it with an atmospheric spook show energy. This set is highly recommended for anyone interested in the history of non-English speaking horror. It should also be mentioned that Screen Anarchy's own Shelagh Rowan-Legg is among the many esteemed scholars and critics appearing in the sets special features here, offering two commentaries and a booklet essay.

Folks will have to make up their own mind about how far they want to dive into extreme Spanish cinema. There's certainly no lack of gore or skin on display. But rarely has a box set of films filled me with such empathy for a culture desperately trying free itself.

Next up is a 4K upgrade of the neglected 1987 possession horror Retribution. I will admit to having a copy of the original 3-disc Blu-ray release that I never got around to watching. My loss.

When I popped in this 4K upgrade I was quickly charmed by Retribution's unusual blend of pathos, horror and splattery practical effects. The movie places us in the seedy environs of 1980's Hollywood, where we meet George, a lost soul, whose decision to end it all not only ends with him in a hospital psych ward but possessed by the spirit of a gangster bent on revenge against his former gang. Dennis Lipscomb imbues George with a lot of humanity and the film takes great pains to showcase the fragile but vibrant community of oddballs that share his apartment building. The excellent and lengthy special features are ported over from the original release.

Next up are two films from Bob Fuest. Fuest is best known for directing the stylish horror parodies The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971), and Dr Phibes Rises Again (1972), as well as the spectacularly over-the-top The Devil's Rain (1975). But in-between those films he directed a dystopian sci-fi bit of futurism that was every bit as odd, beautiful to look at and entertaining.

The Final Programme (1973) finally makes its debut on 4K here, housed in a beautiful hard-shell notched case and packed with six hours of special features. Of special note here is the welcome presence of author Michael Moorcock, who has previously eschewed opportunities to participate. Also, The Final Programme gathers together a cast for the ages. Jon Finch, Sterling Hayden, Patrick Magee and the brilliant Harry Andrews pop off the screen every bit as much as the futuristic decor.

The other Fuest film here is a favorite. I spent some years on a team of investigative journalists debunking Satanic Panic in the early nineties and like most horror fans I have my favorite occult thrillers and Satanic cult movies.

The Devil's Rain scratches all the itches. First, it falls right into the sweet spot created by The Exorcist (1973) and The Omen (1976) when it comes to the way society laid the groundwork for Satanic Panic. It even has Anton Lavey listed as a technical advisor. But in my opinion it also boasts the single greatest cast for any devil film ever.

We get to watch Ernest Borgnine transform into a half-man/half-goat demon. William Shatner get sacrificed to Satan himself. Eddie Albert ("Olivah!" from Green Acres, 1965-1971) and Tom Skerritt (Alien, 1979) wage war against the occultists. Ida Lupino, a classic film noire femme fatale and one of Hollywood's first female directors, becomes an eyeless robed acolyte, and John Travolta makes his motion picture debut as a face melting minion of the cult. Also present is Keenan Wynn, the heavy of so many live-action Disney films. There's no point in going on. Run. Go. Buy. Rent. Watch. This 4K upgrade comes with a cool slipcase and all copious special features from the previous release are ported over. You even get an additional new commentary from film historian, Stephen R. Bissette.

Severin has also been on an Italian Gothic release tear the last two years. Besides the excellent Danza Macabra Box Sets, they've also produced great editions of Castle of Blood (1964), Bloody Pit of Horror (1965) and An Angel for Satan

To that list of must-watch titles. you can now add The Ghost (1963), which is out in a gorgeous three-disc UHD set. Besides the gorgeous 4K restoration and UHD of the feature film, you get the outstanding documentary Executions, Masks, Secrets: Italian Horror Films of the 1960s on a separate disc and a Francesco De Masi soundtrack compilation.

The outlier in this coverage is the Blu-ray release of Lookin' Italian (1994). I looked askance at first. Then I noticed it was directed by Guy Magar (Retribution) and was the film debut of none other than Matt LeBlanc, famous for his turn as Joey on TV's Friends. Might be interesting, I thought. A former gangster is dragged back into the fray after his nephew (played LeBlanc) gets in over his head. There are two hours of extras features here including an archival interview with LeBlanc.