Though scream cinema of the 1950s may have been dominated by alien invaders, giant bugs and post-atomic fears, the gothic horror tradition got a big boost in 1957. A golden age of British horror began with Hammer Films’ The Curse of Frankenstein, which brought bold colors and more overt violence and sexuality to the genre but remained faithful to the classic elements. I Vampiri (though some sources cite its premiere in 1956) jump-started Italian horror and Mario Bava’s directing career. Back in the U.S., the release of Universal’s “Shock!” package brought the studio’s seminal '30s and '40s chillers to television and a new generation of monster buffs. And now, thanks to CasaNegra’s The Vampire Collection, we can see that Mexico was also doing its part to keep fangs, fog, cobwebs and crypts part of our horror diet.
This excellent two-disc set includes 1957’s El Vampiro (The Vampire) and 1958’s El Ataúd del Vampiro (The Vampire’s Coffin), both featuring Germán Robles as chief bloodsucker Count Lavud. While the influence of Bela Lugosi’s Dracula on the look and of Lavud are clear, Robles brings a stern, regal presence to the vampire that has more in common with Christopher Lee’s version of Drac (which made it to theaters the following year in Horror of Dracula). El Vampiro was the first movie for Robles, a transplanted Spaniard, and he played the title role with skill and charisma to spare.
The first film borrows story and style liberally from Universal’s Dracula and Son of Dracula, with a bit of Murnau’s Nosferatu and a dash of White Zombie for good measure. It also boasts a climactic duel between hero and villain that suggests the folks at Hammer may have done a little borrowing of their own. The story concerns Count Lavud’s efforts to gain control of a family estate and to bring his vampire brother back from the dead. Marta (the lovely Ariadna Welter), a visiting niece and part owner of the property, becomes the damsel in distress while her companion Dr. Enrique (producer Abel Salazar) is the romantic lead and reluctant hero. But the key to defeating Lavud and his followers may lie with Marta’s aunt Teresa (Alicia Montoya), who is inconveniently buried at the beginning of the film. Her other aunt, Eloisa (Carmen Montejo), turns out to be far less helpful, as Marta realizes when she notices Eloisa casts no reflection in her mirror.
Yep, no reflections, transformations into bats, crucifixes as protection…there’s no revisionism here. El Vampiro holds to the traditions of vampire lore and largely to those of gothic cinema. All its derivative elements seem more than acceptable in the context of such a pleasingly atmospheric offering. Despite technical limitations (you can’t miss those strings on the bats), the film is a handsomely mounted production with some gorgeous sets. The courtyard of the estate and the balcony above it make a wonderful visual centerpiece, which director Fernando Méndez uses to superb effect in the film’s opening sequences. While the special effects are often rudimentary, Méndez manages to create some effective moments with them through some quick cutting and superbly composed follow-up shots. Lavud’s attack on a young boy is an especially good example of turning nothing into something special.
If El Vampiro is the kind of film no lover of traditional horror will want to miss, its sequel is a bit more problematic, though still a great deal of fun. El Ataúd del Vampiro sacrifices some of the wonderful locations of the earlier film for too many long stretches in a rather plain hospital setting. Even the promising use of a wax museum as a secondary locale fails to match the spooky sets of El Vampiro.
There are also several inconsistencies between the two films, including Marta’s career as an actress (she says she works in a store in the first movie) and the seeming relocation of her family estate from the middle of nowhere to a quick ride away from the village that includes Dr. Enrique’s hospital, the theater and the wax museum. Enrique himself goes from being a jovial romantic, cynical about the supernatural in El Vampiro, to more of a comically cowardly type in El Ataúd del Vampiro. He seems intent on denying the events of the first film, as much for his own peace of mind as Marta’s, though he does gather up his courage when things get really dire.
Like its predecessor, the sequel steals quite a bit from other films, but this time it’s at the expense of a more satisfying plot. The movie becomes kind of a hodgepodge of Dracula, House of Wax and Phantom of the Opera (thanks to the backstage sequences), as we follow the theft of Count Lavud’s corpse, his resurrection, and his continued pursuit of Marta. As a narrative, it never really comes together, and it gets pretty silly during a climax where the bat’s dangling strings become harder to overlook than in the earlier film.
Yet, like the lesser entries in the Universal cycle, it’s still very entertaining in spite of its glaring flaws. There are standout moments, including the opening grave robbery and a Nosferatu-inspired stalking scene, where the atmosphere is still rich and spooky. Add to those moments another chance to hear Gustavo Carrión’s dramatic score and this unsteady work manages to stay afloat.
Both films have been given the star treatment by Panik House’s increasingly impressive CasaNegra label. ScreenAnarchy reviewers have already sung the praises of CasaNegra’s releases of Brainiac (El Barón del Terror), The Witch’s Mirror (El Espejo de la Bruja), The Curse of the Crying Woman (La Maldición de la Llorona) and The Black Pit of Dr. M (Misterios de Ultratumba). Let me join the chorus with my appreciation of The Vampire Collection. A few minor signs of wear aside, the print transfer of El Vampiro is excellent and El Ataúd del Vampiro looks absolutely pristine. Both films are offered in their original Spanish (with optional clear, readable English subtitles) as well as English-dubbed versions. El Vampiro includes an informative commentary track by author Robert Cotter and there is a fine photo essay on Mexican horror cinema on the first disc as well.
Other extras include stills and photo galleries for both films, some American radio spots, a Loteria game card (Loteria being something like Bingo) with eye-catching art from various CasaNegra releases, and a DVD-ROM feature with a 1976 French photo novel of El Ataúd del Vampiro. (One note about this last item: There is no link or instructions on how to access this supplement from the main DVD menu. On my Mac, I needed to click on the disc icon itself to find the PDF file.) CasaNegra puts it all in good-looking bilingual packaging (sleeve notes can be found in Spanish on the reverse side) and the DVD menus include enticing montages of scenes from the films. All in all, it’s a must-have set for collectors of vintage creature features.