Frozen with fear: The Man with Nine Lives

Now Playing: The Man with Nine Lives (1940)

Pros: In spite of the low budget and minimal sets, the film maintains great pace and suspense as it winds its way through plot twists and turns; Well acted all-around.
Cons: Scientific purists will guffaw at the script's crackpot take on cryogenics.

This post is part of the "Secret Places and Trippy Houses blogathon" hosted by Rebecca Deniston, whose not-so-secret online lair is the blog known as Taking Up Room. As Rebecca put it in her blogathon announcement,

“One of the most fascinating plot devices in storytelling, whether on the screen or in books, has to be the secret place, whether it’s a literal secret room or a weird house with secret passages, or maybe an underground city, or something that has gone unnoticed. It means that everyone who doesn’t know about these hidden places has to reset their thinking and look at the world differently, which is an interesting mental exercise.”

Not only does The Man with Nine Lives feature a secret passageway and chamber that holds the key to a tragic mystery, it features Boris Karloff as a medical researcher whose ability to look at the world differently is both his biggest strength and weakness.

But first, a bit of background (stop your groaning, this will only hurt a little bit!). We all know that dear Boris was vaulted to worldwide fame when, at the tender age of 43, he first portrayed the classic product of mad science, the Frankenstein monster.

In addition to two more stints as Frankenstein’s creation (Bride of Frankenstein, Son of Frankenstein), the 1930s saw him portraying monsters, both supernatural (The Mummy, The Ghoul, The Walking Dead), and human (The Black Cat, The Old Dark House, The Raven) to great acclaim.

But as Boris aged, producers flipped the script on him, keeping him in the same old familiar horror films, but increasingly making him the creator of mad science instead of its product. And Boris stepped into the roles as if he’d been dabbling with things better left alone all his life.

Many of the roles took advantage of the real life man -- gentlemanly and gracious -- and mixed in a lot of sympathy for the character along with menace:

• In The Man Who Lived Again (1936), Karloff portrays an idealistic scientist dabbling in soul transference who is driven mad when everything he has worked for is upended by an unscrupulous patron.
• In Before I Hang (1940), he’s a kindly physician sentenced to death row for a mercy killing who gets permission to experiment in prison on a new blood serum, with horrific results.
• In Black Friday (1940), he’s a brain surgeon who saves the life of his professor friend by transplanting a portion of a gangster’s brain into the professor, with… horrific results.
• In The Devil Commands (1941), he’s a grieving scientist who invents a means to communicate with his dead wife, with, you guessed it, horrific results.

Boris had this mad doctor thing down cold.

Later, in 1945’s House of Frankenstein, the story that launched Karloff to fame and fortune came full circle when he played Dr. Gustav Niemann, who revives the Frankenstein monster (along with Count Dracula) for his own evil purposes. Still later, In Frankenstein 1970 (1958), he portrayed a descendant of the original Frankenstein who tries to create a new monster even as he hosts a Hollywood film crew at his castle.

1940’s The Man with Nine Lives gave Karloff, who had already experimented with invisible rays and partial brain transplants, a chance to tinker with yet another esoteric mad scientific discipline. In this outing, he plays Dr. Leon Kravaal, an early pioneer in the use of cryogenics (dubbed “frozen therapy” in the film) for treating aggressive diseases.

As the film opens, we’re introduced to medical researcher Tim Mason (Roger Pryor), who has gotten in trouble with his boss at the research hospital for overselling his new frozen therapy as a cure for cancer (the theory being that slowing down the body’s metabolism and functions through suspended animation will kill the bad cells, or something like that.)

Mason talks over his predicament with his trusty (and lovely) assistant Judith Blair (Jo Ann Sayers), speculating that if he could just talk to or get a hold of the notes of Dr. Kravaal, the preeminent pioneer in frozen therapy, he might be able to perfect his own techniques and prove the therapy’s virtues to the doubters.

Mason and Judith discuss marketing strategies for their new Frozen Therapy.™

The only problem is that Kravaal disappeared, along with a group of local men, 10 years ago in a remote town where he had taken up residence in order to conduct his research in peace.

But of course, medical research, especially mad medical research, waits on no man, disappeared or otherwise. Mason and Judith decide to travel to the remote town in the hopes of finding Kravaal’s laboratory and notes that might provide a breakthrough for Mason’s work.

In their quest, the intrepid duo stumble upon not one, but a veritable plethora of secret places. Let’s count them:

1. The island. For maximum remoteness and to get away from the prying eyes of pesky skeptics, Kravaal had located his lab on an otherwise uninhabited island. A requisite superstitious local, the boat rental guy, tries to warn Mason and Judith off of going to the island, ominously telling them of the men who had headed over there and never returned.
2. Kravaal’s ramshackle house on the island, which looks haunted enough to deter anyone except the most curious and ambitious of medical researchers and their eager assistants.
3. The secret laboratory, which the brave pair only discover when Judith falls through rotten floor boards, enabling them to discover the stairs to a secret sub-basement.
4. An ice-encrusted vault off of the lab, containing the frozen, but still living, bodies of Kravaal and the missing local men.

How's that for a laundry list of secret places in one little, unassuming B movie?

Fortunately Amazon delivers to secret remote islands, so Kravaal can keep his lab well-stocked.

In addition to all those secret places, The Man with Nine Lives packs an awful lot of mad scientific jargon, flashbacks, soulful monologues, fraught stand-offs, and who-will-survive suspense into its economical 74 minute runtime.

Even though most of the movie takes place in the claustrophobic confines of the secret lab and frozen vault, the pacing as one secret after another is revealed makes for a very satisfying, edge-of-your-seat watch.

Words can’t adequately convey all the twists and turns the plot takes in this tale of crackpot science, mysterious disappearances, and amazing resurrections (nor do I want to spoil the fun by revealing too much). Suffice it to say that Mason and Judith have stumbled on a frozen tableau of tragedy, involving a dedicated scientist trying to cure a dying man, and the man’s nephew and local officials convinced that the scientist has already killed his patient.

As a result of the confrontation, Kravaal and his persecutors are all frozen together in the secret vault with no one the wiser — effectively having disappeared for 10 years until their accidental discovery.

"Next time I'm getting a frost-free refrigerator!"

Luckily, they’re revived by trained medical professionals — Mason and Judith — who know what they’re doing. But the relief is short-lived as the passionate and single-minded Kravaal is convinced that he’s closer than ever to perfecting his work — and he’s got a whole lab full of human guinea pigs whom the outside world already considers dead. Bwwwwaahahaha!

Okay, that wasn’t fair — nowhere in the film does Karloff/Kravaal do a mad scientist’s maniacal laugh. Actually, The Man with Nine Lives fits very neatly into Karloff’s other roles from this period — that of a gentle, yet dedicated doctor/researcher/scientist whose work is misunderstood by plodding authorities and colleagues, with those misunderstandings (and Karloff’s dogged persistence in spite of it all) resulting in horrific consequences.

Of course, by this time dear Boris could do this sort of thing in his sleep, but it’s still fun watching him masterfully turning from a gentle (if highly dedicated) soul to a monomaniacal agent of destruction who is willing to sacrifice anyone and anything in his pursuit of mad science. (At one point he offhandedly tells Mason and Judith that “This work is worth a thousand lives like his [the nephew’s]).

"This won't hurt a bit!"

Karloff’s/Kravaal’s murderous intensity as he realizes he’s on the cusp of completing his life’s work is a thing to behold. Similarly intense are the performances of the supporting actors playing the arrogant and uncomprehending local authorities (plus the nephew) who intervened 10 years earlier with tragic results, and who wake up from their frozen slumber none the wiser, and far more vulnerable as they realize they’re in the clutches of a madman who views them as no more valuable than lab rats.

There’s a certain satisfaction in watching these self-righteous dullards — Stanley Brown as the nephew, John Dilson as DA Hawthorne, Hal Taliaferro as Sheriff Stanton, and Bryon Foulger as the Coroner — quake in their boots as they contemplate being sacrificed for science (and they’re so good at blubbering and quaking!).

"We're men dammit, not lab rats!"

Roger Pryor as Mason and Jo Ann Sayers as Judith also do a creditable job as the only two you want to root for — at times they seem to be channeling William Powell and Myrna Loy in their own Thin Man-like mystery (in this case, a “Frozen Man” mystery).

Behind the camera, journeyman director and B specialist Nick Grinde manages to extract maximum angst and suspense out of this odd, claustrophobic little film. Around the same time, Grinde also directed two of Boris’ better mad doctor Bs, The Man They Could Not Hang (1939) and Before I Hang (1940) — see my reviews of those two in the post “Hanging out with Boris.” (Somewhat oddly, Grinde would hang up his directing duties by the mid-forties, although he lived many decades after that.)

Screenwriter Karl Brown teamed with Grinde on the same trilogy of mad doctor films. The partnership was a salutary one, as they are among the most lively and unique of all of Karloff’s B pictures.

The three films would make a very entertaining Halloween marathon, and at only an hour and some change for each, that would still leave you time to bob for apples or go on a Halloween scavenger hunt. Just don’t get trapped in some mad doctor’s secret laboratory.

Karloff deals yet again with uncomprehending idiots.

Where to find it: DVD | Streaming

Eurospies in Space: The Wild, Wild Planet

Now Playing: The Wild, Wild Planet (aka I criminali della galassia, 1966)

Pros: The kind of crazy, go-for-broke energy that’s characteristic of ambitious, yet low-budget filmmaking; A plethora of surreal moments requires repeat viewings to take it all in
Cons: Laughably bad SFX, especially the miniatures of futuristic cities and vehicles

It’s often said that we need the bad in order to appreciate the good. What fan hasn’t embraced at least one movie that, despite being completely inartistic, demands repeat viewings and brings a smile every time? This post is part of the seventh “So Bad They’re Good Blogathon” being hosted by Rebecca at her Taking Up Room blog. Almost every genre is represented, so after you visit The Wild, Wild Planet, wander over to Rebecca’s blog for many more guilty pleasures.

1966 was a watershed year for science fiction fans. In September, Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek debuted on national television, establishing a major franchise that's still going like a dilithium crystal-powered Energizer Bunny to this very day. Pitched as a “Wagon train to the stars” by Roddenberry himself, Star Trek was far more than that -- a high concept show that embraced an unapologetically optimistic vision of the future, dealt with sophisticated themes, and attracted fans of all ages.

Around the same time that Roddenberry was launching the Enterprise to seek out new life and new civilizations, Italian director Antonio Margheriti boldly set out on his own mission to make a series of space epics on a shoestring budget and a prayer.

At the dawn of the 1960s, as the space race between the U.S. and the Soviets was heating up, Margheriti raced ahead of the competition to direct Italy’s first space opera, Assignment: Outer Space (aka Space Men, 1960). Then, in the mid-60s, as the two superpowers kept trying to upstage each other with marathon manned missions and spacewalks, Margheriti took on mission control duties for a series of four sci-fi films: The Wild, Wild Planet, The War of the Planets, War Between the Planets, and The Snow Devils.

Co-produced in Italy, Spain and the U.S., and originally intended to be shown on American TV, the films were released in rapid-fire succession in 1966 and early ‘67. Incredibly, by reusing spaceship models and props from previous films, and shooting back-to-back with the same sets and many of the same cast members, Margheriti took only three months to deliver the films.

Wild, Wild Planet was the first release in what came to be known as the Gamma One Quadrilogy. “Gamma One” is a reference to the United Democracies Space Command (UDSCO) space station that is a major set piece in each of the films. [See the blog An Echo That’s Reversing for a rundown of the quadrilogy].

Although set in a nearer future than Star Trek’s 23rd century, UDSCO is a sort of precursor to Roddenberry’s United Federation of Planets. (The space station as a major location and jumping off point for the action also prefigures such series as Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and Babylon One.)

But what earns the extra “Wild” in Wild, Wild Planet is an overlay of secret agents, conspiracies and a Bond-like supervillain that would have been very much at home in the more conventional spy pictures that were wildly popular at the time. In the mid-60s, the success of the James Bond franchise unleashed swarms of imitators on TV and in theaters, from The Man from U.N.C.L.E. (1964-1968) in the U.S., to Secret Agent (1964-1967) in the UK, to more 007 knock-offs in Italy and France than you could shake a Walther PPK at.

"Of course we're trying to be inconspicuous, why do you ask?"

One clue that the film is not your typical space opera is the opening scene in which the camera pans past various dissected organs enclosed in a group of transparent cabinets, like a futuristic cannibal butcher shop. The organs are part of a research project being conducted by Dr. Nurmi (Massimo Surrato), the weirdly intense head of Chem Bio Med (CBM), a research outfit belonging to The Corporations.

Nurmi is conducting his Frankenstein-like experiments in miniaturizing body parts (?!) on board the Gamma One space station, and station commander Mike Halstead (Tony Russel) is none too happy. Not to mention, Nurmi is putting creepy moves on Lt. Connie Gomez (Lisa Gastoni), Gamma One’s Communications and Control Officer.

Connie is not too sure about a man who's into miniatures.

But soon, Nurmi becomes the least of Halstead’s worries, as Earth is rocked by the mysterious disappearances of a number of its leading citizens, including Halstead’s old friend General Fowler (Enzo Fiermonte). Space Command is called in to investigate.

While Halstead takes charge (including investigating the attempted kidnapping of his own nephew), Nurmi somehow convinces Connie to accompany him to his home base, the planet Delphos, where he can show her his etchings, er, uh, his scientific work and the future he has in store for humanity.

Halstead and his peeps (including a young Franco Nero as Lt. Jake Jacowitz) gradually uncover a fiendish plot involving teams of field agents -- always a beautiful woman accompanied by a tall, pale goon wearing a shiny black cloak and sunglasses -- who stalk their victims and then wrap them up in the goon’s cloak, whereupon they’re reduced to the size of a Barbie doll and hauled away in an attache case (?!).

A big break comes when one of the abductions is interrupted in mid-miniaturization, reducing the intended target, a renowned scientist, to half his normal size. The scientist escapes his kidnappers, but then falls into a deep coma, leaving Halstead and the authorities to wonder who’s next on the list for this extreme weight-loss plan.

"For crying out loud, couldn't you at least have given him a longer hospital gown?"

Meanwhile, Connie is alarmed by what she sees on Delphos. She soon realizes she’s become a prisoner, and that Nurmi’s designs on her are a lot more nefarious than your garden-variety sleazeball’s.

Not being a complete dummy, Halstead traces the plot back to Nurmi, but is stymied by his superiors, who don’t want to rock the boat by confronting a powerful and influential member of the Corporations.

It’s a race against time as Halstead struggles to free himself from the bureaucratic red tape and rescue Connie before she becomes Nurmi’s latest, most diabolical experiment in bio-engineered humans.

James Bondian influences are everywhere in this mash-up of spaceships and eurospies. Nurmi is the quintessential supervillain, suave and creepy at the same time, and as megalomaniacal as they come. Plus, there’s a healthy dose of mad scientist thrown in for added entertainment value, complete with speeches that would make Dr. Frankenstein proud:

“Halstead, you better get used to it. Tissue grafts and transplants are a fact of life. They’re revolutionizing medicine, and will transform mankind. They are the key to a new people, a race of perfect men!”

Like any self-respecting supervillain, Nurmi has an army of minions, including the gorgeous femme-fatales and the bio-engineered goons. At one point, Halstead and company mix it up with Nurmi’s agents, barely prevailing over the women after a lengthy fight scene full of karate chops and judo throws.

Biff! Pow! Zap! Kapow! Wham! Klonk!

And of course, there’s Nurmi’s super-scientific lair on Delphos, which, in typical Bondian fashion, is infiltrated by the Space Command forces at the climax.

Filling in the role of Bond girl is Gastoni as Lt. Connie Gomez, who in an opening scene is shown throwing men around Pussy Galore-style in a martial arts demonstration. She quickly gets Nurmi’s attention, who wants to enlist her in his quest to perfect the human race. (I won’t spoil things by revealing exactly how Connie figures into his plans -- let’s just say he’s mad about her DNA.)

With all that wild, wild genre blending going on, author Matt Blake’s estimate that the film’s piece of the budget pie was only $30,000 (“titchy even back in 1965”) is hard to believe, even given all the recycling of cast, crew and resources. [Matt Blake, Science Fiction Italian Style, The Wildeye Press, 2019, p.31].

On the other hand, viewers might think “where did all that money go?” when they get a look at the model work depicting futuristic cities and space stations. One of the film’s first guffaw-inducing moments comes with an early establishing shot of a cityscape, complete with toy vehicles zipping along an elevated track. It’s on par with a clever 12-year-old’s honorable mention science fair diorama. (Later, a flying car dangling from wires is good for a chuckle or two.)

"And the Science Fair honorable mention goes to..."

But viewers who are undeterred by the cheap toy modelwork will be treated to some supremely surreal moments. Nurmi’s pale henchmen opening up their slick black raincoats to envelop and miniaturize their victims has a distinct exhibitionist vibe to it (or maybe an even grosser vibe, but let’s not go there). Later, when one of the goons is captured, there’s another eeewww! moment when it’s revealed he has 4 arms -- the result of Nurmi’s limb grafting experiments.

And then there’s the end product of the miniaturization. One of Wild, Wild Planet’s more uncanny moments comes with a quick but fascinating close-up of a case full of doll-sized people lying in little foam-lined compartments, their faces covered with tiny oxygen masks.

Also intriguing are all the little background details of 21st century life as imagined in the mid-20th. Prophetically, surveillance cameras and commercial advertising are everywhere. Also prophetic is the government's (i.e., Space Command’s) deference to the powerful Corporations. Less so is the futuristic slang and epithets like “helium-headed idiot!” directed at incompetent bureaucrats by the hot-headed Cmdr. Halstead.

The Wild, Wild Planet is filled with so much weirdness that it’s like watching a live action Hieronymus Bosch painting -- just as you’re wondering what the hell that was, something else comes along to flummox you. And you can’t take it all in with just one viewing.

Supervillains have a fatal flaw: they prefer to brag instead of quickly eliminating their foes.

Some time after the dust had settled on the Gamma One Quadrilogy, Margheriti reminisced, somewhat apologetically, about the experience of making it:

“Two episodes were produced by an Italian TV station, the other ones by an American one. Unfortunately, the stupid producer had the idea of releasing them to the cinema. You can imagine a TV movie from the sixties dealing with space ships and such FX on the big screen. It doesn’t make for a very good impression (laughs). I remember we had three months to shoot the entire series, including the post-production. I directed four complete movies in only three months, and believe me, it was very hard work. For everyone else involved it was a fun project without any real stories or ideas and the results look exactly like that!” [Blake, p. 29]

He needn’t have been so apologetic. Sure, The Wild, Wild Planet is no 2001: A Space Odyssey or Star Wars, but somehow, the combination of low budget and accelerated shooting schedule resulted in a wild, crazy ride that is far more memorable than many of the slick, corporate blockbusters that followed in its wake.

"Hold still, let me get that fly that's landed on your jacket!"

Where to find it: Streaming | DVD

Frankenstein meets Elizabeth Bathory: I Vampiri

Now Playing: I Vampiri (aka The Vampires, aka Lust of the Vampire, 1957)

Pros: Great production design, cinematography and high Gothic atmosphere
Cons: Uneven pacing; Sets up a mystery that really isn’t a mystery; Timid producers nixed certain plot elements that could have made the film extraordinary

This post is part of the Journey to Italy Blogathon co-hosted by Gill at Realweegiemidget Reviews and Kristina at Speakeasy. Have an interest in older movies or TV (1950-1990) featuring Italian connections? When you’re done here, journey over to Gill’s and Kristina’s blogs for more cinematic tours.

Well here we are, just shy of a month into the new year, and it’s already sizing up to be another unnerving one. It’s no use worrying about things you can’t control, but if you need a sense of purpose and a distraction from worrying headlines, there’s always New Year’s resolutions. Show of hands -- how many of you succumbed to the temptation to make one or two? Another show of hands -- how many have already given up on a hastily made resolution?

If you fall into the second category, don’t feel too bad -- you’re in good company. The tendency to bail out early on resolutions is so widespread, it’s become enshrined as a commemorative day, National Quitter’s Day, on the second Friday of January. The site National Today explains:

“New studies have found that about two-thirds of people abandon their New Year’s resolution within a month. One of the major problems with achieving new year resolutions is that those who set them are over-ambitious. People usually start with high levels of motivation, but as time progresses, the drive begins to wane. The key in achieving goals is to set short, medium, and long-term goals as opposed to one large unrealistic stretch goal.” [Nationaltoday.com]

While quitting is not commonly associated with the elite sectors of society (yeah, that’s what they want you to believe), even prominent go-getters can feel the urge to bail once in a while. Consider the case of Italian filmmaker Riccardo Freda (1909-1999).

By the mid-1950s, Freda was an experienced writer/director with a couple of dozen films and several film festival award nominations under his belt. And, he was set to direct I Vampiri, which would go down in history as the first Italian horror film of the sound era.

Riccardo Freda (Wikimedia Commons)

Freda, who also co-wrote the I Vampiri screenplay along with collaborators Piero Ragnoli and Mario Bava (the cinematographer on the project), reportedly told his producers that he could “have a treatment ready in 24 hours and make the picture itself in a fortnight.” [Jonathon Rigby, Euro Gothic: Classics of Continental Horror Cinema, Signum Books, 2016, p. 71.]

Freda’s over-ambitiousness ultimately turned sour. Depending on which source you believe, Freda either walked off the set 10 days into filming when it became clear he wouldn’t meet his deadline [IMDb], or, he stormed off the set when his producers, worried about censorship, nixed several of the more horrific and lurid aspects of the film [Rigby, p. 71]. In any event, Bava took over the directing reins for the rest of the production.

This wouldn’t be the last time Freda walked off a production and Bava filled in for him. Some years later, it was deja vu all over again when, during the shooting of Calitiki, The Immortal Monster (a Blob knock-off released in 1959) Freda again feuded with the producers, and Bava stepped in to complete the project.

Oh the horror, the HORROR!... of walking off yet another set.

Later, Freda claimed that he purposely abandoned Calitiki to give his multi-talented cinematographer another shot at directing. [IMDb] Whatever the motivation, it certainly worked, with Bava quickly going on to direct Black Sunday (La maschera del demonio, 1960), ultimately a far more seminal Italian horror film than I Vampiri, and the jump-start to a career that would see Bava hailed as one of the great masters of the genre.

Still, there is something to being involved in a cinematic first, even if later films in the genre eclipse yours in terms of style and critical and audience reception. Rather than being a radical leap into new film territory, I Vampiri is more of a bridge between Universal’s horrors of the ‘30s and ‘40s and the far more graphic, bloody fare that Bava and Hammer films would introduce to the world starting in the late '50s.

Set in contemporaneous Paris, I Vampiri opens with a body being hauled out of the Seine, accompanied by closeups of newspaper headlines blaring about a “vampire” killer terrorizing the city, having claimed the lives of four young women in a matter of months.

It seems that the victims were completely drained of blood, with needle marks on their arms (not to mention they all shared the same blood type). Quickly, the shadowy killer strikes again, brazenly abducting Nora, a showgirl (Ronny Holiday), from the theater where she works.

"Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!"

The police are stymied, but nosy newspaper reporter Pierre Lantin (Dario Michaelis) is on the case, much to the chagrin of perpetually grumpy police inspector Chantal (Carlo D’Angelo). With one clue -- a photo of Nora with a suspicious-looking character in a trenchcoat hovering in the background -- Lantin proceeds to interview the friends of one of the murdered women. Lantin takes an immediate shine to one of the friends, beautiful Laurette (Wandisa Guida).

When Lantin sees the trenchcoated stranger lurking around Lauette’s neighborhood, he follows him to a tenement apartment. Lantin rushes to bring the police back to the suspect’s lair, but when he returns with the inspector, he’s dumbfounded to find, instead of the sinister character, just an old pensioner who says he’s been living there for years. Chantal is peeved with the newspaperman for wasting his time.

I Vampiri tips its hand early on. Instead of keeping the menace to the shadows after Nora’s dance hall abduction, the script has Lantin flushing out a conspiracy in which Joseph, a wretched drug addict (Paul Muller), is employed by a mad scientist, Julien du Grand (Antoine Balpêtrè) to abduct young women for his unholy experiments.

Pierre draws up plans to catch the vampire killer.

Joseph, panicked that the police are on to him, runs to du Grand, who in turn is worried about the attention that his dimwitted henchman has stirred up. The Professor decides now is the time to fake his own death with the help of his cousin, the wealthy and mysterious duchess Margherita du Grand.

The Duchess, wearing a thick black veil, leads the mourners -- the cream of the crop of Paris society -- at the fake funeral held at her crumbling estate outside of the city.

Also in attendance is Lantin, who is unaware that he is the cause of the ostentatious funeral. He explains to a colleague that he has issues with the Duchess, who in her youth was obsessed with his father, and almost ruined his parents’ marriage. Lantin cattily remarks that although the Duchess was once very beautiful, she now wears veils because she can’t deal with being old.

Coincidentally, the Duchess’ niece Giselle (Gianna Maria Canale), whom many regard as the most beautiful woman in Paris, seems similarly fascinated with Lantin, popping up in unexpected places as the newspaperman continues his hunt for the vampire killer. But, given their families’ histories, he gives her the cold shoulder.

"Hey Pierre, my eyes are up here!"

Little does he know that his real love interest, the lovely Laurette, will soon get caught up in the sinister du Grands’ web, and will be tricked and then abducted to the Duchess’ castle, where a grisly fate awaits her. Will Lantin and the clueless police get wise in time to save her?

At first glance, I Vampiri looks less like a groundbreaking film and more like an eccentric project mired in past tropes. Euro Gothic author Jonathan Rigby points to the black gloves worn by sinister Joseph as prefiguring the fashion preferences of the killers in later Giallo films. But after the initial dance hall scene, the henchman is yanked out of the shadows (not to mention revealed as a garden variety drug addict), and the suspense of seeing a faceless figure wearing black gloves dissipates.

I Vampiri is definitely inspired by Hollywood’s mystery-thrillers of the 1930s. Lantin is the very embodiment of the perennial gutsy reporter who clashes with the blundering police and looks for clues in old dark houses. The only thing missing is the plucky girl reporter to act as a foil and generate non-stop hard-boiled patter.

Just as prominent is the nod to mad scientists of the past. Julien has a very impressive laboratory in the castle’s dungeons, with all sorts of newfangled doodads, beakers and tubes… and a scar-faced assistant dressed in medical scrubs to complete the set-up.

"Don't worry Joseph, you're completely covered for head replacement surgery!"

The only thing missing is showy Kenneth Strickfaden equipment sending electrical currents arcing through the gloomy lab. Du Grand sounds like he stepped right out of a Universal Frankenstein picture when he brags to his assistant,

“Some day, I’ll discover the very energy that generates life and make it flow forever through living beings. That will be my moment of triumph, because it will mean that all my work was not in vain!”

But instead of using electricity to revitalize dead tissue, I Vampiri’s mad doctor uses the blood of involuntary donors, plus some sort of enhancement process, to revitalize old tissue and smooth out those fine lines and wrinkles (sort of like Botox injections, but with dead bodies lying around after the treatment).

So, no supernatural vampires here, just metaphorical ones that use their wealth and mad science to relieve the peasants of their blood supply in the pursuit of a few fleeting moments of restored youth. Dr. Frankenstein, meet Elizabeth Bathory.

Laurette suddenly realizes this is not the relaxing spa experience she signed up for.

Also, there's no real mystery as to who is benefitting from Julien’s mad schemes; hint: there are two characters, supposedly related to one another and living on the same estate, but who are never seen together. What the audience is left with is the anticipation of a dramatic (if obvious) reveal and the villains getting their just deserts.

The real stars of the show are the sets and Bava’s beautiful black and white Cinemascope photography, itself a sort of bridge between eras: black and white to accentuate the high Gothic atmosphere, and Cinemascope for that mid-century immersive experience.

It’s hard not to feel at least a slight shiver as Bava’s camera roams through darkened castle interiors full of menacing shadows, cobwebs, skulls and monstrous statuary. Or when it surveys Julien and his sketchy assistant hovering over a body on a gurney, framed by evil-looking medical equipment. Prosaic scenes of Lantin clashing with his boss or the police, or chatting up the school girls, serve as a stark contrast between the modern, daylit 20th century world and the dark, decaying one of the Du Grands.

Apparently, Freda’s original vision for the film would have far exceeded the exercise in Gothic atmosphere that it ended up being. But I Vampiri’s producers were reluctant to get too far out over their skis:

“Wary of censorship, Freda’s producers dropped all of his nastier conceits, several of which he claimed to have actually filmed. A drug addict called Joseph Signoret … is the robotic pawn who supplies the Duchesse du Grand and her scientist cousin with the victims they need; scenes in which he was guillotined, put back together by the mad Professor, and literally lost his transplanted head while under police supervision were all deleted. … These changes, plus the general drift towards making I Vampiri into a standard police procedural, presumably explain why Freda -- always a tempestuous kind of director -- stormed off the set towards the end of the production.” [Rigby, p. 71]

(Yikes! I would love to see that director’s cut!)

A visible scar on Joseph's neck hints at scenes that were excised from the final cut (click on the image to enlarge).

Alas, it would fall to others -- namely Hammer Studios -- to break horror’s nasty barrier, riling up audiences and critics alike with the colorful, never-before-seen gruesomeness of The Curse of Frankenstein, which was released not quite a month after I Vampiri.

While Curse was racking up box office records, Freda was chagrined that I Vampiri had difficulty scaring up decent attendance, even in Italy:

“At that time I’d sometimes go into the auditorium to study the audience's reaction. I don’t know why, but the theatre was almost empty. Anyway, plenty of people were attracted by the posters, which were extremely beautiful. The people would read I Vampiri…I Vampiri… And that appeared to tempt them. Then at the very last moment they’d notice the name Freda. The reaction was kind of automatic. ‘Freda? But it’s Italian -- it must be terrible, Italians can’t make this kind of movie.’” [Rigby, p. 73]

Not long after I Vampiri's disappointing reception, Freda, perhaps thinking, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” took on Caltiki, a sci-fi knock-off (although, he couldn't help giving it the dark, atmospheric, Freda-esque treatment). A year after that, his trusty collaborator Mario Bava would direct Black Sunday, solidifying the worldwide comeback of Gothic horror and proving that yeah, Italians can make that kind of movie.

Whether he realized it at the time or not, Riccardo Freda and I Vampiri helped set it all in motion.

The Duchess du Grand stealthily creeps her way into Italian horror history.

Where to find it: DVD/Blu-ray | Streaming

Magic mirror on the wall, who is the most terrifying one of all?: The Witch’s Mirror

Now Playing: The Witch's Mirror (El espejo de la bruja; 1962)

Pros: Very spooky atmosphere; Effective visuals and great production value for a low budget film
Cons: The mash-up of old school witchcraft and mad science (which takes over the 2nd half of the film) may not be everyone’s cup of witch’s brew

This post is part of the 3rd Annual Spooky Classic Movies Blogathon, hosted by Kristen at Hoofers and Honeys. If you need any more last minute recommendations for your Halloween viewing, be sure to check out the blogathon entries at Kristen’s place.

In my last post (“In Praise of MMA, Part Two: Masked Mexican Athletes vs. the Monsters”), I wrote about how, in the late 1950s, actor/producer Abel Salazar started a Gothic horror trend in Mexico with his hit, The Vampire (El vampiro, 1957), which may in turn have influenced Hammer to try its luck with the genre.

While Hammer went all in on reinterpreting Universal’s classic monsters after their breakout hits The Curse of Frankenstein (1957) and Horror of Dracula (1958), Salazar kept busy stocking his monster movie-verse with more vampires (The Vampire’s Coffin/El ataúd del vampiro, 1958 and The World of Vampires/El mundo de los vampiros, 1961), a cursed pianist who is turned into a monster after trading his soul for otherworldly musical talent (The Man and the Monster/El hombre y el monstruo, 1959), a 300-year-old warlock who returns as a brain-eating monster (The Brainiac/El barón del terror, 1962), and an ultra-creepy variation of the vengeful, ghostly La Llorna from Mexican folklore (The Curse of the Crying Woman/La maldición de la Llorona, 1963).

To this Mexican monster mix, The Witch’s Mirror (also produced by Salazar) adds an eclectic mix of its own, including a vengeful witch, demons (who are mostly unseen, adding to their eeriness), and a classic mad doctor hell-bent on restoring the ruined looks of his new wife, no matter the cost.

But make no mistake, the witch of The Witch’s Mirror is no garden-variety B movie sorceress. She isn't burned at the stake, and she doesn’t do anything drearily mundane like returning from the dead to inflict horrible retribution on her executioners and their descendents. Rather, she is Sara (Isabela Corona), the seemingly prim and proper housekeeper for the estate of Dr. Eduardo Ramos (Armando Calvo), and godmother to Ramos’ beautiful young wife Elena (Dina de Marco).

Sara looks to a higher, diabolical power to keep things running smoothly at the casa.

Sara takes her godmothering responsibilities very seriously, and at the beginning of the film, she is worried for Elena’s well-being. With Elena in tow, Sara turns to the main witchy tool she has at her disposal -- a magic full-length mirror through which she can communicate with the spirit world.

The mirror reveals that Elena has a rival for her husband’s affections, and that her life is in mortal danger. That evening, Eduardo poisons Elena’s bedtime glass of milk, which the troubled woman dutifully drinks. In another part of the house, Sara begs the spirits to protect her goddaughter, but she is told that nothing can be done, Elena’s fate is sealed.

With Elena conveniently dispatched, Eduardo brazenly brings his new wife Deborah (Rosita Arenas) to the manor, where Sara is playing it diabolically cool, pretending nothing is amiss. Unbeknownst to the happy couple, she is also communicating with Elena’s spirit, promising to avenge her.

As Sara looks grimly on, Eduardo and Deborah find out there’s Hell to pay (although poor Deborah seems blissfully unaware of the crime that elevated her to mistress of the house). The new bride suddenly finds herself playing a piece on the piano that she has never heard before -- to Eduardo’s great discomfort, since it was a favorite of Elena’s.

Deborah and Eduardo react to a special spirit-powered piano that plays itself.

The first half of the film is all high Gothic spookiness full of disturbing, fog-shrouded images in the occult mirror, sepulchral spirit voices (or are they demons?) talking to Sara, statues in deep shadows that seem to move, almost imperceptibly, flowers that unaccountably wilt in seconds, and pianos that play by themselves.

Just at the point where we’re wondering what other tricks the spirits have up their sleeves for the unhappy couple, The Witch’s Mirror takes a hard turn, leaving Spooky Town for the bright, garish lights of Mad Doctor-ville.

The precipitating scene is as shocking as it is surprising. Deborah, seeing Elena’s ghost in the haunted mirror, promptly faints. Eduardo, rushing into the room, also sees Elena in the mirror, and throws the oil lamp he’s carrying at the specter. The lamp smashes the mirror, but then caroms onto Deborah, setting her on fire. All the stunned Eduardo can do is bolt after his wife as she runs screaming from the room, completely ablaze. For her part, Sara impassively watches the grisly scene play out.

Elena practices being spooky in front of the mirror.

A blurb on the back of my CasaNegra Entertainment DVD copy penned by David Wilt of the Mexican Film Bulletin reads:

“Chano Urueta’s The Witch’s Mirror is an exercise in pure cinema, in which countless allusions to previous movies and a virtual catalog of special effects techniques are used to illustrate a delirious tale of witchcraft vs. mad science.”

One obvious allusion is to the French horror film Eyes Without a Face, released a couple of years earlier, which jump-started the Eurohorror trend of guilt-ridden mad surgeons trying to restore the disfigured faces of wives, girlfriends and daughters with the help of unwilling live donors. (1962 was a banner year for the theme, with Jess Franco’s The Awful Dr. Orlof and another Spanish horror film, Face of Terror, joining Witch’s Mirror in the face grafting frenzy. Later entries include Corruption, 1968, with Peter Cushing; The Blood Rose, 1970, from France; and Faceless, 1988, with Jess Franco returning to the theme.)

While Eduardo’s profession is only hinted at in the first part of the movie, in his extreme guilt he goes full blown mad doctor in the latter. An assistant, Gustavo (Carlos Nieto) suddenly shows up, who helps him steal bodies from the town morgue and a funeral parlor for the er, um, raw material that he needs to restore Deborah’s looks. Meanwhile, Deborah, swathed in bandages like a mummy, wanders zombie-like around the mansion, as Sara hovers.

Poor Deborah is caught in middle between her crazy husband and the malevolent housekeeper.

Before it’s all over, a prematurely buried body will be dug up (shades of Edgar Allan Poe!), the police will become involved, Eduardo will attempt to transplant new hands onto Deborah (shades of The Hands of Orlac!), and witchcraft will ultimately frustrate the designs of mad science.

The sudden thematic shift midway through not only contributes to cognitive whiplash, it reinforces the film’s surreal qualities.Viewing The Witch’s Mirror is like sleeping through one nightmare, waking up briefly, then plunging into a new nightmare, while your unconscious mind keeps the same cast of characters for economy’s sake.

The one character that you can rely on, so to speak, is Sara. She seems as old as the manor itself, and her loyalty to her goddaughter Elena is total, even after death. Eduardo is the completely amoral newcomer to the household, willing to do anything (including murdering his wife) to get his way. He is arrogant when things are going his way, superstitious and desperate when they’re not. His “science” is no match for Sara’s occult arts.

Deborah is a pitiful figure. There’s nothing to suggest that she was in on the murder plot -- instead, she appears to be an innocent tragically caught in the mortal struggle between the new world (mad science) and the old (witchcraft). After being horribly burned, Deborah is outfitted with head bandages so thick, they almost look like a paper mache fright mask. She has become a sacrificial lamb and a grotesque reminder of Eduardo’s criminality and hubris. We feel for her, but she never stood a chance.

Rosita Arenas (Deborah), was the daughter of noted Spanish actor Miguel Arenas, who helped her break into the movies. During her lengthy career, she appeared in a lot of varied movies and TV, but of most interest to readers of this blog are the horror films she was cast in starting in the late 1950s, including three Aztec mummy movies (The Aztec Mummy, The Curse of the Aztec Mummy, and The Robot vs. the Aztec Mummy), and The Witch’s Mirror and The Curse of the Crying Woman (1963) in association with Abel Salazar (whom she would eventually marry).

-"Tell me Rosita, how many Aztec Mummy movies did you make?"
-"Well let's see, there was The Aztec Mummy, then Curse of the Aztec Mummy, and then..."

Armando Calvo (Eduardo) was also a second generation Spanish actor who broke into the theater business at a very early age. From the mid-40s through the early ‘60s he worked steadily in the Mexican film industry, primarily in Westerns (although he did appear in The Hell of Frankenstein in 1960). Shortly after The Witch’s Mirror he returned to Spain to work in the theater, but ended up back in Mexico for good in the 1970s. The CasaNegra DVD bio states that he often portrayed characters with “a certain edge” -- as in ruthless, crooked, ethically compromised and obsessive. As Eduardo, he’s all that and more.

The Witch’s Mirror appears to be the only horror film on Isabela Corona’s (Sara) lengthy resume, consisting primarily of romances and costume dramas. At first glance, Corona doesn’t appear to have much to do in the role -- Sara is mostly a hovering, malignant presence. But she makes this singular role her own with subtle facial expressions that reflect vengeful triumph as the lives of Eduardo and Deborah come crashing down.

Perhaps the real stars of the show were the people behind the camera, who, whether it involved the supernatural or crazy mad science, created an exceedingly creepy atmosphere on a very low budget. All the action takes place on one set used many times before by other productions, but so much is going on that you don’t notice (or care about) all the little economies.

By this point in his career, director Chano Ureta knew how to get the most out of limited resources. Rear projection is employed in some of the mirror scenes, but mostly it’s live actors performing within the mirror frame that provide an effective illusion. Sara’s transformations into various creatures of the night -- an owl and a black cat -- consist of simple camera dissolves. A scene in a funeral parlor is accomplished by redressing one of the mansion corridor sets. (CasaNegra DVD commentary by Frank Coleman).

Never fear dear reader, that is not a real severed head on the table.

Jorge Stahl Jr.’s cinematography, emphasizing deep shadows and otherworldly light sources, adds an eerie gloss to the production. Gustavo César Carrión’s music hits the right somber notes without intruding. And the production design and set decoration (by Javier Torres Torija and Dario Cabañas, respectively) lend an air of mystery to the proceedings, especially in scenes where Sara, surrounded by witchy paraphernalia, is communicating with the spirits. The various statues, icons and other obscure, ominous-looking items that dress-up the witch's environs seem to have their own dark tales to tell. 

Finally, mention should be made of the film’s elaborate pre-titles sequence, in which a narrator solemnly intones on the history of witches and their evil doings against the backdrop of a series of surreal, witchcraft-themed drawings by the Spanish painter Francisco Goya (1746-1828). The sequence, which sets a morbid tone for what is to follow, was excised from the dubbed U.S. version of the film.

“To use their diabolical powers, witches resort to special potions, brooms, skeletons of children and animals, every kind of untanned hide, flasks and vessels of every shape, secret powders and dreadful poisons, and an infinite variety of lethal herbs. All this is used by an average witch. But only a superlative witch, endowed with a genuinely profound knowledge of the occult, can make use of a magical object of infinite powers and properties… the mirror!” [from the pre-titles sequence]

Fortunately, those interested in staring into The Witch’s Mirror have access to a diabolical tool: video streaming (not to mention DVD for old school occultists).

Where to find it: Streaming | DVD/Blu-ray  

The Shocking Image 2023 Holiday Gift Guide

I am sorely disappointed that not a single Sharper Image catalog has shown up in my mailbox this holiday season. Back in late 2020 one magically appeared in the mail like a refugee from a time capsule. As I paged through it, images of massage chairs, deluxe nose-hair trimmers and portable DVD players took me back to a more innocent time when people had the inclination and the means to buy crap they didn't need -- crap that would either break within the year or get shoved into a closet and promptly be forgotten.

After a long hiatus, Films From Beyond is once again celebrating eccentric mail order consumerism with another edition of The Shocking Image Holiday Gift Guide for Mad Scientists. While we don’t have the time or space to post the complete guide here, we’ve selected some of the best, most sought-after items for you nostalgic delectation. But never fear, the print catalog is coming soon to an alternate universe near you!

Home Laboratory Distillery

With the price of alcohol skyrocketing, it’s more expensive than ever to spike your holiday punch bowl with 80 proof spirits, leaving little money left over for lab equipment and chemicals. Enter our space-saving and economical home distillery kit, which is designed to complement any kind of lab set-up. You supply the grain and the chemistry expertise, and the kit does the rest. Never be short on holiday spirits again! (Butler not included). 32” L x 20” W x 18” H. (36 lbs.)

Item 1366613. $489.99

Cavern Air Purifier

Caverns and caves are great places to conduct your experiments far from the prying eyes of skeptics and meddling authorities. But the air quality in these enclosed spaces can be seriously compromised, threatening your health and your livelihood. With this advanced, industrial-grade cavern air purifier, you can filter out hundreds of micro pathogens and toxic particles, allowing you to breathe easier as you work tirelessly to overturn the scientific establishment. 24” L x 22” W x 70” H. (86 lbs.)

Item 6661313. $779.99

Maxi-Secure Operating Table

There’s nothing worse than celebrating the successful reanimation of your creature, only to have it wander off and terrorize the local villagers before you’re ready to announce your triumph to the world. Worry no more with the new Maxi-Secure operating table, equipped with the heaviest-duty straps to keep your creation safe and snug as it breathes in its first mouthful of air. The table can be adjusted from 0 to 90 degrees, so that you can make fine adjustments to your creature from any angle. 96” L x 52” W x 38” H. (330 lbs.; Premium shipping rates apply)

Item 1313666. $1044.99

Mr. Guts Anatomy Model

A Shocking Image exclusive! Mad doctors have to start somewhere, but obtaining human guinea pigs can be difficult for even the most experienced experimenters. Before you take a scalpel to your first subject, familiarize yourself with every aspect of the human body, inside and out, with the detailed and anatomically accurate Mr. Guts model. Featuring highly realistic tissues, muscles, internal organs and a working circulatory system, Mr. Guts will help you prepare for that glorious day when you stitch together and reanimate your very first creature. Makes a great educational gift for kids as well! 12” L x 17” W x 38” H. (44 lbs.)

Item 1361366. $695.99

Floating Head Snow Globe

The holidays are almost here, and even hard working scientists tinkering with things better left alone need to take a break once in a while. Indulge your whimsical side with our exclusive Floating Head snow globe. Made of lightweight, unbreakable space-age polymer, this impressive decoration features a shrunken living head floating in a clear nutrient liquid (pat. pending). Shake it up, and tiny snowflakes will dance around as the head comically wheezes and sneezes. Makes a great conversation piece for parties, or a quirky companion for those late night hours in the lab. (Heads may vary in appearance.) 7.4” L x 7.4” W x 10” H. (7 lbs.)

Item 6136136. $128.99