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Vampires have been getting
a lot of attention lately. Sadly, this attention is mostly limited
to what is apparent in the public eye. Even the most devoted vampire
film fanâs knowledge of a certain director can remain unenlightened.
This is due to the fact that there is very little ever written on
the subject in question.
Some years ago, McFarland
Books published a book entitled âHorror Film Directors.â Written by
Dennis Fischer, it includes a main section for the most significant
directors, as well as a smaller one for that author feels are
âlesserâ in their cinematic endeavors. It really drives you crazy
when you respect a directorâs film work in the genre, yet he doesnât
even merit a mention in a book thatâs touted as a definitive text of
its kind. The man in question is Leon Klimovsky.
According to a reference
book on European directors, Klimovsky was born in Buenos-Aires,
Argentina on October 16, 1900 (this would make him around seventy
when he made LA NOCHE DE WALPURGIS in 1970). His directing career
began in 1949, and he would make over forty films before entering
the horror field 21 years after the fact. Though heâs made all sorts
of films within the horror/sci-fi/fantasy terrain, from the
disturbing end of the world thriller PLANET CIEGO (1975) to the run
of the mill slasher/sex item TRAUMA (1978), this article will
celebrate his four intriguing vampire tales.
Like Jean Rollin of France,
Klimovsky specialized in these blood-sucking creatures of the night.
But unlike Rollin, Klimovskyâs works are not art films; theyâre
sex/horror films. The difference is that Rollin uses surreal imagery
to convey his story, the sex and horror are just part of it. With
Klimovsky, itâs just the opposite; his are sex and horror films,
surreal imagery comes to play (in a much different vein than Rollin)
to carry that. Both directorsâ vampire films are like comic books in
different ways. Rollinâs look like imaginative comic art while
Klimovskyâs plots are like the comics; they set out to deliver good
cheap thrills. And thatâs exactly why Rollinâs vampire films are
praised while Klimovskyâs are written off as silly, inept sex films.
This labeling of his work is most certainly
undeserved.
Our friend Paul Naschy must
have thought highly of the man, as Klimovskyâs signature is
displayed prominently during the opening credits of LA NOCHE DE
WALPURGIS (âThe Night of Walpurgis,â AKA THE WEREWOLF VS. THE
VAMPIRE WOMAN, WEREWOLFâS SHADOW) (1970). Klimovsky was brought in
to direct the fourth in the endless Waldemar/werewolf saga, and itâs
arguably the best. Never before have werewolf and vampire women been
merged so effectively in what is one of Spainâs most important
horror films.
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Leon Klimovsky, Pascual
Cebollada and Paul Naschy on the set of LA NOCHE DE
WALPURGIS
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On a dark and lonely night,
a police surgeon and his assistant remove the bullet from dead
Waldemarâs (Paul Naschyâs) chest, bantering about what legend says
could happen. And so it does; the werewolf is again reborn, making
myth fact, and reactivating a beast with an appetite for blood.
Within the first few minutes, three succumb to his bloodlust, the
third being an innocently wandering woman, whom he gnaws at
ferociously, tearing her neck. The beast departs, now in search of
new victims. We see a close-up of juicy red blood flowing slowly
down her breasts. An unsightly blend of blood and saliva dangles
from his knifelike fangs as he departs. The credits abruptly arrive,
and we are made very aware of the fact that this is âA film of Leon
Klimovsky.â
Two young students Genevieve
(MARK OF THE DEVIL barf bag poster girl, Gaby Fuchs) and Elvira
(Barbara Cappell) embark on an outing to search for the remains of
one Countess Waldessa (Paty Shepard), a legendary individual who
drank the blood of young virgins! The girls meet up with Waldemar
who resides in an abandoned old house, not far from the sought after
tomb. He provides the girls with shelter, and shows them were
Waldessa is laid out. They open the tomb to reveal an ancient
skeleton, and as bad luck would have it, Elvira cuts her arm while
extracting the silver cross from the corpse. Blood trickles on
Waldessaâs face, thus reviving her. Genevieve becomes the first
target of the vampire queen. That same night, as she goes to get a
glass of water, an unearthly voice beckons from beyond. She is
routed outside in the forest where the Countess anxiously awaits.
The sweet, innocent looking girl is all too effortlessly lured and
netted. Her cut arm is extended as Waldessa begins to feed, both
parties fully satisfied. She is now content to be one of the undead
as Waldessa embraces her; she is now fully inducted.
Two vampire women are now on
the prowl, as if Waldemar doesnât have enough problems. He falls in
love with Elvira, who is convinced that he must remain chained up at
night. Elviraâs nightmare world is also in full swing. She is left
alone in the house one night while Waldemarâs curse forces his
imprisonment elsewhere. Here, Klimovsky shows his proficiency at
scaring his audience; the helpless girl is visited by the undead
duo, who proceed to cut her throat, allowing blood to flow
generously into a silver chalice. Waldessa and Genevieve take turns
nipping at the cup, which is then tossed freely into the air by the
latter. The noise that the empty thing stirs as it rattles along the
cold concrete floor, consummated by her blatant mouth wiping, and
sigh of quenched thirst, is concluded as the vamps perform a
childlike victory dance. This, as well as all of the vampire
activity is filmed in slow motion (a common practice of Spanish
horror, and highly effective here). This is interpreted as a dream,
as Elvira awakens unharmed.
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Paty Shepard as the Countess
Wandessa (LA NOCHE DE WALPURGIS)
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Her dream was a vision of
things to come as Genevieve visits for real to put the bite on her.
She is saved from the undead world when Waldemar impales Genevieve
on a stake, thus releasing the marks from Elviraâs neck. It all
comes to a close on the dreaded Walpurgis Night. Elvira is chained
helpless in the crypt where Waldessa dwells. She is to be made
sacrifice, as the Countess has plans on summoning the Devil himself.
She almost succeeds; the silhouette of the immense demon
(masterfully suggested as a shadow) greets us. Its visit is quickly
interrupted as the forces of good arrive in the form of the silver
cross-bearing Waldemar. Waldessa flinches at first, but then
welcomes his werewolf transformation, which soon commences. Werewolf
and vampire go at it. She is able to put up a struggle, but he is
all too successful in his efforts to rip open her throat. Once
again, Waldessa is a maggot infested corpse and Waldemar is
destroyed with the silver cross, plunged into his heart by
Elvira.
The film is a triumph on
Klimovskyâs part, even though the various legends are played around
with. This only makes the film more unique in its betrayals of these
renowned monsters. Shepard and Cappell are captivating
creepy/attractive vampires, sporting pale blue faces, extremely long
fangs, and black flowing gowns. The werewolf takes a back seat, but
his scenes are invaluable. Waldemar is also is very important as the
filmâs hero. When heâs not on the rampage as the beast, heâs slaying
vampires, including his own sister. Excellent make-up, sets, and
locations also make this a masterpiece, though most critics donât
see it that way.
After this film, Klimovsky
became a horror specialist in Europe, but he didnât return to
vampires until 1972 when he directed LA SAGA DE LOS DRACULAS (âThe
Saga of the Draculas,â AKA DRACULA: THE BLOODLINE CONTINUES).
Klimovsky delivers what is probably the most unique and original
Dracula film; lavish in every department.
Starting off with a bang,
the film begins with a dream sequence depicting a horrible
human-sized bat creature menacing Berta (Tina Saenz) in Castle
Dracula. She wakes up from the nightmare, only to enter a real one.
She and her husband (Tony Isbert) travel to the castle, as she is a
Dracula, and is pregnant with the family offspring. They are greeted
by the Count (Narcisco Ibanez-Menta), his wife (Helga Line), and two
daughters. Dracula wants Bertaâs child to carry the family name
since his line has been afflicted through inbreeding. This becomes
all too obvious as the familyâs future currently rests on a hideous
boy who looks like a hairy, web-handed, Cyclops.
Berta is driven insane
during her stay; she kills her cheating husband, is left to deliver
the baby herself, and sets out to finish the rest of the family
after she catches on to their secret. With ax in hand, she slays
them while asleep in their coffins, the Count being the last. He
patiently stares at her, but on hearing the false news that the baby
is dead, he makes no struggle and accepts the blow to his neck.
Berta dies from previous wounds; her blood filled body falls on the
baby. Still living, it absorbs the blood dripping onto his mouth.
The Dracula bloodline continues!
The film is crammed with
inventive and engaging elements. Dracula himself (played superbly by
Ibanez-Menta) is a distinguished, gray-bearded aristocrat, not
unlike Ferdy Mayne in THE FEARLESS VAMPIRE KILLERS (1967). For once,
the Draculas are shown as deceptive poseurs; the Count hides the
horribly inbred boy while proudly displaying the attractive members
of his family, the female Draculas are by day assuming the role of
cultured musicians, by night they are hungry for meaningless sex.
Sex is also a main ingredient; breasts are exposed for a number of
reasons, including a highly erotic scene where the two beautiful
daughters seduce a cracked holyman by opening their cloaks to reveal
their nude bodies.
Klimovsky obviously had a
sense of humor, as Draculaâs detached head laughs before the closing
credits, although it remains agreeably serious throughout (how can
it not be with Daniel Whiteâs haunting score, comprised of pieces
from Bach). Humor seemed to be a major part of 1973âs LA ORGIA DE
LOS VAMPIROS (âThe Orgy of the Vampires,â AKA VAMPIREâS NIGHT ORGY),
although it lies in the general tone of the film. Unfortunately,
this effort is far more routine than Klimovskyâs previous vampire
film.
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Detail from a beautiful Italian
locandina of LA ORGIA DE LOS VAMPIROS
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A bus winds up in
a small village, where the passengers stay at an old inn. The food,
drink and service all seems great until strange things begin to
happen. The area is filled with zombie-type persons who begin to
feed on the new guests. The cuisine turns out to be leg of man, and
one hapless woman finds a finger in her plate! Only two manage to
escape from a sexy vampire queen (Helga Line), who appears to be the
leader, and her army of zombie hitmen. They bring the police back to
the scene, but all has mysteriously disappeared, all but the now
totaled bus that they drove in with.
When I say the film is
humorous, Iâm talking about black humor; an enormous woodsmen chops
off somebodyâs arm when itâs time to dine the guests, the hero (Jack
Taylor) is openly accepted as a peeping tom, and Lineâs seduction of
the pretty boy is accompanied by a pop tune containing moans and
groans on the soundtrack.
Klimovsky here gives us a
minor endeavor, not the classics that his two previous vampire films
were. Stagy shocks and silly antics replace eroticism (when one
character unknowingly eats human meat and says, âIâve never tasted
anything like it,â another knowingly replies, âIf itâs one thing Iâm
sure of, itâs thatâ).
1975 brought Klimovskyâs
last vampire endeavor; EL EXTRANO AMOR DE LOS VAMPIROS (âThe Strange
Love of the Vampires,â AKA THE NIGHT OF THE WALKING DEAD). Another
bizarre effort on Klimovskyâs part, this film is atmospheric and
romantic, yet it is still quite campy, though nearly every shot is
striking.
Catherine (Emma Cohen) is
mysteriously lead to a castle by a suave vampire aristocrat (Carlos
Ballesteros). They quickly fall in love, but they are surrounded by
trouble. Her headstrong father is intent on destroying the vampire
king and his empire. Many victims are abducted by the vampires until
they are finally forced to return to remaining dormant within the
walls of the castle. Catherine dies of a fatal illness, and the
vampire lover commits suicide by waiting for the
sunset.
Klimovskyâs farewell to
vampires is a laudable nod to the genre. The whole thing works like
a fairy tale and a tribute at the same time. The absurd army of
vampires, who prance around like lunatics, as well as the sex
scenes, whose sole purpose is to arouse the viewer, besets the
thoughtful romance. Klimovsky has no trouble with throwing
everything but the kitchen sink into this kind of film, and bare
breasts are no exception.
The vampire king is shown to
be the hero; in a flashback he is seen as a victim of vampirism, and
his main objective in the film is to find true love. The vampiresâ
victims are colorless beings, shown only to be interested in sex
(Catherineâs cheating former boyfriend is fodder for the vampiresâ
celebration). The conclusion is especially eerie; as the townsfolk
dig up graves, hammering small stakes into the foreheads of the
sleeping undead, the sunset and a hoard of thirsty monsters greet
them.
Klimovskyâs vampire romps
are fun, to say the least, and fun is the key word. They are well
crafted, stylish, and never resemble a âquickie,â as some have
accused his films of being. If you love vampire films, he is
certainly not to be ignored, and hopefully you
wonât. |
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