blind dead

THE FLICKS: As the DVD format digs ever deeper into the burial grounds of the horror genre, there are fewer true “classics” left to be unearthed by pioneering producers. Many fans have made a case for Amando de Ossorio’s Blind Dead series (or at least the first entry) to be enshrined on home video and, for the faithful; Blue Underground’s Blind Dead Collection will likely surpass their wildest hopes. While those unfamiliar with the particular pleasures of 70’s Spanish horror (which includes contemporaries Paul Naschy and Jesus Franco) might want gather a few opinions about this extravagantly packaged box-set, which contains four films, one documentary and a 40-page booklet full of beautiful poster art. Released once before on a now out-of-print Anchor Bay double feature DVD (which included the first two films in the series), The Blind Dead are certainly an acquired taste. While one comes to expect and sometimes inexplicably embrace the flaws inherent in the low-budget Euro-horror, Ossorio’s mummified creations (explained in the film as ex-communicated Templar Knights whose eyes were pecked out by crows...or burned by torches, depending which film you’re watching) are so stiff and skeletally posed it requires nearly monumental suspension of disbelief to allow oneself to be frightened. Yet, particularly in Tombs of the Blind Dead – the first and best – Ossorio stumbles upon an atmosphere of nihilistic dread. The plot of every film is almost identical (victims stumble into the Templar’s castle, get their shoe caught on a flight of steps and get eaten), but so is the pervasive sense of doom emanating from the screen – or home theater, as the case may be. So it is with many second or third tier “classics” of the horror genre, the film’s psychological impact is almost inexplicable (although half the credit should go to the eerily effective score). Tombs showcases the potential that fans clung to for the rest of the rather sub-par series, which becomes progressively less interesting until the surprisingly mature finale, Night of the Seagulls. Lifting his look from the work of Mario Bava, Ossorio splashes the frame with neon reds and blues, enhanced by clever camera angles and memorably macabre images (a frog hopping through a pool of blood, an false eye inserted behind a dummy’s head). The characters, though likeable enough and moderately well acted, are mannequins posed for death in a variety of sadistic ways, added and subtracted from the story in almost arbitrary fashion. But the film, often as slow-moving as its zombified central characters, draws the viewer in to its alternate dimension, relishing the long dialogue-free exploration of the Templar’s dusty abode or their slow-motion cavalry charge through the Portuguese countryside. Tombs also adds a vampiric element the other films choose to ignore, featuring a victim’s supernatural resurrection at the local morgue. Ossorio certainly got it right the first time. And the challenge was on to best himself in the quickie sequel, Return of the Evil Dead. Following the rule of sequels, Return features more of everything, but still manages to come up short of the original. The plot (which must have been an inspiration for John Carpenter’s The Fog) has the Templars returning to the town of Berzano to avenge their deaths at the hand of the villager’s ancestors. The extra characters required extra zombies, which could have been a good thing as Tombs kept the Templars under wraps for much of its running time. But the film lacks any real suspense, trapping its main players in a besieged house and waiting for them to self-destruct. The all-out zombie warfare has its moments but only real chills come at the Birds­-like ending where survivors creep through a courtyard full of zombie blood drinkers inexplicably frozen stiff. One could almost lose all hope for the series after sitting through The Ghost Galleon. While Ossorio admirably changes the venue to a 16th century schooner shrouded in mist, the miniscule budgets finally catch up to him, with the film’s conclusion featuring the worst model work in the history of cinema (and, yes, that includes Ed Wood’s epic productions). Following a publicity stunt gone awry, five mismatched and generally unlikable characters hunt down the Templar’s spectral ship and suffer the consequences. Swirling with fog and coated in cobwebs, the shipbound sets aren’t half bad. And the Templar’s nightly resurrection sequence is scored with a symphony of creaks and groans that set the just the right mood. But Ossorio ignores too much of what made the series unique. Released in the U.S. as Horror of the Zombies, for the first time the knights truly could be just another hokey movie monster, so downplayed is their unique mythology. Luckily, the series wraps up in fine fashion with Night of the Seagulls, the cryptically titled finale that gathers its inspiration from the works of H.P. Lovecraft and any one of a host of Hammer’s mid-60’s horror flicks. The Templars are back on dry land and requiring the local seaside village to sacrifice seven virgins on seven consecutive nights every seven years (how they deal with leap year is anyone’s guess!). The local doctor and his wife stumble onto this grisly tradition and try to protect their virginal housemaid who is next on the list. Other than the poor day-for-night photography, Seagulls is a quality production all the way, indicative of a level of professionalism Ossorio rarely had the opportunity to display. The naïve evil of the local townsfolk overshadows the more overt physical presence of the Templars (something many fans find annoying), but allows the series to evolve in a much more interesting manner. A fifth outing for the knights was rumored to be in the works, but Seagulls ends things almost perfectly and with a touch of class. THE FEATURES: Speaking of class, Blue Underground always goes out of their way to make even the most despicably offensive movies genuinely collectible in one way or another. And it starts here with the coffin shaped box, which holds five keep-case discs plus the aforementioned booklet. There aren’t many extras on the individual films; instead the fifth-disc, labeled Amando de Ossorio – Director, contains the bulk of the bonus material. Tombs sports a trailer, still gallery and outrageous alternate opening tacked on by U.S. distributors hoping to cash in on the Planet of the Apes phenomenon. Return also features a trailer and still gallery. The Ghost Galleon adds a few TV and radio spots for the US cut retitled Horror of the Zombies. While Seagulls returns to the standard trailer / still gallery combo. Each film has been transferred from Hi-Def masters with a generally pleasing degree of success. And two of them (Tombs and Return) feature both their uncut Spanish-language prints along with the more common US cuts. They all look pretty incredible, but the soundtracks do vary (there’s an unusually annoying buzz throughout the Spanish mono track for Return). The fifth disc (which also includes a DVD-ROM article on the series) gives Ossorio, who passed away in 2001, a chance to speak his mind about the films that made him famous. The Last Templar looks to be a made-for-Spanish-TV special about the director, featuring comments from his biographers, friends, contemporaries and Ossorio himself. Beginning with his first film (an experimental treatise on the death penalty which was banned by the government) and continuing into his early horror entries, the documentary shines a very candid light on the deplorable conditions under which the director often worked. Producers initially requested the Templars be changed to a more recognizable monster like Frankenstein or the Wolf Man and mandated that Ossorio add frequent erotic elements to the finished productions. Unearthing the Blind Dead provides 11 more rare minutes of one-on-one conversation. In his comments, the director’s frustration with the creative process is clearly evident. “They’re not how I dreamt them,” Ossorio apologizes. Luckily, legions of Blind Dead fans don’t seem to care.