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“Dr Jekyll and the Werewolf” * (1972, Mondo Macabro) Paul Naschy returns as the mournful Waldemar Daninsky,”who once again seeks a cure for his lycanthropy. The latest attempt comes courtesy of the grandson (Jack Taylor) of Dr. Jekyll, who proposes a sort of supernatural methadone in the family formula, which will turn Daninsky into Mr. Hyde to fight off (one guesses) his werewolf urges. But a jealous lab assistant (Mirta Miller) upends the process, resulting in Daninsky changing helplessly from human to Hyde to werewolf. One of the most enjoyable entries in Naschy’s long-running “Hombre Lobo” film series, “Jekyll” is an affectionate nod to Universal’s WWII-era monster meet-ups, in which plot took a backseat to as much on-screen time to the monsters as possible; a few forays into grindhouse material (Hyde abusing Shirley Corrigan) are detractions/distractions, but these are balanced by some clever and outrageous moments from writer Naschy and director Leon Klimovsky, including Naschy walking the streets of London ’71 in full Hyde makeup and Daninsky cycling through all three of his personas in an English disco. Mondo Macabro’s region-free Blu-ray presents both the original Spanish version of the film (with English subs) and a reconstruction of a more graphic cut exported to other territories; commentary by the NaschyCast crew is typically informative and entertaining,. as are a host of new and vintage interviews with the late Naschy, Taylor, and Naschy’s son, Sergio, and tributes to Taylor and Kilmovsky.
“The Mummy and the Curse of the Jackals” * (1969, Severin Films) Amateur archaeologist (maybe) Anthony Eisley stores a pair of Egyptian mummies – one a remarkably preserved princess (Marlizia Pons) and the other, the potbellied and bandaged corpse of her lover (Saul Goldsmith) – in a dingy basement in suburban Las Vegas. Noting that the sarcophagi are marked with dire warnings about a curse, Eisley locks himself in with the bodies, falls asleep, and transforms, werewolf-style, into a jackal-man (which resembles a ratty Fruit Brute) that wanders aimlessly through Vegas, committing the occasional murder. The princess eventually revives as well, and quickly commits to a relationship with the hopelessly square Eisley; this does not sit well with the mummy, who also returns to life and stumbles down Fremont Street before the pair go through the motions of a fight. Hard-to-believe micro-budgeted horror film, long considered lost save for a VHS release until Severin found the negative at producer Ewing “Lucky” Brown’s estate sale, was directed by Western movie vet Oliver Drake (who also wrote/co-produced “The Mummy’s Curse” in 1944, speaking of Universal), but strongly resembles a film project by children. There’s nominal plot dominated by reams of expository dialogue delivered by Adults Talking Like Adults, which is soon cast aside by the real focus: endless footage of the monsters, who wander aimlessly, acting “scary” but actually achieving nothing, until a hasty non-ending summed up by another Adult – here, tweedy Egyptologist John Carradine, who knows a lot about ancient mold. A trial for most viewers, this is manna from heaven for badfilm fans, who will savor each awkwardly framed shot and the remarkable sight of the Mummy and the Jackal lurching down Fremont, pushing through crowds unaware that a film is being made and reacting, quite understandably, with laughter and disbelief. It should be noted that if kids did make “Mummy,” they had an amazing collection of instrumental rock to use as a score, which Michael Weldon rightly noted as sounding like the Ventures recording the score for “The Munsters.” Severin’s Blu-ray includes an interview with historian Stephen Thrower, who details the history of the film’s production company, Vega International, which had a habit of announcing and not completing films (and not paying cast and crew), as well as a bemused chat with Gary Gassel, whose parents invested in “Mummy” and an overview of Drake’s career by C. Courtney Joyner. Severin also includes “Angelica, The Young Vixen,” a saucy Vega production directed (maybe) by Drake, with commentary by Severin’s Joe Furtado and Vinegar Syndrome’s Joe Rubin.
“Back from the Dead” (1957, Kino Lorber) Straight-laced newlywed Peggie Castle emerges from a seizure possessed by the spirt of husband Arthur Franz’s venomous first wife, whose apparent return is of particular interest to Satanist Otto Reichow and his cult in Carmel (played by Laguna Beach). Supernatural thriller produced for Regal Films (20th Century Fox’s low-budget wing) is plotted to within an inch of its life but struggles to maintain both sense and interest in all of the loose threads. There are a few surprising/shocking moments – Castle’s possession causing a miscarriage, the (off-screen) murder of a dog, vague black magic rituals – but scripter Catherine Turney (adapting her own novel) and director Charles Marquis Warren seem more comfortable with the film’s sudsier elements than the horror material (an attitude reflected at the time by Hollywood itself, which turned its back on the genre throughout the 1950s). Period horror completists will want Kino’s HD Blu-ray, which lends polish to Ernest Haller’s photography, because of the title’s scarcity on home video and for two fact-filled commentary tracks by Tom Weaver with Larry Blamire and David Dell Valle with Dana M. Reeves.
“Necrophagus” (1971, Severin Films) Businessman Bill Curran returns to his family’s Old Dark House, expecting to find his wife and newborn child, only to discover that both are dead and his brother (John Clark) is AWOL. A small army of relatives and hangers-on further obfuscate matters (sisters-in-law carry a torch for Curran, creepy medico Frank Brana lusts after the sisters-in-law), so he takes to the family plot, which is raided regularly by grave robbers; they, in turn, reveal the fates of both wife and brother, of which the title and your closest dictionary will explain. Baffling Spanish horror film from Michael Miguel/Michael Skaife, who directed the equally disorienting “Killer of Dolls”; like that film, “Necrophagus” willfully shrugs off the surly bonds of narrative in favor of a steady stream of Gothic atmosphere – hence the film’s inclusion in Severin’s “Danza Macabra Vol. 3” set, which focuses on Spanish horror – though the flavor is distinctly Hammer-esque, albeit without roots in any particular time period (19th century clothes, 20th century tech). Given the film’s Naught Shall Be Explained manifesto, the final reveal is both absurd and satisfying, and involves a monster that is at once ridiculous and entirely appropriate to the proceedings (the cover art does not do it justice). Severin’s Blu-ray offers a 4K scan and English/Spanish language options, as well as as entertaining commentary by podcaster Andy Marshall-Roberts and two featurettes about Spain’s Sitges Festival, where “Necrophagus” won top honors in ’71. Two trailers featuring the film’s alternate titles – “The Butcher of Binbrook” and “Graveyard of Horror” – are also included.
