Killer B's on DVD: Elvira's Movie Macabre, Part 2

Although I didn't plan it this way, these last three episodes of Elvira's Movie Macabre from Shout Factory DVD (see part 1 for the first three) represent early 70s exploitation versions of the three biggest Universal movie monsters: Dracula, Frankenstein and the werewolf. Also, interestingly enough, two of these flicks feature the late Michael Dunn, a dwarf actor, probably most memorable for his performance as Alexander in the "Plato's' Stepchildren" episode of the original Star Trek, and as a recurring villain on TV's Wild Wild West.

Frankenstein's Castle of Freaks (1974)
The Elvira sequences on this disk are of poorer video quality than the rest of the series, with a vertical line pattern present throughout the episode. The film itself is quite sharp, except for minor speckling that gets pretty bad at reel changes. The movie is full to the brim with "WTF" moments, which make this a fascinating and fun train wreck of a film. Shot in Italy, but set in a nameless 19th century European country, the film introduces us to Count Frankenstein who, as Elvira points out, has been a Baron in nearly every other Frankenstein film, so why is he now a Count? For no good reason that I can discern, there are several Neanderthal men living in the countryside surrounding Castle Frankenstein. One of these cavemen is beaten to death by angry villagers (and it's just not a Frankenstein movie without angry villagers, God bless 'em), making him a prime candidate for Frankenstein-ian shenanigans.

The count revives the missing link, names him Goliath and keeps him strapped to a table for most of the movie. Michael Dunn plays Genz, one of Count Frankenstein's creepier assistants, whose voyeuristic tendencies are matched only by his interest in (gack!) necrophilia. Genz is thrown out of the castle when his distinctive footprint at the site of a grave robbery places suspicion on Frankenstein, so he makes friends with yet another caveman (this one cleverly named Ook) living nearby in hopes that his new buddy can help him with his plans for revenge. Meanwhile, the Count's daughter Maria arrives for a visit with her fiancé Eric and her friend Krista, with the three of them providing the bulk of the film's gratuitous nudity. Despite all the silliness, the film is rarely dull, and assuming you're not shopping for a classic, should satisfy anyone's need for 70s Euro-horror.

Italian horror fans will recognize several familiar faces. Gordon Mitchell, star of Atlas in the Land of the Cyclops, plays the healthiest Igor in Frankenstein movie history, sporting no hunch or deformity of any kind. Hans is played by Luciano Pigozzi (billed here as Alan Collins), a veteran character actor who appeared in Mario Bava's Baron Blood and Blood and Black Lace. Salvatore Baccaro who plays Ook, inexplicably listed in the credits as Boris Lugosi, played yet another caveman in the classic Italian Sci-Fi schlocker Starcrash.

The Werewolf of Washington (1973)
Picture, if you will, 1941's The Wolf Man remade as a political satire for the Watergate era. I know, it makes my head hurt too. Dean Stockwell (most recently seen on Battlestar Galactica) plays Jack Whittier, a Washington reporter who is having an affair with the President's daughter. In order to discreetly end the relationship, Whittier asks that his paper transfer him to their office in Budapest. While in Hungary, Whittier is bitten by a werewolf in a sequence that often seems like a shot-for-shot swipe from The Wolf Man, right down to the silver-headed cane used to beat the creature to death. Whittier returns to Washington and accepts a job as aid to the President of the United States, and soon a rash of werewolf slayings plague the nation's capital, with the White House assigning blame to whoever is politically convenient.

The werewolf makeup might have been creepier if it had been shown in shadow, but this isn't so much a horror film as it is a send up of Watergate era politics. The film doesn't promote any political agenda of its own other than thumbing its nose at authority with all the sophistication of a Mad magazine spoof. Several intriguing plot points are introduced then ignored, like Whittier's Hungarian girlfriend Giselle, and Dr. Kiss, played by the aforementioned Michael Dunn, who appears to be building a Frankenstein monster in the sub-basement of The Pentagon. Whittier is convinced at one point that his being bitten is part of some sort of conspiracy against him, but the idea is quickly discarded. There is a running joke in which The Pentagon and the pentagram are confused (it was funny the first time). The print quality is on the murky side, but with the film's main focus being badly dated political humor, it's hard to care what it looks like.

Count Dracula's Great Love (1972)
Spanish writer, director and actor Jacinto Molina -- billed here under his usual stage name of Paul Naschy -- stars as a rather burly Count Dracula. Molina is best known for his many performances as the tragic werewolf Waldemar Daninsky which he played in films like Frankenstein's Bloody Terror, The Werewolf Vs. The Vampire Woman and Night of the Howling Beast, among many others.

Four young women and a young man are stranded in Transylvania after their coach loses a wheel and their driver is killed. Because of the late hour they seek refuge at a nearby sanitarium run by a Dr. Marlow who, as luck would have it, is really Count Dracula. The Count is friendly enough at first, and invites the stranded travelers to stay for a few days. After a talky first half the film picks up steam when a vampirized delivery driver from the pre-credits sequence starts wandering the halls of the sanitarium (seemingly without Dracula's knowledge) and putting the bite on our heroes. Dracula is attempting to revive his daughter, but his plan is complicated when he falls in love with young Karen and decides he will let her choose whether or not to join him as a vampire.

While The Devil's Wedding Night is the only film in this series presented in letterbox format, Count Dracula's Great Love represents the worst pan and scan job of the series. During what is supposed to be Dracula's grand entrance, Molina is completely cropped from the left side of the frame, leaving only the candelabra he carries visible, and countless other compositions are compromised in this way. The image is too dark and the dubbing is laughable. There are, however, some great scenes of vampire women in flowing gowns stalking the fog-machined halls of the sanitarium, as well as a fair amount of gore and eroticism, if you can stay awake through the early parts of the film. This isn't the best of Molina's films, but it has its moments and is worth a look.