Saturday, 21 July 2018

Introducing the Maestro of the Macabre, USA style: An overview of Mario Bava’s AIP distributed films

For most Chelle's Inferno readers, it is likely that Mario Bava needs no introduction. An
extraordinarily gifted director, screenwriter, cinematographer and special effects craftsman,
Bava pioneered the giallo genre and was also instrumental in launching the modern slasher
film. His inventive, darkly atmospheric, visually sumptuous works have influenced countless
filmmakers from Tim Burton to Joe Dante to Quentin Tarantino. North American directors
who have acknowledged Bava often first discovered the Italian master’s unique brand of
cinema thanks to American International Pictures. AIP, who quickly recognised Bava’s
talent, were the first distribution company to release his movies to English-speaking
audiences. Although Bava critics often deride the AIP versions of his works – which were
dubbed, re-edited, re-scored and mature content toned down for their younger patrons - the
AIP cuts always retained that distinct ‘Bava’ look and feel that left an undeniable impression.
AIP also deserves credit for granting Bava the opportunity to be recognised outside of Italy
and on an international scope – his films were soon being released in the UK, Western
Europe and Scandinavia, Asia and Australia, inspiring and igniting the creative fires of
cinephiles from all sides of the globe

In the wake of the remarkable success of the English dubbed release of Le fatiche di
Ercole (Hercules, 1958) and its sequel Ercole e la regina di Lidia (Hercules Unchained,
1959) – to date they are both the highest grossing features in the history of the Italian film
industry – American International Pictures founders Samuel Z. Arkoff and James H.
Nicholson headed to Rome in search of inexpensive, marketable product to distribute in the
U.S. One of the titles they screened was La maschera del demonio (1960), a gripping,
visually arresting opus which was also notably only the third horror release from Italy to date, due to Mussolini’s ban on their production – a prohibition which was not revoked until the mid-1950s. Sensing they were onto a winner, Arkoff and Nicholson purchased the U.S. rights for $100,000 – considerably more than the film’s entire budget.

La maschera del demonio begins with the execution of Asa (Barbara Steele), a 17th

century princess accused of witchcraft. A gold mask with sharp spikes is hammered into her
face. 200 years later Asa’s mask is accidently removed, resurrecting the evil witch who seeks revenge on the descendents of those who put her to death, as well as attempt to possess the body of Katia, a beautiful lookalike relative (also played by Barbara Steele). Upon acquiring La maschera del demonio, AIP got to work reconstructing the movie to make it more suitable for American audiences. Three minutes of graphic violence was truncated, including an eyeball puncturing via a sharp stick, the burning and branding of human flesh and blood gushing from the mask which is driven into Steele’s face. All dialogue was redubbed into English – even that of non-Italian speakers Barbara Steele and John Richardson – and in some cases softened, such as this line: "You, too, can find the joy and happiness of Hades!" AIP changed it to "You, too, can find the joy and happiness of hating!" Roberto Nicolosi’s subtly atmospheric music soundtrack was also replaced by a considerably more melodramatic score by Les Baxter. Finally, a catchy title had to be thought up – after several alternatives including Witchcraft, The House of Fright, The Curse, Vengeance and Demoniaque were considered, Black Sunday was the decided on choice.



Released on a double bill with Roger Corman’s The Little Shop of Horrors (1960) in
North America during February 1961, Black Sunday proved to be box office gold for AIP,
outperforming its original premiere in Italy and raking in record profits for the distributor.
Black Sunday also elevated the formerly little-known Barbara Steele to cult stardom,
and subsequent leading roles in a string of genre movies led to her becoming a beloved icon of horror cinema. Most critical reviews of Black Sunday were positive; the stunning medieval Gothic sets Bava achieved on a shoestring budget were praised as well as for the most part, the (at the time) strong content of the film  - even in its diluted state, Black Sunday was considered audacious. Elated with the enthusiastic response to Bava’s masterpiece, AIP soon got in touch with the Italian director again to negotiate the U.S. release of what is generally considered to be the first giallo feature, La ragazza che sapeve troppo (The Evil Eye, 1963).

Soon after completing Gli invasori (Erik the Conqueror, 1961), Bava suffered a nervous
breakdown. He took a six month break, during which he seriously considered retiring from
directing and only working on special effects on films from thereon. However, Bava was
convinced – albeit reluctantly - to return to the director’s chair, by Arkoff and Nicholson,
who had begun co-producing Italian features for release in the United States. Bava was still in the recovery process from his illness and didn’t feel entirely ready to return to work, only
doing so for financial reasons.  La ragazza che sapeve troppo, a mystery involving a young
tourist (Leticia Roman) witnessing a brutal murder while on vacation in Rome, and is then
targeted by the killer herself when she reports the crime to the police. At the time, Italian
horror and thriller movies were generally adult-oriented, containing more violence, sexual
and mature themes and a much darker atmosphere than their American counterparts, which
catered to a youth audience. As AIP’s target viewers were young adults, they decided to
lighten the tone of the film for the American cut by requesting Bava film some comedic
scenes which were included in that version. They also eliminated all references to marijuana
(erasing a key plot point in the process) and modified the ending. AIP also found the original
movie title (The Girl Who Know Too Much) too imitative of Alfred Hitchcock – even though
the film itself was a parody of Hitchcock’s thrillers – retitling it The Evil Eye. Les Baxter was
called in to replace Roberto Nicolosi’s too ‘European’ sounding jazz soundtrack, providing a
more standard composition (cheerful music during the humorous moments, bombastic
‘shock’ cues to signal tense scenes, etc). In either version, Bava always considered La
ragazza che sapeve troppo – a brilliant forerunner of the entire giallo genre - to be one of his worst pictures, perhaps also due to unpleasant memories of the breakdown. His next feature and collaboration with AIP, I tre volti della paura (Black Sabbath, 1963), was in contrast always one of his personal favourites of his own works.
I tre volti della paura comprises of a trio of horror stories introduced by Boris Karloff. In
‘The Telephone’, an unstable prostitute (Michele Mercier) is stalked and terrorised by an
escaped prisoner (Milo Quesada) determined to wreak vengeance on her in relation to a past event. ‘The Wurdalak’ involves a family patriarch (Boris Karloff) transformed into a vampire and inflicted by a curse which drives him to kill only his loved ones, specifically his blood and extended relatives. ‘The Drop of Water’ is the tale of a nurse (Jacqueline Pierreux) who unwisely steals a valuable ring from a recently deceased medium when preparing her corpse. The enraged spirit of the medium is determined to retrieve her ring and embarks on a campaign of fear against the nurse. 

I tre volti della paura was filmed during an eight week period in early 1963. Bava was
able to secure Karloff to the production as he was under contract with AIP. The pair got along very well – Karloff later stated that his time working on I tre volti della paura was some of the most fun he’d ever had on a film set. AIP set about making their own tamer cut for U.S. moviegoers, renaming it Black Sabbath to link it to Bava’s previous Black Sunday. AIP
deleted all sexual references in ‘The Telephone’ segment and replaced these themes with a
supernatural angle. The order of the stories was switched around and Karloff’s introductions
altered via addition material shot by Bava to lighten the intensity of the film. Scenes of
violence were also muted by darkening offending frames or optically enlarging them to crop
out said gory moments. Therefore, the colour scheme of Italian print is much brighter and
vibrant in comparison. Roberto Nicolosi’s classy soundtrack was once again replaced with a
decidedly inferior and bland Les Baxter score. AIP released Black Sabbath in the States in
May 1964 on a double bill with The Evil Eye.


Next up Bava decided to try his hand at science fiction, directing his first and only title of
that genre, Terrore nello spazio (Planet of the Vampires, 1965). Two spaceships land on the
planet Aura. Unbeknown to both crews, a disembodied alien race resides on Aura. Wanting
to escape their derelict world, the aliens seek to possess the bodies of the human visitors.
Planet of the Vampires, as Terrore nello spazio was retitled by AIP, was paired with Die,
Monster, Die! (Monster of Terror, 1965) for its U.S. screenings. Planet of the Vampires
received the least modifications out of all of the AIP distributed Bava features. Two minutes
were trimmed from the original Italian cut, predominately of actors exploring the mist
enshrouded planet and some minimal character exposition. Bava’s sole sci-fi project has
received much critical praise for its innovate storyline and striking visual design. Critics have
also frequently noted the similarities between Planet of the Vampires and Ridley Scott’s
Alien (1979), however Scott and Alien’s screenwriter Dan O’Bannon both claim to have
never seen Bava’s picture.


Le spie vengono dal semifreddo (Dr. Goldfoot and the Girl Bombs, 1966), Bava’s final
feature to be distributed by AIP, was unfortunately an unmitigated disaster. Producer Fulvio
Luscome of Italian International Pictures was planning a sequel to the successful comedy
spoof Due Mafiosi contro Goldginger (The Amazing Doctor G, 1965), starring popular Italian
comedy duo Franco Franchi and Ciccio Ingrassia. Upon consulting with co-financers Samuel Z. Arkoff and James Nicholson, it was agreed upon that the original Italian version would be filmed as the planned Franchi and Ingrassia vehicle; whilst the English dub would star Vincent Price and be converted to a follow up to the Price hit Dr. Goldfoot and the Bikini
Machine (1965). The U.S. cut involves a scheming mad scientist, Dr. Goldfoot (Vincent
Price) planning world domination via his creation of an army of sexy female robots that
explode when embraced. Goldfoot programs his lethal robots to seduce generals of NATO
countries. Since Bava was contracted to both AIP and Lucisano for one more movie, it was
decided this would be it. However, the project was not Bava’s cup of tea and he tried to back out of the project, especially upon learning he would not be permitted to have any input on the finalised American cut. Bava had no choice in the matter though due to being
contractually obligated. An unenthusiastic Bava proceeded with the Italian version, which
was subsequently re-written during the dubbing process, as well as dramatically re-edited, to place emphasis on Price’s Dr. Goldfoot character. The ever dependable Les Baxter was hired for re-scoring duties, replacing Lallo Gori’s jazz soundtrack. Both interpretations are lame, rambling satires of Dr. No (1962) and Goldfinger (1964), with neither version drawing
crowds in upon their theatrical releases in late 1965. Generally viewed as Bava’s worst film,
even its star Vincent Price considered Dr. Goldfoot and the Girl Bombs "...the most dreadful
movie I've ever been in. Just about everything that could go wrong, did.”


Despite the unfortunate experience of Le spie vengono dal semifreddo, Mario Bava was
looked upon with great esteem by AIP, who actually asked Bava to continue on with the
company - on the condition that he relocate to the USA. However he preferred to stay in
Italy, despite being offered a sizable paycheck. Producer and distributor Lawrence Woolner
also invited Bava to work exclusively for Allied Artists after his AIP contract expired – again
he did not want to leave his homeland. Bava turned down such further offers, including
$100,000 from Dino De Laurentiis to complete the special effects for the 1976 remake of
King Kong. Although Bava would have undoubtedly received both much more prominence
and prosperity had he decided to move to the U.S., the man himself was notoriously private,
rarely granting interviews and only leaving Rome when necessary. Preferring to work with
smaller budgets and crews, it is likely that the much larger, mega-budgeted sets of Hollywood would have been overwhelming and daunting for the introverted, reclusive Bava. Keeping in mind the director’s tendency to both underplay and undermine his own work when questioned about it in interviews and reluctance to self-promote, AIP deserve due recognition and merit for being the first distribution company outside of Italy to recognise Bava’s phenomenal talent, broadening his audience to North America, then subsequently the world.  
    

Sunday, 1 April 2018

A look at Creepy Kids in Cinema: Who Can Kill a Child?



Narciso Ibanez Serrador’s 1976 masterpiece Who Can Kill a Child?  begins with a montage of documentary footage depicting the devastating impact of war on children. The endless numbers of innocent young casualties of the Vietnam, Korean, Indo-Pakistani and Nigerian wars, as well as those who perished in concentration camps during the Third Reich. This incredibly grim introduction then cuts to the story of an English couple, Tom (Lewis Fiander) and Evelyn (Prunella Ransome), who are planning to take a relaxing holiday on the remote, isolated Spanish island of Almanzora. They arrive at their destination, only to find it almost completely deserted. They can only find children who rarely speak and acting in a weird, unsettling manner wherever they go. Tom later stumbles across a giggling girl beating a defenceless old man to death with his own walking stick. The couple discover that the entire island’s young people have been possessed by some unknown force which has transformed them into ruthless homicidal maniacs – they’ve brutally murdered just about the entire adult population. Realising that they will soon be the next victims, Tom and Evelyn try to escape. But they have to make a terrible decision. In order to leave the island, they will eventually have no choice but to kill at least some of the children in self defense. This poses a moral dilemma with the couple. After all, as the film’s title states, “Who can kill a child?”

Who Can Kill a Child? is undoubtedly one of the most original entries in the creepy/evil/possessed kids subgenre. It is based on the 1976 novel The Children's Game by Juan Jose Plans, considered a cult literary classic in Spain. Notably, Stephen King’s short story Children of the Corn, which has some notable similarities to Who Can Kill a Child?, was released the following year. In King’s story, the children of the isolated town ritually murdering all of the adults, as well the evil entity possessing the children and enticing them to kill said adults brings to mind the events of Serrador’s film.


Thanks to the outstanding performances from all involved, as well as particularly stunning cinematography from Jose Luis Alcaine and Waldo de los Rios’ powerfully emotive music score, Who Can Kill a Child? emanates an almost overwhelming atmosphere of dread, tension and malevolence. Not to mention the sheer disturbing power and creepiness of the casual savagery of the children’s acts.




Some of the most frightening films in cinematic history are those where a normal situation in a typically safe, non-threatening environment (such as the couple in Who Can Kill a Child? holidaying on a beautiful sun-drenched Spanish island), suddenly turns very uncanny, alien and dangerous. Add to that the children, who are typically meant to be harmless and innocent, being transformed into evil, sadistic and merciless killers. They’re also highly intelligent and manipulative – the polar opposite of the ‘sweet, naive’ child. In The Exorcist, the security of the family home is shattered by the demonic possession of a pre-teenage girl; in the original Village of the Damned a group of glowing-eyed evil kids who unleash their powers onto the hapless residents of a serene English village; The Bad Seed has a happily married couple’s picket fence life shattered by the seemingly ‘perfect’ angelic looking 8 year old girl being an accomplished liar, thief and murderer. These are films which take ordinary circumstances, where we all feel at ease and then flip them into something unrecognisable, that leaves us confused, disorientated and vulnerable to the ‘unknown’. All these movies beautifully demonstrate the desperation that people would have to go through if unexpectedly something we take for granted becomes our worst nightmare.  


Another common thread found in ‘creepy kids’ films is that often all the craziness starts to happen after a party or some sort of celebration. For example we have the house party in The Exorcist, the birthday party in Bloody Birthday, Damien Thorn’s birthday in The Omen, the school carnival in The Bad Seed, and so on. This also occurs in Who Can Kill a Child?, as before Tom and Evelyn travel to Almanzora, they attend a traditional street carnival held on the mainland. They observe some children hitting a piñata – later on at Almanzora – the possessed kids are seen hanging up the corpse of the old man who’d been beaten to death and pummelling his body with his own walking stick, just like with a piñata, as well as a sickle, in a grotesque parody of the earlier festival scene.


Who Can Kill a Child? is an intelligent entry in the Evil Child subgenre which skilfully presents the universally ‘taboo’ subject of the killing of children.  One of the most interesting and controversial points Who Can Kill a Child? makes is this: Why is it that as a society, we’ve tolerated the deaths of countless young people in wars and famines – they are justified as ‘collateral damage’, but when it comes to to taking the life of an individual child in self defence, most of us would suddenly get a conscience?  



Yet more cut and paste recycled poster art fun - CRUCIBLE OF HORROR and THE NEANDERTHAL MAN

The Australian daybill poster for Viktors Ritelis' brilliant Crucible of Horror (1971) features a hilariously jarring anachronism courtesy of the who-cares-just-slap-up-anything-that-even-looks-0.99999999%-connected-to-the-theme-of-the-title brigade. Not only does the artwork of the two women featured on the poster of actresses who don't appear in the film at all, it's also glaringly obvious that it was poached from something at least from two decades previously. Keith Crocker helped solved this mystery for me - he recalled that the image of the women originally featured on the poster for The Neanderthal Man (1953). The mind boggles...