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Plot: photojournalist and writer explore Cantabrian mountains and find witches.

The Witches Mountain (released back at home as El monte de la Brujas, for once released on the foreign market under its native title and not unnecessarily saddled with half a dozen alternative titles) is a wonderfully overlooked curio that perhaps deserves a bit more love than it usually tends to get. As a minor entry in the continental European witchcraft canon at the dawn of the wicked and wild seventies it’s ostensibly described as either boring or uneventful. While not entirely untrue it’s exactly that reservation and moderation that makes it so strangely compelling and hypnotizing in its minimalism. Mired by problems and legal complications during and after production The Witches Mountain didn’t make much, or any kind, of a splash. It immediately and unceremoniously sank to obscurity. While not a classic or mandatory fantaterror by any stretch of the imagination The Witches Mountain is a chilling little shocker if you approach it with measured expectations and are prepared to meet it halfway.

The men behind The Witches Mountain are Raúl Artigot and José Truchado. In the pantheon of legendary Iberian horror directors Raúl Artigot is a forgotten footnote. He wasn’t a one-hit wonder the way Claudio Guerín was with his A Bell From Hell (1973) before his premature death (or suicide, as some sources allege) forever enshrined him a cult legend. Neither was he a Miguel Madrid Ortega who helmed a few features before fading into irrelevance and never to be spoken of. No, Artigot (whether deserved or not) was and remained a complete nobody not really remembered at all. Artigot was a cinematographer who started in 1964 and in that capacity worked with Eloy de la Iglesia, Francisco Lara Polop, Germán Lorente, Javier Aguirre, and Mariano Ozores. Unfortunately their talent for shooting great looking movies on small budgets didn’t rub off on him. Producer José Truchado had experience in front of the camera as an actor and behind it as a writer and sometime director. It seems only natural that eventually the two of them would want to write and produce their own feature. When production company Azor Films (a subsidiary of Paramount with funding primarily coming from France) offered them the chance to produce their own horror. They took to shooting in and around Artigot’s native Asturias in northwestern Spain and wrote a screenplay incorporating the then-popular Eurocult subjects of diabolism and witchcraft that were popular at the drive-ins and grindhouses with titles as The Werewolf Versus the Vampire Woman (1971), Blood Sabbath (1972), and Erotic Witchcraft (1972) as well as of Asturias most famous landmarks. While ambitious and timely in its own way, there were troubles ahead for The Witches Mountain.

Allegedly two actresses (their identities were never revealed) filed a complaint for a night shoot which required nudity. The claim was debunked but the production was heavily fined and on the basis of said complaint was denied a domestic theatrical release. The exact year of release is murky and subject of some speculation but most contemporary sources agree on 1972. What is known is that The Witches Mountain never had an official premiere - either domestic or abroad - except at the Sitges Catalonian International Film Festival in 1973 where it would have been in the good company of Harry Kümmel’s Malpertuis (1971) and Václav Vorlícek’s The Girl On the Broomstick (1972) as well as Ivan Reitman’s Cannibal Girls (1973), and Juan Luis Buñuel’s Expulsion Of the Devil (1973) had it actually made the selection that year. Alas, that didn’t happen because of the blacklist (and its resultant nonexistent domestic release, theatrical or otherwise) and it received but a special mention from the jury. In North America it was picked up by Avco Embassy Pictures which had a hit with Mike Nichols' Carnal Knowledge (1971) but was in steady decline on every other front. It has been given sporadic screenings by Filmoteca Española. After The Witches Mountain Artigot would work as a director of photography on Jess Franco's The Demons (1973) and The Erotic Rites of Frankenstein (1973), Amando de Ossorio's third Blind Dead installment The Ghost Galleon (1974) as well as the giallo Perversión (1974) and The Pyama Girl Case (1977). Truchado would later contribute to the screenplay of Hundra (1983). Assistant director Andrés Vich would go on to work with León Klimovsky on The Dracula Saga (1973) and The Vampires Night Orgy (1973). Suffice to say, not everyone grows up to be Paul Naschy, Amando de Ossorio, or León Klimovsky.

After a particularly difficult breakup with his longtime girlfriend Carla (Mónica Randall) photojournalist Mario (Cihangir Gaffari, as John Caffari) calls up his employer demanding his vacation days be revoked and he be given an, or really any, assignment. He’s given the order to photograph the mysterious famed The Witches Mountain in the Cantabrian Mountains in Asturias in the north of Spain. He takes a stroll around Ribadesella coast (most likely Playa de la Atalaya) where from a hillside he spots Delia (Patty Shepard) sunbathing (topless, of course). He strikes up conversation learning that Delia is a freelance writer and on a whim he invites her on his planned excursion. Delia has to pick up a few things from her house Mario hears sinister choral chants. Delia shrugs it off and says he must be imagining things. As the shades of night descend they take up lodging in an ancient, dilapidated inn run by a semi-deaf, half mad local (Víctor Israel) who spouts ominous cryptic warnings about folklore of a coven of witches having taken up residence and warns them to stay far from the cursed mountain. The two push on regardless and the next day they’re making their way up to the next town. Mario’s car is suddenly stolen and the two are stranded.

In a decaying and mostly abandoned village where they are mystified to find Mario’s car as well as the complete absence of any inhabitants. They are taken in by elderly Zanta (Ana Farra) who dresses in all black and is even more superstitious than the mad innkeeper they met earlier. Mario goes on a photo-shooting excursion and becomes lost in the woods. That night he spots what he believes to be a procession (or witches sabbath) as Delia succumbs to the hysterics of local superstition, peninsular folklore and mythology. Mario is an adherent of the empirical method and believes there’s a rational explanation for all the strange occurences they’ve been experiencing. Not that that helps Delia any as she grows more anxious as their journey progresses. Only one blonde villager (Soledad Silveyra) seems to be remotely within their age bracket. As the night grows darker Zanta reveals her true intentions of initiating Delia into their cult as she’s a spitting image of the head witch they venerate. In a hitherto undiscovered obscure corner of the dwelling Mario finds a bunch of dusty arcane grimoires, brooms, candles, a voodoo doll only to be mercilessly stalked by an aggressively meowing black cat that materialized out of the darkness. He’s startled even more when said black cat transforms into a comely blonde (Inés Morales) that aggressively attacks him. Realizing that all he has experienced is not a figment of his fevered imagination he’s mortified when he learns that the high priestess of the coven is none other than his Carla…

The ensemble cast has both experienced veterans and the hottest starlets of the day. The biggest names here are probably Mónica Randall, Patty Shepard, and Víctor Israel. Multiple award-winning and nominated actress Randall was a pillar in macaroni western, Eurocrime and Eurospy and in the early 1970s had commenced her entrance into and eventual ascension on Spanish television. Randall could be seen in My Dear Killer (1972), The Devil's Cross (1975), and Inquisition (1977). She twice won the Prize of the National Syndicate of Spectacle (once in 1968 and then again in 1978) and was given the TP de Oro and Fotogramas de Plata for the work in television and in more recent years was given lifetime achievement awards. Shepard was an American expat and one of continental Europe’s many Barbara Steele wannabes. She primarily worked in Spain and can be seen in Assignment Terror (1969), The Werewolf Versus the Vampire Woman (1971), My Dear Killer (1972), The Killer Is One of Thirteen (1973), Crypt Of the Living Dead (1973), and the Bud Spencer-Terence Hill actioner Watch Out, We’re Mad (1974).

In much smaller roles are Inés Morales and Soledad Silveyra. Morales was in Feast For the Devil (1971), Curse of the Vampire (1972), The Return Of Walpurgis (1973), and Blue Eyes of the Broken Doll (1974). Why cast someone as beautiful as Inés Morales in a role so inconsequential and then don’t do anything with her? She plays a bit part usually reserved for Loreta Tovar, María Kosty, or Carmen Yazalde. Beggars can’t be choosers so don’t expect any actual big names like Bárbara Rey, Dyanik Zurakowska, Cristina Suriani, or Anulka Dziubinska. Silveyra was an Argentinian import that remains popular and active to this day. Cihangir Gaffari was in Jess Franco’s The Demons (1973), The Curse of Frankenstein (1973), and Amando de Ossorio’s The Ghost Galleon (1974). Luis Barboo was in The Case of the Scorpion's Tail (1971), Female Vampire (1973), The Loreley's Grasp (1973), Return of the Blind Dead (1973), Night Of the Assassins (1974), The Pyjama Girl Case (1977), Supersonic Man (1979), The Return Of the Wolfman (1980), and Conan the Barbarian (1982). The most recognizable easily is character actor Víctor Israel, he of Horror Express (1972), The Werewolf and the Yeti (1975), The Wicked Caresses of Satan (1976), and Hell Of the Living Dead (1980). Inés Morales and Víctor Israel both were in Necrophagus (1971). The average moviegoer might recognize Israel as the Confederate sergeant from Sergio Leone’s The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (1966).

First and foremost The Witches Mountain contains some of the most gruelling and jarring hard cuts, not to mention that it regularly feels like two movies stitched together. Take, for instance, the pre-credit opening gambit that has Mónica Randall chasing Conchita Linares around an opulent mansion. Upon first glance you could easily mistake this for a continental European Village of the Damned (1960) imitation. It’s eerily prescient of the The Exorcist (1973) imitations that soon would flood the market. To make matters worse it’s immediately followed by Mónica Randall and Cihangir Gaffari discussing their amourous incompatability in a scene of social dysfunction that would be right at home in a giallo murder mystery. Apropos of nothing, both scenes will never be referred to (or referenced) again. Patty Shepard and Gaffari are the most unlikely on-screen couple this side of Sherry Buchanan and Franco Garofalo in Mario Gariazzo's Eyes Behind the Stars (1978), Laura Trotter and Hugo Stiglitz in Nightmare City (1980), or Antonella Interlenghi and Giovanni Lombardo Radice in City Of the Living Dead (1980).

No matter how hard and loud the English dubbing tries or no matter how many times Shepard takes her top off, there’s just no chemistry. During the second act Shepard wears a yellow suit, something Evelyne Kraft would do also in in Lady Dracula (1977) some five years later. While none of the four writers come up with any explanation for the witches’ motivations at least they have the decency to have their leads act not as clueless and complete morons. At various points the screenplay lifts plot elements from The Mask Of Satan (1960), Night Of the Damned (1971) and to a lesser degree The Wicker Man (1973). The eye-bleeding color and the reddest of blood so innate to Spanish horror are notably absent and the entire thing looks sort of earthen and brownish. Alfonso Brescia’s The Battle Of the Amazons (1973) suffered much of the same. Unfortunately there’s no Paola Tedesco to soften the blow. Fernando Garcia Morcillo’s score is simultaneously unobtrusive and completely overwrought as it alternates between atonal choral chants and laidback chanson.

The stars of The Witches Mountain are not so much Mónica Randall, Cihangir Gaffari, or Patty Shepard but the Ribadesella coast (most likely Playa de la Atalaya), the Cantabrian mountain range, the La Hermida gorge (El desfiladero de La Hermida) named after the Cantabrian municipality of Peñarrubia that it crosses, the Deva river as well as The Picos de Europa, the province of Covadonga and its two Lagos or lakes, Lake Enol and Lake Ercina. Whether the cave seen here is the actual Cuadonga (or "Cave of Our Lady") is anybody’s guess. Whereas Giorgio Ferroni used the sprawling natural environment to utmost effect in The Night Of the Devils (1972) here the enormous panoramic views of the Cantabrian mountains and wider Asturias aren’t properly captured nor fully exploited. Ramón Sempere and Fernando Espiga photograph them good enough but there was definitely more here. Judging by the jarring cuts and hard scene transitions The Witches Mountain feels as if it was subject to some extensive cutting by the censors/distributors. This implicitly suggests the existence of some vaunted nudity-heavy foreign market version, although there never have been any reports explicitly stating of one such cut even existing. When the movie got its creepy poster art (worthy of an 1980s South American extreme metal band or an early American or European death metal band) is anybody’s guess. Whatever the case, The Witches Mountain deserves more love than it’s currently getting.

Being remembered for something is better than not being remembered at all. When it fires on all its cylinders The Witches Mountain can actually be pretty suspenseful when it wants to be. Unfortunately a lot of the time it’s just kind of meandering and never really sure how far it wants to push some of its more identifiable elements. Take, for instance, the thematically similar Sukkubus (1989). It did more with less and had the good fortune of a feral and permanently undressed Pamela Prati. The Witches Mountain wants to be occult but never pushes its pagan aspect the way The Wicker Man (1973) so brilliantly did. Neither does it for that matter commit to the witchcraft so central to the plot. It borrows from The Night Of the Devils (1972) but never quite gets there. What a waste to have Mónica Randall, Patty Shepard, Soledad Silveyra, and Inés Morales at your disposal and not do anything worthwhile with them. Night Of the Damned (1971) only had Patrizia Viotti and somehow was much sexier. There’s even an argument to be made that Satan's Slave (1976) (with Candace Glendenning) told pretty much a similar story and did it much, much better. If it wasn’t the case already The Witches Mountain is one of those little cult curios begging for a grand high-definition 4/8K restoration. If anyone’s up for the task, here’s your chance…

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Plot: mysterious femme fatale plots to take over the world. Debonair playboy intervenes.

Leave it to the Italians to produce a spoof of a spoof. Argoman, the Fantastic Superman spoofs the Superargo movies with Giovanni Cianfriglia, themselves sendups of the more popular Eurospy exercises of the day. In Italy it was released as Come rubare la corona d'Inghilterra (or How to Steal the Crown of England) and there it was subject of a nifty promotion campaign that passed it off as a traditional Eurospy adventure romp while promotion at a later date focused on the superhero and fantastical aspect. Argoman takes a lot after the peplum Revolt Of the Praetorians (1964) and the spaghetti western The Colt Is My Law (1965), both from master hack Alfonso Brescia, wherein a debonair character doubles as a masked avenger. There was a time and place for Argoman, the Fantastic Superman and that was in the late sixties. It is the sort of production that has to seen to be believed. It’s exactly as crazy as it looks – and it never makes any qualms about what it is. Fun is first and only objective that Argoman, the Fantastic Superman sets for itself and it succeeds with flying colors even when it falters in other aspects. At heart Argoman, the Fantastic Superman is a children’s movie but one clearly meant for more grown-up, adolescent audience. This is pure male wish fulfillment.

Like many of his contemporaries director Sergio Grieco was a journeyman who dabbled in every popular genre under the sun. Be it adventure, swashbuckler and sword and sandal epics to Eurospy and poliziottesco. In the mid-sixties Grieco directed a string of Eurospy romps with Agent 077 Mission Bloody Mary (1965), Agent 077 Operation Istanbul (1965) and Password: Kill Agent Gordon (1966). These led him directly into Argoman, the Fantastic Superman, a semi-comedic curiosity that crossed the Eurospy with the fumetti. In the 1970s Grieco would direct The Sinful Nuns of Saint Valentine (1974) and write the screenplay for action specialist Enzo G. Castellari’s World War II epic The Inglorious Bastards (1978), famously remade by Quentin Tarantino in 2009 with a slightly altered title. Before there was Supersonic Man (1979), before Infra Man (1975) – there was Argoman, the Fantastic Superman (just Argoman hereafter).

The fumetti were Italian comic books for adult audiences and are generally considered the precursor to today’s graphic novels. In the late sixties and early seventies they served as the basis for a number of masked superhero productions. The fumetti craze led to memorable productions as Kriminal (1966), Barbarella (1968) with Jane Fonda, Diabolik (1968), Satanik (1968) and Sadistik (1968) (originally named Killing in Italy, but popularly known under its French name). Another prime example of the fumetti was the The Three Supermen (1967-1970) franchise. Argoman had the good fortune to capitalize on both the fumetti and the Eurospy craze in the wake of the early Bond movies with Sean Connery becoming a worldwide phenomenon. That it was released the same year as The Million Eyes Of Sumuru (1967) and pushed a similar message of women’s liberation and feminist empowerment is just another happy coincidence. That it is certifiably insane by any metric you choose to employ helps in no small part too.

When the Royal Crown of England is stolen in broad daylight from the Tower of London inspector Lawrence (Nino Dal Fabbro, as Richard Peters) from Scotland Yard is left to investigate a case he can’t possibly crack. He calls upon suave English playboy Sir Reginald Hoover (Roger Browne), a gentleman-criminal of considerable repute who lives in a opulent French villa on a remote island, to help locate a prime suspect in the case. In his palatial abode Hoover senses the presence of Regina Sullivan (Dominique Boschero) and guides her to her coastal bachelor pad through telekinesis. Hoover challenges Sullivan to target shooting contest. If she wins she’ll get a brand new Rolls-Royce and a box of precious stones. If he wins, he’ll get her for the remainder of the day. After consummating his relationship with Sullivan, Hoover confides in his turbaned butler Chandra (Eduardo Fajardo, as Edoardo Fajardo) that he loses his ESP abilities for 6 hours after each sexual encounter. Meanwhile the real thief of the Royal Crown, criminal mastermind Jenabell declares herself ‘the Queen of the World’ (Barbarella wouldn’t claim the title of Queen Of the Galaxy until a year later) and her henchmen led by her trusty enforcer Kurt (Mimmo Palmara, as Dick Palmer) returns the Crown of St. Edward to its rightful owner with the promise of a demonstration of her real power.

Said power comes from a prized diamond ("Muradoff A IV" is its technical designation) and with the diamond, through the sun’s energy, Jenabell and her legion of automatons (a slave race of humanoid robots) is able to dissolve steel and thus the French currency is under threat of devaluation. The second part of her scheme involves robbing the Bank of France with an army of her leatherclad henchmen in tow and littering the streets of Paris with francs and banknotes as a distraction. The crime leaves inspector Martini (Edoardo Toniolo, as Edward Douglas) puzzled. Hoover uses his glamorous girlfriend Samantha (Nadia Marlowa) to distract Jenabell’s forces and changes into Argoman as he takes on her goons. Argoman possesses sonar, telekinetic and magnetic powers of unknown origin that make him practically invincible – and his only known weakness seems to be beautiful women. Argoman allows himself to be abducted to Jenabell’s fabulous art-deco subterranean lair. Jenabell gives him the choice to either be her consort or her slave. After briefly being distracted by Jenabell’s constant costume changes (the attire includes a black widow, a snake bikini, a queen from outer space and a tinfoil fright wig) Argoman decides to save Samantha, who as per third act convention has been kidnapped, from the advances of a behemoth metallic robot and safeguard the world from Jenabell’s dominion of terror. The Queen of the World seeks to replace all men of power with identical clones doing her bidding. Fighting off goons and clones alike Argoman is able to stop Jenabell from escaping by destroying her plane.

To its credit at least Argoman realizes how silly it is. The costume alone makes Juan Piquer Simón’s Supersonic Man (1979) look as a paragon of good taste and restraint in comparison. The Argoman costume consists of a yellow body stocking, black mask with a red psychedelic spiral on it, a red cape with red velvet lining and flashlight visor eyes. In other words, Argoman looks suspiciously like a candy-colored, psychotronic version of Gort from the Robert Wise science-fiction classic The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951). True to his European standards Argoman is the designated nominal hero of the piece but that doesn’t stop him from killing without scruples, compulsively talking his way into bedding whatever woman strikes his fancy and/or stealing riches from whichever evildoers he’s been fighting. Argoman is often on the right side of the law but, true to anti-hero tradition, he isn’t afraid to bend or break the law if it involves personal gratification or - enrichment. Where Argoman’s sonar, telekinetic and magnetic powers come from is never explained nor why he loses said abilities after doing the horizontal mambo with any of the many women. Argoman was prescient where the commedia sexy all’italiana was headed was by having Nadia Marlowa stroll down a street in nothing but lingerie, stockings and boots. Almost ten years later Gloria Guida could be seen cavorting around in nearly identical attire in the so-so The Landlord (1976). The retro-future production design inspired by The Giant Of Metropolis (1961) is just icing on a cake already brimming with wall-to-wall insanity. As a bonus it lifts a pivotal plotpoint wholesale from the brilliant The Million Eyes Of Sumuru (1967).

The star of Argoman is Roger Browne, an American actor that lived in Rome from 1960 to 1980. Browne was a fixture in peplum and later seamlessly transitioned into the Eurospy genre. Like any working actor Browne appeared in many different productions, among them, Vulcan, Son Of Jupiter (1962) (with Bella Cortez), Samoa, Queen of the Jungle (1968) (with the delectable duo of Edwige Fenech and Femi Benussi), Emanuelle in America (1977), and Alfonso Brescia’s The War of the Robots (1978). Dominique Boschero is best described as a lesser Eurocult queen and Nadia Marlowa was a relative nobody. Boschero has credits dating back to 1956 and include such illustrious titles as Secret Agent Fireball (1965), the gialli The Iguana with the Tongue of Fire (1971) from Riccardo Freda and All the Colors of the Dark (1972) (with Edwige Fenech), as well as the Laura Antonelli drama Venial Sin (1974). Mimmo Palmara was a peplum regular that appeared in Hercules (1958), Hercules Unchained (1959), The Trojan Horse (1961) and later in a supporting part in the Gloria Guida comedy That Malicious Age (1975). Eduardo Fajardo was a monument in Spanish cinema even at this point making his appearances in drek as Umberto Lenzi’s pandemic shocker Nightmare City (1980) and in the original Spanish version of Eurociné’s nigh on incoherent shambler Oasis of the Zombies (1982) all the more lamentable.

It seems almost unfathomable that Argoman didn’t in some major way have an impact on director Juan Piquer Simón’s gaudy pastel-colored vistas for Supersonic Man (1979) and the candy-colored excesses that were part and parcel in Luigi Cozzi's amiable StarCrash (1979), Hercules (1983) and The Adventures Of Hercules (1985). It’s the best kind of kitsch. It’s pure camp. Argoman never takes itself seriously (neither should you) and it pushes all the right buttons as a spoof of the Eurospy and superhero genre . Sometimes it’s able to overcome its limitations, budgetary and otherwise, and sometimes not. It goes by the old adage that anything goes as long as there are pretty girls to look at. Dominique Boschero is godly as Jenabell in her crazy costumes and Nadia Marlowa has one scene forever seared onto the retina of cult fans everywhere. Eduardo Fajardo provides the prerequisite comedic note whereas Roger Browne is as wooden as ever. Whatever the case Argoman, the Fantastic Superman is a 60s curiosity that works best as a pastiche of the two genres it pays homage to. It has no reason to work but it somehow does. Argoman is one part Batman (1966-1968) with Adam West and prescient of where Buck Rogers in the 25th Century (1979-1981) would take science-fiction in the following decade all while pushing camp to whole new levels and remaining strangely enjoyable through out. Too bad it was produced amidst the fumetti craze and remains somewhat of a forgotten gem.