Skip to content

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 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…

Plot: griefstricken nobleman is forced to confront his family’s dark past.

There’s a reason why Necrophagus (released in North America rather cynically as either Graveyard Of Horror and alternatively The Butcher Of Binbrook to profit from the then-emergent giallo cycle and the gothic horror revival, respectively) is considered nothing but a long forgotten footnote in the annals of Spanish horror. Even by 1962 the Mediterranean and Latin American gothic was more risqué and sexier than this. It’s a feeble and futile attempt to do a period piece horror in the vein of Hammer for an Iberian audience – and Necrophagus obviously failed gloriously. With half the Spanish cast hiding behind pseudonyms, the usual washed up American expatriates collecting a paycheck and a director with more enthusiasm than talent you know exactly what you’re in for. It’s never a complete disaster like The Witches Moutain (1973) two years later and while it didn’t outright kill Madrid’s career it certainly didn’t help either. For all intents and purposes, Necrophagus is a beautiful trainwreck that could, and should, have been so much more than we ended up getting.

In the grand scheme of things Miguel Madrid Ortega is a largely overlooked director with a minuscule body of work that is largely inaccessible, obscure and forgotten. Ortega started out as an actor in the Jesús Franco production The Sadistic Baron von Klaus (1962) and a number of comedies and dramas before turning to directing. Unlike the oeuvres from Paul Naschy, Léon Klimovsky, Amando de Ossorio, Miguel Iglesias, Javier Aguirre, Juan Piquer Simón, and Jesús Franco his prime trio of features are mostly remembered for the wrong reasons. There’s Killing Of the Dolls (1975), a minor giallo that garnered some infamy with the tragical killing of its 29-year-old doll Inma DeSantis in an unfortunate car accident in the Sahara Desert in Morocco and the drama Bacanal en Directo (1979). His delightfully demented debut effort Necrophagus arrived just in time to profit from the gothic horror revival. Madrid was neither a hack like Raúl Artigot nor a talent taken before his time the way Claudio Guerín was.

After a business trip abroad aristocrat Lord Michael Sharrington (Bill Curran) returns to the old family seat in Scotland. There he learns that his wife Elizabeth (Inés Morales, as Senny Green) has expired in childbirth and that his brother and lord of the manor Robert (J.R. Clarke), the Earl of Binbrook and “the greatest scientist in the world”, has mysteriously disappeared. His brother has left Binbrook Castle to his wife Lady Anne (Catherine Ellison, as Catharine Ellison), her niece Margaret (Beatriz Elorrieta, as Beatriz Lacy) and his former assistant Dr. Lexter (Frank Braña, as Frank Brana). Living near are Elizabeth’s mother Barbara (María Paz Madrid, as Yocasta Grey) and Michael’s sisters-in-law Lilith (Titania Clement) and Pamela (María Luisa Extremeño, as Marisa Shiero). When Michael, shellshocked from the loss of both his wife and their unborn child, is met with hostility and obstinate silence whenever inquiring after his late wife. His sisters-in-law vy for his affections, berate one another for trying to sabotage Michael’s marriage and as such are constantly at each other’s throat. With the female members of the household shrouding themselves in secrecy and with no answers forthcoming, Michael decides to do some investigating of his own. The only person in town willing to talk is geriatric physician Dr. Kinberg (Antonio Jiménez Escribano).

As a man of science the only logical thing for Sharrington to do is disinterring his wife. There he comes to the shocking conclusion that not only her coffin, but all of the coffins in the cemetery, are vacant. The graveyard is haunted by cloaked, masked figures that pry open caskets. He finds out that his brother was on the verge of an important scientific breakthrough in his research into “the origin of man”. His latest experiment, one he performed on himself, dealt with “the transmutation of human cells” and left him with a craving for human flesh. Lady Anne and Lexter are aware of Robert’s carnivorous appetites and satiate his cravings by providing him with cadavers exhumed from the burial ground, or fresh bodies from Lexter’s deceased patients. Since that time the town does not speak of its hidden horror, The Butcher Of Binbrook, who they keep from preying on the living by feeding him their dead. To avoid suspicion Lady Anne and Lexter have ensnared caretaker Mr. Fowles (Víctor Israel) and Inspector Harrison (John Clark) in their graverobbing scheme. Lady Anne is broke and in a deviant sexual liaison with Lexter, and the two won’t let anything or anyone – living, dead or undead - get in the way in their quest for self-enrichment.

The screenplay by Madrid, under his usual alias Michael Skaife, is needlessly convoluted for what otherwise is a fairly straightforward Frankenstein variation. A non-linear narrative – full of sepia-toned flashbacks and dream sequences – isn’t what you’d typically expect of a gothic horror piece, and it needlessly complicates what ought to be a standard genre exercise. What it lacks in finer writing it overcompensates with that thick, decaying Mediterranean atmosphere of mildew, cobwebs and candlelabras. It desperately wants to make viewers believe it is British and a Hammer Horror movie but nothing could be further from the truth. Curiously, it’s also practically bereft of the two things that Mediterranean gothic horror usually thrives upon, namely nudity and blood/gore. Nudity, when and if it appears, is implied rather than shown, and the gore is absolutely minimal. The cinematography isn’t exactly riveting but at least director of photography Alfonso Nieva makes good usage of the San Martín de Valdeiglesias and Pelayos de la Presa monasteries in Madrid and the graven snow-covered landscapes look absolutely chilling. The ominous score from Alfonso Santisteban is fittingly brooding but hardly exemplary. Marisa Shiero, Titania Clement, and Beatriz Elorrieta hold their own well enough, but aren’t exactly on the level as Rosanna Yanni, María Elena Arpón, Betsabé Ruiz, or Rita Calderoni. Neither is María Paz Madrid a leading lady on remotely the same level as Eurocult pillars Lone Fleming, Luciana Paluzzi, Silvia Tortosa, Diana Lorys, Adriana Ambesi, or Perla Cristal. Necrophagus makes the most from its creaky production values, but the dire lack of funds are rather obvious.

Granted, everything here is decidedly second-rate. None of the lead cast were known stars or bankable names, with only supporting actors Frank Braña, Antonio Jiménez Escribano, and Víctor Israel lending any marquee value. In fact Necrophagus was such concentrated effort of awful that it single-handedly ended more careers in front of the camera than it ushered in. It was powerful enough to kill the careers of María Paz Madrid, Marisa Shiero, Titania Clement, Catherine Ellison, John Clark, and leading man Bill Curran. Many of whom did little, if anything, of interest afterwards. Of the supporting cast only Inés Morales, Víctor Israel, and Frank Braña were able to escape its shadow unscathed and had long careers afterwards.

In the 1960s Frank Braña had parts in Sergio Leone’s western epics A Fistful Of Dollars (1964), For A Few Dollars More (1965), and The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly (1966) before turning up a decade later in cinematic cannonfodder and exploitation pulp as Alfonso Brescia’s budget – and talent deprived Battle Of the Amazons (1973), Miguel Iglesias’ jungle genre-hybrid Kilma, Queen of the Amazons (1976), the feminist barbarian epic Hundra (1983) (with Laurene Landon), and the three Juan Piquer Simón features Supersonic Man (1979), Pieces (1982), and Slugs (1988). Beatriz Elorrieta continued to act until 1986 before becoming a costume designer and working almost exclusively for her husband Javier Elorrieta. Víctor Israel was a macaroni western pillar with a storied career spanning four decades and several exploitation subgenres. As such he can be seen in Horror Express (1972) (with Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing), The Witches Mountain (1973), The Wicked Caresses Of Satan (1975) (with Silvia Solar), The Werewolf and the Yeti (1975) (with Paul Naschy, Verónica Miriel, and Silvia Solar) and Hell Of the Living Dead (1980).

Everybody has to start somewhere and Necrophagus was but the second horror feature for special effects craftsman Antonio Molina, who had worked on Paul Naschy's Universal Monster-science fiction extravaganza Assignment Terror (1969) (with Michael Rennie and Karin Dor) and a host of spaghetti westerns and macaroni combat efforts earlier. Molina’s later credits include classic and not-so-classic Spanish horror ventures as The Wolfman vs the Vampire Woman (1971), Horror Rises From the Tomb (1973) and Jess Franco’s Eurociné jungle cheapie Devil Hunter (1980). In the following decade Molina worked himself into the mainstream with Pedro Almodóvar’s Live Flesh (1997) and All About My Mother (1999).

Necrophagus has the look and feel of a Filipino production, or of a lesser Paul Naschy feature, and information on the existence of a more explicit international cut is scarce to non-existent. It’s entirely within the realm of possibility that the production couldn’t afford to shoot additional footage for an international market release. Unbelievably, Miguel Madrid won the prize for best director at the 1971 Festival of the Cine de Terror at Sitges, Catalonia for Necrophagus. That Madrid would only direct Killing Of the Dolls (1975) and Bacanal en Directo (1979) in the aftermath proved that he had more enthusiasm than talent and that him winning the best director award at Sitges was premature at best.