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Plot: workaholic ad executive dies for the job… and comes to regret it.

Argentine vampire horror has come a long way. In the Golden Age of exploitation Latin – and South American gothics took primarily after Universal Horror and Hammer Films, respectively. Reflective of our more enlightened times Dead Man Tells His Own Tale (released domestically as El Muerto Cuenta su Historia) is a horror comedy that at points is a zombie, ghost, vampire, Satanic cult, and post-apocalyptic flick. It bounces into several different directions at once yet manages to stay surprisingly coherent – even if it comes at the price of never truly developing anything that it presents to any substantial degree. More importantly, Dead Man Tells His Own Tale pushes an outspoken feminist agenda that couldn’t feel more relevant considering women’s rights still regularly get trampled on in Argentina. Dead Man Tells His Own Tale may not have the subtlety of The Love Witch (2016) or be as on-point as Shaun Of the Dead (2004), Fabián Forte is onto something – even if he’s not the Argentine Álex de la Iglesia.

This is what you get when you combine The Day Of the Beast (1995), a hetero-normative take on Vampyros Lesbos (1971), a zombie subplot out of Idle Hands (1999), spice it up with a dash of Liar Liar (1997), a bit of What Women Want (2000) and sprinkle it with the feminist theory and women’s lib angle from The Love Witch (2016). Suffice to say Dead Man Tells His Own Tale fuses together influences and inspirations that have no sensible reason to go together but somehow do anyway. It’s leagues better in terms of writing and direction than Bolivian sex comedy My Cousin the Sexologist (2016) while having that same made-for-TV look. For no apparent reason other than to look cool Dead Man Tells His Own Tale starts in medias res, is told out of chronological order, and switches viewpoint characters around during the third act. It has no reason to work but somehow it does anyway. Dead Man Tells His Own Tale is chuckle-inducing at points and some of the gore scenes are surprisingly well-realized. As the complete antithesis to Emilio Vieyra's legendary Blood Of the Virgins (1967) (with Susana Beltrán and Gloria Prat) these vampires are of the mind rather than of the sanguine persuasion.

Ángel Barrios (Diego Gentile) is a workaholic ad executive in Buenos Aires. He’s shallow, self-centered, and chauvenist and sexist to a fault. He has a loving wife in Lucila (Mariana Anghileri, as Moro Anghileri) but he ignores her whenever convenient and at this point his relationship with her is purely transactional. On top of that, he’s estranged from his precocious daughter Antonella (Fiorela Duranda). Lucila and him have been going to relation therapy with doctor Ana (Viviana Saccone) but Ángel’s not interested in improving himself and blames Lucila for their problems instead. Ángel’s best friend is his work associate Eduardo (Damián Dreizik) who still lives with his elderly mother Cristina (Pipi Onetto). One day Ángel and Eduardo are ordered to helm a commercial for a perfume brand. During the shoot Ángel scolds the hired model (Victoria Saravia) for no apparent reason. From that point forward Ángel finds it difficult to tell what is real and what’s not. He loses all track of time until one night he finds himself in a bar getting seduced by Bea (Emilia Attías), Eri (Julieta Vallina), and a woman looking just like doctor Ana. The seductresses slash his throat, and exsanguinated he ends up on the medical slab of Dr. Piedras (Chucho Fernández).

He awakens, hobbles home, and is greeted by little Antonella who immediately notices that there’s something different about him. Lucila is understandably annoyed but shrugs it off as another of Ángel’s all-night binges. When he meets Eduardo the following day Ángel is startled by his new condition. Eduardo explains that they were killed by three Celtic goddesses for their sexist - and toxic behaviour and that they now exist in a state of unlife (or undeath). To deal with their predicament he has started a therapy group with fellow victims Norberto (Lautaro Delgado), Sergio (Berta Muñiz), Coco (Pablo Pinto), and Gustavo (Germán Romero) – all of whom, just like himself, merely exist as golems. Ángel feverishly continues to work while being something of a ghost in his own household. He learns that the three goddesses are preparing for the resurrection of the Morrígan Macha (Marina Cohen) by killing all sexist males. To make matters worse Cristina indoctrinates and inducts Lucila into the cult of the Morrígan. As the cult conducts a nocturnal ceremony the dead rise, the earth splits open, and Macha is indeed resurrected. Unable to stop the looming apocalypse Lucila and Ángel are witness to how society and power structures change overnight. In the aftermath they reunite with Antonella and with more understanding of their own sensitivities they roam the wastelands in their jeep fighting to restore the world they once knew.

Well, that’s quite something, isn’t it? Let’s break down what we have here. First, the general plot concerns a chauvenist pig getting a royal come-uppance much in the way of the French comedy As the Moon (1977) or What Women Want (2000). Ángel falling under the spell of Bea is lifted wholesale from Vampyros Lesbos (1971). The Morrígan cult scene will look familiar to anybody who has seen Blood On Satan’s Claw (1971), The Wicker Man (1973), or Satan's Slave (1976). The dead rising to do their witch mistress’ bidding sounds an awful lot like Horror Rises From the Tomb (1973). Ángel not being able to tell what is real and what is not reeks of The Game (1997) and him becoming a ghost in his own house reeks of The Sixth Sense (1999). Three misfits trying to stop the impending the impending apocalypse was, of course, the whole of The Day Of the Beast (1995). Finally, it concludes with the ending of The Terminator (1984) copied almost verbatim. There’s absolutely no reason why any of these should go together, but somehow they do. Dead Man Tells His Own Tale starts out as a conventional drama but soon transforms into a ghost horror, a zombie romp, a gothic horror, a Satanic cult flick and towards the end it briefly becomes a post-nuke yarn. Under no circumstance do any of these subgenres usually go together but here the transitions are seamless. That Dead Man Tells His Own Tale never devolves into incoherence attests to Forte’s vision.

Argentinian horror has come a long way since the halcyon days of Armando Bó ushering his bra-busting paramour Isabel Sarli through near-constant controversy and into superstardom, where “la diosa blanca de la sensualidad” Libertad Leblanc hopped across genres and neighbouring countries turning heads and dropping jaws along the way, where Emilio Vieyra’s kink-horror exploits with his trusty mujer sin ropas Gloria Prat and Susana Beltrán upset censors continue to speak to the fertile imagination of cult movie fanatics everywhere more than five decades later. It was here that Roger Corman and his Concorde Pictures struck a partnership with Aries Cinematográfica Argentina to produce some of the most gratuitous barbarian/sword-and-sorcery features with locals Alejandro Sessa and Héctor Olivera and a host of buxom American starlets willing to take their tops off for the right paycheck. Expect no such excesses here. While chaste by exploitation standards Dead Man Tells His Own Tale boasts former model and television personality Emilia Attías and Mariana Anghileri among its principal cast. Attías and Anghileri combine the best of Cristine Reyes, Anne Curtis, and Fernanda Urrejola. Thankfully they act better than Bolivian sexbomb Stephanie Herala. As important as a few pretty faces and hardbodies may be to the marketability of a production, the script of Nicolás Britos and director Forte matters even more. As a bonus, the special effects are a pretty even mix between practical and digital.

It’s a question for the ages why a pretty little fright flick like this ended up with the somewhat misleading Pirates of the Caribbean (2003-2017) derived title that it did. As these things go, its closest cousin is Álex de la Iglesia’s Witching and Bitching (2013). Director Fabián Forte was nominated for a Golden Raven at the Brussels International Festival of Fantasy Film (BIFFF) in 2017 and while he did not win, he might be one of Argentina’s directors to look out for. In the years since Forte has mainly been assistant directing and doing television work with no features for the immediate future. Dead Man Tells His Own Tale proves that there’s still some life to the old corpse and that Argentinian horror can still be relevant and exciting in this day and age. If titles such as Terrified (2017) are anything to go by Argentina is, just like any other country, swamped by the current trend of The Conjuring (2013) and Paranormal Activity (2007) imitations. As lamentable as that evolution is, it makes you long for simpler times when Latin America could be counted upon to deliver something different from its European and American peers. Is that still the case? That’s difficult to say. At least Dead Man Tells His Own Tale can content itself with its old school sensibilities and retro aesthetic.

Plot: twin brothers fall under the spell of a mysterious countess.

The Devil’s Wedding Night (released domestically as Il Plenilunio delle Vergini or Full Moon of the Virgins) was another cheapie bankrolled to capitalize on the gothic horror revival craze in the marquee year of 1973. Directed by spaghetti western specialist Luigi Batzella, with second unit direction from Aristide Massaccesi, The Devil’s Wedding Night is the logical continuation of everything (and frequently more) that kitschy fare as The Playgirls and the Vampire (1960), The Vampire and the Ballerina (1960), and The Monster Of the Opera (1964) only dared hint at. Batzella himself had starred in The Slaughter Of the Vampires (1962) and he seemed hellbent on making sure that The Devil’s Wedding Night was to the wicked and wild seventies what The Slaughter Of the Vampires (1962) and Emilio Vieyra's Blood Of the Virgins (1967) were to the sixties. As such this is a veritable phantasmagoria of gothic horror atmosphere, sweltering Mediterranean erotica, with a framing in ancient mythology.

In the 1970s Rosalba Neri was everywhere. She had been a regular in spaghetti western and peplum through out the sixties - and as tastes shifted Neri too felt she had to go with the times. Her first step into that new mindset came by starring in a trio of Jesús Franco productions with the likes of Luciana Paluzzi, Maria Rohm, and Christopher Lee, but more importantly her partaking in the subtextually rich offshore giallo Top Sensation (1969) with fellow starlet Edwige Fenech (who was in the process of reinventing herself after a stint in German sex comedy). Just two years prior Neri had starred in Lady Frankenstein (1971) and a number of gialli including, but not limited to, The Beast Kills In Cold Blood (1971), Amuck (1972), The French Sex Murders (1972), and Girl In Room 2A (1974). Neri and Mark Damon had worked together earlier on the spaghetti western The Mighty Anselmo and His Squire (1972) from director Bruno Corbucci.

The early-to-mid seventies saw the European gothic horror boom in full swing with France, Italy, and Spain contributing alongside the glamour years of the then-ailing Hammer. Around this time Jean Rollin released his most enduring work and Jesús Franco helmed Vampyros Lesbos (1971), arguably single-handedly kicking off the vampire craze in Europe. In a five-year blitz Girl Slaves of Morgana Le Fay (1971), The Wolfman Versus the Vampire Woman (1971), Necrophagus (1971), Daughters Of Darkness (1971), Count Dracula's Great Love (1973), The Dracula Saga (1973), Horror Rises From the Tomb (1973), The Loreleys Grasp (1973), Bell From Hell (1973), A Virgin Among the Living Dead (1973), and Vampyres (1974) were released. Seven Women For Satan (1976) was comparatively late, but not any less important. Even America got in on the craze with The Velvet Vampire (1971), decades later inspiring The Love Witch (2016).

Karl Schiller (Mark Damon), a 19th century scholar and archeologist, concludes after extensive research that the mythical Ring des Nibelungen lies hidden somewhere in the Carpathians. Feeling that the artefact belongs in the Karnstein Museum of Archeology, he sets out to finding the Ring at Castle Dracula, under the pretense of architectural inspection. Meanwhile his twin brother Franz (Mark Damon), a libertine and gambler, quoting the Edgar Allen Poe poem The Raven, encourages him not to undertake the long and arduous journey to Transylvania. When that doesn’t work Franz steals his brother's Egyptian amulet as he prepares, and takes off into the Carpathians. Before long both brothers have fallen for Countess Dolingen de Vries (Rosalba Neri, as Sara Bay) with Franz taking an interest in Tanya (Enza Sbordone, as Francesca Romana Davila), the innkeeper’s daughter.

De Vries’ majestic castle is inhabited not only by the Countess, but also her loyal servant Lara (Esmeralda Barros), a Mysterious Man (Gengher Gatti, as Alexander Getty), and the monstrous Vampire Monster (Xiro Papas, as Ciro Papas). While still pursuing Tanya, libertine Franz falls for the considerable charms of Countess de Vries, who every five decades, on the Night Of the Virgin Moon uses her Wagnerian magic ring to summon virgins to her castle. In Bathory fashion she bathes in their blood to retain her youth and immortality in a pact forged with the dark lord himself. De Vries seduces Franz and eventually turns him into a vampire. In a black mass wedding meant to “consecrate their union” Karl, who has followed his brother to the Carpathian mountains, must now face the horror of his malefic undead brother, the fang-bearing Countess, and her legion of evil servants.

The majority of The Devil’s Wedding Night was directed by Luigi Batzella, who was primarily known for his work in spaghetti westerns and the Django! franchise. Batzella would gain infamy for his nunsploitation vehicle Secret Confessions Of a Cloistered Convent (1972), that also featured Neri and Damon in lead parts, his batshit insane gothic horror throwback Nude For Satan (1974), and a pair of il sadiconazista offerings including, but not limited to, The Beast In Heat (1977). Principal photography took place at Piccolomini Castle in Balsorano in the south central region of Abruzzo in the province of L'Aquila, Italy. Second unit director Aristide Massaccesi (under his English nom de plume Joe D’Amato) shot the opening chase sequence, and Neri’s bloodbathing scene, the latter of which is bristlingly erotic thanks to Neri’s curvaceous figure and luscious writhing as she is doused by Esmeralda Barros. Several different versions exist, most notably a standard 90 minute version with small variations, and a definitive 130 minute cut. The screenplay, written by Ralph Zucker and Mark Damon (under the pseudonym Alan M. Harris), was based on the story “The Brides of Countess Dracula” by Ian Danby.

The strength of The Devil’s Wedding Night lies not merely in that it pushes the envelope in terms of eroticism and on-screen grue, it plainly is more atmospheric and involving than Javier Aguirre’s glacially paced, and rather stuffy Count Dracula's Great Love (1973), or Amando de Ossorio’s conservative Fangs Of the Living Dead (1969). The Devil’s Wedding Night positions itself closer to León Klimovsky’s The Dracula Saga (1973) as far as atmosphere and production design is concerned. Rosalba Neri exudes the same kind of nobility and timeless charm that Narciso Ibáñez Menta had in the Klimovsky movie, and that Paul Naschy and Julián Ugarte missed in theirs. On the whole The Devil’s Wedding Night is a lot more lively than the stuffier entries in the gothic horror genre from this period. The presence of Rosalba Neri and Enza Sbordone make the plot contrivances and Damon’s virtually indistinguishable double role slightly more tolerable.