Horrors of Malformed Men
Suppressed by Toei for decades. Butoh dancing, an island, and total delirium.
Continental horror built on atmosphere, crumbling architecture and dream logic rather than plot.
Italian, French and Spanish horror from the late 1950s onward, made in castles and cemeteries, where mood carries the film and narrative coherence is optional.
Riccardo Freda's I Vampiri (1957) is usually cited as the first Italian horror film of the sound era. Freda walked off it, and his cinematographer finished the shoot. That cinematographer was Mario Bava.
Bava's own Black Sunday (1960) is the cycle's foundation: Barbara Steele in a dual role, a spiked mask hammered onto a witch's face in the opening minutes, and black-and-white photography that does more with fog and candlelight than most colour horror manages with a budget. Bava lit and shot his own films, and the reason they look the way they do is that he was solving problems as a technician rather than as a stylist.
Jean Rollin made films that barely qualify as narrative. The Nude Vampire (1970), Requiem for a Vampire (1971), Lips of Blood (1975): two women in diaphanous costume walk through a chateau or along a beach at Dieppe, very little happens, and the effect is closer to a dream you half remember than to a horror film. They were commercial failures at the time. They have aged better than almost anything else here.
Impossible to summarise and impossible to leave out. Franco directed something in the region of two hundred films across every category on this site, frequently several at once using the same sets and cast. The quality range is enormous. Vampyros Lesbos (1971) and Succubus (1968) are the ones to try first, and the soundtracks have outlived most of the films.
A castle or chateau. A crypt. A woman in white. A curse with a specific anniversary. Zoom lenses used without restraint. Dubbing in four languages, none of them matching the lips.
Black Sunday for the craft, Requiem for a Vampire for the strangeness.
Suppressed by Toei for decades. Butoh dancing, an island, and total delirium.
Not a Santo film. A forked-tongue demon eating brains with a spoon.
The Mexican gothic at its cobwebbed peak, Universal horror with the fog cranked up.
An art film that was sold as a vampire picture. Recut and buried for decades.
Rollin at his purest. Two women in clown costume, a castle, almost no dialogue.
Jack Hill's first, Lon Chaney Jr's last good role. Very odd and very fond.
Cushing called it the worst film he ever made. He was being generous.
Mexico's caped vampire, fanged on screen a year before Hammer got there.
Rollin's best, and the one where the pretty dream logic finally grows teeth.
Rollin's most coherent, which is not saying a great deal. Gorgeous.
Rollin's best late film. Melancholy where the Italians were loud.
A secret society, a Paris chateau, and dream logic all the way down.