THE VAMPIRE BAT (1933)

Director: Frank R. Strayer

Writer: Edward T. Lowe

Producer: Phil Goldstone

Cast: Lionel Atwill, Fay Wray, Melvyn Douglas, Dwight Frye, Maude Eburne, Robert Frazer, George E. Stone, Lionel Belmore, Rita Carlisle, Stella Adams, William V. Mong, Paul Weigel, Harrison Greene, William Humphrey, Fern Emmett, Carl Stockdale, Paul Panzer, D’Arcy Corrigan

In the German town of Kleinschloss, a series of murders are leaving victims drained of blood. Police Inspector Karl Brettschnieder (Melvyn Douglas) is baffled. He believes the assailant is human, while most of the villagers attribute the killings to a vampire. Village physician Dr. Otto von Neimann (Lionel Atwill) is also seriously suggesting that Brettschneider consider the possibility of a vampire in their midst.

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This film is a peculiar little mix of horror movie influences that creates something quirky and unique. While using leftover sets on the Universal Pictures lot just as that studio was setting the standards for movie horror in the new talkies era, The Vampire Bat goes its own strange way. It also stars the trio that appeared in some of the best horror films of the 1930s: Lionel Atwill, Dwight Frye, and Fay Wray.

The Germanic setting may have been dictated by the availability of some of the Frankenstein (1931) sets that were being used by this independent production. It also puts us right back into the European locale audiences were conditioned to accept as a hotbed for the supernatural because of classic novels and their movie adaptations. The atmosphere is certainly enhanced by those cobble stone streets and old street lamps. The preponderance of bats hanging around town adds to the creepy ambience.

Another ’30s horror film ingredient is the unforgettable Dwight Frye as the dim-witted Herman. Due to his crazed and unsavory 1931 roles in Dracula and Frankenstein, Frye is immediately looked upon with suspicion by the audience as well as the villagers. His habits of taunting the villagers in a threatening manner while laughing fiendishly and playing with bats do not enhance his Gemütlichkeit.

Supernatural considerations conflicting with rational, modern thinking were themes also dealt with in Dracula. This film has a Van Helsing-like character in Dr. Otto von Niemann as the scholar that is quite learned on the history of vampirism. He confounds the skepticism of the inspector trying to solve the crimes.

The Vampire Bat presents us with elements that were already on the verge of becoming clichés in horror films, yet these are often used to misdirect or lead to unexpected conclusions: the ever-present superstitions of the town folk, the town misfit acting alternately sinister and harmlessly befuddled, the mob of torch wielding villagers chasing down their suspect, the scientist trying to validate the supernatural, and a black-garbed fiend creeping across rooftops and invading homes to leave behind bloodless corpses.

Melvyn Douglas, as Inspector Karl Brettschneider, is refreshingly capable as the hero and romantic lead. That is quite a departure from the Universal Pictures template that this film wants the audience to think it is emulating. Brettschneider is both good-humored and dedicated. He is also frustrated at the ongoing series of killings that he seems helpless to prevent in his duties as a police inspector. This makes him instrumental in the story’s conclusion. He is not the helpless bystander that David Manners had to play so often in his Universal-horror-film-leading roles.

As Karl’s girlfriend, Ruth Bertin, the lovely Fay Wray is as adorable as ever and adds a bit of levity and romance to the proceedings. Amazingly, one of horror’s most iconic scream queens never gives her lungs a workout in The Vampire Bat.

Many critics bemoan the inclusion of comedy relief in old-time horror movies. There is plenty of it here in the character of Ruth’s Aunt Gussie Schappman (Maude Eburne). Her comedy is usually on the mark as she is interacting and conflicting with the main characters in amusing ways. Her interaction with Herman is funny and makes him seem quite sympathetic. That sympathy pays off later.

There is another ’30s horror angle that figures into the menace when fully revealed in The Vampire Bat. It demonstrates a bit of megalomania that is the most monstrous thing about the story. We see that an ambition is being pursued at a terrible cost for a goal that, as shown, seems of questionable value. I find this to be the most odd and satisfying aspect of this film. It is truly evil.

A telepathy gimmick is used in a unique and deadly manner, but it is never explained. Frankly, that is a bit lazy on the part of the writer, though I do like its use in the story. Some of the details concerning the blood draining of the victims are also rather vague. Midway through the film we see that process explicitly, but it raises questions as to how and why other victims are found dead in their homes. Did all the victims get dealt with in such an impractical manner?

Overall, The Vampire Bat is great antique horror fun. It has plenty of atmosphere and lots of traditional “horror stuff” that teases the audience before revealing the full truth behind the menace. Star Lionel Atwill, who became a horror film regular during the ’30s and ’40s, has never been better. Fay Wray’s beauty and charm are always welcome. Most importantly, Dwight Frye demonstrates that one’s pets should be adopted from an animal shelter or a reputable breeder. A pet bat may be cheap and conveniently fit in your pocket, but your reputation is bound to suffer.

THE BLUE EYES OF THE BROKEN DOLL (1974), aka HOUSE OF PSYCHOTIC WOMEN

Director: Carlos Aured

Writers: Jacinto Molina (Paul Naschy), Carlos Aured

Producer: José Antonio Pérez Giner

Cast: Paul Naschy, Diana Lorys, Maria Perschy, Eva León, Eduardo Calvo, Antonio Pica, Inés Morales, Pilar Bardem, Luis Ciges, Sandra Mozarowski

Gilles (Paul Naschy) is a drifter hitchhiking in rural France when he is picked up by Claude (Diana Lorys). She is a bitter woman with a disfigured right hand covered in a prosthetic glove. She offers Gilles handyman work and lodging at her remote country villa. Claude’s two sisters also live there with her, the wheelchair-bound Ivette (Maria Perschy) and nymphomaniac Nicole (Eva León). Gilles performs his chores while having a dalliance with Nicole and imposing upon Claude’s cold and remote demeanor. Despite his confident manner, Gilles is haunted by visions of him strangling a mocking woman. Meanwhile in the nearby village, a black-gloved killer is murdering blonde women and removing their blue eyes.

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Multitalented Spanish horror film player Paul Naschy toyed with the giallo genre when he wrote and starred in The Blue Eyes of the Broken Doll. Movie fan Naschy always paid homage to a lot of the genre films he loved by incorporating many tropes from them into his scripts. When adding his own attitudes and fixations, Naschy could create lively and often loopy storylines for his films. Naschy showed a bit of restraint here, yet he still provided a twisted, tricky plot with plenty of odd characters that should satisfy the expectations of giallo fans. That uniquely Italian genre seemed to suit Naschy well for this Spanish production.

We are introduced to Naschy’s character of Gilles in an interesting way. The film opens with Gilles amid the sprawling countryside as he walks along a road trying to thumb a ride. This places us on his side, if for no other reason than we can empathize with the plight of someone alone in the middle of nowhere needing a lift. We also can’t help but wonder why he is in this destitute situation and where he is headed. But our comfort with this character is soon disturbed; as he stops for a bite to eat, we see Gilles being eyed with suspicion by the village café patrons, including local police Inspector Pierre (Antonio Pica). Gilles quickly moves on.

As night falls our hitchhiking protagonist is picked up by Claude, an austere, beautiful woman who is self-conscious of her maimed right hand. Gilles seems unperturbed by Claude’s affliction and perhaps appreciates that this makes her feel as much of an outcast as he himself appears to be. Claude is played by Diana Lorys, who had appeared in many genre films. Lorys is perhaps best known for starring in the first Spanish horror film, Jesús Franco’s The Awful Dr. Orlof (1962).

Rather oddly for a giallo film, the kills do not begin until nearly halfway through the running time. Until that point, it is the strange characters of the three afflicted sisters in their remote country villa interacting with the mysterious drifter now staying with them that intrigues us. However, we are teased with some possible violence in Gilles’ past as he has recurring dreams or memories of strangling a beautiful woman laughing at him.

True heroes may be hard to come by in giallo flicks, but you can’t fault Gilles’ work ethic. He is certainly diligent in his chores of chopping wood, raking, milking cows, and laying plenty of pipe. After all, this is a Paul Naschy-written role.

Fortunately, sexy women are always plentiful in the giallo genre, which helps maintain interest until the bloodshed begins. Therefore, our lucky loner and live-in handyman Gilles is testing the boundaries of Claude, the apparent head of the household, appreciating the beauty of the paralyzed Ivette (Maria Perschy), and wallowing in the carnal comfort of nymphomaniacal Nicole (Eva León).

Once a black-clad killer starts murdering women in the nearby village, we are playing the whodunit guessing game. Naturally, Gilles is under audience suspicion due to his violent flashbacks and shady past. The three afflicted women he is living with all have their issues. Ivette’s new nurse named Michelle (Inés Morales) arrives instead of another nurse who was murdered, and she is making secretive phone calls. Jean, the previously fired handyman, attacks Gilles with a knife. René (Luis Siges), the odd character hanging out at the village café, ogles young girls and eavesdrops on discussions of the murders between Inspector Pierre and the local physician treating Ivette, Dr. Phillipe (Eduardo Calvo).

Paul Naschy’s script gives us climaxes that are red herrings just as much as many of the characters themselves. The film ends with a very morbid scene full of sick pathos. This conclusion is supposed to be loosely inspired by an actual 1865 case in Madrid, Spain. While Naschy’s scripts borrowed elements from many previous genre films, his main intent here seems to be emulating the giallo films as popularized in the 1970s by Italian director Dario Argento. Yet this film’s final scene reminds me a lot of Argento’s much later Trauma (1993).

Carlos Aured directed only four of Paul Naschy’s films and this ranks as one of Naschy’s best. Along with cinematographer Francisco Sánchez and editor Javier Moran, Aured has made this a visually nimble and occasionally striking looking film. There is cutting on action to new camera angles during often simple actions of characters, some lighting that ratchets up the mood and suspense, and shots that take advantage of interesting locations and scenery.

Giallo films are often graced with weird and catchy music scores. The Blue Eyes of the Broken Doll does not disappoint with some nice themes by Juan Carlos Calderón. Others have commented on the musical misstep that an almost jaunty theme used to introduce us to Naschy’s Gilles is also used during his final scene, which is totally inappropriate for the mood there. Composer Calderón is probably not to blame for the repeat of that piece of music. Perhaps someone thought that the music used to introduce the character of Gilles would be ironic for his last scene. It was Naschy who had the inspired idea to use the traditional French folk tune “Frère Jacques” as the leitmotif used for the killer. That song had always creeped out Naschy as a child.

The Blue Eyes of the Broken Doll is one of my favorite Paul Naschy films. As a giallo fan, I can appreciate that Naschy is giving us a fine example of the genre that is hardly typical. It has the giallo ingredients of sex, violence, and a mystery killer, while distinguished by its rural setting and damaged characters.

THE SIX MILLION DOLLAR MAN (1973)

Director: Richard Irving

Writers: Henri Simoun (Howard Rodman) adapting Martin Caidin’s novel Cyborg

Producer: Richard Irving  

Cast: Lee Majors, Martin Balsam, Darren McGavin, Barbara Anderson, Ivor Barry, Charles Knox Robinson, Anne Whitfield, Maurice Sherbanee, Robert Cornthwaite, Olan Soulé, Dorothy Greene, Norma Storch, George Wallace, John Mark Robinson

Former astronaut Steve Austin (Lee Majors) crashes during his test flight of an experimental aircraft for NASA. His injuries include the loss of his left eye, right arm, and both legs. Austin’s friend and attending physician, Dr. Rudy Wells (Martin Balsam), is approached by Oliver Spencer (Darren McGavin), the director of a government agency called the Office of Strategic Operations. Spencer is aware of Dr. Wells’ theories regarding the replacement of human limbs with functioning, lifelike, mechanical substitutes. He supplies Dr. Wells the millions of dollars needed to reconstruct Steve Austin into a cyborg (part man and part machine). After the surgery and recuperation, Spencer wants to employ Austin’s cyborg abilities on special missions for the OSO. However, Steve Austin is despondent about his strange, new condition and is reluctant to have any more to do with the government.

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The Six Million Dollar Man has always been a favorite movie of mine. When this boob tube brat saw its first broadcast on the ABC network, I just knew that it had to become a series. At that time, I had no idea that television films were ever made in the hope that high ratings would justify the development of an ongoing series; I was just so buzzed about it that I thought fate somehow had to intervene to make me happy by providing a weekly dose of this as a new video vice. Aside from its status as the pilot for the iconic 1970s television series (which inspired a succession of other superhero programs), The Six Million Dollar Man is terrific as a stand-alone science fiction film and was nominated for a 1974 Hugo Award.

This TV-movie is a streamlined adaptation of Martin Caidin’s 1972 novel Cyborg. He would write three sequel novels about his part-man and part-machine hero, Steve Austin. Caidin had an aviation and aeronautics background and wrote novels about World War II and space travel. His science fiction included current technological innovations and their future development and application. Caidin’s earlier 1964 novel Marooned (about the attempt to rescue NASA astronauts orbiting the Earth) had been made into the 1969 movie. Caidin first used the word “bionics” in his 1968 science fiction novel The God Machine, but he did not actually invent that term. (Don’t feel bad; I only just discovered that on my smart phone a minute ago.) Of course, it is The Six Million Dollar Man television series that made bionics a household word. Although Caidin’s novel refers to the technology implanted into his hero’s body as bionics, that term is never used in this pilot film.

The opening scene of the movie is the desert-based airstrip where NASA and the U.S. military are about to conduct an experimental test flight. This is the setup for the tragedy that puts the plot in motion and establishes the plight for our hero, former astronaut and test pilot Steve Austin. He makes a distinctive entrance that establishes his personality and foreshadows his fate. We first see Steve Austin as a lone figure approaching from a distance on a morning stroll returning from the barren desert onto the airstrip. This visually suggests Austin’s independence and his imminent isolation as a technological prototype which will eventually lead him to another even more lonely and dangerous desert-bound mission. We see Austin’s camaraderie while he makes small talk with the other NASA personnel as he returns, and we enjoy his nonchalance that irks the uptight general at the airstrip. Austin is immediately established as down-to-earth, confident, and likable. This is efficient storytelling and character building that puts us squarely on Austin’s side within the film’s first few minutes.

Steve Austin’s tragic test flight is very well realized with plenty of NASA stock footage intercut with Austin at the aircraft’s controls and radio chatter between him, escort planes, and the ground crew. The final footage of the ill-fated test flight is of an actual 1967 crash of the M2-F2 lifting body aircraft. That real accident’s NASA test pilot was Bruce Peterson. He was badly injured but recovered. Unfortunately, Peterson lost the sight in one eye due to an infection in the hospital.

Lee Majors was perfect casting for Steve Austin. He has the rugged good looks and athleticism that suit an action hero. Most importantly, Majors has a likability that has us rooting for him while he maintains some emotional reserve that makes us believe he has the discipline and stability to be capable of heroism. Before his acting career, Majors suffered a serious back injury playing college football that left him paralyzed from the waist down for two weeks. One must wonder if the memory of that trauma and the awful suspense of recuperation informed Lee Majors’ performance as the maimed and hospitalized Steve Austin. By 1973 Majors had already starred in three television series and would go on to star in several more. It is with this pilot film of The Six Million Dollar Man that Lee Majors begins his most famous role.

Martin Balsam’s movie immortality was already established as the private detective Milton Arbogast in Alfred Hitchcock’s classic Psycho (1960). He provides great support as Austin’s friend and physician, Dr. Rudy Wells. It is his character’s medical genius that restores our damaged hero to a full-bodied, superhuman state. Balsam’s narration as Wells immediately creates a sense of foreboding as the story begins and later explains the pioneering technology used to rebuild Steve Austin. Balsam’s Dr. Wells is both brilliant and compassionate. In the subsequent series, the role of Wells would be played by Alan Oppenheimer and Martin E. Brooks.

The great Darren McGavin appears in the crucial role of Oliver Spencer, the callous, government bureaucrat that has been planning to fund a cyborg project to create technologically enhanced humans for espionage and military operations. Spencer decides that Steve Austin’s catastrophe presents the perfect subject for a cyborg prototype. Spencer practically steamrolls over Dr. Wells when he presents him the proposition to turn the comatose Steve Austin into a cyborg. McGavin’s performance as the heartlessly pragmatic Spencer is a joy to watch. This role was just one year after McGavin had first portrayed the more admirable character of newspaper reporter Carl Kolchak in the record-setting TV-ratings blockbuster The Night Stalker (1972). That fine film would lead to a sequel, The Night Strangler (1973), and then the weekly series, Kolchak: The Night Stalker (1974-75).

During Steve Austin’s recuperation and reconstruction, Jean Manners is his personal nurse. Her affection for her patient makes the physically rebuilt, emotionally damaged Austin confront his new self-image as a once ideal specimen of manhood that is now partly artificial. Jean Manners is played by incandescent-eyed Barbara Anderson. She had guest-starred on many television series and won the Primetime Emmy Award for her ongoing supporting role of Police Officer Eve Whitfield in the series Ironside (1967-71).

One of my favorite scenes of any sci-fi film occurs after Dr. Wells and his team have performed the surgery attaching Steve Austin’s artificial limbs. Austin regains consciousness and weakly quips to Wells, “Dr. Frankenstein, I presume?” The rest of the scene plays without dialogue as we see Austin lying in his hospital bed coping with the strange sensations of his new cyborg body and his mental struggle to make his mechanical attachments respond. As his new arm rises into his field of vision, Austin’s expression passes from strain to horror to hope. Majors, Balsam, and Anderson give very moving silent performances underscored by the awe generated with Gil Mellé’s idiosyncratic and powerful music.

Some departures from the source novel concern Steve Austin’s cyborg modifications. I am guessing that Austin in the movie has his right arm rather than the left arm replaced because actor Lee Majors was probably right-handed. In the novel, Austin’s artificial eye could not see, but it could take photographs with an enclosed miniature camera. Similarly, his bionics limbs had compartments concealing devices, such as an underwater breathing apparatus in his leg and retractable swimming flippers in his feet. The middle finger of his bionics hand could shoot poisoned darts. While Austin’s bionics limbs of the novel were tireless and formidable weapons, they were made much more powerful in the film. Lee Majors’ character can run sixty miles per hour and tear off car doors. His artificial eye can not only replicate human vision, but in the later episodes it can see in the dark and has zoom in capability over long distances or for up-close detail.

There are also interesting and effective character alterations from the Cyborg source novel. The ruthless Oliver Spencer originates in the TV-movie and provides more immediate dramatic conflict with the characters of Steve Austin and Dr. Rudy Wells than any government official does in the novel. Spencer’s agenda as the OSO director to develop Austin as a weapon is not enthusiastically received by either Wells or Austin. The movie also modifies Steve Austin’s character; he is a civilian member of the space program instead of a military colonel. This establishes Austin as a man not accustomed to military protocol, which makes him apprehensive about what the government and Oliver Spencer have planned for him. These changes in a simplified movie plot dial up the drama to deal with a couple more character concerns than the novel. Conversely, the ongoing television series would replace OSO director Oliver Spencer with the novel’s less antagonistic Oscar Goldman (Richard Anderson) as director of the OSI (Office of Scientific Intelligence) and make Austin a USAF Colonel, after all.

While the film’s Steve Austin suffers the same accident and reconstruction as the novel’s character, he is made a bit more sympathetic. In the novel, Austin is chiefly concerned with his ability to gain mastery over the new technology that has been attached to him. He is also angered by his initial helplessness and fears that his manhood and virility are diminished by so much of his original body having been destroyed. The Austin of the film has those same emotions, but as he is not a member of the military, he is more suspect of the government and averse to killing. Despite the character’s trauma and frustrations, Lee Majors makes his Steve Austin more appealing than the somewhat surly and cold-blooded character of the novel.

It is Steve Austin’s ambivalence in the film that creates more tension for us during the mission Oliver Spencer assigns him. We wonder how capable and determined Austin will be when he is sent out into the desert of Saudi Arabia to rescue an important hostage held by terrorists.

The Six Million Dollar Man is another fine example of the compelling science fiction films that were being made in the early 1970s. I think science fiction should not just be a genre used to create fantasy worlds; it can speculate about the real-world consequences of scientific developments and their impact on individuals and society. Although this film depicts potential benefits of man merging with technology, it also stresses humanity and independence. As we become ever more dependent on technology, we must maintain and protect those vital human attributes.

BURIAL GROUND (1981), aka THE NIGHTS OF TERROR

Director: Anrdea Bianchi

Writer: Piero Regnoli

Producer: Gabriele Crisanti

Cast: Mariangela Giordano, Peter Bark, Karin Well, Cianluigi Chirizzi, Simone Mattioli, Antonella Antinori, Roberto Caporali, Claudio Zucchet, Anna Valente, Renato Barbieri

A professor (Renato Barbieri) is studying Etruscan magic at his friend’s Italian country estate. While exploring a nearby catacomb, he accidentally rouses a horde of dead monks back to life and is killed by them. George Conte (Roberto Caporali), the owner of the estate, returns with his lover Evelyn (Mariangela Giordano) and her young son Michael (Peter Bark) along with two other couples as his houseguests. They are soon besieged by the reanimated, rotting corpses that are hungry for their flesh.

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In 1968, director George A. Romero, along with co-writer John Russo, introduced cannibal zombies to the world in Night of the Living Dead. In the ’70s there were several Spanish films, such as director Amando de Ossorio’s Blind Dead series and the Paul Naschy starring Horror Rises from the Tomb (1973), that may have been influenced by Romero’s seminal film. However, they were not without their own unique quirks and hardly just rip-offs. This slow and sporadic influence may have been because Night of the Living Dead was not an immediate blockbuster, but rather a film of limited releases and rereleases over the years that eventually made it into a cult film whose huge influence could not have been imagined.

It was the immediate success of Romero’s 1978 sequel, Dawn of the Dead, which really turned cannibal zombies into a worldwide horror trope and incited a horde of bloody imitators. In the ’70s and ’80s, the Italians always seemed ready to exploit the latest movie trends with their own takes on proven money-making subjects. Italian director Lucio Fulci’s Zombie (1979) was one of the first Euro-horrors to follow the Dawn of the Dead trend. Andrea Bianchi’s Burial Ground soon followed.

Burial Ground is a zombie movie about the things that typify the modern zombie film. This film does not really tell a story; it just depicts a situation. We are shown a group of people trapped and trying to fight off an ever-growing mob of reanimated corpses that are trying to eat them. Director Bianchi also manages to add some sex and perversity to the formula. If this is all you require for eighty-five minutes to be entertained, you should be satisfied, but that’s all you get.

With a setup this basic, it’s all about the execution and a few bizarre variations to make this film at all memorable. The characters are barely even one-dimensional, and most are never given last names (the professor is called Prof. Ayers only in the English dub). The three couples all seem to be of that well-to-do or professional status that typifies victims in the Italian giallo films. They all have the same idea as soon as they arrive at the isolated country estate: going to their separate rooms and having sex.

There are absolutely no character traits of any interest in these people except for the strange looking Michael. He is played by the small and slightly built adult actor Peter Bark as an odd boy of indeterminate age that has an incestuous fixation on his beautiful mother, Evelyn. It is Michael, and his increasingly uncomfortable scenes with his mother, that have made this film notable and a bit notorious. His final scene with her is one for the horror history books.

Regarding the zombies themselves, we are given no reason for their reanimation. The professor removes some sort of stone tablet from the catacomb that he is exploring and returns to the study at his friend’s estate to examine it. While comparing it to some documents, he arrives at one of those “Oh shit!” revelations. However, we are never privy to just what the professor has discovered. He returns to the catacomb that night and then becomes a midnight snack for the first zombie monks. At least, they appear to be monks as they are all wearing loose robes. It is mentioned later that the professor was studying Etruscan magic regarding the “survival of the dead.” That is all the explanation we get for this undead phenomenon.

The zombies are in various states of decay and no zombie resembles another. A few of them seem to be fairly recently deceased, yet rotten, while others are so decayed that they barely look human. Like their Romero movie inspirations, they need to have their heads destroyed to put them out of action, but they ooze brown liquid from their wounds and their skulls bust open like piñatas if struck hard enough. Although they are slow moving, these zombies can work in unison to use a log as a battering ram and wield gardening tools with deadly efficiency.

Most of the film’s main action takes place in a sumptuous mansion and its picturesque grounds. This interesting location is Villa Parisi, a grand 17th-century country estate. It has been featured in many other Italian productions such as Nightmare Castle (1965), Bay of Blood (1971), Blood for Dracula (1974), and Patrick Still Lives (1980). It seems a shame that these randy couples can’t take full advantage of this setting’s hospitality for an entire weekend of sex and sucking down that J&B Scotch instead of ending up on the menu for undead party crashers.

Elsio Mancuso and Burt Rexon provide an interesting score that alternates between some moody and intriguing synthesized music, horror stingers, and a lively cool jazz theme that plays under the opening credits while the main cast drives to the estate.

Director Andrea Bianchi strives to make Burial Ground a simple and derivative product that exploits the recent popularity of Romero’s Dead films with none of the social satire or commentary. It is only the addition of the Peter/Evelyn relationship that distinguishes this movie from other zombie horror films. Bianchi’s 1975 giallo, Strip Nude for Your Killer, was also rather generic, but still served generous dollops of sex and violence to satisfy the connoisseurs of that genre.

Burial Ground is the zombie film stripped down to its non-plot essentials. As such, it may seem too simplistic and monotonous to maintain interest in the seasoned horror fan, or it may still disturb with its utter nihilism. Its main claim to infamy is that it takes titillation in a surprising, new direction. Remember, ladies, it’s never a good idea to serve milkshakes to a zombie.