ISLAND OF THE DOOMED reviewed

 

ISLAND OF THE DOOMED

1967, Mondo Macabro (BD ABC), 88m 13s

aka LA ISLA DE LA MUERTE (Spain), MANEATER OF HYDRA (US TV), THE BLOODSUCKERS (UK), BARON VAMPIRE (France)

Actor Mel Welles, primarily known for his 1950s work with Roger Corman and Lord Buckley, migrated with his family to Italy in the early 1960s, where he acted in films, more lucratively became a dubbing director. and later served as an assistant director to the young Michael Reeves on his debut feature THE SHE BEAST (1965). He also got the opportunity to direct a handful of films in Italy and Spain, but the only one much seen prior to 1972 was this delirious Spanish horror/science fiction hybrid, theatrically released in America by Allied Artists. It then became part of a widely syndicated AIP-TV package under the new title MANEATER OF HYDRA. Though badly cropped and miserably panned-and-scanned from its original 2.35:1 Techniscope ratio, with an Anton García Ábril soundtrack that sometimes warbled like something waterlogged, the film nevertheless proved irresistible in its lurid eccentricity. Cameron Mitchell, cast as the deranged and reclusive botanist Baron von Weser, has his privacy compromised when a group of stranded tourists take over his villa and, after embarrassing themselves in different ways, begin to be knocked off by one of his more ambitious man-eating plants.

 

Ever since letterboxing was introduced, this film has been near the top of my list of most-desired widescreen titles for restoration and now, at last, I have it - and so can you. Mondo Macabro’s release—issued first as a limited edition Blu-ray (1200 copies, now OOP), with pre-orders for a standard edition due to start being accepted soon—opens with an apologetic card explaining that, as the film's original camera negative remains lost, the following 4K restoration had to be compiled from the best parts of two surviving 35mm theatrical prints. While one can imagine the image being slightly sharper, the composite offered here is in ripely colored, gorgeous condition with only minimal, easily forgiven scratching. The opening establishing shot—a mere throw-away on old TV prints—is a stunning, nearly 3D camera dolly shot past an arrangement of shrubs and layered, parked buses, proving that DP Cecilio Paniagua (CUSTER OF THE WEST, PATTON) was fully invested from the get-go in the film’s visual possibilities. 

 

 

This is very much one of those “busload of tourists” horror films so familiar from the early years of Italian Gothic (PLAYGIRLS AND THE VAMPIRE, BLOODY PIT OF HORROR) but there is something earthier, grittier about this Spanish manifestation that was not yet so familiar when it first came to television, its only real precedents being Jesùs Franco’s THE AWFUL DR. ORLOF (1964) and DR. ORLOFF’S MONSTER (1965) - both in black-and-white and not so easily seen in America after their theatrical releases. Welles’ own persona - I knew him, so I can assure you he was an interesting cocktail of wry intelligence, lofty pride, disdain and ironic humor - also finds its way into the English dubbing of the picture, over which he also presided; the collective characters—which include a bland hero (George Martín), a sweet innocent girl that he can end up with (Elisa Montés), a handsome tour guide-cum-early victim (Riccardo Valle, who played Morpho in Jesús Franco’s THE AWFUL DR ORLOF, 1962), a philandering drunk (Kai Fischer), her suffering cuckold of a husband (Rolf von Nauckhoff), a gibberingly eccentric fellow botanist (Herman Nehlsen) and Myrtle Callahan (Mathilde Sampietro), an older woman who loves nagging and taking pictures and sounds like she was dubbed by Anne Meara—are clearly a bouquet arranged by a man who loved people and suffered them, as well. 

 

 

 

 

 

He didn't need to, but Mitchell brings his best game to this picture. He's believable as an obsessed scientist, an aesthete remote enough from others to venture into irresponsible research, and he gives us so many interesting stops along the way to his ultimate fate. We get to see his prowess on a bicycle; we see him turn coldly asexual when he finds himself in the arms of a libidinous woman; and apologetic and respectful when circumstances cause him to commit a murder himself (he instructs his servant to handle the body with respect - “he was a nice man”). And his ultimate fate is a real show-stopper, with Mitchell shifting into Shakespearean soliloquy mode after failing to fend off hero George Martín's intended axe blows against his "baby," what Allied Artists' ad campaign reasonably called a “vampire tree,” which for most of the film’s running time is creepily presented from our own POV. When the thing is finally shown, the special effects prop holds up remarkably well, though Welles had nothing but complaints about the artists when I interviewed him for VW #78, back in 2001. A tentacled tree, each of its blooms opening like vaginal fissures to reveal astonishingly graphic, erect, veinous, honey-dripping, blood sucking stamens—it’s the screen’s most blatantly sexual monster since the “boy and girl” aliens concocted by Francis Coppola for his BATTLE BEYOND THE STARS (1962), a decade’s head-start on Body Horror proper, and it’s all the more effective for looking biologically sound and believable. I was also surprised to see a couple of bloody inserts that I never noticed on TV, showing a much younger hand than Mitchell's clinging to one of the plant's protuberances as it can't decide to drink in or spit out.

 

 

 

Seeing the film on TV as a child, many times, I was most impressed by the rain which coincides with the bloody dismantling of the Baron’s hungry infant. It seemed to me at the time that the sky was actually raining blood, in a kind of purgative ceremony akin to the flames that always arose to engulf the final reels of Roger Corman’s Poe pictures. As seen on this new disc release, I don’t see the same effect, which must have been a lie fostered by the image’s compressed TV image, but it is even more effective; the once-mashed-beyond-recognition close-up of Mitchell’s face is now perfectly rendered and shows a still-respectable makeup job. Most importantly, in the correct 2.35:1 widescreen ratio, we can also finally see the full size of the macabre plant as it prepares to reach out, unseen, for its final victim. Also saved is the closing shot, a high-angle view of the tree and its various victims, which is here unscrambled to preserve a Grand Guignolesque closing shot that recalls nothing less than the final shot of Paul Morrissey’s FLESH FOR FRANKENSTEIN (1973). As you can see from the compositions in these frame grabs, Paniagua’s work on this picture is nothing short of masterful, and Mario Bava may well have been aware of the film as he insisted to producer Alfredo Leone that Paniagua was the only Spanish DP he could trust to shoot LISA AND THE DEVIL. (And so he did, to beautiful effect, though it led to complaints about how much time was needlessly wasted on his old-school lighting techniques.)

 

 

 

 

 

What most surprised me about seeing the film for the first time in its intended ratio is how well it conveys abundant nature as something both beautiful and savage—indeed, something with its own personality, which can turn on a dime. Filmed in the Costa Brava rural area outside Barcelona, ISLAND OF THE DOOMED manages to feel akin to the Italian Gothics while at the same time conjuring up a unique flavor of its own.

 

Viewers will notice that this flavor is quite different in its Spanish-language version, which is included with subtitles that likewise vary from the English dub in subtle and curious ways. It's a less humorous viewing option, leaning in tone more toward the courtly and hubristic, which also has the surprising effect of enhancing the quality of the horror scenes, which become more seriously chilling rather than "wildly entertaining" (to quote Mondo Macabro's introductory card. Its presence on the disc reminds us that ISLAND OF THE DOOMED (or, rather, LA ISLA DE LA MUERTE) is one of the earliest Spanish fantaterror titles, predating the works of Paul Naschy and even José Antonio Nieves Conde's THE SOUND OF HORROR (EL SONIDO DE LA MUERTE, 1966) with Ingrid Pitt and Soledad Miranda. Unlike quite a number of later Spanish horror titles, this one does not revisit the well-worn locations found in Jesús Franco's GRITOS EN LA NOCHE/THE AWFUL DR. ORLOF (1962) and EL SECRETO DEL DR. ORLOFF/DR. ORLOFF'S MONSTER aka DR. JEKYLL'S MISTRESSES (1964), which underscore its originality and have kept its appeal fresh and independent. Speaking of underscoring, I'm also happy to report that Anton García Ábril's creepy and moody score, with its pleasing romantic and adventurous themes, has been thoroughly refurbished and adds to a general feeling that this film has not been able to view in such superb condition in 60 years. Indeed, I was in touch with Mel Welles at the time of his death and can attest that seeing this film in its intended form once again was one of his highest priorities. It saddens me that he didn't get to see this, or to know that future generations would. 

 

Sadly, Mel did not leave behind enough work as a director to have carved out a niche for himself among horror directors, but I think it can be broadly characterized as alternately gregarious and misanthropic with a dark sense of humor. He took credit for suggesting the classic moment in Michael Reeves’ THE SHE BEAST in which a sickle, just used in a murder against a Communist worker, was tossed aside to fortuitously cross with a hammer on the floor of a garage, which is one of my favorite moments in the picture. But his only other really notable directorial effort was 1971’s LADY FRANKENSTEIN, which (much to Mel’s annoyance) was chopped-up by his old friend Roger Corman “like so much salami” for its US drive-in release. It can now be found on Nucleus Films Region 2 Blu-ray in a nicely restored version, but I strongly feel that ISLAND OF THE DOOMED was his finest effort—and Mondo Macabro’s restoration reveals something even bigger and better than I ever realized it was. It’s an incredible rarity in that it was made with noticeable style and taste, yet what lingers most in the memory is what fun, how entertaining it is—for a very special kind of viewer. Like me, like Mel, like you.

Mondo Macabro's region-free disc is a limited edition of 1200 copies. Also included is a pleasing commentary by David Flint, companionable and well-observed; Xavier Sánchez Pons' hour-long video essay on the life and career of Jorge Martín (perhaps slightly more than was needed, as Martín is this film’s weakest point, dubbed - I think - by Rodd Dana); and a comprehensive talk by the always-welcome Ángel Sala (uncredited on the packaging) about the history of films (like this one) which were shot in the Costa Brava area. Tucked inside is an illustrated booklet with text worth reading by Ismael Fernandez which offers additional production information, and also mini-replicas of the US release’s colorized lobby cards.

 

In case the point has been lost on you, I love this disc, unreservedly. If you missed the limited edition, keep your eyes peeled for pre-ordering the standard edition at www.mondomacabro.bigcartel.com.

 

 (c) 2026 Tim Lucas. All rights reserved.

Saying What Needs to Be Said

It’s now been about three and a half years since Donna’s passing. As you can imagine, her loss hit me very hard - in certain ways, I am and always will be reeling from it - and you can see that impact in terms of what has happened to the VIDEO WATCHDOG website. I’ve never been able to engage with what she created here, and anything more is most unlikely to happen. Donna, who I always said was the heart and soul of our enterprise, ran the business while I provided the grist for our mill. She is now gone, so there is no more business (despite what the abandoned website may say), and I am still providing grist for the mill, but the mill has changed to the purveyors of books and audio commentaries, and my own Facebook and Ko-Fi pages have played host to the reviews and other writings I’ve continued to generate - which I am now carrying over to this resuscitation of VIDEO WATCHBLOG.

I tried for awhile to accept orders for back issues, but I’ll be turning 70 later this year and - not having Donna’s advantage as a tiny, energetic person - I don’t find the idea of going into the eaves of my attic to fetch single issues buried under boxes of other issues very attractive. So anyone who places an order will get an apology and an immediate refund, as I’ve been doing for the last couple of years. I don’t drive, so any trip to the Post Office would require an Uber, to and from, so there would go my profits. 

Likewise, the technical workings of offering digital editions is simply beyond my understanding, so there is nothing I can do to offer or sustain such content. I will remind you that when VIDEO WATCHDOG file for bankruptcy in 2016, the courts eventually forgave our sizable debt (which we had incurred to continue publishing after advertising revenue failed to materialize) but it was on the condition that we close the business. We petitioned for the right to publish one final issue, for closure and to present our last main feature with the Part 2 necessary to its entirety, which was granted, along with the right to continue our modest back issues sales as these represented no continuance of publication. 

It’s possible that the back issues - even the Bava book - may resurface at some point as print-on-demand. I am presently working with a few different publishers who have expressed an interest but there is the old conflict of creating new work versus maintaining the past. The past has had its moment, so I tend to favor putting my efforts into the present and there is a lot of that - my commentaries (I have four or five big ones lined up at the moment, the Joe Sarno books (yes, it looks like there will be two volumes, like it or not), and other books yet to be announced, including - if time and life allow - a revised and updated edition of my Mario Bava book. 

While I cannot give you VIDEO WATCHDOG anymore, I can give you VIDEO WATCHBLOG, which is within my skills and which I think Donna would encourage me to do. She’s still the wind in my sails. this blog has never been very good at compensating me for my time and effort but it’s at least public and it’s visible. Alas, it’s been an untended ghost town for awhile. What used to attract 1000s of daily views is presently drawing less than 200, so if my work pleases you, please do what you can to spread the word.

VIDEO WATCHBLOG IS BACK! (As John and Yoko used to say, “if you want it.”)

(C) 2026 Tim Lucas. All rights reserved.

Book Review: UNLOCKING DRACULA A.D. 1972

Unlocking DRACULA AD 1972

A Classic Horror Film in Context

David Huckvale

203 pp., $39.95

 

McFarland and Company, Box 611, Jefferson NC 28640

Www.mcfarlandpub.com

Also available at Amazon.

Regardless of your own feelings about Hammer’s rebooting of their Dracula franchise in modern day, this relentlessly thorough (and admirably cultured) investigation of the many different departments and layers of Alan Gibson’s 1971 film is bound to rewire your feelings about it. 

Huckvale brings all of his authority as a cinephile, an historian and musicologist, and as a dedicated reader of multi-centuried fiction, poetry and philosophy to make a case that DRACULA A.D. 1972 and its sequel [THE SATANIC RITES OF DRACULA, 1973]—often dismissed as camp, anachronistic, backward, or as a middle-aged men’s look at a world they no longer understand—“are Hammer’s most interesting Dracula films, and the ones that in fact most successfully adopt the approach of Bram Stoker’s novel.” 

This is quite a goal, considering that Hammer's opening salvo in this series—Terence Fisher's DRACULA (US: HORROR OF DRACULA, 1958)—is generally considered to be the finest of all Dracula films and one of a handful of genuinely seismic releases in horror film history. As faithful to the Bram Stoker novel as it could be within its economy, Fisher's film also "rewrote the book" in any number of other ways. 

Of course, the degree of Huckvale's success will differ from reader to reader, but I can’t imagine that anyone attentive to his arguments won’t have their minds nudged more in the film’s favor by his passion. His case is admirably sustained not just by personal feelings but by a remarkably well-read accumulation of pertinent literary quotations, a microscopic monitoring of the film’s seemingly quirky rendering of its time period, and his own neighborly access (via writings and 21st century locations photography) to the principal setting of Chelsea itself, whose residents circa 1972 included the likes of Christopher Lee and Boris Karloff.

The book begins with a section of preparatory chapters which address matters of contemporaneity, the establishment of firm definitions of camp and kitsch, and more to help calibrate the reader’s sense of context. This is then followed by more particular discussions of the occult and its currency in the designated period (a strong case is made for ROSEMARY’S BABY and other occult films preceding it causing Dracula to be identified here less as a common vampire than an occult figure on par with the Devil Himself), along with admirably detailed and loving essays on the dynamics and techniques brought to the film and series by Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing; appreciations of the input of the other cast and outstanding crew (cameraman Dick Bush, art director Don Mingaye, and composer Michael Vickers); and even an almost forensic overview of the specific cars used in the films and what they say about the characters assigned to them. Huckvale is a popular Blu-ray commentator on film music, known for transcribing scores and performing them on piano, and his deconstruction of the Vickers score is on a far more scholarly and descriptive plane than most accounts of Hammer music, pointing out its debt to jazz player Stan Kenton, its use of “spy chords” and tritones, and other particulars to such a shot-by-shot degree that the reader is advised to audit the film’s soundtrack while reading to derive the full effect. He even notes when the soundtrack and soundtrack CD (as re-recorded by Philip Martell) are in disagreement and where non-Vickers material imported as musical bonding agents point to unidentified library tracks.

The final chapter of the book is in some ways the most disarming in that it brings in a surprising discussion of the durability of the horror genre, which Huckvale credits to the  “conservative” and “reactionary” tendencies of such entertainment, especially Hammer product, which indulges the audience’s desire for unholy allure before snatching it away, thus adhering to a simple us Good vs Evil polarity. Once this is established, Huckvale introduces a surprising comparison of DRACULA A.D. 1972 with Jean Rollin’s somewhat contemporaneous film LES FRISSONS DU VAMPIRE/THE SHIVER OF THE VAMPIRE (1971), whose similarly modern, colorful and psychedelicized imagery tells a similar story with an ethic more in line with irony, anarchy and chaos - to such a degree that many horror fans, lacking a grounding in writers like Nietsche, Sartre and Beckett, often aren’t equipped to know what to make of it. In this way, Huckvale ties a bow on his book on the very moment when he raises the subject to what promises to be an even more invigorating level of discussion.

The book concludes with a short but immensely instructive set of notes on directing by the film’s often unfairly dismissed director Alan Gibson, which prove him a far more conscientious and premeditative creator (I won’t say “artist”) than has been recognized till now. Though written from a stance of kindliness and authority, this book embodies something very on point in relation to its time: a revolution. It's an upraised sword against lazy thinking, knee-jerk biases, and unvalidated preferences. As such, Huckvale proves himself a Van Helsing - a soldier not of Christ but of insistently tested theories and evaluations - whose valor and rigor can stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the best of them.

 

Don’t be misled by the page count; there’s a lot of book here.

(C) 2026 Tim Lucas. All rights reserved. 

VHS FOREVER... On the Criterion Channel?

It's strange to see The Criterion Channel's new March schedule including a "VHS Forever" collection of movies, as they introduced themselves way-back-when as home video's high-end alternative, and still assert that reputation today. No worries: the versions of VIDEODROME, BODY DOUBLE, CLERKS and both versions of THE RING they are showing are the high-end, high-definition transfers and not the cropped, analogue versions of our youth. Their curation of these features (and others, ranging from THE FISHER KING and 52 PICK-UP to THE WATERMELON WOMAN) only makes complete ready sense once one has watched the nearly three-hour documentary VIDEOHEAVEN (2025), which is also part of this month's schedule. Narrated by Maya Hawke (b. 1998), it's actually a pretty intelligent and insightful look at the role played by home video and video stores (and their clerks and customers) aacross 30 years of filmmaking and TV, a deep dive into a somewhat narrow field. Among other things, it shows how Troma was the most ubiquitous source of video store stock and décor in most such movies and episodes, even those produced by major studios. Chas Balun pops up briefly, without acknowledgement.

(c) 2026 Tim Lucas. All rights reserved.

And Then... There’s THEATRE OF DEATH (1966)

Another film that feels like a natural branch on the Christopher Lee/Edmond T. Gréville tree (but, to all evidence, isn’t) is Samuel Gallu’s THEATRE OF DEATH (1966). Still in need of a high-definition release, this curio was shot in October 1965 at Elstree Studios in London but is a contemporary story set in Paris, in and around the Theâtre de Mort, very much based on the by-then-defunct Theâtre du Grand Guignol. Lee stars as Philippe Darvas, a forceful second-generation writer-director at the playhouse who takes under his satanic wing a young newcomer, Nicole Chappell (Jenny Till), to the annoyance of its ascending star Dani Gireaux (Lelia Goldoni, SHADOWS). Dr. Charles Marquis (QUATERMASS AND THE PIT’s Julian Glover), a police surgeon recovering from what seems a pointlessly symbolic hand wound, starts to date Dani and forms a fascination with the theater's dramatic goings on - onstage and backstage - which unfold at the same time he is investigating a series of “vampire” murders performed with a knife-like instrument that leaves a triangular puncture mark. 

 

Written by Ellis Kadison (who is given a most unusual “by” credit on the film’s title card), this is a most unusual film, deserving of “collector’s item” status among the genre’s most epicurean palates despite its inability to be “read” or studied as an auteur piece. It’s gorgeously photographed in Bavaesque color widescreen by Gil Taylor (DR STRANGELOVE, REPULSION), effectively scored by Elizabeth Lutyens and one or two library tracks, and it wears its affection for the genre on its sleeve to such an extent that the viewer may fail to note right away what a radical turn it’s taking in regard to its modern day vampire content - years before COUNT YORGA, VAMPIRE (1970) or THE NIGHT STALKER (1973) but showing some awareness of Leslie H. Whitten’s novel PROGENY OF THE ADDER (1965). The script is co-authored by Roger Marshall, an alumnus of THE EDGAR WALLACE MYSTERY THEATRE and 15+ episodes of THE AVENGERS, whose thumb on the scale would seem to outweigh anything contributed by Kadison, whose other credits peak with RICHARD DIAMOND, PRIVATE DETECTIVE, THE GNOME-MOBILE and THE BANANA SPLITS ADVENTURE HOUR. 

At the film’s heart is a dominant Lee performance that takes his idol Conrad Veidt very much to heart; as a modern-day Shakespeare of Stage Slaughter, he’s absolutely convincing as a director, both nurturing and abusive, and there is a wonderful private moment in which we see him girding himself to pen a new work by immersing himself in the imagery of the horror cinema of the past. Another thing: this appears to be the first of what might be called Lee’s post-modern film appearances, by which I mean that he seems to have been cast in awareness of his newfound legacy as a horror star - and, at this point in his career, we can see that such recognition still pleased him. There is also something self-reflexive in the film’s use of a portrait painted after Lee’s character in Bava’s THE WHIP AND THE BODY (1963), which we’re never quite sure is meant to be Philippe Darvas or his father but keeps us immersed in thoughts of the horror genre as a legacy.

However, something happens around the midpoint as one of the more important characters is abruptly killed off - and it’s one of the film’s peculiarities that we only see the stage murders; the real murders either black out just shy of the death blow or are blacked out altogether. It’s an unusually effective death because it happens much as it does in life, catching the viewer off-balance, left questioning the facts (and the death) as it has its destabilizing effect on the other cast members and narrative. The balance of the film unreels with a different sort of alchemy, which is not without its points of interest (Goldoni gives a far more nuanced female lead performance than is often found in horror) but definitely leaves one processing and questioning what has happened. The vampire angle is ultimately disappointing but all of the atmosphere summoned by the aforementioned contemporary vampire films still to come is present here, fully formed, with an emphasis on the same dark, rain- and neon-slicked, metropolitan streets found in the Whitten novel. In a moment of particular panache on Gallu's part, a woman is victimized up against a French theater poster, the word "frisson" accompanying the death blow before the camera careens toward a screaming painted face.

THEATRE OF DEATH was released through Hemisphere Pictures in the States under the title BLOOD FIEND, though it also had television showings under its original title. There was a DVD release of THEATRE OF DEATH many years ago, which collectors may still be able to find at eBay, but I was able to find it streaming online as part of the Cultpix catalogue. 

(C) 2026 Tim Lucas. All rights reserved.

The Grèville/Margheriti Question, Pondered

I’m fascinated by the fact that the first three features in Severin’s THE EUROCRYPT OF CHRISTOPHER LEE, VOL 3 are projects involving the French writer-director Edmond T. Gréville: BEAT GIRL, THE HANDS OF ORLAC, and THE VIRGIN OF NUREMBERG (US: HORROR CASTLE). It’s the third one that strikes the chord of fascination because Gréville is credited only as one of three writers on the project… which was directed by Antonio Margheriti. But there is more to it than just that: VIRGIN also features the participation of Christopher Lee and Lucile Saint-Simon, both featured in THE HANDS OF ORLAC, which suggests to me that Gréville - a devotée of Grand Guignol theater - must have been posited as director of this project at some point and was the one who attracted Lee and Saint-Simon to join the cast. 

Margheriti’s films tend to be international co-productions so it would make sense that this one was made with a little money from France, especially given the presence of Saint-Simon (not to mention male lead Georges Rivière) in the cast. But the end product is identified as Italian only. Still, there is room for reasonable doubt that producer Marco Vicario - who owned the source story material - aimed higher than Margheriti when he was looking to assemble a package for production. Unfortunately, at the time this film was made, French production was not supportive of the horror genre and it’s unlikely that such a film could not have been made solely with French funding - which brings us back to Italy. 

This is theoretical: Margheriti had never directed a horror film before, so it’s possible that Vicario had originally booked him as the film’s special effects chief. If Vicario was unable to secure majority or equal French co-funding, he would have had to let Gréville go and find an Italian director to step in as soon as possible. (Ah! But did Gréville manage to direct any of VIRGIN before he was replaced?)

If you look at VIRGIN, it’s obvious that the film was shot on the same sets just vacated by Mario Bava’s THE WHIP AND THE BODY, so it may have been rushed into production to take cheap advantage of them while they were still standing. Margheriti had no horror track record, but he did have a track record as someone who had worked with major stars (Claude Rains, Tab Hunter) and made films that were screened all over the world, even in America. The film worked out - it’s one of my favorite Margheritis - but with these other two Grévilles brought to my attention in continuity, I can’t help but see it now as a project of mixed blood. The Gréville element makes too much sense. (Also, Bertrand Blier is credited as assistant director. I can imagine him assisting Grèville, but not Margheriti.)

On another related topic: Having seen VIRGIN again, and for the first time in such quality, I think I can see an explanation for the enmity that several of my Bava book interviewees told me about that existed between Bava and Margheriti. Here, Margheriti not only uses Bava’s leftover sets but appropriates many of his personal signature touches - his defining touches of Italian Gothic horror. Ironically, one of the original touches that Margheriti and his production team brings to VIRGIN - its emphases of red and black and its atmospheric placement of heavy red pleated curtains - Bava would in turn emphasize in his imminent BLOOD AND BLACK LACE. (Incidentally, VIRGIN’s credited set decorator Riccardo Domenici, who Margheriti was not using for the first time, had also been Bava’s production designer on BLACK SABBATH and THE WHIP AND THE BODY, two of his most ravishing productions - on a far higher plane than earlier Margheriti productions like HERCULES, PRISONER OF EVIL - which starred Bava’s last Hercules, Reg Park.) Of course, Margheriti also subsequently cast Bava’s BLACK SUNDAY discovery Barbara Steele in DANZA MACABRA/CASTLE OF BLOOD, adopted his valued supporting player Luciano Pigozzi (“Alan Collins”), and took over the direction of his fully-developed CRY NIGHTMARE/NAKED, YOU DIE project in the wake of DANGER: DIABOLIK. If we look at Margheriti’s later THE UNNATURALS and Bava’s own dream project LISA AND THE DEVIL, there are similarities that defy (or at least challenge) explanation. 

Of course, Margheriti was making a living like anyone else, and he had every right to hire whom he wanted to hire and shoot whatever project was offered to him. However, enmities tend to involve emotional triggers beyond their most obvious causes, just as they can be easily aggravated by those (on the receiving end, or in the peanut gallery) who don’t take them seriously and scoff at them until resentments begin to become more deliberately and pointedly returned.

(C) 2026 Tim Lucas. All rights reserved.