Tuesday, July 30, 2019

ROBOWAR - BLU-RAY REVIEW

Reviewed by Steve Fenton.
Let’s get one thing straight right at the start: coming as it did from 1988 (i.e., during the ‘last gasp’ of Italo trash cinema), as well as from low-end exploitationeer Bruno Mattei (using his infamous “Vincent Dawn” pseudonym), ROBOWAR is pure, undiluted exploitation mindrot that makes absolutely no bones about who and what it’s exploiting. Over the course of its brisk 88-minute runtime, it succeeds in—well, triesto, at least—ripping-off elements from ROBOCOP (as the title most obviously suggests), PREDATOR (especially that film!), the entire Rambo series, ALIENS, and also Arnold Schwarzenegger’s then-recent campy combat actioner COMMANDO, with a dash of Oliver Stone’s PLATOON thrown in for good measure.
Whole segments from ROBOWAR’s principal influence source PREDATOR are lifted almost verbatim and given the low-budget rerun-through. There are skinned human carcasses hung in trees and a bit where our mucho-macho ‘heroes’ use their arsenal of big guns like high-calibre Weed-Whackers in order to rout the hidden menace possibly lurking in the bush (“Whoever it was, it ain’t no more!”); indeed, as if to belabor this obvious nod to PREDATOR, there are numerous scenes of the heroes shooting wildly into the undergrowth elsewhere throughout, so obviously the minimal budget at least allowed for an unlimited amount of ammo to be fired-off! Playing one Major Murphy Black (“...better-known as ‘Kill-Zone’!”), Reb Brown leads a ‘crack’ expeditionary force of mercenaries somewhere deep in a Latin-American (or is it Southeast Asian?) jungle. Amongst others under Brown-as-Black’s command is well-seasoned spaghetti stunt-grunt Romano Puppo, who appears highly credible as the outfit’s grizzled, grim-faced senior member, Corporal Neil Corey (“Expert heavy weapons, top marksman rating…”), while Massimo Vanni, better-known to some as “Alex McBride”, plays Private Larry Guarino, alias “Diddy-Bopper” (?!) or just plain “Diddy” for short. As the squad’s shortest member and (quote) “crack reconnaissance man”, “McBride”/Vanni does a loose impression of Chuck Norris (circa that worthy’s Missing in Action stints), with mirror-shades, erect triceps, unkempt facial growth and all. Like Puppo an experienced fall guy in his own right, Vanni—best-known for his work on ’70s/’80s Italocrimers—also served as the film’s stunt coordinator (utilizing local Filipino stuntmen, who had plenty of experience in this sort of thing, as, not only were many European and American ‘tourist’ productions being shot in the Philippines at the time, but the nation simultaneously had its own then-thriving action movie industry too). Receiving plentiful screen-time herein, physically imposing (roughly 6-foot-5-inch) Pinoy actor Max Laurel (who played the titular snake/man-monster in both Jun Raquiza’s ZUMA [1985] and Ben Yalung’s sequel ANAK NI ZUMA [1987]) appears as Quang, the squad’s sole Asian (as in South Vietnamese) member and laconic pointman.
Collectively nicknamed BAM, an acronym for “Big-Assed Motherfuckers” (in our opinion, “BadassMofos” has a much better ring to it, but I guess something got lost in translation), our ‘dirty half-dozen’ are there to track down a renegade, gone-AWOL military cyborg as well as battle token revolutionary guerillas (who are present merely to up the gratuitous body-count during loads of chaotic combat scenes). Him—er, it?—known as “Omega I” is a bionic half-man/half-robot super-soldier invented by an unscrupulous techie named Mascher (played by Mel Davidson, wildly under- and overacting by turns) for use in militarily difficult theatres of war. To add some extra ‘dramatic tension’ to the proceedings, it develops that Omega incorporates various leftover bits-’n’-pieces of Reb’s ex-’Nam vet buddy, who was blown apart by a ’Cong land-mine.
Catherine Hickland (playing a chick named “Virgin” [yeah, right!]) is a blonde white missionary the squad picks up along the way, who eventually takes up arms—albeit without ever even coming close to actually shooting anything!—against the delinquent cyborg. Handling her M-16 like a squeeze-mop, rather than bother trying to come across like some kickass Sigourney Weaver clonette, Ms. Hickland instead plays seventh fiddle to the boys and steers clear of the gunfights. During these, lots of innocent incidental shrubbery (courtesy of the Filipino locations) and low-rent jungle real estate get blowed-up real good care of economical-if-energetic pyrotechnical effects.
Realization of the supposedly terrifying Omega droid is tawdrily shoddy in the extreme, it should—and indeed, must—be said. Super Force (1990), US TV’s own ROBOCOP rip-off from the same period, boasted a much more ominous-looking costume, and that guy was the hero! In the long run, ROBOWAR’s sub-state-of-the-art biomechanical menace comes across about as intimidating as your average 8-inch toy action figure. Indeed, the most-realistic aspect of Omega’s get-up is its black-painted football-cum-motorcycle crash helmet with smoked plastic visor; its least-convincing aspect being the urine-tinted, fuzzily digitized POV shots (accompanied by an overlaid gibberish of electronic tonalities) that indicate its heavily-pixelated worldview. For the most part, DP Riccardo Grassetti’s camerawork is efficiently functional, looking all the easier on the eyeballs in Severin’s pristine BD edition, and the crisp cinematography makes special makeup-man Franco Di Girolamo’s gnarly ‘putrefying cadaver’ effects appear that much gnarlier.
The affably dudebro-ish Brown—some of whose career ‘highpoints’ are a couple of Captain America TV movies and “Anthony M. Dawson”/Antonio Margheriti’s prehysterical schlock sci-fi epic YOR: THE HUNTER FROM THE FUTURE (1983)—spends most of his screen-time looking like either a mildly-startled bullock or an embarrassed Myrtle Beach surfer dude (or both at once). Possibly the Omega reminded Reb of resident supervillain Overlord’s pet ’bots in YOR too much, and made him nervous? His California beach bum act (complete with jet-black headband, as per his onscreen surname) is mostly played tongue-in-cheek, although he really gives his all in some scenes (you’ll know ’em when you see ’em!). But, was our Reb starting to look more and more like Doug McClure (especially in his career moves) during this period in his career? At one juncture, Brown pins a guerilla to the side of a native hut with a thrown knife. With the punchline-timing of an Arnie or Freddy, he then proceeds to deadpan, “Don’t move!
After ROBOWAR and his work on Fulci’s lamentable and virtually unsalvageable ‘unfinished mantelpiece’ ZOMBIE 3, it seems as though Bruno Mattei’s best effort, in this writer’s opinion, shall remain the nasty nunsploitation shocker THE OTHER HELL (1981); although, since Mattei openly admitted he’d never made a good film anyway, my opinion is entirely disposable. In the present offering, the director throws our way sufficient explosions, f-bombs—including a surprising number from former ‘boy-next-door’ Brown—unexpectedly competent and grisly after-the-fact gore FX, as well as prodigious amounts of asinine dialogue, that there’s not much time left to dwell on ROBOWAR’s shortcomings, when all is said and done… it definitely does entertain, and that’s the main thing. 
Final verdict: ROBOWAR is an absolutely vacuous but fun timewaster for undemanding fans of such fare; nothing less, and certainly nothing more. As rampaging sub-zero cyborg exploitation goes, gimme FRANKENSTEIN MEETS THE SPACE MONSTER any day, but for 1980s future schlock sci-fi, the present film ain’t too shabby at all (especially when you consider some of the far-crappier and less-energetic American-made STV [“straight-to-video”] ROBOCOPPREDATOR imitations that were released back then). Al Festa’s noodly synth electrobeat/cheese metal score is late-’80s all the way, and doesn’t sound half-bad even in 2019; who cares that incidental songs are periodically superimposed atop the action on a seemingly random basis, without rhyme nor reason?! While it’s been very nearly 30 years (GULP!) since I last killed X number of brain-cells watching ROBOWAR, in retrospect—especially in light of its latest, optimal incarnation on Blu-ray—it looks a whole lot better (in more ways than one) than I remember it being the first time round. 
In conclusion: let’s hear it for Reb Brown, the “Doug McClure” of the ’80s and ’90s!
Like Mattei’s other unashamedly—and highly-enjoyable—rip-off, SHOCKING DARK (1990), ROBOWAR was also never officially released in either the U.S. or Canada in any form, and it first gained notoriety among discerning cineastes via Columbia Home Video’s Japanese VHS videocassette release. In English with Japanese subtitles, Columbia’s tape also retained the film’s original 1.85:1 aspect ratio, and it remained the optimum release for more than two decades prior to Severin’s long-overdue Blu-ray. Scanned in 4K from the original camera negative, this all-region edition is virtually flawless, boasting razor-sharp detail and a bold, lush colour scheme, which is especially attractive considering that the entire narrative unfolds in a tropical rainforest. However, this added clarity also draws attention to the film’s ‘rough edges’, including the hilariously thrifty robo-suit. The DTS-HD MA 2.0 audio is provided in both English and Italian (with optional SDH and newly-translated English subtitles, respectively), and while there are some minor differences between the two tracks, it’s pretty hard to resist the film’s animated and sometimes highly-surreal English audio, which at times is a real hoot (e.g., “C’mon, Doc, you walk like a ruptured duck!”).
Containing a whopping six (!) special featurettes, the extras begin with Robo Predator (23m06s), an on-camera interview with writer/director Claudio Fragasso (a.k.a. “Clyde Anderson”), who shares his memories of working with Bruno Mattei and their cost-effective technique of shooting two different films simultaneously, beginning with their earliest collaborations, THE TRUE STORY OF THE NUN OF MONZA (1980) and THE OTHER HELL (1980), and later ROBOWAR along with Fragasso’s zombie film AFTER DEATH (1988), which they shot using only one camera! He also praises Mattei for his prowess as an editor, and how at one point he had to step in and direct a few sequences when Mattei fell ill. In Italian Rip-Off (9m18s), screenwriter Rossella Drudi gives her thoughts on the genesis of the film, and how she and Fragasso were commissioned to deliver a (quote) “part-PREDATOR, part-ROBOCOP, and part-ALIEN” film for producer Franco Gaudenzi. Drudi also admits how initially she wasn’t very fond of ROBOWAR, but after re-watching the film, she has become more forgiving (“It’s a nice movie. It’s very funny!”). Drudi pops-up again in Violence, She Wrote (21m05s) for a career-spanning interview, which is similar to the one she shared with Claudio Fragasso on Severin’s BD of VIOLENCE IN A WOMEN’S PRISON (1983). Nevertheless, in this new featurette, she shares a number of interesting stories as one of the very few female screenwriters associated—at that time, at least—with the horror genre.
The film’s leading lady, Catherine Hickland submits to an interview in Robolady (11m34s), during which she reminiscences about the unforgiving Philippine locations and how (quote) “There were a lot of surprises there for me”; she also speaks fondly of the cast and crew, despite some of them only speaking Italian (including director Mattei). In addition she discusses leading man Reb Brown’s (quote) “utter commitment”, no matter what the scene called for (this dedication is never more apparent than when Brown daringly leaps from atop a lofty cataract into a pool far below, and also during a strangely poignant anticlimactic scene at the end when he convincingly sheds tears over what his fallen ’Nam comrade-at-arms has become). In Papa Doc’s War (12m50s), American actor John P. Dulaney briefly discusses his career in Italian cinema and how he ended-up in the Philippines thanks to his friend, actor Mike Monty; the hot ’n’ humid locations; and how Mattei instructed everyone to yell incessantly while firing their machineguns. Actor Jim Gaines, Jr. is interviewed in The Robo Warrior (9m02s), wherein he primarily talks about how ROBOWAR was shot simultaneously with AFTER DEATH, as well as relating a number of funny anecdotes. Finally, in War of the Philippines (17m32s), actor/stuntman Massimo Vanni, who went by the anglicized pseudonym “Alex McBride” for most of his ’80s work, speaks warmly of working with Mattei, and how he initially got to know him via his cousin, editor Vincenzo Vanni. He goes on to discuss Mattei’s and Fragasso’s working relationship and how he enjoyed making (quote) “homemade” versions of Hollywood blockbusters. 
Additionally, this already extras-packed release includes Catherine Hickland’s Behind the Scenes Home Videos (15m14s), which is narrated by Hickland herself and features most of the cast and crew enjoying their time on-set and also includes an appearance by long-time actor Luciano Pigozzi (see note below). ROBOWAR’s trailer finishes-off the extras. For the first 3000 copies of the run, Al Festa’s score is included on a bonus CD. The film is currently available through Severin as a Limited Edition Blu-ray, DVD or as part of a Robowar bundle. For you Canadian readers, copies can be obtained from Suspect Video.
Note: Evidently, some scenes featuring long-time Italian character player Luciano Pigozzi (a.k.a. “Alan Collins”) were shot, but for whatever reason got excised from the final cut. Coincidentally enough, the same thing supposedly happened to the same actor on Mattei’s hilariously out-of-whack Vietnam War-set poliziesco COP GAME (1988), yet the name “Alan Collins” remains in its opening credits (as it also does on ROBOWAR), despite Pigozzi himself being nowhere to be seen in the flesh. 

Thursday, July 11, 2019

ESCAPE FROM WOMEN'S PRISON - BLU-RAY REVIEW

One of the many sleaze curios to come out of Italy during the ’70s, Giovanni Brusadori’s ESCAPE FROM WOMEN’S PRISON (1978) is, despite its rather deceptive U.S. release title, only tenuously connected to the women-in-prison genre, but it nonetheless remains a gritty, squalid slice of erotica, which made its worldwide Blu-ray debut earlier this year from Severin Films.

Led by the revolutionary Monica Habler (Lilli Carati), four women escape from prison, but when their getaway driver—and Monica’s brother, Pierre—is wounded, they manage to sneakily obtain help from a passing busload of female tennis players on their way to a tournament. Thanks to a special radio bulletin, their identities are eventually blown, and then self-professed leftist radical Terry (Ines Pellegrini), suggests they hide-out at a friend’s nearby villa, unaware that the owner, a prominent judge (Filippo Degara), is also at home. While Anna (Zora Kerova), one of the tennis players, tries to negotiate the safety of her teammates with Monica, most of the women are locked away in the villa’s basement, where they are continually tormented by Monica’s fellow fugitives, Diana (Marina D’Aunia), Erica (Ada Pometti) and Betty (Artemia Terenziani), but as the police close-in, tensions escalate and further violence ensues…

Although never even stepping foot inside an actual prison, Brusadori’s film clearly establishes the notion that these captive women will never be ‘free’ and, as they seek shelter inside the judge’s big house, it becomes very much a prison unto itself (which is at one point cleverly symbolized by the iron bars in many of the home’s windows). Populated by a relatively obscure cast of actors led by the charismatic Lilli Carati (adequately dubbed on the English version by Susan Spafford) and Zora Kerova (fresh from her starring role in Claudio Giorgi’s SATURDAY NIGHT FEVERrip-off, AMERICAN FEVER[1978]), many of the prurient goings-on—the film’s entire raison d’être—are highly in keeping with standard W.I.P. film tropes, including lesbianism (“You know how we managed to keep warm in prison? With the warmth of each other’s bodies!”), degradation, beatings, rape and even rising dissention among the imprisoned group; which, in the final act, leads into darker, even nastier territory still. In this respect, the film has more in common with Wes Craven’s seminal shocker LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT (1972), along with a number of similarly-themed Italian films such Franco Prosperi’s LAST HOUSE ON THE BEACH (a.k.a. TERROR, 1978) and Raimondo Del Balzo’s considerably tamer MIDNIGHT BLUE (1979).

Despite the film’s sleazy stature, ESCAPE FROM WOMEN’S PRISON was little-known even during the VHS days, when it was paired-up (“2 films. 1 cassette.”) alongside Michel Levesque’s SWEET SUGAR (1972) on Continental Video’s big box VHS videocassette, for which it was severely edited in order to fit onto the double-bill VHS tape—as a result, the (quote) “horror and depravation of women behind bars” was a whole lot less horrible and depraved! EFWP also appeared on Canadian videotape through Videoline and VEC, whose releases surprisingly retained the film’s original export version under the title WOMEN AGAINST WOMEN: A TALE OF SEX AND VIOLENCE. In 2006, it appeared on DVD via BCI/Brentwood as a ‘Women Behind Bars Double Feature’ double-teamed with Rino Di Silvestro’s grimy Nazisploitation film, DEPORTED WOMEN OF THE SPECIAL SECTION (1976), but, like its co-feature, it was taken from a VHS source. 

Presented in two variant cuts, Severin Films’ Blu-ray is a massive improvement when compared to the numerous murky VHS and DVD releases that preceded it. As per the film’s pre-credits disclaimer, the first cut was taken from a (quote) “dupe negative” via the film’s stateside theatrical distributor, 21stCentury Film Corporation. Running 83m11s, this print is full of scratches, jump-cuts, visual debris and the usual amount of grain, which is to be expected, but at the same time, detail is sharp and at times even relatively colourful. It definitely captures the spirit of the film’s grubby nature! The original Italian cut (which appears to have been taken from CineKult’s Italian DVD, but comes with the added bonus of English subtitles), is also present, running 94m12s. Presented in SD and considerably softer in appearance, much of the film’s political leanings as depicted by Carati’s character are expanded upon, as are a number of other expository scenes, but—BONUS!—this Italian version also contains a few more scenes of explicit nudity besides. In regards to the film’s audio, in spite of some light hiss here and there, the DTS-HD MA 2.0 mono audio is most satisfactory, highlighted by many of the film’s memorably colourful lines (e.g., “You can take that hand of yours and stick it up your wife’s bunghole!”).

Extras are provided by an informative on-camera interview with director Brusadori in Of Freedom, Sex and Violence (33m10s), wherein the one-time director talks about how he developed the idea after reading a (quote) “newspaper story about a female terrorist” and how he was influenced by the ’70s “Anni di piombi” or “The Years of Lead”, a sociopolitically chaotic time in Italy’s history; the film’s versatile Parma and Salsomaggiore locations; much of the cast and crew, including praise for DP Nino Celeste (“He was good, fast and knew how to solve problems”), as well as composer Pippo Caruso; and in general what an (quote) “extraordinary and wonderful” atmosphere there was on the set. The only other extra is the film’s Italian-language trailer (“A film that reflects our reality without exaggeration!”), subtitled in English, which advocates prison reform and, for some strange reason, is masked to an aspect ratio of 2.35:1. 

Politically-charged yet undemanding, ESCAPE FROM WOMEN’S PRISON remains a solid, memorably scuzzy little programmer, which should thoroughly please most sleazaholics. Available on Blu-ray, DVD or as part of the Sleaze is Risen Bundle from Severin Films, or if you prefer, from DiabolikDVD. For you Canadian readers, order it from Suspect Video

Monday, July 1, 2019

THE DEVIL'S NIGHTMARE - BLU-RAY REVIEW

Jean Brismée’s THE DEVIL’S NIGHTMARE probably remains one of the more widely-seen Euro Gothics, no thanks to a number of shoddy budget-priced releases that haunted both DVD and VHS bargain bins for years. At long last, this wonderfully atmospheric film makes its much-anticipated worldwide HD debut, thanks to the efforts of Mondo Macabro. As expected, it’s another stunner among MM’s long line of superb releases.

Berlin, 1945: World War II—economically and efficiently depicted using grainy newsreel footage, which actually works well in the film’s opening black-and-white sequence—is drawing to a close. At his chateau, Nazi General the Baron Von Runberg (Jean Servais) eagerly awaits the birth of his child, only to be left deeply disturbed when his first-born turns out to be a girl. This, due to an age-old familial curse, would bring dire misfortune to those of his bloodline. In one of the film’s oft-censored scenes, the Baron goes on to kill his peacefully sleeping newborn child with a bayonet… 

Following this grim opener, the action moves ahead to then-present-day of 1971. A young reporter is murdered on the grounds of the Baron’s vast estate shortly after enquiring about his family’s long-standing malediction (“It seems some sort of curse has plagued my ancestors for many centuries…”), an incident which happens to coincide with the arrival of a busload of tourists looking for shelter. Surreptitiously guided to the castle via a road closure by a strange, emaciated man (Daniel Emilfork) with a devilish smile, the tourists are given a chilling welcome as Hans (Maurice Degroot), the Baron’s servant, relates a number of gruesome murders that have occurred within the castle’s long and varied history, brought about by the Runberg curse. Later that night at dinner, the Baron tells of his ancestor Siegfried von Runberg, who, in the 12th Century, signed a pact with the devil, for which, in exchange, the eldest daughter of each successive generation of Runbergs are destined to serve Satan as a (quote) “kind of succubus”; a revelation which not only explains the events of the pre-credit sequence, but concludes with the mysterious arrival of a certain Lisa (Erika Blanc) on the very anniversary of this pact. Representing each of the seven deadly sins, the guests are, in due course, led to perdition as they succumb to temptation, until an aspiring junior priest (Jacques Monseau) amongst the group attempts to bargain with the devil himself in exchange for releasing their captive souls… 

Alongside Emilio P. Miraglia’s memorably-titled giallo THE NIGHT EVELYN CAME OUT OF THE GRAVE (1971), this remains one of Erika Blanc’s most well-known roles. She commands the screen both with her ravishing beauty and her memorably sinister, demonic appearance. Blanc’s transformation from an impossibly gorgeous woman into a spine-chilling, ashen-faced succubus involves ingeniously simplistic yet brilliant use of makeup and some impressive camerawork from DP André Goeffers, and it’s a real testament to what wonders can be achieved with so little. Set amidst the Baron’s impressive baroque castle (“With that rain outside, this castle is spookier than ever!”), this perfect Gothic locale is, much like Lisa herself, also a harbinger of death. Early in the film, a chunk of the centuries-old castle’s façade—part of one of the gargoyles adorning its walls—breaks loose and almost kills one of the newly-arrived guests when it falls; a moment which neatly foreshadows the creepy supernatural events yet to come. A dungeon-set laboratory (wherein the Baron practices alchemy in his spare time) and a room filled with medieval torture implements also add some threatening ambiance for the film’s delightfully quirky characters to wander about in, whilst Alessandro Alessandroni’s lush and unforgettable score keep things moving along very nicely indeed. 

THE DEVIL’S NIGHTMARE has had a long and tumultuous history on home video, which began during the ’80s VHS boom, where it usually turned-up retitled as THE DEVIL WALKS AT MIDNIGHT from such cheapo American labels as Regal Video and Saturn Productions, as well as the Toronto-based skid-row outfit Interglobal Home Video, the latter of which released a crummy censored print recorded at the cost-cutting LP (“long- play”) speed. Applause Video also issued it as SUCCUBUS in a slightly different cut, but the best of the bunch was Monterey Home Video’s big box edition under its original export title of DEVIL’S NIGHTMARE. In 1998, together with Nigel Wingrove’s British imprint Redemption Films, Image Entertainment released a quartet of Euro horror / sleaze titles simultaneously onto DVD and VHS, one of which was DEVIL’S NIGHTMARE. Struck from an Italian print, it was, for the time, a very handsome release indeed, which not only reinstated the film’s original 1.66:1 framing (unfortunately, it was non-anamorphic, though), but also restored a long-unseen lesbian tryst between Ivana Novak and Shirley Corrigan as well. The film’s U.S. TV spot was the only extra included on the disc, but as an added bonus, it also contained an alternate Italian audio track, which featured a more full-bodied musical score, but not surprisingly, this alternate track did not include any English subtitles. Countless DVD bootlegs from the likes of Brentwood, Diamond and Platinum soon followed, but the less said about these, the better.

It was a long time coming, but Mondo Macabro finally issued this Gothic favourite onto Blu-ray in a brand-new 2K scan taken from the film’s original camera negative, and once again it’s shown in its original 1.66:1 aspect ratio, but MM’s Blu-ray is a significant upgrade in every way, featuring beautiful, rich colours and picture-perfect, well-defined detail, a major upgrade which instantly renders the two-decades-old previous DVD obsolete! In an interesting discrepancy between Image’s DVD and MM’s new Blu, the film’s 1945 Berlin opening, which was presented in sepia tone on Image’s DVD, is now in black-and-white, and truth be told, it plays much better this way, which better incorporates all the newsreel footage. The English LPCM audio sounds clear and robust, but as an added—and very welcome—bonus, MM have also included the film’s original French-language audio track with optional English subtitles, which turns out to be far more refined and easier on the ears.

The extras begin with an enthusiastic audio commentary from author and film historian Troy Howarth, who goes on to cover plenty of ground, including discussing many of the film’s principal cast and crew; some of the film’s unique (quote) “murder set-pieces”; the dearth of Belgian horror films (“There tended to be a kind of snobby attitude about actually making such films…”), as well as the present film’s interesting production history. Howarth also reveals how THE DEVIL’S NIGHTMARE served as one of his introductions to Euro Cult cinema back in the ’80s and, despite his “misgivings” about some of the film’s padding, he readily admits it still moves along quite quickly, with some of the dialogue scenes even revealing some (quote) “wit and sparkle”. 

Further extras include a trio of on-camera interviews, beginning with director Brismée (32m40s), who discusses his involvement in the production through producer Charles Lecocq, a former student at INSAS, a subsidized Belgian film school which Brismée himself co-founded. He has fond memories of his directorial debut, and also mentions French cinematic stylist André Hunebelle’s (1896-1985) brief stint as a “technical advisor” on the film (he was on the set for just one day!). In the next interview (23m04s), assistant director and 2nd unit director Robert Lombaerts goes on to talk about his introduction to the film while working in television (“TV was pretty routine”), and due to DP Goeffers running behind schedule, he was promoted to 2nd unit director and put in charge of shooting the lesbian scenes with Novak and Corrigan; he also discusses the shoot’s Tournai location; how well the film sold all over the world (“You’re never recognized in your own country!”), and the how set designer Jio Berk was (quote) “very creative”. In the third interview (28m53s), experimental filmmaker Roland Lethem, whose friendship with Lombaerts allowed him to visit the set, admits he did not have much to do with the film at all (“I was jealous of all those guys!”), but it’s a fascinating interview just the same, in which he discusses his brief time at INSAS; his work as the Brussels correspondent for Midi-Minuit Fantastique (France’s first magazine devoted to fantastic cinema), which led to him befriending maverick Japanese filmmaker Seijun Suzuki after stumbling onto his incredible film GATE OF FLESH (1964); and also his experiences as an experimental filmmaker, a sequence which includes a number of eye-opening clips from his short films. Extras conclude with two English-language export trailers for the U.S. and U.K (which appear identical) and Hemisphere Pictures’ U.S. trailer (“THE DEVIL’S NIGHTMARE will leave its mark on you!”).

Earlier in the year, MM first issued this title in one of their highly-sought-after Limited ‘Red Case’ Editions, whose disc includes the exact same content as the standard release edition, but also included reversible artwork, lobby card reproductions and a terrific, highly-detailed, 10-page booklet on the making of the film, the Belgian film scene of the time and an in-depth look at one of the film’s writers, Patrice Rondard. Unfortunately, this version is now out-of-print. Order the standard edition from DiabolikDVDMondo Macabro or for you Canadian readers, Suspect Video.