Virgin Vampires With Full Moons

The Devil’s Wedding Night (aka, The Devil’s Crypt, Full Moon of the Virgins, Il Plenilunio delle Vergini/Italy, 1973) isn’t nearly as lip-smacking as it sounds. In fact, the Devil doesn’t even show up to his own happiest day. (Who can blame him? His brides/victims won’t sign a pre-nup.) But you don’t need him when you have a clothes-hating, female vampire bathing in human blood squeezings, likely for its moisturizing properties.

Two handsome brothers are twin archaeologists. One likes to gamble and make smooch happen with chicks. One wants to find the invaluable Ring of the Nibelung (it has mind-moisturizing properties), said to be in Castle Dracula in Transylvania, high up in the Carpathian Ski Mountains. Since this in the early 1900s and there is no Uber or Lyft to get him there, he has to ride his horse. (He never tips the pony or gives it a good rating, the jerk.)

Once at the castle, handsome twin #2 knocks on the door and tells the emotionless gal he’s an architect and wants to study the castle’s feng shui. While wandering around like a snoopy guest opening up underwear drawers and medicine cabinets, he hears a shrieking sound and sees moving shadows. It’s here he meets Countess Dracula, who invites him to stay for dinner and dessert, if you get my drift. Turns out, he’s the main course, but not before a little rub-a-dub.

While this shameful action is going on, his brother is hot on the trail, rushing to bring him a protective amulet to ward away evil. Ironic, since the fabled jewelry is said to have been fashioned by Pazuzu, King of the Demons. (I would’ve thought P would be more into Gothic cabinetry than homemade jewelry.)

As it so happens, tonight is the full moon of the virgins, wherein five as yet undefiled young gals from the nearby village fall under the ring’s spell, and they all walk to the castle at midnight, where in Countess Dracula extracts their blood and slathers it all over herself, likely for its moisturizing properties.

There’s a lot of running around the castle holding lit candles since the psychedelic, rainless lightning storm raging outside must’ve knocked out the power. Handsome twin brother #1 eventually stumbles across his brother entombed in a stone coffin and beats down a bald male vampire with sick thick eyebrows to rescue him.

The virgins show up, the countess turns into a giant bat, the handsome brother chops off her hand, snags the ring, gives his brother an economic, in-ground burial after serving up a stake well done.

So even as “meh” as this all is, stick around for the double twist ending. It will make you believe in the power of jewelry.

Return of the Evil Dead

The second in four installments of the Spanish Blind Dead series, Return of the Evil Dead (aka, Return of the Blind Dead, Attack of the Blind Dead, El Ataque de los Muertos Sin Ojos/1973) begins with villagers way angry that the Templar Knights (yeah, those guys again) have been sacrificing the locals and drinking their Bloodweiser™.

Rounded up to be burned alive, the head heretic vows revenge from the grave. (Wouldn’t you? I thought as much.) The villagers use their torches to burn out the knight’s eyes so they can’t find their way back to the village to revenge them in the future. Then they bury the bodies in cement crypts — in the local graveyard. Nice going, asshats; you’ve f’d your descendants in the b-hole.

Five hundred years later it’s the Roasting of the Heathens Centennial BBQ & Box Social, with the whole hamlet turning out to drink, dance and rhythmic hand clap as symbolic Templar dummies are ceremoniously torched. But wasn’t this the very same day the Knights were prophesied to return from the dead for retribution purposes? Somebody forgot to check their iCalendar™.

The celebration is a bust when the Knights show up to stab everyone in the eyes. Escape attempts are pitiful, which is suspect; The Knights move about as fast as Templar Slugs going uphill, and yet no one seems to outrun them. But wait, the church has a holy blow torch and a bottle of sacrament gasoline next to the storage room full of unused bibles. All praise makeshift weaponry.

A few bare boobies, some blood, a sliced head and arm. If anyone had read the Templar Knight instructions, all they had to do was wait until the sun came up, then those shrouded bad boys would go happily back to their graves for another 500 years. But people would rather swing torches around than use common sense when dealing with the vengeful undead.

P.S. This use of the extended noun phrase “the evil dead” predated The Evil Dead (1981) by EIGHT WHOLE YEARS! And you didn’t think you were gonna learn anything new this day.

Stoned Demon God

The Japanese term Daimajin translates to good ’ol English as Great Demon God. (I wonder what my term translates to in Japanese? Probably Great Beer God. I like that. Thank you, Japan.)

Daimajin is also the title of the 1966 horror fantasy movie about a gigantic stone statue that comes to life and squashes people. There is nothing about that sentence I don’t like.

It’s bad enough the downtrodden villagers in ancient Japan are enduring a series of tremors (or “mini quakes”); on the flip side you have their leader Lord Hanabasa in constant arguments with the super mean and cruel Samanosuke. The quakes are attributed to the spirit of the Daimajin trapped in a nearby mountain and is trying to bust a move. The meanness of Samanosuke is attributed to him just being a dick.

Samanosuke uses the villagers superstitions against them and to overthrow (i.e., kill) Lord Hanabasa, thus ruling with an iron fist (i.e., sword). His reign is highlighted with torture, stabbings, eye gougings, and assorted punchings, leading to a slave labor workforce.

Shinobu, the village’s local priestess, has had enough of this crap and, after a long story involving other story-padding characters, warns about the Daimajin coming to smash evil.

Samanosuke chortles at the stone Samurai and sends his posse to go beat the revered stone statue into bite-sized chunks. When the army starts pounding a huge railroad spike into Daimajin’s forehead, the statue comes alive and breaks free of his dirt cage. It’s clobberin’ time.

Stomping its way towards the village, Daimajin’s face changes into that of a pissed of Shogun with a facial expression that looks like the railroad spike was pounded into Daimajin’s glory hole. It’s as if the demon god was sold at a Pottery Barn™ managed by Slayer.

Doing what only a 25 meter tall ticked off stone creature can do, Daimajin, who only makes its appearance an hour (!) into the movie, stomps, crushes, squishes and squashes Samanosuke’s bully squad into egg rolls.

But wait, Daimajin is unable to distinguish evil from reverse evil, and begins swinging his wrecking balls all over the village, wiping out years of shabby architecture. It’s only when a chick cries at Daimajin’s dirty feet that it’s spirit is released and goes zooming off as a UFO-esque orb, leaving it’s husk to crumble all over the place. Guess who has to clean up that mess?

There were two more sequels: Return of Daimajin (1966) and Daimajin Strikes Again (1966). Yes, all three were released in the same year. I think they just reused the original Daimajin monster. Way to milk that sacrificial cow.