Dir - Francesc Bellmunt/Jaime Chávarri/Emilio Martínez Lázaro/José María Vallés
Overall: WOOF
Spain jumps in the anthology horror game with Pastel de sangre, (Cake of Blood, Blood Pie), which features four different writer/directors each delivering a segment. For most of the filmmakers, this was their first full-length credit and they would rarely if at all dip their toes into the genre throughout the rest of their careers. Unfortunately, their joint venture here is an amatuerish and pointless mess. Each story is both low on dialog and plot, going for an ethereal mood that just becomes frustratingly aimless. José María Vallés' "Tarota" has a guy on a horse, a little person, weird masks, and a woman who might be a vampire. "Victor Frankenstein" by Emilio Martínez Lázaro is by far the most forgettable interpretation of Marry Shelley's novel ever filmed, barely qualifying as such since it just has a zero charisma doctor showing up and then disappearing so that his good-looking yet mute creature can arrive, smile at people, and strangle a few of them. Francesc Bellmunt's "Terror entre cristianos" has vampires and Romans and then Jaime Chávarri's closing "La danza o las supervivencias afectivas" is possibly the worst of all, featuring two criminals who tie up a woman and then do nothing for roughly twenty minutes afterwards.
Dir - Pedro Olea
Overall: MEH
A conspiracy thriller from Spanish filmmaker Pedro Olea, The House Without Frontiers, (The House Without Boundaries, La casa sin fronteras), was made as General Francisco Franco's long-standing regime was winding down and it serves as an ambiguous mood piece where elderly upholders of power are patiently and systematically weeding out the younger generation who are not so willing to play ball. While the premise and several intense moments are sinister and chilling, the deliberate pacing takes too much wind out of the proceedings. The opening scene is repeated with different characters three different times and in each instance it successfully represents a macabre reminder of what is at stake, but the nebulous plot unfolds nonchalantly. Numerous lingering shots are unnecessary, as are entire moments that propel nothing forward while only hinting at a melancholic dread that never becomes properly suspenseful. Tony Isbert also makes for a painfully wooden lead, never once changing his flat-lined facial expression until the closing moments. Though clearly an admirable and risky work for its era and home country, the movie feels an hour longer than it is and ultimately tiptoes around its more interesting ideas as opposed to successfully leaning into them.
(1974)
Dir - Jorge Grau
Overall: WOOF
The second of three consecutive horror films from Spanish director Jorge Grau, Violent Blood Bath, (Pena de muerte, Penalty of Death, Night Fiend, Death Petulantly, The Private Life of a Public Prosecutor), boasts a particularly misleading title as there is little violence, even less blood, and no baths. Instead, it is a low-level melodrama concerning a crotchety magistrate who favors the death penalty and is plagued by a series of copycat murders pertaining to criminals whom he had previously sentenced. He also has a wife, (Austrian bombshell/scream queen Marisa Mell), that is over twenty years younger than him and who is gallivanting around in steamy fashion with her ex. Despite a couple of hysterical breakdowns near the finale from Mell, the actors on screen seem to be sleepwalking through the entire thing, which is understandable due to Grau's insufficient pacing and a story that removes anything that could be considered exciting. Well, we do have a hilariously random moment where women engage in a lobster-eating contest in their underwear, but there is otherwise nothing to see here that is worth remembering. Characters talk, they talk some more, then they talk again before making room for a lot more talking, plus the twist is one of the most predictable in any quasi-giallo out there.
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