When I was a kid, I lived for horror films. I often could get my old man to take me to the theatre to see one on the weekend so afterwards we could raid the local hamburger joint, as mom kept us in healthy eating at the house. Primary 80s horror viewing was done via the video store, however, and I relished "New Release" day so I could browse the stacks of boxes. I'll never forget the box of demonic Angela in Night of the Demons, Pinhead on the Hellraiser boxes, or the iconic skull on the box of Evil Dead 2. This artwork screamed "Rent Me!" and I often picked up quite a few for the weekend. I knew about all of these flicks well in advance, because I hungrily read genre magazines Fangoria and Gorezone from cover to cover, as if they were my bible. As I got older, this passion for horror films seriously waned. Now, I rarely watch any new horror cinema, and like most of the cinema covered here, I seek out the obscure and forgotten (or never known) for something unique and different.
A few months ago on eBay, I got a lot of genre magazines, primarily Fango and Gorezone, for a pittance, perhaps from someone once like me. When I got them in the mail, I started perusing them. A lot of those old feelings of excitement returned. I even got the opportunity to read my letter in an issue of Gorezone where I queried the editors on the work of Jim Van Bebber whose film Deadbeat at Dawn was making a bloody splash on the horror scene! Finally, when Bryce at Things that Don't Suck announced that he was hosting Raimifest, I knew exactly which film that I would revisit and then review. I had rented it over twenty years ago and had been disappointed--not in the film mind you, but in its video presentation. I even found the article in Gorezone No. 6 that inspired me to seek it out, written by the inimitable Chas. Balun. Allow me to quote Balun's opening paragraph from his article to kick off the substantive portion of this review:
"Actor, writer, producer, director, Fake Shemp, practical joker, devoted horror fan, and close personal friend to both Sam Raimi and Bruce Campbell--known 'em both since junior high school, as a matter of fact. His previous film credits include Evil Dead II (as co-writer and actor), Thou Shalt Not Kill...Except (co-writer, producer) and The Dead Next Door (actor). He's currently in postproduction on Intruder, his feature film directorial debut that co-stars old chums Sam and Ted Raimi and Bruce Campbell; it sports the FX talents of Greg Nicotero, Howard Berger and Bob Kurtzman (Savini's crew on Day of the Dead)." (Gorezone, No. 6, March 1989. edited by Anthony Timpone, O’ Quinn Studios Publishing, New York, p.8) 
The director described is Scott Spiegel whose film Intruder was also co-written and produced by Lawrence Bender (whose collaborations with Quentin Tarantino must have led to these three eventually working together on From Dusk Till Dawn 2: Texas Blood Money (1999)). Intruder is about a crew working in a grocery store after closing who get picked off, one by one, by a killer. It's a film with a single location, few characters, and a simple plot. While Spiegel admits in the Gorezone article that after working on Thou Shalt Not Kill...Except, low-budget films, like Evil Dead, should be kept to a single location for organizational and budgetary reasons (Gorezone, p.9), his decision to do so with Intruder is as much a creative one: like Evil Dead and the film that he co-wrote previously, Evil Dead 2, when the setting, plot, and characters are simple, the complexity and creativity can come with the details. The opportunity for interesting and bloody practical effects; off-kilter photography, lighting, and editing; and dark comedy are ripe. Does Intruder succeed? Yes, kind of, sort of, no. However, Spiegel and crew had some hurdles to clear in 1989 even before the cameras started rolling.
The director described is Scott Spiegel whose film Intruder was also co-written and produced by Lawrence Bender (whose collaborations with Quentin Tarantino must have led to these three eventually working together on From Dusk Till Dawn 2: Texas Blood Money (1999)). Intruder is about a crew working in a grocery store after closing who get picked off, one by one, by a killer. It's a film with a single location, few characters, and a simple plot. While Spiegel admits in the Gorezone article that after working on Thou Shalt Not Kill...Except, low-budget films, like Evil Dead, should be kept to a single location for organizational and budgetary reasons (Gorezone, p.9), his decision to do so with Intruder is as much a creative one: like Evil Dead and the film that he co-wrote previously, Evil Dead 2, when the setting, plot, and characters are simple, the complexity and creativity can come with the details. The opportunity for interesting and bloody practical effects; off-kilter photography, lighting, and editing; and dark comedy are ripe. Does Intruder succeed? Yes, kind of, sort of, no. However, Spiegel and crew had some hurdles to clear in 1989 even before the cameras started rolling.In 1989. the MPAA had its sharpest scissors. Virtually every horror film with an iota of gore was censored by the group. Video had saved a lot of horror films, as "unrated" versions of films were common. Balun notes in his article that Paramount Home Video would release Intruder on video (Gorezone, p. 11) and this was the version that I first saw. (Someone is going to have to verify the following information for me, as I don't have an original VHS of Intruder to view.) The subsequent VHS release had its gore censored and was released rated R. It was even censored in a disrespectful manner: scenes were cut from the release with its audio, so even the music gets muffed. Paramount didn't even bother cutting and then redoing the audio track. With a low-budget film with a heavy portion devoted to elaborate FX, there went a good part of its appeal.
However, Intruder was going to suffer at its inception: by 1989 or even before, the slasher genre was tired. Three buzz words surrounded Intruder in print media: "slasher," "gore," and "grocery store." How would Spiegel attempt to tackle and entertain and make memorable his film among jaded fans? In the Gorezone article, Spiegel reveals himself a real horror fan with a deep love for the genre. He declares that "Intruder is straightforward in a Halloween kind of way." (Gorezone, p.10) However, this same filmmaker also made Super-8 comedies in his youth with Sam and Ted Raimi, and this comedic tradition continues in his adulthood with both Evil Dead 2 and Intruder. (Gorezone, p. 8) Ultimately, Intruder wants to be a tension-filled horror film with laughs. The comedy and the horror actually work against each other in the film.
Here is an example and it is representative. In celebration of Raimifest, the character is Randy, portrayed by Sam Raimi, and his death scene (yes, he dies in the film. What a shock.). By the end of the first act in traditional fashion, all of the characters are introduced, the mystery opened, red herring inserted, and the dramatic motivation begun: the grocery store is shutting down. The two co-owners are selling the store. The crew has to stay overnight to mark all the prices down in the store. This motivation will separate the characters into different parts of the store and put each alone on some task. By the time Raimi's Randy meets his demise, the viewer has already seen his treatment: character alone, quiet audio, dark room, a minute for him/her to discover that something is amiss, then audio cue, attack, and gore scene. It is very predictable to say the least. The comedy, when inserted in these scenes, is completely out of place. For example, Randy is in the meat department, and before the killer gets him, he picks up a packaged container. Instead of a fresh cut steak, it is a human hand. The tension is not only undercut by the predictability but its comedy. Nail-biting, chuckle, or jump scare? I don't know. Take your pick.
However, this is my opinion in 2011. If Intruder were made today, not only would I have never seen it, then I probably would have never had known about it. Intruder does have a wonderfully dated quality that really defines it. The grocery store setting appears genuine and also appears dated even in 1988. To see products that are no longer around because they have lost their utility or their companies have gone under, print magazines no longer published, and technology seriously outdated is surreal.
However, this is my opinion in 2011. If Intruder were made today, not only would I have never seen it, then I probably would have never had known about it. Intruder does have a wonderfully dated quality that really defines it. The grocery store setting appears genuine and also appears dated even in 1988. To see products that are no longer around because they have lost their utility or their companies have gone under, print magazines no longer published, and technology seriously outdated is surreal. Anyone can attack a mystery or a horror film armed with elementary logic. Take any mystery: define the number of characters, reduce the pool by their obvious characteristics from the extreme ends of the spectrum, limit the pool to a workable bunch, and deduce the killer from the small group. Shit, you can probably guess with bulls-eye accuracy. Or, even easier, attack the traditional, three-act structure, plot-driven film. First, learn the running time of the film from either the back of the DVD cover or on the internet from, say, Moviefone. Second, divide the film's running time into thirds and make note of each time. While watching the film, look at your watch. At the end of the first third, all of the characters in the film are introduced, the exposition delivered, and the dramatic conflict begun. At the end of the second act, again look at your watch, the dramatic action should be fuelled and the characters should have some sort of knowledge as to its resolution. Finally, the third act has the most structural sub-components but its ultimate aim is climax and resolution. So, for example, when I look at my watch at the end of an hour into Intruder, it's "final girl" time. I can pretty much guess where this is going.
It's a load of shit to say it, but it's true: a film's heart can never be measured with any logical or mathematical approach. It is conveyed really to the viewer, and the level to which it reaches you is dependent on the viewer. Intruder conveys a tremendous amount of heart. The enthusiasm with which Balun writes his Gorezone article and the geeky-horror-movie-fan enthusiasm so very present in Spiegel radiates throughout Intruder. The shadowy compositions are really effective. Spiegel is able to make his shadows powerful enough to compete with the other props and gore effects in the frame, and often the shadows win out in creepy factor. Often a lot of the comedy, while it may be out of place, is quite endearing. For example, virtually everyone who works in the store is constantly snacking on something. Raimi's Randy is totally focused on some menial task. In the foreground of the composition, a jar of olives stands out from which Randy is mindlessly taking out olives. He pops them in his mouth without looking. The camera goes into close-up of the jar, and Randy reaches into the jar. The killer has placed an eyeball among the olives. Randy's fingers graze the eyeball but at the last second, he grabs an olive. It's a cute, "ewww" gore effect, and one that only a real lover of horror films would even think to include.
Any Raimi fan will recognize Dan Hicks in Intruder and he gives a wonderful performance. He tells a story midway into the film that is totally creative and incredulous, yet Hicks's rendition is genuine. While all of the performances in Intruder waver in quality, none are lacking in enthusiasm. The final film appears as if everyone, from cast and crew, want Intruder to be a roller-coaster scarefest. This one quality, its heart, is ultimately Intruder's redeeming quality. This is why it made fans in 1989 and still has fans, like me, today. Intruder is old-school predictable horror but it's old-school horror. They just don't make them like this anymore. Okay, I'm fucking around. Yes, they do. However, not quite like this. See it and understand.
It's a load of shit to say it, but it's true: a film's heart can never be measured with any logical or mathematical approach. It is conveyed really to the viewer, and the level to which it reaches you is dependent on the viewer. Intruder conveys a tremendous amount of heart. The enthusiasm with which Balun writes his Gorezone article and the geeky-horror-movie-fan enthusiasm so very present in Spiegel radiates throughout Intruder. The shadowy compositions are really effective. Spiegel is able to make his shadows powerful enough to compete with the other props and gore effects in the frame, and often the shadows win out in creepy factor. Often a lot of the comedy, while it may be out of place, is quite endearing. For example, virtually everyone who works in the store is constantly snacking on something. Raimi's Randy is totally focused on some menial task. In the foreground of the composition, a jar of olives stands out from which Randy is mindlessly taking out olives. He pops them in his mouth without looking. The camera goes into close-up of the jar, and Randy reaches into the jar. The killer has placed an eyeball among the olives. Randy's fingers graze the eyeball but at the last second, he grabs an olive. It's a cute, "ewww" gore effect, and one that only a real lover of horror films would even think to include. Any Raimi fan will recognize Dan Hicks in Intruder and he gives a wonderful performance. He tells a story midway into the film that is totally creative and incredulous, yet Hicks's rendition is genuine. While all of the performances in Intruder waver in quality, none are lacking in enthusiasm. The final film appears as if everyone, from cast and crew, want Intruder to be a roller-coaster scarefest. This one quality, its heart, is ultimately Intruder's redeeming quality. This is why it made fans in 1989 and still has fans, like me, today. Intruder is old-school predictable horror but it's old-school horror. They just don't make them like this anymore. Okay, I'm fucking around. Yes, they do. However, not quite like this. See it and understand.
Una ondata di piacere (1975) marks a return to cinema after an absence of years for its director, Ruggero Deodato. In his own words, Deodato speaks of its genesis, taken from his interview included as a part of a featurette of the Raro 
In Cannibal Holocaust and The Savage Cinema of Ruggero Deodato, Deodato relates this version of the film's genesis: 
Una ondata di piacere benefits from its tight and almost primary setting, Giorgio’s yacht, four characters, with each actor giving an effective performance, and a willingness to be provocative, leaving the conservative perhaps back at shore. It is a film about power and its perversity, its ridiculousness, and its attraction. 
John Steiner’s Giorgio is the most overt character with the most stereotypical rendition of power. Giorgio’s wealthy, competitive, and possessive; and perhaps as a result of these traits, he is cruel. He enjoys berating and abusing his wife, Silvia. Giorgio refuses a business deal with a down-on-his-luck colleague, and it is intimated in a later scene that this colleague committed suicide because of this refusal. Giorgio could have helped, exclaims Silvia, but he didn’t want to, intimating that Giorgio took some pleasure in rebuffing his colleague. In another sequence on the yacht, Irem overhears Giorgio tells his lawyer via phone to close a deal with its end result being the unemployment of six hundred workers. Giorgio doesn’t care in the least, and this irks Irem. Dionisio’s Barbara immediately realizes Giorgio’s nature, and as the film progresses, it becomes clear that Barbara’s plan is to seduce Giorgio. However, she is never going to complete the seduction: the ultimate punishment is to deny Giorgio what he wants the most. For someone so driven and possessive and cruel like Giorgio, to be denied anything could kill him. Barbara’s plan does not work as conceived. 
The perversity of Una ondata di piacere reveals itself during the second act. Elizabeth Turner’s Silvia reveals herself as not a victim but as very complacent in her position. In their cabin, Barbara and Irem stare incredulously as they hear Giorgio and Silvia have sex in their cabin. Barbara remarks, humorously, from the noises that they are making now, one would never think that they tried to kill each other earlier that day. Irem remarks that they seem like a master and happy slave. Barbara still attempts to exact her plan but she is never able to make any effective headway. Meanwhile, Irem develops a blossoming obsession towards Silvia. Like Barbara, Silvia seems to enjoy seducing Irem yet keeping him effectively at bay. Silvia’s character takes a perverse turn, as does Barbara‘s--when the third act begins, Barbara changes her plan, and when the credits roll, the viewer will certainly be questioning her cruelty. 
Ruggero Deodato has always been a court jester of cinema, enjoying being willful and provocative for the sake of being so. I admire this tremendously. The thriller plot of Una ondata di piacere is tired; and the real interest of the film is in watching these characters reveal their different layers with totally unexpected results. In fact, as much as Una ondata di piacere is touted as an erotic film, Deodato shoots the film as if it weren’t: the film has an organic style, none of the nudity or the sex is particularly treated with flourish. When Turner and Dionisio disrobe in front of each other, Deodato’s composition doesn’t change. Like a conversation, the inclusion of any skin into the frame just continues. When Irem attempts to fuck Silvia, Deodato shoots them on the small staircase leading from the cabin to the upper deck. There’s nothing special about the setting nor the atmosphere: there’s only Irem’s obsession and Silvia’s seduction. Any eroticism from the film is generated from the actors: gorgeous Dionisio is as seductive in her jeans and hooded sweatshirt walking the streets of Cefalù as she is sunbathing topless on the deck of the yacht. Deodato’s primary composition of Dionisio is a facial close-up. Cliver and Turner generate heat in their few sequences, and Steiner, perhaps intentionally with his performance, looks buffoonish in his sexual scenes. 
Una ondata di piacere is unexpected in Deodato style and is worth seeing if not just for Silvia Dionisio’s precious performance. She captures every frame and is the very definition of charismatic. While Steiner’s character is the most overt and Turner’s character the most subverted, Dionisio’s character is the most unexpected and holds the most mystery. Una ondata di piacere is a rare film in Deodato’s filmography, rarely spoken of, but like most of his cinema, very provocative and compelling and certainly worthy of seeking out.
"When I see this film," says Rollin, "I feel a sense of unease. As if the film contains the seed of a great film that was never actually realized." (from Virgins and Vampires, edited by Peter Blumenstock, Essays by Jean Rollin, Crippled Publishing, Germany, 1997, p.93)
Natalie Perry, "in a very moving scene that gave the film its true meaning," (Virgins, p. 93) appears in the hallway of the Black Tower in front of Elisabeth and her roommate, portrayed by Catherine Greiner. Perry's character knows that she has a child and does not know where her child is. She cannot remember the sex of her child nor its name. She only has this innate connection, beyond her memory, that she has had a child and that her child is somewhere, alone. Elisabeth and Catherine are speechless and are overcome with the awkwardness of being so moved so suddenly by such emotion. Catherine tells Perry's character that her child's name is Alice, and this statement brings comfort to Perry's character. Its comfort is not lasting, as Perry's character only takes five or ten steps away, and asks again what her child's name is. Catherine tells Elisabeth that we can make memories for each other--making memories as temporary comfort for a debilitating condition that is consuming them. 
Grenier's character, in addition to suffering the memory loss, has also lost the ability of her fine motor skills, like undoing her buttons or unfastening her belt. "Cathy Grenier was a real actress. She dreamed about playing and worked for a long time on the scene where Brigitte feeds her with a spoon. This scene is a great moment, very moving and she is excellent in it," says Rollin. "I resisted to the bitter end facing André Samarcq [the producer] who insisted on me cutting it out at the editing." (from the supplemental booklet included in the Encore DVD set, p. 19) The scene which Rollin is describing is during a sequence where Elisabeth and Catherine are having dinner. Elisabeth watches as Catherine cannot bring the spoon of soup to her lips without spilling it. Without words, Elisabeth sits next to her friend and feeds her. Like Perry's sole scene, this sequence is especially tender and moving. So much so, after viewing, one can see why Rollin put up a fight to keep it in La nuit. 
Nonetheless, Samarcq’s demands upon Rollin show its influence in La nuit des traquées and alter its outcome. The lengthy sex scene between Lahaie and Duclos goes on way too long for most viewers. In addition, the scene is way too much for most viewers. To be totally frank, Brigitte Lahaie is too much for most viewers. Lahaie is one of the most sensuous actresses to ever grace the screen. She possesses an overwhelming and powerful sexuality. She also plays all of her roles with a true vulnerability and genuineness. Few possess these traits. However, to encounter a scene like this early in the film, many might determine the film for something it is not--a pure sex film. The subsequent sex scenes in La nuit might be borne from Rollin’s rebelliousness against Samarcq: one is a scene of violence, a rape scene shot in the same manner as a consensual sex scene; and the other is a sex scene ending in violence, performed by two ancillary characters (to be fair, ancillary characters pop up in and around Rollin’s films so often, they can hardly be called ancillary as their quantity removes their ancillary nature). The sex scenes are there, but they’re not titillating, save Lahaie and Duclos’s scene. These exploitive scenes punctuate La nuit loudly, making it unique in that respect. I’ve never valued tonal consistency (or any consistency, for that matter) in film, as I believe an artist is completely free to do as he/she wishes with the art. However, the tender scenes don’t play well with the exploitative scenes--they stand together like bullies and victims forced uncomfortably together for a school photo. 
Finally, I would be remiss not to mention the music by Philippe Bréjean: it’s simple and haunting. He really captured the melancholy mood of the film. It has to be heard rather than described with words. 
La nuit des traquées is an obscure film in an obscure film maker’s filmography. There are no castles, no Castel twins, and no beach scenes. It’s a beautiful and sad film full of fragments, where perhaps, all its beauty and sadness reside. 
Montefiori continues, “To be honest, when he [Aristide Massaccesi, aka Joe D’Amato] said, ‘Let’s direct it together,’ I answered, ‘No, I’ll direct, and you can watch and learn how it’s done.’ He really got pissed off. No, I told him that the first day on the set. On the first day of the shoot, we were in the basement of the Hilton hotel, you know, where there are all the pipes, for heating and so on--in order to shoot a strange scene, like out of James Bond--Aristide and Donatella [Donati] were on the set. He stood there like this [Montefiori gestures with arms crossed], watching me. He wanted to see what I would say. Then the cameraman showed up, and I said, ‘Put the camera here, with this lens, then we’ll do a dolly shot...’ And he was totally quiet. After five minutes I was thinking he’d come up. I was saying to myself, ‘It’s impossible for him to hold his tongue.’ And in fact he come up and goes, ‘Why’d you put the camera there?’ I said ‘Aha! Aristide!’ I must say that I hadn’t asked him for a salary as director. When he’d proposed we direct together, I knew it was because he didn’t want to pay me! So I said, ‘I’ll direct.’ He started to object and I told him to pay me an assistant director’s salary. I didn’t care about the money--at the time I didn’t give a damn about money. So when he came up to me and asked me why I placed the camera there, I said, ‘Ari, you’re paying me to direct, not to teach you how to direct.’ He got really pissed and called me every name in the book and split. But I say he always let me work in peace, since of course he knew me. The thing that was fun for me was to do something that everyone said couldn’t be done. We’d just answer: ‘It can be done, don’t worry.’” (from the documentary, Joe D'Amato Totally Uncut, included as a supplement on the Shriek Show/Media Blasters Anthrophagus 
Aristide Massaccesi (aka Joe D’Amato)
While the finished film has a few problems (as I’ll discuss below), Anno 2020 is quite an accomplishment considering its background.
I’ll be damned if the story of Anno 2020 isn’t epic in scope. It’s definitely a Western in its structural design, its archetypes, and its mythology, complete with a saloon sequence, a canyon standoff, and a fort defense by incoming raiders. Love, revenge, redemption, good versus evil, hope, despair, wagon wheels...all that shit. Eventually, Cliver’s Nisus abandons the group and settles with Maida in the community. Nisus becomes a pillar and helps the community restore power to the plant. He and Maida even have a child together and are beginning a family. Eventually fascist bastard, the Black One (Donald O’Brien) busts in on the group with his elite futuristic warriors in tow. A band of raiders also appear to be supporting the Black One, led by Nisus’s former colleague, Catch Dog. They subdue the community after a valiant defense by the settlers, and the Black One takes power, intending to kill the rest of the law marshals in the area. 
Part of the charm of Anno 2020 comes from the era, and those, like me, who love Italian action films from the 1980s, especially the “Post Nuke” films, will enjoy revisiting this era: the Mohawks, the makeshift battle armor, spiked armbands, the facepaint--as much as these are costumes for new tribes of the post-apocalyptic world, they are also staples of the 1980s fashion scene. Anno 2020 has a synth score by whom the credits reveal as Francis Taylor who may be Carlo Maria Cordio, as the 
Visually, Anno 2020 is competent and slick yet not flashy. Its design is to be a commercial action film and it delivers--it hides its low budget well with its editing while also being exciting editing in its action sequences. Montefiori’s improvisations to the script and his direction of scenes with the actors are well done. He’s a professional and seasoned (and in my opinion, underrated) screenwriter who knows scenarios and characters well. Although the story is disjointed and fragmented (and a lot of the time, weird), there is a richness and depth to the fragments.
Diana Lorys is Anna, a nightclub dancer, who meets Cincia (Colette Jack), who invites Anna to her home. Cincia tells Anna that her talent and beauty are above and beyond where she is working and makes a vague promise to Anna that she can make her a bigger success. Anna agrees and soon finds comfort in Cincia's home. A local doctor, Paul (Paul Muller), is eventually summoned to Cincia's home under the assumption that Anna is ill. Apparently, Anna has been having nightmares--those of her killing people or waking up not knowing what she has done, with someone dead in her bedroom. 
Les cauchemars naissent la nuit is, as a mystery, reminiscent of Umberto Lenzi's Orgasmo (Paranoia) (1969) in the respect that Anna's reality is being manipulated by those around her. Anna's subsequent madness is borne from this manipulation. The key figure in this manipulation would have to be Colette Jack's Cincia, but during the nightclub sequence when Cincia first sees Anna, it would appear that Anna actually seduces Cincia. Anna's striptease sequence is shot in Franco-style (aka very lovingly) (aided by José Climent's photography and a sexy score by Bruno Nicolai); and it almost seems that Cincia is compelled to have Anna in her home. 
Lorys's Anna remains the focus of Les cauchemars naissent la nuit, and this makes it difficult to discern what is going on around her. Franco shows many an emotional scene where Anna wants to flee Cincia's home, and Anna often runs into the arms of Muller's Paul. She continually asks for help. Paul, not uncaring, lends a sympathetic ear, yet his ultimate advice is often just "go home and rest." 
More telling perhaps about Les cauchemars naissent la nuit is where this falls in Jess Franco's filmography: it is only slightly removed in time from his previous Eugénie (1970); and his subsequent film would be Christina, princesse de l'érotisme (1971). It is very easy to see Les cauchemars naissent la nuit as an experimental, transitional film: Les cauchemars has the intense subjective sexual obsession of Eugénie combined with the ethereal, almost random, characters of Christina. Jack Taylor appears late in the film as one of Cincia’s lovers; and when Anna and Taylor’s character interact, it is often composed of poetic, playful dialogue. Taylor’s character doesn’t seem real, and if he’s helping Anna, then it is very cryptic. Finally, giving a very precious appearance in a small performance is Soledad Miranda as a beautiful girl peering out of a window across the street from Cincia’s house. She has dreams that she shares with her lover of coming into a lot of money (this is important to the plot?). Miranda is dead sexy--Franco composes her primarily nude wearing only thigh-high boots. Franco had an intense obsession for Miranda, and it undoubtedly shows.
Les cauchemars naissent la nuit is a lithe, meandering, arty, poetic film. I tend to prefer my cinema like this--a film which has really nowhere in particular to go in terms of story, so its imagery becomes prominent and, in the case of Franco, seductive. A minor entry, perhaps, in Franco’s filmography, because of the films preceding and following it. However, here’s some facts to conclude this post taken from essential Obsession: The Films of Jess Franco:
Les cauchemars naissent la nuit has been released by Media Blasters/Shriek Show on 
La tomba (2004) is one of Mattei's last films. In the new millennium, before his death in 2007, Mattei would helm more films than in the decade before. Most, if not all, were shot-on-video and most, to put it in an understated manner, were highly derivative of other cinema. 
Mexico. The height of the Mayan civilization. One of the Mayan deities, a goddess, is about to be invoked and brought forth into this world. A high priest resides over a sacrificial ritual with his masked consort at his side. Two jewels are placed in the eyes of the statue of the goddess, and now, only sacrifices are needed. The final sacrifice is to be a priestess, someone specially chosen. A clan of Mayan warriors disrupt the ritual and begin battle. If the Mayan goddess is brought forth from the dark abyss, then humanity is doomed. The masked consort flees with the high priest. In a tomb located in the catacombs of the temple, the high priest sacrifices himself. Patiently, his corpse will stay in the tomb. One day, he will rise again and complete the ritual. 
Mexico. Modern day. A group of archaeology students led by their professor (Robert Madison) arrive via bus to begin a survey and study of some ancient ruins. If you've read the paragraph above, then take a guess where they're going and what they are about to do. I'll wait. 
Mattei loves casting attractive women in the roles of his films. Their attractive quality seems, at times, the sole reason why he cast them. Two actresses standout: Anna Marcello and Kasia Zurakowska. Marcello gives the best performance in La tomba as the bruja. Upon arrival in Mexico, the archaeological team needs a guide. A disgusting, lecherous man named Professor Santos is the initial guide. He is not able to fulfill his duties (his final scenes in La tomba are sublime). The archaeological team, via the concierge at their hotel, is led to a "healer," or bruja, who could substitute. Enter Marcello. Simultaneously sensuous and sinister, Marcello always scowls. Her character radiates true energy. Zurakowska plays Viola, one of the archaeological students and also was the priestess from the initial sequence whose death is staved off by the Mayan warriors. Not a coincidence. In an endearing sequence, Viola is hard at study in the temple with her portable CD player tucked into her waistband. She’s dancing to her own rhythm and occasionally taking notes from one the murals in the temple. Viola hears a haunting and odd chanting. She pulls her earphones and shakes her CD player. Frightened, she throws the player to the ground. Gasp! There is no music disc inside. 
Incidental note. Most, even those reading this, will never see La tomba. However, if you want to see how beautiful Marcello and Zurakowska are, then do an image search via your favorite search engine for one of their model pictorials. Best not done at work, kiddies.