"They will make cemeteries their cathedrals and tombs, your cities."
I first saw Lamberto Bava's Demons (1985) about twenty-three years ago when I was twelve. (It received an American VHS release.) My summation and review of the film when I was twelve is approximately this: "Demons? Fuck yeah!" (I don't care what anyone says, as this is funny to me.) In the intervening years, I must have seen it a dozen times, at least; and this last week, I pulled my old Anchor Bay Entertainment DVD of the film and just left it in the player, watching it four or five times over successive nights. This morning, I was flipping through my film notebook (which is just a composition book that I use to take notes while watching a film for review) and I noticed that I only made six observations and transcribed three instances of dialogue. From solely these notes, I am going to write about how delicate and sensitive a film Demons truly is. Yes, really.
For those who do not know, Demons is about a group of complimentary ticket-holders who attend a movie screening. The movie is revealed to be a horror film about, what my younger brother eloquently and accurately refers to as, "people fucking with shit that they should not be fucking with": a demonic mask is unearthed by four young people in the crypt of Nostradamus. One of the young four puts the mask on and cuts himself, becoming infected or possessed by a demon. One of the complimentary ticket-holders also donned a demonic mask in the theatre lobby and cut herself. This coincidence is not lost upon two of the complimentary ticket-holders, as this exchange of dialogue evinces: "Tony?"
"Yeah."
"Did you see that? The same thing happened in the movie."
"Ahh...that's a bunch of shit, baby."
The coincidence turns out to be, unfortunately, not a bunch of shit.
One of the complimentary ticket-holders who shows at the screening with his daughter is a blind man. While blind people are free to come and go anywhere that they please, like anyone else, the presence of a blind person at a movie screening is perhaps unusual. He asks his daughter to describe what's happening on the screen as she watches and then relates. The blind man and his daughter are the only two in the balcony seats until the daughter is approached by a man. These two escape from the blind man into a dark nook of the theatre for a romantic interlude. The temporary lovers are among the first victims of the demon invasion. Hearing the commotion below, the blind man searches for his daughter. He is all alone. 
This balcony scenario leads to one of the most subtle and affecting shots from Gianlorenzo Battaglia (Battaglia shot A Blade in the Dark and Blastfighter for Bava, previous to lensing Demons). The blind man shuffles in the dark and among the seats, calling his daughter's name. He steps and hears a crunching sound underfoot. In close-up of his foot, the actor pauses. The blind man steps upon his daughter's pearl necklace which lays broken, inches from her corpse. The dramatic pause and the close-up emphasize that the man knows exactly what he has stepped upon; and this leads him to intuitively kneel down and feel the dead face of his daughter. Why the scene is so affecting is that there is an intimacy created by the inclusion of the necklace. It's as if the pearl necklace has an association that only this father and daughter share. 
What follows soon after this scene is another unique sequence. In an unsurprising move, the blind man is attacked by a demon. Surprisingly, he survives the attack as the demon chooses to only gouge out his eyes and leave him with his dead daughter on the balcony. The rest of the movie goers eventually retreat to the balcony to escape the onslaught of the demons. The blind man greets them and reveals that the curse lies in the theatre, almost as if he has seen something like a mythological blind soothsayer. The scenes within Demons with this character are few but are imbued with quite a bit of sensitivity and depth. One wonders at how much more powerful these sequences could have been with this anecdote: "Had the fifth draft of the Demons screenplay been ready earlier than April 1985, chances are that Vincent Price would have starred. 'The part of the blind man was written for Price,' said Bava. 'The screenplay wasn't ready in time and he couldn't commit himself. If Price had done it, the part would have been more substantial. As it was, we cut it back.'" (from Profondo Argento, by Alan Jones, FAB Press, Surrey, England, 2004, p. 149.) 
The screenplay for Demons is disjointed, but perhaps this works in its favor. Much of the subtlety and richness to the film may be attributed to screenwriter Franco Ferrini: "Dario, Dardano Sacchetti, Luigi Cozzi and Lamberto Bava had all tried their hand at the Demons concept but he wasn't happy with it and wanted someone to look at it with fresh eyes. It was basically a script doctor job for me because the ideas were all there, they just weren't put together with any cohesion. It was always designed to be a horror adventure with lots of action and that was the basic problem, as the action was distributed across many characters attending the ill-fated movie screening in the cinema. It was exciting when they were all being attacked by demons at the same time but that undercut the scariness. My additions to the scenario were devising ways of getting each character alone so the frightening atmosphere could build rather than have continuous slam-bangs. What's character A doing while B is stuck in a lift? And what's C doing in the meantime others in such a confined space wouldn't notice? That took a lot of working out--like moving chess pieces around a charnel house--and I do feel that slant added enormous amounts to the overall box-office success of the movie." (Profondo Argento, p.144.)
One of the best and most endearing sequences in Demons is of the young lovers, Tommy (Guido Baldi) and Hannah (Dario Argento's daughter, Fiore). The orchestra seating of the theatre becomes a death trap when the demons invade, so everyone retreats to the balcony. (Yes, they are trapped in the theatre. The exit was their first thought, too.) During the commotion, Tommy loses track of Hannah. Hannah gets trapped in the orchestra seating and hides under one of the seats. Demons is aided in this aspect of the story by its use of Dario Argento's signature theatrical lighting: unfiltered colors like red and blue, often flashing or shadow-filled. This lighting technique, being overtly theatrical, creates an unreal effect: so when everyone retreats to the balcony, two worlds are really created--one above and one below. Tommy searches for Hannah among the shadows, and by this time in the film, the action has come to a halt. At really any second, one of the shadows can reveal its inhabitants (and kick start the action, again.) Do the young lovers find each other's arms again? Yes. Is this a set-up for their tragic ending? Take a guess. It's a sentimental sequence, yet seriously tension-filled; and perhaps I'm showing my age, but it's a sweet and endearing addition to the film.
Four criminals appear on the streets of Berlin, riding around in a boosted car, snorting coke from its can. Okey-doke. They're listening to Billy Idol, too. Initially, I had no idea what the hell these characters were doing in Demons. But like snorting coke from its can, I took their inclusion as important. They eventually factor into the events at the movie theatre. Yet again, there is a real sensitivity to their portrayal. The sole female among the four is small and blonde and cute and bubbly (her English voice-dubbing gives her this super-sexy, smoky voice which is totally trippy). Eventually, they spill coke all over the car. The four's leader tells them to pick it up, every last bit. With razor blades and thin pieces of paper, almost every gram is collected. What does the cute little blonde use? A picture of herself at one-year's old. She takes a moment to share this with Ripper (the four's leader). The black-and-white picture is actually shown in close-up. 
The four eventually get caught by the police and have to give chase. They take shelter in the movie theatre. (Ha, ha! There's the tenuous connection. I'm making fun of this, but I love tenuous connections and segue ways in films.) The lobby of the theatre is in disarray, and eventually, the four encounter a demon. The three males run quickly away to find an exit, and the young blonde woman pauses. She finds a full-length mirror in a storage room. She pulls her lipstick from her pocket and dons seriously-bright red lipstick. Her lips are shown in close-up. I would pay a lot of money to know what she is thinking at that moment. It is probably both poetic and inspiring. 
Demons is a rousing action horror film, but there's an amazing amount of detail in its fragments. In another signature Dario Argento moment, the desperate group in the balcony find a hidden room by knocking a hole in the wall. What's in there? It's a surprising answer. It's the same answer possibly as to what is causing the demons to appear in the theatre--cursed building, the actual celluloid of the film, or the demonic mask? 
I still agree with my review as a twelve-year old, as I've always wanted to ride a motorbike while brandishing a samurai sword with a pretty girl's arms wrapped around my waist. I still rock out to hearing Motley Crue. I’ve never snorted coke out of a can. There’s still hope, and Demons is still a great film. 
My attraction to the film was its top-billed actress, Katja Bienert, who, after making a series of films with Jess Franco in the 1980s, according to her IMdB 
An island exists off the coast of Italy that is avoided by all sailors, because of its inhabitants. The inhabitants of the island have now grown restless and are eager to “enter” into the general population. A military vessel, commanded by Mike (Chrisz Meier) (who is accompanied by his fiancé, Maria (Bienert) and his crew), crashes during a storm while near the island. Meanwhile, back on the mainland, a couple is fucking. Afterwards, the young woman goes to shower while her lover rests on the bed. While he is staring at the crucifix on the wall, the wall begins to bleed and the cross inverts. The lover is murdered brutally by an unknown force. When the young woman returns from her shower, she finds her dead lover and is attacked. Cut to daylight and outdoors with Magdalena (Marion Ley) and her two criminal associates, Riccardo (Thomas Riehn) and Antonio (Carsten Ruthmann). Riccardo and Antonio rob a bank and take a hostage (Anja Gebel). After the robbery, the trio and their hostage plan on hiding out at the uninhabited island, despite a warning from black-cloaked old man. Maria and Mike both awaken to find themselves on the island. They are separated from each other but not for long. 
The short and skinny: Dämonenbrut is low-budget and shot on video. There is quite a bit of graphic violence and gore, a very large quotient of frequent female nudity, and tentacle sex (a la Japanese hentai animation). These attractions typically sell themselves, and curious audiences can usually seek them out with little impediment. Would you like to know more? 
Bethmann knows his European cult cinema. I mean really knows. The premise of Dämonenbrut seems an overt nod to the film within the film Dèmoni (aka Demons (1985); directed by Lamberto Bava). There is a scene where Marion Ley’s Magdalena finds a stone tablet near the ruins on the island which has an inscription that reads as a warning. Like Jess Franco’s cinema, Bethmann keeps his actresses primarily in their birthday suits whenever and wherever possible. At its essence, Dämonenbrut is a very pure and effective exploitation film, a nasty and perverse one at that. 
Despite its over-the-top graphic content, one of the aspects of Dämonenbrut which has stayed with me in reflection is the film’s filmic purity. Film makers across the board and around the world often have trouble creating interesting and efficient exposition for the first act of their films. Often expository dialogue is employed, and nearly always it comes off as artificial and contrived. Why do two people have to relate things to each other that each already knows? For the audience’s benefit, of course. Bethmann actually has his characters deliver dialogue in monologue. Like people talking to themselves. For example, when Mike washes ashore of the island in his life raft, he says aloud to himself, “This must be the island that I couldn’t find last night on the map.” Or this example, Bienert’s Maria attempts to wade through the water, near the edge of the island. An invisible barrier stops her. Although, it is obvious that she cannot proceed forward, she says aloud, again to no one around, “I’m unable to move beyond this barrier.” Delivering exposition in this manner is no less artificial than delivering exposition through conversation. Bethmann’s use is so rare that it actually comes across as kind of brilliant: why waste time with attempting to make exposition seem organic through conversation and just cut to the chase with a few seconds and one line? 
Bethmann did his own practical special effects for Dämonenbrut, and they are actually done very well and are effective. In fact, I would say that they are on par with other special effects for low-budget horror films such as Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead and Peter Jackson’s Bad Taste. One of the things that Bethmann really does effectively, as did Sergio Stivaletti in Dèmoni, is to focus on eyes. Perhaps this speaks more to my own fears and quirks, but there is nothing more demonic than soulless yet colorful eyes. In fact, Bethmann breaks a rule quite often that I have for monster makeup: never put creature makeup on the most attractive people in the cast. This is a ridiculous rule that I have, and I’m glad that he breaks it. There are at least a couple of scenes with a quick cut where Bethmann drastically changes the tone of the scene with a reveal of the change in a character’s eyes. 
Save Bienert, the acting in Dämonenbrut is not very good, and this is perhaps my biggest complaint towards the film. 
Now for the sensational. There is quite a bit of offensive material within Dämonenbrut, and if you do a modicum of research on the film via your favorite search engine, you will get a more accurate description of such. I say only this: tentacle sex. I will say it again: tentacle sex. 
Bethmann is very much a talented and competent film maker as Dämonenbrut (at least its “Director’s Cut”) is swiftly-paced, well-composed, and frequently compelling. As with any low-budget film, props and costumes and makeup often look less than credible, but primary audiences attracted to this film will not see this aspect as a deterrent. I certainly relished the opportunity to see Bienert again, and she really steals every scene that she is in. Unbelievable. 
"Franco's second examination of the evil doings of witch-hunter Judge Jeffreys has some things going for it, but all in all, this must be considered a disappointing movie despite the talent involved.
"The first work Franco authored with the assumed name of Clifford Brown (as a homage to the omonimous black trumpet player, an exponent of the so-called hard bop style), the film features once again Judge Jeffreys, the leading character of Proceso de las brujas/Il trono di fuoco (starring John Foster aka the Iranian Cihangir Gaffari in place of Christopher Lee), in a story mixing I lunghi capelli della morte (1965) by Antonio Margheriti with The Devils (1971) by Ken Russell. A formidable lesbian sequence, bordering on hard core, performed by Britt Nichols and the ambiguous Karin Field (here on her first and only interpretation for Franco) dominates the rest of the movie, a very second-rate work with a horrible soundtrack.” (from Bizarre Sinema! Jess Franco El sexo del horror, edited by Carlos Aguilar, Stefano Piselli, and Riccardo Morrocchi, Glittering Images, Firenze, Italy: 1999, p. 103.) 
“Dieser Film ist mit Sicherheit einer der sehr professionell aufgezogenen Franco-Filme, da er auch mehr Budget zur Verfü gung hatte. Die Mischung aus sinnlicher Erotik, mittelalterlichem Religionswahn und grausamer Folterszenen hebt den Film ungemein an. Selbst VMP war damals sofort als Videoanbieter gefunden. Leider war die FSK 18 Schnittauflage fü r dieses Band sehr streng, so daß aus der 93 Minuten Originalversion eine deutsche 82 Minuten-Fassung wurde. Bestes Beispiel dafü r ist die Szene, bei der man bei der nackten, gefesselten Nonne die Brustwarzen mit heiß en Eisen zerquetscht. Der Film ist mit Sicherheit auch fü r nicht-Franco-Fans und bietet keinerlei Trash, sondern nur gut ü berlegte Inszenierung. Daß Howard Vernon vom bö sen Folterknecht hier zum Edelmann wird, ist ebenfalls sehr untypisch.” (from Jess Franco Chronicles, by Andreas Bethmann, Medien Publikations, Germany, 1999, p. 47.)
A woman is tortured and pronounced a witch by Lord Jeffreys. Before being burned at the stake, she curses the populace, and noblewoman Lady de Winter requests from Jeffreys to hunt the countryside for any relatives of the deceased witch. This search leads the Lady to a convent where two sisters, Kathleen (Anne Libert) and Marguerite (Britt Nichols), are housed. Their parentage is unknown, and noting a suspicion, the Lady, much to her enjoyment, probes the two sisters to determine if they are virgins. Kathleen is not and is subjected to torture. She is pronounced a witch by Lord Jeffreys. Marguerite is visited that evening by her mother, the deceased witch who uttered the curse; and the old crone recruits Marguerite into the league of Satan to exact revenge. 
The preceding quote I find of particular interest as to giving perhaps an insight into the cultural (and commercial) milieu of time. 
Libert and Nichols are two of my favorite Franco actresses. Libert is given a very rich role and gives one of her better performances. Nearly all of the performances are well above average. The best scenes in Les demons always involve either Libert or Nichols or both; and when they do appear, Franco has a tendency to loosen up his camerawork and make some creative compositions. Unfortunately, Les demons lacks the poeticism and hallucinatory quality of other De Nesle productions during the period. It's a precious film, however, for Libert and Nichols. 
"I've always been hired by producers who had just had a big flop," says director Mario Bianchi, "because I was good at stopping the bleeding." Bianchi begins his approximately twenty-minute interview, included as an extra on Severin's DVD release of La bimba, with humility. Bianchi's interview is either wonderfully or frustratingly cryptic as many questions regarding this production go unanswered. Bianchi tells an anecdote of working with the maestro, Lucio Fulci, in which Fulci asks Bianchi to film some incidental shots for his film, Sodoma's Ghost (1988). Bianchi concludes his anecdote by admitting that he ended up shooting a third of the film. This is a serious admission against interest, but it seems as if Bianchi is just attempting to describe his career in horror cinema. A very limited one, at that. If one were forced to categorize La bimba, then perhaps intuitively the most fitting description would be as a horror film. Bianchi continues: “When Crisanti, the producer, called me I was enthusiastic. I never had done anything like it. But, as I said, the problem was that we were working on a very low budget. In Rome we call them ‘pizza e fichi.’ We had very little time to do the shooting. You judge the results for yourself.” Bianchi concludes with this telling statement, “The budget was so small that it was impossible for Crisanti to lose money on the film.” 
The family castle is a genuine location, and Bianchi frequently uses wide compositions, save the intimate, dramatic confrontations between characters. Interestingly, not only do these wide compositions contribute to the unreal atmosphere of the film, they also make this very small family seem even smaller. In other words, it makes this dysfunctional family seem all the more so. 
“I want to say ‘congratulations!’ to myself because of Mariangela Giordiano’s strip-tease scene. At the time it wasn’t easy to shoot a sequence like that without seeming vulgar.” [Please bear in mind despite the presence of exclamation punctuation in the preceding quote, Bianchi is delivering this statement in the same manner in which he gives his entire interview, kind of shy.] I think this scene is quite lovely, and Bianchi’s self-congratulation is merited, as it is not vulgar. This visual sequence is one of the richer scenes. Sol is undressing to go to bed, but her overtly theatrical mode of undressing really appears as a subtle striptease for the viewer. This aspect is heightened by the presence of her ward, Antonio’s disabled brother, peering at her through the doorway. He begins to fantasize about Sol pleasuring herself in front of him; and with a bizarre dissolve and harsh crosscut, Bianchi switches to his p.o.v. Bianchi also comments upon the presence of Giordiano’s white stockings and how they enhance the erotic aspect of the scene. He is one-hundred-percent correct, and I love how this one small scene becomes representative of all male fantasies with nuns: behind their habits and reserved demeanors resides human sexuality, all the more enticing, because it is, in some regards, forbidden. 
One of the other scenes which Bianchi likes is one of the few with Giordiano and Hedman embracing. As a visual composition, these actresses are quite stunning: Hedman with her voluptuous and soft body with light blonde hair and fair skin juxtaposed with svelte Giordiano and her darker complexion and hair. These two characters ambiguously hide a secret, and one arresting composition might reveal everything: from the floor the camera tilts upward capturing Giordiano standing straight with her hands at her side while Hedman, almost kneeling, caresses Giordiano with her hands and her lips. Hedman’s submissive position and Giordiano’s stoic position give the composition a perversely religious aspect but also an equally powerful erotic one. 
In AntiCristo: The Bible of Nasty Nun Sinema & Culture, its author writes: “The original Italian version was shot with hardcore sex scenes, which are not in the general domestic release version and shorter (69m) Spanish print. Vivi’s Italian video version is strictly softcore.” (p. 61, FAB Press, Surrey, U.K.: 2000, author Steve Fentone.) Strictly for purposes of review, I have seen this explicit version via the German, region 2, X-Rated Kult DVD. Ms. Hedman performs the majority of the sex within, and like the softcore version, the hardcore version is overall very odd and disorienting. In one sequence, its set-up very obvious even in the softcore version, Hedman performs in close-up. Nico Catanese’s score for both versions, a creepy, chanting tune, plays over Hedman’s performance. Almost humorously, Catense’s score plays to no rhythm: it just loops over and over. Hedman’s Maria controls the tempo, despite the scene climaxing with a literal climax. 
Regnoli delivers another dysfunction-filled script to create the dramatic conflict. He penned a really rich role for Giordiano, and her character gets to sample the dramatic range from maternal caregiver to sexual temptress to defiant captive to submissive lover. Giordiano and Aldo Sambrell are consummate professionals and give very good performances. Bianchi’s legacy in cinema is an intriguing one, and kudos to Severin for releasing this film. All quotes and facts from Bianchi are taken from his interview included as a supplement on the Severin DVD of La bimba di Satana. Those seeking a trippy, surreal and sick little flick are advised to seek it out. 
I discovered a little gem recently entitled Kárate a muerte en Torremolinos (2001).
Torremolinos is a Spanish resort town whose primary source of income is tourism. Jess (José María Cruz Piqueras) is a twenty-year-old surfer with a beautiful girlfriend named Danuta (Sonia Okomo). Jess is a member of the Catholic Brotherhood of Surfers and has made a vow of chastity until he is twenty-four. This is a problem for Danuta as she really wants to fuck. It may be a blessing, however. Torremolinos also houses a local legend: that of Jocantaro, a half-crab, half-octopus monster who lives off the coast and under the sea. Enter Dr. Malvedades (Paul Lapidus), a diabolical genius, who plans on raising Jocantaro from his watery depths to take over the world. With his zombie ninja henchmen, Dr. Malvedades needs five “newly-screwed virgins” to complete his plan. Oh shit. 
I was initially attracted to Kárate a muerte en Torremolinos by learning of the inclusion of Jess Franco as one of its actors. Its director, Pedro Temboury, according to his 
While everyone in the cast gives enthusiastic performances, perhaps Oliver Denis deserves special mention. Denis plays, according to the film’s ending credits, one of the zombie ninjas but also served as fight coordinator for the film. In one hilarious sequence, four to five black-belt students at the local dojo head outside to practice. The zombie ninjas interrupt them and dole out some ass-whippings. Each karate student is wearing a white t-shirt with the logo “Karate Denis” on the back, so I take this as an indication that Denis teaches karate somewhere close to the location. If I had to choose my favorite character in Kárate a muerte, then it would have to be Denis portraying a mercenary, karate master named “Chuk Lee,” who is hired by the mayor of Torremolinos to stop the mayhem. Yes, he ultimately fails, but it is an entertaining failure. Denis is very good at karate and he’s dead serious when performing. I’m certain that he’s in on the joke, but that’s incidental. Denis’s performance and contribution, like all of Kárate a muerte, is perfect camp humor: never too self-aware, always straight, and when necessary, absolutely dead serious. 
Paul Lapidus, as Dr. Malvedades, also deserves mention. Temboury and Pablo Álvarez Almagro, screenwriters, give Lapidus the best dialogue in the film. No cinematic evil genius deserves this much ripe material. (The English subtitles are well-done.) Like all diabolical and evil masterminds, Dr. Malvedades has to relate his plan to everyone that he meets, and he is having a wonderful time doing so. He even has a copy of the Necronomicon (which is interesting that he owns it, as it appears non-essential to his plan.). His nemesis, named “Dr. Orloff,” played by Temboury, has a wonderful late-nite occult television show. I could watch this show over and over. When Dr. Orloff is finally recruited by the mayor after the failure of Chuk Lee, Dr. Orloff plans on using toys. Like plastic swords and dry-erase boards, I bullshit you not. While all of the characters have a glimpse in their eyes that this man is going to combat the ultimate evil with toys, none makes any mention. 
The only complaint that I can make about Kárate a muerte en Torremolinos is the opening credit sequence is too long, but it appears as if the collaborators put a lot of time into making it look spiffy. The entire film runs less than eighty minutes, and I could have watched a film twice as long. The film is low-budget, has a rubber-suited monster causing havoc on the beach, martians appearing out of nowhere, and a tremendous amount of heart. As much entertainment as Kárate a muerte en Torremolinos has provided me, it’s earned the tag: brilliant, phenomenal, amazing. I purchased the Region 2 disc