Author: Craig J. Clark

When one reaches a movie-watching milestone, one hopes the movie in question will be worthy of being memorialized in such a fashion. Well, I just watched my 200th werewolf movie and it was 2006’s no-budget shot-on-video shitfest Lycan Colony, so as Hans Landa would say, that’s a Bingo!

The work of single-minded multi-hyphenate Rob Roy — who also wrote and directed last year’s barely feature-length American Werewolf — Lycan Colony must qualify as a passion project for Roy since, according to the closing credits, he was the director of photography and makeup/creature designer, did the special effects and production design, produced the film, wrote the story/screenplay, and directed and edited it, in addition to composing three of the songs, which were performed by the Rob Roy Band, and providing additional music. So if there’s one pair of shoulders on which to lay the blame for how lousy it turned out, it’s his. And yet, remarkably, Lycan Colony is not the worst werewolf movie I have ever seen, which is the kind of perspective one can only gain by watching 200 of them.

I had the option of taking in the unedited version on Tubi or the slightly abbreviated Rifftrax cut on their YouTube channel, and opted for the latter because I knew I would need the 15 minutes I saved to pick my jaw up off the floor. Suffice it to say, this is inept in every way imaginable, and it totally justifies the following exchange:

Sandy: He’s gonna find out eventually anyway. May as well tell him.
Stewart: Tell him what?
Michael J. Nelson: Son, you’re in a movie that’s somehow worse than A Talking Cat?!?

What Sandy wants Stewart’s father, Dr. Dan, to tell him is that they had to move from Massachusetts to the small town of Canisborough, NH, because he had an oopsie in the operating room one day and was on the verge of being drummed out of the medical profession. Also, his AA sponsor Dave lives there, and the town apparently needs an unreliable surgeon on call because it’s full of werewolves, as Stewart discovers when he’s seduced by a neighbor girl who puts the bite on him in a moment of passion, thus passing on the curse of lycanthropy. How this manifests itself on Stewart is a vaguely wolfish mask, with tufts of extra fur on his back and shoulders. It is not a werewolf design that inspires much confidence, but it’s one Rob Roy wanted to take credit for, so I’m fully prepared to let him have it.

Further plot developments revolve around a brother/sister pair who come to town in search of their father, a hunter who was after some big game and became the hunted instead, but to go into much more detail runs the risk of making this sound too coherent. “So, you wanna hear about our sleepy, creepy little town, do ya?” local witch Athena asks the sister, and the expository flashback she launches into doesn’t clear up a blessed thing. As Bill Corbett says at one point, “This is like if an edible took a bong hit.” It’s also a film where Stewart is given a sedative to calm him down and Kevin Murphy quips, “Decent chance this kid’s a bad enough actor that they actually had to drug him.” Considering he shares the same last name as his director, I’d say the lack of talent runs in the family.

As we look forward to Valentine’s Day this weekend (or Horny Werewolf Day for those of us who prefer to celebrate Lupercalia), I am reminded that Joe Johnston’s The Wolfman was released on this day (in France, Belgium, Sweden, and the French-speaking region of Switzerland) in 2010. Consequently, I find myself again questioning the wisdom of the bean-counters at Universal who decided to release Leigh Whannell’s Wolf Man the weekend after last month’s Wolf Moon, which means it will be limping out of theaters by the time you’re reading this. (As it is, Wolf Man came in third its opening weekend, behind Mufasa: The Lion King in its fifth weekend and One of Them Days, the other new wide release.)

Whannell’s second crack at re-imagining one of Universal’s classic monsters after 2020’s The Invisible Man (which put a high-tech spin on the concept), Wolf Man swaps out one domestic abuse story-line for another. This time, instead of a woman being targeted by her vindictive ex, the focus is on a man who was traumatized by his survivalist father as a child and has mixed emotions when the old man is officially declared dead decades later. Whannell opens the film in 1995 with a fairly intense sequence of father and son going hunting in the Oregon woods and running afoul of a mysterious beast that goes about on two legs, but isn’t Bigfoot. The captions at the beginning make plain that this a missing hiker who has caught “Hills Fever” and has taken on what the indigenous people refer to as the “Face of the Wolf,” but Whannell skips forward 30 years before revealing just how their hunting trip panned out.

Now living in New York City with a child of his own, the grown-up Blake Lovell (Christopher Abbott) has clear anger-management issues that he hasn’t worked through since his hair-trigger temper causes him to snap at his daughter Ginger (Maltilda Firth) and be short with his wife Charlotte (Julia Garner) while cooking them dinner. (He’s a writer who’s between gigs, so as a working journalist she’s the breadwinner in the family and has to hustle for good assignments from her editor.) Naturally, Blake’s solution is for the three of them to drop everything and relocate to the Beaver State for the summer so he can wind down his father’s affairs and they can bond as a family. Of course, as anybody who has seen the Wolf Man trailer can tell you, they get into an accident on the way there and Blake sustains an injury that makes him sick. In fact, one of might even say he develops a fever of sorts, which puts his family at risk. So no. No bonding this trip.

Once Blake starts undergoing his change, which happens gradually rather than all at once and does not require the presence of the full moon to progress, he develops the usual heightened senses. Whannell and co-writer Corbett Tuck change things up by periodically having the camera shift to Blake’s perspective to show how much his vision is enhanced and how little he understands human speech. As for his physical changes, those are handled by prosthetics and special make-up effects designer Arjen Tuiten, a veteran of the Stan Winston Studio. Unfortunately, Blake isn’t given time to let his hair grow out, so he’s a decidedly un-shaggy wolf man. A few fleeting glimpses of body horror aside (Blake loses his teeth and fingernails like Seth Brundle in The Fly), his final form pales in comparison with his lycanthropic forefathers’. We deserve better.

When Something Weird Video released House on Bare Mountain on DVD in 2001 as part of a “Monster Nudie Double Feature” with 1964’s Kiss Me Quick! (which features Frankenstein’s Monster, Dracula, and the Mummy), it came with the following warning: “This program contains nudity and really bad jokes.” (Also included: an archival short subject entitled Werewolf Bongo Party, which doesn’t even have an IMDb entry, so it may as well not exist.) While I was expecting the nudity — and not to be aroused by it in the slightest — the “jokes” in Bare Mountain are truly atrocious, with most delivered by “Lovable Bob Cresse” in voice-over like he’s tossing off the most clever bon mots imaginable.

The Lovable One was also one of Bare Mountain‘s producers (credited as David Andrew) along with Wes Bishop, who likewise used a pseudonym (Wes Don) and was the film’s original director until he blew the entire budget on the first day of shooting and was replaced by Lee Frost (credited as R.L. Frost), who chalked up an extensive CV in the exploitation arena, culminating in taking the reins of AIP’s The Thing with Two Heads, starring Ray Milland, one decade later. How much calling the shots on House on Bare Mountain prepared him for directing an Academy Award winner in the twilight of his career is debatable, but Frost keeps things moving as best he can and gets enthusiastic performances out of most of the, uhh, performers. (To call them actors would be a stretch.)

The lead, for better or worse, is Cresse as Granny Good, who runs Granny Good’s School for Good Girls, who mostly demonstrate their goodness by doffing their clothing at every opportunity and letting the camera leer at their boobs and bare behinds. That, however, is not why Granny’s narrating the film from a jail cell. (“It’s a horrible, terrifying story,” she says, overstating the case to a large degree.) Rather, it’s the illegal still in her cellar, which is operated by her faithful handyman Krakow, that has Granny Good in dutch with the authorities, who are closing in on her operation right from the start.

As for Krakow, he’s the film’s resident Wolfman, who prowls around the grounds at night, peeking in at the scantily clad girls and howling at the moon. Played by the 7’3″ William Engesser (credited as Abe Greyhound), Krakow is such an imposing figure that Granny Good has to get up on a stepladder to dress him down, threatening him with expulsion from the safe harbor she offers. “You remember the outside world, huh, sweetheart? That’s right. Silver bullets, people chasing you all over the place, stakes in the heart. It was a real bad scene, wasn’t it, sweetheart?”

There’s a worse scene to come, though, when the action shifts to the school’s annual costume ball, which is attended by Frankenstein (played by “Percy Frankenstein”) and Dracula (played by “Doris Dracula”), both of whom spike the punch. In fact, everybody gets in on spiking the punch to such an extent that the end result is more spike than punch. There’s even a guy dressed up as the Wolfman who isn’t Krakow, for maximum confusion. Granny Good gets the surprise of her life, though, when she’s cornered by a representative of the UWA (United Werewolves of America) and detained for her exploitive labor practices. Sure, Cresse and Frost give her the last laugh — an inexplicable outcome on all fronts — but anybody expecting a rational ending to a film called House on Bare Mountain is barking up the wrong tree.

There’s a moment partway through Werewolves where protagonist Dr. Wesley Marshall (Frank Grillo), a former Marine and current molecular biologist working on a cure for the condition that turns every human on the planet into a werewolf if they’re exposed to moonlight during a supermoon, is racing to his sister-in-law’s and crashes his car into a city bus that comes out of nowhere. While the argument could be made that he was distracted and wasn’t looking where he was going, the point could also be raised that this occurs well after night has fallen, so there’s no reason why any bus should still be on the road. (This one is well-lit, conspicuously empty, and doesn’t even appear to have a driver.) Marshall simply needed to be delayed and this was the reason dreamed up by screenwriter Matthew Kennedy, putting it on par with some of the nonsensical choices made by his characters.

This is a shame because the basic premise of Werewolves is solid enough that it could have sustained a Purge-like action/horror film about a man fighting to protect his dead brother’s wife and daughter from the ravenous creatures prowling around their fortified house. Alas, after setting up the defenses, including an electrified fence, a drum full of mace, bear traps, and nail boards (not to mention a dozen security cameras so they can keep tabs on what’s going on outside as long as the power doesn’t get knocked out), Marshall leaves to join his colleagues (under the direction of Lou Diamond Phillips, who doesn’t stick around long) seeking to test out an experimental “moonscreen” spray they hope will prevent the transformations. (Since all the scientists are in heavy hazmat suits with cameras on the inside so the viewer can see their faces, this is as close as you can get to ripping off Aliens without being a sequel to a movie called Werewolf.) The trouble with the formula they came up with is it wears off after an hour, at which point all hell breaks loose, forcing Marshall and lupine behavior expert Dr. Chen (Katrina Law) to hit the road, and eventually that bus.

Director Steven C. Miller (an action specialist with several latter-day Bruce Willis movies and Escape Plan 2: Hades on his CV) cuts back and forth between Marshall’s odyssey across town (with Puerto Rico subbing for Florida) and the siege at the house, where his sister-in-law Lisa (Ilfenesh Hadera) does a great job of wasting all her shotgun shells by blasting away at the hairy intruders before they even have a chance to get inside and make themselves proper targets.

And what targets they are! While the CGI transformation are as lousy as you would expect them to be, the final forms of the werewolves look terrific, and Miller gives them plenty of screen time, highlighting the care that went into the film’s practical effects, with plenty of red meat for the gore hounds. Too bad Miller also let some of Kennedy’s more egregious quips make it past the script stage, such as the moment (featured in the trailer) where Marshall gets the wolves’ attention by shouting, “Hey! Bite me.” Meanwhile, after he finally arrives at his destination, the best he can muster is “All right, you hairy motherfuckers. Come fetch.” Yeesh.

Werewolves, which came out last weekend, is still playing in some theaters. Catch it while you can. And be on the lookout for Blumhouse’s Wolf Man in January. For some reason, they’ve chosen to release that the weekend after the full moon. I don’t get it, either.

The people at Severin Films continue to do the Lord’s work — or perhaps it’s the Devil’s — with their folk horror series All the Haunts Be Ours, now on its second volume. The first yielded Wilczyca, about a Polish she-wolf bedeviling her husband. The new one, just out this month, brings with it 1975’s Nazareno Cruz and the Wolf, by Argentine filmmaker Leobardo Favio. It revolves around the superstition that a seventh son “will suck devil’s milk and be born a werewolf,” but since this doesn’t happen to the title character at birth, he gets to grow up to be a strapping young lad played by Juan José Camero. Nazareno leans into the “howling at the moon” bit every month to the amusement of his fellow villagers, but otherwise he’s in no danger of sprouting fangs and fur and going running through the woods.

That is, not until he meets and falls head over heels in love with Griselda (Marina Magali), a blond-haired beauty who catches his eye and catches him off-guard when she asks, “What does a wolf do when there’s a full moon?” That’s not a question Nazareno has ever had to seriously entertain, but he changes his tune when he meets a well-dressed stranger (Alfredo Alcón) who has a dire warning for him: Unless he rejects love, he will fall victim to the curse that’s been lying in wait for him his whole life. To sweeten the pot, the stranger offers Nazareno riches beyond his wildest imagining, telling him that “caressing the gold will cure your sadness,” but the young man decides he’d rather find out what it’s like to have a son with Griselda. First, though, he finds out firsthand (or firstpaw) what a wolf does when there’s a full moon.

In short, it gets into an altercation with a shepherd, who is killed along with four of his sheep and two of his dogs, which naturally riles up the townspeople and gets them sharpening their knives and scythes to go on a wolf hunt. Meanwhile, Griselda is distraught because her father wants to join the hunt, but Nazareno sends her a note to put her mind at ease. “They say this is punishment,” it reads. “But I think it’s blessing, you know?” Indeed, I do.

While Nazareno Cruz and the Wolf plays like a folk tale brought to life, Favio actually based it on a “famous serial radio drama” by Juan Carlos Chiappe, which was popular enough to drive audiences to the theaters in droves when it was originally released in Argentina. Now, thanks to Severin’s efforts, the audience for it will only grow from here.

It’s a rare thing to get to catch a werewolf film in its natural habitat (i.e. a movie theater), so I jumped at the chance to see this at its one local screening earlier this month. The poster trumpeted the participation of Shelley Duvall, Edward Furlong, and Dee Wallace, but The Forest Hills proved unworthy of their talents, and a pitiful swan song for Duvall, who died in July and receives an “In Loving Memory of” dedication in the closing credits. The brainchild of multi-hyphenate Scott Goldberg, the film starts off reasonably well, with Duvall’s character receiving the news that she has stage four lung cancer with a world-weary resignation — and without pausing her near-constant smoking. The trouble comes when the call goes out to her estranged son Rico (Chiko Mendez), who is the actual protagonist and is not the sort of character whose exploits one wants to follow for 70-ish minutes.

Before we know it, Duvall has exited the picture and Mendez has taken center stage, going on the war path against the werewolf he’s convinced is lurking in the woods around the farmhouse where he has set up shop, and randomly shooting friends and acquaintances with the guns he’s gotten from a fellow werewolf hunter. In fact, Rico has bagged two of them (friends, not werewolves) before the film gets around to properly introducing his best friend Billy, the kind of role that illustrates just how far Furlong’s star has fallen since he made his screen debut 33 years ago in Terminator 2.

For someone who gets top billing in the film, with his name before the title, Furlong doesn’t actually stick around very long, and a late-arriving flashback shows that Billy isn’t as much of a friend as he makes himself out to be. (Wallace, meanwhile, has a blink-and-you’ll-miss-her cameo as Rico’s boss, who unceremoniously fires him from his dishwasher job.) Also in the mix is Rico’s sister, who is concerned that he’s off the meds, and a social worker who tries to get him back on them to no avail, at which point it becomes abundantly clear that Rico’s main problem is that he’s mentally ill, possibly stemming from a head trauma he sustained at a vaguely defined point in the past.

Randomly edited to the point of incoherence, with an overabundance of dream sequences, slow-motion shots, and scenes of Mendez bellowing at the top of his lungs in varying states of undress, The Forest Hills eventually starts introducing new characters and plot twists at such a rapid clip, it’s as if Goodman decided every single idea he had needed to make it into the final film, regardless of whether it fit or not. If this had been told in a straightforward fashion, it could have been a compelling portrait of a mentally unstable man driven to commit terrible deeds. It could have even been played as a black comedy, leaning into some of the more risible moments that inspired peals of laughter at my screening. As it is, it’s an incredibly shitty no-budget indie that is to be avoided at all costs. True, it occasionally throws in a cool-looking shot of a werewolf, but there are better films with cooler-looking shots of werewolves out there.

Charley Barrett is a wolf man on a mission. What that mission entails — and how he came to be cursed with lycanthropy in the first place — is a bit murky at the start of Larry Fessenden’s Blackout, but all eventually becomes clear. Emphasis on eventually.

The latest feature from the indie auteur behind Glass Eye Pix — which previously gave us the 2014 werewolf-in-a-retirement-community film Late Phases — Blackout finds Fessenden exploring territory he previously covered in his 1995 film Habit, in which he played an alcoholic on the rebound who falls into a destructive relationship with a vampire. As this films opens, alcoholic artist Charley (Alex Hurt, son of William) has severed ties with his wife and virtually everyone else in this life following a werewolf attack that Fessenden refrains from depicting in any detail until the very end. After laying low at the Talbot Falls Motel (yes, he went there) for a whole month — during which he has been obsessively filling canvas after canvas with self-portraits and images of his unfortunate victims — Charley packs up his belongings, hops in his car, and hopes to take care of some unfinished business before he reaches the end of the road, at which is a friend who has made some silver bullets for him.

That’s the plan, at least, but those have a tendency to go sideways in horror films and this one is no exception. Between telling off his father-in-law Hammond (Marshall Bell), a developer whose Hilltop Resorts has been divisive in the community, dropping off some of his late father’s papers with lawyer friend Kate (Barbara Crampton), and having an awkward reunion/farewell with his estranged wife Sharon (Addison Timlin), Charley is behind schedule enough to still be behind the wheel when night falls. As a result, he transforms while driving, a rookie mistake I haven’t seen since 1995’s Werewolf (as featured on MST3K). When he goes off the road, flipping his car in the process, a couple of passing motorists (one of whom is played by Steve Buscemi’s brother Michael) stop to see if they can help, prompting Charley to help himself to them. And then there’s the other motorist who arrives on the scene in time to be added to Charley’s roll-call of victims.

Waking up in the woods the next morning, Charley is understandably disappointed in himself, but this does give him an extra day to tie up loose ends, including picking the brain of the one man who’s seen him in his feral state and lived. “Be honest with me, man. What did you see that night?” he asks Miguel (Rigo Garay), a Mexican laborer whose succinct reply is “Hombre lobo.” Charley also accepts a ride from local pastor Francis (John Speredakos), who like everyone else sees he’s worse for wear than when he left town one month earlier, but is unable to get out of him what’s troubling him. That’s saved for his friend Earl (Motell Gyn Foster), who was expecting him the night before and is still ready to carry out his last wish. “You’re really a fucking werewolf?” Earl says. “I gotta see this shit.” Alas, their plan of Earl tying Charley to a chair, filming his transformation, and shooting him also goes awry in spectacular fashion, resulting in more death and dismemberment and a town full of easily stirred-up yahoos.

Also in the cast are such indie stalwarts as Kevin Corrigan (as one of the aforementioned yahoos), James Le Gros (as Hammond’s foreman, who’s prepared to take charge of the situation on his behalf), and Joe Swanberg (as Sharon’s new beau, who isn’t destined to stick around long). The characters the most in over their heads, though, are sheriff Luis (Joseph Castillo-Midyett) and his deputy Alice (Ella Rae Peck), whose playful banter and speculation about what they’re up against does little to prepare them for the reality when they actually confront it. “Sad to say, if you combine a wolf with a person, you’d probably get the worst of both,” Luis says. “You’d just have a vindictive asshole with big teeth and claws.” Big teeth and claws Charley definitely has, but it must be said the werewolf that bit him (not glimpsed until the flashback that closes the film) has the better overall look.

Watch enough werewolf movies and one is bound to come across more than a few dogs — and I’m not referring to the ones some filmmakers try to pass off as their werewolves. This is the first time I’ve encountered a jackal, though, which archaeologist David Barrie (Anthony Eisley) is cursed to transform into when he ignores the clear warning on the side of the glass-topped sarcophagus of beautifully preserved Egyptian Princess Akana (Marliza Pons). Well, it’s clear to him because he can decipher hieroglyphics.

“Whoever is in the presence of the sacred Akana’s body during the cycle of the full moon will suffer the Curse of the Jackal,” he reads, so naturally David wants his friend Bob (Robert Alan Browne) to lock him inside the room in his house where he’s storing Akana along with her fully mummified sacred protector, Sirak. Bob and David both laugh off the curse, but when he’s alone, the latter writes in his journal, “What this will be, I don’t know, if anything.” David has his answer soon enough, though, when he drowsily lies down and, in a series of dissolves, becomes an utterly unconvincing jackal-man. He then promptly escapes, kills two policemen, returns home, lies back down, and transforms back in another series of dissolves.

All this happens in the first 15 minutes of The Mummy and the Curse of the Jackals, which is good because it’s only 81 minutes long and there are three more nights of the full moon to get through before the cycle is over. The film also needs time for a lengthy flashback to ancient Egypt and the entombment of Akana, who’s so well-preserved because she’s actually been in a deep sleep for 4815 years. (Meanwhile, Sirak gets to be the movie’s shambling mass of bandages, earning Saul Goldsmith the coveted “And” credit “as The Mummy.”) When Davis awakens after his second night of were-jackaling, he is greeted by the revived Akana, who says he has served her well. She also puts him off when he goes in for a kiss, saying, “There is much we must do. Later we will have time for… other things.” (She means sex.)

That evening, David and Akana go on a double date with Bob and his girlfriend, model Donna (Maurine Dawson), to whom he introduces the princess as “Connie Adams,” a name he has to make an effort to remember every time he says it. Meanwhile, Sirak awakens, lurches out the door, and kills two Las Vegas showgirls (one in her dressing room, the other right on stage in front of everybody) so he can be even with David. They don’t compare notes, though, until after David has transformed for a third time (outdoors for variety’s sake) and pursues Sirak through the throngs of gawkers when the mummy attempts to make off with Akana. Realizing she’s in over her head, she calls on Isis, who uses Bob as a vessel to tell her, “I have given you Sirak and now the Jackal, who will fight for you and protect you. Each is in love with you and will have you for his own, and they will obey you.” Isis also generously throws in control of Bob, but thankfully he doesn’t have to be turned into a vampire or zombie or anything first. That would have been a monster too far for this film’s paltry make-up budget.

Anyway, John Carradine shows up in the home stretch to cash a paycheck and play David’s mentor, Professor Cummings, who is consulting with the police about the murderous mummy seen on the Strip the previous night. “You mean to tell me we have a live mummy here in Las Vegas?” asks the incredulous detective on the case. “We not only have a live mummy on our hands,” the professor replies, “but something else which nobody in modern times has had to contend with: a jackal-man.” Nobody in modern times has to contend with it for long, though, as David and Sirak have their final clash — and meet their mutual demise — in the waters of Lake Mead that very night.

The Mummy and the Curse of the Jackals was filmed in 1969, but went unseen until it surfaced on videocassette in the mid-’80s (when a lot of other marginal entertainment saw the light of video store shelves). It has since been scanned from the internegative and released on Blu-ray by Severin, which means it looks leagues better than a film like this has any right to. Severin has also packaged it with a cover that promises so much more than the film can hope to deliver. The VHS rip streaming on Tubi (and available for rent on Amazon Prime for 99 cents) is more its speed.

Along with Hard Rock Nightmare, which I previously covered in this column, the similarly titled Hard Rock Zombies is leaving Shudder in a few days. This is no reason to seek out either, but of the two, Nightmare comes out way ahead since it actually looks like it was made by people who halfway knew what they were doing. This is not the case with Zombies, which is so haphazardly put together, it borders on incomprehensible — not that anyone should try to comprehend what’s going on in this bargain basement Cannon release.

The basic premise (and I’m using that term very loosely) of Hard Rock Zombies is that Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun resettled in California after World War II and put down roots in the improbably named town of Grand Guignol. That also happens to be the place where an up-and-coming rock band has arranged to play for a famous promoter who could make them big stars. As soon as they roll into town, though, the local bigwigs start giving them the stink eye, and after a Monkees-style musical interlude where they prance around town to a song titled “Na Na Na,” the band and their uptight manager are thrown in jail on trumped-up charges. The bigwigs even go so far as to ban rock and roll in all its forms within city limits at a hastily called council meeting that does not show off producer-director Krishna Shah or his co-writer David Ball’s flair for comedy. This is extremely detrimental to the film as a whole since it is pitched as a horror-comedy. It’s doubly disappointing, then, that it isn’t remotely scary or even vaguely creepy. It’s just dumb.

Take the nonsensical introduction of the film’s werewolf character. After picking up a scantily clad hitchhiker (who previously lured two unwary travelers to their doom), the band is directed to her family’s mansion, and as they pull up Shah cuts in flashes of a female werewolf in a wheelchair in an attic-like space brandishing knives and howling away for no particular reason (unless it’s just that she’s hungry). When one of the band members inquires about the howling, the hitchhiker explains it away as if it’s a perfectly normal sound for one’s mother to make. That the mother turns out to be none other than Eva Braun does nothing to make things any clearer, especially since the credits list different actresses for the roles of “Eva” and “Wolf Lady.” I refuse to speculate any further about the matter.

Anyway, the band does make it to their big audition, but only after they’ve been murdered in various gory ways by Hitler and his kin and brought back by a song their singer/bass guitarist was working on based on an ancient chant that has the power to raise the dead. In short order, they kill their killers in the space of a montage, but there’s still 45 minutes of movie left to go at that point, so Shah and Ball have to figure out how to keep it going. As it turns out, Hitler and company are unkillable ghouls, and everyone they bite also becomes a zombie, leading to a Night of the Living Dead-esque siege of the few remaining townspeople who aren’t Nazis, zombies, or Nazi zombies. As one of them says, “God, this sounds like a cheap movie.” “This whole day has been like a cheap movie” comes the reply. Nice attempt at lampshading, guys, but while Hard Rock Zombies is undeniably cheap, it is barely a movie.

Previously in this column, I’ve covered El Santo’s adventures Santo y Blue Demon vs Drácula y el Hombre Lobo and Santo vs. las Lobas, both of which hailed from the 1970s. This month, I’m going back one decade to the first time the silver-masked wrestler grappled with a wolf man (or men, as is the case). Released in 1963 as the eighth in the series, Santo en el museo de cera was brought to the US a couple years later by K. Gordon Murray as Samson in the Wax Museum. Why Murray decided to call him Samson instead of Santo is a mystery, though. Sure, he’s strong, but since he never takes off his wrestling mask, there’s no way of knowing if he even has hair for Delilah’s non-union Mexican equivalent to cut off.

At any rate, the action takes place in and around the wax museum of the not-at-all-sinister Dr. Karol (Claudio Brook, who co-starred in several Luis Buñuel films and logged time in three about black-masked wrestler Neutron). Like many a wax museum proprietor before him, Dr. Karol has found his patrons are more drawn to the macabre monsters in his lower gallery than the likes of Gary Cooper, Mahatma Gandhi, Joseph Stalin, and Pancho Villa. To that end, he has made figures of Mr. Hyde, Frankenstein’s Monster, Quasimodo, the Phantom of the Opera, and a quartet of fur-faced fiends, none of whom are specifically described as wolf men, but that’s what they look like. The one Dr. Karol singles out during his tour is identified as the seventh son of a seventh son who had lycanthropy passed down to him by a relative caught and bitten by the Abominable Snowman in the mountains of Tibet, which would be convoluted even by Paul Naschy’s standards. There’s something of a giveaway, though, because close-ups of a few of the figures reveal them to be actors in make-up trying their best to stand still, a guarantee the script will eventually call on them to mobilize themselves.

How Santo gets involved is due to a series of kidnappings that have occurred near Dr. Karol’s museum. One opens the film and is not followed up on, but the second one seen (and third overall) is of photographer Susana (Norma Mora), who is taking photos for an article by her sister’s fiancé when she catches Dr. Karol’s eye. Despite declining his invitation to see his laboratory, she takes up residence there anyway, and her disappearance is reported by her sister Gloria (Roxana Bellini) and her fiancé Ricardo (Rubén Rojo). They’re not the ones who contact Santo, though. That falls to kindly Professor Galvan (José Luis Jiménez), who has an “electronic localizer” which can find Santo anywhere and a wall-mounted monitor that can observe him in action. This is how the first of three wrestling matches gets integrated into the film, since Galvan has to wait for Santo to defeat his challenger before passing along Dr. Karol’s request for assistance in clearing his name.

At the film’s midpoint — and after Santo’s second match, against another masked man known only as “El Tigre del Ring” — Dr. Karol is anticlimactically revealed to be the villain when he eliminates Galvan and announces his intention to turn Susana into a panther girl. “I hate beauty in others, and for that I’ll punish you,” he says, although his motivation for acting the way he does could be said to be somewhat in bad taste. Later he boasts, “Not all of the figures in my museum are made of wax. I can create ugliness in humans, too.” This explains the beast men — the first step in his plan to turn the Earth into a “planet of monsters” — but Santo shows up in the nick of time to thwart him and heroically dump a vat of molten wax on Dr. Karol’s creations. “I only do what I can to wipe out injustice and crime,” the silver-masked one says. That apparently doesn’t extend to cleaning up after himself, though.