Return of the Evil Dead (1973)

aka El Ataque de los Muertos Sin Ojos, aka Attack of the Blind Dead, aka Return of the Blind Dead

• Written and directed by Amando de Ossorio
• Starring
  • Tony Kendall
  • Fernando Sancho
  • Esperanza Roy
  • Frank Brana
  • Jose Canalejas

Although billed as a “return” in the English version of the title (the original Spanish translates as “Attack of the Eyeless Dead”), Return of the Evil Dead really isn’t a sequel to Amando De Ossorio’s Tombs of the Blind Dead (1971). Or rather, it’s a follow-up in terms of production, but not in terms of story, not in the same sense that Dawn of the Dead follows on Night of the Living Dead. (On the other hand, it’s more connected to the previous movie than, say, Fulci’s Zombie 2 is to Argento’s “Zombie” cut of Dawn of the Dead.) It is not a second story of the Blind Dead, but a separate story of them, one which is mutually exclusive of Tombs, an attempt not to continue the story but to recapture the effect and atmosphere of the first movie which made it a favorite of euro-horror. And, naturally, to amortize the expenses by reusing costumes and props — and footage — from the original.

The horrors of the medieval tanning salon.

And who are the Blind Dead, you ask? Silly you. Well, the intro will set you straight: In the 14th century, a bunch of villagers with torches and pitchforks (the pitchforks far outnumber the torches, but really, how many torches do you need? It’s pitchforks that make the mob, baby) round up the members of a Templar-like order of knights at their keep outside of Bouzano, Spain. (It’s been standard practice to refer to these knights simply as “Templars” in English-language reviews, but I have it on good authority — not speaking a lick of Spanish myself outside of what you see on the Taco Bell menu — that they’re never called such in the original dialog, and instead simply referred to as “the Eastern Knights” or “Knights of the Orient.” And it’s true that I’ve never seen Templar heraldry in any old woodcuts which replace the cross on their vestments with an ankh.) The Knights’ devil-worshiping ways have finally brought on the mob action, and in response to the Head Templar’s show of defiance and claims that his immortal knights will have their revenge, the nominal mob leader burns out the Templar’s eyes (yeeeowch!), and has his followers do the same on the rest of the knights. Then the whole lot of them are burned to death.

Cut to modern times (thought the ’70s sometimes seem like a wholly alien era to our own, and I’m not complaining). The town of Bouzano still celebrates the anniversary of the burning of the Templars, complete with flaming effigies, a dance in the town square, plenty of drinking (like I had to tell you that) and fireworks. That last item is of special note because the fireworks expert is from out of town, an ex-police captain with the good Spanish name of Jack Marlowe (played by an actor with the good Spanish name of Tony Kendall). On arrival to set up, he meet Mayor Duncan (Fernando Sancho), a huge greaseball of a man who runs the village as his own private fiefdom; Duncan’s right-hand thug Dacasto (Frank Brana); and Duncan’s fiance, the pretty if tired-eyed Vivian (Esperanza Roy). No, you’re not imagining the sparks between Jack and Vivian; in fact, they’ve got something of a history — it’s never explained, but it’s somehow related to his leaving the police force — and she pulled the strings to get him this job.

Oh, and we also meet Murdo (Jose Canalejas), the town misfit with his lopsided face, unibrow, and hunched walk; if there’s anyone who needed to be employed by a mad scientist, it’s Murdo. Instead, he’s the caretaker of the local abbey and the old ruins outside of town; in his spare time, he gets his sorry butt kicked by the kids of the village. And yes, that’s important, because while Jack and Vivian are using their time to get reacquainted, Murdo is scheming to bring back the Templars on this, the five-hundredth anniversary of their execution/lynching, mostly to revenge himself on the cruelties inflicted on him by the townsfolk. He knows all about the legend, thanks to his position as caretaker, and he especially knows about the blood rituals they performed (as exemplified here by some footage taken from the first movie of the Templars bleeding a poor maiden and ripping her heart out of her latex chest — footage, by the way, that’s been included at the very beginning of a lot of American prints of this flick). Murdo. In fact, has kidnapped a local girl, and uses the same ritual — right down to stabbing the latex chest — to awaken the Templars! (And many American versions of the movie cut the scene of Murdo killing his sacrifice, thus removing from the story both his murderous streak and his active role in the Templars’ resurrection, leaving him as merely the socially deficient but knowledgeable caretaker who happens to predict the Templars’ return that night accurately.)

Who’s in charge? The man in the hat is in charge!

Now, let’s be honest; the undead Templars were reason that Tombs of the Blind Dead was memorable. Heck, I can barely remember the plot or characters. It’s the image of the silent Templars slowly rising from their graves and tombs, all stained cloaks and skeletal faces and hands, mounting their spectral horses and ride off in relaxed slo-mo, hoofbeats echoing off the stone walls of the ruins, that really cements this series in the minds and heart of eurohorror fans. So what better to way to make sure that the Templar revival has the same impact in this movie as in Tombs? Well, editing in reused footage from the first movie would be one way, I suppose. I’m not exactly sure the reason behind the recycling; the costumes, weapons, and animals are all present for fresh scenes all through the rest of the movie, so it’s not like the entire production relies on stock footage.

I also have to wonder, if these knights have all been burned alive, how is there enough of them left to reanimate? The dessicated faces which leer out of their deep hoods don’t seem all that burnt. And if you propose that infernal powers brought them back from ashy disintegration with enough anatomical integrity to fill out cloaks and chainmail and to wield broadswords, why are their eyes still nonfunctional? I mean, we never get to see the sides of a dead Templar’s head under the hood, but I’m guessing that neither the external ear nor all the cochlear thingies are in any better condition than their eyes, so… (Yes, I know. You may dope-slap me through the internet for overanalyzing.)

So. In standard horror movie form, the Blind Dead’s first attacks are on a couple who’ve been up to the naughty! Her name is Moncha (Loreta Tovar), and I don’t think we ever learn his; between the pattern on his shirt when we first see him and his impressive facial hair, I decide to dub him “The Mustachioed Picnic Blanket.” Not that there’s much time to get to know him; the Templars silent surround and attack the house where the two of them have slipped away from the town’s festivities to enjoy some festivities of their own (I think she might be meant to be Mayor Duncan’s daughter, but I can’t be sure — heck, it’s another forty-five minutes before someone says her name). The Templars pound on the door, the Mustachioed Picnic Blanket leans out the window to see, and congratulations! First victim! Moncha retreats further and further into the house, screaming all the way (which allows the Blind Dead to home in on her) before she finally escapes out a window. We’ll be seeing more of her later.

The inspiration for Rob Perlman’s performance in The Name of the Rose.

But, in order to fill out the human story bits before it becomes full-on horror, we get several scenes of Jack and Vivian reawakening their lost love, until they decide to leave together as soon as the fireworks are done. Mayor Duncan isn’t entirely blind (say, that’d be a great subtext if someone developed it), so he sets his henchman Dacosta on Jack to teach him a lesson — a lesson which is cut short when outlying reports of miscreants in Templar costumes start filtering in. And then…

Here’s where this movie really starts to diverge significantly from Tombs of the Blind Dead. In the earlier movie, the plot basically required unwitting victims in twos and threes to explore the cursed ruins from which the Templar arise. Here, though, the Templars bring their game to the village, and thus the townspeople find themselves surrounded in the town square by mounted Templars at every exit. And the scene that follows (shall we call it a massacre? Yes, we shall!) is, I think, a misstep. Tombs gains almost all of its power from the slow, quiet progression of the blind zombie knights upon their isolated victims in scenes usually bereft of scored music, accompanied simply by the shuffling sound of the Templars and the frantic screams of the victims. Here, in a scene of mass attack, that quiet dread is completely lost as the Templars ride into the teaming masses, slashing left and right as the townspeople try to slosh back and forth out of their way in a great wave of humanity. What’s more, the Blind Dead here don’t seem particularly, you know, blind. They seem pretty sure of themselves as they urge their horses into the mass of noisy revelers, and their broadsword strokes seem pretty well-aimed in an environment where they wouldn’t be able to distinguish one screaming villager from the general cacophony.

Even with some “creepy Templar” scenes immediately following — the zombie knights shuffling silently up house steps to the sound of screaming from within — I think a lot of atmospheric currency got squandered in this one scene.

“Banana.”

So our human characters that we care about (or at least that we know by name) all try to pile into Jack’s car, which is apparently the only motor vehicle in the confines of Bouzano. They underestimate, however, the sheer scads and oodles of Templars now blocking practically every street, so in desperation they hole up in the village church, which has heavy bars on its doors a well as, one hopes, that “holy ground” thing going for it. Here’s our cast from this point:

• Jack and Vivian;
• Mayor Duncan and Dacastos;
• Bert (Ramon Lillo), one of Dacastos’ underthugs, his wife, and his daughter;
• Moncha, barely come out of her near-catatonia;
• Murdo, whose role in resurrecting the Templars remains unknown.

And while I don’t think that de Ossorio was deliberately imitating the close-quarters dynamics of Night of the Living Dead, it’s nonetheless true that the interpersonal bickering and conflicting agendas of those confined to the church become more of an immediate threat than the undead Templars who station themselves silently outside. Mayor Duncan is no idiot, and realizes that Jack’s police experience is the best chance for all of them to get out alive, but he’s still on the lookout for an avenue of escape of a smaller number of people, as long as that number includes him. Dacastos is ready to sever his employment for Duncan and work for the survival of the group as a whole, but with his loyalty to Duncan sundered, his long-smoldering lust for Vivian comes to the fore. Bert is not a bad sort (working for Duncan and Dacastos was apparently the only game in town), but is easily manipulated by Duncan if it means a chance of survival for his wife and daughter. Murdo knows of a potential escape route via the blocked-up tunnels beneath the church, but only wants to take Moncha with him, as she was the only one from the village that ever showed him any kindness (and because she’s the only hot blonde in the pool of survivors).

There are plenty of suspenseful scenes in this latter half of the movie — at one point Duncan tricks the little girl Nancy (Maria Nuria) into venturing out alone amongst the listening Templars, which is excruciating — but Templars standing still somehow don’t have quite the same impact as Templars shuffling along in silence, listening for their prey. And after the big massacre scene halfway through, the audience now expects a level of violence and mayhem that isn’t going to come again. It’s still a spooky film, but it’s impact is diminished by muddled expectations.

“Yoo-hoo!  Mr. de Ossorio, I’m ready for my close-up!”

The cheapness of the production is also more on display than in the previous movie; I would venture that both films cost roughly as much (and maybe this latter one cost more, with the crowd scenes and all), but the limits of the budget are easier to see. The undead Templars themselves remain a masterwork of design over budget, engendering frissons of horror simply by being there, but some of the other special effects tip their hand too much in showing their technical limitations, from the burning latex Templar faces in the beginning sequence to the latex chests of the maiden sacrifices (apparently, in Spain, women have no sternums) to the roundabout editing in the massacre sequence, the sole purpose of which is to hide the fact that they really couldn’t afford to kill very many people on-screen.

I’m trying to decide whether Return of the Evil Dead would be assessed more charitably if it didn’t have the far superior Tombs of the Blind Dead for comparison, or if instead it draws much of its power from the memorable effect of the first movie and coasts on inherited reputation. Imponderables, I know.

Some Notable Totables:

• body count: I lost count completely during the confused editing of the massacre scene
• breasts: 7
• explosions: Hey, there’s a fireworks display!
• ominous thunderstorms: 0
• actors who’ve appeared on Star Trek: 0