In the later half of the 1950s, a coterie of Mexican filmmakers generated a cycle of Gothic horror movies that, despite their many artistic merits, scarcely penetrated into the American pop cultural scene at all. Now, a couple of generations late, they are getting their due on DVD from Panik House and Casa Negra. Think Hammer Horror, in Black and White and Spanish, and you're pretty close to the mark.
The Man and the Monster from 1958 (literally translated from El Hombre Y El Monstruo) is perhaps the most satisfying of the series-a giddy blend of serious atmospheric chills and over-the-top nuttiness, held together by rock-solid cinematic craftsmanship. Writer-director Alfredo Salazar recasts the familiar tale of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in a distinctive new form. Samuel Magno (Enrique Rambal, of Luis Bunuel's The Exterminating Angel) has a sore case of pianist envy. The Mozart to his Saliere is Alejandra, a superlative musician and artist. Unwilling to live in her shadow, Magno decides to sell his soul to the devil in exchange for her talent. Deals with Satan being what they are, he only achieves this bargain by slitting the poor girl's throat, stuffing her mummified corpse in his drawing room, and absorbing her gifts the way a sponge absorbs water. That, and anytime he plays the piano he turns into a ravening beast.
So, Magno must slip even further into the shadows than before, hiding out in a remote Mexican burg and refusing to play. He adopts a young prodigy named Laura (Martha Roth, nowadays a regular face on Mexican soap operas), who is heir to both Alejandra's talent and looks. She starts to wonder why, late at night, her mentor locks himself in his study to play the forbidden piano, and why this sometimes coincides with the death of some local girl. When a music critic (played by Abel Salazar, producer of the film, brother of the director, and Mexico's answer to Peter Cushing) shows up looking for Magno, the brewing trouble starts to overflow.
The plot recalls an even more rare French thriller from a decade earlier, Les Mains du Diable, which similarly involved an artist bargaining with the Devil in return for artistic triumph, rather than for such earthy temptations as sex or money. This is a confident movie with manifold merits, including a daring finale that avoids the usual horror movie cliches in favor of a crazed Gothic concerto. One could quibble with the wolfman makeup-there's a reason why most movies don't give their werewolves long passages of dialog, as Rambal's fangs threaten to fall out of his mouth every time he starts talking. Still, the fact that makeup artist Armando Meyer even tried such effects on this small a budget deserves some respect. Cinematographer Raul Martinez Solares carves deep chiaroscuro shadows into the sets, imbuing the production with a sinister atmosphere that overcompensates for Rambal's wobbly teeth. Meanwhile, composer Gustavo Carrion orchestrates a faux-James Bernard score to complete the Hammer-esque illusion.
As with their other releases of Mexican cult cinema, Casa Negra have turned in an impeccable transfer of a full-frame, uncut, Black and White source in Spanish with optional English subtitles. Those looking for the slummy drive-in-era English dubbing will go home empty handed, and the only reference to the American release version is a radio commercial included as one of the spartan extras. Some poster and photo galleries fill out the bonus features, but this is disc is sold on the strength of the movie itself-a genuine rarity from a lost world of Mexican Gothic horror, and one of the strongest examples of that bygone genre.
For more information about The Man and the Monster, visit Casanegra Films. To order The Man and the Monster, go to TCM Shopping.
by David Kalat
