Mario Bava’s anthology of short horror tales, Black Sabbath, though all entertaining in their own right and exhibiting varying degrees of effectiveness, ultimately serve as a trio of amusing exercises in terror but little else. The works’ inability to posit anything of substance in such a brief timeframe, as well as their failure to form a cohesive whole, leaves one daunted, wondering if something where overlooked given the creator. However, unfortunately, the trilogy of fear is just that, pure escapist horror fun. But who’s to say that a reputable icon of the genre doesn’t have the right to have fun at his own expense every once in a while?
Even more alarming than the fact that the trio of films are of little inherit value is the disappointment of the pens behind each of the works: Snyder, Tolstoy, and Chekhov are listed during the opening credits yet nary one of the famed authors whom we associate with the aforementioned surnames are the culpable parties. Instead of Gary, Leo, and Anton respectively, we are host to three features created by Howard, Alexi, and Ivan. Even more distressing is the fact that the first of the set is actually the work of Guy de Maupassant, even though the titular devise of his tale had yet to be invented at the time of the famed author’s death! Moreover, pseudonyms and ghostwriters are abound as evidenced in Chekhov’s ascribed tale being the work of an obscure Italian writer named P. Kettridge.
And so begins Bava’s anthology of fright . . . .
Long before Bob Clark’s seminal Black Christmas or Fred Walton’s When a Stranger Calls came “The Telephone,” a tale in which Rosy (Michèle Mercier) receives a series of threatening phone calls from whom she believes to be her ex-boyfriend, Frank Rainer (Milo Quesada), who has recently escaped from jail. Against her better judgment, she calls her lesbian ex-lover, Mary (Lidia Alfonsi), in hopes of procuring a greater degree of safety.
The mold-breaking scenario, now cliché, where a voyeur repeatedly calls and threatens a hapless victim, is nonetheless made all-the-more risqué by Bava’s insertion of the theme of lesbianism before he pounces upon his audience with the clever, though hallow, dramatic irony at the finale. Granted, the segment can be viewed as what would later be known as a Carpenterian Puritan cautionary horror tale where promiscuous and/or illicit sexuality (Bava implies that Rosy is a former prostitute who left her pimp, Frank, for Mary) ultimately results in death. Such a reading is reinforced by the killer’s choice of a murder weapon yet, though plausible, such an interpretative offering issues the director benefit of the doubt for, to truly validate such a reading, the work needed to have time to develop and further parallel what could otherwise be viewed as a coincidental thematic reoccurrence.
In “The Wurdulak,” Boris Karloff stars in his last serious work within the genre as Gorca, the paterfamilias of an isolated Russian cottage. He returns to his family after issuing instructions that, if he were to reappear after a five-day period, he is to be shot on sight. Understandably, his family hesitates in lieu of the breached deadline, all to dire consequences.
Cleverly, Bava creates, mounts, and nearly succeeds in sustaining an almost unbearable degree of tension in “The Wurdulak” for, by using such an uncommon term, the viewer remains unsure as to the forthcoming consequences of the familiar violation once Gorca reappears. We come to learn the origin of the term and the reason for Gorca’s departure as a tale encompassing the disintegration of the family runs concurrent to a very subtle motif involving incest. Though its subject matter is innately attention-getting, as is the trademark of Russian literature, the work moves too slowly despite the fact it relies largely upon atmosphere and mood. As a result, the eeriness evoked early within the vignette is diluted by the welcome climax as “The Wurdulak” suffers from being perhaps too sparse even for its brief running time.
The most admirable work in the collection, “The Drop of Water,” involves Helen Chester (Jacqueline Pierreux), a nurse assigned to preparing a corpse for a wake. Upon spotting an ornate ring upon the deceased’s finger, Helen steals the piece of jewelry despite being in possession of the knowledge that the dead, a former medium, is purportedly the victim of supernatural events.
The often-used metaphor of a haunting symbolizing guilt is used to standard ends in the capstone of Black Sabbath. However, this largely non-verbal, but by no means silent, feature (the environment provides most of the eerie soundtrack throughout) offers one of the most dominating visions of a specter ever set to film. Ingeniously, as the haunting commences, we travel through Helen’s apartment as Bava reveals, much to our chagrin, how enveloped we are in the nurse’s claustrophobic abode. Moreover, Bava’s signature use of neon greens and mauves as indicators of forthcoming doom is paralleled in its potency by the subtle nuances of the facial gestures of both victim and ghost.
Though consistently entertaining, the triptych that comprises Black Sabbath offers little of consequence for, largely due to the brevity of the tales, Mario Bava does not permit himself enough time to develop any idea to any sustentative degree, nor do the narratives possess anything which bind them together to form an aggregate thematic whole. Granted, they all involve a female whose home is violated, yet the motifs of love, both physical and emotional, are present, as are the subjects of psychological disintegration and the paranormal, yet none are concurrent throughout. Even the topic of morality, which is seen in varying degrees in all three features, cannot be legitimately cited as a reoccurring subject for, given the nature of a horror tale, ethics (or lack thereof) are almost always a consequence of premature death.
Trivia tidbit(s): Ozzy Osbourne’s famed band, Black Sabbath, purportedly took its name from Bava’s work and, sadly, the comical closing bookend with Karloff narrating on a mechanical steed is possibly the genesis for the famed actor’s demise. In order to achieve the illusion of speed while on horseback, Bava used numerous fans, which threatened to aggravate the actor’s recurring respiratory ailments. True to Murphy’s Law, the actor contracted a cold immediately after filming the scene and, at the time of Karloff’s death years later, Bava blamed himself.
-Egregious Gurnow
- Interview with J.R. Bookwalter - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Andrew J. Rausch - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Rick Popko and Dan West - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Director Stevan Mena (Malevolence) - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Screenwriter Jeffery Reddick (Day of the Dead 2007) - January 22, 2015
- Teleconference interview with Mick Garris (Masters of Horror) - January 22, 2015
- A Day at the Morgue with Corri English (Unrest) - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Writer/Director Nacho Cerda (The Abandoned, Aftermath) - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Actress Thora Birch (Dark Corners, The Hole, American Beauty) - January 22, 2015
- Interview with Actor Jason Behr, Plus Skinwalkers Press Coverage - January 22, 2015
