Die Geliebte des Vampirs

I saw this black-and-white Italian made vampire movie at the Cloverleaf Drive-In in Cleveland, Ohio back in the early 1960s. The theater often booked triple feature horror programs (and triple features period. I even saw "El Cid" on a triple bill there). The drive-in's location was part of its appeal. If the movie wasn't worth watching, you could stare at the neon Goodyear sign off in the distance.

I only have a vague recollection of this film as it appeared theatrically. Like some others who have commented on it, I know it primarily from a 12-minute Super 8 silent home movie edition that Ken Films distributed in its United Artists series (which was primarily dedicated to condensed versions of the classics UA picked up from Warner Bros). In that abbreviated state, it wasn't at all bad, with a climax as memorable as Christopher Lee's demise in "Horror of Dracula." Helene Remy got top billing, above the title, but I'm not even sure any of her scenes made it into the home movie version. Then again, I don't think I would recognize her anyway.

By utilizing expertly lit Gothic interior sets, this film is saturated with an incredibly surreal look and feel. Viewing a pristine print of this film on YouTube, I was impressed with the production design, the gorgeous cast, and the intense power struggle and love/hate relationship between the two undead residents of the abandoned castle.

Between the moody chilling scenes there is a fair amount of eroticism, and frivolous fun. One of the more gripping scenes was that of a recently converted vampire in her windowed coffin being carried to the cemetery. The POV shots from the nascent vampire are of the towering Lombardy Poplars, passing under the arc of the cemetery gate, and seeing the dirt pile up on the coffin's window pane.

For true vintage horror fans who don't need lots of blood and gore, this film is well worth a look.

The plot is so routine it plays more like a late entry in the Eurohorror period of the 1960s than like the early entry it is. Clearly, few involved in the film took any serious care with the material, even throwing in some rather herky-jerky musical numbers, far from ballet. But the photography by Angelo Baistrocchi is both crisp and moody, attractively using the weathered castle locations.

Clearly influenced by (HORROR OF) Dracula, still it's more in the Italian mode than Hammer horror. But it's weakened by mostly uninteresting characters and a lot of running about, often near a rocky stream. Still, the weird relationship between the two vampires is unusual: she's a contessa, he's her servant, but he made her a vampire--so as humans, she dominates him, while as vampires, he dominates her. This leads to an intense love-hate relationship climaxed by them turning on each other at the climax--while still loving one another.

Despite its obvious shortcomings...this early 60's Italian horror film is compelling for reasons other than ranking high on the fright index. The Vampire and The Ballerina is frankly anything but horrifying for the most part. Although, the expressionistic black and white photography lends the film a surreal and hypnotic quality that can't be dismissed. This is NOT your classical vampire flick. Thank God. Having endured the relentless tedium of countless Hammer vampire horror films, I can be grateful for that fact alone. No, the performances are not stellar but given the cheesecake Euro-babe thrust of the movie, they didn't have to be. The convoluted storyline is something David Lynch would appreciate. And so is the fixation on visual imagery such as the storm winds whipping those mysterious trees repeatedly whenever there is a hint of menace. The effective contrasts of shadow and light throughout the film does create a certain surreal moodiness that renders the need to frighten meaningless. It was simply enough for this viewer to be swept away by a tide of tight black leotards and fishnet stockings. A fetishistic confession? Perhaps...although what red-blooded vampire could possibly resist the urge to pray on a troupe of jazz-dancing nymphets posing as ballerinas?

Seen 54 years after its initial release "L'amante del vampiro" (1960) was a most pleasant surprise, a good horror film that introduced vampires with fangs into the golden age of Italian "cinéma fantastique", including (and often mixing) horror, péplum, spy spoof, comic-book heroes, giallo, and even science-fiction. When discussing this film directed by Renato Polselli, most sources indicate the influence of Terence Fisher's "Dracula" (United Kingdom, 1958), but I would say that Fernando Méndez's "El vampiro" (Mexico, 1957) was also a source of inspiration: the constant irruption of the Italian vampire (Walter Brandi) into the house of the ballerinas, is evocative of the menacing presence of a Eastern European vampire in the Mexican hacienda. It is evident that the financial resources were scarce, but this little film was made with conviction, imagination and a lot of humor. I suppose the erotic elements came mostly from Polselli, who would eventually direct a few pornographic films: in this case he handled them with the typical restraint of mainstream cinema of its day, but they are by no means deprived of sensuality. First, the film includes two welcome dance sequences, one even emerging from the beautiful ballerinas' sudden inspiration. Any dance academy would love to have this kind of students, who are good-looking, suggestive, dance well and can choreograph themselves! Then there is the vampire baroness (Maria Luisa Lombardo), a lady constantly in heat, even when she is wearing medieval gowns; while the erotic undercurrent rises whenever hunk Gino Turini (as Giorgio, the choreographer) appears bare chested, in bathing suits or in bed with his lover. The most sensual moment though, is when ballerina Luisa (Hélène Remy) moves ardently in bed, waiting for the vampire to arrive. The castle used as the vampires' lair is superb, with actors obviously working in very cold conditions; the black and white cinematography is a big plus, and even the ugly vampire's evident mask points to one important plot element. But I believe that the great strength of "L'amante del vampiro" is the music by Aldo Piga, even if some find it annoying. He not only added rhythm to scenes shot at a slow pace, but he also did a great job combining suspenseful contemporary music with a portentous and dramatic score that magnifies the terror described. Renato Polselli was not the most inspired director, yes, and it shows that he handled the material just adequately. But everybody involved in this production contributed more than the usual quota of professionalism and enthusiasm, and I believe that this is what has contributed to make "L'amante del vampiro" an attractive and interesting horror work up to this day.