El vampiro y la bailarina

Here's an early entry in the Italian horror revival of the 60s, following on the heels of Freda's "I Vampiri". It fits in well with the contemporaneous Gothics "The Playgirls and the Vampire", "Slaughter of the Vampires", etc., but is more superficial and haphazardly constructed. Most horror buffs have dismissed it as a clumsy imitation of its cinematic cousins. As proved by his later, supremely bizarre contributions to the horror genre, Polselli was a hack with no interest in continuity or story structure, but he certainly could sustain a ferociously obsessional, surrealistic atmosphere, and this title can be quite hypnotic despite its poor make-up and effects and relentless lack of narrative drive.

On the other hand, if you're a fan of kitschy early-60s Euro-chic, then by all means check this one out (if you can find it -- it only seems available on hazy grey-market copies that may have been clipped of brief sights of nudity and lasciviousness). The proceedings come to a halt every so often to allow the (supposedly classical) ballet troupe of leggy, leotard-clad bambinas an opportunity to break into sultry, acrobatic jazz ballet (shades of Chicago and Cabaret), to some mind-bending cocktail lounge music. It's as if José Benazeraf checked in one afternoon as guest director on a Bava picture! Definitely a cheeky, retro-chic cross-pollination, along the lines of "The Hands of Orlac" (remake) and "Death on the Four Poster".

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.

The first time I saw THE VAMPIRE AND THE BALLERINA, it was in an 8-millimeter version that belonged to my cousin(remember the old 8 and Super 8 millimeter versions of old movies you could buy at K-mart and show on your folks home movie projectors?)That abbreviated version only included the final scene, and honestly, that was the best part of this Italian-made horror cheapie that obviously filled out many a drive-in double feature or "shock theater" spooky show on independant television. A troupe of dancers come to a spooky medieval castle for . . . some reason. It's not clear. At any rate, they're accompanied by several males: a choreographer, a male dancer, and a boyfriend(if I remember). The next door neighbors in the ajoining castle are a strange, imperious woman and her male servant who, in his more interesting moments, turns into a mouldering, rubber-faced vampire. But who are they really? Is the woman the master of the vampire, or the vampire the master of the woman? The vampire attacks one of the dancers(the "ballerina" of the title)and makes her his slave, which leads two of the male characters to chase the vampire and the mysterious lady to a thrilling rooftop climax! Inbetween there's lots of nonsensical action, such as dialogue with long meaningful pauses, sequences in which the dancers are alternately chased or are following people, usually traversing steep banks in stiletto heels, and dance rehearsal scenes in which nary a hint of a ballerina is seen--unless all ballerinas rehearse by doing cartwheels and interpretive dance moves while wearing black leotards and character shoes. Go figure. If you rent this thing, fast forward to the last ten minutes. Therein lies the payoff.

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.

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?