El espejo de la bruja

A delirious concoction of Rebecca, Hands of Orlac, The Uninvited, and Eyes Without a Face, 1962's El espejo de la bruja wastes no time plunging us into the Gothic and even less time on useless characterization. This is a brutally efficient horror pic which rejects nothing, no matter how absurd, and despises the crippling effect common sense has had on the poetry of the macabre. The protagonists act as if hypnotized, stepping out of ghostly mirrors, wandering doomy-eyed, or running down dark staircases in terror--a Last Year at Marienbad done as a haunted soap opera, and curiously enough, released the same year.

Co-scriptwriter Carlos Enrique Taboada would go on to write and direct several Henry James-style moody horrors, but I much prefer his kitchen sink approach here. The lively, demented plot is well matched with Jorge Stahl Jr's arty, careful camerawork which invokes maximal imaginative power via simple effects such as voice-over, shadows, fog, cut-outs, and double exposure. Budget considerations limit this one to mostly set-bound interiors, but this only adds to the cramped paranoia, punctuated by hysterical outbursts at a piano playing itself or the presence of a dead woman in the title mirror.

The film's characters seem to shift from victim to tormentor on a dime, presided over by a cackling vengeful witch (Isabela Corona) whose folk religion is somewhat like Santissima Muerte mixed with medieval European diabolism (ominous credits and a warning as to the powers of witchcraft crawl over Goya copies, bookending the action). Shadowy and intricate, she prays to alters resembling Surrealist sculptures. Magic is real. There is no cop-out. The detectives at the end wonder what the hell they've seen. Everyone gets their just deserts. The moral: Beware the wrath of women, especially outwardly-loyal housekeepers.

The Witch's Mirror is a fine, mad thing, blissfully short on psychological subtlety, and as locomotive as the flipping pages of a gaudy sensacionale.

In Mexico, Elena (Dina de Marco) is married and loves her husband, Dr. Eduardo Ramos (Armando Calvo). The housekeeper Sara (Isabela Corona), who is her godmother, is a powerful witch that has a magic mirror. When Sara predicts that Elena will be murdered by her husband, she cannot protect her goddaughter since the devils cannot change the future. Soon Eduardo gives poisoned milk to Elena and she dies. However, Sara promises revenge to Elena. Eduardo travels and when he returns home, he brings his new wife, Deborah (Rosita Arenas), to live with Sara and him. But Sara summons the devils from hell to set in course Elena's revenge, bringing her back through her mirror.

"El espejo de la bruja", a.k.a. "The Witch's Mirror", is a great black-and-white Mexican horror movie about a witch that uses her mirror to bring the spirit of her granddaughter to seek revenge against her husband. The storyline is simple, but the film is scary. My vote is seven.

Title (Brazil): "O Espelho da Bruxa" ("The Witch's Mirror")

I vaguely remember seeing a few Mexican horror films on my local TV channel when I was growing up. The quality of the prints weren't great and, even to an 8 year old, the dubbing was atrocious. This one and a Russian (Soviet) film called THE DAY THE EARTH FROZE stuck with me because they both featured witches. I've always been fascinated by witches in films and books because of the magic powers they possessed. However it had been years since I had seen WITCH'S MIRROR when this Casanegra release came out in 2006. I bought it (along with BLACK PIT OF DR M and CURSE OF THE CRYING WOMAN), watched it, liked it, but didn't watch it again until just recently when I was astonished by everything I found in it. This movie is an old school horror buff's dream come true.

The look of MIRROR is a cross between the shadowy low budget world of the Val Lewton RKO films and the atmospheric Euro Gothic films of Mario Bava and early Jess Franco. Then there's the plot which borrows heavily from the classic French horror film EYES WITHOUT A FACE (LES YEUX SANS VISAGE) where a doctor tries to restore his daughter's disfigured face. In this movie it's the doctor's second wife who is disfigured by the avenging spirit of his first wife (whom he murdered) abetted by her Godmother who is the witch of the title. Throw in a little of FRANKENSTEIN and a lead performance that rivals anything Bela Lugosi did at Monogram and you have the makings of a B movie classic. In fact, MIRROR has everything in it but the kitchen sink

One of the many delights to be had in watching this film is seeing how it just plows right ahead moving from one bizarre plot point to another completely oblivious to its own absurdity. The whole thing only takes 75 minutes and boy does plenty happen in that short length of time. The first wife is statuesque, the second is more conventional, the doctor is insane, and the witch is calm and collected. There's never a dull moment although I found the ending to be disappointing (NO SPOILERS HERE) but you can see for yourself. Unfortunately the Casanegra label disappeared a few years back and now copies of them are increasingly rare and cost a pretty penny. Definitely worth seeking out...For more reviews visit The Capsule Critic.

A great Horror entry made in Mexico at a time when their film industry was still robust and interesting. The theme of The Witch's Mirror can equally fall into the genre of supernatural just as much as horror. Either way it's a Macabre film, very well shot in black and white and director Chano Urueta makes excellent use of some great special effects for the time. Isabel Carona plays the witch who uses her magic mirror to cast revenge on Armando Calvo, who is really great as the sinister, twisted mad-scientist of sorts. Most of the film takes place in what appears to be a old Mexican castle although the outside of it is never shown but it's very Gothic and atmospheric with brooding shadows around every corner. The Witch's Mirror is definitely Classic Mexican Cinema and sadly many of these films produced from this era have gone un-noticed for far too long. If you plan on seeing it I recommend you make some popcorn, turn off the lights and enjoy this fun little picture from the days when Mexican cinema was still golden.

Mexico's "The Witch's Mirror" (El Espejo de la Bruja) was that rare Abel Salazar production where he does not perform on screen, kicking off Nov. 14, 1960, with director Chano Urueta at the helm. Pretty blonde Helen Hanley (Dina de Marco) is dismayed to learn from godmother Sara (Isabela Corona) that her death has been preordained by the powers of darkness, and that her supposedly devoted surgeon husband Edward (Armando Calvo) will be the one responsible for her murder. The fateful moment arrives when he brings her a fatal glass of milk at bedtime, collapsing before her bedroom mirror; it's not long before the doctor returns with new bride Deborah (Rosita Arenas, herself just recently wed to producer Salazar), who wants to prove she's not jealous by visiting Helen's old room. The vengeful spirit makes its chilling presence felt, and when Edward breaks the mirror with a kerosene lamp, Deborah is the one encased in flames that disfigure her once lovely features. At this point the picture becomes a Mexican combination of "The Hands of Orlac" and Georges Franju's "Eyes Without a Face," the now quite mad surgeon obsessed with restoring the beauty of his loved one, an attempt at grave robbing resulting in a still living subject suffering from catalepsy, with perfect pianist hands. It may not be clear at first, but poor Deborah turns out to be entirely innocent of any wrongdoing, the villainous Edward coming off as such a cold fish that it's a mystery as to how he'd be such a babe magnet. The presence of a (mostly) benevolent witch is capably handled by Isabela Corona, never once suspected by her employer or his latest bride, unable to save her mistress but not holding back when exacting revenge. The scarred makeup does not disappoint, and the occasional bursts of gore (even in black and white), such as severed hands and stumps on arms, must have been shocking in its day (amazing how such similar titles all emerged at the same time from different countries: France, Mexico, and Spain's "The Awful Dr. Orlof"). Small details abound, such as flowers that wither and die in mere seconds, a piano that plays itself, and the observant owl watching things go badly in the surgery. Chano Urueta truly rises to the occasion in ways that he couldn't on the better known "The Brainiac," another triumph for producer Salazar, whose marriage to pretty Rosina Arenas endured until his 1995 passing at age 78.