La Maîtresse du vampire

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.

Considerably less than the sum of its parts. The English-language title is extremely misleading (the original translates as 'The Vampire's Lover'), for there are plenty of dancers but not much ballet; one of the film's highlights being a supposed 'rehearsal' with the girls cavorting athletically in matching leotards and fishnets as one reclines languidly in the foreground drawing on a cigarette, which resembles a beatnik cabaret act rather than ballet.

Characters aimlessly wander in and out of the plot as well as about the local countryside and the local abandoned castle as in an episode of 'Scooby Doo'. Angelo Baistrocchi's photogaphy - particularly the nighttime exteriors - are pleasing to the eye but far too overlit for the purposes of suspense; while Aldo Piga's score varies wildly in style and suitability from scene to scene. Helene Remy as Luisa and Tina Gloriani as Francesca are both immaculate in their high heels and fifties dresses and hairstyles; maybe too immaculate, since their blonde good looks and their clothes render them so similar it gets difficult in the later stages of the film to keep track who's doing what and to whom at critical moments.

Someone involved in the production was obviously familiar with 'Nosferatu' and 'Vampyr', since a number of images (the wolves emerging from the woods, the coach driver, even the closing shot) have been lifted from the former, and the subjectively shot funeral from the latter.

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.

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".