‘You have a vastly superior mind, but you have lost track of eternity.’
A scientist is targeted by a vampire, who is a descendant of Nostradamus. The bloodsucker demands that he publicly acknowledge the seer’s legendary powers, or he will kill 13 times…
The first part of what was originally a 12-part Mexican serial cut into four films and dubbed into English for American theatres by producer K Gordon Murray. Federico Curiel directs a cast led by Germán Robles, Julio Alemán and Domingo Soler.
It’s been a pleasant evening of fine wine and good conversation for Profesor Durán (Soler). His guests are all congratulating him on his public stand against the power of superstition and ancient beliefs. Unfortunately, after the guests depart, he has one more visitor. Preparing some work in his study with his secretary Antonio (Alemán), they come face to face with a stranger called Ericson (Robles). The uninvited guest demands that Soler formally endorse the prophecies of Nostradamus. Soler scoffs at the very idea, but Robles is persistent, warning him that his continual refusal will mean the deaths of 13 people. He names the first as a man who has written to Soler supporting his views. Soler and Alemán don’t take the threats seriously.
The next day, however, they discover that the named man is dead. Soler receives another nocturnal visit from Robles, who names his next victim. Soler shoots at Robles, but the man transforms into a giant bat and flies away. Reluctantly conceding that he’s dealing with a vampire, Soler and Alemán rush to warn the second victim, a dealer in antiques. But they are too late; Robles has already put the man into a hypnotic trance, commanding him to kill one of his clients. The crime committed, the hypnotised man flings himself from a high window and dies down below in the street. Soler persuades Alemán to keep what they know from the police, a strategy that backfires when Robles tells his hunchback assistant, Leo (Manuel Vergara ‘Manver’), to kidnap the Professor’s pretty daughter, Anna (Aurora Alvarado).
A question hangs over the exact genesis of this production. That it was a serial of a dozen episodes running 25 minutes each is not disputed. However, there is disagreement about whether it was intended for television or theatrical release. The latter seems likely due to the production values on display, the most obvious example being the interior of the Professor’s house, where a lot of the action takes place. It was probably a set, given some of the camera movements; a prime example is when Curiel tracks characters from a distance when they climb the central stairway, a manoeuvre likely to prevent problems in an actual location. The confusion may have arisen due to the circumstances facing Estudios América, who produced the film. At the time, they were barred from making features due to a union agreement, so this may have been initially announced as a television shoot as a clever way of circumventing this problem.
In some form, the project reached Mexican theatres in the autumn of 1961, when it caught the attention of American entrepreneur and film distributor K Gordon Murray. By this point, he was regularly importing films from South of the Border for American release on the small-town theatrical circuit. Curiel’s serial ran around 3 hours in total and would cut pretty neatly into four separate features, each running around 75 minutes. Of course, there would be a few problems establishing the story basics at the beginning of each separate instalment. However, due to the nature of serials, characters often spend time recapping the main plot anyway. Clearly, it didn’t concern Murray too much, and he was happy to slap on a perfunctory English language dub track and throw the results out onto the circuit.
As the saga’s opening episode, this entry has the advantage of including the initial setup. Curiel shows us Robles in the family crypt, talking with the corpse of his long-dead ancestor and establishing the plot. Apparently, after 400 years in the grave, the original Nostradamus (Victorio Blanco) is still a bit peeved at those snooty academic types like Soler, who won’t take his work seriously. It is unclear how he’s heard about the Professor and his unseen ‘committee’ and what they’ve precisely done to get on his nerves. At this point, Robles seems to be a distant descendant but is later referred to as his son. Rather than be known as Ericson, he soon takes on the name of Nostradamus. None of this is adequately explained, but the lazy English dub might be responsible.
As a dramatic project, it holds few surprises. Mexican filmmakers had been in thrall to the standard Lugosi template since the phenomenal success of Abel Salazar’s ‘El vampiro’ (1957), the film which kickstarted the entire Mexican horror craze of the period. Vampires were aristocratic and arrogant, with hypnotic eyes and impeccably tailored, dressing formally with a swirling cape. Robles’ Nostradamus is no exception, and that’s no surprise given that the Spanish actor had also played the bloodsucker in Salazar’s earlier film. To his credit, the actor seems fully engaged with this material, although he could have been forgiven for being a little less than enthusiastic. He had already reprised his undead role in the sequel to Salazar’s film and had delivered another vampire count in ‘El castillo de los monstruos (The Castle of the Monsters)’ (1958), even if that was more of a gag appearance.
The main issue here with Curiel’s film is a lack of action. Unlike a Hollywood serial crammed full of fistfights and cliffhangers, this is a slow, talky piece that’s more in keeping with Stoker’s original. Soler is our Van Helsing, of course, and daughter Alvarado steps into Mina Harker’s shoes. Robles does get a hunchback assistant, which is new, but there’s little else that deviates from the familiar formula. The connection with the original Nostradamus is just window dressing, and public recognition of his ancestor’s genius seems to be a weak motivation to initiate Robles’ killing spree. Soler’s behaviour is also a little strange. Why not acknowledge Nostradamus, as Robles asks? What’s to lose? It will stop the murders, after all. The Professor is also determined to keep everything from the police and fight Robles with only Alemán for support. If he goes to the authorities with what he knows, it will cause a mass panic, and that’s a lot worse than allowing more murders. Apparently. These seeming illogicalities may result from the words put into the actor’s mouths by the English dub, which offers dialogue that often sounds awkward and borderline ridiculous.
The conversion from a serial to a feature is not blindingly obvious, but it often feels that Robles should be paying rent, given the number of times he pops into Soler’s house for a little chat. His presence and the basic setup needed to be established in each original serial episode, so invariably there is some repetition of this kind. The film’s climax also seems rushed, and events end abruptly. Of course, this was originally the finish of episode 3 of the serial, so there is a lot more story to come, but an audience of the time would probably have felt short-changed. All in all, though, it’s not as awkward as it might be, and the film functions better as a stand-alone feature than ‘the sequel’ ‘Nostradamus y el destructor de monstruos/The Monsters Demolisher’ (1962), which covered episodes 4 to 6.
If the presence of Nostradamus seems a little incongruous when wedded to a vampire tale, the filmmakers may have been playing ‘name recognition’ with the Mexican film ‘Nostradamus’ (1937). Unfortunately, there is next to no information available about that film. However, it did star Carlos Villarías, who appeared as the most famous vampire of them all in ‘Drácula’ (1931), the Spanish version of Stoker’s tale shot by Universal concurrently with the Lugosi film. Curiel’s film doesn’t approach the artistry of either, but there is some effective lighting and black-and-white cinematography by Fernando Colín. The transformation from vampire to bat is usually achieved with a ‘jump cut’, but there is one where Curiel gets creative with a reverse zoom. It’s not a triumph by any means, but it’s pretty effective in its way.
Murray was born in Illinois in 1925, the son of an undertaker. His first brush with the entertainment world was as a huckster with West’s World Wonder Shows Carnival. Helping with the casting of the Munchkins for MGM’s ‘The Wizard of Oz’ (1939) gave him his start in Hollywood, and he eventually worked his way up to the role of publicist for Cecil B DeMille’s ‘The Greatest Show On Earth’ (1952). Moving to Miami, he started K Gordon Murray Productions and began dubbing, retitling and distributing foreign films, hitting pay dirt with Rene Cardona’s bizarre seasonal favourite ‘Santa Claus’ (1959). Never one to ignore an opportunity, Murray flooded the market with so many dubbed children’s fairy tale films that he was known as the ‘King of the Kiddie Matinee’ by the end of the decade.
At the same time, he also focused on Mexican horror, bringing many now-familiar figures into American theatres, most famously Luchador Santo, the Man in the Silver Mask. He was also behind the English language appearances of such ‘South of the Border’ gems as ‘El vampiro’ (1957), ‘The Brainiac/El barón del terror’ (1962) and ‘The Wrestling Women Vs the Aztec Mummy/Las luchadoras contra la momia’ (1963). It’s estimated that Murray released over 60 films with various levels of creative input during his career. In later life, unpaid tax bills got him into trouble with the IRS and all his films were seized. He was due to begin court action to reclaim them when he died of a heart attack in the final days of 1979.
Formulaic vampire action from Mexico. One for fans only.