'Oh,' I hear you say in your best sarcastic-Nancy voice, 'A horror movie featuring a crying woman! What could be more terrifying?!' And in doing so, you would be invoking the wrath of the dreaded bogey-woman of Mexican folklore La Llorana! I urge you not to not to mock this woman. She uses souls like yours just to dust her blinds. Are we straight?
Okay. First a little about the movie. The Curse Of The Crying Woman (La Maldicion De La Llorana) is one of a stable of imported Mexican films dubbed, repackaged and distributed in the United States by movie enthusiast K Gordon Murray for drive-in theaters, a booming market during the sixties and seventies. What I have been lucky enough to see of these movies, which will finally be released in their entirety on DVD this summer *(Note: The proposed 2003 release of the K. Gordon Murray collection was killed not long after this writing. Recently, though, a company called CasaNegra Entertainment announced a remastered Spanish-language version of COTCW for June 27th, 2006.), I'm rather fond of. They are brimming with wrestling women fighting mummies who are in turn fighting robots, vampires running around in tights and black capes torturing people in cobwebby dungeons and wrestling in their spare time, actual rubber bats flying backwards on easily visible wires, and the like, not to mention wonderfully kooky dialogue cleverly translated from the original language.
There are such moments of zany hallucinogenic madness in COTCW, too, but I must say the film really impresses me as cinema. These unsung Mexican directors worked wonders with a miniscule budget, and definitely made the fun, mindless sort of horror movies perfect for drive-ins. They mimicked what they thought they knew of American and Italian horror, and with the love they clearly felt for the genre, created a realm all their own - Mexilvania - blending East European gothic with Central-American spice. But they did transgress into cinematic art, as exemplified by this picture. COTCW sticks closer to Transylvania than Aztlan, and is relatively free of wrestling, so it's more in the realm of traditional gothic horror than some of the other slapstick Chirabusco offerings, meriting it some amount of special recognition.
The current DVD of this rare gem was spat out by a short-lived outfit called Beverly Wilshire Filmworks, who also put out a similar budget disc for K. Gordan Murray's The Brainiac, Sampson Vs. The Vampire Women and Sampson In The Wax Museum. Anyone interested in checking these movies out will find they can be had for cheap through Amazon's used section, but, again, they will receive a quality release by Image over the next six months from the time of this writing, along with the rest of the K. Gordan Murray trove, and are already available on video from the same source. The picture quality of these BWF DVDs is definitely no BFD, and the menus are even less so. But before these budget discs were released, it looked like we would never see the K. Gordan Murray pantheon on video or DVD because of NAFTA, which drove up the cost of acquiring the titles. Soon, Americans will be able to add movies like The Vampire's Coffin, The Living Head, The Witch's Mirror and The Invasion Of The Vampires to their Mexican horror DVD collection. * (See above)
Now, before I forget what movie I'm reviewing, The Curse Of The Crying Woman starts with some fairly quick shots. The titular woman (ahem) stands in a foggy set that crudely simulates a nocturnal forest scene. The camera zooms in to show that there are a couple of hollow pits where her eyes should be, but while she looks like she might be getting over-tired and fussy, she isn't quite crying. Next we see the Crying Woman's grizzled, born-to-leer henchman, leering with anticipation. Cut to the Crying Woman and the three Great Danes she has on leashes. Right here, we're seeing another tribute to Mario Bava's highly influential Black Sunday, where Barbara Steele's character greets the protagonists in the woods with three likewise fearsome-looking Great Danes on leashes. In COTCW, the dogs are actually utilized in the plot, however, and to graphic effect. Next, we see a carriage riding through the same mist-shrouded set (ala Black Sunday, again) with some Jose-Coachman-type at the helm.
In the coach, we see two distinguished older gentleman and a young woman, who looks a little perturbed about the odd concentration of atmospheric atmosphere outside. All are wearing 19th-century clothing. After some small talk we find out one of the dapper Jauns is also uneasy, having heard stories about this stretch of woods at some point in his youth. His chubby friend, the Mexican Lou Costello, titters relentlessly at the suggestion that the woods are haunted, that there have been murders there, that a maniac is loose, but, fortunately for the viewer, he will soon be Purina hell-hound chow.
Laugh it up, fat-boy, this is a bit part - as in "Kibbles and Bits"The grizzled and gimpy henchman limps onto the road and puts up a hand, halting the coach. He expertly throws a dagger straight into the coachman's blood-pump. Mr. Superstitious steps out of the coach to see what in tarnation is going on and Scarface the henchman grabs him and strangulates the fancy-pants townie but good. Lady MacDeath unleashes her hounds of horror and they munch on the pudgy coward after he tries to split this two-bit dog-and-pony show. The Crying Woman is not so much distraught by this spectacle as orgasmic. At this moment, we see the misunderstanding the movies title elicits. Even the lovely abandoned Mexican debutante isn't spared, run over by her own carriage.
After this roughly five-minute set-up we see the AIP logo. Yes, the infamous American International Pictures handled the distribution of these Mexican horror imports. Who else would have? Then we see the title and credits imposed over a shot of the feature haunted house, and we find out that the director who can be thanked for this little opus is one Raphael Baledon (who also wrote the screenplay).
Inside this mansion a woman, who bears a striking resemblance to the Crying Wench sans empty eye-sockets, stands on the staircase conversing with the local smokey. The topic is the strange mutilation-murders which seem to be mind-staggeringly common in this slashed neck of the woods that the woman shares with nobody else (nobody natural, anyway). And, hmmmm, interesting that she hasn't reported hearing a peep of these regular massacres that occurs practically outside her window on a routine basis. The victims, of course, are drained of blood. Our hostess expresses all the burning compassion of Leona Helmsley, and invites the inspector to kindly jag off (in so many words).
Let our cheerful, courteous staff cater to your every bleed. Errr, need...The indignant officer leaves and we cut too a leering, evil henchman who bears a striking resemblance to the leering, evil henchman we saw before in the woods, stabbing, strangling and leering. The Crying Countess reminds him that her long-estranged niece, accompanied by her new husband, will be shortly arriving at the house. Outside, the Inspector is talking to one of his men, referring to the strangely reclusive woman of the house, and confirming that she has a long-lost niece.
We cut to the lovely, innocent niece, Emily, and her older husband Herbert (producer Abel Salazar, who played the brain-sucking monster in Murray's The Brainiac) seated in a carriage on the road through the foggy set, having a nice expositionary chat about Munster family history. She tells how she hasn't seen her aunt Selma for sixteen years, and two weeks earlier had received a letter from Selma stating that her presence was desired back at her childhood home, the manse of bloody horror. You have to wonder why, for two weeks straight, the husband wasn't the slightest bit curious where this carriage he was on was headed and for what purpose, and didn't once demand to know just who wears the pants in this marriage, by golly. And this is macho Mexico! But this is the way with low-budget horror movies - the basic premise has to be established as expediently as possible so we can get to the endless scene-padding that follows.
"I recall now that I was a very unhappy child here." Emily, sharing cherished memories of growing up in Mexilvania
Then we see the carriage arrive at the mansion, and the couple gets the usual rigmarole from the coachman about how the place is haunted. Sure enough, there is plenty of evidence to support this assertion. They see the mean-ass dogs chained to the house, and are shocked to be greeted at the door by the horrid, gimpy, leering, scar-faced henchman, ensuing with an awkward silence. Jeeves limps out and gets one of their bags for them and directs them to their room to wait for Aunt Selma, who is probably busy washing the blood of her human victims out of her hair, or something..
Later, the niece uncovers a mirror in their bedroom, and screams after a paper-maché corpse-face appears over the image of her own. Her husband comes in, but dismisses the incident as a trick of her imagination, brought on by the eerie house, or maybe the peyote top they'd shared earlier. Then the acid kicks in as they hear the wail of the Crying Woman coming from the tower above. They go to investigate, but this rude nosiness is strongly discouraged by the ugly, leering, vulgar, malodorous ogre of a henchman and his three carnivorous canine companions.
The scene moves to the attic, where we see Corpserella of the magic mirror swoop into view on a wire and turn into Selma (in no-eyeball mode), who, it turns out, is only subbing for the original Crying woman while she's a withered, wailing mummy, chained to a huge wheel in the attic with a holy-javelin through her black heart. Not a happy camper. Furthermore, Selma wants to bring the old biddy back to life to instruct her on the finer points of world domination.
Back in the honeymoon suite, the couple is beginning to regret their little trip, annoyed by the incessant wailing coming from the supernatural fossil upstairs. Cut to Auntie Selma (con eyeballs), who is carving a nice voodoo doll, likely as a wedding present for her doomed prisoners. She then plays a dirge on the organ, drawing the ever inquisitive kids down to meet her, and smirks while padding the film out a few precious minutes. The niece is astonished to see her aunt has barely age a day in sixteen years. She asks Selma about the crying in the night, and about her misshapen mercenary. She blames any blood-curdling shrieking they might have heard on the wind, and assures them that she merely saved the wretched, dirty, unpleasant fiend from the gallows, and he's been hanging around every since. Strangely, this does nothing to allay their concerns.
Now for my rendition of "That Old Black Magic"Mr. Producer decides to have a little look around while crazy Aunt Selma has a private talk with his young bride. He studies the painting on the wall of the supposedly dearly departed Uncle Crying Woman, and the vile, pestilent, poorly-dressed thug appears and leers at him. Meanwhile, Selma gives Emily some back-story on The Wailing Witch, whose charred portrait she shows her. According to her, she was a noblewoman who terrorized the countryside as an Elizabeth Bathory kind of tyrant sorceress. In the real legend, La Llorana is a banshee who is cursed to walk the earth forever for drowning her children in the Rio Grande River, but in this film version of the story she is not a specter searching the night for naughty children to drown (which might have made a better movie, frankly), but is instead a driven power-harpy trafficking with Satan. Selma has done some reading up on The Wailing Witch's racket, and decides to get in on the action by preparing mummy dearest for her resurrection. The Wailing Witch will inhabit the body of Emily herself at midnight, and go back to her old burning and raping and pillaging shenanigans.
Aunt Selma proudly shows off her lack of reflection in the mirror, suggesting that Selma is basically a vampire. Selma has attained the power of her infamous mother, but has been forced to feed on the blood of peasants and travelers, and care for this closet-skeleton until her niece turns twenty three, when she will be ripe for possessing. And that would happen this very night!
Herbert continues his snooping around, exploring the forbidden regions of the quasi-castle while toking on a fine, Cuban stogie. He exterminates a pesky, rubber vampire bat (the species indigenous to Mexico), and gets strangled by a hairy arm that reaches out of a barred window. He pulls himself out of the grasp of this mysterious assailant but crashes through the railing to the lower floor as a consequence.
You're my bitch now, sweet-cheeks!Selma continues to mind-fuck Emily by walking through a huge cobweb barricade without disturbing it, ala Dracula, on the way up to the tower to show off the family heirloom, grandma's shriveled remains. It turns out the evening's malediction is incumbent upon Emily's participation, as she must pull the holy lance from the witch's chest just as the tower bell strikes midnight. Selma insists her niece is ordained to do this, and that she'll develop a craving for blood as the witching hour approaches. And then the real fun will begin! Emily hastily decides to make like a tree.
Emily's clumsy groom, in the meantime, staggers around in the kind of daze you can only get when you've been strangled by a hairy arm in a haunted house and fallen off a second story balcony onto your head. He passes out cold and Evil Henchman rushes to his side, probably to haul Herbie-baby to the kitchen and cut him into little meat-cubes for the soup, when poor, dizzy little Emily wanders onto the scene, at which point he pretends he just means to tuck the tuckered-out chap snugly into his bed for the night. Hubby Herbert can't be roused by anything less than a nuclear jalapeno up the keister, so Emily runs off into the night to flag down a passing coach, and ends up savaging the elderly driver after he cravenly declines to help her, raking her claws across his face in a rather unladylike fashion. The curse is starting to take her over. Shocked by this new homicidal inclination, she tells the whimpering old man to go summon the authorities. As the old man flees, the full moon comes out and Emily's eyes disappear, just like her aunt's. More, disembodied eyes cascade across the sky around her.
Duuuuuuude!!!WHEEEEE! The needle on the weird-o-meter just went off the scale, folks, and for the moment we've wandered smack-dab into the middle of pure-cinema territory.
Back at the homestead, Selma uses her little love-doll to put some vague kind of hypnotic spell on the awakening spouse, causing him to see negative-exposure flashback (using some footage from other Mexican horror flicks) to reveal how the Wailing Witch was staked through the heart by inquisitors. This requisite but rather pointless scene is interrupted when Emily barges in and snaps her bedeviled husband out of his trance. Together, they vow to break the spell, escape from this disastrous vacation to Draculand, Mexico and alert the coppers.
As it turns out, the old man is at the police headquarters right that moment recounting the ass-kicking he got from a girl, albeit the rabid, crazy bitch variety of girl, which might be enough acquit a man's machismo of such a humiliation even in Mexico. This gives the police an excuse to drop in on the murderous old maid on the hill
to see what kind of chainsaw atrocity she's keeping in her freezer.
The wacky hijinks continue as the brutish, bullying brute of a henchman goes Zorro on the imprisoned hairy madman who got a piece of our hero earlier. As it turns out, the horrible hairy hermit is Selma's husband, who was no doubt driven insane by her endless yammering about how The Wailing Witch was going to rise up and turn the oceans red with blood, blot out the sun, gnashing of teeth, yadda yadda yadda. The creepy captive turns the tables after beating our beloved henchman over the head with a stool, and manages to escape his inhospitable confines for the first time probably since Ulysses S. Grant choked on his puke. Hairy Hermit chases the heroine around the castle for a bit, only stopping to admire the velvet portrait on the wall showing him as a young, unmutated nobleman, and to rip it to shreds in a rage.
Meanwhile, the police have come to the rescue, but our kindly butler Scarface unhelpfully releases the hounds, which tear the would-be peace-keepers to pieces in a surprisingly violent scene for a movie of the time.
Officer Friendly commits a Scooby-Don'tAs midnight approaches, and with her husband in the clutches of her captors, Emily resigns herself to her destiny, and dutifully reports to the tower to fulfill it. The bells begin to toll the moment of absolution, and Emily prepares to pull the crucifix out of the witch's chest as her manacled husband fervently advises against this unwise career move. Emily keeps us in suspense but comes around to the more appealing option of jamming the thing deeper into the witch's heart, tossing a fatal monkey-wrench in the clockwork of crying evilness once and for all. This is the cue for our haunted castle to start crumbling in spectacular Corman-movie fashion, and for our cast of villains to meet their respective grisly demises. The Wailing Witch turns to dust, and I find myself strangely feeling sorry for the Crying Woman, who actually has a good reason to cry at this juncture. In the exciting, edge-of-your-seat climax the leering henchdude gets crushed by the falling bell while duking it out with the movie's producer in the collapsing house, as Selma gets strangled by her vengefully hairy husband, who is in turn mauled by the dogs before the whole lot of them get crushed under the falling chandelier.
The great Crying Woman dynasty bites the dustZowie! What a finish!
The cheaply-priced K. Gordon Murray imports turned a pretty profit for AIP, and were usually released on double bills, as COTCW was with The Brainiac in 1969, though the movie was actually lensed eight years earlier. In all, The Curse Of The Crying Woman is an atmospheric, slightly-offbeat haunted-castle romp with cool sets, reasonable acting and colorful characters. I'm not saying it suits every taste, but it's a delightful discovery for aficionados of the outré.
This review written by Steve Ring © 2003
