I Vampiri

Now here's one for the auteurists out there: Is I Vampiri a Riccardo Freda film; a Mario Bava film; a hybrid with traces of both authorial signatures; or nothing but the work of two metteurs-en-scene, neither man really stamping his personality on the project?

Freda started the film, making a bet with his backers that he could complete it in only twelve days, but then walked off the project when it seemed like he would lose, leaving it to his cameraman Bava to help retool Piero Playgirls and the Vampire Regnoli's script and bring the film in on time.

In the DVD liner notes Tim Lucas makes Bava's case for ownership. The more cynical minded might expect that he would say that, seeing as his notes are excerpted from his forthcoming book about Bava and the disc itself appears as part of "The Mario Bava Collection". Then again, Bava does seem to have a stronger claim on the film thanks to his dual role as cinematographer plus the fact that he was the one present from beginning to end. Moreover there are certain moments that would crop up again in his work, such as the use of in-camera transformation effects as seen in Mask of Satan AKA Black Sunday.

Whatever the case, I Vampiri is of importance for Eurohorror fans for more than introducing two of its great directorial talents: If The Curse of Frankenstein and Psycho are the seminal post-World War II films as far as British and American horror are concerned, I Vampiri occupies an analogous position for Continental horror.

The story is an original interpretation of the Elizabeth Bathory myth, set in present-day (i.e. mid-1950s) Paris. The Countess Du Grande (Gianna Maria Canale – Freda's paramour) keeps herself preternaturally young through transfusions of the blood of young women, whose bodies keep being fished out of the River Seine. The police seem powerless. A young newspaper reporter, Pierre Lantin (Dario Michaelis), investigates the crimes and comes to the attention of the Countess, who is impersonating her young niece, Giselle. Pierre, however, is reluctant to return her affections, having bad memories of how the old Countess, who was in love with his father, drove his mother to suicide some 30 years before…

Add in the Countess's mad scientist servant, some drug abuse, damsels in distress, and a dungeon-cum lab in the basement of a Gothic chateau to this convoluted romantic situation and you have the makings of a classic pulp horror.

Admittedly fans of more recent fare may find I Vampiri to be a bit creaky in places, with its indebtedness to silent cinema, 30s Hitchcock and Universal-style horror apparent, but one hopes they will appreciate that it contains the seeds of their favourite Eurohorrors (and, perhaps, gialli) – even if later films might show the genre in fuller bloom or more interesting hybrid varieties.

Simply put, every subsequent Eurohorror – including such influential titles as George Franju's Les Yeus Sans Visage (1959) and Jesus Franco's The Awful Dr Orlof (1962) – probably owes a debt to I Vampiri, whether the film-makers are aware of it or not. (One of the more unusual outcomes was be the use of pseudonyms by Italian directors: Freda signed I Vampiri to himself but, with audiences apparently not believing that an Italian could direct this sort of material, it was not a box-office success. Freda, Bava and those that followed them thus learned that, by adopting Anglicised pseudonyms like Robert Hampton and John M Old, audiences could be fooled into thinking that their films came from the US or UK – a useful illusion in the era of Hammer, Corman et al.)

This Region One DVD from Image Entertainment, released under the "Mario Bava Collection" banner, represents the first time most outwith Italy will have had the opportunity to see I Vampiri in its original form, previous US releases as The Devil's Commandment and Lust of a Vampire having been butchered and adulterated by their unscrupulous distributors.

Image quality is remarkable, considering the original version was believed lost. I Vampiri is presented in 2.35:1 – the only way to appreciate the Cinemascope production – and is enhanced for widescreen televisions. Inevitably there are some scratches but, against the opportunity to see the film in a crisp, clean transfer in the correct ratio, these pale into insignificance.

The film is presented in the original Italian, with optional English subtitles. These are in yellow, thus overcoming the common problem in many black and white films of being unable to see the white subtitles on the white background.

The absence of material from the alternate versions of the film may be slightly suspriring. While one can appreciate that Image might have thought that the sight of Al Lewis of The Munsters mugging away in The Devil's Commandment wouldn't exactly dignify the package, it's also the sort of thing that obsessive fans will want to see, if only once. And certainly, other Mario Bava collection releases haven't skimped on the alterate materials, whether it be the US title sequence for Blood and Black Lace or – in extremis – the Lisa and the Devil / House of Exorcism release that allows the viewer to directly compare Bava and producer Alfredo Leone's versions of the film.

The DVD is rounded off with a Bava biography and filmography; Freda filmography; a stills and artwork gallery and a selection of trailers for other films in the collection – Baron Blood, Bay of Blood (as Carnage), The House of Exorcism, Black Sunday (as The Mask of Satan), Black Sabbath (as I Tre Volti Della Paura) and The Girl Who Knew Too Much (as La Ragazza che Sapave Troppo) – and informative liner notes by Tim Lucas that make you wish he could have provided a feature length commentary as well.

All things considered, a DVD for the Eurohorror enthusiast to cherish. Now can we please see a Riccardo Freda collection with The Horrible Secret of Dr Hichcock and The Ghost for starters?