The Vampires Night Orgy

Following a Kiss of the Vampire style pre-credits sequence where the contents of a coffin are discovered to not quite be as they should, we are introduced to a coach party of down-on-their-luck types en route to their new jobs on an estate.

The location is hard to pin down. It doesn't look like Spain, more somewhere in Eastern Europe. But while this sense is enhanced by the way an "American car" is pass remarkable, its confounded by their going to work for some presumably old and noble family.

A-ha, you think, their new bosses are going to be vampires, in a classic none-too-subtle socio-political allegory – cf. Hans W. Geissendörfer's Jonathan or Lucio Fulci's Dracula in the Provinces – and/or comment on the undying Franco regime.

But, not quite, as the coach driver collapses and dies leaving the group in the middle of nowhere, coincidentally at a fork in the road. They can either continue on to their intended destination, Bojoli, or stop over at Tolnia and rest up for the night.

Curiously Tolnia isn't on the map.

Curiouser is the little boy (Fernando Romero) who appears to Violet (Sarita Gil), the eight-year-old daughter of one of the party, when they're a good 10km from human (?) habitation.

Curiosest is that he then disappears in the twinkling of an eye…

Such signs going unheeded, the travellers arrive in Tolnia to find it devoid of life bar another lost traveller, Luis (Jack Taylor), whose aforementioned car has suffered a breakdown.

Perhaps the villagers are in church. Nope, Luis has already looked and there is no church…

Eventually the villagers make an appearance. Their spokesman, 'Major' Boris (José Guardiola), who is also the mayor, explains they were all attending a funeral. Yes, it seems weird, but then this is a very close-knit community…

Later, Luis discovers that the wardrobe in his room has a peephole that allows him to spy on Alma (Dyanik Zurakowska) as she (un)dresses for bed, while Ernest (Gaspar González) goes to check on the coach only to discover the driver's body is missing before being attacked by a horde of villagers.

Meanwhile the Mayor and the innkeeper discuss how they are going to feed their guests – they are now out of flour and these people will want meet. The solution is shocking and surprising: The resident giant, wielding an axe, approaches another villager and amputates his gammy leg, explaining calmly that this sacrifice for the greater good is mandated by the Countess herself. Said leg is then served, suitably disguised, for breakfast.

Godo, one of the coach party: "This meat has a real tender appearance."
The Major: "You will find it is not only the appearance. Only these villages buried between mountains can boast of meat of such excellent quality."
Godo: "Mmm. Excellent. I've never tasted anything like it." The Major: "If there's anything I'm sure of it's that."
Godo: "The sauce has thyme, doesn't it? And anise and eucalpytus. I say this because the meat has a flavour that is special."
The Major: "Heh, heh, heh. Don't worry sir. In no other place will you find a meat like this."

Finding that the coach is no longer working, the travellers find themselves unable to leave as planned and are invited to go see the Countess (Helga Liné), who encourages them to stay as long as they wish, proffers a generous cheque by way of enticement and requests only a private audience with Caesar (David Aller) so that he, a keen amateur dramatist, can recite some Shakespeare.

Left alone, they soon end up in bed. Then she bares her fangs – if nothing else – bites Caesar's neck and throws him to the hungry pack of ghouls waiting outside.

"Et tu, Brute"…

And so it goes, with Luis and Alma gradually becoming more and more suspicious as the others disappear one by one and a human finger turns up in the latter's breakfast platter…

Will they escape or will this "village of the damned" claim them as well…

Resembling a horror version of Brigadoon – or, given that H G Lewis's Two Thousand Maniacs had already done this, a Spanish version of that film – Orgy of the Vampires is one of those films that can't really stand up to serious analysis. Just who is alive and who is (un)dead anyway? And why do the villagers feel the need to play all these games with their victims anyway? But it still manages to just about work and maintain interest throughout.

Reviewing an earlier horror from director Leon Klimovsky, 1971's Werewolf Shadow, I remarked on how some effective mood-setting work had an unfortunate tendency to be undone by some poor day-for-night work. In retrospect, perhaps it was unfair to take the director to task for what were perhaps more his cinematographer's failings. (The film was a comparatively lavish and well-budgeted co-production, so the usual no-budget excuse doesn't quite hold here.)

Whatever the case, the cinematography here – courtesy of Antonio L. Ballesteros – is significantly better and actually quite impressive in its own way. It can't have been easy to succesfully create an environment where the sun never really shines and everything seems to be black, grey or brown – one is reminded of Goya's Black Paintings at times, especially with the grotesque physiognomies of many of the villager extras – whilst keeping things on the visible side of murky.

Klimovsky's own style here is also different, emphasising in your face shocks over slow-motion, dry-ice driven atmospherics, seemingly modelled more on Night of the Living Dead than anything from the 1930s Universal canon.

One aspect that really doesn't quite gel with the rest is Violet and her friend, pitched as it is awkwardly between Spirit of the Beehive sublime and House by the Cemetery shocks. This said, the payoff here is worth it, even if one doubts that the film-makers themselves completely understood what was they were doing here.

The score is also somewhat schizophrenic, blending Europop grooves and what occasionally sound like spaghetti western cues (perhaps not coincidentally Klimovsky was also one of the more prolific Eurowestern directors) with more conventional horror and suspense stylings.

Cast wise, Jack Taylor makes for a reliably sleazy leading man while Dyanik Zurakowska and Helga Liné are easy on the eyes.

All told, a worthwhile example of its kind, but not recommended to the uninitiated or unconverted.

Pagan's Region 0 PAL DVD of Orgy of the Vampires presents the film letterboxed at 2.35:1. Assuming we can put the dark colour and slightly soft image down to the visual style of the film itself, the only thing that detracts visually is the odd jagged lines here and there. The dubbed audio – there are, unfortunately, no Spanish language or subtitle options – is less impressive, being flat with some intrusive background hum.

The only extra is a gallery of stills and lobby cards.