As the golden age of high-def horror continues, we aren’t just getting bells-and-whistles Blu-rays of films we never expected to receive such treatment—titles like The Mutilator and Squirm—but also of films some of us barely new existed. American Horror Project Vol. 1, the new Blu-ray box set from Arrow Video, collects three such films: low-budget independent horror movies from the 1970s that have either been forgotten or are in danger of being lost forever.
In attempting to find obscure titles that are still in good enough condition to be restored in high-def, the curators of American Horror Project Vol. 1 (among them Stephen Thrower, author of Nightmare USA, as well as books on both Lucio Fulci and Jess Franco) could easily have found esoteric films that fit the criteria but were, for lack of a more diplomatic way of saying it, better off staying lost. But that couldn’t be further from the case. The three titles included here are each interesting and special in their own ways, all of them worthy of (re)discovery.
The first film, 1976’s The Witch Who Came from the Sea, is less a traditional horror movie than it is a disturbing psychodrama about sexual abuse and a woman’s descent into insanity. Don’t get me wrong—there are still moments that qualify as horror, including a number of upsetting scenes in which the woman acts out her impulses as a serial killer. It’s even more upsetting because she’s played by Millie Perkins, who was Anne Frank in the original film adaptation of The Diary of Anne Frank. Perkins plays Molly, a waitress in a bar near the ocean who takes men home for sex and ends up brutally murdering them. As the film unfolds, the horrors of Molly’s childhood are revealed and we begin to understand what made her a monster.
Originally labeled a “video nasty” in the UK but never prosecuted as such, The Witch Who Came from the Sea (a movie that is neither about witchcraft or aquatic horrors) goes to some dark, dark places. Some of the violence in the movie is graphic on-screen bloodshed; the worst of it, though, is psychological violence, made all the worse because it is committed against a child. The script is by Robert Thom, who wrote it for Perkins (to whom he was married when the film was made), and it’s easy to understand why; not only is it not the kind of material that one would shop around to a number of actresses, but it’s also the kind of role that requires both sides to have complete trust and confidence in one another for it to work.
And work it does. While the movie has the shock value and nasty content of a true exploitation film, it’s mostly treated as a serious drama and acted as such by the impressive cast. Perkins is especially good, finding real sympathy in a character that commits unspeakable acts of violence. Director Matt Cimber doesn’t flinch in presenting the ugliness on-screen and treats other elements of the movie with appropriate gravity. The result is a film that could have easily become cheap and tawdry, but is instead challenging, unsettling and truly powerful.
The Witch Who Came from the Sea is presented in 2.35:1 widescreen, shot by none other than Dean Cundey (who participates in the film’s commentary track and appears in an on-camera interview). The 1080p transfer boasts a fair amount of print damage and the colors seem somewhat drained from the image, but there’s little doubt that this is the best this movie has ever looked. In addition to the Cundey interview and the commentary with him, Millie Perkins and director Cimber, there are interviews with Cimber and actor John Goff, who discuss their experiences making the film.
Next up is Malatesta’s Carnival of Blood (1973), the lone directorial effort of Christopher Speeth. That’s unfortunate, because Carnival of Blood shows real promise of a filmmaker capable of truly nightmarish imagery, even when the story doesn’t make a ton of sense. It centers on a teenage girl, Vena (Janine Carazo), and her family, who have recently invested in a carnival. It’s run by the mysterious Malatesta (Daniel Dietrich) and his henchman, the appropriately named Mr. Blood (Jerome Dempsey), who appears to be a vampire. The secret of the carnival? An army of flesh-eating cannibals lives underneath it. The other secret? Most of the games are fixed.
With its carnival setting and garish nightmare aesthetic, one can see the influence of Malatesta’s Carnival of Blood in later horror films ranging from Tobe Hooper’s The Funhouse to Rob Zombie’s House of 1,000 Corpses. It’s a movie that feels amateurish, from the performances to the camera setups to even the gore effects, and yet that same inexpertness gives the movie a great deal of power. There’s a certain type of roughly made ’70s indie horror movies that feels like the work of maniacs with cameras (the original Texas Chain Saw Massacre is the granddaddy of these). That’s the vibe of Carnival of Blood. Its crudeness works in its favor because as a viewer, we are never allowed to get our bearings or feel safe. We don’t know where the movie is going. It’s just a movie that has to happen to us, and director Speeth manages to stage a number of effective scenes—images that, despite the cheapness of the makeup or the blood, are deeply unsettling and stick in the brain long after the movie ends. It’s a true lost gem of horror.
Believed to have vanished for 30 years (after reportedly only playing at a handful of Southern drive-ins), Malatesta finally surfaced on DVD in the mid-2000s, when it rightfully experienced a new appreciation as a film deserving of cult status. Arrow’s Blu-ray offers a new 2K scan of the movie that will no doubt help audiences appreciate the movie even more. Print damage is once again abundant in the early goings but eventually clears up, leaving a gorgeous-looking 1080p transfer with deep, saturated colors that pop off the screen. Included with the disc are new interviews with director Speeth and writer Werner Liepolt, as well as a collection of production stills and a copy of the screenplay accessible by DVD-ROM.
The final film in the set is 1976’s The Premonition, which has much more in common with The Witch Who Came from the Sea in terms of being a dark psychological drama rather than a straight horror film. Sharon Farell (of Can’t Buy Me Love and Night of the Comet fame) plays a young girl’s adoptive mother, who begins having visions that her daughter’s mentally unstable birth mom (Ellen Barber) is coming back to steal her away. The visions turn out to be correct, as the crazy birth mother and her boyfriend, a scary carnival clown played by Richard Lynch, set out to take the girl back.
As Stephen Thrower points out in his video introduction to the film, The Premonition comes from a time when horror movies could focus on adult concerns and were not just relegated to the interests and depictions of teenagers. While there are some supernatural moments—Farell’s visions, which include Richard Lynch’s screaming face and a painting that bleeds from the eyes, are creepy and effective—this is mostly a film about the fears of parenthood and of being powerless to keep a child safe. The movie loses its hold in the final act, with a plan to find Janie making about as much sense as the one in It Follows, but the emotional stakes are raw and true throughout. The Premonition is a good counterpoint to the other two films in this collection, which plays to our head and goes for our gut, respectively. This one plays to our hearts. Robert Allen Schnitzer directs with real control, carefully choosing the showy moments in which he’ll switch to a handheld style or let a specific red dress pop through the frame like something out of a Nicolas Roeg movie.
In addition to being in the best shape of all the movies in the set—the 1.85:1 widescreen image is mostly free of print damage and has been cleaned up quite nicely—The Premonition comes with the most extensive collection of bonus features, too. There is a commentary with director Robert Schnitzer, a 20-minute making-of doc, archival interviews with Schnitzer and star Lynch (who is always a character), three of Schnitzer’s short films, four short films (called “Peace Shorts”) created in protest of the Vietnam war, trailers and TV spots, and an isolated score audio option.
Packaged with the set is a 60-page booklet featuring writing on the movies from authors Kim Newman, Brian Albright and Kier-La Janisse. All three films can be played with optional introductions by author and co-curator of the collection, Stephen Thrower, who offers a bit of background and context for why the movies were chosen. All three also come with standard-def DVD copies.
It’s still early in the year, but American Horror Project Vol. 1 is sure to be among the best horror home video releases of 2016. Arrow has done their usual stellar restoration work and has packed each film with excellent bonus features. These are all movies I was previously unaware of and am happy to now have in my life, as they’re not only good when taken individually, but together paint a clearer picture of just how deep and diverse the horror scene of the 1970s truly was. Thank you, Arrow. Now bring on Volume 2.
The Witch Who Came from the Sea Score: 3.5/5
Malatesta’s Carnival of Blood Score: 4/5
The Premonition Score: 3/5
Disc Score: 5/5
Patrick lives in Chicago, where he has been writing about film since 2004. A member of the Chicago Film Critics Association and the Online Film Critics Society, Patrick's writing also appears on About.com, DVDVerdict.com and fthismovie.net, the site he runs and hosts a weekly podcast.
He has been an obsessive fan of horror and genre films his entire life, watching, re-watching and studying everything from the Universal Monsters of the '30s and '40s to the modern explosion of indie horror. Some of his favorites include Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde (1931), Dawn of the Dead (1978), John Carpenter's The Thing and The Funhouse. He is a lover of Tobe Hooper and his favorite Halloween film is part 4. He knows how you feel about that. He has a great wife and two cool kids, who he hopes to raise as horror nerds.
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