Drive-In Dust Offs: MARK OF THE DEVIL (1970)

“the first film rated V for violence”

“Positively the most horrifying film ever made”

“Guaranteed to upset your stomach”

THIS is how you market a film, folks. All of the above (and more) is found on the poster for Michael Armstrong’s Mark of the Devil (1970), a particularly nasty bit of Witchploitation that surprisingly manages to shine a provocative light on religious hysteria and hypocrisy.

This German production was released in North America by Hallmark Releasing (not the greeting card company, but a film distributor that released another bastion of good tidings, Last House on the Left) in April of ’72, and myriad distributors in various parts of Europe early ’70. Reviews were decidedly mixed, but the box office was huge, especially for a grimy exploitative horror film that happily wallows in its own depravity. I’m inclined to agree with audiences here – while not a lot of fun, Mark of the Devil is a fascinating expose of the Catholic Church’s centuries long obsession with witch hunts.

The film opens in18^th century Austria and witch hunting is at a fever pitch. Fear mongering is rampant across the land, fueled by the Church’s greed and desire to punish all who do not follow “God’s Law”. Onto the scene arrives Count Christian (Udo Kier – The Editor), a young  apprentice witch finder sent ahead of his boss, Lord Cumberland (Herbert Lom – The Dead Zone), head witch finder for the Church, to usurp the unsanctioned reign in the village by a sadistic, self realized witch hunter, Albino (Reggie Nalder – Salem’s Lot). Before Cumberland arrives, Christian, a God fearing idealist, witnesses Albino run rampant, accusing women of witchcraft simply because they won’t sleep with him (an opportunist, sure – but he provides as much ‘evidence’ as the Church does). Red flags arise for Christian when Albino accuses Vanessa (Olivera Katerina – The Dervish and Death), the local barmaid, of heresy (Christian has developed an instant crush on her – understandable). When Cumberland arrives, he attempts to impose the stricter, and righteous, guidelines of the Church – which means same results, but with better paperwork. Soon Christian’s eyes are opened to his mentor’s methods as he races to save Vanessa from a certain fate, and attempts to redeem himself in the eyes of the God he so adores.

Unsurprisingly, the dichotomy at play here – the piousness of the church and the sadistic degradation of its loyal subjects – fit together very well, and really, it’s two sides of the same rusted coin. As a believer, you have to pay for your sins – whether real, or in the case of witchsteria, imagined – and the Catholic Church was very thorough in ‘enticing’ confessions from prisoners by any means necessary. Burning at the stake sometimes worked, stretching on the rack had its moments (as a side note – great for the lower back), lashings were always in vogue, and as a special bonus here, Chinese water torture. The last device was an anachronism for the time, but nosy producer Adrian Hoven (Succubus) liked the idea so he filmed it himself, and as the victim no less.

As a matter of fact, there is dissention as to how much Hoven contributed over director Armstrong – regardless, it’s a unified (albeit cracked) vision presented to a receptive audience. Hot on the heels of Michael Reeves’ The Conqueror Worm (1968) – he was perched to direct this before his untimely death – Mark certainly upped the ante on perverse voyeurism, resulting in a significant increase over Worm’s grosses. And why wouldn’t it? Everything on display is geared for the drive-in crowd: in addition to the tortures described above, we also have someone tarred and feathered, an eye gouging, and in its most infamous moment, a tongue removal (I’m sure Herschell Gordon Lewis beamed like a proud papa). This was all shocking stuff for its time, not by the nature of its existence, but the depth of its execution. Mark really is from the Lewis school of filmmaking – the camera lingers on each torn strip of flesh and bloodied limb – but to be fair, with a marked increase in technical accomplishment. The cinematography by Ernst Kalinke (The Torture Chamber of Dr. Sadism) captures the Austrian countryside beautifully, and once indoors, he maneuvers the shadowed corridors with a keen eye, and displays the atrocities using a colorful palette that only ups the queasiness factor. Of course, by today’s standards the carnage will come across as tame, but was more than taboo for its time (banned in several countries, which seems fair enough).

What is unexpected, however, is the focus on the hypocritical behaviors of the Church appointed Inquisitors. It becomes clear very early on that Cumberland’s strict methods are for his own personal gain, and while we see the film through Christian’s eyes, he is still complicit in the crimes regardless of his ambivalence. Perhaps that’s why the film still holds an electric charge – we’re forced to participate in these ludicrous games, and made to listen to the indictments (“riding to the Sabbath”, “trampling on a cross”) that destroyed innocent lives.

Having said that, the sobering and thoughtful subject matter is continually in a tug of war with the presentation. Dealing with multiple languages from the cast results in English dubbing (but why dub Kier and Nalder?) that is very distracting at first. The romantic (!) soundtrack feels out of place and doesn’t really serve the story, often times calling attention to itself. Pulling the film back towards respectability (but not too far) are strong performances from Nalder, Kier, and especially Lom as Cumberland. Kier’s performance is rooted in a dreamlike passivity (he was young, and expressed himself mainly with his hypnotic blue eyes), only coming alive when the stakes become personal. Nalder’s oily, loathsome Albino gives off an eerie aura second only to his turn as Mr. Barlow in Salem’s Lot. But giving the film an air of significance is Lom, whose Cumberland is a deadly serious, and appropriately pious, servant – but not unto the Lord, but unto himself, promising salvation to those who turn over their possessions to the Church. And a ten percent tithe won’t do, I’m afraid. Lom invades the picture with a sonorous baritone and solemn demeanor that ground the film in a way that the other cast members are unable to accomplish – with a sense of modulation and restraint. It’s a powerful performance that captures the blind oppression forced upon the innocent.

Michael Armstrong would go on to direct Screamtime (1986) before switching to mostly TV projects. His serious minded approach to Mark of the Devil is admirable, and considering he was quite young at the time, displays a measured maturity. His film may even inspire deep theological discussions about the ramifications of religious persecution and mob mentality. Oh, and after your discourse remember this: Everyone admitted to the theatre was handed a vomit bag. Whether it was used for writing out a confession or throwing up, I suppose, lands with the viewer. Perhaps both.

Mark of the Devil is available in a 2-Disc Special Edition [Blu-ray + DVD] from Arrow Video.