THE AZTEC MUMMY COLLECTION

Seeking inspiration from the murky annuals of its culture's folklore and history, Mexican Cinema lent to the horror genre an atmospheric and thematic authenticity lacking from better budgeted productions. Merging the supernatural nightmares of its people with pulp-style sensationalism, even the more ludicrous M-Horror titles evoke a surprisingly impressive degree of psychological insight and evocative atmosphere. Nowhere is this relationship between authentic folk history and genre more enjoyably established, and to such moody effect, than in these three 'Mummy' films. Much maligned, the cheaply made "Aztec Mummy' series owes a considerable debt to Mexican history. Far from series dramas, these odes to supernatural conventions celebrate terror and pulp-style adventure in a manner both cheerfully exploitative and moody. Humor and a sense of childhood wonder are always present. Resembling classic serials in their fast-moving plot-lines, these celebration of 'camp' are serious enough to engage our interest in their plots while honest enough to never take themselves too seriously. BCI now offers these three classic 1950s genre hybrids in both original and English dub editions.

The first of these titles is as unassuming in its story as it is rich in its use of shadow and lighting, getting the most from a limited budget. If there is a definite lack of plausibility in both plotting and the mechanics of characterization, such deficits are compensated by the story's essential air of discovery and enthusiasm. The Aztec Mummy features a plot devoted to the hair-brained excitements of early matinee cliff-hangers, merging monsters, bad men, and heroic warriors with copious amounts of bad makeup and stylistic verve. When Dr. Eduardo Almada (Ramón Gay) hypnotically regresses Flora (Rosa Arenas), his fiancée, he discovers her weird, horrible past life as an Aztec princess. Executed when it was discovered that she loved a warrior (unacceptable in her position), she is buried alongside him, the later having been mummified and doomed to eternal life. Through the cold eons of eternity he must guard her and both the bracelet and breastplate specifying where the royal family's treasure is hidden. Flora is able to lead Dr. Almada, his assistant, and her father (Jorge Mondragón) to the princess's place of burial after recovering from her trance, whereupon they steal the breastplate and bracelet. Of course this doesn't fare well with Popoca the mummy, who is forced to hunt them down. Amidst this purposefully over-simplistic plot, the script injects further humor into the proceedings by introducing "The Bat," a masked villain in classic old school style. Bringing an element of grand villainy to a supernatural fable, this figure adds a hint of science fiction as well as a "Shadow' like intrigue to the classic horror concept. The alter ego of Dr. Krupp (Luis Aceves Castañeda), The Bat also seeks the treasure of the princess. Before long, both he and Flora's group are forced to fight one another (and a bloodthirsty mummy) for the prize!

In the sequel, Curse of the Aztec Mummy, Dr. Krupp returns (don't they always?) as 'the Bat,' reuniting with his gang to continue his search for the treasure. If this sounds similar to the plot synopsis of such Golden Era television series as Batman and Green Hornet, it should -- the film achieves the same pleasurable incredulity of the best adventure stories, minus the logic. Yet these films never claim to be seriously written or high art. They are content to deliver organic scares and cheap effects, so that the principle pleasure in viewing them is neither the stories or the acting, but the very straight face which they put upon ridiculous situations. When Krupp's gang kidnaps Flora (Dr. Almada's fiancée, remember?), Krupp uses hypnosis to locate the breastplate and bracelet. Again, the mummy's wraith is roused. When Dr. Almada seeks to save his kin, he Is forced to translate the treasure's mysteries. All looks lost for our daring hero when the traditional hallmark of Mexican cinema arrives -- a silver masked wrestler who must use his brawn and brains to save the good doctor and the women before the mummy kills them all . . .

The Robot vs. the Aztec Mummy is the last of this infectious if repetitious series, focusing again on The Bat and Dr. Almada. Depending more on technological fantasy than the loose supernaturalism of the former titles, this harmless time waster focuses on a robot made by Krupp to match strength against the undead Popoca (the mummy). This awkward chapter in the 'Aztec Mummy' legacy is filled with incredulous acting, cheap effects, and gloriously inept story structure -- in short, it's great silly fun. An offbeat, absurdly entertaining battle between machine and mummy ensues.

Directed by Rafael Portillo (whose technique was proficient if lacking inspiration), each of these three thrillers are surprisingly intriguing despite lack of polish or story logic. While never particularly frightening, moody sets, a deliciously murky atmosphere, and, strongest of all, an unlimited sense of 'cheese' injects rather routine plots with infectious enthusiasm. The scares come more from a lingering essence and one's own mind than from the moving pictures themselves. Some older viewers may recall the first two features from their English dubbed incarnations (produced by K. Gordon Murray). The third title is seldom seen. There is something special, something unique, about Mexican horror movies, and nowhere is this point more realized than in with these three wonders of Mexican folklore, each of which tells its refreshingly simplistic tale with a minimum of artifice. Harkening us back to the glory-gory days of the supernatural gothic, and the emotional resonance of superstition, this particular film treats a ridiculous subject with tenderness and infectious energy, celebrating sensation both for its own sake and as logical extensions of an inventive story.

While certainly not the most intelligent or emotionally intensive Mexican genre film, the "Aztec Mummy" series is a perfect example of the ingenuity of the times. A grass roots sense of showmanship is present that defies one to not find something to enjoy. While the films would have proved more exciting if the mummy had appeared more often, boredom is kept to a minimum. You will notice that various scenes are lifted from both Curse and the first film to appear in Robot, lending one to admire the producer's moxy. More importantly, you'll recall the basic elements of wonder that made you a genre fan to begin with. Lavish effects and big budgets cannot compensate for lack of dedication or heart.

While these films have appeared in various economical, sleazy looking prints, BCI's transfers mark their most attractive debut. Each is presented in clean black and white full frame transfers (on three separate discs). Each is largely free from grain or dirt, offering bold distinctions between shades of black and white, and without any great deal of distortion. The only title that suffers from an occasionally soft picture is Aztec Mummy. The audio for this title is also muffled, sounding rougher than the other discs. Still, as the movie is rarely seen, the presentation remains commendable. The audio for Curse and Robot is offered in Spanish with optional English dubs, both of which are crisp.

Each disc is housed in a case adorned with Mexican artwork and posters. Extras are brief if enjoyable for the collection. The most substantial supplement is a Still Gallery from each film featured on the Aztec Mummy disc and a colorfully produced booklet by David Wilt, which covers the Mexican Mummy films.

Review by William P. Simmons