"Santo y Blue Demon Contra Los Monstruos" (1970) d/ Gilberto Martinez Solares

Let's celebrate American independence this year in the best possible way, by reviewing a Mexican horror/wrestling movie of the highest/ lowest order, starring two of everyone's favorite superhero luchas, Santo and The Blue Demon (Three if you count Black Shadow, who plays Demon's evil clone, Blue Demon II) and a host of dollar store versions of universally beloved monsters (Franquestain, I shit you not.)...and a rubbery cyclops with a flashlight eye...and a brainy dwarf creature that stands around a lot...and a hunchbacked dwarf assistant...and green spackle-grilled Mexican wrestlers this film's producers would have you believe were "zombies". What a sublime hoot.


"Last night's party left me a little twisted...", notes Waldo (Santanon),  the hunchbacked dwarf henchman.
First we're treated to entirely too much of a tag team match between boxy-looking Mexican masked lady wrestlers (oof), then Santo watches (or not, he looks glazed over to me) his crime-fighting partner/ ring rival, Blue Demon, in his tag team match. Blue Demon likes to head butt a whole lot. In the meanwhile, Bruno Halder (Jorge Rado), a scientist world renowned for his preoccupation with resurrecting monsters and brain transplants, has passed on, but his corpse is stolen by a bald hunchbacked midget named Waldo (Santanon) and a gaggle of zombies who whisk the late doctor back to his castle via horse and buggy. Blue Demon happens to notice the ghoulish goings-on as he's speeding past in his convertible whip, and later gets himself captured and subsequently duplicated for evil by the reanimated scientist, who also scours the local graveyard and haunted house scene for all of his favorite monsters, that we were introduced to during the credit sequence, as they stood on a hillside, doing their own respective monster thing.


"We'll soon be done examining your heads for appearing in this movie, dressed as you all are."
To help Blue Demon II and his zombie thugs beat Santo up and terrorize his own brother and niece ("You called me insane...I will now disintegrate my niece.", he says at one point, in all seriousness), Gloria (Hedi Blue),  who just so happens to be Santo's arm candy, Halder enlists El Vampiro, a Coffin Joe-knock off on a wire, an impoverished-looking mummy, an old bearded Indio with a fake nose and teeth, or the alleged "Wolfman" we were promised in the release poster, Franquestain, allegedly the Frankenstein monster's goateed relative, an aquatic Cyclops, and if all of them weren't enough, a pair of vampire women. Naturally, Vampiro dons a wrasslin' mask (or another much larger wrestler, if you're splitting hairs) and squares off against Santo in the ring, and is repelled by Gloria's cross necklace, turning into a hopelessly rubber bat and flapping off, leading all of the other monsters to tag in on Enmascarado de Plata. See! Franquestain driving a car and squashing a dude's headpiece under his over sized bovver boot. See! Wolfman slaughter a hysterical boy's family before his very eyes. See! Vampiro cheesily spread his cape, and repeatedly fly on a wire up to terrified, screaming mujeres. All this, and slightly more.


"Cosplay ees so mach fahnnnnnn!", exclaims El Vampiro (David Alvisu).
This was one of six movies Santo made in 1970 alone. Think about that for a second. In the others he squares off against the likes of mafia assassins,  Nazis from Atlantis, zombies, The Riders of Terror, and even some more vampire women, because there really isn't anybody who doesn't appreciate a hot little number with fangs now and again, is there? There are a lot of cheap laughs here, as one might expect, despite being a technical flop of sorts...But, then again, the same abysmal production values that burn my well-traveled ojos after too long (one movie is my usual cut off point, I doubt I could double dip this particular sub-genre, even for significant piles of dinero) might give all sorts of pleasure to fans of this brand of brainless, pugilistic schlock. On the scale, one Wop. Could have used Mil Mascaras.


"When monsters threaten the safety of the world, it's good to know we have you Mexican masked wrestlers to protect us."

"Misterio en las Bermudas" (1979) d/ Gilbert Martin

By 1979, it's safe to say the lemon that once was the phenomenon of Mexican lucha libre movies had been squeezed of nearly every drop of entertaining juice, and tonight's review, known as Mystery in the Bermuda Triangle en ingles, is a brittle, dialed-in epitaph for the zany genre, bereaft of any real thrills. El Enmascarado de Plata, or Santo, as he was known worldwide, was already sixty-two years old(!) here, and though he would make four more wrestling movies before his death in 1984, the writing was already clearly on the wall.


"A thousand masks and you haven't got one condom?"
After a plane vanishes from sight during a tropical storm caused by a mirrored periscope of sorts, two Mexican anglers snag the mask of Santo from the rippling surf, leading one of the fishermen to tell the not-that-amazing tale that led up to this event. We see Santo, The Blue Demon, and Mil Mascaras dust off some ham n' egg opponents in a brief triple tag team match before they're asked by the government to go undercover to protect an Iranian karate-princess while she signs an important treaty. What's undercover for three guys in masks whipping around in convertible sports cars and stretch Cadillacs, I ask you. On the evil, scheming side of the peso, is an egghead assassin who's enlisted a trio of Mexican Mata Hari's to seduce valuable information out of the wrestlers/super heroes/special agents. He's also hired some thugs to rough up Mil Mascaras on a pier, and jack his wristwatch. What a bastard.


"As if you couldn't tell by the matching silver lame' headbands and jumpsuits, we're from an underwater city..."
Our heroes have a sloppily choreographed scrap or two with the egghead's beefy henchmen, save a drowning countryman from grainy stock footage of a shark, have a pair of uninspired car chases (and a boat chase) that show off their flash vehicles (and motorboat), and sit around sipping champagne in their best leisure wear (and color-coordinated maskies, of course). Santo's sympathetic spy-girl, Rina (Silvia Manriquez), is kidnapped by a pair of humps in silver lame' jumpsuits and taken to an unnamed city under the ocean, which has it's own sun, grass, and luxurious hotel, apparently. There, after being purified (by standing in a fountain in a bikini, mind you), she is reunited with her scientist father, who informs her she will never dwell among the surface folk again. In the end, they rescue the princess, but are transported off-camera to the underwater city, leading to the inevitable nuclear apocalypse that will no doubt occur in a Lucha Libre-less world, as evidenced by footage of a stock mushroom cloud. Could this really be the end???


"Which one of you high school gymnasium assassins has Mil's action slacks?"
If you set out to see every single Lucha Libre movie as a weird goal for yourself, I suppose you'd probably want to add this one to your list. Compared to earlier efforts, though, this one is flatter than the sounds coming out of a seventh grade marching band practice. The two stories barely intersect (or make sense, really), and the usual rough n' tumble action you might expect from one of these things is phoned in and lifeless. Notably, Mil Mascaras appears on camera momentarily without a mask on...from behind. Wah wah wah wahhhhh. You'll be blowing sad trombones of your own throughout this mess, which only manages a single Wop on the rating scale, a thrown match if there ever was one. Avoid.


"After this mission, we should become masked Chartered Accountants..."

"El Robo de las Momias de Guanajuato" (1972) d/ Tito Novaro

As a kid, I'd usually follow up my Saturday afternoon horror movie double dip with  WPHL-17 Philadelphia's own late, great horror host Dr. Shock with some WWF wrestling over dinner, and my favorite was always Mil Mascaras, hands down, with his high flying Mexican Lucha Libre maneuvers and colorful masks; a far cry from the usual cadre of lumpy, middle-aged palookas with broken noses and cauliflower ears slapping each other in the chest for twenty minutes. While Mil, or "Thousand Masks", was my favorite wrestler, he's never been one of my favorite actors. Tonight's review, known in English as "Robbery of the Guanajuato Mummies",  is another solid piece of evidence of why that is.


"Wait, was this the thousandth mask or the fifth or sixth one? I lost count, dammit!"
Count Cagliostro (Tito Novaro, the director himself) makes the scene in a carriage drawn by an animated skeleton with a scythe. At Dr. Raymond's futuristic silver-themed pad, they map out their plans for world domination: Mine an element that's "stronger than Uranium" out of a nearby abandoned silver mine, but not by putting the scientist's hired midget henchmen(!) at risk of radiation poisoning, but by stealing the mummies of Guanajuato, reanimating them through a forgotten Egyptian rite(!!), and forcing them to do the duo's dirty work. Only, a shoe shining peasant boy witnesses the robbery, and when the authorities naturally dismiss the boy's wild story, his grown up hobo sidekick suggests that they take the matter to his compadre, Thousand Masks. After thumping some lower tier humps in a lengthy tag team match with his pals, Rayo de Jalisco and Blue Angel (Santo and the Blue Demon must have been preoccupied with Dracula, the Wolfman, and the guy with a spider for a hand somewhere across town), Mil hears the transient's story as he's getting a rub down from some groovy seventies dish and totally buys it. This sounds like a job for some masked wrestlers.


"Of course, I'm a top scientist, can't you see all the silver things in here?"
After entirely too long, Mil and his cape-wearing sidekicks-on-motorcycles (Mil whips a flash convertible full of groupie birds like a pugilistic pimp in a leopard print bomber jacket, for the record) descend upon Cagliostro and Raymond's shiny hideout, on a heroic sabbatical from sold out wrestling matches and the fitness workshop for mini-skirted chicks that they run on the side, these fuckin' guys! Though "The Lightning from Jalisco" experiences great difficulty executing his trademark diving headbutt to oncoming attacking midgets, and Blue Angel (looks more like "Cap'n South America" to me) is similarly inept duking it out versus the mummies, Thousand Masks throws on his ornate cape and proves more than able enough in defeating all manner of baddies with flying dropkicks and submission holds par excellence, culminating in total destruction of the witchcraft/science alliance (don't expect any Michael Bay-style pyrotechnics here, whatever you do), and our heroes drive off into the sunset, until the next time their beloved Mexico is threatened by the forces of evil...


In a low budget movie, a brush fire on a hill like this one could only mean the day has been once again saved.
Mascaras, who's made twenty or so of these wrestling movies since his inception in the late sixties as a replacement of sorts to El Santo and the Blue Demon on the silver screen, was inducted into the Professional Wrestling Hall of Fame in 2010 and the WWE Hall of Fame two years later. All of that aside, it still doesn't excuse such a meretricious cinematic taco of stinkamole as this, with a story that'd insult the average four year old's intelligence. In other words, great fun to shred on with your snarky film chums over a well-packed bubbler. On the scale though, El Robo gets headstand-headscissored into a one count, and angry fans throw milk cartons towards the squared circle...


"How you chicks feel about the Burger Chef drive thru?"

"La Horripilante bestia humana"(1969)d/Rene' Cardona

Tonight's review goes out to my boy,Dre and also to Betty Crocker,whose confectionary delights have had me zooted for the past week straight.A little different than my last few cake-based excursions turned out,a bit more cerebral and focused this time around.Still cranially delicious,by God.My benders know no limitations,as you might have figured out by now.Two nights in a row I've sit down to churn this bastard out,and two nights in a row,I've been left staring blankly into the monitor screen with Japanese noiseabilly blaring in my headphones.Get it together,you sexy motherfucker.Anyways,on to our feature presentation...
Without Mexico,the world might never have known the fusion of horror elements and wrestling in film.Of course,why anybody would take such a project seriously is beyond me,at this point,but the Mexicans sure did,by the droves.Tonight's review is such a movie,essentially a remake of sorts of director Cardona's earlier 1962 work,"Las Luchadoras contra el medico asesino",or "The Wrestling Women vs. The Murderous Doctor",as I guess he must have run out of Aztec Mummies and Robots for the chicks to battle in the squared circle.Luckily for the viewer this time around,we're not subjected to masked female wrasslers squaring off against bloody apes,as the english release title suggests,but instead an ultra corny,low budget horror movie with some great open heart surgery footage inserts,a homicidal papier-mache' faced apeman,and a masked female wrassler subplot.We'll cover some of the other...ahem...classics of the subgenre at a later date,and answer the eternal question:When a vampire,Frankenstein's Monster,the Mummy,the Wolfman,and a Cyclops are terrorizing the town,how long before Santo and the Blue Demon get called in to wrassle these bastards in a best of three falls match?You probably think I'm kidding,right?I wish I was.

Does she wear the mask when they're playing "hide the beef burrito"? That's the question.
Lucy(Norma Lazareno)is an average,everyday luchadora who wears a red devil mask and costume in the wrasslin' ring,or at least her stunt double who has thirty pounds on her and a serious case of shelf ass does.During an extremely colorful chick-off,she accidentally chucks her opponent out of the ring,inflicting some serious fractured skullage to her green-garbed foe,and when she shows concern for the comatose senorita afterwards,she's met with disbelief from her girlfriend as well as detective/beau,Arthur(Armando Silvestre).So what if you've turned this girl into a perma-veggie,you need to get on with your life,baby.Meanwhile,Dr. Krallman's son Julio(pronounced Jew-lee-o,apparently,if we're to believe the dubbers,excellent as always)is dying of leukemia.With the gimp-legged assistance of Goyo,he plans to test his theory that the heart of a wild animal transplanted into his bed-ridden boy is the only thing that'll save his life.Sounds feasible enough.A trip to the zoo yields a sedated guy-in-a-monkey-suit after setting their sights on some stock footage of an orangutan in a cage.Cue the stock footage inserts of open heart surgery that bought tonight's movie a place on the U.K. "Nasty" list,and the operation seems to have been a success,if Krallman wasn't shooting for not turning his son into a musclebound rapist/murderer with cheezy latex half-face appliances on,looking like a psychotic Charles Bronson in pajama bottoms.Cuz,yeah,that's what happens,via 1940's style "Wolfman" time lapse photography.Only it looked a lot better in the forties.

They were gonna use my heart for this scene,but microsurgery hadn't been invented yet.
So,Julio,now driven by the inner Orang voice spurring him on to rape and murder,tears some bloody latex appliances off of random gents,and bras off of some screaming floppy-titted Spanish broads before settling in to feel their cones.Errr,kill them.Lucy,on the other hand,keeps on a-wrasslin',though something seems to be missing from her victories.Pssst,Luce,maybe it's the fact you crippled that chick at the outset of the picture.Arthur spends many lockerroom scenes trying to boost his dame's morale,usually while she's sprawled out nude.Hey it beats searching for an animalistic rapist-killer on the dark streets.Ellena,the vedge-in-question,gets herself kidnapped from the hospital by Goyo,who lucks out with the catatonic cutie's bed being on the first floor and having a chair under the open window.Gimp-accessible for your convenience.Later,during a conference about the girl's disappearance,the hospital's officials slag it off as a sleepwalking incident.You know those crazy comatose broads with life-threatening brain injuries.Can't sit still for one minute.Krallman decides that maybe transplanting an animal's heart into his son's chest probably wasn't the greatest idea he ever had,and switches the monkey heart for the coma-chick's bloodpumper.Anything for Julio,really.Cue some more surgery footage.Lucy berates Arthur for selfishly wasting time tracking the killer instead of spending quality time looking at her bare ass bouncing on a lockerroom bench,so he invites her down to the park to join he and the boys on their dangerous manhunt.You've got a date,mister!Julio gets trapped on a rooftop,holding a little girl hostage while surrounded by cops and his sympathetic father,who's unconcerned that his son has just ripped his manservant's head off earlier that night.The doctor convinces his ape-boy to release the girl,in a last vestige of humanity,which is rewarded by a rain of police bullets and instant death.As we're treated to more piss-poor time lapse transformation footage of Julio's dead grillpiece from monkey back into spaniard,Arthur and Lucy philosophize over what could have driven the doc to allow so many to suffer just to prolong his son's fleeting life.You're a luchadora,baby,not Sigmond Freud.Now get in that ring and get to suplexin'!

Eat your heart out,Rick Baker.
Something Weird has released the ultimate cut of the film on one of their signature jam-packed two-fer' dvds,which you'll want to hunt down if z-grade crap like this is your cup o'tea.Hey,it's mine,too,I ain't breaking your balls over here.I'm looking for a new file-hosting site for movie screenshots,as PhotoBucket has gotten a little too puritanical for your humble N's tastes.Any suggestions would be pearly,folks.Also,I've noticed a lot of requests from filmmakers and websites in my e-mail concerning the Wop,and I'll get to you this week sometime.Partying bogs you down when it comes to business matters,it seems(in my case anyway).On the scale,Apes draws one wop,but remains some ridiculously cheap fun under the proper circumstances.

Though this expression is worth a laugh or two,it just doesn't measure up to the screenshot of boobs I was gonna post that violated Photobucket's policies before I could get the review up.Come into the new millenium already,you censor-crazy dorks.