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A BELL FROM HELL
Quite simply one of the great unknown horror films of the seventies. A vaguely
surreal, darkly comic and deeply shocking exercise in Euro-styled
anti-bourgeoisie subversion, the Spanish production A BELL FROM HELL is a
one-of-a-kind gem.
The Package
A BELL FROM HELL (LA CAMPANA DEL INFIERNO; 1973) is probably best known
these days for the fact that its director Claudio Guerin Hill died on the last
day of production, having either fallen or jumped from atop the bell tower that
figures prominently in the film. Post-production was supervised by the esteemed
Spanish filmmaker Juan Antonio Bardem (director of films like 1973’s THE
CORRUPTION OF CHRIS MILLER and uncle of actor Javier Bardem). Other noteworthy
participants include actors Renaud Verley (from THE DIRTY DOLLS OF KATHMANDU and
THE DAMNED), Viveca Lindfors (who’d already starred in NO TIME FOR FLOWERS and
MOONFLEET, and would go on to appear in
CREEPSHOW, THE EXORCIST III and STARGATE)
and Maribel Martin (from THE BLOOD-SPATTERED BRIDE and Augustin Villaronga’s
MOONCHILD), as well as screenwriter Santiago Moncada (who also scripted Mario
Baba’s HATCHET FOR A HONEYMOON, CUT-THROATS NINE and the above-mentioned
CORRUPTION OF CHRIS MILLER).
The good news is that this essential film is at last available on DVD,
courtesy of Pathfinder Home Entertainment. The bad news is that the print is
the same poorly dubbed 92-minute one previously available from Unicorn Video
(albeit this one is letterboxed). The film is a must see in any form, but I’m
still anxious to experience the uncut 106-minute Spanish language version.
The Story
The rebellious Juan is released from an insane asylum, having been locked
up for several years by his corrupt aunt and her three luscious but equally
petty daughters, who were looking to gain the inheritance granted Juan by his
dead mother. After briefly working in a slaughterhouse (he quits with the
ominous words “I’ve learned enough”) Juan returns to his mother’s
abandoned house, where he plans his revenge. Said vengeance turns out to be an
extremely elaborate one, involving a number of complicated practical jokes whose
victims encompass not just his disabled aunt (who he leaves outside to be stung
by bees) but also her slimy buddy Pedro (who humiliatingly shakes Juan’s penis
after he pees, having been faked out by the phony casts Juan wears on both arms)
and the latter’s sexually frustrated wife (Juan shocks her into unconsciousness
and then leaves a note suggesting he raped her while she was out).
All this is only the prelude, however, to the “joke” Juan pulls on his
three cousins, who, via a series of carefully planned machinations, he strips,
ties up and drags into the basement of his mother’s house, which he’s outfitted
as a mini slaughterhouse complete with movable hooks in the ceiling and a wide
assortment of deadly cutlery. It seems that Juan’s psyche has finally crossed
over into murderous dementia, but he finds he can’t go through with killing his
cousins…or maybe he never planned to in the first place. In any event, he’s
outsmarted by his bee-stung aunt and Pedro, who brick him up in a church tower
with a rope around his neck that will serve as a counterweight to a new church
bell, which is set to be rung the following morning. However, just before he’s
closed up the cackling Juan promises “I’ll have the last laugh”,
suggesting that his final and most elaborate prank has yet to be sprung.
The Direction
The premature death of Claudio
Guerin Hill marked the loss of a genuinely talented filmmaker with a real grasp
of the mechanics of cinema. His visuals are impressively textured, with a real
sense of menace (although the abuse of the zoom lens, an unfortunate convention
of the time, is a bit of annoyance). Throughout, Hill keeps us on edge by never
revealing the true nature of the protagonist or his ultimate goals; we
sympathize with the unhinged Juan even as we cringe at his actions, and shudder
at what he might do next. The film also has a deep anti-bourgeoisie streak--a
stinging rejoinder to the despotic reign of Francisco Franco, still in power at
the time--worthy of Hill’s fellow subversive Spaniards Luis Bunuel and
Fernando
Arrabal, yet has a flow and rhythm all its own, with quite a few allusions to
authors like Saki and Edgar Allen Poe (in particular the latter’s tales “The
Black Cat” and “The Pit and the Pendulum”).
Since Hill died on the last day of shooting, we’ll have to
credit Juan Antonio Bardem with a fair portion of the picture’s effectiveness.
The latter, after all, supervised A BELL FROM HELL’S editing, which to my mind
is one of its most effective components. Bardem utilizes quite a few
avant-garde editing techniques--inter-cutting, juxtapositions, etc.--yet does so
without ever feeling excessively self conscious or ruining the flow of the
narrative, something that can be said of very few other “innovative” European
horror films from the seventies.
Vital Statistics
A BELL FROM HELL (LA CAMPANA DEL
INFIERNO)
Cinema Arts Entertainment
Director: Claudio Guerin Hill (with assistance
from Juan Antonio Bardem)Producer: Claudio Guerin Hill
Screenplay: Santiago Moncada
Cinematography: Manuel
Rojas
Editing: Magdalena Pulido
Cast: Renaud Verley, Viveca Lindfors, Alfredo Mayo, Maribel Martin, Nuria
Gimeno, Christine Betzner, Saturno Cerra, Nicole Vesperini, Erasmo Pascual