Muñecos infernales

As the movie description states, this is a poorly-dubbed film, which makes it all the more creepy...I watched this movie as a child, at first in a room full of children on a rainy day, only to be left alone...I could not take my eyes off of the television set; I was memorized by those dolls and their faces..Still scared out of my mind, I would back away from the set, only to peek around for another look...needless to say, I watched this movie until the end, which I shouldn't have but am now glad I did...it affected me like no other movie of it's time...I could never find this movie again, not realizing as a child it was a Mexican film...when I was 18, I was at a friends' house and, lo and behold, this movie pops up...I ran to the TV Guide to find out the name of the movie that scared me the most, and this was it...This movie has stayed with me all of these years...it may have a campy affect on adults, but it was well worth watching again as an adult to see those doll freaks terrorizing the humans...I love horror films, and this one ranks right up there with the best of them...just the looks on the dolls' faces is enough to give you nightmares...!

I was looking forward to this Mexican horror film - released on DVD not by Casanegra but rather by BCI as a double-bill with NIGHT OF THE BLOODY APES (1969), which I should be getting to presently, and where the two films are accompanied by their alternate English-dubbed variants - because of its similarity to Tod Browning's THE DEVIL-DOLL (1936), but it turned out to be something of a disappointment!

Even if the villain of the piece is appropriately flamboyant and the fact that the voodoo expert in this case is a woman is, in itself, a novelty with respect to this type of film, it's all rather uninspired - with even the trademark atmosphere coming off as somewhat flat! However, my biggest gripe with the film concerns the titular creatures: their movements are so awkward and sluggish, and their appearance (obviously midgets wearing a none-too-convincing mask!) so poorly realized that the suspense in their numerous attacks (and the terror they're supposed to evoke) is greatly diluted!!

The script, too, is something of a hack job, as we basically get an uninterrupted succession of people being rushed to hospital after an attack by the dolls (made in the image of previous victims - with the funniest-looking being one sporting a large pair of glasses!) where the doctors are apparently dumb-founded as to the source of their 'ailment'!! Equally ridiculous is the hulking zombie whom the sorcerer uses to do his evil bidding: how he's never noticed by anyone out on the streets as he's carrying the dolls (in large packages) is anybody's guess; incongruous, too, is the fact that the sorcerer has relocated to Mexico from Haiti (going after the infidels who stole the all-important statue of one of the gods of his sect) but, apparently, has contrived to bring along with him a whole set of exotic paraphernalia to decorate his new residence - including an enormous sarcophagus for the zombie to sleep in!

Still, even if there are several long-winded explanatory scenes, some moments are undeniably effective - for instance, the doll autopsy scene, with the creepy effect of its eyes (after the head has been disembodied) suddenly starting to gleam...even if the scene does include a hilarious shot of a male doctor closely inspecting a pair of tiny boots!; and the climax - as is typical of many of these films, it all ends in a blaze (and where one reluctant doll proceeds to exact revenge on its master!) - is also nicely handled.

The extras are minimal (only a still gallery - I have little use for the English-dubbed version prepared by K. Gordon Murray, especially since it's cut by some 13 minutes!) and the print quality is quite poor, when compared to the Casanegra releases...

1960's "The Curse of the Doll People" ("Munecos Infernales" aka Infernal Dolls or Hellish Dolls) is definitely one of the more memorable Mexican entries from the pen of Alfredo Salazar, brother of actor/producer Abel, and author of the Aztec Mummy trilogy plus "The Vampire's Coffin," "The New Invisible Man," "The Man and the Monster," "The World of the Vampires," "Doctor of Doom" and "The Wrestling Women vs the Aztec Mummy" (at the helm was director Benito Alazraki, later efforts including "Spiritism" and El Santo's starring debut "Invasion of the Zombies"). Held over from the Aztec Mummy series is actor Ramon Gay, who was shot to death by a jealous husband shortly after filming concluded, while Quintin Bulnes essayed similar voodoo master roles in "The Living Coffin" and a pair of Boris Karloff Mexi-movies, "Snake People" and the very similar "House of Evil" (more murderous dolls at work). Haitian voodoo rituals are discussed rather than seen to start, as a quartet of adventurers make the fatal mistake of stealing a precious voodoo idol to hightail it back home to Mexico, only for the mesmerizing priest to follow, placing a curse upon them and their families to begin at the stroke of midnight on a certain date. Incredibly, the main culprit who previously boasted of adding the idol to his collection grasps his chest and expires at the exact time predicated, and by the half hour mark all four despoilers have perished, each succeeding doll emerging with their features. The Devil Doll Men are nattily dressed in suits and ties, using a long poison needle like a piercing knife, standing about three feet tall, about the size of a ventriloquist's dummy (Richard Gordon's "Devil Doll" would not be made until 1963). Viewers would forever remember the lifeless staring masks, a fine makeup job reproducing the four actors, right down to the beard, mustache or glasses; we actually see one attack a cop before being run over, a kind of autopsy showing its severed head with glowing eyes conducting its hypnotic effect on the female lead (Elvira Quintana), the chest cut open prior to purifying fire destroying the remains. These tiny assassins must obey the master or face severe punishment, delivered in a small crate to their intended victims by a silent zombie complete with shriveled face, another nice touch that delivers additional chills. The only real detriment, apart from the 13 minutes of footage cut from the AIP-TV print (reduced to 69 minutes) is the script's plodding nature, but once the dolls start walking things improve dramatically. The casting of gorgeous top billed Elvira Quintana as a voodoo expert was also an achievement for such an obviously low budget production, it was her sole genre credit in a career that abruptly ended with her premature death in 1968.

A lot of the Mexican horrors that I have watched recently have been badly dubbed into English (and re-edited in some cases) for an American audience by the likes of Jerry Warren and K. Gordon Murray, but I managed to find an original subtitled copy of The Curse of the Doll People, which is always my preferred option. Of course, it helps that this one isn't yet another run-of-the-mill Aztec mummy or vampire flick (however, it must be said that the basic plot is somewhat reminiscent of the 1955 film Cult of the Cobra).

The story concerns a group of men who find themselves cursed after unwisely sneaking into a Haitian voodoo ritual and hot footing it with the Houngan's sacred idol. Voodoo priest Zandor (Quintín Bulnes) sends his zombie Staloon to deliver dolls to the homes of the men, the creepy figures coming to life to kill...

Played by midgets wearing masks that resemble previous victims, the dolls in this film are surprisingly chilling, each armed with a needle-like dagger with which to stab their victims. Zombie Staloon is also a lot of fun, an unkillable monster with a manky, decayed face and immense strength who is partial to playing the flute! As with many Mexican horrors of the day, there's an attractive woman-in-peril and a hero with a pencil moustache. The film does seem to run out of steam in the final act, ending in a predictable blaze that engulfs the voodoo priest and his dolls, but the film as a whole is an entertaining time.

Like most of K. Gordon Murray's imports from Mexico, this film has great black & white photography, terrific creepy atmosphere, and hilariously bad English dubbing. However, the scenes showing the dolls going about their deadly business still come across very well, since the dolls don't speak. (Item of interest: If you enjoy this film, you should also check out MGM's similar "The Devil Doll" (1936)).