Ripped from the case files of the League of Reluctant Reviewers comes this bizarre interpretation of a horror movie. It is incomprehensible. It is Spanish. It is nonsensical. It is so bad it is as much fun to watch as to belittle. It is Necrophagus, aka Graveyard of Horror, aka The Butcher of Binbrook.
"If any of you want to accompany me to the cemetery
you better get ready. I'd like to know who died."
ZC Rating 1 of 7: Poor ("Mind-numbing, but fun," sums it up quite well)
Since the direction is amateurish, the acting wooden and the script confused, one can only conclude that it was Nieva's Eastmancolor cinematography that won the film first prize at the 1971 Festival of the Cine de Terror at Sitges. (The Overlook Film Encyclopedia: Horror)
"Your hand is shaking Mr. Bolton," observed Chalmers as he ushered me into the familiar room.
He was right. The weather had turned wetter, chillier, and foggier than was usual for May. That was my excuse anyway. My hand started shaking during the long walk to 999 Transient Street, the club where the League of Reluctant Reviewers hung out. I only come here when Zombos and Iloz Zoc do not want to bother themselves with reviewing certain movies. You know, the difficult ones. The movies normal people feel ashamed to be caught dead watching. Those guys act like critic-wimps sometimes, especially when Paul Holstenwall is involved. Man that guy savors dreck like bears lick honey. I have taken this trip often enough thanks to Paul, but it is rare for my hand to start shaking. The hand that holds the DVD. It was shaking badly now. Almost as bad as when I had brought The Human Centipede to the club the other night. But that's another story. A real wild one. I must still be shell-shocked from that escapade.
"Perhaps I should take your wet coat and that DVD," he suggested. He shook the drops off my coat while gingerly easing the DVD from my clenched fingers.
I usually bring the DVD to be reviewed to the Champagne Room myself, but this time I let Chalmers do it. He led the way. The owner of the club, the unseen man with chalk white hands and a voice as smooth as velvet, sitting in the Chippendale wing chair always facing the fireplace, welcomed me.
"And what have we tonight?" he asked, reaching out from the chair. "Hopefully nothing as, shall we say, challenging as that previous movie?" He chuckled, but a little nervously.
Chalmers gave the DVD to him. Both hand and DVD withdrew behind the chair.
"Ah, I see. This should not take too long at all, I think." A white hand reached out to ring the bell sitting on the small table by the chair while Chalmers escorted me to the small waiting room, where a comfortable settee and comforting drink awaited me. This time Chalmers chose a warm Tom and Jerry instead of the usual chilled sherry. Good man. I closed my eyes and let the hot liquid dribble down my throat, and waited for the League of Reluctant Reviewers to once again do their thing.
Continue reading "Graveyard of Horror (Necrophagus, 1971)
A Strange Case of Horror Dereliction" »







League of Reluctant Reviewers:
Watching paint dry would be a more productive expenditure of your seventy-three minutes. Possibly not as much fun for some of you, but definitely more productive.




