HH

Alright, I should probably address the elephant in the room. The fact that two Blu-ray sets of Nick Millard movies were put out last year shortly after I left and before I came back, containing three previously unreleased projects I never discussed. Rest assured, I’ll be getting to them in due time, as I always keep tabs on Nick Millard news and own both sets. Today, a quick look at a loosely related disc. No, I’m not heiling Hitler, nor am I paying respects to Hulk Hogan. I’m referencing…

Credit: MPI Home Video

Howard Hughes: The Man & The Madness is a biographical documentary on the eccentric billionaire who shook up multiple industries. Combining “rare, archival footage”, stills, newspaper headlines, interviews, re-enactments, and narration, it presents a chronological account of his life as a filmmaker, aviator, aeronautical engineer, inventor, resort owner, notorious recluse, and more. From soaring highs to crashing lows, from record-setting flights and Hollywood flings to his sad final years plagued by strange compulsions and drug addiction, it paints a complex portrait.

While it’s not the most riveting thing I’ve seen lately, the doc is well researched and taught me a lot. Technically speaking, it’s a TV-quality production, like something you’d catch on PBS between educational cartoons. Its less-than-dramatic black-and-white re-enactments of a bearded, scraggly-haired Hughes lying around half-alive are brief and add little. In other words, minimal effort or money was spent shooting original material. The obvious advantage of an expository, A-to-B documentary concerning a famous subject like this is that most of it already exists in various bits and pieces. The filmmakers just organize them. Given that the company behind this particular example owns an extensive stock footage archive (the former WPA Film Library) of newsreels and other content, I doubt they needed to license much either. Complete speculation, but I’m guessing The Man & The Madness was conceived as a cost-effective way to monetize holdings, instead of some passion project for history’s sake.

Full disclosure: besides his big woody (the plane, you sick freak!), I was unfamiliar with Hughes going in. Fuller disclosure: I only bought my copy cos IMDb attributes the doc to Millard, and has since at least 2009. Well, I’m here to report, nothing about it indicates the late Death Nurse auteur played a part whatsoever. At 98 minutes, it’s too long — and frankly, well-made — to be his. The man worked cheap, far cheaper than this. Remember, in locating that Flora Myers article, we figured out Millard’s habit of recycling stuff is the whole reason people think his mother did porn.

(Millard’s mother Frances produced Criminally Insane → the opening titles for that film, including the card reading “produced by Frances Millard”, were reused for X, Y, Z, produced by adult film performer Flora Myers → Myers gave an interview claiming she produced X, Y, Z → people wrongly concluded “Flora Myers” was Frances. Millard has no one to blame for that mess but himself.)

Also, I expect that if Nick Millard were involved, he, his wife, or one of their regulars would have narrated. The real giveaway? Zero spliced-in stripteases or kills. Shame, a scene where Howard Hughes stops at a sex show and smiles approvingly as Uschi Digard licks her own boobs, then dreams of a meat cleaver rampage is just what this relative snoozefest could use.

Credit: The Simpsons, Disney, Frinkiac

In contrast to his trashy erotica, action, and horror fare, Millard revered the great authors and filmmakers who came before him. Around the time this supposedly dropped, Millard switched to making (or at least planning) adaptations of famous novels and plays, and biographical dramas on enigmatic, 20th century figures including John Huston, Ernest Hemingway, and Johnny Stompanato. “He was trying to do more intellectual stuff at the end.” his daughter Valerie says in a featurette from one of the sets mentioned above. Howard Hughes seems like another prominent figure up Millard’s alley. And although this would have been his only documentary (that I’m aware of), he’d employed a similar style in Pleasure Spots. So, essentially, I had no reason to question the attribution till now.

As of this moment, IMDb — and by extension the internet at large — says Millard directed the doc and that it released in 1999. Its listing contains the same image and text as MPI Home Video’s DVD cover, catalogue number DVD6368, except with a billing block at the bottom (from a previous VHS release or poster, I assume). However, at the end of the film, a production year of 1993 is given and “Greg Newman” is credited as producer/director. His name appears on the back cover and VHS/poster image as well.

Greg Newman is a real person who’s produced numerous DVD featurettes for horror distribution company Dark Sky Films, a subsidiary of MPI’s parent company, MPI Media Group. Feature-length credits include The House of the Devil, Hatchet Parts 2 & 3, and The Innkeepers.

Another strike against Millard — the rest of the names are real too, rather than European-sounding pseudonyms. Among them are MPI founders Malik and Waleed Ali. These brothers ran Gorgon Video, which horror fans may recognize for releasing the Faces of Death series.

We know Millard rarely worked as a hired hand. He ran the show, his way, and did everything himself, alongside his wife. So, if somebody else directed, I feel that alone rules out his involvement in any lesser capacity.

Finally, simple geography debunks the claim. MPI is headquartered in Orland Park, Illinois, near Chicago. The movie specifically mentions Oak Forest. Millard frequented California, Nevada, and Europe, later moving to Florida. I doubt he hit up the Midwestern states much at all.

Perhaps IMDb holds a clue to the origins of this mystery. Scrolling down, under “details”, it states the film also goes by “Pygmalion”. Millard’s usual haunts, San Francisco and Las Vegas, are listed as filming locations. Below that, an oddly specific shoot date of April 27th, 1998 — one day off from the Wayback Machine’s earliest capture of the page on April 26th, 2009. This only muddies the waters.

Pygmalion is a mythological Greek sculptor who carves a female statue so beautiful he falls in love with it. Playwright George Bernard Shaw reworked the myth for his comedy of the same name in which a linguistics professor wagers he can transform a Cockney flower girl into a refined duchess. Millard wrote a script for his own version based on the play, but unless he drastically changed the story again to incorporate Hughes, it would have been something separate. If — big if — Millard ever completed that project, it almost certainly had nothing to do with the The Man & The Madness.

In 2012, he told Search My Trash his Pygmalion screenplay features “Liza Doolittle as a punk rocker with purple hair, and a very foul mouth.” Tellingly, he brought up the professor, Henry Higgins, but not Howard Hughes. Beyond double-H names, what possible connection exists between his raunchy take on a classic and the tragic true tale of the tool heir tycoon?

Credit: The Simpsons, Disney, Frinkiac

None I can think of. Seriously, what’s the deal? Who hijacked the doc’s IMDb page and added this seemingly random misinfo, and why? Short of viewing its unviewable edit history, we’ve hit a dead end. I contacted MPI regarding the mix-up, hoping they could shed light on the matter. That was a year ago. A Vinegar Syndrome archivist did tell me they found SOV Howard Hughes footage in Millard’s collection, but weren’t sure whether he shot it or merely added it to “some filmography at some point”, which I took to mean “some film at some point”. Until I can assess said material for myself, it remains highly unlikely Millard had anything to do with The Man & The Madness.

On the bright side, the latter turned out to be slightly more engaging than expected once I realized that. And like I said, rather informative. Since I spent an hour and a half watching it, here are twenty-plus things I learned (or forgot and relearned). Mr. Hughes:

•financed his ventures with earnings from an oil drill bit company his father founded
•never carried a watch or money
•often worked forty-eight to sixty hours straight, eating very little
•won an Academy Award for his 1927 film Two Arabian Knights
•successfully sued the Hays Office over censorship of Scarface (1932)
•set multiple airspeed records, some in a plane he designed himself
•courted just about every Hollywood actress
•jitterbugged with Marilyn Monroe
•burned all of Billie Dove’s furniture after their breakup
•offered Elizabeth Taylor a million dollars to marry him
•married strict Mormon Terry Moore at sea to bed her, then threw the ship’s log overboard
•also “dated” (which one associate calls a kind word) Ginger Rogers, Kathryn Grayson, Lana Turner, and Linda Darnell
•developed the adjustable hospital bed following a devastating crash that left him addicted to codeine
•was investigated by the U.S. government for failing to fulfill a wartime defense contract for a “flying boat” (the Hughes H-4 Hercules AKA the “Spruce Goose”), but was ultimately cleared
•bought RKO Pictures outta nowhere
•drove unassuming cars
•was hard of hearing and extremely germophobic, yet rarely bathed
•compulsively wiped objects with Kleenex
•spent his final ~two decades watching movies butt-naked in darkened hotel rooms while personal aides pumped him full of drugs and underlings fought for control of his empire
•instructed his aides not to speak unless spoken to
•bought a TV station specifically so he could watch what he wanted
•bought his first casino, the Desert Inn, because they were kicking him out
•stopped hosting the annual Tournament of Champions over germ concerns
•refused to appear before state gaming authorities as required for a gambling license, forcing them to make an exception that became known as the “Hughes rule”
•tried unsuccessfully to halt atomic testing, even going so far as to offer bribes to president Lyndon B. Johnson, as well as potential successors Richard Nixon and Hubert Humphrey
•held a teleconference to dispel rumors of his declining health and denounce a hoaxed autobiography
•insisted his urine be preserved in jars
•didn’t see his own wife, actress Jean Peters, for three and a half years
•died with broken hypodermic needles embedded in his arms

Credit: Biography, Waryhub

Quick Update

I’ve honestly been kind of paranoid since learning last month that WordPress nuked an awesome blog called “Word Vomit”, presumably for posting risqué images as part of its long-running series “The Cavalcade of Perversion,” in which the site’s author described and linked to porn videos he’d watched, but usually ended up discussing classic Hollywood stars, horror, wrestling, or pop culture instead (you can now find him at No One Ever Leaves a Star).

Because of this, I’ll be going back through my own archives and censoring/privating/password-protecting older reviews with explicit screenshots (passwords will be single words from the titles of the posts).

While my colleague suspects he tripped an AI moderation filter, my first instinct was that some busybody manually reported him. Either way, I’d rather not give this platform a reason to bring down the axe. Better safe than sorry.

In other, more positive news, the former Last Road Reviews, a blogger I followed from the start of my journey here until he stepped away around 2015, has recently resurfaced and is posting quite actively under the name “The Late Night Horror Drive-In“. If you enjoy the big slasher franchises, the works of John Carpenter, and made-for-TV movies, head on over and offer him a warm welcome. I’m sure he’d appreciate the engagement, as much of our old community is long gone.

SA

Hey, uhhhhh… Whoops. Sorry about that. I just couldn’t seem to sit down and crank anything out, despite my best efforts. Then, I blinked and when I opened my eyes it was late November. Stepping away for so long was honestly kind of refreshing, but now I’m ready to resume… whatever it is I do here. One way I kept busy during my unplanned hiatus was by creating a Reddit account and commenting in the “slasher films” sub (you can follow me there @Nervous_Penis).

It was going fine until somebody asked why Samhain is pronounced “Sam-hain” in Halloween Ends instead of “Sow-inn”. I told them I’ve always heard Sam-hain where I live, and only recently have people tried to pronounce it “correctly”.

“Correctly?” they scoffed. “It’s an Irish word. Sow-inn is the correct pronunciation. Not a new development at all, been pronounced correctly in its country of origin for thousands of years.”

“I’m aware.” I replied. As an example of the shift I was noting, I mentioned how Billy Corgan sings “Sam-hain, Sam-hain” in the 2020 Smashing Pumpkins song “Wyttch”, but by 2023 when his wrestling promotion held an event titled Samhain (which he used the song for), he’d switched to “Sow-inn”.

At such time, a faceless pedant informed me, “Uhm. No, you’re just a moron with main character syndrome. I’ve been saying it correctly since I was a goth teen in the 90s.” Their comment was deleted before I could read it. However, it still appeared in my notifications.

Oh, really? You’ve been saying it the proper way for thirty years? What do you want, a gold star? Have you also been this much of an asshole since then? Listen, I may be a liar, a pig, an idiot, a communist, but I am not a porn star! So don’t come at me like that.

Teen goths are contrarians who do the opposite for attention. They represent a minority. The fact is, the Halloween franchise most commonly goes with “Sam-hain”. Members of the rock band Samhain, including frontman Glenn Danzig, call their band “Sam-hain”. Billy Corgan sings “Sam-hain, Sam-hain”. And finally, the adorable sack-headed demon in Trick ‘r Treat is named Sam — short for “Sam-hain” — not Sow. Did I create all these pop culture references, reinforcing the American delivery? No. My whole family is Irish. If anyone should care, it’s me. And I don’t. Even a little.

Readers, what are your thoughts on this issue? Mine are that words evolve across borders and languages. Mary Shelley took “Frankenstein” from a German castle, yet nobody actually says “frahn-ken-shtine” unless they’re quoting Gene Wilder. So, get off your high horse, Dr. [redacted]. P.S. I doubt you’re a licensed physician! From now on, I’m butchering every last foreign word I encounter, purely to ruffle his feathers.

Salmon.
Credit: Halloween II, movie-screencaps.com

Besides the occasional crash-out, my sole complaint with the slasherfilms sub is how repetitive it gets. Half the posts revolve around Scream, Terrifier, fantasy matchups between X and Y, or the “Big Four”/”Mount Rushmore” of villains. That said, I’ll resist the urge to write about Friday the 13th or Nick Millard here today, tempting as it is, lest I sound like a hypocrite.

The other week, a more courteous Redditor sought help identifying a movie they’d seen as a kid. Knowing firsthand how frustrating recalling half-formed memories can be, I always offer a guess whenever I happen upon posts like that and treat them as treasure hunts. After some quick sleuthing based on OP’s fuzzy recollections of an 80s film set at camp, featuring a sword-wielding maniac, an arrow, a water fountain, an outhouse, and a girl named Fernanda falling through stairs, which somehow cuts off her legs, I arrived at a possible match, what appears to be a rather obscure Brazilian production titled Satanic Attraction (1989) AKA Atração Satânica. Obscure enough that you won’t find it streaming, officially.

My only choice was a VHS rip on YouTube boasting an awesomely bad English dub by a visiting group of American college students (per an unverifiable, twenty-six-year-old IMDb review) and burnt-in Portuguese subtitles. I later found a marginally-higher quality upload on DailyMotion I viewed through VLC to avoid all the ads. VHSCollector.com lists a single domestic release under “Complete Entertainment, Inc.” — this version, I would assume.

Satanic Attraction came out toward the end of the 80s and takes place in a beach town along the “Sun Coast”, or Costa do Sol (from what I gather, a general term rather than a specific location) stalked by a killer using multiple swords, including an oversized scimitar. Had the poster mistaken the ocean for a lake, perhaps they imagined a camp to go with it. On top of that, three people die to harpoons (possibly misremembered as arrows). Most importantly, the main character, a radio DJ whose macabre tales manifest in reality, bears the uncommon first name Fernanda.

Certain elements seemed to align. For a minute, I felt I had cracked the case, until another commenter suggested Death Screams (1982). After watching that too, I yielded the floor. Though OP never confirmed it, Death Screams is clearly what they were searching for. It checks all their boxes, aside from a few minor differences: Fernanda was actually Ramona, the killer employs a machete, and there is no camp, except a campfire.

While I wasn’t much help in the end, I did discover a new hidden gem. Satanic Attraction is cheesy, yet awesome, completely unheard of, littered with deeply strange moments, and unlike American slashers. For those reasons, it makes a perfect addition to the site. Let’s discuss.

As the “filme terror” (translation: Saturday morning cartoon) begins, natives dance and pound drums by a river. A mysterious, robed figure joins them. He lowers a large ceremonial goat mask over his head, then enters an old, church-like building lined with hundreds of burning candles, walking past what I take to be cult members. Two blindfolded children, a boy and a girl of about ten or twelve, possibly twins, are led to a room housing a table surrounded by an unholy congregation. The masked priest, or whatever he is, gently slices their wrists and places some kind of medallion into their palms. Real demonic shit.

14 years later. Blood seeps down into a coffin, soaking a desiccated corpse. Our hostess, Fernanda, proceeds to explain the whole story in thirty seconds or less:

“The killer wants Sara alive again, no matter what. And blood, only blood, can bring his sister back from the dead. But not just any blood. It must be from beautiful young women, preferably from those of the same age as his sister when she died.”

You see, in addition to spinning records, Fernanda writes and narrates an old-fashioned serial drama. The twist — either some asshole is taking direct inspiration from her broadcasts, or she’s psychically influenced by him on a subconscious level. Yep, this bad boy incorporates the time-honored tradition of a story within a story predicting/mirroring actual events. Premise sound familiar? That’s because Tenebrae, Cellar Dweller, I, Madman, and countless others did it first, more effectively. As Fernanda begins the day’s episode, several people are shown gathered around their radios, as if it’s the only form of entertainment in town. Wealthy socialites consume fruit and wine. “It’s nice to see [young] people once again being carried away by the magic of radio.” the mayor says in a funny voice while placing an arm around his thong-bikini-wearing daughter or girlfriend. A woman paints her toenails. The signal drops out. “Oh, shit!” she mutters. A fisherman calls to his own adult daughter, “Tell Claudia the program just came on.” His daughter walks into a room where her sister Claudia lies in bed kissing a shirtless man. “Claudia, that lady’s program just came on. Don’t you wanna hear it?”

“Seems like she knows about you being married to that radio announcer.” Claudia laughs. That’s right, her lover, Shirtless Man™, is Fernanda’s husband Francis. He firmly disapproves of her content, but listens regardless.

Our hostess continues her tale, explaining how the killer needs more blood and starts to convulse whenever the urge to kill overtakes him. On cue, a man’s shadow convulses. A pair of black-gloved, giallo-esque hands passes two swords to another pair of black-gloved hands. As Fernanda describes the killer chasing a young woman down a desolate, picturesque beach, the scene unfolds in real time. We cut between shots of the hunt and Fernanda’s booth at the radio station inexplicably filling with ominous fog. The victim soon trips. Both swords pierce her back. A suspicious man sporting slicked-back hair calmly strolls through the studio as Fernanda wraps up. This is part seven of Fernanda’s story, and unbeknownst to her, the seventh in a row to come true.

An LEO referred to as “Paul” and “Lieutenant” blames Fernanda’s show for the murders. Well, disappearances. No bodies have ever been found, so technically these are missing persons cases. One thing is for sure, though: they’re connected. Much like Fernanda’s husband Francis, Paul is an avid hate-listener.

During a music break, Fernanda sits at a typewriter to outline her next scene, but accidentally spills a red liquid all over the page and gives up. Fate always seems to prevent her from planning her story too far in advance. Fernanda returns to her mic and improvises the rest of the episode, detailing how the killer drains his victim’s blood, dismembers her body, and feeds it to a caged lion. All of this is shown too.

The girl from Ipa-screama.

She’ll need a Copaca-bandage.

Finally, the killer hauls a bucket of blood to his sister’s grave, located at the end of a long, narrow strip of land jutting into the sea, and pours it over her coffin. Each donation slowly rebuilds her body, Frank Cotton-style. A marker reads “Sara Grecco.” Oddly, there is no death date.

Meanwhile, Claudia finds something horrifying on a beach, but our picture quality is so poor, we’ll never know what it is. A crystal ball covered in seaweed? Your guess is as good as mine.

That night, the killer’s gloved hands present the swords to Sara’s corpse, which has crawled out of its grave and is kneeling at an altar. “That was very well done” the corpse says. Nice, the killer’s plan of resurrecting his sister worked perfectly! Looks like he can relax. Not so fast! One measly plot hole won’t slow him down. Shortly after, Fernanda dreams that Sara’s corpse — or perhaps a different corpse altogether — enters her bedroom and stares at her from the doorway.

Before long, Fernanda begins an extramarital affair of her own with her friend Lionel the sea captain, who lives aboard a boat in a marina. Now, she and her husband are both cheating. Difference is, Fernanda cares about Francis, whereas he’s always pissed off at her, mainly for waking him up with her nightmares. The audacity.

Me, spotting narrative problems.

Anyway, Lieutenant Paul summons Lionel to examine the crime scene. I don’t think that’s allowed. Is Paul the police chief? Under what circumstances can he or anyone else up and deputize random civilians? Does Lionel really live here? If yes, why not on land? He drives a car, so… maybe? Also, is Lionel an ordinary captain or a naval officer? Judging by his national emblem (lack thereof, rather), I’d guess the former, though I admit I know nothing regarding military insignia. Does it matter? Neither would have jurisdiction, nor are they trained to investigate homicides. I have so many questions. Bottom line, this seems fishy. As fishy as the fish Lionel eviscerates.

Paul, Lionel, and a heavily pregnant reporter who spends half the film with her shirt completely unbuttoned, exposing her bulging stomach and bra, even at night when it’s raining, arrive at a section of beach within shouting distance of Sara’s grave, where a small crowd has gathered. There, they find dead birds arranged in bowls and various other occult objects leftover from some sort of ritual.

“Could this be another victim?” Preggo asks.

“Oh, for Chrissake, don’t bother me!” Paul snaps. A third officer runs up and dumps out a bag of personal effects containing ID. Lionel inquires about a potential witness.

“I want to question him later, down at the station, away from this reporter.” Paul answers. Priceless, considering Paul, Lionel, and Preggo pulled up in the same car together. Why did Paul even give Preggo a ride if he hates her so much? Rewatch the scene at least once and pay close attention.

Is it weird that I’m mildly turned on by this?

Sara’s corpse tunnels back underground and the whole process plays out twice more. Fernanda makes something up, the killer re-enacts it, the cops scratch their dicks. Razor blades are hidden in one victim’s bath soap. Remarkably, she doesn’t notice she’s mutilating herself with each swipe until it’s too late — I think because she’s supposed to be drunk and/or high. Her name, Cecil, means blind, so, the etymology tracks. Blind, drunk, naked Cecil is finished off by a cleaver shot to the forehead. For his third act (ninth total), the killer skewers a couple, scoring a two for one special. This time, he leaves a body behind. Remember, he has no use for the men. At last, solid proof that a murder occurred.

Eventually, Fernanda learns of the murders from her reporter husband who never actually reports on the crimes and is instead briefly sent on assignment to Sao Paolo, which he calls “St. Paul”. Fernanda sees Lionel, expressing concerns that police will suspect her. The way they talk makes it seem as though Lionel might not be a cop. During their sexually charged encounter, Lionel proclaims his true feelings: “I think I’m falling in love with you (pause) daaaaamn.” The admission is followed by “sensual” movie “sex”. You know how some unmarried Mormons believe penetration is fine, so long as they refrain from thrusting? That’s what this always reminds me of. Our lovers giggle and eat fruit together.

Soon, honorary inspector Lionel traces a gramophone bill found in Cecil’s hotel room to a local antique shop run by a man named Christian who claims he’s looking after the place for his sister, Sara Grecco. Welp, that’s it. Case closed. Pack it up, boys, we got him. Upon learning that Christian may be involved, Paul the possible police chief remarks “Oh, him, the weirdo… little on the crazy side.” My dude, if you knew he’s crazy, why haven’t you investigated him yet? Hilariously, Christian is located feeding meat scraps to a panther in a courtyard, arousing little suspicion #LawfulActivity

A character I can only assume is the “secretary of tourism” listed in the credits vows to silence the show once and for all. He, the mayor, Paul, Lionel, and Preggo confront Fernanda down at the station. The mysterious slick-haired man provides Fernanda an alibi, claiming she was there that day. But who is he? Why, the station’s new owner, none other than Rafael Ornelis! Despite this, the mayor still pulls the show. Rafael announces he’ll fight the ban.

He wanted poon.

He got harpoon.

That night, Lionel drops off Fernanda at home. He goes for a kiss, unaware that Francis has returned from his business trip and is watching. Fernanda second-guesses her torrid affair and tells Lionel she’d rather spend the night alone. Once inside, a belligerent Francis produces a moon charm he claims belonged to Cecil and accuses his wife of carrying out the murders to “get even with Claudia”, indirectly admitting his own affair. How does killing a bunch of randos affect Claudia? Fernanda really showed her!

Lionel then meets with Preggo. Through her rigorous research, Preggo discovered that Christian and his sister Sara were pledged to a Satanic cult by their parents as part of a pact to protect the family’s prestige and money. What that means or entails, I have no idea. Naming your Satanist son Christian is almost as good of a cover as naming your Christian son Satan. Preggo slips into a Midwestern accent for the word “hard”, which comes out sounding like “haard”. I love it when she talks Minnesotan 😩 Between her, the bubble bath, and the soaking scene, I’m standing up straighter than Christ the Redeemer.

This is where everything falls off the rails. As it turns out, Francis went apeshit, attacking Fernanda, who locked herself in their bedroom and called the police. Then, somebody cut off his feet. Claudia awakens and is drawn outside by some unseen force where she finds the aforementioned feet. Evidently, she and Fernanda share a backyard. Claudia runs and just kind of appears at the candlelit building from the beginning, which we now understand is the old Grecco residence. Christian sits waiting inside. He treats Claudia like his sister and says he knew she would come back to him. Confusingly, Claudia goes along with his nonsense. Christian keeps addressing her as Sara and Claudia never corrects him.

Hold on, how can she be his sister? She’s been alive the whole time. Christian carries Claudia to a bed and deflowers her attic while she vacantly stares into space. Unsurprising, quite frankly, for a chap like pornographer Fauzi Mansur, whose library includes something titled “Incesto”. Cue a flashback of the siblings as children fatally poisoning their parents, à la Psycho IV. Suddenly, Claudia bolts upright and screams “I didn’t kill them!” Well, yeah, you’re Claudia, not Sara. That much is obvious.

Peak suicide.

Meanwhile, Rafael plays a recording of Fernanda’s program over the air. Paul, Lionel, and Preggo respond, saying nah dude, this was banned. Rafael calmly presents a court injunction overturning the mayor’s decision. Back at the Grecco residence, Sara’s corpse unmasks as Mr. Ornelis! He’s also revealed as the goat-masked priest from the flashback! Wait a minute, I just realized… why did he need to conceal his identity? He’s not the one slaughtering people. Alright, let me get this straight. Claudia is Sara, and Sara is Rafael? So, who’s in the coffin? This makes about as much sense as The Texas Chainsaw Massacre series.

On a subsequent viewing, I noticed the following line: “In fact, we are not even sure that she’s really dead. There are many stories about Sara’s disappearance.” Ok, am I supposed to believe Sara stayed in her hometown during her absence and nobody recognized her? That fails to account for why Christian believes Sara died and still doesn’t answer who’s in the coffin. The only logical scenario is that Sara left the cult of her own accord, Rafael cosplayed as her corpse, spending portions of his day occupying her grave, all to convince Christian she died, so that he would go on a killing spree for… unspecified reasons, and Sara was drawn back to the cult through black magic, or some other means. Now, is any of that ever explained? No, of course not! Whoa, whoa, whoa. Claudia has her own father. And sister. So, was she adopted? As an adult? Aw heck, look at me, expecting a cheap foreign slasher to hold up under scrutiny. The plots in these kinds of movies are incidental. I know it’s a stretch, but what if Fernanda’s story and by extension the film itself is purposely dumb as a meta commentary on horror?

……. 🤔😂

Rafael threatens Claudia for being uncooperative and “playing games with the master” (possibly supporting my theory that she left). So, Rafael hypnotizes Claudia and lays her on a bed. Christian is like What?! No! I worked so hard to revive her!, thinking she’s dead. Rafael tells Christian his mission is to bring “Sara” blood and hands him a scimitar. Good news, he was already doing that! At this point, Christian embarks on a full-blown rampage. First, he sneaks under a woman’s hammock and disembowels her. Then, he goes after a witness, abandons her to eliminate two others, returns, and finishes her off as well! This guy is completely unhinged!

Surely, our heroes will intervene any second! Never mind, Lionel is giving Fernanda a tour of his senile aunt’s house. How will this great movie end?! And what exactly is the link between Fernanda’s story and the cult? Christian recreates the events, but why? Is he not imaginative enough to plan his own kills?

Same, girl.

Overall, Satanic Attraction was a Hell of a good time for me. It’s surprisingly violent with cool effects, while its numerous plot holes, bizarre decisions, and terrible dubbing provide constant laughs. For better or worse, it’s the most entertaining (of the admittedly few) Brazilian movies I’ve seen. Fun fact: Did you know that Brazil imported more African slaves than any other country by far, and was the last to abolish slavery? I looked that up after watching Umberto Lenzi’s inferior Black Demons AKA Demons 3. Cos knowledge is power.

Bottom line, if you’re in the mood for something so bad it’s good this horrorday season, journey down to the land of the world’s largest floating Christmas tree and develop a SATANIC ATTRACTION. Interested parties can purchase a copy for $300, or follow these links.

YouTube
Dailymotion

Happy belated Halloween & Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas (Feliz Natal, as Fernanda would say), Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Kwanzaa, and a spectacular New Year to all! I hope your Samhain was shit.