The subject of repressed sexuality has long been a staple, whether as main focus or as a subtext, of genre films. It is not often, however, that it is featured prominently within the celluloid confines of a Mexican gothic horror/science fiction opus. 1962’s The Brainiac, produced by Cinematografica ABSA, ambitiously explores the idea that repressing sexual lust can lead to the lowering of morals pertaining to violence and torture.

At the time of its release in 1957, Fernando Méndez’s El Vampiro was the first film about vampires that dared to show the creatures’ now-famous fanged incisors. This seemingly minor inclusion helped craft the modern vampire. Yet, time has certainly not done El Vampiro any favors, and while this film is a landmark in horror history, genre aficionados will remember the use of light and shadow in F.W.

It’s impossible to get a bead on Juan Lopez Moctezuma’s Alucarda. There are no clear-cut heroes or villains; nearly every character seems monstrous at one point or another. The film hops from one protagonist to the next, condemning each in turn. A dichotomy between reason and the supernatural, standard to many horror films, is established, and then banished.

What is a ghost? A tragedy condemned to repeat itself time and again? An instant of pain, perhaps. Something dead which still seems to be alive. An emotion suspended in time. Like a blurred photograph. Like an insect trapped in amber.

A radioactive leak causing mass contamination disrupts the normality of daily human living. While at the airport, TV news reporter Dean Miller (Hugo Stiglitz, Cemetery of Terror) witnesses first hand the dismay of things to come. An unmarked, unidentified airplane lands without authorization. Once the doors of the plane open, a large assembly of ass kicking, gun shooting and axe wielding zombie maniacs come out starving for human blood.

In the darkness a clock ticks. The ticking of one clock is gradually replaced by another and then another. Time two-steps along, ad infinitum, each clock marking the passage its own way. Antique dealer Jesus Gris marks his time with his beloved granddaughter Aurora, taking only enough of it away from her to show love to his wife Mercedes.

At first I was a bit reluctant to give this one an enthusiastic recommendation. It is a bit cheesy in some ways and peeking at other viewer’s ratings of this film, I seem to be way off target from mainstream horror fans. But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed that I had no choice. I think Amityville II is a much better film than its precursor, and I think it not only succeeds, but is ingeniously clever, on many different levels.

This 1950s Mexican import is different from many of its contemporaries because it doesn't play to the lowest common denominator. It isn't sleazy, exploitative, or silly. It's actually quite an intelligent rethinking of the Jekyll and Hyde mythos, though admittedly with a little cheese thrown in.