By Hank Parmer
[Click here to read Part I:
The Woman Eater!]
The Maneater of Hydra (1967) AKA
Island of the Doomed (
La Isla de la
Muerte) and
Bloodsuckers, is a Spanish-German
co-production, a taste in Euro-horror that goes together like gazpacho and
blutwurst! But there's a connection between this film and the above-mentioned
ultra-low-budget Roger Corman genre parody (see
Part I) that tickles my B-movie geek lobe:
Seven years earlier,
Maneater's director (Mel Welles, who
also has the story credit and co-authored the screenplay) played the harried
Yiddish-wisecracking florist "Gravis Mushnik" in the original
Little Shop of Horrors.
This time, though, we're in for a far more conventional
story, featuring another mad botanist. This one runs a bed-and-breakfast on an
isolated island somewhere in the Mediterranean, and a gaggle of doltish
tourists and their guide will serve as Maneater fodder.
They're the inaugural guests at Baron von Weser's
world-renowned botanical gardens and creepy villa, which the baron has
graciously opened to the public for the very first time. Their handsome young
tour guide, Alfredo (Richard Valle), meets them at the dock with a snazzy
1930s-style Mercedes touring car. A ferry takes them over to the island, and
the drive up to the villa gives the dialog a chance to batch-introduce everybody:
There are the young Americans, handsome David Moss (George
"Not the Beatles Guy" Martin, born Francisco MartÌnez Celeiro) -- and
lovely Beth Christiansen (Elisa Montes). Julius Demerist (Hermann Nehlsen) --
who bears a remarkable resemblance to "Dr. Eldon Tyrell" in Bladerunner -- is a professor of botany on sabbatical. For
comic relief we have an abrasive widow from the Bronx, compulsive shutterbug
Myrtle Callahan (Matilde Sampedro). Plus there's late-middle-aged millionaire
businessman James Robinson, played by Rolf von Nauckhoff (Rolf von Namebrandt
had another commitment that week) and last but most definitely not least, his
bored trophy wife, Cora (Kai Fischer).
Cora clearly has the hots for Alfredo; she toys with him
while sitting by his side in the front seat, in plain sight of her sourpuss
sugar daddy. With a pair of binoculars, the Prof excitedly surveys what he
describes as a "horticultural wonderland", as Myrtle takes snapshots
right and left. David notices the island seems to be deserted, and questions
Alfredo about it. As it turns out, the Baron and his retainers are the only
inhabitants now -- the rest of the islanders fled, because of some silly old
vampire scare.
Just before they arrive at the Baron's residence Alfredo
hits a man who bursts out of the bushes and staggers in front of the car. The
men pile out of the vehicle, while Mrs. Callahan ghoulishly snaps a couple of
photos of the victim. Alfredo's terribly upset and blames himself, but David
assures him there was no way he could have stopped in time. James, however,
doesn't think it was the accident that killed the guy.
The deceased's pasty-gray face and neck are covered with
what look like hickeys. That must have been one hell of a party.
As they're about to drag the corpse to the side of the road,
the Baron (Cameron Mitchell) materializes out of the shrubbery and tells them
not to worry themselves about it. The man was his cook; another servant will
take care of the mess.
According to von Weser, the poor cook was suffering from an
incurable disease, went nuts and ran screaming out of the villa. (His last
words were something about the wallpaper.)
Cameron Mitchell of course needs no introduction to
connoisseurs of schlock; like Coulouris, his career has seen far better days.
But as often seems to happen with European productions of that era featuring
B-list American actors, someone else dubbed Mitchell's voice for the English
version. That can be disconcerting, but in this particular case it was clearly
the better choice to use another actor. Because even though they've dressed him
up like Emilio Largo and given him a pince-nez so his hands will have something
to do, if you're trying to pass him off as an aristocratic European that
ineradicable hint of El Paso twang in Cameron's own gravelly voice would have
immediately spoiled the effect. Although you think with that character's
surname they'd have employed some thespian with a bit more of a Teutonic
affect, rather than this cultured and vaguely Italian accent.
After expressing the hope that his guests won't let this
unhappy incident spoil their holiday mood, the Baron personally conducts them
through his horticultural wonderland. There are orchids from all over the
world. (We'll just have to take von Weser's word for that, though.) Demerist
mentions all the carnivorous plants he spied on the drive up, which he finds
puzzling since they usually thrive in nitrogen-poor soils, and yet this garden
is so lush. The Baron quickly changes the subject -- his prized composting
formula is not for the uninitiated! Demerist picks up a soil sample while the
Baron's back is turned.
Entering the villa, von Weser informs his guests that the
place is full of art treasures dating back to the 4th and 5th Centuries. So
don't touch! And no pictures, he warns Mrs. Callahan. But otherwise, they're to
make themselves at home.
Up in their room, the millionaire rags on his wife for
behaving like a -- a prostitute! He warns Cora she's pushing him too far. Right
on cue, Alfredo shows up with the couple's luggage; sullen James offers him a
gratuity, which Alfredo politely declines. It's clear he has a another sort of
compensation in mind, and Cora is all too obviously willing to supply it. James
scowls.
That evening, everyone sits down for an elegant nosh with
the Baron. Von Weser proudly informs them everything comes from his own garden,
and oh, by the way, all the meals will be vegetarian. Meanwhile, please sample
the cucumbers.
Which they do, with nearly identical "What a
jerk!" expressions on their faces. This wasn't in the
brochure.
Mrs. Callahan is amazed: "It tastes just like
meat!"
Von Weser smugly explains he's been mucking about with
forced mutations, and one of them just happened to end up tasting like beef.
But, like its ill-fated cousin the beefalo, is the world ready for the
beef-umber? Apparently James thinks so; he tries to interest the Baron in a
little joint marketing venture, until his wife tells him to shut up.
Much consternation is caused by the appearance of Baldi, von
Weser's mute manservant and identical twin to the cook with that terminal case
of love bites. David's suspicions are aroused by Baldi's emotionless
countenance: "He doesn't look like someone whose brother just died!"
"You rang?"
The Baron answers that Baldi knew of his brother's
condition, so his death didn't come as a shock. Besides, if it comes right down
to it, the guy could hardly be described as chipper. In fact, he looks and acts
more like a golem that's been painfully afflicted with piles.
Von Weser suggests some unknown tropical disease was
responsible for the cook's illness. (I'm assuming they began ordering take-out
when those sores first appeared.)
Out in his luxurious quarters -- that is, the touring car,
with the top up -- Alfredo's brewing some espresso (I have that very same
Bialetti 6-cup model!) on a camping stove while he listens to music on the
radio. Looks like they're in for another one of those frequent storms the Baron
mentioned earlier.
Back in the villa, everyone's having coffee, too. Except for
Cora, who's fairly lit by this point, and in rare form. The Baron's sparkling
conversation about earthworms gives her an obvious opening to crush James'
masculinity. When the talk turns to natural selection, she wobbles to her feet
and sneers at their dull, wimpy book-larnin'. Cora promises she'll show them
some real nature, and starts to shrug out of her evening
gown.
