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Leon Klimovsky (1906-1996) lived a long and
productive life. He left the world of dentistry to become a film
director and managed to turn out over 75 feature projects according to
some sources. His parents were Russian and he was born in Buenos Aires,
Argentina. After his first film, EL JUGADOR (1947), he worked in all
genres: crime, melodrama, western and eventually horror. Relocating to
Spain in the mid-1950s, he continued his busy schedule, eventually
signing numerous Spanish-Italian westerns. Several of these (A FEW
DOLLARS FOR DJANGO, HANDS UP DEADMAN, YOU'RE UNDER ARREST) have been
claimed by, respectively, Enzo Castellari and Sergio Bergonzelli.
Obviously, Klimovsky was a man producers could turn to in a crunch or
when a handy name was needed for a Spanish director's credit for quota
purposes.
VIOLACION FATAL, one of Kilmovsky's last features, was made after he
directed a series of successful horror and science fiction films, some
written by and starring Paul Naschy. His influential WEREWOLF'S SHADOW
(1970) shows Klimovsky at his most atmospheric, while his sci-fi
projects (I HATE MY BODY, THE PEOPLE WHO OWN THE DARK) show a marked
tendency toward incorporating social commentary within strict genre
requirements. Klimovsky is the antithesis of the high concept, high
tech, CGI obsessed horror auteurs of today. His best work is
simultaneously derivative and delirious, anachronistic and sexploitative.
His 1972 Paul Naschy vehicle, VENGEANCE OF THE ZOMBIES, for instance,
has absurd dubbed dialogue and a goofy music track which make it an
instant candidate for an Ed Wood guilty pleasure award.
One of his more elegant looking films, VIOLACION FATAL owes a lot to
PSYCHO. Agata Lys (Margarita Garcia Sansegundo) is Veronica, a
frustrated widow who operates a spotlessly clean bed and breakfast in an
idyllic, wooded section of rural Spain. The lakeside resort is visited
by a writer (Henry Gregor) working on a thriller. Holed up in his room
writing, he notices that Veronica is more than a little strange. She
tirelessly produces impeccably crafted ceramic figures which decorate
the hotel. He overhears her talking to herself and witnesses her
hostility every time a couple rents a room. Veronica is kind of a female
Norman Bates, a timid, isolated woman terrified of men and resentful of
the unmarried couples and no-tell-motel swingers who crash for a night
of love. One night, two hikers (Antonio Mayans and Isabel Pisano) are
slashed to death in their room. This is filmed from the POV of the black
gloved, razor killer. It's unclear if Klimovsky is aping or parodying
the then popular Italian gialli here. The bloodletting is certainly
copious, with closeups of the razor cutting through necks, faces,
breasts. Later, a sleazy businessman (Ricardo Merino) is killed after
making out with a hooker. The same close ups of the black gloves, but,
again, we don't see the killer's face. Is it Veronica, or Veronica's
"dead" husband come back from the grave? An ironically
satisfying double twist ending unravels the truth.
As in the Italian gialli the victims are always shown stripping down and
making love before getting killed (cf TWITCH OF THE DEATH NERVE). It
doesn't take too much imagination to see the connections with the fact
that Italy and Spain are both historically Catholic countries where
sensuality is often e expressed in Art often containing elements of
violence.
The direction here is mostly by the numbers, although it should be noted
that the camerwork of Pablo Ripoll is more active than usual for a
Klimovsky film. The best scenes revolve around the sexual delusions,
memories and fantasies of Veronica. These are filmed through red and
aqua filters.
Agata Lys is superb at conveying the character's repressed anger and
sexuality. Her performance goes a long way in making up for the
sometimes predictable scripting and direction. The most curious aspect
of the film is the hulking presence of Henry Gregor, the stage name of
the Prince Enrique Starhemberg. The Austrian aristocrat also coproduced
with cast member Ricardo Merino. The thought of a vanity production
crosses the mind more than once. Gregor's fey mannerisms, along with a
swirled perm from Hell, are especially odd considering his bulk. He
grins a lot and mostly fades into the woodwork when Ms Lys appears
onscreen with him. Paul Naschy's comment in his autobiography MEMOIRS OF
A WOLFMAN seem on target, "Henry Gregor was a mediocre actor, but
he might have become a noteworthy producer. He certainly had plenty of
money."
The one outstanding element here is the urgent, sometimes lyrical score
by the ever reliable Angel Arteaga. It provides some of the tension,
drive and atmosphere that is sometimes lacking in Klimovsky's direction
-- Reviewed by Robert Monell, 2002
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