| It is a generally accepted fact that The Brainiac (a.k.a. El Baron del terror, 1962) is by far the weirdest Mexican horror movie ever made. This is a bold statement, when the nation in question is responsible for flicks like The Robot Versus the Aztec Mummy (1958), but it is nevertheless quite true. This is one seriously demented monster flick that definitely deserves your attention.
The Brainiac begins in 1661 Mexico, and the Inquisition is preparing to pass sentence on one Baron Vitelius for a list of crimes too long for most viewers to remember. He’s accused of heresy, incitement to heresy, using dead bodies to predict the future, seducing married women and so on and so on for several minutes. The baron smirks throughout the trial and makes his leg shackles magically disappear and reappear on the legs of two of his accusers, who fall over comically.
It’s pretty obvious that the Baron is supposed to be the villain of the film, but at this point, we are completely rooting for him. His accusers are a bunch of masked sadists and Vitelius takes an infectious delight in mocking them, even if it’s only with an artfully raised eyebrow. Vitelius is played by the film’s producer Abel Salazar and it’s hard to imagine anyone better suited to the role. The character spends half of the film glaring at his enemies and the amount of controlled malice or amused disdain Salazar manages to radiate is truly impressive.
Vitelius is sentenced to be burned at the stake, but that doesn’t seem to demoralize the Baron one bit. He glares at his accusers one by one (their masks fading away to reveal their faces) and announces that he will return in 300 years to take his revenge on their descendants.
Flash forward to 1961, and a comet approaches Earth for the first time since Vitelius was put to the stake. It lands with a thud, looking for all the world like a papier-mâché stalagmite from a school play. Out pops the Baron, ready for revenge. His journey has changed him somewhat and he is now a ridiculous hairy monster with a bulbous head, pointy ears, lobster-claw fingers (with suction cups on the ends!) and a foot-long forked tongue that dangles out of his fang-filled mouth. The rubberness of the monster head is accentuated by the fact that is constantly being inflated and deflated like a balloon. Scary, eh kids? Arooooooooo! He’s dressed in what are presumably the remains of the clothing he was executed in, which now consists of buccaneer boots, a tattered backless tunic, and a mini-skirt. (well, that’s what it looks like, anyways). The Baron/Brainiac realizes that this get-up is too silly even for him, so he grabs an innocent passerby, licks him to death with his rubber tongue, and steals his clothes. One lap dissolve later, and he’s his old self again – a dapper aristocrat in a tailored suit. Moments later he’s bought himself a castle, established himself as a kindly local noble and is well on his way to wiping out the descendants of his tormentors.
It’s a treat to watch the Baron in action, whether or not he’s wearing that hysterical inflatable head. When he isn’t walking through solid objects or hypnotizing women into doing his bidding (kissy, kissy!), he’s daintily snacking on brains from a bowl in his cupboard while a swanky party goes on in the next room. Even when he’s only introducing himself to new neighbours and chatting about astronomy, he’s doing so to melodramatic background music.
The baron invites all of his potential victims over to a house party, where we see the faces of Vitelius’ 15th century foes superimposed over each guest. Half of the descendants are played by the same actors as in the prologue, like you’d expect, but the other half, interestingly enough, are women. When the Baron looks at them he sees not a pretty brunette, but a stern-faced, bearded inquisitor. I thought that was a neat touch.
Having established who the victims are, the Baron spends the next several days getting them alone, hypnotizing them and licking them to death. The police force is baffled by the string of corpses that turn up, each with their brains sucked out of tiny puncture wounds on the back of the neck.
The Brainiac is a treat to watch, particularly with a group of witty friends who know how to enjoy a proper bad movie. Its 77 minutes of ludicrous Mexican horror that’s blissfully unconnected to reality. Check it out. |
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