La Maldicion De La Llorona/Curse of the Crying Woman (1963)

‘I found her fascinating life in these books…’

A pair of newlyweds decide to visit the bride’s aunt, who is her last living relative. The woman has supposedly lived alone for years in an isolated, gloomy mansion. There have been a series of gruesome murders in the district, and it’s not long before the couple begin to suspect a supernatural origin to the brutal crimes…

We’re taking another trip south of the Rio Grande into the world of the Mexican horror film, and who better to accompany us on our journey than some old friends; for example Abel Salazar? Here, he’s still making hay while the moon shines after his breakout success in ‘El Vampiro’ (1957), both producing and starring in this murky tale of witchcraft and murder. Our leading lady is Rosita Arenas, who’d already waltzed around the floor a couple of times with the Aztec Mummy and battled Haitian voodoo in ‘Curse of the Doll People’ (1960). And wrapping up the whole package for an English-speaking audience is legendary film distributor K. Gordon Murray, bringing it straight out of his Miami studio complex with the usual fairly random dub track.

Actually, this is one of the most effective straight horrors to come out of Mexico at the time. A lot of that is down to the performance of Rita Macedo, who thumps a mean pipe-organ as the demented old granny and moonlights as a daughter of the night. There are also some surprisingly effective chills, courtesy of director Rafael Baledon, and fairly impressive interiors, including a massive bell tower. Most of the mystery is jettisoned after a half hour though, which doesn’t help with the suspense, and a mad killer is crowbarred into proceedings in rather a clumsy fashion. But luckily, the gothic atmosphere and Macedo are sufficient compensation, and, despite a few obvious model shots, the destructive climax is quite well realised.

‘Ta-Da!’

Macedo’s daughter also appears in an early scene as a frightened girl on a coach, and it was the shape of things to come for the actress Julissa, whose long and varied career included appearances opposite Boris Karloff in 3 of the 4 Mexican horror pictures he shot in his final days that were completed after his death with less than outstanding results.

It’s noticeable here how Salazar was already moving away from performance; his nominal hero frequently taking a back seat to Arenas and Macedo. He was presumably more interested in what was happening behind the camera by this point.

There’s no evidence here of the skewed sensibility which makes later products of the Mexican horror industry so entertaining to a modern audience, but instead we have a straight, decent picture that delivers an adequate level of chills and a few memorable visuals.