Studio: Dread/Shudder
Director: Mike Mendez, Demian Rugna, Eduardo Sanchez, Gigi Saul Guerrero, Alejandro Brugues
Writer: Alejandro Mendez, Pete Barnstrom, Lino K. Villa
Producer: Patrick Ewald, Mike Mendez, Alejandro Brugues, Katie Page
Stars: Various
Review Score:
Summary:
Five Latinx filmmakers tell unique terror tales involving Mexican mythology, ghosts, vampires, and legendary demons.
Review:
Horror anthologies need a hook to feel cohesive, whether that link is a common element running through the individual segments, or a unifying theme bringing them together as pieces of a bigger picture. Without a sideshow Creep introducing Stephen King stories, or a gimmick like one entry for every letter of the alphabet, anthologies otherwise play like a bunch of disparate ideas smashed into a feature-length film, simply because that's easier to sell than separate short films, which usually can't be sold at all.
The hook of "Satanic Hispanics" is that it features five terror tales from five Latinx directors, all of whom are already established in the genre, and all of whom use this opportunity to tell stories unique to their heritage and culture. What I appreciate most about their approach though, is that all of the references to Mexican mythology or Spanish scares are both organically incorporated and universally accessible to all audiences. No one forces in cringey caricatures like a mullet-wigged George Lopez driving a van with a Cheech and Chong bobblehead on the dashboard. At least one of the stories could even replace its cast with actors of any ethnicity and play out pretty much the same way. There's a terrific balance of segments that are plotted precisely, then accented with Hispanic aspects to make them that much richer as bite-sized frights with a slightly different flavor.
The only narrative issue with Mike Mendez's "The Traveler," which bookends the whole film while also being revisited in between segments, is it tries too hard to unnecessarily make its titular character an unseen, unheard narrator for everything else in the movie. The concept involves a mystery man who became the sole survivor of an El Paso immigrant massacre. Claiming to be immortal, he lengthens his subsequent police interrogation by regaling two detectives with a couple of campfire creeps. Even the officers ask the equivalent of, "What's this have to do with anything," as "Satanic Hispanics" basically acknowledges he doesn't always fit. This violates my rule about tying shorts together under an illusion of being interconnected, but since it's one of the movie's few transgressions, I'll overlook it.
The first uninterrupted segment is Demian Rugna's "Tambien Lo Vi." Not since Jordy Verrill has there been a horror anthology character developed so fully in such a short amount of time as Gustavo. Painting a picture of Jordy was easier since he was a simple country bumpkin. Gustavo, on the other hand, has an obsession with puzzles that puts him on the spectrum of genius, yet far below others who can truly claim that word. Flashing a light in a geometric pattern highlights his OCD tendencies. Phone calls with his sister illustrate his loneliness. "Tambien Lo Vi" practically offers a complete biography, and that's in between encounters with a pizza delivery person and a paranormal podcaster whom he tries to show the ghost haunting his home.
Anthologies don't often start with their standout, but that's what "Tambien Lo Vi" is for "Satanic Hispanics." Artfully and creepily crafted, it's a ghoulish ghost story with a bit of moral meat, and more than one shocking moment of macabre terror amid thick atmospheric eeriness.
Eduardo Sanchez trades seriousness for silliness with his comedic contribution "El Vampiro," about a vampire whose better days are behind him. Having grown so lazy he can't even turn into a bat anymore, Vampiro takes advantage of the Halloween holiday by biting necks in public because everyone assumes he's a guy in a costume. Trouble is, he forgot to account for Daylight Saving Time. Now he has mere minutes to race back to his coffin before sunlight scorches his undead skin.
Unless you laugh at Vampiro repeatedly pulling out a Tide pen to pre-treat blood stains on his satin shirt, I wouldn't expect to laugh too hard or too often. But, "El Vampiro" makes merry amusement out of proceedings in spite of lead balloon gags and, since much of it takes place outside, the segment loosens up "Satanic Hispanics" to stretch its legs while the other shorts are comparatively more constricted.
After initially noting that Gigi Saul Guerrero's "Nahuales" was shaping up to be something viewers probably wouldn't be interested in watching more than once, the joke ended up being on me. As the story of a CIA informant working to overthrow his own Mexican government worked through its conclusion, where indigenous cultists take the informant to task for exploiting magic blood, I realized I wasn't fully following everything "Nahuales" had to say, and I had to watch the final few minutes a second time.
At first, I took the tale as a typical EC Comics fable where a selfish man became cursed to receive his comeuppance, but Guerrero seemingly infuses more meaning than that. However, I was left nonplussed by a sudden cut to the eponymous nahuales taking a plastic-wrapped body out of a wall, then the camera cutting to a panoramic view of a waterfall. I'm open to an exact explanation from someone more clued into the metaphor than me, as I don't think I totally got all of the commentary here about egos impacting nature.
Regardless, the Mesoamerican folklore included within "Nahuales" is intriguing, provided you investigate deeper details on your own afterward, since the segment doesn't really reveal everything one might want to know. Whenever I watch horror movies that take place in another country or showcase another culture, I always enjoy discovering legends that are new to me, and "Nahuales" offers a crash course in spirit animal shapeshifters I wouldn't have known about otherwise.
Alejandro Brugues's "The Hammer of Zanzibar," a humorous segment about an average dude who discovers his friends are cursed to be killed by demons after he did something stupid on a Cuban vacation, has a lot going on. My complaint about that is most of the story ends up spoken instead of shown. "The Hammer of Zanzibar" starts with Jonah Ray Rodrigues reciting a lot of lines as he tells his ex-girlfriend Amy about his buddies being slaughtered before the segment started. Later, the narrator switches to a different man as he also describes incredibly outrageous events that occurred offscreen. It can be argued that leaving such sights up to the imagination is part of the gag, except that goes against the inherent nature of film being a visual medium.
Anthologies employing multiple filmmakers often hit a speed bump when those filmmakers are given free rein to do whatever they want. Brugues might be a victim of that ambiguous directive. "The Hammer of Zanzibar" is as well made as any other segment, and its humor is also sharper than "El Vampiro's." But I think the segment would have flowed better in a true horror/comedy situation where it wasn't sandwiched between two pieces operating under totally different tones.
"Satanic Hispanics" finishes off with "San La Muerte," which is really just the last installment of "The Traveler." For the climax, Mike Mendez opts for more action as the police station explodes in a lengthy firefight of blood and bullets. Anyone triggered by suicidal imagery might want to be warned there are a lot of mind-controlled cops firing guns into their own faces here. Stick it out though, and you'll be treated to a damn cool final monster that puts the cherry on top of an overall tasty cake.
Segments in low-budget anthologies have a tendency to be one-note setups for a single, supposedly scary punchline. Bucking that tired trend, "Satanic Hispanics" contains complete stories with distinct characters and sometimes thoughtful subtext. Anthologies are always subject to roller coaster rhythms. But no matter how hard anything hits in "Satanic Hispanics," or if the impact isn't felt much at all, the earnestness from the creators involved is always evident, so it's no surprise their collective commitment translates to an entertaining trip into seldom explored corners of international horror.
Review Score: 75
All of the references to Mexican mythology or Spanish scares are organically incorporated and universally accessible to all audiences.