The Brides Wore Blood (1972)

Proving  why the phrase “regional Florida production” is not generally associated with top-shelf ’70s horror, The Brides Wore Blood is an inept endeavor that should have been at least adequate, given that director Bob Favorite and his team assembled the requisite building blocks. The story, though borderline incoherent, overflows with human sacrifices, mediums, vampires, women enlisted to carry unholy babies, and so on. Ladies hired to appear onscreen are reasonably photogenic and uninhibited. (Nobody in the movie can act, but that’s hardly a surprise.) A large mansion gives something akin to the effect of a castle during exterior shots. Some ornate gore effects are attempted—badly, but it’s thought that counts. And though the score sounds as if it was cobbled together from library tracks, the steady flow of noodling organ figures and sustained strings delivers an eerie sonic vibe. In other words, if you’re either a shock-cinema completist or an undiscriminating horror hound, The Brides Wore Blood may provide you with eighty-ish minutes of mindless distraction. Anyone else is warned to steer clear because this is as dull as it is stupid. The gist is that a family bears a curse wherein men are born vampires, so a medium suggests a confusing scheme through which four women are kidnapped, some to be sacrificed, one to bear a child that could break the curse . . . blah, blah, blah. The high point may be when the patriarch of the cursed clan says the following with roughly the energy of a mechanic advising a client that a spark plug should be replaced: “I’m about to perform a conjuration that will allow Juan to conceive a child—unfortunately, you are needed as an altar.” One gets the impression that Favorite grabbed unrehearsed first takes of everything, then moved on without coaxing his performers to actually perform. Even the wannabe gotcha ending isn’t enough to infuse The Brides Wore Blood with vigor.

The Brides Wore Blood: LAME