Fernando (Julio Alemán) is an architect who has it all: a loving wife, three kids, another on the way, a teenage niece living under their roof and an appreciation for life’s finer things, i.e. cow-eye tacos. And now he has even more, inheriting a vacation home from his aunt. So what if it “looks like a haunted house,” as his daughter, Gaby (Gianella Hassel Kus), says? It’s his, and it calls for a celebration!

It also calls for, naturally, a vacation — to be precise, a Vacation of Terror! The old place turns out to be a real fixer-upper; it’s all dust and cobwebs and — ay-yi-yi! — the kitchen has no stove! Even worse, the place houses mice, snakes, spiders, bleeding works of art, flying kitchenware and upturned furniture on strings, all because it was built on the site where a witch was burned at the stake, Joan of Arc-style, one century prior.

Besides a pile of ashes, the Beelzebub-worshipping woman left behind a doll, which Gaby promptly finds and clutches. Looking like a bloated, latter-day Elizabeth Taylor, the doll has a porcelain complexion, pursed lips and the ability to do magic things. All of these aforementioned acts are accompanied by a close-up of its eyes shifting back and forth while the soundtrack plays the same sound effect: someone quickly dragging his fingernails across a piano’s wires. Third-generation director René Cardona III employs the aural sting so often, it eventually gains a Pavlovian effect.

If Vacation of Terror weren’t a Mexican-language production, it may not be worth a watch. Seeing American horror tropes filtered through the culture and perspective of our republic neighbors to the south is what makes this cheap flick fun, from the niece’s boyfriend (Pedro Fernández) stepping up as a hero in acid-washed jeans to his oddly phrased declaration that “I, for one, will make myself a sandwich.” His total ingredients are lettuce, tomato and carrots, in case you wish to emulate his snack for optimum viewing; in all honesty, a El Charrito frozen dinner — the more calories, the better — would be more apt. —Rod Lott

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Night of the Bloody Apes earns its reputation as a classic of Mexploitation cinema — and then some. Director René Cardona plundered his own film, 1963’s Doctor of Doom, to build a better monster, adding el grande tres: color, guts, nudity.

Dr. Krallman (José Elías Moreno, who played the title role in Cardona’s Santa Claus) has a problem: His son’s leukemia has progressed to where the young man’s days are numbered. Dr. Krallman also has a two-pronged solution: First, kidnap a gorilla from the zoo. Then, transplant the gorilla’s heart into his son, Julio (Agustín Martínez Solares, Santo & Blue Demon vs. Dracula & the Wolfman). For this second step, Cardona splices in lunch-losing footage of an actual open-heart surgery.

It works! And yet it also doesn’t, because Julio’s head transforms into that of an ape. He doesn’t look simian so much as his face has been dipped in chocolate pudding, which since has dried. Primate Julio runs around town, wanting to rape women, but he cannot figure out how to remove his infernal, high-waisted pajama pants.

So the doc performs another organ swap, this time giving Julio the ticker of a woman who suffered a skull fracture. It works! And yet it also doesn’t, because Julio continues ripping clothes off the ladies and, to their boyfriends, squeezing out marshmallow-like eyeballs, tearing off flesh and other acts that earn the title its penultimate word.

It says a lot about the movie that I haven’t even mentioned the good-guy cop (Armando Silvestre, The Scalphunters) and his girlfriend (Norma Lazareno, Cardona’s Survive!), who wrestles professionally in a red-leather catwoman mask. Cardona’s story is so weird on its own, it doesn’t even need them, yet the two are major players.

Cardona works in a palette of unbelievably bright colors for a story so willfully embroiled in the sleazy side of things; the juxtaposition works to Night of the Bloody Apes‘ advantage, lending a downright quaint and wholesome vibe to its gleeful presentation of gore and gazongas. Plus, it’s easy to love a film rife with such absurd dialogue played straight-faced: “It’s too early to declare a victory. We have to wait and trust in God. Come, help me drag the cadaver of the gorilla over to the incinerator.” —Rod Lott

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