First shown on Pittsburgh's Chiller Theater in 1967

Low budget horror film has some legitimate worthwhile scares

Odescalchi Castle, Bracciano, Rome, Lazio, Italy

Lex Barker and Karin Dor in The Torture Chamber of Dr. Sadism (1967)

Betty Arvaniti and Giannis Fertis in The Hot Month of August (1966)

Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, and Mike Raven in I, Monster (1971)

Christopher Lee and Donald Sutherland in The Castle of the Living Dead (1964)

Christopher Lee, Donald Sutherland, and Gaia Germani in The Castle of the Living Dead (1964)

How long is The Castle of the Living Dead?

Christopher Lee

Gaia Germani

Philippe Leroy

Paul Maslansky

Warren Kiefer

Fede Arnaud

Count Drago invites entertainers to his castle, but what the people don&apos;t know is that Drago mummifies animals and humans.

Luciano Ricci

Il castello dei morti vivi

First shown on Pittsburgh&apos;s Chiller Theater in 1967

1964&apos;s &quot;The Castle of the Living Dead&quot; (Il Castello dei Morti Vivi) was an Italian-French coproduction kicked off by a pair of expatriate Americans, director/screenwriter Warren Kiefer and producer Paul M. Maslansky, location work done in Lazio at the Castello Orsini-Odescalchi, a 15th century abode on Lake Bracciano. A Gothic story set during the violent aftermath of the Napoleonic Wars (1803-1815), a troupe of theatrical performers hired to repeat their hangman&apos;s act for the edification of Christopher Lee&apos;s mysterious Count Drago, where they are doomed to become subjects in his experiments on embalming, aided by manservant Sandro (Mirko Valentin). By the time we reach the castle the group has already discovered evidence of the Count&apos;s obsession, traveling to the total absence of wildlife save for what they assume is a stuffed raven, the result of their host&apos;s secret elixir that preserves the body at the exact moment of death to serve as another creation in his elaborate &apos;Eternal Theatre.&apos; Lee&apos;s eyes are accentuated by dark makeup to give them that hollow look, coupled with a goatee and, happily, the sound of his own dubbed voice (amusingly, the kind of host who makes apologies to his guests because he was busy in his laboratory!). There are of course no flesh eating ghouls to be found, but there is the welcome sight of 29 year old Canadian Donald Sutherland among the international cast, first seen as a police sergeant wondering how a hanging trick is successfully carried off every night without the participant winding up dead. More intriguing is seeing him made up as a wizened old crone prone to rhyming prophecy, soon revealed to be the unlucky recipient of a botched early experiment. Sutherland&apos;s investigator is not the sharpest blade in the drawer, eager to assist the Count until the witch climatically confirms Drago&apos;s guilt (only then does the sergeant change his tune: &quot;my suspicions about the Count were confirmed!&quot;). The best part of this sequence is seeing Sutherland&apos;s sergeant reach out to help up Sutherland&apos;s witch, a successful bit of dual casting that helps make this film stand out among Lee&apos;s often variable Euro horrors of the period (both would soon be reunited for the debut Amicus feature DR. TERROR&apos;S HOUSE OF HORRORS, before Hammer beckoned Sutherland for DIE! DIE! MY DARLING!). Herbert Wise (the pseudonym for Luciano Ricci) may have been credited but the actual director was Warren Kiefer, whose career only encompassed three more (very obscure) assignments prior to his 1995 death: NEXT OF KIN, JULIETTE DE SADE, and SCACCO ALLA MAFIA (he made such an impression on Donald Sutherland that he named his newborn son Kiefer after him). Also working as assistant director was 19 year old Michael Reeves, handling second unit chores and additional material, likely the finale that saw the dynamic dwarf emerge the hero, to the chagrin of Lee&apos;s Count Drago (he may also have contributed to the script&apos;s brutality, one demise by scythe, another through the eye). The Gardens of Bomarzo, also known as the Park of the Monsters, provided the perfect backdrop for Reeves&apos; contributions, symbolized by suitably grotesque images carved out during the 16th century, the one called Orcus identified by its ominous facial expression and wide open mouth (this was a time when restoration had begun after decades of neglect).

Trailer

https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BM2ZmNTRkYjItNTBiOC00OWNkLWFhYjUtYTUxNWZkNDlkZTNkXkEyXkFqcGdeQWRpZWdtb25n._V1_.jpg

1964's "The Castle of the Living Dead" (Il Castello dei Morti Vivi) was an Italian-French coproduction kicked off by a pair of expatriate Americans, director/screenwriter Warren Kiefer and producer Paul M. Maslansky, location work done in Lazio at the Castello Orsini-Odescalchi, a 15th century abode on Lake Bracciano. A Gothic story set during the violent aftermath of the Napoleonic Wars (1803-1815), a troupe of theatrical performers hired to repeat their hangman's act for the edification of Christopher Lee's mysterious Count Drago, where they are doomed to become subjects in his experiments on embalming, aided by manservant Sandro (Mirko Valentin). By the time we reach the castle the group has already discovered evidence of the Count's obsession, traveling to the total absence of wildlife save for what they assume is a stuffed raven, the result of their host's secret elixir that preserves the body at the exact moment of death to serve as another creation in his elaborate 'Eternal Theatre.' Lee's eyes are accentuated by dark makeup to give them that hollow look, coupled with a goatee and, happily, the sound of his own dubbed voice (amusingly, the kind of host who makes apologies to his guests because he was busy in his laboratory!). There are of course no flesh eating ghouls to be found, but there is the welcome sight of 29 year old Canadian Donald Sutherland among the international cast, first seen as a police sergeant wondering how a hanging trick is successfully carried off every night without the participant winding up dead. More intriguing is seeing him made up as a wizened old crone prone to rhyming prophecy, soon revealed to be the unlucky recipient of a botched early experiment. Sutherland's investigator is not the sharpest blade in the drawer, eager to assist the Count until the witch climatically confirms Drago's guilt (only then does the sergeant change his tune: "my suspicions about the Count were confirmed!"). The best part of this sequence is seeing Sutherland's sergeant reach out to help up Sutherland's witch, a successful bit of dual casting that helps make this film stand out among Lee's often variable Euro horrors of the period (both would soon be reunited for the debut Amicus feature DR. TERROR'S HOUSE OF HORRORS, before Hammer beckoned Sutherland for DIE! DIE! MY DARLING!). Herbert Wise (the pseudonym for Luciano Ricci) may have been credited but the actual director was Warren Kiefer, whose career only encompassed three more (very obscure) assignments prior to his 1995 death: NEXT OF KIN, JULIETTE DE SADE, and SCACCO ALLA MAFIA (he made such an impression on Donald Sutherland that he named his newborn son Kiefer after him). Also working as assistant director was 19 year old Michael Reeves, handling second unit chores and additional material, likely the finale that saw the dynamic dwarf emerge the hero, to the chagrin of Lee's Count Drago (he may also have contributed to the script's brutality, one demise by scythe, another through the eye). The Gardens of Bomarzo, also known as the Park of the Monsters, provided the perfect backdrop for Reeves' contributions, symbolized by suitably grotesque images carved out during the 16th century, the one called Orcus identified by its ominous facial expression and wide open mouth (this was a time when restoration had begun after decades of neglect).

Count Drago invites entertainers to his castle, but what the people don't know is that Drago mummifies animals and humans.

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Il castello dei morti vivi

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