Blackenstein (1973)

We open in the thick of it. It being some kind of scientific experiment that's bound to go awry -- that, or it's going to be an awfully boring movie, right? Right -- he typed ominously. Anyways… 

Tesla-coils pop off, Jacob's-ladders spark and buzz, and beakers of colored liquids boil and bubble as two figures feverishly work on their prone patient.  

Now, this type of hardware is an obvious sign that the experiment being conducted by these two, as of yet, unknown people is of dubious, if not totally legal in nature -- or approved by the FDA. 

Then, the film's editor brings his meat-cleaver into play and we abruptly cut outside, where a storm is brewing, and the credits roll.

When the Magical Editing Meat-Cleaver falls again, we jump to the airport, where the soundtrack turns super-funky as we catch up with Dr. Winifred Walker, who then winds her way to the mansion home of her old college professor, Dr. Stein.

After ringing the doorbell, Malcolm (Jackson), Dr. Stein's creepy assistant lets her inside. How do we know he's creepy? Well, he's trying really hard to sound like Bobby "Boris" Pickett doing his Boris Karloff and a Peter Lorre impression at the same time (-- and failing miserably, I might add).

Here, Winifred (Stone) asks to see the doctor, who, at this very moment, is in that lab we saw earlier. The electrical equipment is still raging in all its cacophonous glory, but somehow he still hears a buzzer sounding and sees a particular red light flashing over all the other noise and lights. (That's some paging system.) Despite this interruption, Dr. Stein (Hart) is excited to see his gifted pupil again and invites her to stay for supper.

Once more with the Magical Editing Meat-Cleaver then, as we instantly move to a darkened dining room, where the diners sit on opposite ends of a very large table. Stuck in a holding pattern, the camera laps around the massive table thrice before the dialogue picks up again. (*sshht* Roger, copy that, tower, we have dialogue. Repeat. We have dialogue. Over. *sshht*)

Apparently, Winifred has come for three reasons; one, she needs a job; and two, her fiancé, Eddie Turner, was badly wounded while serving in Vietnam and has been transferred to a nearby VA Hospital; and ultimately, she wants to know if Dr. Stein can use some of his scientific breakthroughs in DNA and grafting limbs through his laser fusion technique to help Eddie recover.

But when Dr. Stein asks about the nature of these injuries, Winifred turns all cryptic and won't say. (Why?!) Regardless, Dr. Stein offers her a job as a lab assistant and is happy to help anyway he can. And combine that kooky lab, the limb grafting, with the name Stein, and, yeah, no matter how much "help" Eddie Turner gets this is probably all gonna end in fire, pitchforks, and an angry mob…

After the surprising box-office success of Blacula (1972), a combination of old school horror tropes and the recent Blaxploitation boom after the release of Ossie Davis’ Cotton Comes to Harlem (1970), Gordon Park’s Shaft (1971) and Melvin Van Peebles Sweet Sweetback’s Badasssss Song (1971), American International Pictures, no stranger to these kinds of genre mashups, was ready to strike again while the ticket fires were hot.

“AIP is recognized for its Edgar Allan Poe series,” reported the AP (The Grand Rapids Press, August 21, 1972). “And now they’re pioneering in the black terror field.”

The Press Sun-Bulletin (September 8, 1972). 

“We have always felt there was an enormous market for suspense-terror pictures,” said Samuel Z. Arkoff in the same article, then president of AIP. “And the business being done by our Blacula (black Dracula) certainly confirms this.”

AIP already had The Thing with Two Heads (1972) in the pipeline; a tale of mad science and social satire, where a terminally ill white bigot (Ray Milland) has his head grafted onto a black man (Rosey Grier) serving on death row for a crime he did not commit because of … reasons. (The film explains it way better than I ever could.) They also announced an immediate sequel to Blacula, which resulted in the amazing Scream Blacula Scream (1973), where Blacula (William Marshall) seeks out a voodoo priestess (Pam Grier) to free him from Dracula’s eternal curse.

And later, Paul Maslansky took a script called Mama Voodoo and turned it into a zombie-fueled tale of revenge, with some outstanding performances by Marki Bey, Zara Cully and Don Pedro Colley as Baron Samedi, in the criminally underappreciated Sugar Hill (1974). And then William Girdler wrote a script called The Black Exorcist and slapped it together as the totally bonkers Abby (1974) to cash in on the demon possession craze, which Warner Bros successfully sued out of theaters for hewing too close to The Exorcist (1973). But Arkoff would have the last laugh and happily complied with the injunction, as the film had already made $2.6 million against its $200,000 production costs during its limited theatrical run. (Though Arkoff seldom mentioned how those profits were then tied up in litigation for nearly five years.)

But it wasn’t just AIP looking to cash in. According to her article “Monster Mania” for The San Francisco Examiner (December 29, 1972), Susan Perman said Universal was interested in doing a film called The Werewolf of Watts. And how Sammi Davis Jr., an admitted horror movie nut, was interested in producing and starring in a new version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. This never materialized, but the director of Blacula, William Crain, did make a picture called Dr Black, Mr Hyde (1976). Could The Phantom of the Apollo be far behind?

Of course, if Blacula and Abby made that kind of money, imagine what a movie about a Black Frankenstein could rake in? Apparently, Arkoff was thinking the same thing and announced AIP had a version called Blackenstein on the fast track to be released by either Thanksgiving or Christmas of 1972, depending on which source you consulted.

“Blackenstein (The Black Frankenstein) will be of the same genre as Blacula,” said Arkoff (August, 1972). “But as our 100th suspense-terror production it will have some very distinct and surprising elements of its own. We are greatly excited by its potential. [We] plan to devote [our] full resources to making this production particularly outstanding.” As for who would be assigned to direct it, to my surprise, and probably yours, too, at the top of the list was John Milius.

John Milius. 

Back in 1968, after graduating from USC’s storied film school, where he was pals with George Lucas and Basil Palediorius, Milius got a job working in American International’s story department as an assistant to producer Larry Gordon. 

As Milius told Bruce Cook for The Philadelphia Inquirer (August 5, 1973), “I knew you had to work your way up, and writing seemed the most practical way. I was willing to spend 20 years becoming a director, if I had to.”

But after only two weeks Gordon fired Milius, telling him he was a lousy assistant. But! Gordon had to admit Milius was a pretty damned good writer. And so, he put him to work on a spec script that eventually turned into The Devil’s 8 (1968), a bootleggers version of The Dirty Dozen (1968) minus four. “My wife saw it,” said Milius. “I didn’t, and she came back and told me I should be more careful about what I put my name on.” (Editor's note: Meh, it wasn’t THAT terrible. Plus, it had a kick’n theme tune by Mike Curb. But then again, I always was a sucker for a galloping banjo. Your own mileage may vary.)

But Milius was on his way, punching up dialogue for Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry (1971). He then sold two original scripts to the majors; one for Jeremiah Johnson (1972), and the other for The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean (1972). More scripts would follow, with Milius jacking up the asking price in hopes of strong-arming his way into a package deal that would also let him direct. This didn’t work. At least not immediately.

But Milius didn’t have to wait long before his old friends at American International gave him an offer he couldn’t refuse: write a film for them on the cheap, and he would be allowed to direct it for them. The only caveat being it either had to be a gangster movie, a horror film, or an outlaw biker flick of their choosing.

Said Milius, when “American International asked me, I told them I’d rather do a gangster movie than Blackenstein or Hells Angels ‘73 -- and those seemed to be the options. So I did Dillinger (1973).” The film was a modest hit, and Milius then graduated to the majors for The Wind and the Lion (1975), Big Wednesday (1975), which is my personal favorite, and, of course, Conan the Barbarian (1982) and Red Dawn (1984). And so, Milius would not direct Blackenstein for AIP. In fact, no one would.

I could find no substantial documentation as to why Blackenstein disappeared from AIP’s production schedule, but disappear it did. I know there was a bit of a backlash from certain sectors on this type of racially-charged exploitation film. “The intolerable condition of blacks being systematically exploited by an industry which was failing miserably three years ago, but is now being saved by a 40-percent black box office, can no longer be ignored,” said Conrad Smith, regional director of the Congress of Racial Equality (The Oakland Tribune, August 22, 1972).

And Arkoff, never one to hesitate to ride a good horse to death, admitted this type of picture wasn’t sustainable. And so, Blackenstein was out, and the more socially conscious Cooley High (1975) and Cornbread, Earl and Me (1975) were in.

Frank R. Saletri.

Of course, another possibility is that someone else had beaten them to the "Black Frankenstein" punch and threatened legal action if they didn’t cease and desist. And that type of person would definitely be Frank R. Saletri.

Saletri was a criminal defense attorney, who served the seedy underbelly of Los Angeles since passing the bar in the late 1960s. He famously defended Liz Renay on charges of public indecency after a notorious streaking incident.

Liz Renay. 

Renay was a burlesque stripper and aspiring actress, who went to prison for two years in 1959 after being convicted of perjury to protect her then boyfriend, the gangster Mickey Cohen. Then, on March 12, 1974, as a publicity stunt for her current act at the Ivar Theater, Renay reportedly announced she was going to make a public appearance in the nude, naming the time and place, and then did just that, taking a two-and-a-half minute stroll down Hollywood Boulevard completely naked -- she would later refer to it as just “truth in advertising” -- which led to her arrest due to several public indecency complaints.

“They applauded and shouted hurrah,” Renay later testified (The Napa Valley Register, May 2, 1974). “I don’t find anything wrong with nudity. I think the body is beautiful."

The Los Angeles Times (March 20, 1974). 

A jury of eight men and four women would acquit Renay on those indecency charges, finding her actions could not be considered “lewd.” The defendant then celebrated her victory by awarding each jury member with an autographed picture of herself, which also featured her in the nude.

“This proves streaking done as a joke in good taste is not lewd and is not indecent exposure,” said Saletri (May, 1974). “It’s a legislative problem. A new law is needed to cover streaking, and by the time they pass it, the fad will all be over.”

Kirk Alyn.

Saletri would also represent Kirk Alyn, who played Superman in the Superman (1948) and Atom Man vs. Superman (1950) serials, in a five million dollar civil suit against Great American Dream Inc. and DC Comics, who used a publicity photo of him as Superman on a plaque captioned with Super Schmuck in one of their publications.

“As a result of the humiliation, embarrassment and ridicule resulting from the wrongful publication, Alyn has suffered severe emotional shock and mental anguish,” argued Saletri (The Los Angeles Times, April 22, 1977). Saletri would also seek another five million in punitive damages. But he would eventually lose that case.

And as the legend goes, mostly of his own telling, Saletri was also the first person contacted to defend Charles Manson and his brood after he was arrested in connection with the Tate-Labianca murders, but the attorney took an immediate dislike to Manson and quickly withdrew.

Saletri entertained a few other, second and third tier clients in the entertainment industry as well, and soon got an itch to get into film production. And like Edward D. Wood Jr. before him, the attorney was also a huge fan of horror films by most accounts, especially the old Universal horror movies of the 1930s and ‘40s. He was very active in the local chapter of The Count Dracula Society, earning himself an award for his efforts on their behalf (The Los Angeles Times, April 15, 1976).

Like this guy needs a caption? Please.  

And like Wood, Saletri was such a huge Bela Lugosi fan he bought and lived in one of Lugosi’s old properties in the Hollywood Hills, which was purported to be full of secret rooms and passageways, where the attorney allegedly slept in a coffin. (Others would refute this claim, saying the house was just close to the one Lugosi had owned.)

And so, like Milius, Saletri looked to break in as a screenwriter, knocking out scripts for a musical parody of The Maltese Falcon (1941) and pitted the world’s greatest detective against an undead ghoul in Sherlock Holmes and The Golden Vampire. Not surprisingly, no one bit at these. And so, he set out to finance and produce his own picture instead, based on another script he had written for a film he titled Black Frankenstein.

He would form FRSCO (Frisco) Productions Ltd. in 1972, which was headquartered in the Hollywood General Services Studios at 1040 North Las Palmas Avenue. And writer-producer Saletri would secure additional financing through Ted Tetrick, who would serve as an executive producer. Tetrick had worked as a costume designer and wardrobe man since the 1940s, including a couple of Charlie Chaplin films -- The Great Dictator (1940) and Limelight (1952) -- and Sean Connery’s brief return as 007 in Diamonds Are Forever (1971). His switch to producing started with Running Wild (1973), an eco-friendly tale of rescuing a herd of wild horses, and it would end with Saletri’s Black Frankenstein.

With the money set, as Saletri gathered his production crew together, one of the producer’s first hires was another acquaintance of his, Robert Caramico. Caramico had served as a combat cameraman for the U.S. Marine Corps during the Korean War, where he was captured and held as a P.O.W. for about nine months.

After his time in the service, Caramico settled in California around 1964, where he latched onto several low rent softcore productions like Orgy of the Dead (1965) and Lady Godiva Rides (1968); a couple of sleaze-noirs with The Initiation (1968) and Divorce Las Vegas Style (1970); and two creature features for Harry Essex, running the camera for Octaman (1971), which is terrible, and The Cremators (1972), which I have not seen.

He would also serve as cinematographer on several films for Fred Williamson, including Boss N*gger (1974), Mean Johnn Barrows (1975), Now Way Back (1976), and Death Journey (1976). Caramico would also shoot the first two entries in a trio of films about trained Doberman Pinschers robbing banks and other assorted nonsense in The Doberman Gang (1972) and The Daring Dobermans (1973). Alas, Caramico was too busy shooting Eaten Alive (alias Starlight Slaughter, alias Horror Hotel, alias Horror Hotel Massacre, alias Legend of the Bayou, 1976) for Tobe Hooper and missed out on The Amazing Dobermans (1976).

The Odessa American (October 28, 1975). 

Now, Caramico was also friends with William Levey, an editor, who recommended Levey to Saletri, saying they couldn’t make the film without him. In an interview for The Lookback Machine (October 11, 2024), Levey, who honestly had no idea what he was walking into, recalled his first meeting with Saletri:

“He called me in and said I think I have a job for you,” said Levey. “We’re making a picture called Black Frankenstein.” Here, Levey claimed he was the one who suggested a name change to Blackenstein, which Saletri immediately fell in love with. He then handed Levey the script.

“It was a 40-page novella that wasn’t written in script form, and I told him we can’t make a movie with this,” said Levey, as he looked for the nearest exit. Instead, he soon found himself pressed into screenwriting duties to clean up the script and get it ready for shooting.

When he next asked who was going to direct it, “[Saletri] pointed to an old guy sitting in the outer office, who had to be at least 85 years old.” Levey couldn’t remember his name, but Saletri said he used to be an assistant director or something some 40 years ago (-- could this have been Tetrick?). With that, Levey raised a white flag and said, “I don’t want any part of this movie. First of all, You don’t have a script; and second of all, you’re going to kill that old guy in the office.”

William Levey. 

But before he could leave, Saletri asked what it would take to keep him on the picture. Here, Levey didn’t miss a beat. If he’d let him direct the picture, he would fix the script and edit the picture for no extra fee. Saletri agreed.

Of course some of us will point out that both Saletri and Levey stumbled out of the gate and face-planted into the earth by making the most fundamental error of not remembering it was the mad doctor who created the monster that was named Frankenstein, not the other way around. And so, the title of Blackenstein makes little sense. And in case audiences didn’t get it, they added on a snippet: Blackenstein, the Black Frankenstein.

Even if you called Blackenstein, the Black Frankenstein’s Monster it still made no sense in context. Here, Dr. Stein is white, not black. And so, the most proper title would be The Black Monster of Frankenstein. But we’re just picking nits at this point. Trust me, Boils and Ghouls, this film has plenty of other problems that will prove far more damning than any pedantic dithering over the title. Believe me.

You see, Blackenstein (1973) has the stigma of being the worst adaptation of Mary Shelley’s source novel ever committed to film. Yes. Even worse than the TV version presented in Tales of Tomorrow (1952), where Lon Chaney Jr., a barely functioning alcoholic at the time, was three sheets to the wind and mistook the live broadcast as another tech rehearsal. But that’s not quite true. No. For not only is Blackenstein the worst interpretation of Frankenstein I’ve ever seen, it’s in the running for one of the most inept movies ever made. Period. And I’ve sat through a lot of ineptness over the past five decades -- and counting. (Yikes.)

I knew I was in trouble on my first encounter, a VHS tape from Xenon Entertainment Group bought at some used vinyl store. Something wasn’t quite right with the tape, physically, as I could not get my VCR to accept it. Usually, my old VCR accepted a bad tape and then spat it back out when it wouldn't play. Not this time. Nope. You couldn’t even get the damned thing into the slot.

But after a lot of careful exertion, the VCR finally relented and accepted the tape. Strangely enough, once it was in, the tape played just fine with nary a tracking hiccup but, obviously, my machine knew something I didn’t. And when the film finally ended, and the tape was regurgitated, never even bothered to rewind it, I offered a sincere apology to my VCR and promised to never play the tape again.

You’d think by 1972 it would be hard to screw up the Frankenstein mythos this badly, but Saletri, Levey, and company were up to the task. But while Levey had many sins to answer for behind the camera, it was his work in the editing room with that aforementioned Magical Editing Meat-Cleaver and the resulting leaps in plot logic that will really drive you bananas, which we will be gleefully pointing out as our write-up progresses.

Now, I had heard from other, prominent sources that Blackenstein was, quite possibly, one of the worst movies ever made. Shout out to the good Dr. Freex (alias Freeman Williams), who referred to the film as Boringstein. (The BMR 4VR!) Armed with this knowledge, I was able to steel myself before watching it for the first time.

Now, when expecting the worst, there's some kind of psychological defense mechanism that kicks in and takes over when watching a movie like this. You keep telling yourself, "It's not that bad" -- relieved to know it couldn't get any worse. I mean, How could it? And yet it totally and consistently does. And so, in that sense, it is kind of amazing in a horrible, horrible way.

As I said before, this film isn't so much a painfully bad movie, but a painfully inept movie. How inept? Well, let's look at the evidence, shall we, as our leads head over to the VA hospital, where Winifred finally reveals to Dr. Stein the nature of her fiance’s injuries; how Turner (De Sue) had stepped on a landmine that cost him both his arms and legs when they were amputated due to the severity of his injuries.

Meanwhile, the quadriplegic patient in question is having some trouble with a surly orderly (Dennis). Well, surly isn't quite the right word for this guy. Let's try an evil and psychotic bastard instead ( -- that's getting warmer). As proof, when Eddie asks for some water, the orderly tells him to get it himself. He then points out, and rubs it in, that the patient obviously can't.

Things get even seedier when this jackass admits he’s jealous of Turner's military service, claiming he volunteered to go fight in Vietnam but was rejected as a 4-F. This chickenhawk orderly then starts ranting about how he pays taxes; and since Turner got injured defending the Republic, now, he'll have to foot the wounded veteran's medical bills until he dies. (You know, come to think of it, ‘evil and psychotic bastard’ doesn't really do this racist ass-clown justice either.)

Luckily, Winifred and Dr. Stein soon arrive, scaring the odiously obnoxious orderly off. But Turner isn't exactly thrilled to see Winifred. See, after receiving his traumatic injuries, he tried to call off their engagement, not wanting to be a millstone around her neck; but Winifred refused to give up on him or them.

She introduces Dr. Stein, saying he was the winner of the Nobel Prize for cracking the genetic code (-- of what exactly?) And while Stein offers no guarantees, if Turner is willing to subject himself to some radical experimentation there's a chance he could become whole again. With nothing to lose, Turner agrees.

We next spy the patient being transferred to Dr. Stein’s palatial estate. Then, as a Soulful Soundtrack Siren flexes her pipes, we return to Stein’s laboratory, where the good doctor and his new assistant conduct an experiment: bombarding some poor rabbit with cosmic rays. (Live! Dammit! Live!) When the red-light and buzzer go off, we’ll assume Turner has safely arrived or it's Commissioner Gordon and the Riddler's back in town.

Anyhoo, once he's settled in, Turner admits he isn't quite sold on his chances; but Winifred begs him to trust in Dr. Stein and promises things can be like they were before ... Okay, then. I don't know about the rest of you, but Winifred is coming off as awfully shallow here. If she really loved Eddie, would she really subject him to some unknown experiments or take him as is?

Of course, this has already been asked and answered as Dr. Stein lays out the coming procedures, which will be executed in three stages: the first being a series of injections of Stein's Super-Secret, World Shattering DNA formula. And after administering the first round of drugs, they leave Turner to rest and move on to the doctor's other patients.

First up is Eleanor (King), who is around 90 years old but, thanks to Dr. Stein, she doesn't look a day over 75. (Wow. Science is amazing!) However, science has its boundaries and Eleanor needs a SSWS-DNA booster shot every 24-hours or she'll shrivel up and die like a desiccated prune. The next genetic freak -- excuse me, sorry, patient -- is Bruno (Bolin). He's had someone else's legs attached to his body by laser-beam fusion. And while one leg looks fine, the other, to Winifred's horror, is striped like a tiger! But Dr. Stein assures it’s just a bad reaction to his newer, Super-Secret Not Quite Yet World Shattering RNA formula.

Now, according to Herr Doktor, the plan is to eventually replace the SSWS- DNA shots with the sturdier SSNQYWS-RNA since, in theory, it should last longer than the first generation injections. But first, they have to resolve those *ahem* ‘unpleasant de-evolving side-effects.’ (The hell? Look, I know I should have paid more attention in science class, and I flunked out of anatomy, but, dammit, none of this makes one lick of sense.)

Next, phase two of Turner’s procedure commences after he’s wheeled into the lab. Firing up the equipment, Dr. Stein begins to graft a new set of arms onto his patient’s hulking frame. (And where they came from exactly will remain a mystery unresolved.) Then, Stein runs up his electrical bill for a while before claiming the operation was a complete success!

Later that night, yet another thunderstorm is brewing. (Wait. Does it really rain this much in Los Angeles?) And then the whole household is awakened by some primal screaming coming from the patient wing. They find Bruno, locked in some kind of violent seizure, frothing at the mouth. Turns out this was another one of those hazardous side-effects of the SSNQYWS-RNA shot that Dr. Stein kinda-sorta warned us about. But as Winifred watches Malcolm wrestle the patient into a straight-jacket, Stein assures her not to worry; this kind of thing always happens when breaking in a new medical drug.

So, does Winifred cut her losses, pack up her fiancé and leave? Nope. She closes her eyes, hopes for the best, and helps Dr. Stein prepare Turner for the final stages of his restoration process. (Now that's true love, baby!)

Now, you’ve also probably been noticing how Malcolm has been acting awfully lecherous around Winifred lately. Hard not to. And he confirms our suspicions by admitting his infatuation, and then professes his love for her. To her credit, Winifred lets the man down easy, saying she's already engaged to Turner. She really is quite nice and reasonable about it, but, alas, Malcolm is one of those insecure types who don’t take rejection very well.

And so, he sabotages Turner's latest rounds of injections, replacing the dose of the relatively stable SSWS-DNA with a dose of the totally unstable SSNQYWS-RNA. Then, once that kicks in, with Turner out of the way, Winifred will be all his.

Thus and so, Turner is given the bogus injections and wheeled into the lab for more surgery. And as the sparks start flying, Dr. Stein and Winifred attach his new legs. But then something starts to go wrong as the patient suddenly erupts into violent convulsions until they get him sedated. However, over the schizophrenic soundtrack, we hear a thumping heartbeat growing steadier and stronger. Then, after a little more tinkering, the operation is completed, the patient is wheeled back to his room, and despite these unforeseen complications Dr. Stein declares it was a complete success and assures Turner will be just fine.

After a few days of recuperation, Dr. Stein declares to an anxious Winifred that Turner should now be able to get up and walk on his own. But when they check on him, the patient has taken an obvious turn for the worse. Saying he doesn’t feel right, a shocked Winifred can’t help but notice he doesn’t look right either, given the prominent bony ridge now protruding over Turner's eyes. Concerned, Stein calls for Malcolm and they wheel the patient back to the lab for some blood tests.

Unable to find anything wrong, thanks to more of Malcom’s tinkering, they decide to run the tests again. And this time, Winifred makes a startling discovery: what looks like black pubic hairs have sprouted on the back of the patient's hands! (You monsters! What did you do to him? What sin could a man commit in a single lifetime?) Worse yet, Turner has now slipped into a coma and doesn't respond to any stimuli. Here, all the flummoxed Stein can do is order Malcom to increase the dosages of SSWS-DNA; beyond that, he basically shrugs and decides to sleep on the problem and get a fresh start in the morning.

But at some point during the night, strange guttural noises start emanating from the lab. Seems Turner is awake, but he has been transformed into Blackenstein! The Black Frankenstein -- or, more appropriately, as I said before,The Black Frankenstein Monster but we’ve already beaten this dead horse enough. Let's just move on, shall we?

Now, frankly, I have no idea, or can even fathom, as to why Dr. Stein dressed up his patient in high-water pants, sport coat, and patent leather shoes but, nonetheless, Eddie Monster -- no, wait, Franken-Eddie shambles off into the night, like a drunk trying to act sober to pass a field sobriety test, grunting like an obscene phone caller the whole way. (I guess we should be relieved that the monster wasn't naked, right? Right.)

Lumbering all the way -- and judging by his rate of speed, this should’ve taken him about three or four days, but thanks to the editor and his Magical Editing Meat-Cleaver, Franken-Eddie makes it back to the VA hospital in no time at all.

Shuffling inside, our monster finds that surly orderly, pummels him mercilessly, then pulls one of the victim's arms off and then proceeds to beat him to death with it! (Worth the trip, no matter how long it took.) Once finished, Franken-Eddie shambles off. 

But the night is young, and the Magical Editing Meat-Cleaver transports us to an unknown bedroom, where Doc Severnson and Dolly Parton are engaged in some foreplay (-- well, that's who they reminded me of). Things come to a quick halt because Dolly (Renay) is worried about her dog, currently barking up a storm outside. And when the barking abruptly ends after a loud, painful whine, she tells Doc (Soucie) if he wants to get any tonight he’d best go check on the dog.

This he does, but we soon hear his death-yipe, too. Heading outside to investigate, Dolly finds the bodies of both Doc and her dog. And while she genuinely appears more upset about the dog, this all proves moot when she spots Franken-Eddie, too, who quickly grasps her in a deadly bear hug until the Magical Editing Meat-Cleaver strikes yet again as we seemingly cut to some random legs; then we hear some wet sounds; more legs; and then we cut back to Franken-Eddie playing with (we’ll assume) Dolly’s entrails.

The next morning, when Winifred checks on Turner it appears he has slipped back into a coma and is still not responding at all. (Wait. How did he get back in there? No-no. I’m asking you!) Her suspicions on this relapse soon turn to Malcom, and she declares her intention of testing the injections. Does she find anything? Who can say, as we then hit some kind of time-warp, as suddenly it's nighttime again.

And after the bubbling and buzzing noises of the lab rock Winifred to sleep, Franken-Eddie grunts and grumbles back to life, who then shambles off once again, into the night, looking for more entrails to play with.

Here, he finds his next knot of prey in a park, where a young couple have come to make out in his convertible. But when the creepy young man cranks up the music and starts putting the moves on his date, the girl feels he's getting a little too fresh and rejects his grab-fanny advances. Rebuffed, he pulls the "put out or walk home" card. When she chooses the latter, true to his word, Douche McTurdburger roars off, leaving the girl behind.

And so, we watch her legs walk through the park. Then, we switch to Franken-Eddie's feet shuffling along. Her feet stop, as if her toes heard something following them. They hear it again, and her feet pick up some steam while Franken-Eddie's clod-hoppers ramble along at the same plodding pace until, inexplicably, her feet collide with his feet at a bridge. And as we ponder just how in the hell he managed to get in front of her, the girl's feet, legs and hips are dragged off into the darkness, and where those artfully framed glasses came from? No one can say.

The next morning, things are rather glum around the breakfast table at the Stein manor. All except for Malcolm, who is acting pretty smug. Confounded by Eddie's lack of progress, Stein and Winifred return to the lab to run more tests, where they hear some grunting coming from Turner’s room. (He came back again?!?) Well, it's less of a ‘room’ and more of a containment cell as Franken-Eddie reaches through the bars and paws at Winifred (-- c'mon, lady, he just wants to play with your entrails!)

Here, Dr. Stein beats him off with an awful convenient piece of chain. (Waitaminute. This means he not only came back, but he came back AND locked himself in his cage?) When called upon to chain Franken-Eddie up, things get worse when Malcolm also informs Dr. Stein that the police are here and would like to question him about several recent and ghastly murders in the neighborhood. And so, Stein meets with Detective Oblivious and Sgt. Unaware (Brodie, Cousar), who ask if he's noticed anything strange these past few nights. And when Stein says no, he hasn't, Detective Oblivious and Sgt. Unaware thank him for his time and leave. (You're tax dollars at work, people.) Wohoo!

Now let's do the Magical Meat-Cleaving Time-Warp again as night falls (-- rather abruptly); and since Malcolm obviously "neglected" to lock Franken-Eddie up, the monster gets out and shuffles his way down the boulevard toward the Parisian Club, where comedian Andy C lays waste to the next ten minutes of expended film with his lame-ass act. 

How lame? We really, really want to see what his entrails look like after the talking dog joke.

And our hopes are raised high when Andy C (Carley) goes outside for a cigarette break after finishing his set. (C'mon movie. You can redeem yourself right here. Please-oh-please!) 

But Franken-Eddie shuffles right on by him, where he proceeds to interrupt what appears to be a sexual assault already in progress further up the alley?!? 

The monster beats this man to death first, his punches fruitless. He then zeroes in on the hapless girl, and punches into her abdomen and extracts what he finds inside and shakes them around a bit as per his usual modus operandi.

Meanwhile, Andy C, who witnessed the whole thing, calls the cops. And though the police quickly cordon off the area, Franken-Eddie -- very noisily -- walks right through their barricades completely unnoticed. (Again, your tax dollars at work!)

Once more, and once again, Franken-Eddie returns to the mansion, where, at this very moment, Malcolm is trying to rape Winifred! 

Arriving in time, Franken-Eddie stops this and starts throwing Malcolm around the room until Winifred screams, drawing his attention, allowing her attacker to escape.

Then, as the monster shambles toward her, Malcolm returns with a pistol and empties it, point blank, but the bullets have no effect. (Sort of. More on this scene in a bit.) Grabbing him by the neck with both hands, the monster clean and jerks Malcolm right off the ground before strangling him to death.

Taking advantage of this distraction, Winifred escapes from her bedroom. All that noise has alerted Dr. Stein, too, who finds Winifred, and they retreat to the lab while Franken-Eddie moves from room to room and kills all the other patients.

Shuffling on, looking for his creators, Franken-Eddie lumbers down a long spiral staircase, meaning he should get to the lab in about two to three hours. In other words, movie, hurry the hell up. And where’s that Magical Movie Editing Meat Cleaver when you need it? 

*thwack*

THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT AND YOU KNOW IT!!!

Anyways, when Franken-Eddie finally finds Winifred in the lab and attacks, we discover this was a ruse and she was the bait, allowing Stein to grab him from behind. 

But his dastardly creation easily tosses his creator into the electrical equipment, which promptly short-circuits and electrocutes the good doctor, ending his reign of quackery.

Turning his attention back on Winifred, the monster closes in for the kill -- but at the last second, the soundtrack turns all syrupy as Franken-Eddie finally recognizes her and pauses. Winifred then reaches out and calls to him, but the monster rejects her and angrily roars off in a rage -- well, shuffles off in a rage.

Now, if you're sniffing an ending -- or hoping and praying for one -- you're smelling something a little more malodorous, as the film is determined to prolong our misery when we suddenly cut to a completely different house thanks to you know who, where a woman comes out and jumps into her dune-buggy. What the? Yeah, but. No, but -- Who the hell is this now?!? Aaarrrggghh!!

Of course the thing won't start, and the thumping heartbeat on the soundtrack means Franken-Eddie is somewhere nearby -- and sure enough, there he is. And after putting the hypno-whammy on her, the monster carries her off to parts unknown.

Meanwhile, back at Dr. Stein's manor, Detective Oblivious and Sgt. Unaware find the lab in shambles, Stein dead, and Winifred in a mute state of shock.

Elsewhere, Eddie carries the mystery girl to some warehouse, where she promptly escapes and leads him on a merry chase until the film finally reaches the magic 70-minute mark.

And so, finally, at 70-minutes and one second, the girl is caught and disemboweled just as the LA County Canine Corps roars up and unleashes the Doberman Gang. In due course, the Dobermans find Franken-Eddie and attack. 

And at 72-minutes and 37-seconds, the dogs tear Franken-Eddie to shreds. And at 76-minutes and 12-seconds, Franken-Eddie's thumping heart finally stops beating. 

And at 76-minutes and 55-seconds, this film finally comes to an end with a fade to black and a flash of lightning. And at 77-minutes and three-seconds, my head detonated all over my living room.

If there was ever a Mad Scientist who put the 'Mad' behind nearly every Mad Scientist’s lab you’ve ever seen on cinema screens or TV, that man would probably be Kenneth Strickfaden.

Born in 1896 among the big open of rural Montana, Strickfaden spent his youth working in amusement parks and carnival sideshows all over the country. And after a stint in the Marines during the first World War, his adventures continued with auto and speedboat racing, including a cross-country trip in a dilapidated Model-T that he nursed along from coast to coast. He also dabbled in aeronautical mechanics, and would continue to criss-cross the country giving lectures and science demonstrations, highlighted by the electronic contraptions he kit-bashed together that would spark, flare, and go bang. Then came a move to Hollywood.

Kenneth Strickfaden. 

Strickfaden’s first known work was as an uncredited electrician on the 1925 version of The Phantom of the Opera, starring Lon Chaney and directed by Rupert Julian. He then slid into production design, creating sets and gizmos for the wild sci-fi epic Just Imagine (1930), a film that is apparently lost, where a dead man is revived by lightning before stowing away on an expedition to Mars.

But Strickfaden would make his biggest splash to date helping another crackpot scientist bring another cadaver to life in James Whale’s Frankenstein (1931). For that film, Strickfaden designed and helped build Dr. Frankenstein’s lab equipment for his castle keep, which included a bona fide Tesla Coil built by Nikola Tesla himself according to Harry Goldman’s biography, Kenneth Strickfaden, Dr. Frankenstein’s Electrician (2005).

During filming, Boris Karloff, who played the monster, was a little nervous about all the juice and sparks given off by the equipment and refused to participate in his resurrection. And so, Strickfaden doubled for him in a couple of shots. And while Karloff’s fears proved unfounded, at least this time, the scenes weren’t always a complete success.

“Apparatus constantly failed due to overheating,” said Strickfaden in an interview with Scott McQueen (Gore Creatures, October, 1975). “Most effects did not photograph as expected, or they were eliminated due to electrical failures.”

Then, after designing and executing several dastardly weapons of torture and mass destruction (-- of the death-ray variety --) for the would-be world conquering villains in The Mask of Fu Manchu (1932), Murder at Dawn (1932) and The Lost City (1935), the master electrician and practical FX guru would then add even more to the electronic lightshow and galvanic cacophony for Bride of Frankenstein (1935).

Now, during the production of The Mask of Fu Manchu, once again, Karloff, who played the villain, refused to handle one of Strickfaden’s inventions. And so, once again, Strickfaden doubled for him. Only this time, Karloff was right to be worried as Strickfaden was subsequently electrocuted and blown across the room due to a massive jolt since he wasn’t grounded properly.

Despite the occasional mishap, Strickfaden’s creations were constantly cannibalized and recycled in things like Murders in the Rue Morgue (1932) and The Invisible Man (1933); and they became so essential to Universal's success during the heyday of their first horror cycle, they came to be known ubiquitously as ‘Strickfadens,’ and the man himself earned the nickname 'Mr. Electric.'

Strickfaden would then slide into the serials, adding his electrical effects to the legendary Flash Gordon (1936) and its sequel, Flash Gordon’s Trip to Mars (1938). And he added another death-ray to his resume in The Shadow (1940), and concocted a deadly mind-controlling device for The Batman (1943).

But he didn’t just work for Universal. Both The Shadow and Batman serials were for Columbia. And Strickfaden would also pitch in on The Wizard of Oz (1939) for MGM and The War of the Worlds (1953) for Paramount. But he would kinda-sorta return to his Universal roots, providing equipment for Grandpa’s lab on The Munsters (1964-1966). But as the world entered the Atomic Age and beyond, Strickfaden’s equipment became clunky, outdated, and out of fashion.

Now, as the legend goes, Strickfaden managed to retain ownership of his creations, saving them from the landfill and storing them over the decades in his garage. He then started a bit of a side hustle, loaning out this equipment to several low-rent movies and TV shows, ranging from Monstrosity (alias The Atomic Brain, 1963), to Games (1967), whose director, Curtis Harrington, referred to Strickfaden as the original Mad Scientist, to Al Adamson’s Dracula vs. Frankenstein (1971).

And in the run up to the production of Young Frankenstein (1974), a loving, comedic ode to Universal’s original Frankenstein franchise, the film’s director, Mel Brooks, fresh off the smash hit Blazing Saddles (1974), discovered that not only was Strickfaden still alive, and still living in Los Angeles, and still had all of the original Frankenstein equipment stored in his garage and in working order, he quickly made a deal to rent it all. And on top of that, Brooks hired him to run the equipment and made sure Strickfaden got a screen credit for his work, which he never received in those original films.

Then in 1979, ILM sound designer Ben Burtt visited Strickfaden’s garage and had the owner fire it all up for him to record, which wound up being used in The Empire Strikes Back (1980), Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) -- used for the opening of the Ark of the Covenant during the climax, and Emperor Palpatine’s Force lightning in Return of the Jedi (1983).

After that, Strickfaden would once again hit the road with his Kenstric Space Age Science Show. And he would continue touring until he passed away in 1984, contributing to countless features in some capacity or capacitors. Quite the legacy.

“Kenneth Strickfaden was an expert in high voltage electricity, film set designer, and electrical special effects master,” noted Jo Gabriel of The Last Drive In (March 2, 2014). “Using his skills as a carnival electrician, he created the science fiction apparatus that can be seen in more than 100 films and television programs, showcasing Strickfaden’s technical phantasmagoria of light and sound!”

Sadly, after his death, his collection of equipment was broken up and spread to the four winds by his estate, either sold at auction or through private sales to collectors and museums. Thus, the final fate of the lightning simulators like the Pyrogeyser, the Megavolt, the Magnalux and the Nebularium, or other equipment like the Fireloscope, the Cosmic Ray Diffuser, and the Space Beacon is unknown.

Thus, Saletri securing the use of Strickfaden’s legendary equipment for Blackenstein was not unprecedented. It’s also in a dog fight with Monstrosity as the worst film these creations ever appeared in. Saletari would also give Strickfadden credit under Special Electronic Effects, listed under himself, of course. Then again, the closing credits are running from top to bottom, so that might not be as big a slight as I think.

(L to R) Saletri, George Hamilton. 

As for the cast, as I said, Saletri had several acquaintances in the business, including actors Ken Osborne and John “Bud” Cardos, who were part of Al Adamson’s stock company for Independent International, appearing in films like Five Bloody Graves (1969) and Hell’s Bloody Devils (1970). Osborne also directed a couple of features for Joe Solomon’s Fanfare Productions with Wild Wheels (1969) and Cain’s Cutthroats (1970). Another was Robert Dix, who had appeared as a police detective in Frankenstein’s Daughter (1958) before also latching onto Adamson’s merry bandwagon in Blood of Dracula’s Castle (1969) and Satan’s Sadists (1969). But since he was shooting non-union, Saletri could only afford to hire one seasoned actor, and he chose another drinking buddy, John Hart.

“I was bummin’ around with Frank Saletri, the guy who put the thing together,” said Hart in an interview with Tom Weaver (Eye on Science Fiction, 2003), explaining how he came to be involved in the production as Dr. Stein. “I was the only real actor he knew! [He] was a lawyer. Boy was he weird. But I knew him, and I kinda had a lot of fun with him.”

Hart had been in the business since the 1930s, who made the most hay on the big screen in the serials, appearing as Jack Armstrong (1947) and Brick Bradford (1947). He would also star in a serial adaptation of The Phantom, based off the Lee Falk comic strip, but some last minute legal hassles with the character saw a ton of reshoots, with Hart in a new costume before the serial’s eventual release as Adventures of Captain Africa (1955).

But Hart will probably be best remembered for temporarily replacing Clayton Moore as the masked man on a steed of white in The Lone Ranger TV series (1949-1957). Moore lost the role after the second season over a salary dispute, and Hart would take over for 52 episodes from 1952-1953. But Moore would return for the last two seasons.

Who was that masked man? John Hart. (At leas for a while.)

Hart’s career never really caught fire but he worked consistently. In his interview with Weaver, Hart was frank and honest as to why he appeared in low-rent dreck like Blackenstein: “Saletri got Variety or one of the other big trade papers to review the movie, and of course the review was terrible. It said how god-awful the picture was; and it said, ‘The only professional actor in it is John Hart. The poor man must be desperate for work.’”

Since Blackenstein was shot non-union, “I didn’t want to get into trouble with SAG because they have the best health insurance,” Hart continued, whose wife had a condition that required constant hospitalization for treatment. “So I was worried. I didn’t want anybody to know about Blackenstein; but to keep myself in the clear I told Saletri he’d have to pay me SAG minimum wages, and he did.

“You have to make X-amount of dollars to keep that health insurance. If you don’t work for a long time and you don’t make enough, you can lose your insurance. This is why I did anything, even if it was the guild minimum. I did some crap that never got on the screen; I didn’t give a damn. If it was guild minimum. Count me in.”

As for the actual production, Hart was diplomatic. “They didn’t shoot it in three or four days, they gave it a little time; but nobody knew what the hell they were doing, really, they just shot a bunch of stuff. I don’t think I ever sat through the whole thing.”

The Redondo Reflex (November 11, 1972). 

As for his amateur co-stars, it was pretty much one and done for Ivory Stone (Winnifred) and Roosevelt Jackson (Malcomb). Stone was fine in a role where the script did her no favors. “She was really nice and a pretty good actress,” said Hart (Weaver, 2003). “I thought maybe she’d go somewhere, but I never heard of her again.” As for Jackson, more on his efforts in a moment.

Liz Renay appeared in the movie as a favor to Saletri, who was already a client long before the streaking incident. "He was such a nice man," she recalled in an interview with Brian Albright, taken from a post on The Classic Horror Film Board (January 8, 2007). 

“I had a wonderful time making Blackenstein. I played a murder victim; I was in bed and I heard a noise, so I went investigating in my little negligee -- it was transparent and very sexy. Anyway, I went looking and then Blackenstein got me. I had my throat torn out and they put a piece of raw liver across my neck to look like a gaping wound,” said Renay. 

“The bad part was lying dead on the floor with my eyes open. I managed not to blink, but I was so happy when they called, 'Cut.' I was dying to blink!"

The Los Angeles Times (December 9, 1972). 

Andy Conerly, meanwhile, had served in the U.S. Marine Corps for 16 years before he started moonlighting as standup comedian Andy C. Said critic Howard Selve for The Los Angeles Times (December 29, 1972), “[His] humor is crude at times, the jokes often are old, but Andy establishes a rapport with the audience that has everyone in good spirits. His jokes and stories range from ethnic and military to risque and downright dirty -- depending on the audience.”

“When I play a spot around Orange County I throw out a few jokes to see what catches on and then tailor the rest of my act that way,” Conerly told Selve. “But when I’m in Los Angeles (usually in nightclubs frequented exclusively by blacks) there are more hip cats and I have to tell risque jokes. I write my own; I steal it and I rewrite, just like all comedians.”

And so, a Marine by day, and a stand-up comic by night, Conerly had just released his first comedy album, Have a Blast with Andy C, when he landed a role in Blackenstein. According to the Selve article, Saletri had lined up another nightclub performer to be in the picture but balked at the $3000 asking price. Conerly only charged $250, and that’s why he got the part, essentially playing himself.

Which brings us to the legend of John De Sue. Like Stone and Jackson, Blackenstein would be De Sue’s only role. And while he was definitely built for the part, he certainly was not an actor. As to how he got involved, well, unsurprisingly, he was another client of Saletri’s. And as I tried to sort out the whole story and get to the truth, this proved nearly impossible as the recollections from several sources both meshed and yet totally contradicted each other.

“He was a poor soul. Not very bright,” remembered Hart (Weaver, 2003). “Saletri got him out of jail and made him work in the picture. I don’t think he paid him a damn thing! Of course, the guy loved being an actor, being in a movie, getting all made up -- he thought it was great. He wasn't too bright a guy, but he looked good for the part, with the makeup.”

William Munns, who provided the special makeup effects for Blackenstein, recalled in an interview for Severin Films’ release of Blackenstein that De Sue was charged with first degree murder but Saletri got him off. And in lieu of payment, his client appeared as the monster. “Blackenstein was one of my first pro jobs, definitely my first doing makeup prosthetics,” said Munns in an interview with Cool Ass Cinema (March 26, 2015). “A fellow makeup artist, Gordon Fried, got the job of doing the regular makeup and he came to me to do the monster prosthetics.”

(L-R): William Munns, John De Sue. 

Munns would go uncredited on Blackenstein, but went on to carve out a career in special makeup, designing gags and monster suits for Swamp Thing (1982), Superstition (1982), an underappreciated supernatural slasher, The Beastmaster (1982), and The Return of the Living Dead (1985). Admittedly, Munns was a little apprehensive about applying the cumbersome makeup to De Sue, even though he was acquitted on those murder charges; but ultimately he found the actor “to be a gentle, soft-spoken and cooperative person.” But Hart and Munns’ accounts of De Sue do not match up with director Levey’s. At all. 

“He didn’t want to do it,” said Levey (The Lookback Machine, 2013). “Frank Saletri was a character himself. He was a lawyer, a criminal lawyer, and apparently he had gotten John off on some charge. And he said, Now you’re going to pay me back by being in a movie. That’s not how you hire actors [but] that’s the way Frank hires this guy! And I told Frank you don’t hire actors by making them do something they don’t want to do. It comes off on screen. And it did.

“He followed directions. He wasn’t dumb. He just wasn’t interested. It’s really hard to work with an actor who isn’t interested,” said Levey. “He didn’t like being on the screen. He didn’t like being photographed. He didn’t like being seen. It was rare for me because everybody I meet wants to be in the movies. He might be the only person I’ve ever met on the entire planet that had no interest in being in a movie.” Thus, the production was a trying experience for the novice director -- and sometimes completely dangerous, too, where they were lucky no one was killed.  

“There was a scene where the butler was coming at [the monster] with a gun and he was supposed to fire at him,” recalled Levey. “And I said to [Jackson] this is a real gun but it has blanks in it -- that means quarter loads; and it's got paper wads so it won’t kill anybody but it certainly could hurt them. So, don’t point the gun directly at [De Sue]. From the angle I’m shooting you could point it three feet to the right of him and audiences won’t know the difference. They’ll think you’re pointing right at him.”

Jackson told Levey he understood and would follow directions. And so, the scene was set. But when the camera started rolling, “He fired the first shot as we did in rehearsal. And when he did, the monster kinda jumped. And then the monster got closer and he fired the second shot, and De Sue jumped again. And when he got close to him, like three feet, [Jackson] fired the final shot right at the monster, and the monster jumped again! And then right on cue, the monster picks him up off the ground, strangles him, and throws him on the floor.

“I yelled cut and said great, great, is everybody OK? Then [De Sue] said, ‘I think I’m bleeding.’ What do you mean? ‘He fired right at me.’” Upon closer inspection, Levey saw the sweater De Sue was wearing was all torn up and blood was oozing out of the holes. And when he asked De Sue why he didn’t stop the scene on the first errant shot, he said, “I knew you’d make me do it all again.”

There were also some problems shooting the climax, where the police dogs attacked and Blackenstein met his doom. Seems De Sue was pretty antsy about shooting with the “vicious” dogs, and so, Levey had his actor work with the animal handler to familiarize himself with the dogs.

“It took seven dogs," said Levey. "Because one jumps, one bites, one snarls, one walks, they all do different stuff. And they all looked the same. Big black Dobermans.” (Most likely the same Dobermans from The Doberman Gang.) But Levey’s plan backfired as De Sue got too friendly with his canine co-stars. “He kept laughing. Smiling the entire f@cking time.”

This led to a bit of a defensive driving course in the editing room, as Levey cut around all the laughter, reduced to four frames per cut, explaining the film's somewhat clumsy climax. Levey also kept De Sue’s dialogue to a minimum, and what little there was would be looped by another actor -- as would Jackson. As for all of Franken-Eddie’s moaning and grunting during his rampages? Turns out that was Levey.

“Frank wanted a ghetto picture,” said Levey (ibid). “Down and out, even though he had written the story. He wanted it to be pure Blaxploitation. And I at the time was for civil rights, the whole nine yards. This wasn’t appropriate for me. So I didn’t want to do it that way. I just thought it would be far more campy to do it as a gothic horror tale. So I played it seriously. And in my opinion, decades later, it's funny because of its camp nature, which is derived from playing it seriously.”

Thus, Levey was given plenty of freedom while shooting. “Frank didn’t know how to make a picture so he didn’t know what I was doing half the time,” said Levey. “He considered himself a martial artist and did serve as [an ersatz] stunt coordinator on the film.” And while Saletri did prove a little cantankerous during the production, it was his money after all, he was in total awe when Levey turned over the completed film. “He just couldn’t believe that I was able to take the stuff we shot and turn it into a movie.”

The film was shot in October of 1972, which adds some credence as to why American International Pictures might’ve withdrawn their version. The majority of the film was shot on location at the Villa de Leon, the impressive mansion located on the Kaufman estate along the Pacific Coast Highway in the Palisades.

Image courtesy of the Pacific Palisades Historical Society.  

“The rich guy who built it (Leon Kauffman), his kids were all a bunch of spoiled [brats], and they all fought over who owned it,” recalled Hart (Weaver, 2013). “They were trying to sell it, and in the meantime they rented it for movies.”

The mansion itself almost becomes a character as shots lingered while characters went all the way up and all the way down the grand central staircase, and the constantly intrusive establishing shots. And most of the exterior scenes were shot in and around Griffith Park.

The total shooting budget for Blackenstein was around $40,000 with another $40,000 spent in post production. “I never got paid,” said Levey. “I wound up suing and settled on the agreed salary and a work print of the film.”

Meanwhile, Saletri was able to find a distributor for his inaugural feature with Prestige Pictures, who had handled Wade Williams’ docudrama on the Manson Family murders The Other Side of Madness (1971) and the western The Proud and the Damned (1972), which had been completed in 1969 and then sat on a shelf until it was picked up three years later.

The Cleveland Plain Dealer (November 2, 1973).

Blackenstein would be rolled out regionally in the Midwest, starting in September, 1973 -- the earliest screenings I could find were at the Malco Theater in Memphis, Tennessee. It got as far south as Florida, east into the Carolinas, and as far north as Minnesota but it looks like it never played anywhere west of Texas as the release sort of fizzled. But not without good reason.

“The idea approached the ultimate in exploitation, but the execution of it resulted in a movie called Blackenstein and not even P.T. Barnum could put it over,” said Gregory Jaynes of The Atlanta Constitution (December 5, 1973). “This is not to be confused with Blacula, an earlier effort. Nor with Satan is a Negro or Blackzilla or Superfly Grows Fangs or whatever else comes down the pike. It could’ve been fun … but there was no satire and certainly no wit in Blackenstein.”

The Goldsboro News-Argus (November 9, 1973). 

“If you like lousy movies, don’t miss Blackenstein,” screamed the headline for Tony Mastroianni’s takedown in The Cleveland Press (November 1, 1973). “The picture is ineptly written, badly acted, and horribly made. Any resemblance between this and Frankenstein or any other reasonably well made movie is non-existent.”

Added Will Jones of The Star Tribune (November 10, 1973), “Blackenstein has an exploitable title, and that’s about it. Maybe it's a step forward for equal-opportunity employment in the monster field, but it’s several monster steps backward for moviemaking. The film is dreadful in every respect that I find myself wanting to recommend it for that very reason -- but only to movie buffs of a particular perverse stripe who relish in really gross production values.” (Wait. I think he's talking about me?)

The Marshall News Messenger (October 28, 1973). 

“Blackenstein promised very little but, after all, even the bad chillers have had something to offer to an old horror buff like me,” lamented Roger Grooms in The Cincinnati Enquirer (September 21, 1973). “The Lugosi films at Monogram for openers. So bad they were funny. But no one will find anything funny about Blackenstein -- unless, of course, you chuckle at arms ripped out of sockets and entrails forcibly removed from an absolutely non-consenting adult … Yecch.”

The film would regroup and try again as Black Frankenstein in 1975 under the banner of Teitel Amusements, who mostly handled importing foreign martial arts features like The Black Dragon’s Revenge (alias Long zheng hu dou jing wu hun, 1975), where rival gangs search for the late Bruce Lee’s Complete Idiots Guide to Kung Fu, well, essentially, with Ron Van Clief subbing in for the usual Jim Kelly; but they also released Super Spook (1974), a parody on the Blaxploitation craze.

The Cleveland Plain Dealer (September 18, 1974). 

“It’s schlock time in the Loop,” warned Gene Siskel of The Chicago Tribune (August 14, 1975). “You can watch Nazis do their worst in Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS (1975) or, if you prefer, you can see the monster in Black Frankenstein rip the arm off a hospital orderly. Actually, that film was made and released back in 1972 under the title Blackenstein. It didn’t sell then, and it isn’t selling now. Ten minutes have been trimmed from the 1972 version; the new film now runs a scant 77 minutes. Enough sex-related violence has been inserted to change the original rating from PG to R. And whereas Blackenstein was originally released to ride on the ‘capetails’ of Blacula’s success, this rerelease is an attempt to latch onto the publicity surrounding Mel Brooks’ comic Young Frankenstein.”

Despite the critical drubbing and short runs, Blackenstein managed to pull in enough curious filmgoers to gross a little over $4 million at the box office. I doubt few ever paid to see it twice as I’m sure most found its 77 / 87-minute run time about 76 / 86 minutes too long. Unfortunately, most home video releases are the longer version. *sigh*

The Omaha World Herald (October 24, 1974). 

Whichever version, the film never addresses how Dr. Stein’s dubious experiments gave Franken-Eddie the power to put the hypno-whammy on people that causes grown men to fight like Joe Besser and grown women to freeze in their tracks until their entrails are pulled out and put on display. And I won’t even begin to tear apart the bogus science behind Stein’s DNA and RNA formulas. Saletri and Levey have insulted the audience's intelligence enough already with their bare-boned script, and Levey’s “idiosyncratic” direction didn’t help.

Again, this was Levey’s first time as a director and it kinda shows as Caramico’s camera lingers all arty-farty. I don’t know if he was trying to be avant-garde in scenes like when he circled the dinner table, or if he was trying to ape Alfred Hitchcock or, more likely, with all those constant shots of feet moseying along in the dark, Jacques Tourner, but he failed miserably.

Too many bad camera angles, too many low angle shots of nothing but feet, too many fancy framed shots, and too many shots of shadow-puppets. The first few shots like these were laughable, but soon grew tiresome, which then quickly became irritating, before degenerating to full blown annoyance. It's one of those films that seems obsessed to use every single foot of film shot to show exactly how characters moved from Point A to Point B, just in case you wanted to know how they got there. 

But as bad as Levey’s direction was, his editing was even worse. Again, he probably did the best he could with the materials provided -- but then you have to remember, he was the one who provided the materials. And my Magical Meat-Cleaver references weren’t much of a stretch as the film actually appears to have been edited with the lethal utensil -- or some other blunt instrument, and then spliced back together with some masking tape. Lots and lots of jarring cuts, which led to some astounding leaps in plot logic, that gives the film a real psychotic-off-his-meds feel to the proceedings.

The Goldsboro News-Argus (November 4, 1974). 

Speaking of mental disorders, if Levey the editor was a mad butcher that never allowed audiences to get a sense of time or space, then Levey, with an assist from Dick Damon, proved to be a malevolent hack as well as a sound mixer. Bouncing around from funk to soul to sampling riffs from some old horror and sci-fi movies -- most noticeably IT! The Terror Beyond Space (1958) -- the resulting soundtrack is like nails raking at a chalkboard. The music just never seemed appropriate anywhere in this movie from scene to scene.

The film also sets a modern day record with 1,226 establishing shots of Stein's mansion from the outside. I definitely saw a heavy influence from Dark Shadows (1966-1971) here, the gothic soap opera that brought monsters to daytime television, where every scene change led to a quick cut to the outside of Collinwood manor or the Blue Whale or wherever the action was taking place. Blackenstein was the same way, with a shot of the manor, or a lightning crash -- right out of a clear blue sky! -- for all the transitions.

All of these defects reached maximum effort whenever we had a scene involving Dr. Stein’s laboratory. Again, the only thing they did right was to borrow Strickfaden’s equipment. And Levey made sure we got to see every piece of it spark and blink as the camera lingered on them for eons and eons. But there's no real rhyme or reason to it, and appears like more of a swap meet. Now put all of that into a Day-Glo colored room, add a bunch of beeping ‘n’ booping on the soundtrack, and it all resembled less of a maniacal mad scientist’s workshop and more like Muppet Labs. Hell, I kept expecting Dr. Bunsen Honeydew to pop-up and detonate Beaker’s head somewhere in the background.

And one has to ask the question, Was that equipment even necessary? Given the tenor of Stein’s genetic experiments and limb grafting, I would say probably not. In the original film, the equipment was used to imbue the spark of life. Here, we can only assume that Dr. Stein was just showing off.

In his defense, Levey would get better at his craft. He would next tackle the sex-farce Wam-Bam Thank You, Spaceman (1975) for Harry Novak’s Boxoffice International, where a couple of aliens look to repopulate their planet by having sex with Earth women -- a riff on Novak’s earlier Kiss Me Quick (1964). Then Slumber Party ‘57 (1976), a rare coming of age T&A flick, where a group of girls talk about their first sexual experiences between pillow fights. He would also handle the sequel to The Happy Hooker (1975), The Happy Hooker Goes to Washington (1977).

And while his last notable film was Hellgate (1989), an offbeat tale of preternatural revenge, Levey would reach his zenith with the release of Skatetown U.S.A. (1979), which really needs to dethrone Roller Boogie (1979) as the quintessential roller-disco movie. I mean, any roller disco movie that has a magical wizard as a roller rink DJ, whose married owners are played by Billy Barty and Flip Wilson (in drag), and ends with a race to the death between two guys, one of them Patrick Swayze, making his big screen debut, wearing rocket powered roller skates off a pier should take second place to no one in the admittedly very small subgenre.

As for Saletri, buoyed by Blackenstein’s box-office take, he made immediate plans to make several sequels, which included, taken from multiple sources, The Fall of the House of Blackenstein, Blackenstein III, and a spin-off, The Black Frankenstein meets the White Werewolf. But those would have to wait as Saletri geared up for the production of another Blaxpo take on a classic tale of true-crime horror, Black the Ripper. 

Now, Black the Ripper is one of those notorious films whose mere title and reputation had created a life of its own, with decades of speculation, even though no one had ever seen it and the resulting eternal debate on whether it was a lost film or ever really existed. Sort off.

See, in the May 8, 1974, edition, Variety noted that FRSCO Productions Ltd was about to start shooting the film. The blurb listed that it would be written, produced and directed by Saletri, and would star Dale Bach, Liz Renay, and Marva Farmer. More blurbs appeared with ever rotating cast lists. Then, nothing until February, 1976, when a trade ad stated the film would be released on Memorial Day that year through Dimension Pictures. But the film never materialized. 

"I know nothing about Black the Ripper,” Renay told Albright. “But I could see Frank wanting to do something like that. He was into that kind of scary stuff and he always had a pile-up of projects he never got to." Albright added that Renay would’ve been game to be in Black the Ripper if Saletri had asked.

As all searches for any trace of the film came up empty, there was even speculation that Black the Ripper was nothing more than an alternate title for the aforementioned Dr Black, Mr Hyde. However, in 2013, the mystery of Black the Ripper appeared to finally be resolved. In an article for The Daily Grindhouse (April, 2013), Paul Freitag-Fey finally pieced it all together:

Apparently, someone who knew someone who knew Bud Cardos got their hands on some footage and posted it online, claiming it was Black the Ripper. Turns out the film was partially shot, in several chunks, over several years, but never completed or ever released. From what could be pieced together, the film was set in Las Vegas, where the leader of a karate dojo gets involved in a string of murders when one of his student’s sisters is killed. Since she was a prostitute, the police aren’t all that interested, leaving it to our hero to shakedown her pimp.

Images courtesy of The Daily Grindhouse.

Meanwhile, a sexually repressed public accountant is plagued by dreams of London fog and stalking prostitutes. And in a wild coincidence, our hero and the killer’s secretary are boyfriend and girlfriend. During the truncated climax, Black the Ripper attacks the secretary, who is saved by our hero, who chucks the villain out a three-story window.

Thus, two years in the unmaking, Black the Ripper does exist, sort of, in a 57-minute work print form. But perhaps it should’ve stayed lost and remained a legend.

Images courtesy of The Daily Grindhouse. 

“To say Black the Ripper was a disappointment is a bit of an understatement,” said Freitag-Fey. “For a Blaxploitation version of Jack the Ripper, there’s very little action and surprisingly few exploitation elements; none of the murders even take place on screen! To top it off, the ‘ripper’ character isn’t even black, making the title a complete lie!”

Thus, “As good as it is to finally have proof of the existence of Black the Ripper, it’s clearly an unfinished project; and even if it had been released, it’s unlikely that it would have stood out from countless similar low-budget films of the time, save for the title that’s given it more notoriety than it could have ever been granted on its own.”

The Los Angeles Times (July 18, 1982). 

And so, Saletri’s film career would end after only one and a half movies. And his story would end tragically when the man was found murdered in his home on July 12, 1982, with a single gunshot to the head. The autopsy would show he had been dead for several days before the body was found. There was no sign of forced entry but there were signs of a struggle, as several pieces of furniture were overturned or broken. But robbery as a motive was quickly ruled out as no valuables were missing. And the murder weapon was not found, officially ruling out a suicide. Not to mention the fact the killer used a screwdriver to pry out the bullet to remove any evidence.

As for suspects, “He was all mixed up with a bad element,” Hart told Weaver. “Saletri always carried a gun, because he’d get really bad guys out of jail and stuff. He was mixed up with a lot of bad guys, and he had guns all over his house. His guns, they were kind of hidden, like so he could grab one at any moment. He had ‘em planted around the house.”

After the murder, all of Saletri’s weapons were found and accounted for. But the LAPD found no evidence of Saletri being involved in anything shady either personally or as an attorney. It was reported that a week before his death, the victim changed all the locks in his house. Another reported an incident where Saletri fled his home during the night, seeking refuge with a neighbor, but wouldn’t say what had scared him out of his own home.

Saletri had recently represented a man accused in a sordid murder-for-hire plot between an ex-husband, an ex-wife and the ex-wife’s boyfriend (The Los Angeles Times, December 25, 1981). But the leads quickly dried up, no true motive was found, and the case quickly went cold. And Saletri’s murder remains unsolved to this day. A sad capper to this after action report for sure.

Look, I could go on and on about Blackenstein’s shortcomings: the pacing, the lighting, the structure, the acting, the motivations, and general reasons for being, but another psychological defense mechanism has already been engaged by Yours Truly as my brain beats all memories of this film back into a state of repression.

Thus and so, if this movie has taught us anything, it’s that there is a huge difference between badly inept and ineptly bad. And to its credit, Blackenstein, the Black Frankenstein, does manage to accomplish one thing with flying colors: it is actually worse than its asinine title would imply.

Still, as memories of the film are beaten into nonexistence, I would say that Blackenstein is by no means the worst movie ever made. But! I also cannot, in good conscience, recommend seeing it to anyone. As the good Dr Freex so eloquently put it: “Is Blackenstein the worst movie ever made? Well, it's certainly in the running. Is it the worst of the Blaxploitation horror movies? I certainly hope so. Otherwise there's one that's worse out there waiting for me, and there are simply some things Man Was Not Meant To Know.” 

In other words, “Well, we warned you.” (If you get it, you get it.)

Originally posted on October 13, 2002, at 3B Theater.

Blackenstein (1973) Frisco Productions Limited :: Prestige Pictures / EP: Ted Tetrick / P: Frank R. Saletri / D: William A. Levey / W: Frank R. Saletri / C: Robert Caramico / E: William A. Levey / M: Cardella Di Milo, Lou Frohman / S: John Hart, Ivory Stone, Joe De Sue, Roosevelt Jackson, Andrea King, Nick Bolin, John Dennis, Andy C, Don Brodie, Gerald Soucie, James Cousar, Liz Renay