Hardly a day passes when I don't ask myself the question, "What could possibly be more delightful than a sleazy European sex flick from the '70s?" I usually have a tough time coming up with an answer to that (at least out loud, especially since that one time I got thrown out of Bed Bath & Beyond), but this little lost-and-found item from Spain provided one for me: "Well, that would be a sleazy SATANIC European sex flick from the '70s!" Like, duh, right?

Granted, there aren't many of those particular movies just floating around these days (never were), but intrepid outfits like Mondo Macabro - bless their oily black little hearts - are trying their damnedest to rescue them from the netherworld of cinematic obscurity and bring them to the tables of ye in need. [Check out our review for their fantastic restoration of Juan Lopez Moctezuma's ALUCARDA, another glorious example of sexy satanic shenanigans.] Their Hi-Def remastered "Uncut Euro Version" of SATAN'S BLOOD, aka ESCALOFRIO - one of the first explicit sex films to come out of Spain after the abolition of Franco's strict censorship - is stylish, naughty fun and a welcome addition to any darkly-inclined cinephile's DVD collection.

After a sleazy but atmospheric pre-credits sequence wherein a lithe young lass is stripped and fondled by an elderly priest who resembles Papa Smurf (insert vomit sound here) before being matter-of-factly skewered on a satanic altar, We are transported to the mundane daily lives of attractive couple Andres (Angel Aranda, who wields a mighty chin that would give Bruce Campbell pause) and Ana (Sandra Alberti), who with their Alsatian dog Blackie share a modest flat in Madrid - the site of a truly awesome statue of Lucifer, which features prominently in street scenes. After we learn that Ana is preggers, the two make cute faces at each other and spend an afternoon on the town, which apparently includes lots of coffee and cigarettes (shame on you, Ana!) and taking in a viewing of some obscure art-house film called STAR WARS.

At a stoplight on their way home, they become aware of an intense gaze from the neighboring vehicle - occupied by an equally attractive but kinda weirdish couple, Bruno (Jose Maria Guillen) and Berta (Mariana Karr - rhymes with RAWWWRRRR!). Bruno calls out to Andres with familiarity, claiming to recognize him from his school days, although Andres has no recollection of the man's name. Being the naively trusting sort (and despite loud protests from Blackie in the back seat), they decide to take their new "friends" up on an invitation to their palatial, Gothic hillside villa. Once they arrive, the gate is secured behind them by a cloaked, mute servant with disturbing facial hair, and everything goes - pardon the pun - to hell.

There's lots of high-dollar booze passed around as the two couples engage in a few turns around the coolest Ouija board/cocktail table I've ever seen (I'm cruising eBay for one... any leads?), and everyone has a swell time... at first. Then the black candles are lit, a painting of Jesus gazes down reproachfully (and later bursts into flames) and the spirits speaking through the board blab about Ana's forgotten affair with her brother-in-law, which kinda puts a chill over the whole party-game atmosphere. Then the spirits point out that Bruno's going to try another suicide attempt (he and Berta both tried to off themselves once before) and this time succeed. All the while this is going on, poor old Blackie's pitching a hissy-fit outside, which Andres insists on ignoring.

Despite the aforementioned occult party-pooping (not to mention Ana's glimpse of Berta munching down on something bloody in the kitchen), our protagonists decide to avoid an approaching storm by staying the night at the behest of their creepy hosts. As one might expect, this option doesn't work out too well for them - particularly Ana, who is nearly raped by a sleazy intruder. This event seems to finally convince the visitors to depart... but after stumbling upon their naked hosts oiling each other up in the center of a pentagram, suddenly it's satanic orgy time, and all that nonsense about leaving is temporarily forgotten.

From here on out, any semblance of coherence is tossed out in favor of that special nightmare logic used so effectively by Euro-horror films of the '70s, and it fits pretty well here too. Decadent servings of nudity and near-hardcore simulated sex are dished up, along with a few sweet dollops of the red stuff. We even get some demon-possession hijinks, cannibalism, goat-headed priests and dead folks walkin'... and spookiest of all, there's a looming oversized porcelain doll that gets more and more screen time until you're convinced it's going to get up and... well, find out for yourself. Tension builds and weirdness escalates into a downbeat conclusion that is maybe a tad predictable, but pretty cool nonetheless.

No doubt inspired by ROSEMARY'S BABY (although the issue of Ana's pregnancy is pretty much discarded, so that reference is moot), director Carlos Puerto pulls this obtuse little tale off with panache, thanks to a great location and some wicked cool set design (I coveted nearly every item in their drawing room), aided by a moody, Gothic organ-based score which creates a black mass atmosphere. The main actors are talented and interesting to watch - and look pretty good naked, I might add (especially Karr... did I mention RAWWWRRRR?). The cinematography is subtle and non-showy, wisely letting the location do much of the work - and what a location it is: every interior or exterior shot of the villa depicts an eerie, otherworldly beauty.

The look of the film is nicely showcased by Mondo Macabro's excellent presentation. The print is remarkably clean and sharp for such an obscure find; remastered from the original negative, the image is top-quality, presented in anamorphic 1.66:1, and the compositions look superb. Audio is nominal Dolby 2.0 stereo, and has a good robust low-end (particularly effective during the frequent, anarchic pants-wetting blasts of church organ on the soundtrack), if little separation. Dialogue is available in both the original Spanish (with English subs) and dubbed English, and is clear and understandable on both counts, though the Spanish track is a bit rough in spots, and some of the characters' names are different in the English version.

The extra features here rank among Mondo's best offerings: the foremost of which is the half-hour documentary "The Devil's Disciples," in which occult expert and ordained Satanist minister Gavin Baddeley (author of the excellent nonfiction works "Lucifer Rising" and "Goth Chic," among others) expounds on the history of devil worship and social fascination with the occult. His interview is relaxed, informative and always interesting, and is illustrated by many historical stills and clips from numerous devil-themed films.

Also included is the text essay "S for Sex" by Pete Tombs, which details the historical and cultural context from which this film and others like it emerged; also included is an alternate prologue, in which a goofy professorial type (who looks like Coffin Joe sans top hat) tries to cast the film's subject matter in a phony-baloney moral/religious context. We also get a clip montage promoting over two dozen Mondo Macabro releases - all of which look like a pretty good time to me.

In summary, SATAN'S BLOOD is a celebration of sinfully sleazy Satanic Seventies cinema. Practically hisses at you, doesn't it? Clearly this be a sign thy Dark Lord hath commanded thee to purchase this DVD.

What, you think I'm kidding?

Vist Mondo Macabro Here!