Introduction

Ah yes, Mexican cinema… or rather: Mexican horror cinema! The inhabitants of this beautiful country probably brought some of the most insane genre entries in film history to the screen. Until recently, however, I had very little exposure to it, mainly for two reasons.

First of all, most older Mexican films are extremely hard to obtain, since—aside from a few exceptions (thanks at this point to K. Gordon Murray! Jerry Warren, on the other hand, may be cursed)—they were never screened outside the country’s borders.

Secondly, my previous experiences with the ones I had seen were, well… not great. Quite a while ago, I watched Robot vs. the Aztec Mummy (1958), which was rather sobering. The same went for The Attack of the Mayan Mummy (1964). Okay—no, that one was actually downright awful, since nothing happens for about 95% of its runtime. But in fairness, I won’t blame the Mexicans for that one—importer Jerry Warren deserves the credit there. He bought up various foreign films and mutilated them with ultra-boring, newly shot scenes. The original The Aztec Mummy (1957) was (hopefully) much better. As a director, Warren himself was also completely incompetent (see the Doc’s very enlightening review of The Incredible Petrified World).

Even the “newer” Mexican horror (okay, I’ve only seen two so far) à la René Cardona Jr. didn’t really convince me. SOS-SOS-SOS Bermuda Triangle (1978)—yes, with the triple SOS—was actually fairly okay, but Romina (2016), which I once watched on Netflix, was abysmal.

Then, however, I stumbled upon the works of the so-called “Golden Age” of Mexican horror cinema, which roughly began in the late 1950s—around the same time horror films regained popularity in the U.S. and Great Britain thanks to Universal’s SHOCK! package and the Hammer films. During that period, several fascinating works emerged, such as The Vampire (El Vampiro) and The Vampire’s Coffin, which even gained international recognition.

How did I get into all this? Well, it was Indicator—specifically their lovely box set with the enticing title Mexico Macabre, featuring four films from the Alameda Studios archives (along with a small booklet of background information, but enough advertising). For a long time, the box just sat on my shelf, but toward the end of last year I finally watched The Curse of the Crying Woman and The Witch’s Mirror back-to-back—and was extremely positively surprised. Both were beautiful Gothic horror films with great atmosphere and impressive effects. The fact that the somewhat sluggish Brainiac (which I had already seen on DVD some time ago) is also included is more than compensated for.

But those films aren’t the focus here (although I did plan reviews for them as well—time, time…). In any case, they made me curious about what else the Mexicans were producing during that era. I already knew the Santo films by name, but they didn’t particularly interest me at first. What I did discover, however, were dozens upon dozens of absurd horror films with gorgeous posters! Monsters, werewolves, vampires, headless horsemen, revolver heroes battling demons, aliens, and much more.

I created a list on Letterboxd that now includes 92 titles, and every single one of them would probably be worthy of a review on this site. Among them is even one that intersects with another of my specialties: a Mexican Bigfoot film! A review will come eventually—I promise (if I can track it down).

So yes, the Mexico fever had taken hold of me, and I began hunting for these titles. And yes, most of them I will probably never see due to my lack of Spanish language skills (damn it!), but a few are available in English. One of those is El Charro de las Calaveras, also known as The Rider of the Skull (1965).

Just reading the premise was glorious: a masked gunslinger faces a werewolf, Dracula, and the Headless Horseman! I had to see this—and so I did.

Plot

Pleasant guitar music plays, followed shortly by a nice song (no idea what it’s about—I don’t speak Spanish). Our hero then rides into frame as the cast names scroll by. He gallops gracefully across the prairie until the screen fades to black and the theme song ends.

Then he appears again—running along a wall. Our hero in black, stylishly outfitted with sombrero and gun belt: El Charro de las Calaveras, before whom all bandits tremble! What does he see? A cemetery, filled with skulls and rats scurrying behind them. And then he appears—the nasty werewolf. Emerging from behind a tree, it lets out a howl. Immediately it attacks a poor soul, wrestles him to the ground, and sinks its teeth into his neck.

Our hero rides in, but the werewolf is already gone (or rather, it’s only moved a short distance away, but realistically he still should’ve been able to see it… whatever). The Charro finds only the cold corpse, and somewhere an old woman laughs: “One more victim for the werewolf!”

We then find ourselves in a cozy home. The servant Cleófas asks the lady of the house how the child, Perico, is doing. He’s very nervous, she says, but has now fallen asleep. Are the rumors true? she asks. He doesn’t know, but bizarre things are happening. He’s only stayed because he cares so much for Perico—and because he’s a “macho” (according to the English subtitles, at least).

Yeah, right. Because when he sees the Charro peering through the round (!) window of the house, he panics immediately and starts stammering. The mother fetches the father, who invites the Charro inside. The hero introduces himself as the “Rider of the Skull,” and the mother recognizes him (“There’s been much talk about him”). Being a gentleman, he apologizes if he frightened them.

He reports finding the corpse, and Perico wakes up as well. Ever since seeing the monster, the boy has been sick, says the mother. The Charro dismisses it as “childish nonsense.”

Maybe, the mother replies—but then why have all the workers disappeared? The Charro gathers information and naturally offers his help. Cleófas immediately prepares a room for the hero (the best one, he insists).

Next, we witness a funeral procession for the werewolf’s latest victim. Together with Perico, the Charro asks questions. The victim’s cousin (whose entire face was apparently bitten off—good grief) explains that the wolf is too intelligent to be caught, even though many traps have been set.

Later, back at the house, the father apologizes—he must take his pills now. The mother worries, but the Charro shows understanding for his nervousness.

Cut to a full moon. The witch once again screams toward the sky: “The moon! The full moon! The beast is loose!”

A door opens, and the werewolf’s claw appears. The creature sneaks toward Perico’s bed, and fortunately the boy wakes up due to the beast’s subtle groaning and screams. He collapses unconscious from the bed, but the Charro is already there. Hallucinations, the mother insists—but another scream rings out.

The Charro rushes outside, leaps over the stone wall, and finds a dead girl.

Inside, the mother worries about the Charro and orders Cleófas (now wearing a fine sombrero) to check on him. No way, he says—the “cold of the night” would hurt him too much. Otherwise, he’d go out. When the Charro returns, Cleófas screams and runs off, only to return later to guard Perico (while loudly whining, of course).

Cut to the father, awakened by knocking, rubbing his face strangely. At the same time, Cleófas startles at a cat (whose tail he stepped on) and collapses. The Charro questions the father, but he claims to have noticed nothing suspicious. The mother returns to Perico and finds Cleófas sitting upright—he wasn’t unconscious, he just fell asleep. Of course. Middle-of-the-night siestas are apparently a thing.

The Charro questions Perico, who describes the attacker as gorilla-like. Outside, the Charro searches for tracks but finds nothing.

During tea, Perico asks about the hero’s origins. His parents were killed by bandits, and he swore to fight evil. He killed every bandit and left a skull behind. His name doesn’t matter—he is merely a symbol of justice.

The father leaves, and the mother again appears worried. On the Charro’s orders, all doors and windows are locked as the moon rises again. The father rubs his eyes in bed, the Charro prowls outside—and then it happens: the father approaches the window, sees the full moon, and suffers terrible pain. He collapses and transforms into a skeleton. No—first into a skeleton, then into a werewolf wearing a striped shirt.

Outside, Perico follows the Charro, who scolds him—it’s far too dangerous. But there’s no time: the werewolf appears. A shot scares it away, and it retreats inside, reverting to human form. As a man again, the father checks on the mother with the Charro, who later explains the truth to her. It could be anyone, but sooner or later the werewolf will make a mistake.

The Charro resumes his investigation and meets the witch on the cemetery—Andra, “Rider of the Skulls.” Laughing, she invites him to follow her. She reanimates the werewolf’s last victim, who rises from the coffin and recounts the story of the wolf—and reveals that Perico’s father is the werewolf.

The witch laughs. The werewolf roams the night again, and the Charro confronts him. Bullets don’t affect him (I assume the Charro actually hits him at that distance). When he pursues the beast, he falls into a pit and is pelted with stones, but manages to injure the werewolf with a throwing knife. The monster flees home and kills the mother with a bite to the neck.

The Charro prevents Perico from seeing the body. The werewolf transforms back, and the father realizes what he’s done—but first, he must hide.

Perico weeps bitterly—he is alone now. What will become of him? Naturally, the noble Charro takes him under his wing. And Cleófas? Of course him too. This results in a hearty hug from Cleófas, while the Charro retreats into the house.

The trio searches for clues outside, but Cleófas soon flees back indoors. The Charro bravely continues and eventually finds the werewolf in the wilderness. A fierce fight follows (with Cleófas merely watching), and the werewolf falls from a cliff. Cleófas faints, and Perico sees that his father was the monster.

Back at the house, the hero reveals his identity and removes his mask—after making them swear never to reveal it. Cleófas reacts: “Hey daddy, you are wholesome!” (Alright then.)

The trio rides off toward new adventures. And what adventures! A bat appears (well, not really flying—more like dangling on a string). It lands, and “Dracula” stands before a poor soul, knocks him down, and drinks his blood. He returns to his shabby hut, where his humble coffin awaits for daytime rest.

The Charro’s group continues riding. At midnight, Dracula awakens again and flies off as a bat.

In a village house, a daughter mourns her mother. Her husband goes to fetch the doctor, despite the danger outside. He promises to return—but of course, he doesn’t. Dracula kills him, and when the daughter rushes to the scene, she faints upon seeing the culprit. Dracula has found a new target: “Oh, she is gorgeous. A creature so beautiful is what I need. A Vampire! I will turn her into a Vampire!”

The Charro’s group arrives. Cleófas lies down to rest. Dracula transforms into a bat and flies overhead. Cleófas flees. Perico and the Charro oddly mount their horses again: “What’s happening?” – “I don’t know. He shouldn’t have run like crazy!” Perhaps the Charro’s mask limits his vision. Or maybe he already has dementia and forgot about the vampire flying around.

Cleófas returns, and the Charro orders him and Perico to ride into town. He himself hunts the vampire, who escapes after a fight. The Charro finds only another corpse.

In town, the daughter thanks them. Cleófas vows to protect her—before being sent shopping. The Charro promises to find the monster’s lair.

Later that night, Dracula visits the woman and explains his plan. Cleófas stumbles in drunk and dismisses Dracula as a hallucination, allowing the vampire to flee with her. Cleófas even falls against a huge cross—couldn’t have been easier—but still fails.

The Charro and Perico arrive, and they pursue Dracula to the cemetery. The vampire places his new bride in a coffin. The Charro prepares with a torch-bearing mob. Meanwhile, Cleófas and Perico attempt to confront Dracula themselves (spoiler: they fail). The vampire orders his servant to lure the Charro, which works. A big fight ensues. Dracula gets punched around and is saved only by his servant, who knocks out the Charro with a stick.

Cleófas and Perico flee again, but the Charro recovers in time and strikes Dracula from behind with a wooden stake. The vampire collapses into a dead bat.

The group walks toward sunrise with the unconscious woman (don’t worry, she’ll recover). But wait—there’s more.

On a lonely road, the Headless Horseman rides, slaughtering a helpless farmer. He wanders through ruins. A woman examines documents, opens a chest—and a head stares at her, speaking: “Re-attach me to my body!” She faints. A hooded skeleton appears: “Rest, the day of vengeance is coming.”

The Charro’s group hears of another murder. Cleófas panics again.

A professor arrives. The woman explains the head belonged to a bandit killed by her father for scientific study. The professor advises her to get rid of it. The chest is buried.

Cleófas mocks the legends, but the Charro insists the horseman will return. They follow tracks the next night. The woman gives the head to police. Skeletons inform the horseman that his head is in town. He retrieves it, killing a policeman.

The horseman kidnaps the woman. The Charro and Cleófas are captured by skeletons. A storm erupts. Lightning kills the skeletons. Perico frees the Charro, and after a final duel, the hero defeats the horseman.

They walk off together under gentle singing. THE END.

Review

Yes… that was something. A top-tier slab of trash—but the good kind. Naive, poorly made, yet oddly charming and highly entertaining due to its primitive spectacle. A werewolf, Dracula, the Headless Horseman—good lord.

This is essentially an anthology tied together by the Rider of the Skulls and his companions. Each episode runs about 25 minutes and follows the same structure. Still, it works.

Cleófas, surprisingly, didn’t annoy me—in fact, he fit the film’s absurd tone perfectly. Perico was also unexpectedly likable. The Charro himself is a generic masked hero, but he doesn’t need more depth.

The effects are gloriously cheap: rubber bats on strings, cardboard heads, skeletons struck by stock-footage lightning. It all recalls Ed Wood’s charm—doing it anyway, even without resources.

The locations are nice, the music minimal, the print quality awful but tolerable.

Conclusion

A lot of words for a film barely anyone in Germany has seen or ever will. Still, at 79 minutes, El Charro de las Calaveras is a delightful treat for trash specialists. It has everything: werewolf, vampire, headless rider, witch, zombie, masked gunslinger, and an idiot cracking jokes.

Seven beers on the scale. Mexico has officially won me over.