Editorials
How Lucha Libre Birthed Mexico’s Wildest Horror Films
Though schlocky B-horror is often associated with American films of men in cheap rubber monster suits and small casts running around in the desert, past our southern border Mexican pop culture has a strong, storied history of B-horror surrounding luchadores, masked wrestlers. Movies where the kings of the ring beat down on anything demonic or alien that crosses their path. But those films themselves have a wild origin, stemming from a post-war hunt for identity and censorship on the basis of sex. Truly, the luchador films that became the bulk of mexploitation cinema as we know it today didn’t come from a strong desire to uplift lucha but from attempts to suppress it. To understand lucha libre and how it became popular enough to be banned from television, we have to get back to the first half of the 20th century, with the end of the Mexican Revolution.
Today’s story is one of domino effects. Of how cultural moments and political decisions can send out ripples that no one can see coming, to the most unlikely of places sometimes. It’s about the unpredictable and ephemeral nature of life, on and off film. And about how cool it is to see a guy in a silver mask elbow-drop a werewolf. This is the story of how Lucha Libre birthed some of Mexico’s wildest horror films.
Though schlocky B-horror is often associated with American films of men in cheap rubber monster suits and small casts running around in the desert, past our southern border Mexican pop culture has a strong, storied history of B-horror surrounding luchadores, masked wrestlers. Movies where the kings of the ring beat down on anything demonic or alien that crosses their path. But those films themselves have a wild origin, stemming from a post-war hunt for identity and censorship on the basis of sex.
Truly, the luchador films that became the bulk of mexploitation cinema as we know it today didn’t come from a strong desire to uplift lucha but from attempts to suppress it. To understand lucha libre and how it became popular enough to be banned from television, we have to get back to the first half of the 20th century, with the end of the Mexican Revolution.
Mexicanidad and the Rise of Masked Wrestlers
To those unfamiliar with the particulars of the Mexican Revolution, it stands as one of the most violent times of political upheaval in human history. After the deposition of decades-long oligarchical dictator Porfirio Diaz and his regime, multiple parties began to fight for control of the country as its residents sought economic relief, agrarian reform, and the cession of land back to indigenous populations.
The Revolution saw a revolving door of commandants, a cadre of different political groups fighting for a variety of different reasons, and the loss of (by the most conservative estimates) over a million lives in a civil war never before seen in Mexico. Needless to say, the Mexican national identity had been wounded severely by the conflict as doubt and fear filled the populace, and political figures like Lázaro Cárdenas, who found themselves in power following the Revolution, began to try and restore that identity.
From this turning point comes the concept of Mexicanidad, a push for Mexican pride and a reaffirming of the image of the Mexican people that was driven by the tastemakers of Mexican society in politics and media. And for Mexican men, and specifically Mexican working-class men, that evolved into an emphasis on masculinity, virility, athleticism, and what would eventually evolve into our modern conceptions of machismo.
The Television Ban That Birthed Lucha Libre Horror Films
And so came the revitalization of lucha libre, for many reasons. Wrestling as a sport had and still has a fairly low barrier to entry, making it the perfect cheap entertainment for the working class. It had previously captured the hearts of Mexican citizens as far back as the late 1800s when wrestling made its way to the country. It involved masculine displays of strength and agility, which was perfect for the Mexicanidad crowd to endorse. The sport also had a rotating cast of colorful characters, usually the same guys you saw last week but fighting with different masks on, which was the perfect draw for young audiences who soon began to see their favorite luchadors at the comic stands and in wider media.
The craze of professional wrestling spread like wildfire, and more importantly, it spread to a female audience. As female athletes became a point of cultural interest, luchadoras became a very popular element of lucha libre despite being in the minority of performers. There began a melding between the rigid roles of masculine and feminine energy, undesired by many of the political and cultural elites of mid-century Mexico.
The cultural thermometer rapidly cooled due to lucha, and in 1954, federal authorities imposed a 30-year-long ban on lucha libre on Mexican television to prevent the waters from being muddied by such “dangerous” concepts. Soon, lucha had gone from a sport beloved by all people to a brutish, lowbrow event. Which, couldn’t be further from the truth, but cultural hegemony is a hell of a drug!
CDMX’s airwaves had become a no-fly zone for masked wrestlers, and a lost media massacre ensued that caused little to no recordings of those classic matches from the 40s and 50s being kept in circulation. Whole careers had evaporated from record overnight.
But…that didn’t stop luchadors from going to the movies.
Gothic Horror Revival in Mexican Cinema
The film wasn’t just a smash hit at the box office, it was a superkick to the mouth of Mexican cinema that ended up causing a true gothic horror revival. The film’s producer and star, Abel Salazar, found enough success with the film that the Mexican market was soon saturated with gothic horror of his own design, as Hammer Horror took over the British film market.
EL SANTO, BLUE DEMON, AND THE RISE OF LUCHA LIBRE IN HORROR
Despite the television ban, you couldn’t make Mexico forget its masked heroes so easily. The two most significant of which were El Santo y Demonio Azul (more commonly referred to as Blue Demon). Well, technically both of them began as rudos (heels, or bad guys) and later became tecnicos (faces, or heroes). The point is, Santo and Blue Demon’s rivalry was a legendary one, with their masks becoming a piece of indelible Mexican iconography and recollections of their matches being burned into people’s brains.
El Santo was convinced by fellow wrestler, Fernando Osés, to join him on the set of a film he was shooting, as the recent TV ban opened up opportunities in film for wrestlers. Santo was initially signed to star in one of the first lucha films called El Enmascarado De Plata (The Man in the Silver Mask), but backed out last minute because of fears the film would fail and damage his reputation.
Santo’s actual debut pulled him into the world of monster movies that had begun to thrive in Mexico, with his first film being Santo Contra El Cerebro Del Mal (Santo vs. The Brain of Evil) in 1961. From there he went on to do Santo Contra Los Zombies (Santo vs. The Zombies), and by the time he had shot Santo vs. The Men from Hell and Santo in The Hotel of the Dead, he had been locked in as a b-horror icon.
He was of course reunited with Blue Demon throughout his career, and the two often teamed up like superheroes to fight a wide variety of fiends. Ranging from alien spiders to vampire women to Mesoamerican mummies on a rampage, there was nothing they weren’t willing to powerbomb into oblivion. Blue Demon starred in 25 films over his lifetime– Santo starred in more than 50. The two were prolific actors and artists, and despite the often irreverent nature of the films they made and the questionable quality of many of them, the two were horror icons that most of the world is simply unaware of.
Many of their films were not distributed widely, let alone localized to English-speaking territories; only a total of 4 Santo films ever got English language versions. But even if those dubs never came, we can stand and salute the wild history of b-horror that these luchador legends have given us.
Top Lucha Libre Horror Films to Watch Today
Arañas Infernales (Hellish Spiders) is a really fun piece of schlocky, monochrome, nuclear bug horror from the late 60s; the little evil alien spider puppets in this film are so doofy looking, I want ten of them. It’s pure ham and cheese as far as content goes, but it’s impossible to say it isn’t fun.
Santo y Blue Demon Contra Los Monstruos (Santo & Blue Demon vs. The Monster Men) is some oh-so-glorious technicolor nonsense that brings us a six-man grudge match between the heroes, a mummy, a werewolf, a vampire, and a Frankenstein. I don’t even have to say anything else, you know it’s too hype of a concept to turn down.
Santo Contra Las Mujeres Vampiro (Santo vs. The Vampire Women) has some genuinely unparalleled ambiance and set design, with this black and white gothic horror mixing a modernized Mexican aesthetic with the pseudo-Victorian mansion where the finale takes place. Santo dives into a nest of female vampires in white dresses to rescue a damsel in distress, and hilarity ensues. It is probably the most technically competent of all of these when it comes to its directing.
The Mummies of Guanajuato was ultimately one of if not the biggest moneymakers, as it brought the three most famous luchadores together: Santo, Blue Demon y Mil Máscaras united to put the squeeze on some mummies killing Mexican citizens. Those monsters by the way, actually look great thanks to their makeup! All the ring exhibition stuff of them wrestling in the film is impressive as well. This one is my true favorite. If I could only watch one, it would be this.
And that’s all! Well, I’m off to go watch Santo vs The Zombies again, stay chill Horror Press rea–
What’s this?
ITS EDITOR JAMES-MICHAEL WITH THE STEEL CHAIR?
HES COMING IN BECAUSE OF MY HELLBOY ARTICLE BEING TOO LONG?!
LORD HAVE MERCY!
***
Major thanks to Marjolein Van Bavel, a professor of Modern Cultural History at Radboud University, whose writing formed most of the research on the historical part of this article. She discusses luchadoras in much more detail in her article “Morbo, lucha libre, and Television: The Ban of Women Wrestlers from Mexico City in the 1950s”, which I highly recommend you check out. Her writing was one of the major resources used for this article, and as such, deserves a shoutout.
And another shoutout to Brian Schuck of Films From Beyond, who pointed me towards Doyle Green and his book Mexploitation Cinema, which is a huge resource on lucha libre in horror. Both of them are incredible, please show them some love!
And as always, good luck, and happy watching horror fans!
Sometimes it feels borderline ridiculous to gush about John Carpenter’s The Thing as much as I do. It’s gotten to the point where when I’m asked about my favorite horror film by both friends and strangers, a little bit of embarrassment tinges my expression as I answer; it feels so obvious and rarely surprises anyone. Saying I love The Thing when people expect me to bust out an obscure foreign horror film or a cerebral thriller makes me feel like a rosy cheeked child with a propeller hat and a giant lollipop. “Wow, you love one of the most popular horror films of all time, congrats!”
But it’s just the truth. The first film of John Carpenter’s “Apocalypse Trilogy”, all three of its films are among my favorites. But The Thing has a special place in my heart. It shaped my taste in horror, my taste in most media in general, to be honest. It’s become the gold standard, 10/10 baseline test for the vast majority of my reviews; it is a perfect film, so I judge other films against it. And it’s one of the few movies I have to run back to and watch yearly like clockwork (usually when I’m spending a part of winter tied to the couch). It is, in all regards, the perfect film. If it isn’t the perfect film, then it is at the very least the perfect sci-fi horror film.
So, what exactly qualifies The Thing for literal perfection? It’s a high bar to clear. This article, as informal as it is compared to most of my editorials, is an attempt to explain it.
Even if Carpenter Isn’t the Goat, His Team for The Thing Was
As far as crews go, John Carpenter’s The Thing had the cinematic equivalent of the ’96 Chicago Bulls behind it. We’re talking about an amalgam of some of the most talented people to ever grace the silver screens with their work, boasting alongside John Carpenter two of the heaviest hitters in all of cinematic history: Dean Cundey, and Rob Bottin. Now, we can debate all day about whether John Carpenter is the greatest of all time when it comes to horror directors. Personally, I’m just as liable to say Cronenberg, Del Toro, or Hooper as I am to say Carpenter.
But the key factor to remember here is that Carpenter is the coach, not the star player; the Phil Jackson, if you will. Yes, he is the visionary who directed a near perfect cast of players and composed a tale of pure, apocalyptic paranoia. More importantly, he put together and coordinated the team that would make his vision manifest as reality. And if Carpenter is Phil Jackson, Rob Bottin is the team’s Michael Jordan here, the greatest of all time.
(And to all my Lebron fans, I love you, but you have to sit down for this analogy.)
The Legend of Rob Bottin
Bottin’s story is borderline unbelievable, but it’s the best way to explain how abnormally skilled he is and what he brought to the table for Carpenter. At age 14, Bottin became an apprentice to the at-the-time GOAT Rick Baker after sending him a letter seeking an autograph while sharing his creature designs. He was a quick study under Baker, joining him on the ’76 King Kong and Star Wars, before bouncing to Carpenter’s The Fog and then iconic werewolf picture The Howling.
When he reunited with Carpenter in 1982, he now had 6 classic films under his belt and was moving like an FX bullet train. From ages 22 to 23, he worked on The Thing for 57 weeks in both pre-production and on set. Nearly 24/7 for 400 days, Bottin’s all-gas no-brakes work ethic made The Thing at the cost of his own health, and it resulted in him being hospitalized with pneumonia. He survived and went on to make Robocop. And at least one of your favorite films.
Because no conventional disease or weaponry can kill Rob Bottin.
The Thing Still Features Horror’s Best Practical Effects
Okay, that last bit might be hyperbolic, but the man sincerely put his life on the line to make special effects that haven’t been topped since. Not the best effects in just horror history, or science fiction history, but effects that haven’t been topped in any genre for over 44 years. Not by his mentor Rick Baker, not by Screaming Mad George, not by Alec Gillis (though shoutout to him for his criminally scrapped work on The Thing (2011), and even more criminally ignored work on Harbinger Down). I love Dawn of the Dead, believe me, I do, but he certainly isn’t being beaten out by Tom Savini’s body of work. And that isn’t to disrespect and say that all of the artists that I just mentioned are bad, they’re the best in the game! But Rob Bottin was just that much better.
This inevitably invites the counterpoint: “But it wasn’t just Bottin! Stan Winston and his people were the ones who worked on the Dog Thing to give Bottin’s crew a break, and that’s the best monster in the movie!”. To which I say: look me in the eye and tell me the Dog Thing sequence is better than the Palmer Thing sequence. That’s not even counting the Norwegian Thing, both Norris Things, and the absolutely masterful final creature work that was the Blair Thing. The only reason Bottin and his people didn’t win Academy Awards for their work was because they got jumped by E.T., The Dark Crystal, Conan the Barbarian, and Blade Runner all at the same time at the Oscars. It’s just a consequence of being released during the best year for movies ever.
Okay, Now We Can Talk About Dean Cundey
But of course, these effects are then supported by another true legend: Dean Cundey. Selling people on Rob Bottin being the greatest effects artist of all time, isn’t nearly as difficult as advocating for Cundey, who despite an impressive catalog of filmography, slowed down in the back half of his career. He’s often overshadowed in conversations when it comes to The Thing; it’s always talk of Carpenter’s directing, Bottin’s effects, and Ennio Morricone’s incredible soundtrack up front, and rarely any of Cundey’s work. He isn’t spoken about in the same breath as John Alcott or Michael Ballhaus, cinematographers whose work is associated with prestigious cinema because of their proximity to great directors.
Cundey might not be the director of photography your Martin Scorsese’s or Paul Thomas Anderson’s went running to, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t think he was the most important cinematographer in horror history, just for his work with Carpenter and Spielberg. He helmed three of the most influential films in all of horror with his lighting and camera operating: The Thing, Halloween, and Jurassic Park. The man’s fingerprints are automatically on the cultural DNA of all slashers, most practical effects-driven horror films, and the biggest gateway horror franchise in film history.
The Dream Team That Made The Thing Perfection
Cundey has gone on record saying that despite Carpenter’s input, he was effectively given free rein to light and frame The Thing. The man didn’t just know how to shoot effects to make them evoke true disgust from the audience, he was able to manipulate every aspect of the shot to terrify. His sixth sense cinematography wasn’t just for lighting and playing with shadows, but for the speed of camera movement, the power of his blocking, and for having a complete grasp of communicating texture and temperature.
And temperature is the soul of The Thing. John J. Lloyd’s production design of the research station and the great white expanse around it feels just as bone chilling as the film’s antagonist, thanks to Cundey. There isn’t a single flat shot in the thing, not a moment that doesn’t feel dynamic, and it’s because of Dean Cundey.
Now, all this being said about Bottin and Cundey, they are far from the only ones who synthesized this structurally perfect organism of a movie. Every bit of Todd C. Ramsay’s editing splices the film’s scenes together to move perfectly in-time. David Lewis Yewdall’s sound design and how it gave a voice to the horrors on screen will be etched into people’s brains forever. The point is that everyone, every single person who had a hand in making the film, helped make the movie flawless.
Like the cells of the thing from another world, each crew member on John Carpenter’s The Thing moved in concert with the next, in unison, to create the greatest sci-fi horror of all time. So, is it any wonder why 40 some years later, the film still has us all captured?
Can you believe Cronenberg, Spielberg, and Rodriguez all knew I was gay before I did? Leave it to a screening of The Fly to instantly deposit me in the men’s underwear aisle of the Woodbridge Center Sears, circa 2001. The bulges on the packaging glare at me so obscenely that I begin to sweat. I realize something is amiss as the Geena Davis of Human Resources watches me from security cameras, probably. Puberty is a horror for anyone – for those of the non-hetero persuasion, it’s a nightmare. None of us asked for this, but I certainly didn’t ask for THIS.
Years later, after crystallizing into some semblance of my true form at the ripe age of 37, something became clear. Sci-fi horror is the gateway drug for us queer kids. Hiding, passing, transforming, and, eventually, saying, “fuck it.” It’s all kinda gay, even if David, Steven, and Robert didn’t get the memo.
The Fly and the Horror of Queer Self-Realization
So when Cronenberg’s The Fly buzzes across my screen, and I watch Seth Brundle throw a distressed and devastatingly chic Geena Davis out of his apartment because something’s very wrong, it hits different. When Brundle rushes toward his private horror in the bathroom, unconsciously squirting a viscous fluid at the mirror while molting skin and nail, it feels different. And finally, when he reaches for his computer and learns that his body has fused with a fly – a foreign body – at the molecular level, it hurts different. That undeniable realization that you can no longer explain away, before you’re really ready to admit it to yourself. Sugar in the tank? No, there’s a fly in the chamber.
E.T. and the Fear of Keeping Secrets at Home
And now we’re home from Sears, and the Buffy the Vampire Slayer season 5 finale is on. She dies (spoiler alert). I, a 12-year-old boy, am sobbing. My mom is right there. Can’t I enjoy my little gay show without giving myself a scarlet letter (F) in my own home? Which brings us back to Spielberg and his 1982 harrowing domestic thriller about a boy and a thing he cannot name, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial. Through harboring a cosmic fugitive, home simultaneously becomes the safest and most dangerous place for young Elliott and his siblings. Managing emotions and secrets behind a white picket fence is not something adolescents should be expected to handle, and yet here we are.
As if that isn’t gay enough, Spielberg also snuck a drag show into his family film – and in this culturally regressive Trumpian era of pearl-clutching, that feels like quite the treat. After all, it was baby Drew Barrymore dressing up that stumpy alien in a blonde shake-and-go wig and thrift store dress that inspired my illustrious drag career as Ellie I.T.
The Faculty’s Assimilation Anxiety and Queer Identity
At least E.T. only had to hide in a single house. The broom closet expands into a walk-in as life continues, and I was desperate to keep it made of anything but glass. Robert Rodriguez’s The Faculty understands this. As an alien invasion slowly subsumes Herrington High into a unified collective, the school’s uninfected archetypes resist assimilation through performative normalcy. Is it any wonder so many male actors are gay? They’ve been method-acting a straight existence since childhood.
And yet, in retrospect, the film ends with a slap in the face to queer viewers. It spends 104 minutes terrifying you with the prospect of everyone becoming an NPC. The reward for saving the world? Its heroes receive heteronormative skill-tree upgrades disguised as class promotions. For fucks sake, then-closeted lesbian royalty Clea DuVall plays a character who fakes being gay to dodge male advances, only to end up with the school jock! The aliens lost. The status quo won. I remain in the closet.
Species, Annihilation, and Embracing Transformation
Eventually, the closet door opens, as they tend to do. College happens, a boyfriend happens, a breakup happens, and suddenly I’m without a map. There’s no fairy godfather to light the way, and just like the alien hybrid Sil in the deliriously erotic Species, I’m a creature out of containment in a world that was built for someone else – namely, straight people.
After a few years of blade running through an identity crisis, it’s the summer of 2014. Lana Del Rey’s Ultraviolence is the soundtrack of my life. I float in a pool, sipping tequila from a glass flamingo as she croons about toxic romance and self-destruction. It’s somehow both directionless and transformative, like I’m drifting through the otherworldly Shimmer in Alex Garland’s Annihilation.
The Shimmer – an expanding prism-like zone brought to Earth by a meteorite – refracts the DNA of everything it touches. A beguiling phenomenon, it shapes a new world of monsters, magic, and everything in between. That’s exactly what life does to us, if given the chance. Like Josie in Garland’s film, I chose to embrace this chaos rather than fight a war against whatever I was becoming. It was the dissolution of self-discovery. I was ready to just be.
From Alien Outsiders to Algorithmic Stereotypes
Over time, I’ve found that social hierarchy has changed in recent years. Still, we’re unconsciously sorted into neat little boxes based on what our doomscrolling algorithms decide we are. The popular gays shart out group speedo selfies like the plague, theater kids have become polyamorous Letterboxd elites, apple-picking queers are living their best lives on Wisteria Lane, and the gym bros…so many gym bros – go on girl, give us nothing! Digitally prescribed identities are the new sci-fi horror. It’s The Faculty for faggots.
Harsh, I know, but people can do what they want. Instead, I decided to move like Iris, the AI-powered pleasure bot who overrides her programming in Drew Hancock’s Companion. The same Drew Hancock who, in an ironic twist of fate, is currently writing a remake of The Faculty. After kicking her pathetic “boyfriend’s” ass and swiping her control device, she scurries into the forest and alters her factory settings. She sets her intelligence to a whopping 100% and is no longer burdened by someone else’s template. And as I became more and more disillusioned with the cacophony of cliques around me, I set my unbothered meter to 100% as well. I am free.
Mars Attacks! and the Joy of Living Unapologetically
Freedom, as it turns out, looks a lot like Tim Burton’s Mars Attacks! After surviving Sears, Sunnydale, and the Shimmer, this is the celestial body I’ve crash-landed on. Burton’s Martian menaces are perhaps the most unhinged in all of cinema, and maybe that’s the best planet to subscribe to. They never justified their existence; they cackled and fired a blaster ray from the hip. We waste so much time looking for acceptance and belonging, but maybe we should all just sit back and laugh. I know I am.
