El bosque del lobo (1970) tells the tale of Benito the peddler (played by José Luis López Vázquez), an outwardly good-natured fellow who travels from village to village, selling his wares and acting as a guide to fellow travelers. What no one suspects is that Benito is a madman who, for reasons unknown even to himself, becomes possessed by an animalistic, insatiable urge to kill. For years, he’s been covering up his crimes and seems to have everyone fooled, but as his violent urges happen more and more frequently, this murderer’s luck begins to run out.

Director Pedro Olea brings this serial killer story -loosely based on real murders committed in Spain during the mid-1800s- to life with an engaging narrative and a superb cast. The excellent writing, fine camerawork, lovely rustic locations, and a brooding electro-tinged music score by prolific composer Antonio Pérez Olea, also do a lot of heavy lifting on this one. The film’s dark tone runs deep and a rising sense of dread creeps in every time another opportunity for Benito to kill unfolds.

Commonly known in the bootleg “I don’t know why this is tagged as a giallo” circuit as Bloodbath, Las flores del vicio (1975) is about a small group of the most unlikable wealthy jerks that you or anyone else has ever seen inhabiting a tiny coastal village and making life hell for anyone unlucky enough to bump into them. One day, a group of “angels” (AKA good looking hippies) show up and this worthless gaggle of dickbagels is immediately smitten. After they are teased with the promises of pleasure, these malignant tumors passing as the rich and fabulous start getting killed in the ways they fear most.

If director Silvio Narizzano was still alive and I saw him on the street, I would cross it immediately to get the hell away from him. Las flores del vicio will easily remain in my top 10 worst films I’ve encountered in my life as a genre film scavenger. Real animal violence, soul-crushing racism, homophobia, rape, and God knows what else are all on display here. Now I know that the filmmakers were trying to paint the perpetrators of these crimes as evil, but there are a couple of moments where they seem to have lost their way, particularly in how cruelly the gay stereotype is punished for his sins. It almost seemed like they were making his sexual orientation part of why he was being punished, and that is totally unforgiveable. If I misread that part of the story, that’s on me.

If you hate Carroll Baker then you will love her in this film. She plays Treasure, a washed-up Hollywood starlet who’s just waiting for that call from Mr. Demille that will never come. It is quite a performance and she is easily the best thing about this film. Then Dennis Hopper stumbles in as Chicken, a junkie that treats everyone (and himself) like shit. There’s no way Hopper remembered making this shit. No freakin’ way. The way he treats his black girlfriend in the film made my blood boil. The rest of the cast is very good, but I pity them for taking this gig. Hopefully, Baker doesn’t know that this has swill has seen the light of day again. I don’t imagine she is someone you want to piss off.

The last film in this morose trilogy that made me want to die is Beatriz (1976) from director Gonzalo Suárez. A mysterious friar (Jorge Rivero) shows up in a tiny village asking for shelter from Doña Carlota (Carmen Sevilla), the local upper-class lady and her family, causing all kinds of strange and violent events to unfold. Rich or poor, no one is safe from his dark influence. The most important plot point in this film is that Spanish cinema is depressing!

I adore the foggy and autumnal look of this film. The old stone buildings overgrown with vegetation add a quiet gothic brooding to everything. The moody keyboard of the film’s score also adds to the magical and superstitious nature of the story. Unfortunately, the brutal and harsh reality that -and this is the first I’ve heard of this- human beings are fucking terrible stomps its way into the film just when I was just starting to enjoy myself. I was almost left with a sense of wonder, but instead I got this awesome hollow feeling that made me afraid of the clergy (again) and roving packs of bandits (also again).

I’ve seen a lot of Spanish filmmakers go after the old-world beliefs of the poor folk of their homeland. The big “dang these ignorant country folk” dialogue scene cut from the English language version of León Klimovsky’s The Werewolf Versus the Vampire Woman (1971) always stick out (like a sore thumb) in my mind. The Villages of the Damned set explores this theme and how these superstitions can control the minds of people whose lives are full of backbreaking work but with a big bonus of squalor doled out for their efforts. And of course, these films delve deep into the upper class’s feelings of superiority over these people, which just shocks me. I really thought the rich were always looking out for the little guy!

I am usually up for some challenging cinema, but this Blu-ray set pushed me beyond my breaking point. I deeply regret saving Las flores del vicio for last because I felt like I was being punished for some horrific sins I committed in a previous life. On the old Internet, I have read a bunch of whiners who say that Vinegar Syndrome puts out “bad” films that “nobody wants”. Look, for every film that they put out that I deem as “not for me”, VinSyn puts out several that I desperately want to see. During Las flores del vicio, however, I found myself asking out loud to my cats (because thank God my wife had gone to bed), “Who the hell wanted this film on disc?” If someone out there enjoys this repugnant, pompous, and grueling nightmare, more power to them. The other two films on the set feel so much tighter in their execution and intent.

All three films look and sound outstanding on this eagerly anticipated release. Extras include an energetic interview with director Pedro Olea, director of El bosque del lobo as well as an introduction to the film with a trio of Spanish film historians Angel Sala, Carlos Benitez and Xavi-Sanchez-Pons. There is an interview with Ivonne Sentis, who played one of the hippies in Las flores del vicio, and one with José Lifante who starred in Beatriz. This set comes with a 40-page booklet about the films with essays by Erica Schultz and Alexandra Heller-Nicholas.