The Blind Dead, the creation of series writer/director Amando De Ossorio, are the ambulatory remains of the Templars, knights that practiced black magic and human sacrifice, in order to live forever. They cannot see, but they can still hear and that is how they hunt, by sound. Potential victims can try to keep from being heard, but the pounding of their terrified hearts can be deafening in the silence they are trying so hard not to break…

The how and why of the Templars becoming the Blind Dead varies from film to film.

In Tombs of the Blind Dead, the first of the series, the Templars are hung and left hanging, so that birds can peck the eyes out of their carcasses, prior to burial.

The second film, Return Of The Evil Dead, has a mob of angry villagers kill them. When the lead Templar promises they will return to seek revenge, the villagers blind them, so they will be unable to find their way back to town.

The Ghost Galleon, the third film, has the Blind Dead commandeer the titular sea vessel, turning it into a fogbound Flying Dutchman, so they can hunt the sea for fresh prey. The discovery of a captain’s log allows for an info dump explanation of who the Templars are and how they wound up on the ship. Why were the Templars being shipped overseas? No idea. This is also the only film in the series that does not feature a flashback, or prologue, with living Templars.

The final film, Night of the Seagulls, finds the Templars showing up once every year, for seven nights, to claim a sacrifice from a cursed town. The dubbed version I watched gave no explanation for the Blind Dead being the way they are.

Considering how much I adore atmospheric horror and creepy monsters, it’s baffling to me that I have not gotten around to watching any of the Blind Dead movies until now. Somehow they slipped, unseen, through my childhood. (No pun intended.)

Tombs of the Blind Dead, released in 1971, was a huge hit. One that helped jumpstart the Spanish horror boom of the early-to-mid seventies. It seems to considered by many to the best and scariest of the series. I disagree about it being the best, but agree with it being the scariest.

While the film gets off to a brisk start, it bogs down in the middle and the story takes a digression into what seems to be a different movie. One that could have been directed by John Carpenter.

Two scenes in particular got me wondering if John Carpenter was a fan of the films and if they had influenced him.

The first was in a morgue. A corpse’s hand slides out from under a sheet. Then the corpse sits up, climbs off the table, and begins walking (slowly) toward a morgue attendant that has his back to the corpse. I thought this sequence bore an incredibly strong resemblance to one in The Fog, where a (blinded) corpse gets up and walks up behind Jamie Lee Curtis, who has her back to it.

A short time later, that same ambulatory corpse attacks a woman inside a mannequin factory. The woman runs up to a door, only to find it locked. There is a moment where the panicked woman yanks on and pounds against the door, calling for help, while the corpse walks toward her with inexorable slowness, from across the length of the factory. I thought this moment bore a passing resemble to a similar one in Carpenter’s Halloween, when Laurie Strode (Jame Lee Curtis, again) pounds on a locked door. screaming for Tommy to come open the door, while the Shape walks towards her, from across the street.

If Tombs of the Blind Dead had been made after Halloween and The Fog, I would hold the opinion that Carpenter’s films had influenced De Ossorio, it seemed that obvious.

Tombs might be the scariest of the series, but I think Return of the Evil Dead, the second, is the best. The production values are higher, the movie looks more polished, and the story and characterizations are not just stronger, but coherent. (In defense of Tombs story problems, the film was cut and re-edited prior to its release in the United States, which explains its choppiness and incoherence.)

On the quincentennial (500 year) anniversary of a town celebrating its defeat and destruction of the evil Templars, the Blind Dead arise to wreak their promised vengeance.

They come riding into town, after making a brief stop to attack some lovers having a clandestine tryst, and begin slaughtering the villagers. A few townsfolk manage to barricade themselves inside the local church, where they hide and try to figure out how to escape and survive the horrifying attack.

Amando De Ossorio was forthright about Return being influenced heavily by George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead. I am unaware of John Carpenter, or anyone, offering any comment on how Return might have influenced The Fog. But the surface similarities between the films got an ear-to-ear grin spreading across my face.

The Fog is my favorite Carpenter movie (I have the soundtrack playing as I write this section of my recap and review) and the similarities, intentional or not, that it shares with Return of the Evil Dead might be one of the reasons I enjoyed it the most.

When the Blind Dead first arrive at the location of the lovers secret tryst, do they burst through the doors or windows? No, they walk up to the door and pound on it with their weapons.

Dare I mention how The Ghost Galleon‘s fogbound cursed ship seemed to resemble the Elizabeth Dane’s fogbound appearance just before the ghosts launch their attack on the Sea Grass?

I am sure that some of you are starting to think, “Chad, I think you’re stretching to the point of being just the teeniest-tiniest bit silly about this.” You might be right, but you also might be wrong. Art is subjective, after all.

There is an idea/theory I have heard discussed and/or referenced in numerous interviews and documentaries over the years. It is the concept that all art and artists (literary and commercial) are engaged in a creative conversation.

This conversation can be friendly, or it can be adversarial, but it is always happening. The artist(s) may or may not even be aware of being in conversation with their influences (both positive and negative) during the creative process, but it is still happening. Down, deep in the collective unconscious of us all.

The sea is filled with ghost ships. Legend, folklore, and myth are scattered with vengeance seeking revenants and ghosts. The connection I see between these three films and Halloween and The Fog could be entirely the creation of my pattern seeking brain.

Even if that turns out to be true, it does not mean I am wrong. De Ossorio and Carpenter both tapped into something potent and primal, with varying degrees of success.

All that remains to discuss now is Night Of The Seagulls, the not-so-grand finale to the Blind Dead series.

I could try and convince myself that my almost hostile reaction to the film was the result of watching all four films in close proximity and, no matter how much fun I had with the first three, I was beginning to tire of them by the end of this fourth go round.

But even with that admission, I have a difficult time convincing myself of its truth. Because, it seemed to me, that De Ossorio himself was getting bored with the Blind Dead. His story feels perfunctory and the attacks are as lifeless as the Blind Dead themselves. The film is still deliciously atmospheric, but the creepiness that made the first three work so well is nonexistent.

Then there is the film’s almost robotic anti-climax. No spoilers, but Night of the Seagulls manages to surpass Return of the Evil Dead‘s “Wait, that’s it!?!” ending. At least Return attempted an emotional catharsis of some kind. Seagulls, sad to say, did not. So it goes.