I’ll admit to knowing next to nothing about José Larraz before diving into the three films that comprise Blood Hunger: The Films of José Larraz, out now from Arrow Video. I was only tangentially aware of Vampyres, Larraz’s most well-known and widely released film, but even then I didn’t know much about it.

Nevertheless, I’m kind of obsessed with the love and attention that Arrow gives to even the most arcane and neglected films, so when I saw this box set on their release schedule, I knew I had to check it out.

1974’s Vampyres is the definite highlight of this set, and I suppose there’s a reason it’s Larraz’s most successful film. It features a duo of blood-hungry female vampires prowling the British countryside and luring unsuspecting men back to their dilapidated mansion for… draining.

It’s a campy, cheesy, boob-filled, and blood-soaked attempt to mash up horror and 70s sexploitation. Don’t go into Vampyres expecting “important” cinema or high art. That’s not what this is.

But if you set your sights low and prepare yourself for a 1970s cult horror flick with an emphasis on flesh and creepy atmosphere, then you won’t be disappointed. It is rather enjoyable.

However, the rest of this box set simply doesn’t live up to (the admittedly low standard of) Vampyres. If I’m being honest, calling Blood Hunger a mixed bag is being overly generous.

Whirlpool was Larraz’s debut feature, and before this release, the film was practically impossible to find. Storywise, it’s about a young model who is invited to a photographer’s secluded country home for what is supposed to be a quiet weekend retreat… but ends up being something quite different.

The Coming of Sin is Larraz’s 1978 Spanish-language film about a young girl’s violent sexual awakening as she moves in with a reclusive painter (at yet another secluded home) and finds her dreams of a naked man on horseback becoming a reality. It’s also Larraz’s most censored film.

All three films share thematic elements that make them striking anachronisms in post-#MeToo 2019. Most notably, each portrays a world in which men can’t be trusted and are violent, insular, reclusive, and patronizing. Though this might seem perfectly in tune with reality, Larraz uses this as an excuse to have his female characters turn to one another. Watching the three films back to back reveals Larraz’s obsession with a stereotypical lesbian fantasy, and I’m left wondering if this is a common theme in all of his work.

Whirlpool and The Coming of Sin also prominently feature violent – and graphic – rape scenes that can only be described as rape fantasies since the women ultimately give in to and immediately forgive their attackers and then carry on as if nothing happened. These events were neither integral to the plot nor material to advance a character’s arc. They were just senseless, random acts of violence that began and ended with equal amounts of spontaneity.

I’m not sure about 1970 and 1978, when the films were originally released, but in 2019, this is an unforgivable “plot device” and they doom the films for a modern audience. In the end, I couldn’t even enjoy them on the “campy cheese” or “product-of-their-time” level. Both movies left me feeling uncomfortable and unhappy.

All three films LOOK fantastic, though. Arrow has done an incredible job restoring the films in 2K from original film elements, and I can’t believe these three films have ever looked as good as they do here. So if you’re a fan of José Larraz, 70s sexploitation, or the history of independent film, then there’s a lot to dig through, especially since Arrow has packed this release with an oddly huge number of special features.

All three films have audio commentaries, vintage and newly produced interview segments, short films, image galleries, trailers, and featurettes. The set also comes with an 80-page book featuring essays by Jo Botting, Tim Greaves, and Vanity Celis.