Of all the zombies that have shuffled across movie screens since Night of the Living Dead, why have Spain’s Blind Dead retained such a devoted cult following? They’re less gut-strewn as George Romero’s American animated corpses, or the any of the Italian and German variations, nor are they the speed demons of 28 Days Later and the Dawn of the Dead remakes. And frankly, the four movies in which they appear – all directed by talented workhorse Amando De Ossorio – aren’t particularly inventive or really all that good (their brief appearances in The Ghost Galleon are the only thing worth mentioning about the picture). So why the cult appeal after three decades, the high collectability of their one-sheets and related artwork – why this five-disc set from Blue Underground (not that we’re complaining, mind you)?

My guess is that the Blind Dead are a lot more complex than the average zombie – there’s a purpose behind their incessant, unstoppable blood-letting, and that makes them a bit more sinister than the simple stalk-and-eat directive of most zombies. Though De Ossorio changes up their origins from movie to movie, their basic history goes like this: back in the 15th century, a cult of Satanic Spanish knights known as the Templars gained immortality through human sacrifice. The local population rose up and slaughtered the Templars, and through one means or another, the eyes of the corpses were removed (crows pick them out in Tombs, while the villagers burn them out in Return). But immortality is forever, baby, and whenever their burial ground is disturbed (or in the case of Seagulls, if their demands for more human sacrifice aren’t carried out), the Templars rise from their graves, mount up on their undead horses, and kill and devour anyone unlucky enough to cross their paths. Since they’re blind, they have to listen to find their victims, but being quiet often isn’t enough to save you – on one occasion, a character meets her fate due to her panicked heartbeat. Oh, and when they ride their horses, De Ossorio has them move in slow motion, which doesn’t make a lot of sense (there’s the occasional reference to the Templars being in “another dimension” or something, and in Ghost Galleon, they’re on a whole ship from another time and space), but it looks very cool. So there’s one big appeal – zombies are one thing, but Satanic slow-motion zombies on horseback (dead horseback, mind you), and with swords? That’s just crazy evil times two, and very badass to boot.

Another possible reason for their enduring appeal is that the Blind Dead are based on historical fact. There really were Knights Templars back in the 12th century, though they weren’t Satanic. But they were extremely powerful and wealthy, and had links to the Muslim world, and practiced a blend of Roman Catholicism that was mixed with all sorts of foreign and exotic religions – all of which made it very easy for the Pope to accuse them of heresy after they ticked off the King of France and wipe out their entire French branch (the Templars in other parts of Europe survived the massacre – the full dope on their history, and the history of the Blind Dead movies can be found in Nigel Burrell’s excellent Knights of Terror, which is included in this collection). Their history, filled with occultism and strange religions, lends a degree of gravity and mystery to the creatures that are missing from most movie zombies.

And finally, the movies are drenched in gore and sex, which always brings the sleaze beasts to the yard. Keep in mind that at the time of their release, Spain has just come out from under the long and repressive rule of Franco, and were getting a chance to flex taboo muscles for the first time. And so De Ossorio knew that while scenes of his zombies crawling out of their musty tombs would deliver a chill, horror audiences wanted some steak with the sizzle. And so he gave it to them in spades – heads and hands are lopped off, hearts ripped out and eaten, bowls of blood are drunk, and even a couple of cannibal orgies. Even kids aren’t spared from the bloodbath – in a scene frequently removed from many prints of Tombs of the Blind Dead, a screaming child is drenched in her mother’s own blood before a desiccated Templar kneels down and gently strokes her hair before devouring her. No punches pulled in that department – though De Ossorio seems to have a bit of a problem in the sex department (on screen, I mean). There’s a fair amount of nudity in the films, but the sex is either violent (three out of the four movies feature a rape or almost-rape) or guilt-stricken (shame over a long-ago lesbian affair in Tombs makes Virginia (Maria Elena) jump off a movie train and wander into the Templars’ ruined castle, which leads to the deaths of nearly every character in the movie), and you can say, “Hey, it’s the ‘70s,” but these scenes are heavy-handed and something of a buzz kill, so be forewarned.

As for the movies themselves, like I said, they’re fine – nothing spectacular except when the Templars are on the loose. Tombs of the Blind Dead is probably the most atmospheric of the four – De Ossorio devotes a lot of screen time to the dead rising from their fog-laden crypts, and the scenes are so effective that he re-used them in Return and Seagulls. And there’s a terrific scene involving Virginia’s reanimated corpse in a mannequin factory that’s lit by red neon and firelight that would stand up against anything in the Mario Bava catalog. It’s also the most violent Blind Dead film – the aforementioned child murder is just one moment in a long and vicious assault by the Templars on the passengers of a train. But the framing story – Virginia’s classmate and boyfriend attempt to find her after she disappears – is dull and poorly acted, which is unfortunately par for the course in all the movies. Part of the problem is the lack of solid actors – the only names in all four films are Eurotrash vets Jack Taylor and Maria Perschy in Ghost Galleon, and spaghetti Western regulars Tony Kendall, Frank Brana and Fernando Sancho in Return of the Evil Dead – but the real issue is De Ossorio’s scripts, which often feel burdened in their need to come up with novel ways to revive the Templars. Ending the series after Return of the Evil Dead (the best of the four) might’ve been a smart move – the picture, which essentially grafts the house-under-siege plot of Night of the Living Dead onto the Blind Dead formula, is suspenseful, and in its best moments, has the same will-they-or-won’t-they-live terror of Romero’s film (there’s another child in peril moment that is genuinely unnerving). But since the first two films were cash cows, more sequels were unquestionably in order, and De Ossorio does the best he can with Ghost Galleon and Night of the Seagulls. The set design of the ship in Galleon is actually very effective – it’s almost creepier as the cemetery in Tombs – but the story is senseless (and not in a good way), and the shots of the model galleon at sea are among the worst effects of ‘70s Eurohorror. Seagulls puts a novel spin on the Blind Dead formula by borrowing elements from H.P. Lovecraft’s “The Shadow over Innsmouth” – here the Templars carry out their sacrifices for a monster idol, and once every seven years, demand the sacrifice of young women from a nearby village in exchange for its safety. But the conclusion is ludicrous – the powerful, immortal Templars are dispatched by a ridiculously simple solution – and the cast is aggressively unlikable. De Ossorio was reportedly shopping around a fifth Templar movie at some point in the ‘80s, but it’s probably wise that he stopped when he did.