There persists a prevailing notion commonly thought that vampires are intrinsic to Western lore. This has much to do with Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel Dracula, which popularized a specific sect of vampire mythos that would come to permeate all bloodsucking media thereafter. On its face, it makes sense why so many predominant vampiric traits would be equated with Europeans and Victoriana: pallid, ghastly complexions; uncannily svelte frames; an aversion to spice so severe that even the piquant presence of garlic is enough to annihilate them. However, this is but one iteration of the vampire. The mythology around exsanguination and bloodletting has been omnipresent throughout vastly different ancient peoples, from the Egyptian feline warrior goddess Sekhmet to female vampires from Jewish folklore called estries. Vampires have been portrayed as gods, demons, cryptids and even mortals, but rarely do viewers encounter depictions in clear contrast to Nosferatu, Vlad the Impaler or Edward Cullen.
A stark exception to this rule is, of course, Mexican-American director Robert Rodriguez. His 1996 foray into supernatural spectacle FROM DUSK TILL DAWN takes its sweet everlasting time revealing the presence of the undead, but once unleashed it is a relentless and ingenious take on Mesoamerican vampirism. Though the script was written by Rodriguez’s friend and frequent collaborator Quentin Tarantino, the inclusion of Mayan and Aztecan elements are clearly embedded through Rodriguez’s influence as opposed to Tarantino’s. In fact, Rodriguez’s Mexican heritage and historical knowledge of Mesoamerican culture coupled with Tarantino’s centering of an ostensibly Protestant family afford the film an incendiary and dramatically rich collusion of religion and spirituality. What do concepts like God vs. mortal, heaven and hell, salvation and damnation look like across theologies?
Only a few short miles from the Mexican border, former pastor Jacob Fuller (Harvey Keitel) convinces his children Kate (Juliette Lewis) and Scott (Ernest Liu) to forgo their clunky motorhome and settle for the night in a nondescript motel. While it’s unclear what the trio are embarking over the border for, a frank discussion about Jacob’s recent loss of faith and subsequent abandoning of his pastoral duties after his wife’s death insinuate that the family is fleeing from whatever grief-stricken shock they thought they could leave back home. They become the unsuspecting targets of Seth (George Clooney) and Richie Gecko (Quentin Tarantino), brothers on the lam after a prison break leaves a murderous spree in their wake. The two parties cut a simple deal: Jacob and his family transport the brothers to Mexico without a hitch and the Fullers are free to go. The biggest snag in the plan is that both captors and hostages must spend the night at a lurid strip club in Juarez called The Titty Twister—conveniently open FROM DUSK TILL DAWN—while patiently awaiting the Gecko’s shady partner who will aid in transporting the duo to their final destination of El Rey.
A full hour passes before a single vampire appears in the film, which up until this point has been a relatively straight-laced thriller, complete with sadosexual masochism, brushes with the law and plenty of criminal desperation. Where the film’s first hour is a masterclass in Tarantino’s finesse for racketing up tension, the final 48 minutes are where Rodriguez quickly, efficiently and with unyielding humor crafts an entire mythology and carefully examines ecclesiasticism in the U.S. and Mexico. The film also significantly notes that Christianity and Catholicism are not inherent to Latino history, incorporating aspects from the Mayan Popol Vuh alongside Aztec aesthetics in order to shake up the mechanics of vampirism in a refreshing (albeit still terrifying) way.
The viewer’s first glimpse at one of the ancient evil entities is Satanico Pandemonium (Salma Hayek’s breakout English-language performance), an enchanting dancer who wields a phallic python during her routine. After a fight breaks out between the volatile Geckos and a pussy connoisseur’s (Cheech Marin) henchman results in Richie sustaining a gory hand injury, the metallic smell of blood swiftly transforms Satanico Pandemonium into a scaly serpentine creature lunging at Richie’s jugular. The representation of a snake-like creature is noteworthy, considering the winged serpentine deity Quetzalcoatl reigned supreme in Aztec mythology. While Satanico Pandemonium is the only vampire to assume reptilian form, Rodriguez remains intentional in his exploration of other Mesoamerican deities and their connection to vampirism.
The prevalence of bats, for example—their sinewy wings flapping ceaselessly as the Fullers and the surviving Gecko brother barricade themselves in The Titty Twister—alludes to the Mayan Camazotz, a bat deity associated with death and nightfall. Knowing that the vampire bat itself in indigenous to Central and South America, the lack of exploration of this folkloric history in popular media is perplexing, a genre shortcoming that Rodriguez himself has lamented in interviews.
However, the inclusion of these images in FROM DUSK TILL DAWN is not simply to portray these ancient demigods, but rather confront how they have similarly been affected by colonization and religious inquisition as the region’s indigenous inhabitants were by Spanish, Portuguese and French forces. Oddly, Rodriguez’s vampires react adversely to forces that have been heavily popularized in Western representations. They recoil at the sight of a cross, ooze when touched with holy water, disintegrate into a viscous pool when impaled through the heart with a wooden stake. All this suggests that these creatures were either unstoppable until met with Christian divinity, or there exists a trove of indigenous tactics for dealing with these sinister beings that these gringo combatants remain unaware of.
It’s imperative to note that while remnants of nearly decimated pre-colonial histories are scattered throughout Mexico and the rest of Latin America in pyramids, burial grounds and other signs of advanced civilization (The Titty Twister is hinted to be such a place during the film’s beautiful matte-painting final shot), Catholicism has for centuries persevered as a popular religion in Mexico, evident in the Día de los muertos celebration having its roots in Catholic feast days—All Saints Day (Nov 1) and All Souls Day (Nov 2). In fact, the very notion of purgatory (or praying for those lingering on a plane somewhere between heaven and hell) is uniquely tethered to Catholicism, also depicted in Latin folklore as la anima sola (lonely soul).
Pastor Jacob’s loss of faith being countered with the existence of literal “lapdogs of Satan” is described by him earlier in the film as being less of a lapse and “closer to an awakening,” implying that an underlying spirituality has embedded in his very core. Perhaps the strict, WASP-y sensibilities of his faith were ill-equipped to grapple with the unfairness of death—without proper implorement to keep his wife’s celestial soul alive through celebrating her life’s memory, Jacob renounced his faith entirely.
“Every person who chooses the service of God as his life’s work has something in common,” he says to his daughter shortly before encountering the Geckos. “I don’t care if you’re a preacher, a priest, a nun, a rabbi or a Buddhist monk. Many, many times during your life you’ll look at your reflection in the mirror and ask yourself, ‘am I a fool’?”
What he doesn’t understand, though, is the power of revenant beliefs when it comes to grief. Not until Jacob sees the mortally wounded spring up in front of him with hooked fangs and fire in their eyes does he understand that life and death exist on a razor-fine line—that blurring it can lead to closure or chaos. To ignore it, however, is to condemn oneself to a life of drab misery, perpetually unprepared for the unexplainable.
No Comments