This fabulously flipped-out fright feature is the eighth and most outrageous in Paul Naschy's ongoing Waldermar Daninsky werewolf horror series. The picture begins on a solid note with a rousing pre-credits yeti attack sequence. Naschy, as sullen and brooding as ever, joins an expedition in Tibet to search for the legendary reclusive beastman. Naschy gets lost during a storm, stumbles across a cave were two beauteous libidinous cannibalistic bisexual sorceress babes resides, has sex with the chicks, and snuffs them both out (but only after one honey gives him a bite that plants a werewolf curse on poor long-suffering Paul). Pretty soon Naschy's getting all hairy and homicidal whenever the moon becomes full, killing expedition members and brutish highway bandits alike with grisly abandon. Naschy meets a wise, friendly monk who promises to remove the curse if Paul does a little favor for him first: Naschy has to dispose of a wicked warlord and the warlord's especially nasty hench wench, who's a malicious bitch who gets her warped jollies out of skinning lovely young lasses alive!
Just when you think the movie can't get any loonier, the abominable snowman makes a belated appearance in the action-packed last reel. The yeti abducts Naschy's lady love. Paul in furry werewolf guise and his equally hirsute foe then engage in a ferocious claw-to-claw, thingo-a-thingo, fists-and-fur-a-flyin' physical confrontation in the simply stupendous grand finale. Director Miguel Iglesias Bonns treats all the silly supernatural shenanigans with gut-busting seriousness. Naschy's convoluted, insanely overplotted script doesn't make a lick of sense, thus adding substantially to the overall campy fun. However, the lack of narrative coherence is more than made up for by the generous sprinkling of lurid sex and gratuitous nudity, copious gory bloodshed, wall-to-wall mondo freako action, lovably crummy transformation f/x, handsome scope cinematography, and a quick cameo by the ubiquitous Victor Israel, the Mr. Cellophane of Spanish horror cinema, as a scruffy mountain trail guide. A total rib-bruising riot.
Just when you think the movie can't get any loonier, the abominable snowman makes a belated appearance in the action-packed last reel. The yeti abducts Naschy's lady love. Paul in furry werewolf guise and his equally hirsute foe then engage in a ferocious claw-to-claw, thingo-a-thingo, fists-and-fur-a-flyin' physical confrontation in the simply stupendous grand finale. Director Miguel Iglesias Bonns treats all the silly supernatural shenanigans with gut-busting seriousness. Naschy's convoluted, insanely overplotted script doesn't make a lick of sense, thus adding substantially to the overall campy fun. However, the lack of narrative coherence is more than made up for by the generous sprinkling of lurid sex and gratuitous nudity, copious gory bloodshed, wall-to-wall mondo freako action, lovably crummy transformation f/x, handsome scope cinematography, and a quick cameo by the ubiquitous Victor Israel, the Mr. Cellophane of Spanish horror cinema, as a scruffy mountain trail guide. A total rib-bruising riot.