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Planet of the Vampires: Spooky Gothic Horror Goes to Space
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Science Fiction Film Club
Planet of the Vampires: Spooky Gothic Horror Goes to Space
No actual vampires, but plenty of dread, death, and creepy abandoned spaceships!
By Kali Wallace
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Published on August 13, 2025
Credit: Italian International Film / AIP
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Credit: Italian International Film / AIP
Planet of the Vampires (1965). Italian title: Terrore nello spazio. Directed by Mario Bava. English screenplay written by Ib Melchior and Louis M. Heyward, based on the short story “One Night of 21 Hours” by Renato Pestriniero. Starring Barry Sullivan, Norma Bengell, Ángel Aranda, and Evi Marandi.
I love a spooky atmosphere. In fact, a spooky atmosphere might be one of my favorite things in the world, both in fiction and in real life. On the one hand, this means I am always up for a walk in a fog-shrouded cemetery. On the other hand, this also means readers of my early drafts are always telling me, “It’s got a great spooky atmosphere! But it needs… the rest of the story.” My approach to writing is a lot like planning a seven-course meal entirely around dessert: I love the rising tension and building dread that comes along with a creepy, spooky, eerie atmosphere, so I start there and figure out everything else later.
It’s certainly not impossible to find properly spooky space-based science fiction. Atmospheric sci fi horror is a small but healthy genre niche across storytelling media. When it comes to movies, I have mentioned once or twice or one million times that Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979) is one of my favorites. It’s also a movie made up of a bunch of components sourced from previous sci fi and monster movies, as they weren’t trying to reinvent the wheel so much as build a scarier, gorier vehicle from familiar parts.
Along with It! The Terror from Beyond Space (1958), Mario Bava’s 1965 Planet of Vampires is one of those components. An amusingly dismissive Cinefantastique review of Alien from 1979 is even titled “ALIEN: It! the Terror from Beyond the Planet of the Vampires.” Which is both fair and pretty funny, because while Alien’s similarities to It! The Terror From Beyond Space are notable, its similarities to Planet of the Vampires are much stronger, and it’s only partly because of that spooky, spiky, foggy, ominous space-Gothic atmosphere.
That atmosphere is a hallmark of director Mario Bava’s films. Bava got his start in film working on special effects and cinematography in the 1950s, when American and other international film studios were sending their productions to Italy, mostly for economic reasons. These international co-productions started with the sword-and-sandal historical epics that were briefly very popular, then it evolved to include the Spaghetti Westerns of the ’60s. Bava worked in various capacities on films in both of those genres.
He also worked on what is generally regarded as Italy’s first sci fi film: The Day the Sky Exploded (1958), which stars Paul Hubschmid, familiar to readers of this column as lead actor “Paul Christian” in The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms (1953). I haven’t dug too much into The Day the Sky Exploded, but most modern sources take it as fact that while Paolo Heusch is the credited director and Bava is the cinematographer, Bava actually did a lot of the on-set directing.
But it was in gothic horror that Bava truly established his name and made his mark. His first official film as director was Black Sunday (1960). Even if you just watch the gloriously melodramatic and brutal opening scene of Black Sunday, you can already see the dark, moody, violent, and thoroughly spooktastic style that Bava would become known for. It’s all shadows and fog and hooded figures with torches amongst leafless trees and creepy masks and ominous drums, and it’s great. It’s so great! There is no point is doing gothic horror if you aren’t going to go way, way over the top.
Bava continued in that vein for several more movies through the early ’60s. His horror films were primarily Italian productions, although some were European co-productions, but they were often aimed at an international audience. This was pretty common in the ’60s, when the Hollywood studio system was failing and television was growing in popularity, but the surge of the “New American Cinema” of the ’70s had yet to take hold. Companies focused on funding and distributing international co-productions stepped in to take advantage of Hollywood’s floundering. One such company was American International Pictures (AIP). AIP distributed and financed a vast number of genre films through the ’50s, ’60s, and into the early ’70s. Their entire business model was to churn out a steady supply of movies with the specific goal of getting young people into movie theaters while their parents were home watching TV. Anything was fair game, as long as it was relatively cheap to make and would draw teenagers and young adults into theaters: comedies, spy flicks, thrillers, a bunch of very-of-their-time “beach party” and biker films—and of course, piles of sci fi and horror.
Combine those last two and that’s how we get Planet of the Vampires, which was one of the many low-budget films AIP co-produced with Italian International Film and some funding from a Spanish production company. Upon release in the United States, it was paired second in a double feature with a movie called Die, Monster, Die!, an adaptation of H.P Lovecraft’s “The Colour Out of Space” that stars Boris Karloff. Die, Monster, Die! sounds completely awesome, and I am putting it on my to-watch list right away. (We could do an entire month watching only “The Colour Out of Space” film adaptations. We probably won’t, because the psychological and emotional repercussions would be alarming, but we could.)
Planet of the Vampires is based on a sci fi short story “One Night of 21 Hours” by Italian writer Renato Pestriniero, first published in 1960. I can’t read Italian and can’t vouch for the English translation, but the story is an interesting read, and it has some nice passages about the inherent fears and dangers of exploring space. There are no actual aliens or monsters in this story; as is the case with too many sci fi stories from that time period, the real monster is the Freudian depths of the human psyche.
Bava wrote the screenplay adaptation of the story with several cowriters, while Ib Melchior wrote the script for the English dubbing. From what I can tell, however, the Italian version of the movie was also dubbed. Many Italian films made during that time period for international distribution were in fact filmed silently, and all of the sound, including the dialogue, was added afterward. Here’s an example: an iconic scene from Sergio Leone’s The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (1966). It’s not entirely clear to me if that’s exactly how Planet of the Vampires was filmed, but it seems likely. The cast is multinational—American, Brazilian, Spanish, Italian—and according to at least one source (a biography of Melchior), they spoke their lines in their own languages on set. In any case, it doesn’t seem like the Italian and English versions of the film are meaningfully different.
(Aside: Universal dubbing to overcome language and production is less common these days—except in the Chinese television industry, where it is still very much standard practice. If you’ve ever watched a Chinese drama, you’ve almost certainly watched a show that has been dubbed post-filming in the same manner, often by different actors than those on screen. The dubbing happens due to both production demands and the desire for uniform accents and dialects regardless of the cast.)
When the film opens, we meet Captain Mark Markary (Barry Sullivan), commander of the starship Argos. (Even though this movie came out years before the invention of D&D, I choose to believe “Mark Markary” was chosen because a DM had to invent an NPC name on the fly.) Argos and its fellow ship Galliot are approaching the mysterious planet Aura. They have followed a signal to Aura, but from above they can’t see anything of planet’s surface thanks to a thick fog. As they land, the ships are seized by some unknown force and drawn down to the planet at such high acceleration that nobody should have survived it. The crew falls unconscious, but the Argos lands safely.
As soon as they land, the unconscious crew members wake up and immediately try to kill each other. I love it! I love inexplicable homicidal impulses in space! Gotta be one of my favorite ways to introduce characters to a new planet.
Eventually they snap out of it, but their day does not get any better. When they locate Galliot, they trek across the foggy, volcanic surface of Aura to investigate. In a 1985 article in Fangoria, Bava is quoted gleefully explaining that the planet’s eerie landscape was made up two leftover prop rocks from a sword-and-sandal film and a whole lot of smoke to obscure the rest of the set. He may have been exaggerating a bit—a lot of his well-earned reputation as a filmmaker came from being able to do a lot with very little—but it is certainly apparent that the planet’s surface is made up of miniatures, mirrors, forced perspective, and a whole lot of “fog.” The model shots of the ships in flight are extremely silly. The landing struts of the spaceship exteriors look like… large planter pots, maybe? Like the kind you might find holding anemic under-watered flowers near the entrance to a bland corporate office park?
Whatever props the production crew scrabbled together, the result is visibly low-budget, but with a willing suspension of disbelief, it still works. The planet’s surface sets an unsettling tone. We are assured that this is a creepy, unpleasant place to die.
And, boy, do these unlucky space travelers die. The crew of the Argos discover that the crew of the Galliot succeeded in their mass murder frenzy and have all beaten each other to death. Crew member Tiona (Evi Marandi) is pretty sure she sees them up and walking around later, but because the rest of the characters still think they are in a sci fi movie and not a gothic horror, they don’t know that they are supposed to believe it when a beautiful woman says she sees the dead wandering around. She’s right, of course, but it’s a while before anybody else catches on.
One by one, the crew of the Argos are picked off and killed, which is exactly what should happen in a sci fi horror movie about being stuck on a spiky planet inhabited by a hostile presence. As they are being winnowed down, Captain Mark “Marky Mark” Markary and crew member Sanya (Norma Bengell) do some exploring on the planet’s surface, which leads to my favorite sequence in the film.
Mark and Sanya discover the wreckage of an alien spaceship and a couple of giant skeletons. The scenes are eerie and a bit odd, with the camera following the characters through the wrecked ship sometimes from a distance and sometimes at odd angles. (There is also some unintentional humor when Mark immediately touches something that’s just delivered a nasty electric shock to Sanya and is surprised to be shocked himself.) It will familiar to anybody who has seen Alien, of course, because it was more or less lifted wholesale from this movie into that one, and pretty much into Prometheus (2012) as well.
That’s not why I like it so much. Or perhaps I should say: I like it in different movies for the same reason, and I don’t mind if lots of sci fi horror movies keep having people stumble across gruesome things in wrecked spaceships. I suspect it’s the same reason Ridley Scott (and many other filmmakers) like it as well, and that comes down to the nature of potential dangers in space-based sci fi horror.
We know space is dangerous. It’s big and dark and unknown, which makes it perilous even if it’s completely empty. But in a horror story, what’s big and dark and unknown is almost never completely empty, and that’s where the real scares come in. A dusty old house isn’t scary when it’s empty; it’s scary when we suspect it’s not empty but can’t see what’s hiding in the shadows. And what’s true of haunted houses is true of any horror setting, whether that’s a castle, a cave, the woods, or the farthest reaches of space.
The possibilities of there being something in that darkness is a key part of how many horror stories build dread. Stalwart human explorers stumbling across wrecks, ruins, and corpses are a delightful way of ratcheting up that dread in sci fi horror. Now we know that even what’s lurking in the darkness is vulnerable to something else. We know that something else has fallen into the same trap the characters have just fallen into. We know that something else—as big and alien and strange as it was—never escaped.
This is where Planet of the Vampires really shines. The combination of that heavy, shadowy atmosphere pulled right from gothic fiction with the modernist aesthetics of ’60s space travel fiction means that the film is stylish enough to look at that I don’t really mind the clunky dialogue and sometimes inexplicable choices of crew members constantly wandering off alone.
It helps that the film doesn’t pull its punches. The crew gets killed off and reanimated by the disembodied aliens one by one, until we’re left with a small group, then just three, then only one. Crew member Wes (Ángel Aranda) tries his best to stop the aliens from leaving the planet, but there is to be no last man standing in this film. He dies as well. None of the crew’s efforts help in the end. The aliens escape Aura and head to Earth.
What I really enjoy about Planet of the Vampires is how even with the low budget, even with the two-rocks-and-some-mirrors visual effects, even with a cast of people speaking their lines in four different languages and rocking Star Trek-style fight choreography, it still manages to create a layered, immersive atmosphere of fear. It’s far from a perfect movie (it’s even quite silly in places), but I don’t care, because it showcases perfectly why space exploration is such a superior premise for horror stories: out there in the darkness, we don’t know what we’re going to find, and we don’t know if we’re going to be able to run away when we do find it.
What do you think of Planet of the Vampires, which has no vampires? Do you know where your Meteor Rejector is? You better locate it before it’s too late.
Next week: We’re jumping ahead to the late ’90s and a film that was critically panned upon release but has since earned itself an ongoing reevaluation, which seems to be part of the natural life cycle of a horror film. Watch Event Horizon on Amazon, Apple, Plex, and others.[end-mark]
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