Paul Naschy didn’t just play werewolves — he was the werewolf. At least in Spain, where his long-running role as doomed lycanthrope Waldemar Daninsky turned him into a cult horror icon with the body of a linebacker and the sideburns of a lounge singer.
Night of the Werewolf (a reworking of his own 1971 film Werewolf vs. the Vampire Woman) is arguably one of the best-looking entries in the Daninsky saga — and also one of the most ridiculous. It’s filled with gothic castles, cobwebbed crypts, oiled-up vampire brides, and enough Euro-horror sleaze to make your TV smell like old velvet and clove cigarettes.
Is it good? Not exactly. But it’s fun. In a brooding, moonlit, “this movie definitely came out on VHS with a glowing red cover” kind of way.
The Plot: Cursed Men, Stupid Women, Ancient Evil, Repeat
Waldemar Daninsky, accused of witchcraft in the Middle Ages, is executed along with his vampire mistress, Countess Elizabeth Bathory. Flash forward to modern times (read: somewhere between 1978 and eternity), when a trio of curious young women stumble upon his tomb — and, as women in horror films often do, make the absolute worst decision imaginable by reviving him.
One of the women even pulls the silver dagger out of Daninsky’s chest. You know, the only thing keeping him dead. She looks shocked when he wakes up and starts howling. Bless her heart.
Soon, Waldemar is back, brooding in the woods with a half-buttoned shirt and the kind of tortured stares that scream “I majored in Sadness.” Meanwhile, Bathory also gets revived (naturally), and unleashes her coven of nude vampire witches, who slink around like a Eurotrash goth band doing interpretive dance.
The rest of the movie is a fog-drenched mashup of werewolf growling, cleavage, slow-motion neck biting, and spooky standoffs lit by candelabra.
Paul Naschy: Man, Myth, Mutton Chops
Naschy, as always, throws himself into the role of Waldemar Daninsky like a man who believes this may be his last full moon. He scowls, suffers, and claws his way through every scene with the same gusto he brought to all ten thousand of his werewolf movies. The man was committed — and shirtless, usually.
He’s less of a leading man and more of a gothic linebacker. Think Charles Bronson in a cape. He doesn’t emote so much as glare longingly, but you get the sense he means it.
And yes, there’s a certain charm in watching him wrestle vampire brides in a Romanian dungeon lit like a heavy metal music video.
The Women: Gorgeous, Doomed, and Generously Underdressed
Let’s not kid ourselves. Half the appeal of this film is the casting of three women who look like they were discovered in the lingerie section of a 1981 Spanish catalog. They are beautiful, sultry, and mostly there to faint, scream, or remove their tops for no logical reason.
One of them actually strips down to sunbathe in the middle of a cursed cemetery. You have to admire the confidence.
They serve the gothic aesthetic well — all eyeliner and nightgowns — but their characters could be replaced by haunted coat racks and you wouldn’t lose much nuance.
Azucena Hernández plays Karen, the most prominent of the three women who unwittingly revive Waldemar Daninsky and later become tangled in the film’s gothic nightmare. Of the trio, Karen is the heart — and, perhaps unintentionally, the brain — of the group. While her friends provide the shrieks, seductions, and sunbathing-in-haunted-crypt energy, Karen is the one who sticks closest to the “final girl” archetype, though in a decidedly European, low-budget sort of way.
🌕 Karen’s Role in the Film: The Gothic Good Girl
Karen is introduced as part of a group of young women (including Erika and Barbara) conducting some sort of vaguely-defined occult research, the kind that always leads to opening tombs you shouldn’t and accidentally resurrecting immortal werewolf-men. She is the most cautious of the three, often expressing hesitance when her friends dive headfirst into vampire lore and dagger-pulling.
When Waldemar is revived (because someone always pulls the damn dagger), Karen becomes the one who slowly forms a romantic, tragic connection with him. She recognizes he’s not simply a monster — but a tormented soul cursed by fate, doomed to transform into a snarling were-beast every time the moon gets frisky. Naturally, she falls for him. Because who wouldn’t fall for a hairy man brooding in a castle?
❤️ The Love Interest with a Brain and a Bodice
Azucena Hernández brings a certain soft vulnerability to the role. She isn’t just there for eye candy — though, to be fair, she is gorgeous and spends much of the film in flowing dresses that ride the fine line between elegant and exploitation-ready. But there’s a sincerity in her performance. Karen seems genuinely conflicted — drawn to Waldemar, repulsed by his curse, and desperate to help him fight the evil Countess Bathory and her topless vampire cult.
As the film progresses, Karen becomes Waldemar’s emotional anchor. She’s not physically powerful, but she’s the moral compass — the only one who sees the tragedy behind the monster. Their relationship gives the film its fleeting moments of soulfulness, even as the rest of the movie is neck-deep in gothic camp.
🦇 Not Just a Victim
Unlike many Euro-horror heroines of the era, Karen isn’t merely a shrieking damsel or vampire bait. She resists, escapes, even confronts the supernatural forces head-on in moments. She has agency — even if it’s limited by a script that’s more interested in atmosphere and ritual daggers than nuanced female characterization.
Still, Karen endures. When vampire brides prowl and wolves howl, she’s the one trying to stop the madness.
The Atmosphere: Fog, Capes, and Low-Budget Hammer Worship
If someone told you this was a lost Hammer film from 1972 that accidentally wandered onto a Spanish horror set, you’d believe them. It’s got all the trimmings: stone crypts, blood-drenched altars, ceremonial daggers, and people whispering about curses like it’s a Tuesday.
But the budget shows. The werewolf makeup is passable but looks more like a cursed schnauzer than a terrifying beast. The editing is clunky, and the dubbing ranges from tolerable to “this voice was clearly recorded in a closet during a lunch break.”
Still, the film looks good — especially compared to some of Naschy’s other entries. The lighting is moody, the costumes are elaborate, and there’s at least one crypt set that didn’t look like it was made of spray-painted Styrofoam.
The Pacing: Slow Burn, Then Bloody Sneeze
The first half of the film creeps along like a drunk vampire looking for his car keys. You get long scenes of wandering, chanting, and soulful staring. Then, around the 50-minute mark, things go absolutely bonkers: full moon transformations, werewolf battles, nude rituals, stabbings, decapitations — all the good stuff, dumped in like Naschy suddenly remembered people watch horror movies for action.
It’s not exactly scary, but it has a kind of bargain-bin poetry to it. Like a love letter from a horror nerd with a shaky pen and a massive VHS collection.
Final Thoughts: A Hairy, Half-Good Gothic Relic
Night of the Werewolf is far from perfect. It’s slow, dated, and often unintentionally hilarious. But it has style. It has conviction. It has vampire queens who wear gold lamé while bathing in blood. It also has a lead werewolf who looks like he bench-presses sarcophagi between takes.
It’s not great — but it’s earnest. And weird. And occasionally pretty damn fun in a “how did this get made and why am I still watching?” kind of way.
Final Grade: 5.5 out of 10 Silver Daggers
If you like Paul Naschy, old-school Euro horror, or beautiful women looking confused in candlelit ruins, you’ll find something to enjoy. Just don’t expect logic, consistency, or high production values. Or pants.
