It's ironic that of all the cinematic treatments of the Russian vampire myth of "The Vij", its homeland's filming of the legend, BNN (or THE VIJ) is the most overlooked and neglected. This unfortunate situation is undoubtedly because the film was never released in the States theatrically (unlike other treatments of the myth such as BLACK SUNDAY and BLACK SABBATH, which were released domestically through AIP). This is a shame, because BNN is eager to delight the viewer with its many charms and proves itself a worthy addition to the growing library of "Vij" filmography.

When a group of three young members of the Russian Orthodox Church go on a mischievous nocturnal romp across the countryside, they soon find shelter in a seemingly innocent village home. Reluctantly ushered into the home by an old hag, the troupe soon encounters strange goings-on. One member in particular is haunted by the hag and is forced to allow her to ride on his back like a horse! Taken aback by this surreal request, he soon begins galloping into the night sky and over the countryside. Terrified, he flails desperately and finally returns to the ground. Upon his return to terra firma, however, he is aghast that the hag has changed into a beautiful country girl. He quickly returns to his church but it isn't long before the girl's family requests that he give the final rites of their now deceased daughter and exorcise the demon of the Vij at the very same house he was the night of his bizarre incident.

Simply put, BNN works so well because the fable is given a greater degree of authenticity by the Russian people and settings of the film. While the "Wurdalak" episode of Bava's BLACK SABBATH may have indeed been memorable in its own terms, BNN takes a refreshingly Russian spin on the country's own fable. The bulk of the film is set in a charmingly old world Russian farm. The citizens that populate it are in turns humorous, suspicious, and loving. The interaction between the townsfolk and our reluctant hero provide BNN with a rare humility and historical atmosphere that many similar gothic tales just can't match.

But what undoubtedly contributes to BNN's rare charisma and class is its whimsical orchestral score by E. Kachaturian. In many scenes, the score provides a fairy tale atmosphere and perfectly complements the Vij's mischievous specter. Further intensifying key scenes is an increasingly active camera. The camera's calisthenics are tastefully relegated to scenes of horror and wonder when the priest is trying (often amusingly in vain) to exorcise the Vij from the deceased girl. Often the camera takes on a life of its own in these key scenes, wildly oscillating around the priest's very frightened frame. Inventively, the camera proves to be an extension of the Vij's many occultist tricks such as when the lens throbs in tune to a floating casket tauntingly jabbing at the priest through the open air. In addition to inspired camera work, there are many startling optical effects. In a tour-de-force finale, the Vij summons warlocks, imps, zombies, demons, and other assorted satanic minions to annihilate the priest and prevail over the forces of good. It would be quite difficult for even the most jaded horror viewer to not be dazzled by this startling phantasmagoria of optical effects, miniature creature models (which recall the work of Ray Harryhausen) and striking gel lighting straight out of a Mario Bava gothic feature.

BNN succeeds as both an excellent gothic horror film and as an often intimate view into rural Russian life of the last century. Thankfully BNN never grows boring because it simply offers so much: whenever it threatens to drag, one is welcomed to look beyond the shocks and visual stimuli and absorb the Russian culture and worldview from whence the famous fable came.