While this monograph deals in part with the making of the film of the same name, it was really an opportunity for me to explore the importance of nostalgia in our lives (very underrated, nostalgia) and reflect on aspects of my childhood, notably my relationship with my father. In that sense, it’s as much memoir as film criticism, though I was also fascinated by the process through which a disparate group of individuals can come to together to produce, if not necessarily a work of art, then at least a perfectly entertaining demonstration of craft. While Horror Express might not even make the list of my hundred favorite pictures, it was, curiously, the first that came to mind when I was invited to write at length on a genre film of my choice. The reasons for this are examined in the piece itself.
I don’t think the reader needs to have seen Horror Express to find something interesting in what follows—at least, I hope not—but should you choose to engage with the film, I’d suggest first reading Parts I and II of the essay, then watching the film, before continuing to Parts III and IV. For complicated historical reasons, Horror Express is easily available to watch for free on the Internet, including via YouTube, but Arrow Video also released a restored version on Blu-ray in 2019. The numbering system in Part III refers to minutes and seconds, just in case you feel like fast-forwarding, rewinding, or pausing the film. Because versions of the film vary in length depending on the starting point, the numbering is approximate, but I did my best to begin from the moment the train whistle is first heard against a dark screen.
Horror Express—or my Horror Express—was originally published by PS Publishing in 2018, but it has been revised, corrected, and expanded for Night & Day, not least because the film’s director, Eugenio Martín, passed away in 2023, at the age of ninety-seven.