As the penultimate entry in the Harry Alan Towers-produced Fu Manchu series, Jess Franco’s The Blood of Fu Manchu (1968) embraces pulp villainy with a sly wink and a steamy, sun-soaked backdrop. Exotic, bizarre, and unmistakably Franco, the film combines Cold War paranoia, jungle-set espionage, and sensual danger in a heady cocktail that makes for one of the series’ most distinctive and enjoyable installments. While working within a modest budget, Franco delivers a visually rich and atmospherically strange take on Sax Rohmer’s legendary criminal mastermind.
Set largely in the steamy jungles of South America, the plot centers on Dr. Fu Manchu (Christopher Lee) developing a new biological weapon: a deadly venom delivered through the kiss of beautiful women under his control. Victims are left blind, poisoned, and helpless—a twisted inversion of the femme fatale trope that fits perfectly within the series' pulp origins.
As Fu Manchu sets his plan in motion—targeting world leaders and top agents—his old adversary Nayland Smith (Richard Greene) is once again called into action. After being poisoned himself, Smith must rely on his ally Dr. Petrie and a cast of globe-trotting operatives to uncover the source of the threat and shut down Fu Manchu’s jungle stronghold before the "kiss of death" can spread worldwide.
The narrative drifts between a spy thriller and a fever dream, but that’s part of the charm. This isn’t a film that plays by traditional thriller rules—it moves with the loose, jazzy energy of late-’60s European exploitation cinema.
Director Jess Franco leans into his strengths here: sultry atmosphere, hypnotic pacing, and unexpected visual textures. The South American jungle locations are used to full effect, giving the film a lush, sweaty feel that sets it apart from the previous entries' more studio-bound settings. Franco’s signature mix of pulpy action and surreal detachment is on display, turning what could be a standard espionage plot into something far more visually evocative.
Yes, the editing is occasionally erratic and the story meanders, but Franco compensates with moody lighting, exotic backdrops, and a bold embrace of genre absurdity. The film moves like a dream—or a hallucination—with sudden bursts of violence, mysterious cave laboratories, snake-handling assassins, and of course, hypnotized women whose kiss can kill.
It’s not traditional storytelling, but Franco never aimed for convention. What he delivers instead is atmosphere, mood, and style in abundance.
Christopher Lee once again towers over the film as Fu Manchu, blending cold intellect with icy command. Though he has fewer lines than in previous entries, his presence looms over every scene—especially once the villain's jungle lair becomes the center of the action. His restraint gives the character an almost mythic quality, and Lee, as always, delivers his performance with professionalism and gravitas.
Tsai Chin returns as the ever-loyal Lin Tang, this time with even more venom and sadism. She’s commanding in her scenes, radiating a dangerous confidence that makes her one of the most effective female villains in the series. Her scenes with the “poison women” are among the most memorable, adding a layer of queasy eroticism that’s signature Franco.
Richard Greene brings gravitas to Nayland Smith, while Maria Rohm—Towers’ frequent collaborator and real-life wife—adds a layer of glamour to the film’s roster of mysterious women. Supporting performances range from the serviceable to the outright eccentric, all adding to the film’s dreamlike quality.
Of all the Fu Manchu films, The Blood of Fu Manchu may be the most indicative of Franco’s evolving style—bridging the gap between studio adventure films and the more transgressive Eurocult cinema he would later become known for. It’s a film that doesn’t aim for realism or coherence so much as tone, tension, and visual seduction.
The concept of weaponized kisses may seem absurd on paper, but in Franco’s hands it becomes both sinister and strangely poetic. It taps into Cold War fears, gender politics, and the seductive power of control, all dressed up in pulp adventure packaging.
Though critics at the time were dismissive, modern cult film audiences have embraced The Blood of Fu Manchu for its oddball charm and unorthodox rhythms. Its mix of genre tropes, surreal visuals, and low-budget inventiveness make it a fascinating time capsule of 1960s exploitation filmmaking.
The Blood of Fu Manchu is less a traditional thriller than a tropical pulp fever dream. Jess Franco’s direction is stylish and strange, Christopher Lee is reliably magnetic, and the concept—a deathly kiss delivered by hypnotized beauties—is pure vintage villainy. While it may not be to everyone’s taste, fans of Eurocult cinema, Lee completists, and pulp aficionados will find much to enjoy in its sweaty, sun-drenched weirdness.
Blue Underground’s release of The Blood of Fu Manchu comes loaded with a rich selection of bonus features that delve deep into the film’s pulpy legacy and the creative minds behind it. At the heart of the extras is The Rise of Fu Manchu, an excellent archival featurette featuring interviews with director Jess Franco, producer Harry Alan Towers, and stars Christopher Lee, Tsai Chin, and Shirley Eaton, offering candid reflections on the film’s production and the enduring mystique of its villain. Complementing this is Sanguine-Stained Celluloid, a brand-new interview with cult cinema scholar Stephen Thrower, author of Murderous Passions: The Delirious Cinema of Jesús Franco, which provides valuable critical insight into Franco’s evolving style and the film’s place in his sprawling filmography.
Fans of film commentary will appreciate the newly recorded track from Troy Howarth and Nathaniel Thompson, who bring their deep genre knowledge and infectious enthusiasm to every scene. For a lighter, more irreverent experience, the disc also includes a new RiffTrax Edition—a hilarious alternate viewing with Mike Nelson, Bill Corbett, and Kevin Murphy riffing on the film’s campier moments. Add in the international trailers and a newly expanded gallery of posters and stills, and you’ve got a robust, fan-friendly package that celebrates the film’s strange charm while giving it the historical and cult context it deserves.
It’s a film that walks the line between espionage and exploitation, pulp and art-house, trash and treasure—and that’s exactly why it endures. Strange, sultry, and quintessentially Franco—best viewed with a cocktail and a taste for danger.
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