Following the death of Dr Mersch, Dr Dora Maeterlick and her assistant travel to a remote village. Maeterlick has an additional motive for taking up this new post. She, like Mersch, is interested in the subject of vampirism. The local nobility are sceptical about the existence of supernatural creatures, but the lower orders know better; so do we, having seen how Mersch died in the pre-credits sequence; this also makes us aware the nobility may have other reasons for their purported scepticism...
While the setting is not identified the names of the characters – others include Carl (not Carlos), Greta, Max and Otto – suggest a Germanic rather than Spanish setting. So does another character, Margaret, reportedly fleeing to Switzerland.
Situating horror films outside Spain was, of course, a common feature of late Franco-era productions. It enabled filmmakers to get away with more by providing the excuse that these images were not meant to represent Spain.
The distinctively Spanish nature of the film is, however, conveyed by aspects of the vampire myth as presented here.
Besides the usual tropes around crosses, stakes, and not reflecting in mirrors, these vampires are only active on the nights of the full moon. In other words, just like Paul Naschy’s werewolf character Waldemar Daninsky, they are perfectly normal people most of the time. Needless to say this makes their identification more difficult than usual. It also means that by the time the investigators have unmasked the vampires they tend to be romantically or otherwise involved.
In addition these vampires origins are somehow connected to the Knights Templar, thus alluding to De Ossorio’s Blind Dead films.
Pushing things a bit further, there is also a cursed lake/swamp vaguely reminiscent of the one housing the titular in another De Ossorio film, The Lorelei’s Grasp – itself another Spanish made, but German-set, production.
Music is used prominently throughout, but without any obvious coherence to the set of cues deployed – a Gothic cue being followed by a riff on Peter Gunn, for instance. Likely it was not just that that the cues came from the CAM library and (four) different (Italian) composers, since much the same could be said about many Spanish horror films of the period. Rather, it sounds like they came from a wide range of library albums.
The filmmakers make good use of locations, most notably and old castle. There are also some effective atmospherics, including the usual long passages of characters wandering along long passages and down into the castle dungeons, along with some suitably dream-like uses of slow-motion and day-for-night, especially in the flashbacks. The music in such scenes also tends to be more appropriate.
While not the best film for those with a preference for violent or gory horror this should appeal to those with a preference for sexy horror or the fantastique. Almost the entire female cast appear in skimpy outfits during the day and diaphanous nightwear at other times, and are not adverse to baring their breasts or, in some cases, displaying full-frontal nudity. There are also plenty of hints of lesbianism, extending into some softcore girl-girl frottage, plus some S&M play in the castle’s torture chamber.
The ending also provides a nice frisson...
Friday, 25 January 2013
Thursday, 3 January 2013
Too Much Horror Business
As a book by a celebrity Too Much Horror Business (the title coming from a Misfits song) could easily be labelled as a cash-in based on the author’s fame. Crucially, however, Metallica guitarist Kirk Hammett knows his stuff and demonstrates a near lifelong interest in horror film and its assorted memorabilia.
That his interest is genuine was already confirmed, for me, by a 1987 Metallica fan magazine, which included a shot of Hammett and some of his collection as it was then.
The main difference between Hammett and you or I is, of course, one of money: via multi-million sales of Metallica albums, tickets, and merchandise Hammett has enjoyed a quarter century or so being able to afford those rarities that we cannot. He is also able to employ a fellow collector to seek stuff out.
Yet just because Hammett has more money than you or I does not mean that he comes across as in any way superior: his genuine enthusiasm is such that you could imagine giving him a call, turning up on his doorstep 30 minutes later, then shooting the shit about Nosferatu, The Bride of Frankenstein, Black Sunday, and so on for hours, as friends, on an equal footing.
Hammett’s collection is presented by time period and/or media type. There’s a heavy bias towards the classic Universal horrors of the 1930s over more recent films, with little material from the 1980s and almost nothing from the 1990s or later.
Whatever one thinks of Hammett as a guitarist or member of Metallica, the book is well worth getting for the reproductions of posters and other materials.
That his interest is genuine was already confirmed, for me, by a 1987 Metallica fan magazine, which included a shot of Hammett and some of his collection as it was then.
The main difference between Hammett and you or I is, of course, one of money: via multi-million sales of Metallica albums, tickets, and merchandise Hammett has enjoyed a quarter century or so being able to afford those rarities that we cannot. He is also able to employ a fellow collector to seek stuff out.
Yet just because Hammett has more money than you or I does not mean that he comes across as in any way superior: his genuine enthusiasm is such that you could imagine giving him a call, turning up on his doorstep 30 minutes later, then shooting the shit about Nosferatu, The Bride of Frankenstein, Black Sunday, and so on for hours, as friends, on an equal footing.
Hammett’s collection is presented by time period and/or media type. There’s a heavy bias towards the classic Universal horrors of the 1930s over more recent films, with little material from the 1980s and almost nothing from the 1990s or later.
Whatever one thinks of Hammett as a guitarist or member of Metallica, the book is well worth getting for the reproductions of posters and other materials.
Friday, 14 December 2012
Mondo Sexy and Eroticissimo - Bizarre Cinema Archives
For fans of obscure European cinema and associated culture, the Bizarre Cinema archives series by Glittering Images are pretty much indispensible in my opinion, particularly for the English-language reader.
This is because they’re a source of material that is difficult if not impossible to find elsewhere, be it advertising materials, fotoromanzi and cinemaromanzi, images of obscure soundtrack releases and, above all, translated interview and review fragments.
Their bibliographies are also invariably excellent, albeit generally limited in their usefulness if one is not a reader of English, Italian and French, with access to archival sources of a copyright library level. (One of the good things about where I live, Edinburgh, is that it has one of the UK’s copyright libraries, the National Library of Scotland, and so has a copy of just about everything besides so-called ‘grey literature’. Being able to go there and consult issues of Continental Film Review or Cinema X in a separate reading room is a particularly fond memory; it’s also funny to think of their having complete runs of many UK pornographic magazines, likely including those that are now unacceptable due to having 16- or 17-year-old nude models.)
These two recent Glittering Images volumes, published in 2011 and 2012 respectively and curated by mainstay Stefano Piselli are no different. Mondo Sexy deals with the mondo film in its various incarnations, while Eroticissimo presents sequences from a number of cinemaromanzi (i.e. photo-stories) of European sexploitation films made between 1969 and 1973.
As its title suggests, Mondo Sexy takes a somewhat different approach to the mondo filone than the likes of David Kerekes and David Slaters’s Killing for Culture (a substantially revised third edition of which is due for publication in the new year) and Mark Goodall’s Sweet and Savage.
Whereas those volumes, especially the former, emphasise the death and shockumentary side of the mondo film, as epitomised by the likes of Africa Addio and The Wild Eye, Mondo Sexy focuses more upon the earlier erotic and exotic side of the genre, beginning in the late 1950s and ending in the mid-1960s.
The filmography of Italian sexy mondos is presented chronologically, making it easier to chart the course of the filone over this period. This said, to fully do so the reader will also need to cross-reference with the second and possibly third filmographies. The former of these is of other Italian mondo and mondo-related films, such as Mondo Cane and Cannibal Holocaust respectively. The latter is of non-Italian productions. Some of these, such as Primitive London, are basically sexy mondos in their subject matter and approach, while others, such as Exhibition, illustrate the shift to hardcore that had come to dominate the sex(y) film by the 1970s.
For the general reader -- to the extent that there is such a thing as a general audience for specialist publications like these -- Eroticissimo is perhaps the better option if finances are limited; as followers of Glittering Images will know their books are neither particularly easy to get hold of (I got these from an Italian-based seller on Ebay, and have got some previous volumes from Italian online retailer Bloodbuster), nor particularly cheap.
This is principally because rather than featuring mostly now-forgotten erotic and exotic performers from circa 1959-65, as its counterpart does, Eroticissimo instead features many of the best known and most beautiful starlets of Italian and European cult cinema of a decade or so later, including Rosalba Neri, Edwige Fenech, Janine Reynaud and Sandra Julien.
The films the images of these women and the stories they are part of also showcase the work of some of European trash cinema’s more interesting auteurs, including Jose Larraz (with Whirlpool), Jose Benazeraf (Frustration) and Renato Polselli (Mania).
There are, however, two main criticisms I have of the book. First, Pilselli does not particularly contextualise the fotoromanzi extracts shown. This makes it difficult to know how representative they are. Did the typical fotoromanzi tell the same story as the film it was based upon, or merely offer edited (sexy) highlights in a manner akin to an 8mm version of a feature? Second -- and perhaps more in the way of wishful thinking -- might it be possible for Glittering Images to republish a fotoromanzi or two in their complete form, such that we might then be better able to understand its particular aesthetics in relation to the film and the comic book?
This is because they’re a source of material that is difficult if not impossible to find elsewhere, be it advertising materials, fotoromanzi and cinemaromanzi, images of obscure soundtrack releases and, above all, translated interview and review fragments.
Their bibliographies are also invariably excellent, albeit generally limited in their usefulness if one is not a reader of English, Italian and French, with access to archival sources of a copyright library level. (One of the good things about where I live, Edinburgh, is that it has one of the UK’s copyright libraries, the National Library of Scotland, and so has a copy of just about everything besides so-called ‘grey literature’. Being able to go there and consult issues of Continental Film Review or Cinema X in a separate reading room is a particularly fond memory; it’s also funny to think of their having complete runs of many UK pornographic magazines, likely including those that are now unacceptable due to having 16- or 17-year-old nude models.)
These two recent Glittering Images volumes, published in 2011 and 2012 respectively and curated by mainstay Stefano Piselli are no different. Mondo Sexy deals with the mondo film in its various incarnations, while Eroticissimo presents sequences from a number of cinemaromanzi (i.e. photo-stories) of European sexploitation films made between 1969 and 1973.
As its title suggests, Mondo Sexy takes a somewhat different approach to the mondo filone than the likes of David Kerekes and David Slaters’s Killing for Culture (a substantially revised third edition of which is due for publication in the new year) and Mark Goodall’s Sweet and Savage.
Whereas those volumes, especially the former, emphasise the death and shockumentary side of the mondo film, as epitomised by the likes of Africa Addio and The Wild Eye, Mondo Sexy focuses more upon the earlier erotic and exotic side of the genre, beginning in the late 1950s and ending in the mid-1960s.
The filmography of Italian sexy mondos is presented chronologically, making it easier to chart the course of the filone over this period. This said, to fully do so the reader will also need to cross-reference with the second and possibly third filmographies. The former of these is of other Italian mondo and mondo-related films, such as Mondo Cane and Cannibal Holocaust respectively. The latter is of non-Italian productions. Some of these, such as Primitive London, are basically sexy mondos in their subject matter and approach, while others, such as Exhibition, illustrate the shift to hardcore that had come to dominate the sex(y) film by the 1970s.
For the general reader -- to the extent that there is such a thing as a general audience for specialist publications like these -- Eroticissimo is perhaps the better option if finances are limited; as followers of Glittering Images will know their books are neither particularly easy to get hold of (I got these from an Italian-based seller on Ebay, and have got some previous volumes from Italian online retailer Bloodbuster), nor particularly cheap.
This is principally because rather than featuring mostly now-forgotten erotic and exotic performers from circa 1959-65, as its counterpart does, Eroticissimo instead features many of the best known and most beautiful starlets of Italian and European cult cinema of a decade or so later, including Rosalba Neri, Edwige Fenech, Janine Reynaud and Sandra Julien.
The films the images of these women and the stories they are part of also showcase the work of some of European trash cinema’s more interesting auteurs, including Jose Larraz (with Whirlpool), Jose Benazeraf (Frustration) and Renato Polselli (Mania).
There are, however, two main criticisms I have of the book. First, Pilselli does not particularly contextualise the fotoromanzi extracts shown. This makes it difficult to know how representative they are. Did the typical fotoromanzi tell the same story as the film it was based upon, or merely offer edited (sexy) highlights in a manner akin to an 8mm version of a feature? Second -- and perhaps more in the way of wishful thinking -- might it be possible for Glittering Images to republish a fotoromanzi or two in their complete form, such that we might then be better able to understand its particular aesthetics in relation to the film and the comic book?
The Vampire, his Kith and Kin
Being yet another possible film season idea for the Edinburgh Film Guild's Friday night slot...
Everyone knows the vampire film, don't they? Max Schreck and Klaus Kinski as Nosferatu, Bela Lugosi and Christopher Lee as Count Dracula, all down the way (down being the operative term) to Twilight.
With this mini-season we try to fill in some of the gaps: I Vampiri, Riccardo Freda's modern-day, scientific take on Countess Bathory, notable for being the first Italian horror film of the sound era and for preceding Hammer by a couple of years; Zinda Laash, a Pakistani version of the selfsame Hammer Dracula, but in an Islamic rather than a Christian context and with some song and dance numbers; Spanish maverick Jesus Franco's admirable, if perhaps misguided, attempt to faithfully adapt Stoker's novel to the screen on a decidedly limited budget; Count Yorga, Vampire, with its self-deprecating yet deadly title character taking advantage of the apparent absurdity of the notion that an actual vampire could be at large in contemporary California; Martin, George A. Romero's tale of a young Pittsburgh man who may be a 80-something vampire from the old country, or just mentally disturbed; and the Hong Kong Mr Vampire, a martial arts-horror-comedy combination that showcases Chinese traditions of the living dead, along with the former colony's answer to Peter Cushing, the late great Lam Ching-ying.
Everyone knows the vampire film, don't they? Max Schreck and Klaus Kinski as Nosferatu, Bela Lugosi and Christopher Lee as Count Dracula, all down the way (down being the operative term) to Twilight.
With this mini-season we try to fill in some of the gaps: I Vampiri, Riccardo Freda's modern-day, scientific take on Countess Bathory, notable for being the first Italian horror film of the sound era and for preceding Hammer by a couple of years; Zinda Laash, a Pakistani version of the selfsame Hammer Dracula, but in an Islamic rather than a Christian context and with some song and dance numbers; Spanish maverick Jesus Franco's admirable, if perhaps misguided, attempt to faithfully adapt Stoker's novel to the screen on a decidedly limited budget; Count Yorga, Vampire, with its self-deprecating yet deadly title character taking advantage of the apparent absurdity of the notion that an actual vampire could be at large in contemporary California; Martin, George A. Romero's tale of a young Pittsburgh man who may be a 80-something vampire from the old country, or just mentally disturbed; and the Hong Kong Mr Vampire, a martial arts-horror-comedy combination that showcases Chinese traditions of the living dead, along with the former colony's answer to Peter Cushing, the late great Lam Ching-ying.
- I Vampiri
- Zinda Laash/The Living Corpse
- Count Dracula
- Count Yorga, Vampire
- Martin
- Mr Vampire
Monday, 10 December 2012
Help on sourcing a couple of remarks
There are a couple of remarks by Luigi Cozzi (I think) that I mention in my thesis, which I could remember well enough to paraphrase, but cannot remember their sources.
First, Cozzi remarking that a difference between Bava and Argento's films was that Bava's tended not to play in the first-run circuit (except maybe very briefly) whereas Argento's did.
Second, Cozzi remarking that in Italy producers did not want to know what a film was about, but what films it was like.
Thanks in advance
First, Cozzi remarking that a difference between Bava and Argento's films was that Bava's tended not to play in the first-run circuit (except maybe very briefly) whereas Argento's did.
Second, Cozzi remarking that in Italy producers did not want to know what a film was about, but what films it was like.
Thanks in advance
Wednesday, 14 November 2012
The Brute
The Brute opens in white-coater mode as a psychiatrist addresses the audience straight to camera, acknowledging his presence within a film and commenting on various theories as to why men abuse women.
Following this it then presents what appears to be a dramatised case-study as Teddy (Julian Glover) arrives at the house he shares with his wife Diane (Sarah Douglas) and proceeds to verbally, emotionally, and physically abuse her. Diane is thereby left with marks that she has to explain away in her job as a model. It is clear, however, that neither her photographer friend Mark (Bruce Robinson, later director of cult favourite Withnail and I) not his parter Carrie (Suzanne Stone) do not believe her story of having been involved in a car accident; besides anything else the vehicle has not been damaged.
After this, however, writer-director Gerry O’Hara gives us something unexpected as the second fourth-wall breaching encounter with the psychiatrist is recontextualised as one of his regular therapy sessions with Diane.
Teddy, unfortunately, refuses to accept that he is the one with the problem, continuing to vacillate between abuse and contrition. He appears apologetic, only to then reveal a branding iron which he attempts to use on her. Diane manages to get hold of the iron and strikes her husband before fleeing.
When Diane returns with the police Teddy denies her allegations. The police do not bother to inquire as to why Teddy has a blanket over his legs, merely accepting his explanation that Diane is neurotic, alcoholic, on medication etc.
Around this point the filmmakers throw us another surprise, as Diane is introduced by Carrie to Maria (Roberta Gibbs), another battered wife, with attention then shifting to Maria and her abusive partner.
While uniformly well-acted, competently directed and intelligently written by O’Hara, The Brute is one of those films whose appeal, as something that the 1970s punter would have paid to go and see at the cinema, for entertainment, as opposed to feminist consciousness raising, is hard to discern. In this it reminded me a bit of the later Hollow Reed, a film in which a gay man struggles for custody of his child against his ex-wife’s new partner, whom he suspects of being abusive.
In relation to this possible failing, however, one of The Brute’s strengths is its refusal to give easy answers, as when Mark initiates a relationship with Diane, which Carrie is fully aware of, or when a friend of Maria’s partner is visibly shocked by his violence towards her but does not know how to respond. Somewhat against this, however, there’s Carrie’s martial arts displays, have been fine if introduced earlier but here coming across as somewhat deus ex machina.
Following this it then presents what appears to be a dramatised case-study as Teddy (Julian Glover) arrives at the house he shares with his wife Diane (Sarah Douglas) and proceeds to verbally, emotionally, and physically abuse her. Diane is thereby left with marks that she has to explain away in her job as a model. It is clear, however, that neither her photographer friend Mark (Bruce Robinson, later director of cult favourite Withnail and I) not his parter Carrie (Suzanne Stone) do not believe her story of having been involved in a car accident; besides anything else the vehicle has not been damaged.
After this, however, writer-director Gerry O’Hara gives us something unexpected as the second fourth-wall breaching encounter with the psychiatrist is recontextualised as one of his regular therapy sessions with Diane.
Teddy, unfortunately, refuses to accept that he is the one with the problem, continuing to vacillate between abuse and contrition. He appears apologetic, only to then reveal a branding iron which he attempts to use on her. Diane manages to get hold of the iron and strikes her husband before fleeing.
When Diane returns with the police Teddy denies her allegations. The police do not bother to inquire as to why Teddy has a blanket over his legs, merely accepting his explanation that Diane is neurotic, alcoholic, on medication etc.
Around this point the filmmakers throw us another surprise, as Diane is introduced by Carrie to Maria (Roberta Gibbs), another battered wife, with attention then shifting to Maria and her abusive partner.
While uniformly well-acted, competently directed and intelligently written by O’Hara, The Brute is one of those films whose appeal, as something that the 1970s punter would have paid to go and see at the cinema, for entertainment, as opposed to feminist consciousness raising, is hard to discern. In this it reminded me a bit of the later Hollow Reed, a film in which a gay man struggles for custody of his child against his ex-wife’s new partner, whom he suspects of being abusive.
In relation to this possible failing, however, one of The Brute’s strengths is its refusal to give easy answers, as when Mark initiates a relationship with Diane, which Carrie is fully aware of, or when a friend of Maria’s partner is visibly shocked by his violence towards her but does not know how to respond. Somewhat against this, however, there’s Carrie’s martial arts displays, have been fine if introduced earlier but here coming across as somewhat deus ex machina.
Saturday, 10 November 2012
Italian Gothic
Another possible Edinburgh Film Guild season...
---
The late Maggie Günsberg argued that Italian horror cinema could be divided into two broad periods: Gothic horror from 1956-66 and giallo (i.e. thriller) horror from 1970 onwards. With this mini-season we explore the former period, and the distinctively Italian take on the Gothic by filmmakers such as Mario Bava, Riccardo Freda and Antonio Margheriti.
Black Sunday -- the official directorial debut of Mario Bava also introduced the fetish star of Italian Gothic, English actress Barbara Steele, here playing a double role as the satanist vampire and her innocent victim.
The Playgirls and the Vampire -- a troupe of dancers and their entourage take shelter in an old castle for the night, not realising that it houses a vampire and his lookalike descendent, both being played by Walter Brandi, one of the key players in the early Italian Gothic.
The Horrible Secret of Dr Hichcock -- The first of director Riccardo Freda's Hichcock diptych riffs on the Master of Suspense's Rebecca and Vertigo amongst others, with Steele playing the new wife of the titular pioneering anaesthatist and necrophile.
Crypt of the Vampire -- Christopher Lee appeared in several Italian Gothics, including playing vampires at a time when he refused to reprise the role of Count Dracula for Hammer. This adaptation of Le Fanu's Carmilla, however, sees Lee play one of the vampire hunters.
The Long Hair of Death -- After a mother and the elder of her daughters are executed on trumped up charges of witchcraft, the younger daughter, who was spared, takes her revenge. Steele plays both daughters.
Kill Baby Kill -- In turn of the century Europe a doctor is sent to a remote village to investigate a series of mysterious deaths, only to find his scientific certainties collapsing in the face of mounting evidence of the supernatural.
---
The late Maggie Günsberg argued that Italian horror cinema could be divided into two broad periods: Gothic horror from 1956-66 and giallo (i.e. thriller) horror from 1970 onwards. With this mini-season we explore the former period, and the distinctively Italian take on the Gothic by filmmakers such as Mario Bava, Riccardo Freda and Antonio Margheriti.
Black Sunday -- the official directorial debut of Mario Bava also introduced the fetish star of Italian Gothic, English actress Barbara Steele, here playing a double role as the satanist vampire and her innocent victim.
The Playgirls and the Vampire -- a troupe of dancers and their entourage take shelter in an old castle for the night, not realising that it houses a vampire and his lookalike descendent, both being played by Walter Brandi, one of the key players in the early Italian Gothic.
The Horrible Secret of Dr Hichcock -- The first of director Riccardo Freda's Hichcock diptych riffs on the Master of Suspense's Rebecca and Vertigo amongst others, with Steele playing the new wife of the titular pioneering anaesthatist and necrophile.
Crypt of the Vampire -- Christopher Lee appeared in several Italian Gothics, including playing vampires at a time when he refused to reprise the role of Count Dracula for Hammer. This adaptation of Le Fanu's Carmilla, however, sees Lee play one of the vampire hunters.
The Long Hair of Death -- After a mother and the elder of her daughters are executed on trumped up charges of witchcraft, the younger daughter, who was spared, takes her revenge. Steele plays both daughters.
Kill Baby Kill -- In turn of the century Europe a doctor is sent to a remote village to investigate a series of mysterious deaths, only to find his scientific certainties collapsing in the face of mounting evidence of the supernatural.
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