The Zero Years (2005)

Judging the legacy of a filmmaker can be a difficult thing given that any artist's work is bound to be judged differently by each individual, be they fans or detractors. Even among the field of divisive filmmakers, Nikos Nikolaidis is a particularly interesting case in that his work is widely viewed through a Greek perspective, with the majority of his films being underrepresented outside of his home country. Outside of Greece, Nikolaidis is probably always going to be the “crazy” man behind Singapore Sling (1990) but his body of work as a whole is deserving of a more nuanced evaluation. It's going to sound cliché, but like so many individualistic filmmakers, if there's one legacy left behind by Nikolaidis, it would be one of freedom. An extreme personality, Nikolaidis was the type who, when pushed, pushed back even harder which of course did him no favors with the Greek Film Commission who fought to keep Nikolaidis' work hidden. Nikolaidis' defiance won him a loyal cult following which is still strong to this day with a younger generation of Greek film fans discovering his work. Nikolaidis would pass in 2007, but not before completing one last, potent view of the world as he saw it, bringing his career full circle with The Zero Years in 2005, completing the Shape of the Coming Nightmare trilogy which began with his first feature Euridice BA 2037 (1975).

Much like See You in Hell, My Darling (1999), The Zero Years is far from a conventionally plotted film. Taking place entirely within a brothel under nonstop surveillance by a fascistic government, herkening back to the isolated setting as in Euridice BA 2037, the three main residents are soon joined by a fourth who believes her stay will be brief before receiving a transfer. Forcibly sterilized by the powers that be, the girls are ordered to dish out sadistic beatings to costumers and perform solo dances in front of rabid onlookers, only to face more oppression when a costumer goes missing, all the while fantasizing of retreating to “the sea”, the ideal destination of the protagonists of Morning Patrol (1987), the second film in the Shape of the Coming Nightmare trilogy.

Again, the film is Nikolaidis coming full circle as not only does The Zero Years complete the Shape of the Coming Nightmare trilogy, taking place in the wasteland envisioned in Euridice BA 2037 and Morning Patrol, the group dynamic of the four girls gives it much in common with Nikolaids' loose trilogy of The Wretches are Still Singing (1979), Sweet Bunch (1983) and Loser TakesAll (2002) and like in those films, the bond between the characters creates a strong feeling of solidarity, the two standouts of the group being Vicky Harris and Jenny Kitselli who previously stole in the show in See You In Hell and Loser Takes All respectively. The world the film takes place in is yet another example of Nikolaidis' obsession with the idea of purgatory, Harris' character being almost an extension of Euridice with her hopeful, yet ultimately futile promises of a transfer and better life outside the brothel only to feel constantly stuck in the nightmare the outside world has become. While the similarities with Nikolaidis' other films are numerous, one aspect where the film differs greatly is in the visuals. Whereas Nikolaidis' other films are highly stylized, The Zero Years by contrast is as visually morose as its mood, shot on grungy digital video with a washed out and seedy look. The film is also aligned with Singapore Sling and See You In Hell in being one of Nikolaidis' most horror-based with its sadomasochistic imagery and the hints of the girls being visited by violent specters.

Fascinatingly, although the film closes out the Shape of the Coming Nightmare trilogy and Nikolaidis' filmography as a whole, the story was developed even before Euridice BA 2037 and originally was intended to be the middle film in the trilogy with Morning Patrol being the finale and the one to finally show what the outside world had become, though the circling back to one singular interior location ala Euridice BA 2037 made The Zero Years the ideal final chapter. Nikolaidis said of the film “Silence, chemical suppression, state fascism, broken communication, fear and apathy have all been installed for good... It would be a mistake to interpret this as a futuristic story. No matter how harsh it may appear this movie is about the shape of things that are already here and established, along with the set of things that are just starting to be applied, while we already feel their consequences... Any other approach to the meaning of the movie, will fling it to the domain of futurism and I, assisted by the direction, want to talk about a story of today, instead of being misunderstood about describing something that will happen someday, somewhere.” Nikolaidis would also proclaim “...the nightmare evolves to where I had predicted. I have got nothing else to say”, thus making The Zero Years the definitive final statement from one of the most original voices in world cinema.

“I have a faint impression that we’re all heading towards Hell, and that Rita Hayworth will never come to our rendezvous.” - Nikos Nikolaidis

Loser Takes All (2002)

Loose trilogies are interesting in that they allow filmmakers to explore similar ideas in a way so that one film doesn't have to be directly connected to the other. For instance, Dario Argento's “Three Animals” trilogy consisting of The Bird With the Crystal Plumage (1970), The Cat o' Nine Tales (1971) and Four Flies on Grey Velvet (1972) all share, along with the obvious animal references in the titles, certain connective themes while not being a cohesive series as opposed to Argento's “Three Mothers” trilogy, Suspiria (1977), Inferno (1980) and Mother of Tears (2007), the three witches or mothers being the connective tissue. David Lynch's trio of films known as the “LA Trilogy”, Lost Highway (1997), Mulholland Drive (2001) and Inland Empire (2006) also qualifies with all three centering on the idea of a double, or doppelganger without sharing any characters. Underground Greek legend Nikos Nikolaidis seemed to prefer working within the trilogy format with 6 out of his 8 theatrical features forming trilogies. One was deliberate, the “Shape of the Coming Nightmare” trilogy, Euridice BA 2037 (1975), Morning Patrol (1987) and The Zero Years (2005), focused on dystopian society but Nikolaidis also formed a more loose trilogy out of three other films, The Wretches are Still Singing (1979), Sweet Bunch (1983) and his penultimate film, 2002's Loser Takes All, yet another saga on the underdogs dwelling on the outskirts of Greek society.

After his ex-girlfriend Elsa reluctantly allows him to sleep in her apartment, a nameless deadbeat with a pet bird named Belafonte and a tendency to misquote the Book of Revelations (Giannis Aggelakas, frontman for the legendary Greek alternative band Trypes) takes a job from a shady private detective of sorts, surveying the activities of Mantali, a Senegalese stripper. Upon discovering Mantali's role in a drug dealing operation, the man gets the harebrained idea of getting himself involved and much to his own surprise, pulls it off. Confident that he can pull off something bigger, the man hatches a scheme involving ripping off the crime organization Mantali is forced to work for and enlists the assistance of Elsa, her current boyfriend, a young singer/songwriter (Nikolaidis' son Simon) and Odette (Jenny Kitseli), an alcoholic acquaintance all in the hopes of one big score giving each enough money to escape their stagnant lives in the city.

Nikolaidis' most accessible film, Loser Takes All (O chamenos ta pairnei ola, Ο χαμένος τα παίρνει όλα) follows in the tradition The Wretches are Still Singing and Sweet Bunch in that at its core the film is concerned with the dynamics of an eccentric group of outsiders who all feel perpetually stuck and desperate for escape, yet again an example of Nikolaidis' obsession with the idea of purgatory. In a lot of ways the film could be seen as a slightly more humorous Sweet Bunch. While the film gets incredibly heavy, even downright tragic, in the final third, the film is one of Nikolaidis most humorous. A good bit of the humor is incidental, especially as it relates to the nameless man's success at pulling off acts which, for all intensive purposes, an individual such as he should fall flat on his face in such circumstances. Much like Nikolaidis' other two “gang” films, the heart of the film is the characters and just as in Wretches and Sweet Bunch, despite certain traits in many of the characters, Nikolaidis paints them in such a way that its nearly impossible not to quickly warm to them and eventually root for their success in their scheme. Aggelakas is brilliant in the lead with a deadpan nature and perfect timing but its Jenny Kitseli as the terminally drunk Odette, affectionately nicknamed “Miss Raspberry” who steals the show with her constant needing to vomit and staggering that provides the film with a good portion of its aforementioned humor.

An interesting thing regarding the film is that it was made a good few years before Greek's economic crisis which the film seems to predict in certain scenes where the man comments on the Euro as well as the influx of refugees. Another thing regarding the tone of the film is that despite being made in the early 2000's, there is a very 90's feel to a lot of it which was intentional as Nikolaidis stated “I am concerned with the way the movie approaches the nineties generation. A generation that’s growing up within the loneliness of its self-knowledge, looking for values in the past, and trapped in a pointless anticipation of “messages” and “exits”, which are obstructed and lead nowhere. I'm interested in the uncertainty the heroes have... I'm interested in the trap that is laid before them and the romanticism they use to avoid it, in how they laugh at themselves and the establishment, in their beliefs of love and companionship as well as their beliefs of love for companionship...” Nikolaidis summed up the films message by saying “This movie is dedicated to all those kids that come down from the hills at night and walk around the dark alleys of our city... What matters is…Here no more!” A sentiment may can relate to, which makes Loser Takes All, along with possibly Sweet Bunch, the perfect introduction for a Nikolaidis novice.  

See You in Hell, My Darling (1999)

While all the films of Nikos Nikolaidis are connected by a set of key ideas, one of the most interesting things regarding his filmography is how six out of his eight theatrical features form two trilogies. The most obvious being “The Shape of the Coming Nightmare” trilogy, consisting of Nikolaidis' debut feature Euridice BA 2037 (1973), Morning Patrol (1987) and Nikolaidis' final film The Zero Years (2005), all three focusing on a dystopian future with its remaining inhabitants placed under constant surveillance. Another, more loosely defined trilogy forms out of The Wretches are Still Singing (1979), Sweet Bunch (1983) and Loser Takes All (2002) with the focus being on a collective of outsiders on the fringes of Greek society. Nikolaidis' two remaining features stand totally on their own outside of the trilogy concept while still featuring many of the same obsessions that fuel Nikolaidis work as a whole. Singapore Sling (1990), Nikolaidis' most well known film outside of Greece is one such work and it would be nine nears before Nikolaidis would follow it up (setting aside the 1993 made-for-TV curiosity The Girl With the Suitcases) with another film that stands completely on its own. Even in a body of work filled with unique films, 1999's See You in Hell, My Darling manages to stick out just a bit more, so much so that the film could easily be considered Nikolaidis' magnum opus.

Nikolaidis' most surreal and inaccessible film, See You in Hell, My Darling (Tha se Do stin Kolasi Agapi mou, Θα σε Δω στην Κόλαση Αγάπη μου) is in a class of films alongside the likes of Andrzej Zulawski's Possession (1981) and David Lynch's Lost Highway (1997), films that certainty aren't plotless yet any attempt to summarize them is an ultimately futile endeavor. The film focuses one three characters, Elsa, Vera and a nameless man who spends the majority of the film floating face down in Elsa's pool, presumably dead, occasionally joining the two girls. Through Robbe-Grillet-esque fragmentation, Nikolaidis precedes to tell the tale of their doomed triangle while still leaving plenty open to interpretation as to what their current situation is. It's clear that there was a love triangle, with the man and Elsa once married and Vera getting in the middle. Its also clear that there was a robbery and money was to be split between the three. What Nikolaidis leaves out in the open is the exact nature of the relationship between Elsa and Vera. Obviously best friends at one point, the hint of a romantic relationship between the two is there but again, nothing is made clear and the same could be said of the affections of the man as well. The power dynamic between the Elsa and Vera is fascinating, with both alternating between dominant and submissive as well as love and hatred, all brilliantly realized in the performances of the gorgeous duo of Vicky Harris and Valeria Christodoulidou.

The film is, despite the use of the word “Hell” in the title, Nikolaidis' most explicit in the way it explores the idea of purgatory and being stuck, both from a physical standpoint but also in a state of mind. It's as if purgatory for all three characters is their own private Hell's, forever doomed to repeat the same events over and over as a form of otherworldly karma, making the film the most overtly supernatural and horror based of Nikolaidis' works, something which is also apparent from the films visuals which are some of the most astonishing in Nikolaidis' cannon. A stylist from the very beginning from the start black and white photography of Euridice BA 2037 (1975) to the neon colors of Sweet Bunch (1983), See You in Hell, My Darling trumps them all in every aspect from a visual standpoint with a slick, almost erotic thriller type of look to the film, complete with Borowczyk like attention to detail and as well as highly stylized lighting, particularly for every scene involving the pool. Again, the film is Nikolaidis' most abstract with flashbacks to the aftermath of the trio's crime somewhat recalling the bleached out flashbacks from Donald Cammell's White of the Eye (1987), and even feature Disney-esque masks ala the opening robbery in Zulawski's L'amour braque (1985). Nikolaidis also utilizes music in an interesting way, making Etta James' “I Found a Love” the theme of the movie as well as a plot point signaling the man's entrance in a scene.

The film was a personal favorite of Nikolaidis who expressed his love for the world he created in the film by saying “I feel wonderful inside this after-world of guilt, lost time, memories of my past and of my future. Naturally, this is where I seek all of my loves. Besides, the girls of paradise are so boring.” He would also say “This movie is a necro-romance about the darkness and the thrashing humidity of unfulfilled desires and of ghosts. It’s where those marvelous carnivorous flowers of noir film blossom.” In an interview discussing his career, Nikolaidis described the film as an “automated film” as he wrote the script in one go without edits. He went on to call the film “A dive into a foggy, damp and rotten subconscious... very personal film. Not one the public loves... Too damp, this film, and too tender at the same time”. The film was apparently difficult to complete, though in the same interview Nikolaidis said the manner in which he worked on the film was the method he preferred and its hard to argue with the results. Nikolaidis' work as a whole may present several difficulties for those unaccustomed to eccentric films but See You in Hell, My Darling reaches new levels of eccentricity even by Nikolaidis' standards. His most challenging film by far, but also his masterpiece and an essential piece of fringe cinema.

Morning Patrol (1987)

Interesting things are bound to happen whenever an independently minded maverick filmmaker tries their hand at science fiction as for all the successes there are also some pretty legendary horror stories. Chief among them being the Polish government shutting down the production of Andrzej Zulawski's On the Silver Globe (1977/88) and Richard Stanley's unceremonious firing from his dream project The Island of Dr. Moraeu (1996). There's also of course Alejandro Jodorowsky's failed attempts to adapt Dune into a film and David Lynch's subsequent 1984 film, which Lynch himself considers a failure due to his not having final cut. On the opposite end of the spectrum would be Paul Verhoeven, who found some of his greatest success in the sci-fi genre with RoboCop (1987), Total Recall (1990) and Starship Troopers (1997) and even Abel Ferrara who, despite numerous instances of studio interference, delivered a fantastic rendition of Body Snatchers (1993) and later a fascinating adaptation of William Gibson's cyberpunk story New Rose Hotel (1998). The sociopolitical allegories often found in the genre make it tailor-made for many of the aforementioned directors sensibilities, Verhoeven especially, so it made perfect sense for Greek outlaw Nikos Nikolaidis, who had been fighting against the system from the beginning, to step into the sci-fi realm and when the time came he had the perfect material with Morning Patrol, the second film in Nikolaidis' “Shape of the Coming Nightmare” trilogy.

In an unspecified future, a nomadic drifter (Michele Valley) traverses what has become of Athens which is controlled by a totalitarian dictatorship, in hopes of reaching the sea as a means of escape. Traveling at night in an attempt to avoid being caught and shot by the Morning Patrol, the government's police force ordered to shoot any and all persons out in the forbidden zones, the woman finds food and temporary shelter by breaking into abandoned houses. After one such stop however she encounters a Morning Patrol guard and quickly realizes he's as desperate to escape as she. Despite the dangers including other Morning Patrol officers aware of the guards treason and a mysterious illness affecting the guard, the two make a pact to travel west and attempt to reach the sea with the threat of death following their every move.

In Nikolaidis' fist feature Euridice BA 2037 (1975) which was also the first film in the “Shape of the Coming Nightmare” trilogy, Nikolaidis kept the majority of the film confined to the titular Euridice's apartment. With Morning Patrol (Proini Peripolos, πρωϊνή περίπολος), Nikolaidis extensively expands the palate, effectively turning all of Athens into a wasteland, offering a truly nightmarish vision of the future, or possibly the present. Just like in Euridice BA 2037, one of the more curious yet effective things regarding Morning Patrol is the sense of vagueness surrounding everything. It's never explained exactly what happened to make the world the way it is, be it war, disease, nuclear fallout, ect... It just is, which in effect makes the journey of the woman and the guard all the more harrowing, even with the mystery surrounding their characters as both remain enigmatic throughout. The films setting is also interesting. While its clear the film is supposed to be somewhat futuristic, Nikolaidis' aesthetic choices give the film a variety of flavors, at times post-apocalyptic given the sparseness of everything but there are times when the film also feels contemporary which again makes it seem as if Nikolaidis is saying the “future” depicted in the film had already arrived in 1987 and most interestingly, a touch of 1940's noir which fits surprisingly well. Nikolaidis also brilliantly avoids cliché when it comes to the developing relationship between the woman and guard, sidestepping any mawkish Hollywood-esque sentimentality in keeping with bleakness of the world the film presents.

The films biggest strength is unquestionably Michele Valley in her first role for Nikolaidis. A captivating presence who's impossible to look away from, the film wouldn't have been the same without her and the determination she brings to her nameless warrior. She would of course go onto to be one of Nikolaidis' most dependable performers, becoming completely unhinged in Nikolaidis' most infamous film Singapore Sling (1990) and she would appear in a very different type of role in the final “Shape of the Coming Nightmare” film, Nikolaidis final film The Zero Years (2005). Nikolaidis would rightfully proclaim the film to be ahead of its time and admitted being deeply affected by his own work, saying in an interview “Morning Patrol is a film that I still am afraid to watch. For many, its my best film, I'm just afraid of watching it. Because its a film speaking about all the things I was afraid that would come true and they finally all came true. Silence, ice, broken communication, lack of emotions, murder... I don't want to talk about this film. It disturbs me”. Being a Nikolaidis film, Morning Patrol is of course unique in the realm of sci-fi and given how certain things have played out around the globe since the film was made, it fits right in with the likes of On the Silver Globe and Hardware (1990). An essential Nikolaidis title. 

Sweet Bunch (1983)

In response to Italian critics who claimed that his debut feature Euridice BA 2037 (1975) “finally proves Lyotard’s cinematographic theories as well as the solution to many of the problems which puzzled Pasolini for years”, Nikos Nikolaidis humorously remarked “I am embarassed because I didn’t know then and I still don’t know anything about Lyotard’s theories or Pasolini’s problems.” Nevertheless, there is a certain parallel between Nikolaidis and Pasolini. Much like Pasolini, who preferred to explore the more underground and downtrodden aspects of Italian society, never once pointing his camera at one of Rome's many historical monuments, the same could be said of Nikolaidis who always focused on those on the fringes of Greek society, no shots of the Acropolis to be found. It was of course a natural decision on Nikolaidis' part with the director himself being an outsider in the realm of Greek film, treated like a pariah by the Greek Film Commission who did their best to give Nikolaidis a constant headache, holding back funding and even going so far as preventing his work from playing internationally at festivals. Nikolaidis' defiant attitude first drew the ire of the authorities with his second feature The Wretches are StillSinging (1979) and his outsider status was solidified with 1983's Sweet Bunch, a film described by the president of the GFC at the time as being unfit for the Greek public to see.

Three friends, Argyris, Marina and Sofia, soon joined by Andreas, fresh out of prison, live a nihilistic existence, sharing an apartment paid for by Sofia, living day to day by any means necessary, usually through petty crime. Their stagnation is interrupted by a mysterious stranger lurking outside their apartment who soon becomes a constant presence, much to the annoyance of the group. When others begin showing up to talk to the mysterious stranger, the group begins to grow increasingly paranoid and begins to believe they are being spied on, the tension finally boiling over when Roza, an adult film actress the gang had let into their fold somewhat and whom Andreas had taken a liking to, is found nearly dead after being slashed in the gangs apartment, forcing the gang to take up arms in preparation for the inevitable bloody showdown.

In many ways Sweet Bunch (Glykia Symmoria, Γλυκιά Συμμορία) could be considered the quintessential Nikolaidis film. Although the majority of the key ideas Nikolaidis would continuously explore were fairly well formed in Euridice BA 2037 and The Wretches are Still Singing, with Sweet Bunch everything becomes concrete. Although not a part of Nikolaidis' “Shape of the Coming Nightmare” trilogy, Sweet Bunch shares the sense of vagueness that permeates those films. Much like its never explained how society descended into a totalitarian dystopia in the “Coming Nightmare” films, the exact reason for the surveillance of the gang in Sweet Bunch remains somewhat elusive, although politics surely plays a role. While the crimes of the gang are ultimately inconsequential, hardly requiring such an extreme response by the state, the metaphor of a police state at war with idealists is no doubt going to spring to mind for many. The group dynamic established in The Wretches is further expanded, and although the gang at the heart of film could be classified as sociopathic, Nikolaidis establishes a sense of solidarity with them, and as the film progresses it becomes nearly impossible not to full embrace them and feel as territorial, wanting to stand guard alongside them, making the films final third all the more devastating. The surreal comedy from The Wretches is also carried over, Sofia's pastime involving staged necrophilia being especially hilarious and Nikolaidis once again showcases his impeccable musical tastes, most noticeably with the inclusion of two deep cuts from Black Sabbath's Technical Ecstasy album.

A curious thing occurred before the film began production. As Nikolaidis recalls, “A few days before we started shooting, some unusual strangers, resembling Che Guevara’s cousins appeared before me and said: “Give us your script, we’ll read it and let you know whether you should make this movie”. Of course, I gave it to them. Two days later, they returned it saying “We approve, you can go ahead”. And I went ahead and shot it. What do you have to say about that?” Although the film came about fairly easy, aforementioned incident aside, Nikoliadis said that, while he loves the film, its actually not one of his favorites when compared to others as he states “It's a film that came out very easily. In other words, I kind of had this film in my mind way before I shot it. It's not one of my favorite films. It was way to easy for me... The reason I love this film is because of the people in the crew... all these people that lived together for those six months, they decorated the house on their own, they contributed to the script..."  Despite the film not being one of Nikolaidis' favorites, and although the film can be quite intimidating be it the heavy run time or the at times opaque narrative, Sweet Bunch may very well may be the perfect starting point for Nikolaidis newcomers. 

The Wretches are Still Singing (1979)

While many Greek films have found international success on the festival circuit, Greek cinema does perhaps feel a bit insular to an outsider looking in. When the Greek government began to subsidize films, it opened up a range of possibilities as not only did it aid in financing films but it helped Greek films to be seen outside the country. Naturally politics reared its ugly head as films with government subsidies were expected to pander so it should come as no surprise that Nikos Nikolaidis was constantly at odds with the Greek Film Commission who treated him more or less like a pariah, giving him the short end of the stick when it came to funding and in some cases making him wait to actually get what little money they were prepared to give. Although there were festivals in Greece that were always open to Nikolaidis' films, when it came to international showings, the GFC were determined to keep Nikolaidis' work hidden, even going so far as lying to festival organizers claiming that a film wasn't completed or not good enough to be shown. It was with his second film, The Wretches are Still Singing, where Nikolaidis' not only began to draw the ire of the GFC, but it also saw him continuing certain ideas born in his debut feature Euridice BA 2037 (1975) as well as give way to another loose trilogy.

A sarcastic description of The Wretches are Still Singing would be The Big Chill (1983) for psychopaths. A group of friends who affectionately refer to themselves as “The Wretches”, all products of the 1950's, reunite for an annual gathering at the home of Alkis, the defacto leader of the gang. Once a drummer, Alkis now passes the time by murdering young woman, all the while pining for his long lost love Vera. Konstantinos and Hristos, known to the group as “Fatty” soon arrive, the former wandering through life aimlessly, the later stuck in a dead end marriage and finally Rita, the one lone female of the group who recently escaped from a mental asylum to join to festivities. As the gang desperately tries to relive their youth in increasingly sociopathic ways, the more the weight of the modern world seems to weigh them down until the realization that times have truly changed leads some of the friends to a crossroads in life and inevitable tragedy for others.

The Wretches are Still Singing (Ta kourelia tragoudane akoma..., Τα Κουρέλια Τραγουδάνε Ακόμα...) finds Nikolaidis in two very different moods. As morose as it is brutally funny, the film marks the first of Nikolaidis examinations of the lives of those who dwell on the fringes of Greek society, giving an entirely new meaning to the cliché “You can't go home again”. As a serious drama, the film is a success simply based on Nikolaidis' presentation of the characters, making it clear that they've been unable to adapt to the changes in society and despite most of the gang being utterly insane, driven to murder and rape, their discontent with their lives does begin to weigh heavily. The genre elements that were present in Euridice BA 2017 become slightly more pronounced here, with the ghost of the gangs past hovering over the proceedings, sometimes literally with the presence of a surrogate Vera, who, despite clearly being show dead throughout parts of the film, makes herself known to certain characters. Again, the film is also morbidly hilarious, Nikolaidis' bizarre sense of humor at the fore with some hysterically nonchalant reactions to murder, with the gang freely acknowledging the open grave in Alkis' backyard, one even posing for pictures with a plastic-wrapped victim. The film is also the first showcase for Nikolaidis' brilliant musical tastes, with the era the gang is attempting to relive giving way to a phenomenal soundtrack consisting of many a sold gold oldie from the early days of rock, pop and doo-wop.

While discussing the origins of the film, Nikolaidis describes the generation that was a product of the 1950's in Greece as “A generation which was literally gagged. And its no coincidence that from the 50's generation we have nothing special in cinema or literature... It is a generation that did not believe in politics but only in friendship, love and independent opinion. And this film was filmed in a period of intense political involvement.” Nikolaidis labeled the film “A film that denies politics” so it was only natural that politics interfere with the film. As Nikolaidis recalls the absurdity surrounding controversy the film caused that became a source of embarrassment for the party in power, “The film’s release in Greece was banned during a right wing political regime, because communist film critics used the terms: “A requiem for revolutionaries” and “a dangerous film” to describe the movie. After the ban, the communists attacked the government accusing it of censorship. Then, the government allowed its viewing. What do you make of that?” A crucial title in Nikolaidis' filmography, The Wretches are Still Singing is a key example of the singular personality that defines Nikolaidis' work with its attitude, surreal humor, music and ruminations on society going on to become calling cards for Nikolaidis' subsequent works, its title even becoming a rallying cry for some. “It all started then that cretin Perry Como sang “Glendora...”

       

Euridice BA 2037 (1975)

While its always a great thing when a film from a notable director achieves international notoriety and a cult following that usually comes along with it, frustration can occur when the spotlight remains only on that one film when the filmmaker responsible has a body of work full of other equally worthy titles that remain buried for one reason or another. Such is the case with Greek filmmaker Nikos Nikolaidis. Nikolaidis' name might not be instantly recognizable, however more adventurous viewers keen on unusual cinema will no doubt be aware of his most notorious film Singapore Sling (1990), which quickly found itself to be a favorite of cult film enthusiasts widely traded on the bootleg circuit. Brilliant as Singapore Sling is, and to be sure its reputation is more than earned and deserved, the rest of Nikolaidis' films seem to be largely unknown outside of Greece despite having beautifully remastered home video releases made available by the late directors own family. Although he only directed nine features, Nikolaidis' was a filmmaker very much in the same vein as the likes of David Lynch, Walerian Borowczyk and Andrzej Zulawski. In other words, a rare breed who's collective influences form a vision so utterly singular their work exists entirely within its own universe or genre and with his debut feature film Euridice BA 2037, Nikolaidis vision proved to be original right from the very beginning.

A dystopian take on the classic Greek tragedy of Orpheus and Eurydice, Euridice BA 2037 centers on Euridice (Vera Tschechowa) a young woman living alone in apartment number 2037 under a totalitarian regime. Believing her designated time living in apartment 2037 has been served, Euridice is desperate to receive a transfer to another apartment, making several calls to the governments transfer department requesting her move. The longer she waits for her transfer orders, the more frantic and paranoid Euridice becomes with her grip on reality gradually loosening, all the while receiving phone calls throughout the day from a stranger, a surrogate Orpheus, claiming to love her and asking to come visit her.

Euridice BA 2037 (ευριδίκη βα 2ο37) marks two firsts for Nikolaidis. Not only was it his first feature film but its also the first part of a trilogy Nikolaidis would dub “The Shape of the Coming Nightmare” which Nikolaidis would return to in the middle of his career with Morning Patrol (1987) and with his final film The Zero Years (2005). Centering on outsiders surviving in a world gone completely to hell under a dictatorship and nonstop surveillance, the trilogy is a bleak view of the future which could very well become the present at any time. For a debut feature, Euridice BA 2037 is a remarkably assured film with virtually all the signatures Nikolaidis would become synonymous with in future films making their debuts here, the biggest being the concept of purgatory, a theme which permeates every single one of Nikolaidis' films. An extremely claustrophobic film, the idea of Euridice's utilitarian place of residence being her own personal purgatory, as well as the overall idea of the entire outside world being an authoritarian prison, is brilliantly rendered by Nikolaidis' decision to never actually leave the apartment. Aside from a few very brief shots from Euridice's point of view outside of windows, the film is entirely confined to the apartment which only heightens the sense of unease when Euridice's paranoia intensifies and the visuals become more hallucinatory, and major credit is due to the beautiful Vera Tschechowa who carries these moments and really the film as a whole on her shoulders with ease.

Although shot in 1975, the film took six years to actually make it to Greek cinemas, however the film did play at the 1975 Thessaloniki Film Festival where it took home five awards including best director. Regarding the films critical reception, Nikolaidis humorously claimed “Certain intellectual Italian critics asserted that Euridice BA 2037 applies and finally proves Lyotard’s cinematographic theories as well as the solution to many of the problems which puzzled Pasolini for years. I am embarrassed because I didn’t know then and I still don’t know anything about Lyotard’s theories or Pasolini’s problems.” When interviewed near the end of his career he stated his intentions with the film saying “I just wanted to depict the face of a society to come, which had already given signs of its coming and in which we are living now.” Interestingly in that same interview Nikolaidis claims that Euricide BA 2037 is the film of his that he felt was his most solid. Given some of the films that would follow, its quite the statement but the fact remains that Euridice BA 2037 is the type of debut film most filmmakers strive to make on their first go around. A confident and highly imaginative take on a classic Greek tale, it was only the beginning of what was to go onto become one of the most singular and original bodies of work in world cinema.  

Luna caliente (2009)

The suppression and censorship of art at the hands of authoritarian dictatorships has led to many real life horror stories for numerous artists worldwide throughout the years, at times even leading to the expulsion of artists from their native countries. Under the dictatorship of Francisco Franco from 1936 to 1975, the censorship practices in Spain were particular egregious, and made even more so coupled with the fact that the Catholic church was in full support of Franco's trampling of art. Jess Franco and José Ramón Larraz, two of the biggest mavericks of Spanish film even left the country to work abroad until Franco's death. Nevertheless, the resistance to Francoism was a source of inspiration for many, and it's precisely why Vicente Aranda is such an interesting case study. Given that Franco was still in power when Aranda made films like Fata Morgana (1965), which could easily be interpreted as a metaphor for living under a totalitarian regime, The Exquisite Cadaver (1969) and The Blood Splattered Bride (1972), its miraculous the amount of boundary pushing content for the time Aranda was able to get away with in these films. Aranda's anti-Francoist sentiments would pop up again throughout his career, and for his final film, 2009's Luna caliente, Aranda turned once again to one of the numerous abuses of power in Franco's reign for inspiration and in the process brought his entire career full circle.

Juan, a Spanish poet living in Paris returns to a politically tumultuous Spain to visit his mother and sister. Upon arriving, Juan discovers the entire town is on edge to to the trial of members of a separatist group fighting against Franco's regime. Later, Juan has dinner with Miniente, an old friend and anti-Franco sympathizer. Juan also meets Miniente's daughter Ramona and is immediately taken by her. Due to car troubles, Juan stays the night at Miniente's, and allows his passions to overtake him as he rapes Ramona and accidentally strangles her. Believing her dead, he tries to leave but is stopped by a drunken Miniente who insists on a late night on the town. After numerous protests from Juan for Miniente to return home, a belligerent Miniente admits to Juan he knows all about what happened with Ramona. A struggle ensues, resulting in Juan accidentally killing Miniente. In a panic, Juan dumps his car, along with Miniente's corpse over a bridge and rushes home. The following morning, Juan gets quite a shock when he finds Ramona at his door. Telling him she enjoyed what happened the night before, the two begin a torrid affair, however Juan is in for another surprise when he is called in for questioning regarding Miniente's disappearance and when the body is discovered, Juan becomes the main suspect. After refusing to confess, Juan is dealt one final shock, when the police inform him that a confession would be wise on his part due to his sisters involvement with trial gripping the entire nation.

A paranoid, erotically charged take on the classic Hitchcock theme of a man in over his head in a precarious situation, Luna caliente (Hot Moon), whether intentional or not, made for the perfect Aranda swansong, checking off all the boxes that defined Aranda's oeuvre. Playing out like a waking nightmare, the predicament faced by Juan is a clear cut example of the main concern of Barcelona School of Film style of filmmaking, of which Aranda was a pioneer, that being “the disruption of everyday life by the unexpected”. Aranda does something particularly interesting by presenting a protagonist who in all reality could also be considered somewhat of an antagonist given several of his actions throughout the course of the film. It's almost as if Aranda is forcing the audience to make a moral judgment as to which is worse, Juan's transgressions or the oppression and intimidation of the police state. Considering Aranda's political sentiments, not to mention the motivations of the police and government, it's a masterful game to play with any viewer and with the heavy feeling of police state tyranny being a constant, the film is bound to leave many viewers uncomfortable and perhaps even a bit furious. By far the most fascinating aspect of the film, the bizarre, obsessive relationship that forms between Juan and the enigmatic Ramona, harkens back to Aranda's fiercely sexual 90's output, with Ramona, exceptionally played by the vampish Thaïs Blume, a femme fatale of sorts, who's motivations are, rather wisely on Aranda's part, left mysterious.

The trial that hovers over the film was based on an actual trial that took place in 1969 (the film takes place in 1970) known as the Burgos Trial. Following the murder of Francoist police officer Melitón Manzanas, a notorious torturer who aided the Nazi's, 16 members of the E.T.A. separatist group were arrested, tried and eventually sentenced to death. Largely considered a show trial, it sparked numerous protests in Spain as well as internationally and due to the immense pressure, Franco's government was left with little choice but to reduce the sentences. Although Franco would continue to rule until 1975, the Burgos Trial has been cites over the years as the first major crack in Franco's regime, however there would be numerous instances of violence involving the E.T.A., with the brutality of Franco's retaliation causing even more protests and some nations even chose to distance themselves from Spain, Mexico going so far as suggesting Spain be removed from the United Nations. Little wonder then living under such conditions groomed filmmakers such as Aranda to use the medium of filmmaking as a form of defiance and in a lot of ways, Luna caliente could be seen as the ultimate Aranda film. Featuring virtuously all the defining characteristics of his most essential work, Luna caliente is indeed just an essential Aranda title. One last act of defiance from one of Spain's most liberated filmmakers.    

The Bilingual Lover (1993)

Along with being one of the founders of the Barcelona School of Film, fiery eroticism and shining a light on just how ill-equipped certain individuals are when it comes to emotions related to sex and romance, one of the lasting legacies of Vicente Aranda is his talent for literary adaptations, with a massive chunk of his filmography consisting of adaptations of novels and short stories. Aranda's first venture in the horror genre, The Exquisite Cadaver (1969), was based off a short story by Spanish writer Gonzalo Suárez, while Aranda's most celebrated film by Euro horror aficionados, The Blood Splattered Bride (1972), was of course sourced from Sheridan Le Fanu's vampire classic Carmilla. Throughout the 80's, Aranda began adapting novels that had made big impacts within the public consciousnesses of Spain and one particular writer whom Aranda turned to more than any other throughout his career was Juan Marsé. Beginning with The Girl With the Golden Panties (1980), Aranda would adapt 3 more of Marsé's book including If They Tell You I Fell (1989) and Aranda's penultimate feature Lolita's Club (2007). For his third Marsé-based film, Aranda made a typically bold move. Riding high on the massive success of Amantes (1991), which won him a Goya award for best picture, Aranda chose to bring Marsé's novel El amante bilingüe to the screen, the end result being one of Aranda's most odd and uncommercial films.

Distraught over catching his wife Norma (Ornella Muti) frolicking with a shoe shiner, Juan Marés (Imanol Arias) troubles are just beginning as Norma leaves him immediately after. Years following their separation, Juan makes his living as a street musician, performing in disguise after being disfigured by a Molotov cocktail thrown by a fascist demonstrator. Even more miserable than before, Juan has still not gotten over Norma and is prone to visits in his dreams by an altar-ego, the suave Juan Faneca who urges Juan Marés to embrace this alternate personality to win Norma back. With his pining for Norma taking a toll on his already fragile metal health, Juan Marés decides to bring Juan Faneca to life by disguising himself in a desperate bid to get close to Norma.

A strange, strange film, El amante bilingüe, or The Bilingual Lover, certainty fits in with a good portion of Aranda's 90's output as much like Amantes and the films that would follow, particularly Intruso (1993) and The Turkish Passion (1994), The Bilingual Lover centers around love becoming obsession, yet the execution is miles apart from the other films. Essentially a tragicomic take on the concept of l'amour fou, Aranda's decision to tackle material that could have easily crossed over into psychological horror territory in a more comedic manor certainty makes for some peculiar and downright baffling viewing, yet it's exactly what gives the film its singular identity. The films style of humor is bizarre to the Nth degree, at times bordering on the surreal with Juan Faneca's communicating with Juan Marés through household appliances, water pipes and the toilet. Juan Marés' disfigurement also requires him to perform in various get-ups, his favorite being a costume resembling the Phantom of the Opera and at one point in the film Juan Marés disguises himself as the Invisible Man which recalls Aranda's surrealist masterpiece Fata Morgana (1965). Even with all its frivolity the film still pulls double duty and delivers on the dramatics and is quite psychologically ambiguous, especially as it relates to Juan Marés mental state. On the edge from the beginning, the film more or less see's him willingly be taken over by madness as a coping mechanism, not unlike Jacques Dutronc in Andrzej Zulawski's My Nights are More Beautiful Than YourDays (1989).

The subject of language, more specifically the differences between Spanish and Catalan which give the film its title is one of the films more curious aspects. Truthfully, the film would have worked just as well without it but its importance stresses just how personal a project the film must have been for Aranda, himself Catalan. The flashbacks early in the film detailing the beginning of Juan Marés' and Norma's relationship as well as the cause of Juan Marés' facial injuries are yet another example of the film recalling Aranda's more politically charged past work, with their anti-authoritarian stance and commentary on class differences. While both are again clear personal statements for Aranda, most unsuspecting viewers will more than likely find them bewildering just as most did when the film was initially released as reception to the film was the complete opposite of Amantes. Aranda would later claim that the producers weren't all that interested in the material and interestingly, he even expressed some regrets on putting so much importance on language, feeling it limited the films appeal. Nevertheless, to come off a success like Amantes with a film like The Bilingual Lover is testament to Aranda having been one of the leading mavericks of Spanish cinema. Its a film that begs the question, “Who was this made for?” and like so many films that spark that same question, is idiosyncratic and wholly original.       

American Tiger (1990)

AKA American Rickshaw (American risciò)

While never strictly a horror director, having worked in various genres since the very beginning of his career, the paths taken by Sergio Martino after the end of the 70’s are nonetheless interesting when compared with some of his contemporaries who made names for themselves in the realm of the giallo and Italian horror. Martino closed out the 70’s with several high notes, namely the esoteric spaghetti western Mannaja: A Man Called Blade (1977) and Mountain of the Cannibal God (1978). Throughout the 80’s however, Martino would only sporadically dip his toes in genre material with films like the underrated giallo/supernatural horror hybrid Scorpion With Two Tails (1981), the post-apocalyptic actioner 2019: After the Fall of New York (1983) and Hands of Steel (1986), a marvelously 80’s sci-fi/action popcorn flick clearly inspired by The Terminator (1984), whereas the majority of the decade saw Martino helming multiple comedies. The 90’s saw Martino throwing his hat into the ever popular at the time erotic thriller ring with Smile of the Fox (1992) and Craving Desire (1993), the later one of his best films and Martino even returned to giallo at the end of the millennium with Mozart is a Murderer (1999). Prior to all that though, Martino kicked off the 90’s with American Tiger, one of the most unusual titles in his filmography and certainly one of the oddest examples of Italian cross genre pollination.

While working the night shift as a rickshaw puller, young Miami college student Scott Edwards (Mitch Gaylord), is invited onto a houseboat for a rendezvous by exotic dancer Joanna as a form of payment, however Scott soon discovers he’s being filmed and promptly leaves after roughing up the cameraman and taking the videotape. Scott’s world is soon turned upside down when he discovers the cameraman has been murdered and he becomes the prime suspect. To make matters worse, Scott finds himself being perused by a hitman obsessed with retrieving the videotape Scott took from the boat, forcing Scott to go on the run, recruiting a reluctant Joanna to help clear his name. Things take a turn for the even more bizarre when Scott is drawn to Madame Luna, an elderly Chinese witch who informs Scott that the conspiracy he finds himself wrapped up in is centered around Reverend Mortem (Donald Pleasence), a televangelist who’s public persona masks a demonic altar ego determined to possess a powerful ancient stone, which Scott’s destiny, as told by Madame Luna, calls upon him to protect.

Movies don’t come any more eccentric than American Tiger. Taking genre hopping to an entirely new level with its fusing of B-movie action and crime elements with supernatural horror, tossing in everything ranging from rickshaw pulling, conspiracy, witchcraft, destines as determined by the Chinese horoscope, cats with the gift of second sight and demonic TV preachers, American Tiger is unquestionably in a league of its own when it comes to sheer originality and quirkiness. Clearly there is a lot going on storyline wise and it was inevitable that the film becomes more and more nonsensical, yet its all so oddly compelling that even when its not making any sense at all its difficult to not be wondering just how sharp the next left turn Martino is planning on taking will be. The initial crime story set-up would have probably made an interesting film in itself as there’s certainly enough intrigue that comes with such material, but the film wouldn’t have been nearly as offbeat as it is and its when Martino introduces the otherworldly into the mix does the film go completely off the rails. The tonal shifts will no doubt be jarring to many seeing as how the witchcraft angle feels thrown in at random, but what’s especially refreshing about the film is how willing not just Martino is to go with it, but the characters as well with little to no skepticism about the increasingly bizarre directions the story is heading and that even includes one of the police officer characters!

Leading man Mitch Gaylord certainty followed an interesting career path, going from Olympic hero to B-movie actor. Gaylord first gained international fame by taking the US gymnastics team all the way to a gold metal in 1984 along with winning a silver metal and two bronze metals for himself. If that weren’t enough he also gave two gymnastic moves, the “Gaylord flip” and the “Gaylord two” their namesakes and was chosen by Ronald Reagan for the President's Council for Physical Fitness and again by George H.W. Bush. Gaylord turned to acting in the mid-80’s beginning with a starring role in the sports themed American Anthem (1986). American Tiger was next, followed by a supporting role in Gregory Dark’s erotic thriller classic Animal Instincts (1993) and a leading role in yet another direct to video/late night cable erotic potboiler, Sexual Outlaws (1994). Why American Tiger isn’t more well known is almost as mystifying as its plot as an oddball film like this should have “cult appeal” written all over it. Perhaps it was the original box cover, making it look like any other DTV action/thriller of the day which it couldn’t be more different from. American Tiger may be worlds removed from Martino’s more celebrated 70’s output, but then again its worlds removed from most other genre films. There’s literally nothing else even remotely like it in the annals of both action and horror.

Suspicious Death of a Minor (1975)

AKA Suspected Death of a Minor

Along with giallo and spaghetti western, one of the most popular branches of the Italian genre family tree would be Eurocrime, or “Poliziotteschi”. Taking their cues from the gritty American cop thrillers of the late 60's/early 70's, particularly films like The French Connection (1971) and the Dirty Harry series as well as films like Death Wish (1974) and their ilk, the Italian's turned up the grit, violence, nihilism and due to various events sweeping Italy at the time, sociopolitical commentary and thanks to repeat appearances in many films, actors like John Saxon, Thomas Milian, Franco Nero and Maurizio Merli became synonymous with the genre. Given how lucrative the Italian genre film boom of the 70's was, several genre specialists turned to the poliziotteschi, with two of the most memorable being Ruggero Deodato's Live Like a Cop, Die Like a Man (1976) and Lucio Fulci's Contrband (1980). The poliziotteschi is also where several of Umberto Lenzi's most revered films are found, titles like Gang War in Milan (1973), Almost Human (1974), and The Rat, the Cynic and the Fist (1977). Being a jack of all genres, of course Sergio Martino would dip his toes into the Eurocrime pool a few times, 1975's Suspicious Death of a Minor being one such example, standing out as one of the most unusual and off the wall approaches to the poliziotteschi genre with touches of giallo as well.

When the body of Marissa, a young woman revealed to be the niece of Gaudenzio Pesce, a wealthy and powerful banker, is discovered slashed to death in a seedy apartment building, Paolo Germi (Claudio Cassinelli), a police inspector whom had previously been following the woman begins to suspect there is much more to a case he had already been investigating. Putting his unorthodox methods to use, Germi enlists the help of Giannino, a petty thief to assist him in getting information from Marissa's circle of friends. The more Germi discovers, the more he begins to uncover the inner workings of a teenage prostitution and drug trafficking ring. Much to the chagrin of Germi's police chief, all clues lead to Pesce and with more women turning up dead, Germi begins to find himself in both a professional and personally dangerous predicament.

There's poliziotteschi, there's giallo, and then there's Suspicious Death of a Minor (Morte sospetta di una minorenne), a lunatic fusion of the two that's also a comedy? Indeed, this is an incredibly bi-polar film that switches moods without warning, making for one head scratching, but unique and rewarding viewing experience. Part of what makes the tonal shifts seem so extreme is that the serious parts of the film are dealing with some pretty dark material in teenage trafficking, while the more frivolous bits in the film are so over the top loony they come across as even more jarring. Ultimately though, it ends up working due in part to the film succeeding at both ends of the spectrum. Martino starts the film off on a somewhat odd foot with the first 40 or so minutes playing out like an almost stream of consciousness succession of random scenarios, with Martino planting various seeds of a mystery yet with little to no context or character motivation. Slowly but surely however more bits of said mystery begin to unveil themselves, becoming more complex and involving, thus making the main crime portion of the film one of the most intriguing out of any film in the Eurocrime cannon. Then there's the comedic bits, most of which fairly ridiculous, such as a car chase where the doors are ripped off the car as a defense mechanism and a shootout on a roller coaster, a good example of the film being both serious and absurd at the same time.  

By 1975, leading man Claudio Cassinelli was already an Italian genre veteran having appeared in films like Damiano Damiani's The Devil is a Woman (1974), Massimo Dallamano's What Have They Done to Your Daughters? (1974) and Gianfranco Mingozzi's Flavia the Heretic (1974). Suspicious Death of a Minor was his first Martino film, although he would go on to become a reoccurring player for Martino with roles in Mountain of the Cannibal God (1978), Alligator (1978), Island of the Fishmen (1979) and Scorpion With Two Tails (1982). His last film ended up being Martino's Hands of Steel (1986) after an accident on set resulted in a helicopter crash, killing Cassinelli at the age of 46. Suspicious Death of a Minor was Martino's third poliziotteschi type film, having first tried his hand in the genre with The Violent Professionals (1973) and he would subsequently helm two more films under the Eurocrime umbrella prior to Suspicious Death of a Minor, Silent Action (1975) and Gambling City (1975). Clearly when compared to to other films in the poliziotteschi genre, not to mention giallo as again, the film has both feet planted in both, Suspicious Death of a Minor probably seems as far removed as possible, yet its the entirely singular nature of the film that makes it a genre highlight as well as showcasing Martino's originality, approaching the material in such an out of left field manner.   

Cosmos (2015)

Watching the final film from any director of the auteurist type is a fascinating (and at times bittersweet) thing in that, whether or not the films were intended to be their last, a good portion of final films do tend to serve as fitting finales. Take for example Love Rites (1987), the final feature film from Walerian Borowczyk. Although never intended to be Borowczyk's last film, its themes of finality and mantra of “Everything must go” nonetheless became eerily prophetic. Alain Robbe-Grillet's Gradiva (2006) is another great example of a filmmakers career coming full circle, even featuring spliced in scenes from previous Robbe-Grillet films that explored similar thematic obsessions. Although it clearly wasn't designed as his last, Jess Franco's reflexive, almost self-portrait-esque Al Pereira vs.the Alligator Ladies (2012) was a proper swansong, making numerous references, both visual and audio, to Franco's past work. Other examples include Lucio Fulci's purgatorial Door into Silence (1991), Nikos Nikolaidis' The Zero Years (2005) and Vincete Aranda's Luna caliente (2009), which both found their respective directors returning to ideas they'd explored in some of their very first films. Andrzej Zulawski's Cosmos is a particularity interesting case. Based on the 1965 novel of the same name by Witold Gombrowicz, Cosmos was Zulawski's first film following a 15 year hiatus and made for both a welcome, not to mention badly needed return to film, but also an appropriate adieu.

After failing his bar exam, Witold, a legal student along with his friend Fuchs, arrive at an inn looking for a quiet place for Witold to study and meet the owners, Madame Woytis, her husband Leon, Catherette, the maid with a deformed upper lip and Lena, Madame Woytis' daughter whom Witold quickly becomes infatuated with despite her recent engagement to an architect. Witold had previously discovered a dead sparrow hanging outside the inn and later finds a piece of wood hanging in the same fashion. Witold soon begins to see these things, along with a strange mold formation on the wall as well as Catherett's lip as ominous premonitions, becoming convinced that all are connected and sets out to uncover any type of meaning while his obsession with Lena also grows stronger and stronger.

When asked about people constantly searching for meaning in his films, David Lynch was once quoted as saying “I don't know why people expect art to make sense when they accept the fact that life doesn't make sense.” Its an interesting quote to think about regarding Cosmos as the film is essentially about someone someone attempting to make sense out of the absurdities of everyday life, looking for meaning where there is none. To make order out of chaos more or less and Zulawski's embracing of the absurdity of trying to make sense of the absurdity. While the film certainly contains moments of heaviness, it's by far Zulawski's lightest and most comedic work, thanks largely in part due to the nonsensical nature of Witold's quest for meaning and the antics of the family at the inn, Leon especially . At face value, the motivations of all the characters could be seen as utterly ridiculous yet as is the case with all of Zulawski's films, it's precisely the exaggerations that strip away all pretense and give much of the film a relatable logic, Witold's intense love at first sight for Lena that quickly turns to l'amour fou being a standout example, a quintessential Zulawskian romance and perhaps the most endearing aspect of the film. The film also stands as one of Zulawski's most clever in terms of dialogue, with a barrage of film and literature references, some even to Gombrowicz, and there's an especially hilarious mention of Pasolini to keep an ear out for.

While being interviewed at the Locarno Festival where Zulawski won the Best Director award, Zulawski spoke about the importance of Gombrowicz's work saying “For my generation, which was born during the war and raised during Communist times, Gombrowicz was censored, totally unknown in Poland. No books in print, no nothing... But we were feeding on his plays and books because he was like air, like light, in those terribly sad, grey, and lying times. Whatever he did looked like a savage provocation in front of the Communist concrete and total boredom and total incapacity to do anything right. My entire generation was a Gombrowicz generation.” He also made some interesting statements regarding his potential future in film stating “I was very happy not doing films for 15 years. Maybe it was the happiest period of my life. I was busy with really interesting things, like living... On the contrary, I bless these times, and now I look forward with a bit of apprehension because the men with the money are thinking that they should make films now, again. And I won’t. No.” Unfortunately Zulawski would pass in February of 2016 so its purely speculative as to he would have made another film or not, so Cosmos stands as not only an essential Zulawski title but given the current state of film financing and marketing, one of the most important films in contemporary cinema. 

Fidelity (2000)

The perplexing nature of romantic relationships was front and center in the majority of the films of Andrzej Zulawski and one particular facet, and often the most volatile, as it relates to the themes of relationships, the love triangle, proved to be especially fascinating for Zulawski. Zulawski's fixation with the love triangle can be seen in his first feature The Third Part of the Night (1971) but it was his third film L'important c'est d'aimer (1975) where the various complexities the love triangle presented began to take shape. Zulawski's most famous title, Possession (1981), took the love triangle into the realm of the fantisque (and technically became a “love square”) whereas La femme publique (1984) turned the love triangle idea on its head somewhat by having an actress play the role of the dead wife of one of her lovers. Even in films like My Nights are More Beautiful Than Your Days (1989) and Szamanka (1996), where the love triangle isn't the main focus of the film, nevertheless feature characters involved in fierce relationships while another partner figures in the background. And how appropriate that Zulawski's final film Cosmos (2015) centers around a man obsessed with the wife of another? Fidelity, Zulawski's penultimate feature as well as his final collaboration with then wife/muse Sophie Marceau, once again saw Zulawski shining a light on the love triangle concept with typically cathartic and devastating results.

After accepting a job with La Verite, a trashy tabloid, Clélia (Sophie Marceau), a talented photographer becomes engaged to and later marries Clève, a publisher who was previously engaged to the daughter of Clélia's new boss. Shortly before the marriage, Clélia meets Nemo, a fellow photographer at La Verite and the attraction between the two is immediate. Even after Clélia and Clève's marriage, Nemo continues to pursue Clélia and the more time the two spend together, the stronger Clélia's attraction to Nemo grows. Despite her determination to remain loyal to Clève, Clélia's struggle with temptation becomes apparent to Clève who begins to suspect infidelity which, along with the increasingly dangerous nature of Nemo's investigative photojournalism, causes even more strife in both Clélia's personal and professional life.

Rivaled only by L'important c'est d'aimer in terms of accurately representing the agony that arises out of a situation involving two people who, for all intensive purposes, could be together yet are prevented by various forces, in many ways Fidelity (La fidélité) is very much a sibling film to L'important c'est d'aimer with the two sharing several similarities. For instance, both films have a strong emphasis on photography, with it being Clélia's main profession just as it was Fabio Testi's Servais in L'important c'est d'aimer. Both films also feature commentary on the concepts, differences and similarities of “high” and “low” art, tabloid media and pornography. Both films even develop crime subplots with the male protagonists becoming involved in shady underworld activities. Most importantly though, just as Zulawski did with L'important c'est d'aimer, the typical love triangle is subverted by having no extramarital affair actually take place, choosing instead to focus on the psychological anguish felt by the three parties involved, be it Clélia's temptation, Nemo's lust and Clève suspicion and jealousy as opposed to standard soap opera tropes a love triangle might entail. The central triangle holds even more weight thanks to the various subplots, particularly as it relates to Clélia's job as well as her ailing mother. The film is often singled out as being one of Zulawski's more “conventional”, however the film is still ripe with his trademark idiosyncrasies and eccentric side characters, and there aren't many romantic dramas that feature black market organ trafficking, gangsters and the occasional specter sighting.

Fidelity was again the final collaboration between Zulawski and Sophie Marceau and even with the film featuring some of the finest examples of steadicam work and one of composer Andrzej Korzynski's most gorgeously melancholic, piano based scores (plus some industrial tinged touches for added effect during some of the more energetic moments), its Marceau who really carries the entire film. Although her performance is much more “calm”, for lack of a better word (although she does have one incredible moment of emotional excess), than her previous turns for Zulawski, her performance nonetheless traverses through a wide range of emotions which Marceau brilliantly conveys, the passage of time covered in the film really being felt by her perfectly nuanced performance. Quite possibly her finest role for Zulawski. The fact that both her professional and personal relationship with Zulawski came to a close following the film gives the film an extremely personal quality which, intentional or not, makes the film resonate even more. It would be 15 years before Zulawski would deliver his swansong Cosmos and although Fidelity thankfully wound up not to be his final film, if it had been it would have been as powerful as a final statement could be. While its bound to be much to heavy for many, Fidelity is an essential piece of the Zulawski puzzle, marking the end of one of the most memorable and rewarding artist/muse pairings.       

La note bleue (1991)

One of the late Andrzej Zulawski's unmade passion projects was a proposed short film consisting of seven episodes revolving around music. While discussing the project in 2012, Zulawski explained his idea of having each segment take place in a different European town, each utilizing a different type of music and its a shame the project never came to fruition as Zulawski clearly had an ear for music and how to use it to its maximum potential in film. Music was a major, sometimes crucial element to Zulawski's films. One of the most fruitful director/composer collaborations, the partnership between Zulawski and Andrzej Korzynski resulted in multiple memorable, very diverse scores, from the progressive rock-esque guitar heard in Diabel (1972), the pulsating, almost industrial percussion contrasted with lush string arrangements in Szamanka (1996) or the achingly beautiful piano based themes of Fidelity (2000) just to name a few. Of course, L’important c’est d’aimer (1975) wouldn't have nearly been the same without the music provided by Georges Delerue, sure to cause instantaneous weeping. At the end of the 80's and into the early 90's, Zulawski made two music centric films, the first being Boris Godunov (1989), an adaptation of Modest Mussorgsky's opera of the same name. Zulawski's next film, La note bleue, found him continuing on a musical path, this time in a much more personal fashion, its main subject being the Polish composer Frédéric Chopin.

At heart, La note bleue (The Blue Note) is centered around the contentious romance between the perpetually ill Chopin (Janusz Olejniczak) and French writer George Sand (Marie-France Pisier) during their relationships last days, one of the many complications being Sand's engaged daughter Solange (Sophie Marceau) being madly in love with Chopin. The film also highlights several side characters as the entire film is set at Sand's countryside estate where several notable guests have gathered, the likes of which include painter Eugène Delacroix, writer Ivan Turgenev, Wojciech Grzymała, a Polish soldier and friend of Chopin, Polish countess Laura Czosnowska, writer Andre Dumas Jr. and Auguste Clésinger, an eccentric sculptor who arrives to win the affection of Solange.

La note bleue is often compared to the musical biopics of Ken Russell, though interestingly the film shares several similarities with another Russell, non music film, Gothic (1986), Russell's interpretation of the night Mary Shelley envisioned the story of Frankenstein. Like Gothic, La note bleue features a gathering of eccentric, creative personalities at a large countryside estate, but more importantly, the central figures in each film, Shelly and Chopin, are both preoccupied with death, in the case of Shelley its the death of her child while Chopin constantly obsesses over his own death. Whereas Gothic is a full-blown horror film, La note bleue “wears the genre mask” as Zulawski would have put it, with its eye-popping baroque painting based visual design and occasionally drifting in and out of horror and fantastique territory with the sudden appearances of imposing and colorful shrouded, phantom-esque stilted figures, a fire nymph like creature and satyrs conversing amongst themselves, none of which are ever acknowledged by any of the characters nor is their appearances ever explained. The film also concludes with a memorable, phantasmagoric puppet show featuring the cast detailing their futures while holding their life-like puppet counterparts. Just as Boris Godunov would have made complete sense as a Zulawski original script had it not been based on source material, the same could be said of La note bleue with the breakdown of Chopin and Sand's perfectly suited for Zulawski's peculiar brand of melodrama and Marceau's hyperactive performance the right vehicle to showcase Solange's l'amour fou for Chopin.         

Naturally the soundtrack is comprised of Chopin music however Zulawski does something interesting in certain scenes by having Olejniczak, an actual pianist, playing Chopin at the piano while other Chopin pieces are layered overtop on the soundtrack. Incredibly, not one piece clashes with the other and whenever it occurs both pieces of much sound strangely in sync and naturally the music is one of the films main selling points along with the previously mentioned look of the film. From a purely technical audio/visual standpoint, the film may very well be Zulawski's finest. Like Chopin and Zulawski, Olejniczak is also Polish which is one of the main reasons why the film could again be considered one of Zulawski's most personal. Chopin was very much an ex-pat, and never returned to Poland after his settling in Paris in 1831, though he would never consider himself French and as documented in the film, felt a longing for his homeland throughout his life. While Zulawski did return to live and work in Poland, drawing the ire of many in the process, there are some parallels to be drawn in that Zulawski was more or less “exiled” from Poland following the banning of Diabel and worked in France for the majority of his directorial career, so he clearly felt some sort of comradery with Chopin which led to La note bleue being one of Zulawski's most heartfelt endeavors.