Under Capricorn (1949)

Its hardly surprising that a director with the stature of Alfred Hitchcock would have his own production company in his day. What is surprising however, is the fact that said production company would only last for two films. Hitchcock, along with British business mogul Baron Sidney Bernstein formed Transatlantic Pictures in 1945. The two had previously collaborated on a holocaust documentary that was ultimately shelved before finally seeing the light of day in 1985 entitled Memory of the Camps. The first film Hitchcock would helm under his Transatlantic banner was Rope (1948), now famous for its revolutionary long take shooting technique, with the cuts slyly disguised to give the impression that the entire film was taking place in real time. As brilliant as Rope was, the film proved to be controversial with its fairly blatant homosexual overtones (the film was based on the infamous Leopold and Loeb murder case) and didn't do great business in the US. For a follow-up, Hitchcock would once again fly the Transatlantic flag and would shoot the project in a similar long take fashion but he took an interesting left turn with the material. The result was 1949's Under Capricorn, a lush period melodrama that would unfortunately fly over a lot of audiences heads at the time but stands as yet another film often considered to be “lesser” Hitchcock that is in fact an extraordinary piece of work.

Not long after arriving in Australia in hopes of making his fortune, Charles Adare, an Irishman and cousin of the new governor, quickly befriends Samson Flusky (Joseph Cotten), a rich man with a shady criminal past. Much to the chagrin of his cousin, Charles has dinner at Flusky's house where he meets Flusky's wife Henrietta (Ingrid Bergman), a former childhood friend of Charles' sister in Ireland who's now an alcoholic, spending most of her days perpetually drunk in her bedroom. After making a scene, Charles kindly helps Henrietta back to her room, prompting Flusky to plead with Charles to help get Henrietta back to her old self. Charles agrees, though in the process invoking the jealousy of Flusky's nefarious housekeeper Millie and in turn Flusky himself which shines new light on an old scandal involving Flusky and Henrietta's past.

On paper, Under Capricorn might not seem very Hitchcockian but the film gradually reveals itself to be rife with many of Hitchcock's key obsessions. What separates it from other Hitchcock films is the way in which said obsessions reveal themselves, the manner employed by Hitchcock being rather sly. The idea of a high society scandal is one of the more obvious Hitchcock themes to make itself known fairly quickly, but as the story progresses and it becomes known that a murder has been hanging over the heads of certain characters for several years, perhaps Hitchcock's favorite theme of all comes into play, that being a wrong man scenario and again, Hitchcock explores the familiar idea in a different way then audiences at the time were used to. There is also of course the character of Millie, who, although not as overtly sinister as Mrs. Danvers in Hitchcock's Rebecca (1940), the most infamous of all evil housekeepers, she is nevertheless cut from the same cloth and makes for a wonderful antagonist. The central story of Henrietta's plight carries a lot of emotional weight thanks to Bergman's sympathetic performance and the story poses an interesting question in regards to how much self-sacrifice is the idea of love worth. Hitchcock's technical brilliance is on full display with the long takes and despite being set in Australia, the films visuals share many qualities of an American southern gothic aesthetic and the film even tips over into full-on horror territory thanks to the starling appearances of shrunken heads.

Along with not being very popular with audiences and critics at the time who were both expecting a typical Hitchcock thriller, the film was even maligned by its creators with Hitchcock believing it to have been a “disaster” and Joseph Cotten referring to it as “Under Corny Crap” in his autobiography Vanity Will Get You Somewhere. French critics however loved the film as was par for the course when it came to many of Hitchcock films that were underrated elsewhere, particularly in America upon their initial releases. Cahiers du Cinema even named Under Capricorn one of the greatest films of all time in 1958. Despite the box office failure of Under Capricorn and Rope before it, Hitchcock did intend to keep Transatlantic going, with Hitchcock follow-up Stage Fright (1950) originally intended to be a Transatlantic production, the company eventually dissolving after a plethora of issues got in the way of what was to be an adaptation of The Bramble Bush, a novel by American writer David Duncan, with several of Hitchcock subsequent films being released by Warner Bros. Despite having virtually everything working against it and with respect to Hitchcock and Cotten's opinions of the film, Under Capricorn is certainly a film Hitchcock enthusiasts who've yet to make its acquaintance would be wise to sit down with and an interesting look at Hitchcock taking a different approach to some of his favorite topics.

The Skin Game (1931)

One of the greatest ironies regarding the filmography of Alfred Hitchcock is that thanks to the copyright laws of the United States, so many of Hitchcock's early British films have been widely available for years, often grouped together in budget DVD sets, yet so many of the films are still under-discussed. Of Hitchcock's silent features, of course The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog (1927) is the clear standout, rightfully considered one of Hitchcock's finest and most important films but other silent titles like The Ring (1927), Downhill (1927), The Farmer's Wife (1928), Easy Virtue (1928), Champagne (1928) and The Manxman (1929), while obviously never going to be viewed with the same esteem as the likes of Vertigo (1958) or Psycho (1960), are nevertheless interesting watches as they present of the mediums greatest talents gradually honing his craft. The same could be said of Hitchcock's early sound films, with several going on to prominence like The Man Who Knew Too Much (1934), The 39 Steps (1936) and The Lady Vanishes (1938) while some other, more obscure films get lost in the cracks. One such early Hitchcock talkie to get lost in the shuffle is 1931's The Skin Game, a curious little film that, while different from a lot of the films Hitchcock was doing at the time, would actually show a few signs of things to come from Hitchcock in the future.

Mr. Hornblower, a formally working class, now rich entrepreneur, evicts the Jackman's, an elderly couple of tenant farmers from his land, much to the chagrin of Jack Hillcrist, the head of an aristocratic family whom sold Hornblower the land under the condition that no tenants would be evicted after the land was sold. Brushing off Hillcrist's protests, Hornblower reveals his plans to purchase a large area of land near the Hillcrist's property to build more factories, the prospect of which disgusts the Hillcrist's. After a plan to outbid Hornblower for the land goes array, Mrs. Hillcrist discovers a scandalous secret about the past of Hornblower's daughter-in-law Chloe, a revelation that takes the two feuding families rivalry into disastrous territory.

The Skin Game is the type of film that would lead many to classify it as an “atypical” Hitchcock film which would be unfair for a few reasons. While the film was a bit of a departure from the types of films Hitchcock had made leading up to it, he really hadn't quite become synonymous with the types of suspense thrillers that would eventually become his calling card and again, the film does contain numerous things that Hitchcock would gradually refine in future films. On its own, The Skin Game is a great early example of Hitchcock's approach to melodrama with an engaging family feud at its core. What's most interesting regarding the story is the way Hitchcock's presents both families, and in a brilliant early example of Hitchcock mastery of audience manipulation, the way Hitchcock constantly seems to be shifting sympathies, with both the Hornblower's and the Hillcrist's eventually coming across as just as bad as the other, and with the story eventually heading into almost Shakespearean tragedy territory near its conclusion, its clear that in Hitchcock's view, in this skin game, there are no winners. The film also makes for a fascinating time capsule with the scandal involving Hornblower's daughter-in-law being very much a product of its day, and the idea of a scandal threatening to bring social harm to an upper class family is a theme that Hitchcock would return to again in another film often seen as atypical, Under Capricorn (1949), which also touches upon the idea of class.

Another example of the film showing signs of things to come, the film does feature some early, slightly primitive though nonetheless effective “floating head” optical effects that are reminiscent of some of the more surreal imagery that would feature in Spellbound (1945) and Vertigo. It's also worth noting that the film was based on a play written by English writer John Galsworthy in 1920. As was often the case when it came to writers, Hitchcock and Galsworthy often butted heads over the script, although during the films pre-production stages Hitchcock and Galsworthy got along swimmingly with Hitchcock already being a big fan of Galsworthy's. Hitchcock considered Galsworthy one of the most cultured individuals he'd ever conversed with, the dinners at Galsworthy's house being some of Hitchcock's favorites, Hitchcock describing Galsworthy acting as “a chivalrous feudal lord mandating every new topic of conversation” and ultimately Galsworthy had to give his final approval of everything in the script. Again, due to the strange world that is copyright law, The Skin Game, like the majority of Hitchcock's early output has floated around in the public domain in America resulting in several home video editions either on its own or in a set with other early Hitchcock's so its a very easily attainable film and while its not likely to be considered an “essential” title, The Skin Game is very much worth seeing for any Hitchcock enthusiast. 

New Rose Hotel (1998)

Given the rapid advancements in technology since the 1990's, it's inevitable that the massive technological achievements made in the 90's are bound to be seen as somewhat primitive when looked back upon with modern eyes, yet its nevertheless fascinating seeing how the tech revelations of the 90's shape the current tech climate. Naturally the science fiction genre was in no short supply of inspiration given the ever-evolving realm of technology and several films with concepts that at the time were thought of as futuristic seem terrifyingly prophetic. Considering the prevalence of drones, self-preserving bots, radically advanced virtual reality and immersive RPG's, films like Hardware (1990), Total Recall (1990) and eXistenz (1999), just to name a few, don't seem all that far-fetched. With the ever-increasing popularity of the internet in the 90's, the cyberpunk subgenre was particularly fruitful and one of the most surprising and overlooked films to come out of the wave of high tech features was New Rose Hotel, Abel Ferrara's adaptation of the story by William Gibson, largely considered the forefather of cyberpunk. Ferrara might not seem like the first choise to direct a cyberpunk film, however he was no stranger to science fiction having helmed the underrated Body Snatchers (1993) earlier in the decade and much like that film, New Rose Hotel presents a highly singular approach to genre, resulting in one of Ferrara's most curious yet brilliantly realized works.

Fox (Christopher Walken) and X (Willem Dafoe), two independent contractors specializing in luring big money players away from their current employers in favor of their competitors set their sights on Hiroshi, a brilliant scientist who recently developed a way to synthesize viruses. Currently working for the Maas corporation, Fox and X concoct a plan to coerce Hiroshi to join Hosaka, Maas' main competition, utilizing the charms of the beautiful Sandii (Asia Argento), who's tasked with seducing Hiroshi into falling in love, eventually leaving his wife and job. The seemingly foolproof plan is quickly put to the test however when X develops feelings for Sandii, his jealously potentially complicating matters as well as the danger of Maas uncovering Fox and X's plan to steal their star employee.

Much like The Driller Killer (1979), Ms. 45 (1981), Body Snatchers and The Addiction (1995) before it, New Rose Hotel is yet another case study in Ferrara taking genre based material and reshaping it in a forward thinking manner. What's especially interesting regarding New Rose Hotel is the way Ferrara essentially takes the story's genre trappings and uses them as a backdrop more than anything else. To be sure, the sci-fi tone is ever present, with Ferrara constantly giving off the aura of the story taking place in a futuristic, almost dystopian environment entirely controlled by mega conglomerates and technology tracing the move of every citizen. Despite the original story being written in the 80's and the film in the late 90's, the current state of affairs as it relates to surveillance is a staple of the film, with several scenes showing various characters through video capture, and most fascinatingly and perhaps entirely appropriate, Hiroshi himself is seen exclusively via surveillance camera footage. By and large though, its the nature of the relationship between Fox, X and Sandii that Ferrara is most concerned with, the drama that develops along with X's affections for Sandii giving the film an extra layer of intrigue which becomes more pronounced during the films final third. Presenting everything through flashbacks to previous scenes with slightly altered dialogue and sound and editing that takes the film into an almost Lynchian territory, Ferrara toys around with perceptions of how the story unfolded, ending the film on a hauntingly ambiguous note.

During a 2012 interview, Ferrara spoke at length about New Rose Hotel and was rather candid (as if he ever isn't) about the bad state several key players were in during filming which led to a turbulent production and belligerent crew, some of which Ferrara admitted to firing during the shoot. Hilariously he also states that Argento basically swooped in much like her character in the film and claimed ownership of her role. Argento also shot a short behind the scenes documentary, Abel/Asia (1998) during production. The film also marked the first collaboration between Ferrara and Willem Dafoe who would go on to star in Ferrara's Go Go Tales (2007), 4:44 Last Day on Earth (2011) and Pasolini (2014). The film is also to date the final collaboration between Ferrara and Christopher Walken after memorable turns in King of New York (1990), The Addiction and The Funeral (1996). In the same previously mentioned interview, Ferrara makes some interesting statements regarding technology, specifically the internet saying “The information highway is leading straight to Hell” and described the rather dubious nature of a lot of online journalism as “an echo of a rumor”. Again, the film may have been shot in 1998 and its cyberpunk footing making it very much of its time, it's the sentiments found in those quotes from Ferrara that made Gibson's story and Ferrara's film very much ahead of their time.  

The Gladiator (1986)

Given the oftentimes provocative and confrontational nature of his films and indeed, his personality, Abel Ferrara might not seem like the number one contender for television projects however a look at his filmography reveals many a TV credit, several of which are rather interesting. Ferrara's most high profile TV work came in 1985 when he helmed 2 episodes of Miami Vice during the second season and the feature length pilot episode of the NBC series Crime Story was directed by Ferrara in 1986. Ferrara followed up China Girl (1987) with The Loner (1988), a TV feature that once again centered around cops and Ferrara was also behind a fascinatingly cryptic segment of the HBO anthology film Subway Stories: Tales from the Underground (1997) entitled “Love on the A-Train”. One of the more curious TV projects Ferrara was involved with was the third episode of the first season of the short lived ABC series FBI: The Untold Stories, with Ferrara directing portions of “The Judge Wood Case”, detailing the assassination of Judge John H. Wood Jr., who was shot and killed in 1979 by Charles Harrelson, father of actor Woody Harrelson. Ferrara's best TV work however came in 1986 in the form of The Gladiator, a TV film that, coming in the wake of films like Ms. 45 (1981) and Fear City (1984), feels the most at home among the rest of his output.

Eager to get out on the road after getting his learners permit, Jeff Benton goes for a driving lesson with his older brother Rick. After speeding up at a yellow light, the two find themselves being aggressively followed by a mysterious driver who begins rear-ending Rick's truck, the distraction causing Jeff to miss a red light and the two are stuck by an 18-wheeler, killing Jeff. Stricken with grief and rage after getting out of the hospital, Rick, a mechanic by trade, turns vigilante, vowing to avenge his brothers death and soon takes to the streets in his newly suped up truck, dubbing himself “The Gladiator” after his late brothers soccer team, and quickly gains the attention of the public and police, taking out reckless drivers with his main target being the “Death Car” driver who killed his brother and has been responsible for more fatal hit-and-runs in the area.

Despite the fact that Ferrara has referred to The Gladiator as “pure prostitution” and “strictly for the paycheck”, the film hardly feels like an anonymous work for hire job and a closer inspection makes the film seem like the intended follow-up to the aforementioned Ms. 45 and Fear City. The vengeance angle of the story obviously places the film somewhat in the territory of Ms. 45 (though to be certain both films are very different from each other) but it's Fear City the film feels the closest too, especially as it relates to the main characters of both films. Much like Tom Berrenger's Matt Rossi in Fear City, Ken Wahl's Rick is in constant conflict with himself. Pushed to extremes to right a wrong, the constantly moody Rick eventually enters that morally gray area so many Ferrara characters find themselves in as he begins to question if his vigilante tactics are doing the good he intended, making Rick fit right in with the likes of the titular Bad Lieutenant (1992) and Eddie Israel in Dangerous Game (1993). What's also worth noting is that Ferrara doesn't seem to be making any particular judgments as it relates to vigilante justice, choosing instead to focus solely on Rick's state of mind as the vigilantism increases just as he did with Zoe Lund's Thana in Ms. 45. This sets the film apart from so many other TV movies which often have a “message” behind them. Never once does the film come off as preachy in any way.

An interesting thing regarding the film according to Ferrara that was revealed in Brad Stevens' Abel Ferrara: The Moral Vision, Ferrara took on the project partly so Nicholas St. John could get an advance to write the first draft of King of New York (1990), though St. John had no part in writing The Gladiator. Ferrara also humorously stated that the film was partly a means to get away from winter in New York for a few weeks and smash a lot of cars and it should be said that although the majority of the film is quite somber tonally speaking, the action scenes involving Rick taking out reckless drivers do have a nice energy to them and the scenes of Rick suping up his truck and the truck itself is a gloriously 80's creation as is the final showdown between Rick and the “Death Car” driver in a junkyard. All things considered, The Gladiator has had a pretty remarkable shelf life. Originally airing on ABC on February 3, 1986, the film was eventually broadcast overseas and unlike several Ferrara films, has had several DVD releases. Obviously being a made-for-TV film puts it in a fairly low-key category compared to other Ferrara features but The Gladiator has much to offer and plenty of Ferrara's personal touches making the end product seem much more than an excuse to spend a few weeks in LA.

Wild Side (1995)

Tempting as it may be when discussing the life, work and especially death of Donald Cammell to revel in the mythology that has grown about the enigmatic writer/director throughout the years, there are instances where what has been reported don't exactly accurately represent what really happened. This is especially the case as it relates to Cammell's 1996 suicide, which, as Sam and Rebecca Umland wrote in their brilliant dissection of Cammell A Life on the Wild Side, the details of Cammell's passing have been greatly exaggerated. Nevertheless, even without the sensational reports, from his friendships with the likes of the Rolling Stones and Marlon Brando to his dalliances with many a beautiful woman, Cammell was undoubtedly a fascinating figure. Cammell was also an especially interesting case study as it relates to the film business, with only a total of four feature credits to his name. Many felt Cammell was poised to become a breakout vanguard director following his and Nicolas Roeg's co-directorial debut film Performance (1970), however Cammell found himself hitting many a roadblock when it came to potential projects, despite penning numerous scripts. Following Demon Seed (1977) and White of the Eye (1987), Cammell finally got the chance to direct what would become his final statement, Wild Side, one of the most curious cult titles of the 90's and a film who's rotten post-production treatment would possibly factor into Cammell's eventual suicide.

After a hotel rendezvous with powerful money launderer Bruno Buckingham (Christopher Walken), Alex Lee (Anne Heche), a bank accountant who moonlights as a high-class call girl under the alias of Johanna is surprised at her home by Tony (Stephen Bauer), Bruno's driver. After raping Alex, Tony reveals that he is in fact an undercover FBI agent involved in a sting to finally bring Bruno down and blackmails Alex into helping him by becoming Bruno's mistress and gaining his trust. Reluctant at first although desperate to not have her double life revealed, Alex agrees. Things become complicated rather quickly as soon as Alex meets Virginia (Joan Chen), Bruno's wife and the immediate attraction between the two becomes an affair, with Alex and Virginia hatching a whole new scheme to run away with the money from Bruno's next big scam.

Best remembered for a lesbian sex scene between Heche and Chen, many will perhaps go into Wild Side expecting a typical erotic crime thriller that was oh so prevalent in the 90's. Although the re-edited cut of the film that was first released did turn the film into something of that sort, Cammell's original directors cut is something else entirely, a thoroughly deranged and fascinating work with Cammell's manic personality permeating throughout. From a purely storytelling perspective the film is intriguing enough, with its tale of money laundering, double crosses and passionate love affairs, but where the film really becomes engaging is in its characterizations and performances. Of course the biggest standout being Walken, given the most unhinged performance of his entire career. Walken himself has even stated that Bruno is perhaps the craziest character he's ever played, and his performance runs the gamut from menacing to comically absurd, oftentimes seamlessly transitioning from one to the other in mere seconds making Bruno a truly unpredictable loose cannon. Bauer also gives a strangely compelling performance and his undercover agent doubling as Bruno's right hand man does somewhat recall the idea of taking on more than one personality that goes all the way back to Performance. The relationship that develops between Heche and Chen that gave the film its infamy is far from lurid excuse for lesbian scenes but in fact a rather touching addition that eventually becomes the films strongest plot point, ultimately giving the film a tremendous amount of heart amidst the lunacy. 

There was a bit of hilarity that arose during the auditioning process when word got out that Cammell's wife and writing partner China Kong was testing potential actresses willingness to go through with the lesbian scenes by French kissing them, a tactic that didn't go down well and eventually came to an end. Unfortunately the story of what happened with the film after production was anything but funny. Just as he did with Performance and Demon Seed, Cammell once again found his film torn away from him by producers at Nu Image, the films distribution company, who drastically re-cut the film, putting all the focus on the lesbian angle and bypassing theaters (although a cut was originally going to be prepared for a screening at the Cannes Film Festival) and going straight to HBO much to Cammell's dismay. It wasn't until 2000, four years after Cammell's suicide, did a directors cut appear, cut together using Cammell's notes by China Kong and Cammell's longtime editor Frank Mazzola which was released on DVD by Tartan, although the butchered Nu Image cut has several DVD releases so buyer beware. It may have taken years after its creators death to finally see the light of day in a form closest to what Cammell intended, but its the vision put forth by Cammell in that directors cut that make this particular walk on the wild side worth taking.

Voodoo Passion (1977)

AKA Der Ruf der blonden Göttin (Call of the Blonde Goddess), Le cri d'amour de la déesse blonde (Love Cry of the Blonde Goddess),Las diosas del porno (The Goddesses of Porn), Märät unet (Wet Dreams) and Porno Shock

Its funny, although hardly surprising, given that it seems to be the case with most artists, that despite how divisive the films of Jess Franco are, even among his own fanbase, the man himself was his own harshest critic. It wasn't uncommon for Franco in interviews to be dismissive of his work, expressing displeasure with one aspect or another. Its nevertheless obvious though to anyone who's well versed in Franco's filmography that there were certain films Franco was very fond of given the multitude of times he would return to a theme or even a character name. An obvious film in this camp would be The Awful Dr. Orloff (1962), a film Franco would keep referencing throughout the remainder of his career. Eugenie... the Story of Her Journey into Perversion (1969) is another stand out, being Franco's first adaptation of the Marquis de Sade's Philosophy in the Bedroom, a text who's inspiration would prove to be endlessly fruitful for Franco. Vampyros Lesbos (1971) would also see its idea's expanded upon by Franco in films such as Lorna the Exorcist (1974), Macumba Sexual (1981), Vampire Blues (1999) and Snakewoman (2005). Another key “springboard” title for Franco was Nightmares Come at Night (1970), the first in a series of semi-related films like The Sinister Eyes of Dr. Orloff (1973), Sexy Sisters (1977) and Voodoo Passion, a tropical twist on some of Franco's favorite re-occurring obsessions.

Susan, the wife of an American diplomat, arrives in Haiti to be with her husband Jack. Almost immediately upon arriving, Susan begins to feel strange, namely due to the hypersexuality of Olga, Jack's sister who's behavior around Jack borders on incestuous. Not long after Susan begins suffering from vivid nightmares involving voodoo ceremonies with each dream ending in Susan's murdering of someone. With each nightmare, Susan begins to believe the murders have actually occurred and aided by the constant presence of voodoo dolls and the voodoo practicing servant Inès, gradually begins to lose touch with reality.

It never ceases to amaze just how far Franco could stretch a story he'd previously told multiple times with only the slightest of tweaks. While he'd expanded upon the ideas initially touched upon in Nightmares Come at Night with the aforementioned The Sinister Eyes of Dr. Orloff, what makes his successful take on the familiar themes found in Voodoo Passion so incredible is that he had shot yet another somewhat relatable film the same year with Sexy Sisters. Still, Voodoo Passion is easily capable of standing on its own two feet. What sets the film apart from Franco's other post-Nightmares Come at Night variations on a theme is the Haitian setting and naturally the voodoo lore that comes with it, which is yet another example of Franco's skill at getting the most out of one particular idea in that voodoo as acts as a perfect primer for not only the films supernatural side but for other facets of the story as well. Per usual with this type of story, Franco gradually poses the idea of something far more sinister of a more natural origin is afoot and while some of the twists of the story can be seen as far-fetched, credit must nevertheless be given to Franco for following through as they are rather clever. It should come as no surprise that the films biggest highlights are Susan's voodoo ritual based dreams with Franco's typically hallucinatory eroticism in abundance, giving way to several striking visuals and pulsating tribal drums blaring over the soundtrack.

Voodoo Passion was one of several collaborations between Franco and Swiss producer Erwin C. Dietrich, a fruitful partnership which produced two of Franco's very best films, Doriana Gray (1976) and Love Letters of a Portuguese Nun (1977). Franco and Dietrich's working relationship got off to a bit of a rocky start after Dietrich first saw Barbed Wire Dolls (1976), the first Franco film he backed due to its rough aesthetic and out of focus moments with Dietrich even considering not releasing the film at all. After releasing the film and seeing how profitable it became, Dietrich stopped having second thoughts about Franco for the most part, though several of the films Franco made with Dietrich stick out on account of Franco not operating the camera as he was want to do. Interestingly, despite Dietrich distaste for the freewheeling, handheld camera work that he found so off-putting in Barbed Wire Dolls, he later claimed that Franco was ahead of his time with that style of shooting, even going so far as saying that Franco predicted Lars von Trier's “Dogme 95” movement which insisted on more naturalistic shooting and handheld camerawork. Voodoo Passion might not exactly fit that description but Francophiles that have yet to see the film will find plenty to love as the film is one example out of many that showcases Franco's talent for re-purposing old storylines without the feeling of redundancy.  

Darkness (2009)

AKA T.M.A.

The passing of Juraj Herz in April 2018 was a massive blow to not just fans of eccentric cinema but for world cinema as a whole. Herz was an interesting character from the very beginning of his directorial career. While he could technically be considered part of the Czech New Wave, there were things about his films that set him apart from his Czech counterparts. Early on Herz showed an adeptness for fantastic genre material in the form of The Cremator (1969), a classic horror and black comedy hybrid that highlighted Herz's highly stylized and surreal visual sensibilities. Herz further honed his horror craft with Morgiana (1972) and would later take another somewhat cheeky turn with Ferat Vampire (1982) about a vampyric car that runs on human blood. Like a lot of his fellow Czech directors, Herz also had a particular skill when it came to fairy tales, his take on Beauty and the Beast (1978) standing out as one of the most original takes on the classic tale with its humanoid bird/man hybrid beast. Other films like The Ninth Heart (1979) and The Frog Prince (1991) also showcased Herz's skills at fairy tale storytelling. Herz would make a return to horror one final time later in his career in 2009 with Darkness, a film that, despite its rather anonymously bland title, breathes new life into a classic, tried and true horror film scenario.

Needing some time away from his hard partying ways, Marek, a successful musician, travels back to his childhood home for some rest and relaxation. Almost immediately after arriving however Marek is greeted with hostility from the locals who warn him that the house should have remained vacant. Not long after settling in, Marek begins to feel the presence of others in the house and begins having fragmented flashbacks to his childhood to an incident involving his sister Tereza, who's long been institutionalized. With the otherworldly presences becoming stronger, Marek begins to feel he's losing his mind and seeks the help of a local historian, uncovering the tragic history of his house involving the Nazi's in WWII, all the while Tereza is planning a trip back home.

Both a literal and metaphorical ghost story, Darkness is very much a film about the ghosts of the past rearing their ugly head in the present. The set-up is a classic horror scenario. The old, dark house with a troubled past, unwelcoming locals looking upon the newcomer in town with suspicion and disdain, skeletons in the family closet, all given a fresh spin by Herz. While the film is a literal ghost story in that Marek's house is truly being occupied by specters from beyond, the film's more metaphorical ghosts are represented via Marek's family history, with Tereza becoming an increasingly more important character as the film progresses, the fractured flashbacks giving the impression at times that Marek might possibly be going insane, adding to the already heightened sense of paranoia permeating the film. The ghosts of history also play a major role with the WWII backstory giving the film some pretty heavy emotional weight, the backstories of some of the side characters factoring in as well making things more intriguing. The film differs quite a bit stylistically from Herz's past horrors in favor of a more dreary look and tone which, given the material is understandable and eerily effective, with a sense of mounting dread being sustained for the majority of the film. The well-worn trope of the unfriendly locals feels even slightly more sinister and harsh, and Herz even spices the film up with some jolting bits of gore with have an Italian feel some moments of fierce, nearly X-rated sexuality.

All the WWII elements in the film were added by Herz with screenwriter Martin Nemec calling his original script more “intimate”. The war was a constant reoccurring theme for Herz, himself a Holocaust survivor, most famously fused with horror in The Cremator but also in films such as The Night Overtakes Me (1986) and Habermann (2010). During a behind the scenes look at Darkness, Herz explains his attraction to genre came about from reading fairly tales as a child and his later discovering of Edger Allan Poe, the suspense he felt while reading giving him the urge to create the same type of suspense for people watching his films. Herz would describe himself as a “devout atheist” who, despite loving making films about the supernatural, doesn't believe in it himself. Interesting then that there was an occultist on set who claimed to be in communication with a ghost. Nemec was quick to believe the set was indeed haunted with his laptop disappearing into thin air and the boom operators mic not picking up sound when it would normally pick out sounds from miles away. Darkness certainly sicks out from Herz's other works in the genre due to its modernity but with Herz at the helm all the shortcomings associated with such a term are sidestepped with Herz delivering a fine example of contemporary horror worthy of standing along side his previous genre classics. 

Spider (2002)

One of the most common descriptors used when discussing the work of David Cronenberg is “cold” or “detached” as it relates to his approach to his material and certainly his characters. While this is true to a certain extent as Cronenberg's films do tend to have a very clinical aesthetic, and his handling of characters could be described as psychoanalytical and fairly objective, with Cronenberg making little to no judgments of his characters, his films are hardly emotionless. For instance the divorce at the center of The Brood (1979) is sure to hit close to home for many as are the family dynamics explored in A History of Violence (2005) and even Maps to the Stars (2014) is an oddly touching film once the final scene ends. The Fly (1986) is well regarded for being a tragic love story at heart and the downfall of the twins in Dead Ringers (1988) is incredibly heartbreaking. Crash (1996), often regarded as Cronenberg's coldest, is, much like The Fly, ultimately revealed to be a love story. While his work was always psychologically complex, around the turn of the new millennium Cronenberg's films started to become even more more psychologically focused and it was Spider in 2002, another film that, clinical on the surface, slowly reveals itself to have a strong emotional core, the prime emotion being melancholy, seemed to usher in a new era for Cronenberg.

After being released from a mental institution, Dennis Cleg (Ralph Fiennes), known as “Spider”, is sent to live in a halfway house. Once there, Spider begins exploring the surrounding neighborhood where he grew up and begins to relive memories of his childhood involving his parents (Miranda Richardson and Gabriel Byrne), gradually putting the pieces of the puzzle that led to his current situation back together.

Even by Cronenberg standards, Spider plays some masterful tricks on the brain. Part of its genius lies in the way the film is structured. It begins simple enough, and the many transitions from past to present are easily discernible, yet Cronenberg slyly complicates matters in the most subtle of ways leading to more and more questions as the film progresses. Although the film isn't a first person narrative, it feels as such and therefore presents everything the way Spider sees it, which in itself poses a lot of questions as it relates to the reliability of his narration given his disposition. Very few films are able to get into a character's mindset with the ease of Spider which is what gives the film a powerful emotional edge. The world Spider inhabits in both his mind and physical surroundings is a sad and lonely place, represented by the films production design and washed out, almost sickly green color scheme. Even the slightly more colorful moments of fantasy taking place in a sunny pasture have a tinge of despair to them. The feeling of gloom and despondency is felt right from the opening credits until the end and eventually does begin to weigh heavy and lingers long after the film has ended. Of course the film rests almost entirely on Fiennes' shoulders who, despite never uttering one single word, only gibberish, brilliantly conveys Spider's tangled through process and Richardson's tackling of not one but three roles plays a major part in the films mental trickery.

Although Spider does suffer from a specific psychological disorder, Cronenberg wisely chose not to name it and even went so far as to remove moments in the script that would have called for effects, stating in an interview “I took the special effects sequences out of the script, because I think those effects... are recognizable to an audience as effects, as hallucinations that can’t possibly be real. And the unspoken purpose of the movie was to make the audience be “Spider.” So when he’s hallucinating and thinking something is real, we must also feel that.” Cronenberg also explained that despite the films focus on psychology, his main interest is still the body stating “Oh, there’s only a fleshy element. I am healing the Cartesian rift. I am an embodied person. I really understand the connection between body and mind... When you’re studying the human mind, you can’t take the mind out of it; you have to put it back into the brain. For me, it’s all body.” Spider is also a film that, if it wasn't already apparent from his entire filmography, Cronenberg, along with Fiennes and Richardson, are all in their chosen professions for the right reasons, with the films low budget forcing all three to defer their salaries and its obvious the amount of care that went into Spider, a film with the same amount of heart as brains behind it.

The Fall of the Louse of Usher (2002)

Much like the advent of VHS and the affordability of the home video camera in the 80's made it possible for virtually anybody to make a movie, the digital revolution and the increased availability of camcorders that came along in the late 90's and early 2000's led to even more opportunities for people to realize their filmmaking ambitions. Just as the 80's saw a glut of shot-on-video productions, the new millennium led to an innumerable amount of digitally lensed features, a fair amount by amateurs, but what digital cameras also offered was the chance for already established directors to work with total creative control away from studio interference as well as smaller crews. Jess Franco would be a prime example of a veteran director who dove head first into the digital sea, shooting a plethora of highly personal, experimental features on digital video. David Lynch was also a vocal proponent of shooting digitally, his epic Inland Empire (2006) being shot on a consumer grade Sony PD-150 camera. Ken Russell was yet another director to embrace the freedom digital video offered with Russell's later works consisting of several homemade digital shorts but the film that would become his final feature, 2002's The Fall of the Louse of Usher, has the distinction of not only being the crown jewel of his digital works but also one of the most outlandish titles in Russell's entire oeuvre.

After being convicted of murdering his wife Annabel Lee, rock star Roderick Usher is committed to an insane asylum under the watchful eye of Dr. Calahari (played by Russell himself). Almost immediately, Usher soon discovers that Calahari, along with his eccentric nurse ABC Smith, are just as if not more insane than their patients as he struggles to uncover the truth about his wife's death while being subjugated to Calahari's bizarre forms of treatment turning his already confused mind into a nonstop surreal waking nightmare.

Subtitled "A Gothic Tale for the 21^st Century", The Fall of the Louse of Usher is Russell completely unfiltered. Not that he ever let any producer hold him back, but even by Russell standards, Louse is a relentless barrage of lunacy from beginning to end. Stuck somewhere between a home movie and a music video, with the film fully becoming the later in parts, Russell's biggest influence as the title suggests is Edgar Allan Poe but not just The Fall of the House of Usher and Annabel Lee, as Russell mentions Poe by name throughout the film, even using plot points from Murders in the Rue Morgue to suggest possible clues to the mystery surrounding Usher's wife's death. That's of course if anyone isn't utterly lost by the time the film gets to the Rue Morgue references as the plot often takes a backseat to Russell's over-the-top visuals, all done on the most shoestring of budgets, including everything from a mummy, a gorilla, an orgy featuring blow-up dolls and an inflatable dinosaur and even a massive inflatable castle. While most humorless types will be quick to dismiss the film solely on its look, the film is actually rather interesting in that its almost as if Russell an co. were relishing in the artifice, purposefully making every aspect of the film look as cheap as possible and yet there is an ingenuity to all the homemade effects and costumes, the punk rock, DIY spirit of the production making the film all the more endearing.

The film was very much a labor of love from Russell and his wife Lisi Tribble, with Russell not only writing, directing and starring in the film (and hamming it up marvelously complete with a hilariously exaggerated German accent) but also acting as the cinematographer, producer and editor while Tribble pulled quadruple duties in the acting department playing four different roles. The film was again the product of a time of immense creativity for Russell who would follow it with several shorts, including a segment in the horror anthology films Trapped Ashes (2006) titled “The Girl With the Golden Breasts” as well as a hysterically incendiary Christmas themed internet short A Kitten for Hitler (2007). Prior to Louse, Russell had been working pretty much exclusively in television after his final theatrical feature Whore (1991) was unceremoniously slapped with an NC-17 rating, resulting in a limited release. It's perhaps safe to assume that The Fall of the Louse of Usher was the type of movie Russell was clamoring to make during his made-for-TV years, the advent of digital video finally giving him the resources. It's the product of legend effectively telling the filmmaking establishment he didn't need them anymore. Although some may run away in horror at the rough aesthetics of it, The Fall of the Louse of Usher is without question 100% pure Ken Russell and that in itself is something to admire. 

Whore (1991)

Leave it to the MPAA to add more fuel to a fire they were allegedly attempting to put out. When the NC-17 rating was introduced in 1990, thus retiring the X rating, the intent was to make a distinction between films designed for adults with content stronger than normally found in R-rated films but weren't hardcore sex films which is what the X rating had become synonymous with. The rating quickly developed a stigma of its own however and became known as a “kiss of death” for any film given the rating, with many theater chains refusing to show NC-17 rated films and various retail outlets refusing to stock NC-17 films. With the exception of Showgirls (1995), which was one of the very few major studio films with the rating to get a wide release, the majority of the films given the rating were interdependent productions, making any attempt to gain an R rating especially difficult with the MPAA's vague suggestions for cuts as opposed to the detailed outlines given to studio films. Ken Russell's 1991 film Whore was yet another independent film given the rating, rather unjustifiably as had the film been released by a big studio it would have been given an R without incident, which no doubt played a hand in the films limited release, depriving a large audience of Russell's unfiltered antidote to the lies of Pretty Woman (1990).

Presented as docudrama, the film follows Liz (Theresa Russell), a streetwise Los Angeles prostitute going about her business, narrating the details of her life which led her to the life she currently lives, waxing philosophic on her line of work and life in general, giving detailed accounts of her failed marriage, estranged son and some of her more eccentric clients, all the while desperately trying to avoid her violent pimp Blake.

In a lot of ways Whore can be seen as a companion to Russell's Crimes of Passion (1984) which also dealt with prostitution albeit in a much more colorful fashion. Much like Crimes of Passion, Whore deals with some pretty heavy subject matter. Again, the film was Russell's response after being disgusted by what her perceived to be the glamorization of the life of a prostitute in Pretty Woman and sought out to present what the life of a lady of the night is truly like. Quite often it isn't pleasant with several of Liz's encounters ending very badly and at times violently and naturally the reoccurring motif of the threat of her abusive pimp brings an even more dangerous nature to Liz's already high risk job. At the same time, the film has a tendency to shift tones, often abruptly with Russell's bizarre sense of humor coming into play several times so a scene that is at once troubling suddenly becomes absurdly hilarious, Liz's accounts of the turn-on's of her clientele, be they an elderly man who loves to get beat with a cane or a successful business man with a peculiar type of shoe fetish are especially hysterical. Theresa Russell really goes for in both her exaggerated street-tough guise as well as during the more tender, confessional moments revealing the more unfortunate aspects of her backstory and despite the tonal shifts, the film is never short on sincerity or sympathy, with the constant fourth wall breaking making for more intimate characterization.

At a 2010 career retrospective Theresa Russell claimed the film was her most difficult both technically and emotionally. Russell stated “There was monologue after monologue after monologue. I mean just in terms of just pure, technical stuff... I was worried about being boring, so much of it was just me walking along on the street as a hooker just talking, constantly talking to the camera... but anytime your doing a character like her that basically feels very bad about themselves, you know that's the place where you gotta go and you have to understand what motivated her to do these things to herself and her body and be who she was... as an actor its hard sometimes your just oh man its such a beautiful day I just want to go in my garden... OK your a piece of shit... you gotta work your way into it and then go to work!” Perhaps due to the films limited release frightening potential future backers, Whore would become Russell's final theatrical feature with Russell working in television and making digital films on his own until his passing in 2011. Whore still remains one of Russell's most underseen works but it also stands as a film as bold as its title and the fact that the film is a collaboration between the two most fierce Russell's in film, Ken and Theresa, makes it a must see.

Lisztomania (1975)

Ken Russell was a lot of things to a lot of people, both admires and detractors alike, and when thinking of Russell's legacy, one of the most astonishing things is just how many things he became synonymous with throughout his career. Most filmmakers would be considered lucky to have one film, never mind several films or “era”s, periods of their career which are oft-debated as to which is the most representative of their overall body of work. Russell certainty is of the later class, with it being impossible to define his career with one specific film or period. While The Devils (1971) is perhaps Russell's most famous film due to its sheer notoriety, Russell is equally renowned among horror fans for films like Gothic (1986) and The Lair of the White Worm (1988), while others swear by the hallucinatory sci-fi of Altered States (1980) or the berserk adaptation of The Who's rock opera Tommy (1975). One specific type of film Russell was particularly successful was the musical bio-pic, with some of Russell's most celebrated films being centered around the lives of classical composers, executed in Russell's typically flamboyant fashion, examples include the BBC documentary Elgar (1962), The Music Lovers (1971) and Mahler (1974). Almost immediately following Tommy, Russell found himself returning to the realm of the composer biopic, albeit in a much more maniacal fashion with Lisztomania, unquestionably Russell's most outrageous musical biopic.

While in Russia for a tour, renowned Hungarian pianist and composer Franz Liszt (Roger Daltrey) is offered a proposition by Princess Carolyne zu Sayn-Wittgenstein, that being the two of them marrying, giving Liszt the time and ability to compose all the music he wants. The marriage however is disapproved of by the church and Liszt devotes his life to being an abbot, although he soon finds another calling after being caught in bed with another woman by the Pope (Ringo Starr), who informs Liszt that his jealous composing contemporary Richard Wagner has not only become the anti-Christ but has also tricked Liszt's daughter Cosima into marrying him. After being commissioned by the Pope to defeat Wagner, Liszt arrives at Wagner's castle and discovers Wagner's diabolical plan of ridding the world of Jews and the creation of the master race.

Although Lisztomania technically falls into the biopic category, even when compared with Russell's previous excessive classical composer based films, Lisztomania is worlds removed from a traditional biography. Although the film does eventually follow somewhat of a narrative once Princess Carolyne enters the picture and the ensuing saga with the Pope and Wagner, for a good portion of the film Russell favors a stream of consciousness approach, loading the film with instances of surreal fantasy sequences and moments of random frivolity. Frivolous being the key word, with the over the top absurdity being the main selling point, Russell offering no breathing room from the barrage of madness. In fact, although both films couldn't be further apart tonally speaking, Lisztomania just might be second only to The Devils as Russell's most loud and provocative film. Along with making Wagner a Nazi anti-Christ, he is also a vampire, later resurrected as the reincarnation of Hitler crossed with Frankenstein's monster wielding an electric guitar machine gun, his intended method of genocide involves a faulty, Thor like creature made of iron (played by musician Rick Wakeman who provided the films score), and in perhaps the films most memorable moment and certainty one of the most unforgettable moments in Russell's oeuvre, Liszt inexplicably finds himself sprouting a massive penis and testicles. Russell even finds time to include rocket ships. Toss in voodoo and enough blatant phallic imagery that would make Freud's head explode and the tagline of “The film that out-Tommy's Tommy!” becomes much more than mere advertising hyperbole.   

The films title “Lisztomania” comes from an actual term originated by German poet Heinrich Heine used to describe the overexcited, mostly young female audience reactions at Liszt's concerts, which Heine stated were “true madness, unheard of in the annals of furore”, thus causing many to label Liszt the first real pop star. Of course, Liszt's frantic crowds were also fodder for critics quick to label such things as shallow and in a strange bit of history somewhat repeating itself, many critics of the day were quick to label Russell's film as shallow, with several bemoaning that Russell finally took the extravagance a bit too far, though over the years the film has rightfully gained a fanbase. As Rick Wakeman pointed out, “It took many years before Lisztomania became cult and recognized for the clever film it was...” The term “Lisztomania” was also the inspiration for the name later given to another musical phenomenon, “Beatlemania”, with the enthusiastic responses to The Beatles live performances and pubic appearances resembling the descriptions of Liszt's hyperactive crowd responses recorded throughout history, thus making Ringo Starr's turn as the cowboy boot wearing Pope all the more appropriate. Never boring for a second, Lisztomania is a quintessential bit of mad Russell brilliance and even in a crowded filmography loaded with highly imaginative works, Lisztomania manages to stick out more than some of the others which is quite the accomplishment.

Schramm (1993)

Germany has always had a curious history when it comes to horror films. With the exception of the expressionist silent era, Germany has never really experienced a horror boom, especially when compared to England, Spain, Italy and France, who's horror output flourished in the 60's, 70's and 80's. Perhaps because of the sporadic horror releases, when a German genre film does make waves at home and abroad, the films tend to be highly original, transgressive and confrontational, with films like Ulli Lommel's Tenderness of the Wolves (1973) and Eckhart Schmidt's Der Fan (1982) being some of the most famous. The arrival of Jörg Buttgereit with Nekromantik (1987) signaled a new era for German horror. The punk rock, DIY aesthetics of Nekromantik really lit a fire under the behind of the German underground and no doubt played a hand in inspiring other infamous German homemade horrors like Andreas Schnaas Violent Shit (1989) and Olaf Ittenbach's Black Past (1989) and The Burning Moon (1992). Far from content with being painted into a corner, Buttgereit remained unique with the experimental brilliance of Der Todesking (1990) before surpassing his original creation with Nekromantik 2 (1991). Schramm, Buttgereit's fourth and to date final feature, saw Buttgereit once again retaining his status as leader of the German underground, providing a gruesome and refreshing antidote to the slew of by-the-numbers police procedural serial killer films from around the same time.

While re-painting his apartment in an attempt to cover up his most recent killings, Lothar Schramm, dubbed the “Lipstick Killer” by the press, accidentally falls from his stepladder to his death. Before his passing, fragments of his life begin to replay before him, from his platonic relationship with Marianne, the prostitute next door (Monika M. of Nekromantik 2), various mundane episodes of his lonely home life to repetitions of the murders and post-killing rituals as well as the various hallucinations which led him to this point.

Subtitled “Into the Mind of a Serial Killer”, Schramm does just that, giving an unflinching, up close and perhaps an all too personal for some look into the psyche of a deranged individual. Although the film features just one narrative, in some ways the film resembles the experimental approach Buttgereit took with Der Todesking, with the titular Schramm's memories being fractured, matching Buttgereit's presentation of them. Despite knowing immediately what's being shown happened prior to Schramm's fall, Buttgereit still manages to obscure the timeline with Schramm's memories, oftentimes repeating certain scenes complete with disorienting camera moments and edits, the fragmentation of the narrative providing an insight into Schramm's disturbed mind long before his fall. Save for moments where Buttgereit makes the fantasy element obvious, there are quite a few times throughout the film where reality and hallucination become obscured, with Schramm suffering from some incredibly striking visions of eyeball removal, missing limbs and an especially jolting appendage complete with chattering teeth. The hallucinations also play a big part in Schramm's ultimate fate, potentially confusing matters even more. The film is even more note worthy on account of how downbeat an affair it is. While Lothar is hardly presented as sympathetic, much like many of the suicidal individuals in Der Todesking, there is an obvious feeling of emptiness and solitude during the scenes of Schramm going about his daily business that does weigh heavily despite the films brisk 65 minute run time, plus Schramm's self-loathing manifesting itself in one of Buttgereit's most wince-inducing scenes.

Buttgereit has gone on record saying that Schramm was made as a reaction against the police procedural types of serial killer films, claiming in his introduction to the film on the Cult Epics DVD release “When I made this movie in 1992, I was pretty much interested in whats really going on in the mind of a serial killer. I was tired of so called serial killer movies where I could only see, you know, chain-smoking detectives who try to hunt the serial killer and these films were not so much about serial killers, so I was trying to do a serial killer movie based on a lot of serial killer biographies I read and yeah, I was trying to get pictures on the screen that could be in the head of a serial killer.” Schramm is again Buttgereit's last feature film to date although he's hardly been resting on his laurels since 1993, having directed numerous television documentaries, music videos and shorts as well as Captain Berlin vs. Hitler (2009), a filmed stage play and the segment “Final Girl” from the anthology film German Angst (2015), which many hailed as a most-welcome comeback and hopefully will lead to an eventual new feature. Although the total count of Buttgereit's features is four, the cliché of quality over quantity rings true and Schramm, like all of Buttgereit's features is of an entirely singular quality.

Der Todesking (1990)

There's a popular cliché about only getting one chance to make a first impression and in the world of underground cult and horror cinema, very few films and filmmakers make the same kind of first impressions as Jörg Buttgereit and Nekromantik (1987). Gaining an almost instant cult following via word of mouth due its fiercely transgressive content, various bannings throughout the world and tales of bootlegged copies being seized at customs, Nekromantik broke new ground for German horror. Not only did the film give a defiant middle finger to German censorship laws, with the film never having been submitted to the German censors for review, but more importantly, it introduced the underground film world to a wildly original thinker in Buttgereit who would deliver three more highly provocative features that cemented his reputation among fans of fringe cinema. In a lot of ways, Nekromantik 2 (1991) surpassed the reputation of its predecessor, with the German police confiscating copies of the film, condemning it for “glorifying violence” while Buttgereit's fourth and to date last feature, Schramm (1993), gave an unflinching glimpse into the life of a serial killer, going places that no other serial killer films would dare go. Lost in the shuffle somewhat is Der Todesking. Sandwiched in-between the Nekromantik films, Der Todesking is perhaps Buttgereit's most challenging work and a perfect example of the experimental bend Buttgereit brings to all his films.

An anthology film of sorts, Der Todesking consists of seven segments taking place throughout an entire week centered around suicide intercut with a corpse experiencing various stages of decay. Monday: A man drowns in a bathtub after ingesting numerous pills. Tuesday: An anonymous individual is seen hanging after a scenario plays out on a nearby television featuring a man shooting his girlfriend after watching a Nazisploitation film. Wednesday: A man shoots himself after confessing his marital woes to a stranger on a park bench. Thursday: A montage of the names, ages and occupations of those who jumped from a bridge. Friday: A woman in an apartment complex receives a chain letter ordering her to kill herself. After falling asleep, a couple the woman was observing earlier in her same building are seen lying in bed dead, covered in blood. Saturday: A woman goes on a shooting rampage at a concert, filming the ordeal in first person until a concert goer shoots her dead. Sunday: A man wakes up in despair in desolate room and repeatedly beats his head against the wall.

Although the death obsession from the Nerkomantik films is carried over, giving way to several grotesque moments, namely during the segments checking in on the decomposing corpse, Der Todesking (The Death King, or The King of Death) ultimately lacks the sensationalism and black humor of Buttgereit's more famous “loving dead” duo, with Buttgereit favoring a more low-key, morose approach. If the film could be defined by one thing, its ambiguity. Save for the “Wednesday” segment, where the rationale for suicide is explicitly stated and the possible exception of the “Saturday” vignette, no explanation is given for the various individuals suicides, leaving everything open to question, not unlike suicide in real life. Despite the lack of information, Buttgereit's decision to leave everything open ended actually makes for some strangely emotional moments, as the environments he gives several of the characters to inhabit does emit a feeling of emptiness, particularly the “Monday” and “Friday” segments, making their fates resonate a bit more than one might expect given the absence of character development. The death as a chain letter idea Buttgereit plays around with is especially fascinating as it could provide clues into some of the characters insights while also potentially confusing matters more when questioning if the various letters seen throughout the film are actually connected. Stylistically, the film finds Buttgereit continuing his grungy, underground aesthetic while also getting more ambitious with the camera movements. The “Thursday” episode stands out in this regard and the first person point of view during “Saturday” is quite startling.

Der Todesking was the result of Buttgereit's desire to, in his words, “free himself” from audience expectations following the instantaneous infamy of Nekromantik and the clamoring for an immediate follow-up. The film also sees Buttgereit slyly paying tribute to video stores and the films that inspired him with a portion of “Tuesday” taking place in a video store with an impressive selection, including a strategically placed copy of Nekromantik as well as Abel Ferrara's Ms. 45 (1981), which Buttgereit channels during “Wednesday” which young filmmakers could learn a lot from as Buttgereit's way of tipping his hat to these influences being the proper way to pay homage while still retaining an original voice. The footage from the fictitious Nazisploitation film seen in the film should make many fans smile as well and could actually be seen as one of the films few humorous moments due to its over the top nature. Buttgereit is also quick to point out on the films Cult Epics release, really the first widely distributed home video release the film has ever had, that the film is against suicide. All four of Buttgereit's features are essential for their own unique qualities and while the Nekromantik films are understandably what Buttgereit will forever be synonymous with, Der Todesking remains one of Buttgereit's most potent macabre masterpieces and one of the most original works to fall under the Euro cult/horror umbrella.

Angel Guts: Red Flash (1994)

AKA Red Lightning

The Angel Guts series, and for that matter the entire body of work from series creator Takashi Ishii, is one of the finest examples of the difference in attitudes between Japan and the west when it comes to depictions of sexuality, sexual violence in particular. Given the cultural climate in the west, one dominated by censorious, perpetually offended cultists quick to call for the silencing of anything deemed “offensive” by the hive, Ishii's approach to subjects like rape and sadomasochism are bound to trigger the culturally fascistic types whereas in Japan, Ishii is seen as a feminist friendly filmmaker. Ishii has gone on record stating that his intention behind the Angel Guts manga series was a tribute to victimized women, the “Guts” in the title referencing courage. Its the same mentality that Ishii brings to his film work. Beginning with his debut, the fifth in the Angel Guts film series, Red Vertigo (1988), Ishii has made a career out of exploring the psyches of female protagonists who are quite damaged, yet resilient and what should be apparent to those not blinded by authoritarian ideology, no matter the mental and psychical trauma Ishii's heroins endure, Ishii is always on their side. Angel Guts: Red Flash, the most elusive of the series, is yet another example of Ishii subverting the “Pink Film” or Pinku eiga, putting another Nami at the center of a psychosexual mystery.

After getting blackout drunk in a fit of jealousy after discovering her lover with another woman, Nami, a young photographer, is escorted from the bar by a complete stranger, only to wake up later in a love hotel with the dead body of the stranger from the bar on the floor. The following morning, Nami receives an ominous message from a stranger demanding sex or else they'll inform the police of Nami's murdering of the man in the hotel. Although Nami has no memory whatsoever about what happened, a videotape left in the hotel shows another, unidentifiable person in the room. Along with business colleague Muraki, Nami attempts to uncover the truth about what happened in the hotel, a process that becomes all the more challenging when a troubling memory from her past creeps to the surface as well as Nami's suspicions of Muraki's motives for helping her.

Made during the height of the American erotic thriller craze, there does seem to be an attempt on Ishii's part to give Angel Guts: Red Flash (Tenshi no harawata: Akai senkô, 天使のはらわた 赤い閃光) the vibe of some of the American sex thrillers of the time. Some have compared Ishii's approach with the film to Brian De Palma, a comparison which is not unwarranted, and there are points in the film which seem to recall Paul Verhoeven's Basic Instinct (1992), particularly the nasty stabbing scenes, and much like Verhoeven's infamous potboiler, some of the characterizations are sure to send the forever outraged into offense induced seizures. Despite some of the films Americanized genre trappings, by and large the execution of Red Flash is 100% Ishii. There are essentially two different narrative threads woven together throughout the film, the first obviously being the mystery involving Nami and what happned in the hotel but its the second, the traumatic event constantly haunting Nami, that makes the first all the more fascinating. The mystery works on its own largely due to questionable motives of Muraki yet Nami's troubled state of mind gives Ishii the incentive to leave everything open to further questioning, especially after Nami's past is revealed via flashback (which naturally takes place during a rainstorm, pure Ishii) and after what seems like a logical conclusion, Ishii ends the film with an unforgettable, haunting image which causes everything that has happened prior to be mentally re-evaluated.

Unlike the majority of films in the Angel Guts series, chief among them High School Co-Ed (1978), Red Classroom (1979), Nami (1979), Red Porno (1981) and Red Vertigo, which were all produced by the Nikkatsu Corporation, Red Flash was released by Argo Pictures. The series was something of a cash cow for Nikkatsu who turned their attention to the “Roman Porno” market as a means of boosting low profits which turned out to be a wise move so its interesting that Red Flash was made independent of Nikkatsu. There are several other films sometimes incorrectly listed as part of the Angel Guts series such as Rouge (1984) and Red Rope – Until I Die (1987). Ishii's Alone in the Night (1994) is also sometimes associated with the series. Due to it being a non-Nikkatsu film, it was naturally missing from the 2005 set of Angel Guts released from Artsmagic which consisted of the five Nikkatsu films and again, it is the most elusive film baring the Angel Guts moniker, although with it being sandwiched in-between two of Ishii's bigger films, A Night in Nude (1993) and Gonin (1995), the later which gave Ishii some much deserved international renegotiation, its somewhat understandable that Red Flash would fall through the cracks. Nevertheless, its very much a film worth seeing and yet another example of Ishii's knack for combining difficult psychological themes with stylish pulpy flair.

Scrubbers (1982)

Although women in prison films are inevitably bound to feature several of the familiar trappings the genre has become infamous for throughout the years, be they innocent protagonists wrongfully imprisoned, villainous, oftentimes female wardens, sadomasochism and lesbianism, the genre isn't as one-note as those with only a cursory knowledge of it might suspect. Whereas some of the earliest examples of the genre from the 1930's could be seen as cautionary morality tales, the seeds for what the genre is best known for today were planted in the 1950's which in turn gave way to the much more sordid European take on the genre. Jess Franco in particular had this market expertly cornered with films like 99 Women (1969), Barbed Wire Dolls (1975), Women Behind Bars (1975), Ilsa the Wicked Warden (1977), Women in Cell Block 9 (1977) and Sadomania (1980). The Italian's also proved themselves more than apt in the women in prison department, with films like Bruno Mattei's Caged Women (1984), Women's Prison Massacre (1985) as well as Rino Di Silvestro's Women in Cell Block 7 (1974) being some of the more infamous names in the genre. Mai Zetterling's Scrubbers is one of the more interesting films to technically fall under the WiP banner, with Zetterling painting a bleak portrait of the lives of delinquent girls sent to borstal and the system that would rather forget about those is claims to “reform”

Carol and Annetta, two young delinquents, escape from a borstal with two very different plans. Annetta is desperate to see her daughter while Carol hopes to be captured and sent to another facility where her girlfriend Doreen is being held. After crashing a truck into a building, Carol gets her wish and is sent to a rougher borstal where Doreen is, however Carol is soon crushed to learn that Doreen has found another lover and the two constantly taunt Carol, flaunting their relationship in front of her. To make matters worse, Annetta is later arrested while trying to visit her daughter and is sent to the same borstal. Thinking Carol ratted her out, Annetta vows revenge and despite protection from Eddie, a rugged fellow inmate that takes a liking to her, Carol becomes a constant target.

When viewed alongside other films in the women in prison genre, Scrubbers is an interesting watch in that Zetterling does employ various tropes associated with the genre, although not in the way that most going into a WiP film would expect which is no doubt going to frustrate many expecting something along the lines of an Italian style take on the genre. Essentially the biggest difference between Scrubbers and the more salacious titles the genre has to offer is that, grimy as some of them are and the fact that most are considered niche today, most women in prison films were commercial by design in hopes of turning a quick profit, something which was clearly not on Zetterling's mind with Scrubbers, despite the fleeting appearances of lesbianism and the borstal girls behaving unruly. Scrubbers is an incredibly downbeat film, presenting an unflinching look at inhabitants of a society that have been tossed aside, and as Zetterling has no trouble accusing, mostly due to class differences. The film may be centered around Carol and Annetta, but Zetterling spends a generous amount of time profiling several other of their borstal acquaintances and the working class struggles that unite them all couldn't be more apparent. Zetterling does attempt to lighten the mood a bit at times, mostly thanks to an inmate constantly mouthing dirty songs, yet these moments, as well as the brief bits of the girls getting a reprieve from borstal life by dancing, are ultimately cut short by the brutal reality of their situation.

Considering the material, Zetterling's direction is appropriately no frills although she does let her more surrealistic side show via dream sequences representing Annetta's desperation to see her daughter which are somewhat reminiscent of the dreams/hallucinations in Zetterling's masterpiece Doctor Glas (1968). Perhaps the most fascinating aspect of the film is Zetterling's portrayal of Annetta, who could be seen as a detestable character given her actions towards Carol throughout the film are brought upon her incorrectly believing Carol sold her out, however at the same time Zetterling cleverly shows Annetta in several scenes in utter despair over the situation of her daughter, in a way reminding the audience that any rash judgment on its part could possibly be no different from the judgment of the authorities that put Annetta and the rest of the girls where they are. In her autobiography All Those Tomorrows, Zetterling wrote that her mindset going into the film was based around one word, “compassion”, after doing extensive research, even visiting several borstals, coming to the conclusion that the way of dealing with young offenders was outmoded. “Compassion” may seem like a strange word to base a women in prison film around, but the results speak for themselves. It may provoke in a manner different than some of the more famous women in prison movies, yet Scrubbers is yet another provocative work from one of Euro cinema's most undervalued provocateurs.