The Rape of the Vampire (1968)

Despite the fact that Jean Rollin is one of my favorite filmmakers I haven’t written much about the late, great Frenchman on here. In fact, the only film of his I’ve covered since starting up this site is his minimal masterpiece The Iron Rose (1973) which happens to be my personal favorite film of his. Over the last decade or so there’s been a renewed interest in Rollin’s work which is a great thing of course, even better that he lived long enough to see just how many admirers his films had so naturally there’s been a good amount written about Rollin in both print and on the web. There’s even a fantastic blog dedicated to man. Much like the recently departed Jess Franco and other masters of the fantastique, Rollin’s films, for better or worse depending on the viewer as Rollin’s unique surreal style, a style that is entirely his own, is most certainly an acquired taste, forever alter you perception of cinema and what can be achieved within the medium. Personally speaking, it was altered for the better. Rollin’s debut feature film The Rape of the Vampire is certainly one of, quite possibly his most bizarre film, yet its also one that leaves one of the strongest lasting impressions, and it rounds out my Rollin top 3 along with the previously mentioned The Iron Rose and Requiem For a Vampire (1971).

Thomas, a psychoanalyst along with friends Marc and his wife Brigitte travel to a small village in an attempt to convince 4 sisters living in isolation in a remote chateau who believe they are vampires that they are not vampires but rather suffering from severe delusions after experiencing years of persecution and abuse from the superstitious villagers. This attempt ends in disaster when the villagers storm the chateau and during the ensuing melee Thomas finds out the sisters are indeed vampires when he is bitten and turned. All the chaos prompts an intervention from the Queen of the vampires, who at a nearby hospital is conducting research on her kind, while Thomas, now resurrected as a vampire, works with another doctor at the hospital whom the Queen has taken captive to quickly discover a cure for vampirism.

The Rape of the Vampire (Le Viol du Vampire) is a strange film even by Rollin standards. It’s defiantly the epitome of a just go with it type of situation, whether or not is resonates with you is a completely different story. By now it should be pretty common knowledge among Rollin fans that one, The Rape of the Vampire is actually two short films spliced together in order to make a feature length film and two, very early in the shoot everyone managed to somehow lose their scripts and the majority of the film was improvised, something that is very apparent very early on in the film. While there actually is a plot to be found in the midst of all the oddness on display, it’s as thin as can be, narrative cohesion obviously wasn’t what this film was going for, yet in no way is that a hindrance to the experience at all, in fact its quite the opposite. The very loose structure works very much in the films favor if viewed as a stream of consciousness piece brought to the screen which is basically how the film plays out. The term “dreamlike” is often used when discussing Rollin (so much so that it’s become a bit cliché) and do forgive me for once again going to that well but that description couldn’t be more fitting for a film such as The Rape of the Vampire, what with the sheer randomness of the situations and the way Rollin presents everything.

While Rollin’s subsequent films would feature extravagant and highly unorthodox candy colored lighting, The Rape of the Vampire stands out in Rollin’s filmography for being shot in black and white, although its almost immediately apparent that Rollin was a master at both mediums. The black and white photography works wonders for the film, especially during the first segment, which is the more “classic” feeling of the two. Even with this being his first film, Rollin’s genius at not only finding the best shooting locations but getting the most out of them no matter the low budget is on display, most notability in the form of the 4 sister’s chateau, with the black and white especially coming in handy during the interior shots, which combined with the lighting during nighttime exteriors, along with Rollin’s showcasing of the surrounding wooded areas of the chateau give the film a very gothic horror-esque aesthetic. The second segment is the more contemporary (well “contemporary” for 1968 anyway) even featuring a delirious free jazz score, yet there’s also a slightly futuristic element to it as well considering some of the sci-fi aspects Rollin enters into the proceedings. This abrupt change in tone may be a bit jolting for some but it makes perfect sense when taking into consideration the films free-form style.  While not as overtly atmospheric as the first segment of the film, the second is by no means any less otherworldly, which goes back to the way Rollin has everything play out, the “dreaminess” of it all.

Another well known yet nonetheless always fascinating tidbit of information regarding the film is the story of its initial theatrical release. When the film was first released in May of 1968, it was during a time of intense social unrest in France, complete with general strikes and student protests. Then president Charles de Gaulle even fled the country! To say the audience reaction to The Rape of the Vampire was unkind would be the understatement of understatements. Apparently a surreal arthouse vampire film isn’t what French filmgoers were expecting when they paid for their ticket, nor was it what they wanted to see during such an intense time period as riots broke out in the theatres with the seats even being ripped from the floor. Quite the reaction for a debut film. The Rape of the Vampire isn’t exactly the best place to start for Rollin newcomers, in fact it may even be a challenge for those already accustomed to Rollin’s one of a kind style, and its liable to scare first timers away from the mans work forever, yet despite all that its an important film that should be seen by all Rollin fans and those with an interest in his work at some point.  Its defiantly a film for the most adventurous of viewers but its an adventure that’s well worth taking if you’re willing to go along for the ride.

Black Candles (1982)

AKA Los Ritos Sexuales del Diablo (The Sexual Rites of the Devil), Hot Fantasies and Naked Dreams

It was inevitable. Just as when I covered Mario Bava’s masterpiece The Whip and the Body (1963) late last year I’ve once again run into the conundrum of not having the slightest idea how to introduce this, and instead of waiting for something to come to me and failing miserably I’m admitting defeat just as I did back then. There’s no sense in stalling any longer, so let’s get right down too it. While Vampyres (1974) may be the most well known film of José Ramón Larraz, Black Candles is easily his most notorious,  and although it may seem like an odd choice to purists, Black Candles also happens to be my favorite Larraz film.

Following the sudden death of her brother, Carol and her boyfriend Robert travel to England to spend some time at her sister in law Fiona’s (Helga Liné) country home. Almost immediately after arriving however Carol begins to feel some very strange vibes from Fiona, the house and Fiona’s group of friends whom she’s been introduced too. Her suspicious are not without warrant, as Fiona and her friends happen to belong to a Satanic cult who are not only responsible for the death of Carol’s brother, but have managed to seduce Robert into their ways, and they’ve got their sights set on Carol.

Unquestionably the sleaziest film in not only Larraz’s repertoire but also within the spectrum of Euro trash/sleaze cinema of that era, there’s absolutely no pretense to a film such as Black Candles. Incest? Check. Girl on goat? Check. Sword sodomy? Check. There’s not many perversities this film leaves unchecked. Make no mistake, Black Candles is European Satanic sexploitation at it’s finest. You really have to hand it to not only Larraz, as this film is audacious even for this type of film from that time period, but also the cast. It’s safe to say that Larraz really found one of the most uninhibited group of exhibitionists imaginable for this film. While it’s true that some of them obviously aren’t the most experienced of thespians (although it’s difficult to really tell thanks in part to the at times awkward dubbing), you have to applaud their willingness to just go for it, no matter what the scene calls for. The highlight of the cast is of course Helga Liné who fit the role of Fiona the sinister sister in law to a T. She not only looked the part, possessing a plethora of presence, but also a mysterious aura about her appearance and simply owned every scene she was in. Believe it or not there actually is a story here. Granted, it’s thin and isn’t the same level of engaging as say Whirlpool (1970) or Scream and Die (1973) but it’s there so the film isn’t as one dimensional as it sounds.

Black Candles is a classic example of Larraz getting the most out of his locations. Obviously operating under a low budget, Larraz manages to sidestep most of the shortcomings normally associated with such things the way he’s always done throughout this career by smothering the entire film in atmosphere, which, with a story like this comes naturally. Once again he returns to the device of the creepy house in the English countryside to great effect, not just the house but all it’s surroundings as well. Scenes such Carol simply visiting her brothers grave in broad daylight have an eerie feeling to them only enhanced by the scenery of the graveyard not to mention the shots of Fiona staring intensely at Carol while she mourns. Naturally the black magic element of the  storyline gives Larraz license to craft some pretty delirious moments, Carol’s unforgettable dream early on in the film being a highlight as well as the her constant hallucinatory “is this really happening” episodes. Even a scene Carol being introduced to Fiona’s odd group of friends, or said group of friends managing to give Carol the creeps by just lounging around Fiona’s living room take on a sort of surreal quality when taking into consideration the black magic/occult aspects of the story. The set design is quite nice as well, especially the basement of Fiona’s house where the black masses are staged, complete with red curtains and of course, black candles. Simple, yes, but it sets the mood perfectly.

Sadly Larraz himself isn’t so fond of the film which is a shame. Unlike a lot of films in Larraz’s body of work, and I’m sure in part due to it’s sheer notoriety, Black Candles actually has been officially released on DVD as a double feature along with the 1975 film Evil Eye directed by Mario Siciliano. I’m assuming that released has since gone out of print as it commands a pretty high price these days, so unless you want to pay $30, I’d say the best way of going about attaining a copy of Black Candles is to go with the DVD-R courtesy of Mr. Fat-W Video, made on demand when ordered from Amazon. VHS quality, true, but it’s watchable and completely uncut and believe me, completely uncut is the only way to go with this one. If you’re not already a fan of this type of cinema Black Candles isn’t likely to change your mind. In fact it’s liable to cause you to run even farther away from it. If however you are a fan and you’ve yet to see Black Candles, run do not walk to this film. A quintessential sex ‘n Satan film more than worthy of its reputation.

Scream and Die (1973)

AKA The House That Vanished and Psycho Sex Fiend

Unlike other heroes of European cult cinema such as Jess Franco (R.I.P.), Walerian Borowczyk, Jean Rollin and Sergio Martino just to name a few, José Ramón Larraz has really yet to have his day in the digital age. As far as I can tell, the only films of his to have gotten the DVD release they truly deserve in terms of transfer and image quality are Vampyres (1974), The Coming of Sin (1978) and Black Candles (1982), which was released as a double feature along with the film Evil Eye (1975) directed by Mario Siciliano, while films like his debut feature, the once considered lost Whirlpool (1970), Deviation (1971) and the brilliant Symptoms (1974) continue to sit on the shelf, only made available to fanatics via DVD-R. Take a gander around the internet and you’ll find a plethora of Larraz fans, all with the same mindset that the time is long overdue for the man and his films to get the respect and proper releases that they truly deserve. Prior to making Vampyres, easily his most well known film, Larraz helmed Scream and Die, which could be seen as the next logical thematic step following the aforementioned Whirlpool and Deviation, putting a twist on various motifs present in those two films, and the final result is not just one of the more unique films in Larraz’s filmography, but in Euro horror/cult cinema in general.

Gorgeous model Valerie (Andrea Allan) accompanies her petty thief boyfriend Terry to a seemingly abandoned country house deep in the woods presumably to loot it. Instead of finding valuables however, the two are witness to a murder after a man and a woman enter the house shortly after and the man proceeds to brutally stab his companion to death. Valerie manages to escape on foot, although Terry isn’t so lucky. After hitchhiking back to her London flat the next morning, Valerie notices Terry’s mud covered car parked outside her apartment building, and a photo of her missing from her portfolio. As Valerie tries to retrace her escape route in an attempt to find the house again, she finds herself being stalked by a psychopath that possesses all the need to know information about her.

Poster and VHS art

Scream and Die is a shining example of Larraz’s ability to blend various elements from different subgenres into something that is entirely his own. The film contains traces of Italian giallo (keep an eye out for the black leather gloves!), murder mystery elements that are dare I say quite Hitchcockian, scenes taking place in the English countryside smothered in atmosphere akin to classic gothic horror with just the right amount of sleaze thrown in for good measure. The giallo/mystery aspects of the story are defiantly some of the films strongest attributes, particularly because of how drawn out everything is. This is a slow burn, make no mistake, yet it works in the films favor as for the majority of the film Larraz keeps us completely in the dark. We’re just as perplexed as Valerie, trying to sort out any possible clues as it pertains to her situation at the same pace she is, so it goes without saying the film becomes more and more engrossing as it moves foreword, forcing us to do our own detective work with Larraz throwing us a curve ball or two along the way. Another big thing the film benefits from is Valerie’s likeability factor, which is high. She might not be the brightest, but she’s almost instantly sympathetic and it certainty doesn’t hurt that Andrea Allan is an unnecessarily beautiful woman complete with a adorable British accent to boot. As for the sleaze, without giving anything away, it defiantly makes for some nice what the fuck moments.
 
Nobody utilized the English countryside quite like Larraz and the atmosphere he manages to conjure up is not only one of the main selling points of Scream and Die but a definite sign of things to come in the sense of how he would use his locations to his utmost advantage in the films that would follow. Much like Franco, Larraz really knows how to get the most out of his scenery as evidenced early on in the film during Valerie and Terry’s initial early evening journey to the house. Larraz makes sure to give the audience the same feeling of unease as Valerie and pulls it off with even with standard shots of the road and the surrounding trees/wooded area from inside the car. There is an obvious aura about this scenery and Larraz knew it. Of course Larraz only amplifies the mood once the two arrive at the house and the nighttime exterior shots of the house surrounded by fog are classic examples of Larraz’s signature style. Larraz obviously had fun playing around with the lighting in this film, showing a particular affection for blue which is on display masterfully in a number of scenes, perhaps most notably in a phenomenal shot of Valerie ascending the staircase of the house while blue light shines through the windows while fog flows through the open front door. Even the scenes taking place during city in broad daylight have an ominous quality to them which makes sense taking the main storyline into consideration.

This film has had a pretty interesting home video release history. Video Treasures released the film under both the Scream and Die and The House That Vanished titles, and the film was also released by Media under the later title. One thing that stands out about those VHS releases is all have a running time of 84-86 minutes, meaning they’re cut by around 13 minutes. I have a feeling as to what scenes were cut but at the same time it does leave one scratching they’re head as to why the film was butchered so badly for those releases, as it would be a bit of a stretch to label the film’s sex and violence content “graphic”. Scream and Die is actually officially available on DVD, fully uncut with a 99 minute run time, although it’s clearly from a VHS transfer. It’s defiantly not horrible looking, but a film with atmosphere like this should be presented in mint condition. With Scream and Die, Larraz hit all the right notes. There’s plenty of substance in terms of it’s captivating storyline to go along with all the atmospheric style on display. True, it may test your patience at times, but it’s such an easy film to get into you’ll be in it for the long haul. Even if you just have a remote interest in 70’s Euro horror, Scream and Die deserves to be in your collection.  

Love Rites (1988)

AKA Queen of the Night

One of Walerian Borowczyk’s key influences was the French surrealist writer André Pieyre de Mandiargues, with Borowczyk having brilliantly adapted many of de Mandiargues’ writings for the screen throughout his career. The first segment of Immoral Tales (1974) “The Tide” was taken from a de Mandiargues’s story, the emotionally draining masterpiece La Marge (1976), staring the late very great Sylvia Kristel was based on de Mandiargues’ 1967 novel of the same name, and the second and most infamous segment in the 1979 anthology Immoral Women, “Marceline” was also based on de Mandiargues’ writing. Borowczyk also showcased de Mandiargues’ unique collection of vintage erotic art in his 1973 short film Une collection particulière, which de Mandiargues provided the narration for. I’m sure most purists will disagree with me, but for my money, Borowczyk never brought de Mandiargues’ work to film more effectively than when he based what was to become his final feature film Love Rites on de Mandiargues’ 1987 book Everything Disappears (Tout disparaîtra). Love Rites is not only my favorite Borowczyk film, it’s one of my all time favorite films in general, easily top 10 material. It’s also a film that happens to be the epitome of “acquired taste”, even for some already accustomed to Borowczyk’s unique body of work, yet given the chance, it’s a film that has the potential to sink it’s claws deep in you and leave a lasting impression on your psyche.

En route to meet a client, fashion salesman Hugo Arnold (Mathieu Carrière) encounters the stunningly beautiful Miriam (Marina Pierro) on the Paris metro and almost immediately after sitting down next to her becomes infatuated. When the train stops and Miriam gets up to leave, Hugo makes a mad dash to catch up with her, and much to his surprise finds her waiting for him. Miriam informs Hugo that she is a prostitute and his mind is now far removed from work and on one thing only. The two spend the day together, walking the streets of Paris waxing philosophic and poetic on a variety of topics while Hugo grows increasingly impatient. When the two finally arrive at a mysterious boudoir owned by Miriam’s friend and Hugo finally gets what he wants, he may be wishing that he’d never left his apartment that day once he discovers what the end result of Miriam’s “services” entail.

Although it may lack the taboo shattering satire of a film like The Beast (1975) or the visceral brutality of say Dr. Jekyll and His Women (1981), Love Rites (Cérémonie d'amour) is nevertheless a haunting and fascinating film. Love Rites is a prime example of doing a lot with a little, minimal on plot and characters yet heavy on ideas. Borowczyk’s way of getting across the films ideas is probably what makes the film so off putting to many. The film is first and foremost dialogue driven, and said dialogue has a tendency to be incredibly dense, but it also happens to be one of the films main strengths. Having Hugo and Miriam discuss things pertaining to the films main themes in almost clinical terms was a masterstroke, as it allowed Borowczyk to cut right to the chase in terms of what the film is trying to say, yet remain somewhat cryptic at the same time, and cryptic is a more than fitting word when discussing this film. There is a strange and incredibly ominous mystery about this film, every frame is foreboding and not in the normal sense of the word. It’s an ambiguous type of discomfort that’s hard to put your finger on while watching the film but it’s there and gets under your skin. Again, this was to become Borowczyk’s final feature film and perhaps he knew that going into it, as the entire film does seem to have this “final” feeling to it, if that makes any sense.

While not all of Borowczyk’s films were period pieces it’s no secret that he thrived on showcasing era’s of the past, finding the modern world rather cold, which plays a big part in the contemporary Paris setting of Love Rites coming off as nihilistic and distant as it does. Borowczyk’s attention to detail is on display in every frame of the film, from the way he shoots Hugo and Miriam’s initial encounter on the subway to the staging of the two attempting to have a conversation, shouting at each other from two separate subway platforms while Miriam sits on bench underneath a poster exclaiming “Everything must go!”. Naturally painting plays a significant role in portions of the film, most notably where Borowczyk lets the camera linger on the fresco’s of the Saint-Germain-des-Prés church while Hugo and Miriam discuss Belli’s version of Abraham’s sacrifice. There are times in the film where Borowczyk will turn away from Hugo and Miriam, voyeuristically focusing the camera on others going about their day and various statues around Paris, all the while the mesmerizing organ score plays atop everything, giving the proceedings a feeling of hypnotic distance. Perhaps the films visual highlight thought is Pierro herself, her portrayal as Miriam, from the way she carries herself to her delivery of the dialogue is nothing short of brilliant, and in my opinion, her finest work as an actress. Borowczyk films her in a such a way that it’s impossible to not find yourself becoming as entranced by her as Hugo.

Italian and German posters under the alternate Queen of the Night
title.

After Love Rites Borowczyk didn’t exactly disappear although he did keep a bit of a low profile, directing 4 episodes of the French television series Série rose, one of which starring Pierro, and had a few book published before, by many accounts, becoming a bit of a hermit in his later years until his passing of heart failure at the age of 82 in 2006. Whatever the reason he decided to bow out of feature filmmaking may be, what is certain is that he left a filmography unlike any other, one that I’m happy to say has seen a bit of a rediscovery thanks to DVD. Obviously not everyone will take to Love Rites the same way I did, and that’s understandable. It requires patience, toys with your expectations, and by the time reach the films conclusion, almost de Sade esque in it’s cruel irony yet pure Borowczyk in it’s sheer bizarreness, there’s a chance you’ll be a bit perplexed as to what it all means, yet that’s part of the film’s beauty. In a body of work such as Borowcayk’s filled with unique and one of a kind films, Love Rites defiantly stands out, and should be seen for many reasons aside from it simply being Borowczyk’s last film, and if you’re willing to go along for the ride with Boro, Hugo and Miriam, you’ll find Love Rites to possess an aura that’s hard to shake.

Dr. Jekyll and His Women (1981)

AKA Bloodbath of Dr. Jekyll, Blood of Dr. Jekyll, Bloodlust, Dr. Jekyll and Lady Osbourne, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Miss Osbourne, Dr. Jekyll and His Wives and The Experiment

According to Wikipedia, there have been well over 123 film versions of Robert Lewis Stevenson’s novella Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, all taking various liberties with the content of Stevenson’s original publication. Boasting perhaps as many alternate titles as Stevenson’s story has adaptations (I’m sure there’s a lot more I neglected to mention above), Walerian Borowczyk’s 1981 take on the classic tale Dr. Jekyll and His Women certainly stands out from the rest of the pack as being one of the more original, sexual, violent and quite frankly out there interpretations of the story, that on the surface might seem to some as just an exercise in exploitation, but this film apparently has more in common with Stevenson’s original draft of the story (Borowczyk jokingly claimed to possess a copy for publicity purposes) that, according to legend was burned at the request of his wife Fanny on account of it being far too shocking for it‘s time. Whether or not the legend is true, what is certain is that with Dr. Jekyll and His Women, Borowczyk delivered a transgressive psychosexual horror masterpiece. It’s a film that many fans have hailed as Borowczyk’s best work, and understandably so. Personally speaking, Dr. Jekyll and His Women is not only my favorite of film version of the story, but it stands tied with Love Rites (1988) as being my favorite of Borowczyk’s features. 

In celebration of the engagement of Dr. Henry Jekyll (Udo Kier) and Fanny Osbourne (Marina Pierro), a dinner party is held at Jekyll’s mansion home. When the guests disperse after dinner, Jekyll conveniently disappears from the group, retreating to his laboratory wherein he submerges himself in a bathtub full of chemicals transforming himself into the vicious Edward Hyde (Gerard Zalcberg), who then proceeds to sexually assault and murder the houseguests at random. In the midst of all the chaos, Jekyll is able to go unnoticed throughout the night, that is until Fanny catches a glimpse of him, and decides to join him in his rampage.

Setting aside the savagery for a moment, what really sets Dr. Jekyll and His Women (Dr. Jekyll et Les Femmes) apart from the rest of the pack of screen treatments of the story is the inclusion of Fanny Osbourne as a character. Borowczyk had always been rather antagonistic towards snooty upper-class society in his work and Dr. Jekyll and His Women has been considered by many to be his harshest condemnation of Victorian hyper morality. Here, Hyde is seen as a rebellious liberator, freeing not just Jekyll, but also Fanny of all the standards imposed upon them by “proper” society, the church and their parents, the later being of particular importance in Fanny’s situation, what with all the things expected of a soon to be bride. Another interesting thing about the film was Borowczyk’s choice to have Jekyll and Hyde played by two different actors, which paid off big time as Gerard Zalcberg is an exceptionally creepy looking individual making him not only the perfect Hyde but an excellent contrast to Kier’s Jekyll. Joining Kier, Pierro and Zalcberg are the legendary Patrick Magee and Euro horror icon Howard Vernon, easily one of if not the best ensembles Borowczyk ever had. The real highlight of the cast though is of course Pierro, who’s frustration quietly builds throughout the entire film, finally letting loose with reckless abandon during the films chaotic and destructive finale, one of her finest hours as an actress for sure. 

Having the events of the film take place during one night in one house was another unique touch by Borowczyk, the film plays out almost like a murder mystery type of story. Now obviously we know who the culprit is but nonetheless it was yet another interesting way of telling the story, plus it adds tension in the sense of wondering who we’re going to encounter at any given point in the film, an unassuming Jekyll or a ravenous Hyde. Borowczyk’s knack for period pieces is on display as the Victorian London aesthetic is defiantly felt from the costumes and set design. The film is one of Borowczyk’s more overtly atmospheric, the lighting playing a big part in the films mood, especially whenever Hyde is on screen. Borowczyk also makes memorable use of the color blue and fog in the certain sections of the film, most notably during the unforgettable opening. Another technique Borowczyk makes prominent use of thorough the course of the film is quick cuts, some of which are quite jarring such as cutting to a shot of the prone body of a young girl brutally bludgeoned by Hyde in the beginning of the film while a young dancer entertains the guests of the dinner party. In pure Borowczyk fashion a lot of attention is paid to the artwork in the Jekyll household, with one particular painting being of the utmost importance. You’ll know it when you see it.

As previously mentioned the film is also known by an absurd amount of alternate titles. Borowczyk originally intended the title of the film to be The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Miss Osbourne, but the producers changed it to Dr. Jekyll and His Women. The films home video history is an entirely different story in itself, for example the UK getting an heavily edited VHS release under the Bloodbath of Dr. Jekyll title and the US and Canada getting a 92 minute VHS under the name Bloodlust. A Dutch VHS was released dubbed in English under the title Dr. Jekyll en Lady Osborune, yet the title screen says Dr. Jekyll and His Women with a subtitle of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Miss Osbourne underneath it! Figure that one out. Unfortunately, the film has yet to see an official DVD release, and I know many share my opinion that one is long overdue. Until that day comes however, the easiest way to see the film is via DVD-R, the most readily available versions being sold are transfers of the Dutch VHS. No matter how you go about seeing the film, the important thing is that you see it, as a film like this is truly one of a kind and it’s unlikely you’ve ever seen the Jekyll and Hyde tale told in this fashion before. Essential Borowczyk. Essential Euro horror.

Behind Convent Walls (1978)

It makes perfect sense that Walerian Borowczyk decided to try his hand within the field of nunsploitation, which had proven to be quite popular during the 70’s. Not that Borowczyk was a trend hopper, he was the furthest thing from it, it’s just that so many of the trappings that applied to the nunsploitation subgenre were prime for Boro’s touch. Inspired by Stendhal’s Promenades dans Rome, Behind Convent Walls turned out a bit different that other films to have gotten the nunsploitation tag, which should come as no surprise when considering the director. After making it perfectly clear that he wasn’t going to cater to what was expected of him from critics with Immoral Tales (1974) and having offended every uptight dweller of police society imaginable with The Beast (1975), Borowczyk had been virtually blacklisted from the good graces of critics (not that he cared at all), and Behind Convent Walls could be seen as yet another example of Borowczyk’s refusal to pander, essentially telling the “proper” critical and societal establishment to basically go fuck themselves. Behind Convent Walls was an interesting addition to Boro’s filmography in that it was an Itialian production, making it one of only two of his feature films to be shot outside of France. It’s also an important film as it was the first of his films to feature the amazing Marina Pierro, something myself and I’m sure many other fans are eternally grateful for.

Abbess Flavia Orsini rules her convent with a tyrannical iron fist, shielding her nuns from every possible form of temptation, dealing out harsh forms of punishment to any who disobey. The sisters however have grown increasingly resentful of their Mother Superior and her draconian ways and much to the dismay of Abbess Orsini begin acting out in even more rebellious fashions. The arrival of Rodrigo, the hunky nephew of the convents Father Confessor whom Abbess Orsini allows to study in the convent doesn’t help matters much, even causing Sister Clara (Ligia Branice, Borowczyk’s wife) Abbess Orsini’s niece, considered by her aunt to be a shining example of piety to feel “impure” thoughts. Abbess Orgini cracks down on the sisters once again, although the sisters begin to fight back, taking things a bit too far prompting an intervention from higher up’s in the church, the consequences of which are rather sinful.

Borowczyk had taken not so subtle shots at the Catholic church in pervious works, perhaps most notably during the final segment of Immoral Tales, but with Behind Convent Walls (Interno di un convento) he dedicates an entire film to outright lampooning them. Lampoon is defiantly an appropriate word, as the film is more of an over the top parody rather than a serious critique of the church and indeed the films comedic elements are one the main selling points. Although it came as no shock to Boro fanatics, what may or may not surprise first timers is just how funny the film really is, especially if you share Borowczyk’s blasphemous sense of humor. Scenes such as Pierro’s Sister Veronica, who REALLY loves Jesus, ecstatically describing Christ’s psychical attributes to the Father Confessor or a nun physically demonstrating the usage of a certain wooden foreign object found in her room to an absolutely aghast Mother Superior had me in stitches, plus it’s really hard not to be in hysterics due to the overall absurdity of some of the situations the film presents,  not to mention the reactions of the church authorities to the happenings during the films hilariously chaotic finale. The film’s narrative is incredibly loose and while it technically doesn’t really tell a cohesive story, I don’t think Borowczyk intended it too. Had he tried to tie everything together more neatly the film had the potential to become convoluted, but as it stands, the episodic, dare I say liberated nature of the film is more than suitable.

There were many factors at work which resulted in Behind Convent Walls becoming not only one of the most gorgeous but also one of the most unique looking films in Borowczyk’s body of work. First, the cinematography, handled by the legendary Luciano Tovoli. The film makes prominent use of natural light, which along with being economical played a substantial part in the film looking the way it does, it really wouldn’t be the same without it. What’s also interesting about the photography in the film is the usage of filters in certain scenes. Tovoli is known for his hatred of filters, but compromised with Borowczyk which was a good thing as the filters, working hand and hand with the natural lighting and Borowczyk’s soft focus give the film an incredibly spellbinding effect, the way it makes the light from a window or the white on the nuns habit all the more radiant. One wonders if there was a bit of sarcasm on Borowczyk’s part in making sections of the convent and the nuns wardrobe more glowing, more “holy” looking so to speak. Borowczyk’s history as a painter is also on display here, most notably in terms of texture and color, the reds and greens in the film are particularly brilliant. The film also features a good amount of handheld camera work which fits in perfectly with the films fun and playful way of going about things, and to top it all off there is the mesmerizing organ dominated score sure to put you in a blissful daze.

Again, Behind Convent Walls marked the first time Borowczyk worked with Italian beauty Marina Pierro who would go on to become his muse for the next 10 years appearing in the films Immoral Women (1979), Dr. Jekyll and His Women (1981), The Art of Love (1983), and Borowczyk’s final feature film Love Rites (1988). She also famously co-starred in Jean Rollin’s 1982 classic The Living Dead Girl. Although her role in Behind Convent Walls isn’t a staring one (I don’t really think you could describe any of the performers roles in the film to be “starring”), the scenes involving her character are certainly some of the most memorable. Behind Convent Walls is perhaps one of the easiest of Borowczyk’s films to get into for the uninitiated yet still remaining an acquired taste as most of Boro‘s polarizing body of work tends to be, and probably always will. It’s a film that is liable to surprise many a viewer that go in with preconceived notations on account of the “nunsploitation” label, as it’s unlikely you’ll ever see a nunsploiation film quite like this. It’s stunning direction, photography, hypnotizing use of music (which was something you could always count on Borowczyk for), bizarre and oftentimes side splitting humor mixed with eroticism make Behind Convent Walls the type of film that only Borowczyk could have made, and the most fun 95 minutes you could spend with a group of nuns. Absolutely essential.

I Confess (1953)

While not every film that Alfred Hitchcock ever made was a flawless masterpiece, if you ask me a good majority of them were, and the ones that aren’t are damn close to being so. That’s why the term “lesser Hitchcock” has always made me chuckle a bit. It’s been said numerous times over the years by many, myself on here included, that these so called “lesser” films of Hitchcock more often than not wipe the floor with the work of other directors considered to be their very best. Case in point, I Confess. Sandwiched in between the more popular Strangers On a Train (1951) and Dial M For Murder (1954), I wouldn’t go so far as to call I Confess “obscure”, but it does appear to be one of Hitchcock’s least discussed films, at least by more casual film fans that may only know of the bigger names in his body of work, which is a shame as I Confess deserves to be a part of any Hitchcock fans collection. Based on a play that Hitchcock first saw performed in the 1930’s, I Confess was a very personal project for Hitchcock considering the subject matter and his Catholic upbringing, Hitchcock had been toying with the idea of brining the play to the screen for at least 14 years before the project finally got the green light. Again, as is the case with a lot of the films to get the “lesser Hitchcock” tag, I Confess is a brilliant piece of work, exactly the type of film that dare I say only Hitchcock could have pulled off this effectively.

When an attempted robbery results in murder, the man responsible, Otto Keller,  immediately retreats to the church where he works as a caretaker/handyman of sorts and confesses the crime to Father Michael Logan (Montgomery Clift). When the police begin to investigate the crime, all the circumstantial evidence points to Father Logan as the murderer, however do to the rules of the confessional privilege, that is a priest cannot divulge anything that is said during confession, Father Logan is unable to speak out in his own defense. When Ruth Grandfort (Anne Baxter), an old flame goes to the police in an attempt to clear Father Logan’s name, her plan backfires as she not only fuels the police’s case against Father Logan, but implicates herself in scandal in the process.

I Confess may be one of Hitchcock’s more low key films but it quickly reveals itself to be no less gripping than his more widely seen works. All the classic Hitchcock elements are in play here. You’ve got murder, the wrong man accused, blackmail, scandal, and of course, repression. What makes I Confess a bit different from other Hitchcock films is the way Hitch puts all these devices to work. Not many filmmakers can get away with having all the seemingly crucial information regarding a murder spelled out for the audience within the first 10 minutes of the film, but Hitchcock uses the murder as a primer to build additional drama and keeps piling on intrigue after intrigue. In a way it’s somewhat similar to what he did 5 years earlier with Rope (1948). The suspense you’ve come to expect from Hitchcock is ever present, but it’s a different kind of suspense, if you will. Really an interesting way of telling a story, and in the wrong hands has the potential to horribly misfire. Hitchcock’s mastery of audience manipulation is on display beautifully here, tricking you into thinking the film is going in one direction than taking a sharp left turn so it’s hard to not be completely engaged for every frame. Another aspect of the film that makes it stand out  bit is the humor that Hitchcock was known for usually injecting into this films is all but gone here, although with the heaviness of the material, it might have seemed a tad out of place, so the absence is understandable.

One thing that’s apparent throughout the entirety of I Confess is nobody utilized the black and white medium quite like Hitchcock. Very much a film of shadows,  it’s obvious Hitch really had fun playing around with the lighting here, as evidenced in the films ominous noir-like opening complete with the aforementioned shadows, including a large silhouette projected on stone wall and the outline of a shady character walking down a dark alley in the night (wearing a black derby and long black coat of course). Other times Hitchcock will only light certain portions of a scene, such as focusing on Clift standing in the middle of an extravagantly decorated altar while also highlighting the section of the massive cathedral ceiling hovering above Clift in an otherwise pitch black church. Naturally the film is overflowing with Catholic iconography and visual metaphors which take center stage during a particular memorable sequence involving Father Logan contemplating his fate. The visuals in the film tell just as much a story as the actors, oftentimes representing the mood of the characters, which would account for the overt darkness on display. It’s as if Hitchcock wants that preverbal dark cloud following Father Logan around to follow the audience as well. In sharp contrast to this is the segment of Baxter’s character of Ruth reminiscing about the past, which has a very soft, light and romantic look. The film was mostly shot on location in the gorgeous city of Quebec, and as a much welcomed added visual bonus Hitchcock takes great pleasure in showcasing the cities old world-esque architecture.

For 1953, a lot of the film’s thematic elements were considered quite taboo, and indeed Hitchcock found himself at odds with not only the Hayes Production Code but also with some church officials where he originally had intended to shoot some of the film who had some major issues with the original script which was very faithful to the play and demanded changes be made. The film even found itself banned in Ireland. What’s also not surprising are the stories of Hitchcock constantly butting heads with star Montgomery Clift during the production as Clift was a method actor which drove Hitchcock nuts, something he would encounter again later in his career with Paul Newman during the production of the equally underrated Torn Curtain (1966). Probably the most famous anecdote involves the filming a scene which had Father Logan simply approaching another character taking well over 2 hours to shoot because Clift wanted to get the mannerisms just right. Whatever Clift’s methods were, they paid off big time, resulting in a phenomenal performance, really one of the best leading men Hitchcock ever had in a film that deserves way more recognition than it gets. I Confess might be missing Hitchcock’s unique brand of humor and while the film might not feature one stand out scene that has gone down in cinematic history ala North By Northwest (1959) or Psycho (1960), as it stands, the film really doesn’t need one. In the grand scheme of things, I Confess should be considered essential Hitchcock.