La muerte incierta (1977)

One of the things that the majority of the most well known films from José Ramón Larraz are known for is their high level of sex and violence, particularly Vampyres (1974) but what’s interesting about that is Larraz went on record several times (including during his often hilarious commentary track on the DVD for Vampyres which also featured producer Brian Smedley-Aston) claiming to not be a fan of having a lot of blood in his films. Larraz was also quoted in Pete Tombs and Cathal Tohill’s 1995 book Immoral Tales: European Sex & Horror Movies, 1956-1984 that his debut film Whirlpool (1970) perhaps wasn’t the best choice for a debut feature as it pigeonholed him in the eyes of many as strictly a sex film director. While its true that Larraz’s films had a tendency to be quite visceral at times, anyone who’s seen a handful of his films will attest that Larraz was much more interested in the psychological as the sex and violence in his films was balanced out nicely by the unique psychology Larraz brought to his films. This is especially evident in his early British thrillers like Whirlpool, Deviation (1971), Scream and Die (1973) and Symptoms (1974), although there is considerably less violence and overt sexuality present in that film. La muerte incierta, one of Larraz’s Spanish films, is a perfect example of Larraz’s creative psychological approach to horror.

Clive Dawson, a wealthy English plantation owner returns to his estate in India with his new bride Brenda (Mary Maude). Prior to leaving India and getting married Clive had ended his relationship with Shaheen (Rosalba Neri), a native girl who felt used and thrown away by Clive’s ending of the relationship, promising to place a curse on Clive and all who lived on his plantation. Shortly after arriving Clive is informed by his son Rupert that while he was away Shaheen commited suicide and most of the superstitious servants have left in fear of Shaheen’s curse. Clive remembers Shaheen’s curse threat very well and not long after settling in his own superstitions take hold as Shaheen’s presence begins to be felt all over the plantation.

In the hands of a lesser director a film like La muerte incierta (The Uncertain Death) could have easily been turned into a lazy and pedestrian ghost story but in the hands of a master like Larraz it becomes a brilliant supernatural psychological thriller. While the film does make use of certain ghost story tropes it really isn’t fair to label the film simply a “ghost story” as the places Larraz takes the film travel far outside that one subgenre. Larraz makes things ambiguous early on and the film becomes even more so as Larraz delves deeper into the Dawson family history which raises the question of whether or not the plantation is really haunted or what Clive is experiencing is the result of paranoia. This exploration of Clive’s past also gives Larraz license to create a fascinating mystery involving superstition, mental illness and murder all of which make the curse angle all the more intriguing not to mention create some incredibly tense moments. The subplot involving Clive’s past also serve some of the films more supernatural elements which are in turn aided immensely by the films Indian settings with the surrounding jungle becoming a character in itself, which Larraz puts to use masterfully during one of the films most memorable moments involving a tiger hunt which ends with a truly innovative visual metaphor. On top of all that Larraz even throws in a seriously uncomfortable semi-incestuous side plot involving Brenda and Rupert, a quintessential Larraz character, as most in the film are.

There seems to be a bit of confusion as to when the film was actually made. IMDb lists the film as having a 1973 release while the Immoral Tales book claims it was 1977. Considering the amount of research that went into that book plus the actual time the authors spent interviewing Larraz 1977 would seem like the more likely release year. That would also place it alongside The Coming of Sin (1978), another film dealing with familial curses and superstitions so it makes sense if the film was made around then. For the longest time La muerte incierta was a pretty hoarded film until it became more widely circulated among collectors. When the film was first unearthed the print had turned completely red until a fan color corrected it and English subtitles were added. Most of the DVD-R’s seem to be sourced from the color corrected print although some of the red does make an appearance on occasion. Watching it is another one of those cases of just knowing how amazing the film would look if given a proper restoration. Still though the film is available which has to count for something, and although Rosalba Neri technically isn’t in the film for long the fact that a film exists that was directed by Larraz and features Neri, two giants of European cult cinema, that alone should make La muerte incierta required viewing.

Rest in Pieces (1987)

When talking about the films from the major figures in European cult cinema, more often than not the majority of the discussion is rooted in the films from the 70’s. Not surprising in the slightest seeing as said decade was easily the golden age for the style of filmmaking perfected by directors like Jess Franco, Walerian Borowczyk, Jean Rollin and José Ramón Larraz amongst several others. While the films to come from the 70’s were unquestionably important, some of the later output to come from these transgressive auteurs is equally worthy of the same attention and unfortunately has a tendency to get dismissed. The most obvious example would be the later digital films from Jess Franco with only the most devoted Francophiles coming to their defense. José Ramón Larraz is an interesting case. Larraz basically retired from feature filmmaking in 1992 so the late period films from him to get somewhat swept aside would be his last three horror films, 1987’s Rest in Pieces, Edge of the Axe (1988) and Deadly Manor (1990). The main criticism of these films seems to be that Larraz was trying to cater to the American rental market. Really a perplexing critique especially when the film in question is Rest in Pieces, one of Larraz’s most unusual and wacky horror films and a film that is certainly unlike any American horror film to come from the late 80’s.

Following the death of her Aunt Catherine, Helen and her boyfriend Bob move into the estate of the recently deceased Catherine which Helen has inherited along with Catherine’s remaining fortune. Almost immediately after arriving however strange occurrences around the house begin to plague Helen including seeing visions of her aunt. The odd behavior of their new neighbors, all of whom were very close with Catherine don’t make things any easier for Helen either. Bob however isn’t content with giving up his new life of luxury and talks Helen out of leaving, although he too becomes suspicious of the neighbors when questions are raised regarding Catherine’s money and their behavior becomes increasingly more antagonistic making it clear that there something the neighbors aren’t telling them, and Aunt Catherine has plans for Helen from beyond the grave.  

Aside from sharing a few very faint thematic similarities with films like Carnival of Souls (1962) and Jess Franco’s A Virgin Among the Living Dead (1971), Rest in Pieces is really incomparable to anything else. A strange meeting of supernatural and slasher components rounded out with instances of oddball humor, Rest in Pieces represents Larraz as his most offbeat while working in a genre. Obviously the film doesn’t take itself 100% seriously but it wouldn’t be fair to label the film as a true “horror comedy” as the horror elements far outweigh the comedic but when the film does go for laughs it works, particularly because most of the films humor is rather absurd and fits right in with the horror story. Even one of the films most memorable violent moments has somewhat of a comical tone to it due to the utter randomness of it. The story itself is quite original and becomes quite ambitious with Larraz throwing in all sorts of bits about suicide, cannibalism, and even a side plot involving a slight mystery dealing with the mental health history of Helen’s family similar to what he had done previously in La muerte incierta (1977).  At times it might seem a bit convoluted especially later on in the film but it takes some creative twists and the way Larraz eventually brings it full circle in the end is pretty unique and despite the films very slim budget Larraz was also able to conjure up his typical atmospheric artistry in select scenes.

It has to be mentioned that two of the neighbors in the film are played by (American born) Eurocult legends Jack Taylor who portrays a blind man with a retractable blade at the end of his walking stick and the late Patty Shepard. Unsurprisingly, whenever Shepard is involved in a scene she’s the most magnetic presence on screen. Shepard’s last role was in Larraz’s Edge of the Axe which also features Taylor although both are in considerably smaller roles. Edge of the Axe is also the one film Larraz’s last run in the horror genre to have been rediscovered as of late and has gained a decent fan base. What’s also interesting about Rest in Pieces is that it was the first time Larraz worked with Brian Smedley-Aston since Vampyres (1974) who edited the film. Aston of course was the editor on Symptoms (1974) and the producer on Vampyres and would go on to produce Larraz’s last horror film Deadly Manor three years after Rest in Pieces. With Rest in Pieces being a Larraz film obviously it doesn’t have a DVD release but it did get a VHS release and low priced used copies are fairly easy to find as are DVD-R’s. Its not Larraz’s best film to be sure, but it’s a fun and fairly creative horror film that not just Larraz fans but horror fans in general should give a chance.    

Stigma (1980)

Earlier this year, January 12th to be exact, cancer sadly took the life of actress Alexandra Bastedo who was 67. A classic beauty if there ever was one, Bastedo is perhaps best remembered by mainstream audiences for her role as Sharron Macready in the British sci-fi spy series The Champions which ran from 1968 to 1968. To fans of European horror however, Bastedo is legendary for her role in Vicente Aranda’ brilliant Le Fanu inspired The Blood Spattered Bride (1972). She also had a role in the 1975 Peter Cushing vehicle The Ghoul. On two occasions Bastedo served as the muse for the late, very great José Ramón Larraz, first in Larraz’s 1977 marital drama El mirón (The Voyeur) and again in 1980 for Stigma. Along with Bastedo, Stigma is also notable for being the first Larraz film to feature Eurocult goddess Helga Liné whom Larraz would cast again as the titular Madame Olga in Madame Olga's Pupils (1981) and more infamously in Black Candles (1982). When compared to some of the more well known titles from this mid-point in Larraz’s directorial career, namely The Coming of Sin (1978) and Black Candles, Stigma seems to have gotten lost in the shuffle a bit. Like the majority of Larraz’s films, Stigma is yet another deserving of more recognition, a fascinating little film and one of the most original horror films to come from Larraz.

Following the accidental death of his father, José, the older brother of Sebastian (Christian Borromeo) expresses concern to their mother (Liné) over Sebastian’s lack of empathy for their fathers death and Sebastian’s odd behavior in general. Sebastian is indeed not like other teens as he has the ability to cause death with his mind. All he has to do is wish it and the target of his thoughts perishes, an affliction which causes him to bleed from the lower lip once the death has occurred, as well as hallucinations, a stigma  Sebastian claims to neither understand or accept, although it doesn’t stop him from using it whenever he feels wronged. After being introduced to José’s girlfriend Angie (Bastedo), Sebastian is immediately taken by her and the two immediately hit it off, so much so that Sebastian confides in Angie about his condition who agrees to try and help Sebastian discover the origin of his curse.

Far from the derivative Carrie (1976) riff that most would assume due to the troubled teen with supernatural mental abilities angle, Stigma (Estigma) is a rather ambitious film in the way it presents itself. There are essentially three stories going on at once in Stigma. The first obviously being Sebastian’s ability to murder with his mind. The second being Sebastian’s relationships with his mother, José and Angie and the third being the actual cause of Sebastian’s titular stigma which Larraz uses to craft a mystery that becomes more and more bizarre with the inclusion of psychics and hypnosis until Larraz really turns the tables and eventually has the film switch time periods! Par for the course with Larraz, Stigma is as moody as they come, especially when dealing with Sebastian’s contentious family life with Larraz throwing in some seriously uncomfortable incestuous overtones which also play a major hand in the films central mystery, and Larraz’s trademark atmospherics coming into play during the hallucination sequences. The films third act also sees Larraz channeling the threatening countryside aura found in previous films such as Scream and Die (1973), Emma, puertas oscuras (1973) and Symptoms (1974). Of course also at the heart of the film is the believable friendship between Sebastian and Angie and the film wouldn’t have worked nearly as well as it does without the casting of Borromeo and Bastedo. Dubbing aside, Borromeo is fantastic making Sebastian much more than just a one note teen with issues and he and Bastedo were perfectly matched.

Astonishingly Stigma did have a DVD release at one point in time as part of a 3 disc, 5 film set released as “Crypt of Terror: A Collection of Nightmares” along with Black Candles, the Tiny Tim (who happens to grace the sets box art) film Blood Harvest (1987), Evil Eye (1975), which was also released as a double feature with Black Candles, and interestingly Naked Dreams which is an alternate version of Black Candles. This set seems to have gone out of print almost as fast as it was released and is now damn near impossible to find for a decent price. For a while Stigma was also made available on DVD-R from Amazon made on demand via Mr. Fat-W Video, the same as Black Candles and Larraz’s final horror film Deadly Manor (1990) although Amazon no longer seems to be selling it, and the instant video streaming option is no longer available for the film either which is a shame seeing as those were the easiest ways to get a hold of the film. Surely there must be some other way of tracking this film down. Euro horror fans, and Larraz fans especially are a persistent bunch so if there’s another way of discovering the film they’ll be the ones to do it, and it’s a film that’s well worth discovering, one that showcases just how versatile a director Larraz was.

Serial Mom (1994)

John Waters has certainly made his fascination with true crime no secret. In addition to having a massive collection of true crime books and various items of memorabilia which includes a jar of dirt that allegedly came from John Wayne Gacy’s crawlspace (which he proudly displayed during for the camera during the episode of The Incredibly Strange Film Show UK documentary series dedicated to him), Waters has also shown his films in several Baltimore, MD jails and has admitted to being an audience member at many a trial, although he admits that came to an end once he started becoming more recognizable. In addition Waters has also been a vocal advocate over the years for the release of former Manson family member Leslie Van Houten. While the concept of criminal as celebrity was nothing new to Waters, having brilliantly utilized the idea in Female Trouble (1974), the concept for a film like Serial Mom couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. 1991 saw the debut of Court TV which meant constant trial coverage in real time and the more sensational the trial the better and sure enough thanks to the trial of the Menendez brothers ratings were through the roof and America couldn’t get enough, naturally making it the perfect fodder for Waters to lampoon. The result was 1994’s Serial Mom, one of the funniest and most spot-on parodies to come from Waters.

On the surface, Beverly Sutphin (Kathleen Tuner) appears to be the archetypal suburban housewife. Loving mother to her son Chip (Matthew Lillard) and daughter Misty (Ricki Lake) and devoted wife to her dentist husband Eugene (Sam Waterston), Beverly is small town USA personified. There is however, a hidden side to Beverly, and for those who slight her family in any way or offend her high standards of decency the consequence is death and when more people turning up murdered in the Sutphin’s Baltimore suburb, Beverly becomes the main suspect, is eventually arrested and her subsequent trail becomes a media sensation drawing attention from across the nation as the public just cant get enough of “serial mom”.    

Along with sharing a kinship with the previously mentioned Female Trouble due to the celebrity criminal angle, Serial Mom could in some ways be considered Waters’ over the top riff on ideas found in films such as Hitchcock’s Shadow of a Doubt (1943) and Lynch’s Blue Velvet (1986). To go along with poking fun at America’s obsession with high profile trials Waters also satirizes so called boring suburban “normalcy” and the hypocrisy that is normally associated with such, all done with a sarcastic wink of the eye naturally. Of course this being Waters behind the camera the film as a whole is absolutely hysterical for those who share Waters deranged sense of humor and even those who haven’t seen the film should by now be well aware of the driving force behind the film, that being the performance of Kathleen Turner. Without Turner, who for lack of a better term “kills” every aspect of Beverly Sutphin, from enthusiastically singing along to Barry Manilow or bludgeoning someone to death with a leg of lamb, there would be no Serial Mom. Alongside Turner is one of the most impressive casts Waters ever assembled including the rest of the Sutphin clan, that being Sam Waterston who nails the “proper” suburban dad role, Ricki Lake and Matthew Lillard. Also making appearances are Waters regulars Traci Lords and Patty Hearst and the amazing Mink Stole who’s character of Dotty Hinkle lends herself to one of the most hilarious and quotable scenes of crank calling in all of cinema.

As if all that weren’t enough to make Serial Mom a perfect film, the great L7 even make a memorable appearance as “Camel Lips” performing “Gas Chamber”, a song the band wrote with Waters. Waters also pays tribute to H.G. Lewis by making Chip a fan of gore films and clips of Lewis’ Blood Feast (1963) are seen in the film which gives Waters an opportunity to take a jab at hyper moralists who feel horror films are a bad influence on kids. There is also an entire special feature on Universal’s fantastic DVD release of Serial Mom dedicated to Lewis and producer Dave Friedman with both men discussing their history and legacies with Waters chiming in on their influence. One of the most interesting things regarding Serial Mom mentioned by Waters on one of the features on the DVD is again, how perfect the timing was for a film like this to be made as it almost seemed to predict the fiasco that was the OJ Simpson murder trial, and there’s one particular scene in the film where which would come to resemble Simpson’s infamous Bronco chase witnessed on live TV, the irony of which was not lost on Waters. Any fan of the film should have the disc in their collection as its a more than commendable release for one of Waters’ best films. Absolutely brilliant satire from an undisputed master.

The Birthday Party (1968)

As evidenced by his two most recent masterpieces Bug (2006) and Killer Joe (2012), both based on stage plays written by Tracy Letts who also wrote the screenplays for both films, William Friedkin has a knack for brining plays to the screen. Adapting a play isn’t always the easiest thing to do what with the task of keeping things interesting within the confines of limited settings (for the most part) and really only a handful of directors can pull it off with ease and make it look effortless. Probably the best example would be Hitchcock, who’s film adaptations of Rope (1948) and Dial M For Murder (1955) showcased masterfully how to transfer a play to film and while films like Lifeboat (1944) and Rear Window (1954) weren’t based on plays, several of the filmmaking techniques used in Hitchcock’s play adaptations are present. Back to Friedkin, even before his brilliant collaborations with Letts the man was no stranger to the stage having began directing opera’s in 1998 and continuing to do so to this day with great success. In 1968 Friedkin helmed The Birthday Party based on Harold Pinter’s second play of the same name with a script written by Pinter. While it may have only been his second non-documentary film, The Birthday Party not only showcased Friedkin’s talent for turning plays into films but also his ability to make audiences very, very uncomfortable.

Stanley Weber (Robert Shaw), the lone tenant at a seaside boarding house is informed by Meg, the landlady that two men have inquired about a room, news which Weber is taken aback by and seems rather nervous about. Meg also wishes Stanley a happy birthday, although Stanley insists that its not his birthday until the following month. When the two men, who go by the names of McCann (Patrick Magee) and Goldberg (Sydney Tafler) arrive later in the day Stanley immediately goes on defense and with good reason as the two being to terrorize him, interrogating him with a series of ridiculous questions. McCann and Goldberg are also informed by Meg of Stanley’s birthday and Goldberg insists that a party be thrown. Despite Stanley’s vehement protests, a birthday party is indeed thrown with events becoming more and more strange as the night goes on.

The go to term most often used to describe The Birthday Party is “comedy of menace” which is perhaps the most accurate way to describe this oddity. The Birthday Party is as humorous in certain scenes as it is horrifying in others and is quite often both at the same time. Perhaps the best example of this would be the “interrogation” scene as its usually referred to, never before have questions like “Why did the chicken cross the road?” and “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” been asked in such a psychologically traumatizing manner. The overall odd and random nature of the film makes certain scenes even more unsetting albeit in a perplexing way, for instance when a game of blind man’s bluff played at Stanley’s party, a scene which was strange enough to begin with, takes a sinister turn, at first in a slightly comedic fashion when McCann is playing, then becoming deadly serious when its Stanley’s turn. Even before McCann and Goldberg enter the picture there is a peculiar moodiness to the film, what with an early conversation between Stanley and Meg becoming more threatening in tone and the now iconic scene of Stanley performing an increasingly violent snare drum solo. Its important to note that save for the opening credits and the closing moments of the film, very rarely does Friedkin take the camera outside the boarding house, which, along with the precise direction gives off an uncomfortable, claustrophobic feeling throughout which is crucial to the films effectiveness.      

The Birthday Party would also be the first of many times Friedkin would win the casting lottery. Interestingly, Pinter played a big role in the casting of the film and Friedkin would write in his memoir The Friedkin Connection that he felt the cast played it to perfection and couldn’t have been improved. One of the more brilliant things regarding Robert Shaw’s performance as Stanley is his ability to make Stanley a sympathetic character as he’s not exactly the most likeable of characters. Almost instantly after the introduction of his character he’s revealed to be irritable, rude and quick to insult Meg at every opportunity. Good as he is when it comes to those traits of Stanley’s, its later on in the film when Stanley is at a complete loss for words at the hands of McCann and Goldberg does Shaw really shine letting his facial expressions take over. Again, Shaw is flawless, but its Sydney Tafler and Patrick Magee who own the film as Goldberg and McCann. Tafler’s Goldberg goes beyond being “extraverted”, he’s overly chatty, radiates confidence and obviously fancies himself as a highly educated and cultured man and has the ability to go from friendly to fierce in a matter of seconds. On the opposite end of the spectrum is the stoic Patrick Magee as McCann who is imposing from the get-go and his curious demeanor contributes greatly to the general weirdness of the film. Just the sight (and sound) of him obsessively tearing strips of newspaper is bizarrely nightmarish.

Friedkin has stated that one of his upcoming projects is to direct The Birthday Party for the stage so when that finally comes to fruition it’ll be interesting to see how it compares to the film. Currently the film stands alongside Friedkin’s Rampage (1987) as well as the unrated version of Jade (1995) as being a more than deserving film that has yet to get a North American DVD release. Anchor Bay did release the film on VHS back in 2000 but for some reason not on DVD which is odd considering that the year before they released Friedkin’s still unfairly trashed The Guardian (1990) on both VHS and DVD. The film did however receive a DVD release in the UK which is now out of print and unsurprisingly goes for some pretty outrageous prices just like Anchor Bay’s long out of print DVD of The Guardian. The Anchor Bay VHS should be fairly easy to find via Amazon or eBay for good prices so thankfully the film isn’t impossible to get a hold of. The Birthday Party is perhaps forever going to be judged by how well it stands up to the play but as a stand alone film its not just a fascinating experience that exists within its own world and genre but also a shining example of Friedkin’s abilities behind the camera even at this early stage in his career.

The Hot Nights of Linda (1975)

AKA But Who Raped Linda?, Erotic Dreams, Come Close, Blond Emmanuelle, Plaisir Solitaire (Solitary Pleasure), La felicità nel peccato (The Happiness in Sin) and Linda, i gymni eromeni (Linda, Naked Mistress)

Its literally impossible to discuss the filmography of Jess Franco without encountering one of the most interesting yet at times frustrating aspects regarding his career, that being the alternate version. Even those with a minor knowledge of Franco should be well aware that several of his films exist in multiple versions ranging from softcore versions, versions with hardcore footage (sometimes shot by Franco himself, sometimes not) added at the insistence of producers in order to sell the film to the adult market, versions cut to appease the censors of various countries and so forth. Perhaps the most famous example of this would be the many versions of Female Vampire (1973) released under such titles as Erotikill, The Bare-Breasted Countess and The Loves of Irina amongst others. Another well known case is the release of A Virgin Among the Living Dead (1971) featuring additional zombie footage shot by fellow Euro horror legend Jean Rollin nearly a decade after the original version of the film had been released. Then there’s of course the cut version of Exorcism (1974) released to home video as Demoniac. Helmed during one of Franco’s most exhaustively prolific periods, The Hot Nights of Linda is another film alongside countless others to have had more than one version released and in its originally intended form is a quintessential Franco experience, one that surely could not have been imagined by no other filmmaker.

Marie-France (Alice Arno) is hired as a live-in caregiver by Paul Radeck (Paul Muller) to care for his paralyzed daughter Linda at the families seaside home. Upon arriving, Marie immediately hits it off with Olivia (Lina Romay), Linda’s nymphomaniac cousin who has lived with the Radeck’s nearly all her life since the death of her parents. Marie also notices Radeck’s strange behavior and is taken aback by his rather harsh views regarding Linda’s condition and his unwillingness to discuss how Linda ended up in her current state. It becomes obvious to Marie very quickly that there is something Radeck is hiding, a family secret that he intends to never be known, but one that Olivia knows all the details of.

Italian poster

What may surprise many about The Hot Nights of Linda (Les nuits brûlantes de Linda, which has been mistranslated over the years as “The Brutal Nights of Linda”) is that for the film entitled “The Hot Nights of Linda” is just how subdued it is in the sex department especially when compared to other Franco films from this period. To be sure there is an abundance of salacious and taboo material to be found but nowhere near as much as say Female Vampire or Lorna the Exorcist (1974). What’s also interesting is just how little the titular character of Linda factors in the overall film. Franco’s main focus is the mystery surrounding Radeck and just what is the dark secret he is do desperate to keep as well as Olivia’s knowledge of it. Not only is it a well crafted story but the more Franco reveals about this odd family the already feeling of uncomfortable isolation and general strangeness is enhanced. This type of twisted family dynamic is something that Franco would return to again in films like La casa de las mujeres perdidas (1983) and Broken Dolls (1999). Franco also included a comedic side plot involving a bumbling detective and a photo journalist that actually works and isn’t all that distracting. Of course the film also benefits from its cast with Arno and Lina making a great match (unsurprisingly Olivia is the most interesting character and Lina was clearly enjoying herself) and Paul Muller shining in one of his most bizarre roles.

During his solo interview segment on Severin’s 3-disc release for the film Franco claims that there are 10 versions of the film that exist. One such edit was a French hardcore version which Severin have included as the 3 disc on their limited combo pack, affectingly referred to as the “French hard banana version”. Quality wise its along the lines of a 5th generation blurry VHS copy, something which Severin were upfront about from the get go. Still its a nice inclusion as its a perfect example of the quality of prints Franco fans have had to deal with until Severin came to the rescue with their release. Also included is an interview with both Jess and Lina who both agree that the feature on the first and second discs under the But Who Raped Linda? title is their preferred version. Its a great segment for fans to see the two of them together reminiscing about the film as well as their overall time together although a bit sad knowing both a gone now. There’s a nice reel of silent outtakes as well and an interview with writer Stephen Thrower who’s information as always is invaluable especially in regards to how this film relates to Franco’s other works. Its another brilliant release from Severin for a demented little film that should feel right at home on the shelves of any serious Franco fanatic.

The Sexual Story of O (1984)

Anne Desclos’ 1954 novel Story of O which was published under the pseudonym Pauline Réage is easily one of the most well known titles in all of transgressive fiction, right up there with Sacher-Masoch’s Venus In Furs, Catherine Robbe-Grillet’s The Image and of course all the works of the Marquis de Sade. The novel was most famously adapted to the screen in 1975 by Just Jaeckin of Emmanuelle (1974) fame stating Corinne Cléry and Udo Kier but there have been several films that have been inspired by the novel, some more loose than others. Before Jaeckin’s film, underground legend Kenneth Anger helmed an unfinished short based on the novel, Danish provocateur Lars Von Trier directed a short film as an homage to the story in 1979 and the book even found itself the subject of a 1992 Brazilian mini-series amongst many, many others. Considering the sadomasochistic subject matter of Desclos’ original novel, it would seem to be the perfect type of thing for Jess Franco to film a version of. Not exactly. Despite having the words “Story of O” in the title, by Franco’s own admission, 1984’s The Sexual Story of O has much more in common with de Sade than Desclos’ source material, and much like Franco’s other de Sade inspired films, The Sexual Story of O is one of his most unforgettable as well as one of his very best films.

While vacationing in Spain, Odile (Alicia Príncipe), a young, voyeuristic American tourist catches the eye of exhibitionist couple Mara (Mari Carmen Nieto, billed here as Mamie Kaplan) and Mario (Mauro Rivera). Despite the language barrier, the three are acquainted and immediately become very close and share many an intimate moment. Mara and Mario invite Odlie to accompany them to the island home of their friends the von Baky’s (Carmen Carrión and Daniel Katz) for further enjoyment, however unbeknownst to Odlie, Mara and Mario have ulterior motives for inviting Odlie to the island and the Princess and Prince von Baky’s idea of fun is far more sinister than what Odlie is used to experiencing with Mara and Mario.

Unquestionably one of Franco’s darkest films, the influence of de Sade in The Sexual Story of O (Historia sexual de O) is ever apparent. The film shares many similarities with Franco’s interpretation’s of de Sade’s Philosophy in the Bedroom, namely Eugenie… the Story of Her Journey Into Perversion (1969) and Plaisir à trois (1973) as well as the heavily Sadian influenced Countess Perverse (1973). The film is yet another example of Franco returning to previously explored themes and ideas and putting a fresh spin on the proceedings. Franco may have dealt with this type of material many times before this film and would explore it again in future films, but what sets The Sexual Story of O apart is its tone. Never before had Franco told this type of story in such a downbeat fashion. With the exception of Odile, everyone of these characters has a grim disposition about them giving the film an incredibly morose tone which Franco juxtaposes rather nicely with his constant showcasing of the beautiful island settings and numerous close-up’s on flowers which Franco also contrasts with the films gorgeous yet melancholy main theme which plays throughout the film. Cues from the Female Vampire (1973) soundtrack are also heard several times to great effect. The film is also notable for having a finale that has the potential to knock the wind out of anyone who’s become invested in the film, with the events leading up to it containing some of the most striking and nightmarish imagery Franco ever concocted.

Another thing to note about this film is aside from Carmen Carrión and Daniel Katz who Franco used in other films, this film features none of Franco’s regular cast members. According to Franco in the “Franco’s O” interview segment on Severin’s 2007 DVD release of the film it was an attempt by him to “avoid his own clichés” although he goes on to say he believes it really didn’t work as he didn’t do more films with this cast. With all do respect to Jess, the cast is flawless, Alicia Príncipe in particular was perfect for this film and the fact that the film packs such an emotional wallop is a testament to her screen presence. Although only a brief 15 minutes, that interview with Franco on the DVD is one of the more interesting interviews conducted with the man particularly when he opines on de Sade believing that de Sade is more often discussed than actually read and states one of the reasons he took a more Sadian approach with the film was because de Sade was a better writer than Desclos, and Odile was much more Justine that Desclos’ O. A wise decision as The Sexual Story of O is not simply one of Franco’s best films from the 80’s its again one of his best films in general, a quintessentially Franco and Sadian experience and one that’s not easily shaken.