The Bilingual Lover (1993)

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

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

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

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

American Tiger (1990)

AKA American Rickshaw (American risciò)

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

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

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

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

Suspicious Death of a Minor (1975)

AKA Suspected Death of a Minor

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

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

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

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

Cosmos (2015)

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

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

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

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

Fidelity (2000)

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

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

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

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

La note bleue (1991)

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

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

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

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

Boris Godunov (1989)

Given the heightened, very theatrical elements of his films, its a curious thing why Andrzej Zulawski never directed for the theater. The theater makes several appearances throughout Zulawski's filmography, at times even playing a major part in the story. In Zulawski's second feature Diabel (1972), the protagonist encounters an eccentric traveling theater troupe performing Shakespeare's Hamlet and the Bard factors in prominently in L'important c'est d'aimer (1975), where Romy Schneider finds herself in a particularity histrionic take on Richard III with Klaus Kinski as the star/director. Although inspired by Dostoevsky's novel The Idiot, Anton Chekov's play The Seagull takes precedent in L'amour braque (1985), culminating in an maniacal reading from Sophie Marceau. A major theatrical comparison is often drawn between Zulawski and Russian actor and director Konstantin Stanislavski, who's intense acting training methods, known as the “Stanislavski system”, one of the earliest forms of method acting, where performers are pushed to the brink both mentally and psychically in order to ensure the most honest performance, was a method Zulawski often employed, perhaps most infamously with Isabelle Adjani in Possession (1981) and Iwona Petry in Szamanka (1996). It was only appropriate that in 1989, Zulawski turned to the stage, the opera to be prescience, with Boris Godunov, an adaptation of both the play by Alexander Pushkin and the opera by Modest Mussorgsky, an unusual film even by Zulawski standards and his most underseen film.

Following the death of Ivan the Terrible, Boris Godunov, the chamberlain to the former leader, is appointed to the role of Czar. Although highly popular with the Russian people, Godunov's reign is wrought with both political and personal difficulties including a monk who claims that he is in fact Dmitriy Ivanovich, the dead son of Ivan and rightful heir to the throne who sets out on a campaign to overtake Russia with Marina, an ambitious princess. Godunov's inner circle is also plotting against him at the behest of Prince Shuyskiy, a power hungry adviser to the Czar. Worse yet, Godunov is plagued with visions of the ghost of a dead child, a child Godunov was rumored to have murdered, a rumor Shuyskiy is quick to use to his advantage.

Perhaps second only to Zulawski's On the Silver Globe (1977/88) in terms of ambition and scope, Boris Godunov is certainly a strange beast. While faithful to both the play and the opera which its based, not to mention the history of its source material, the film is still a quintessential Zulawski film, loaded with Zulawski's defining peculiarities so even if the film hadn't been an adaptation it would still make complete sense in the context of Zulawski's overall cannon. While there is quite a bit to unpack story wise, and its inevitable that many will get lost along the way, the film is a great example of when getting lost isn't necessarily a bad thing. Although some of the plot points that might take multiple viewings to fully digest are incredibly important, this is again a Zulawski film and like the rest of his output, the amplified emotion of the film strikes just as big a subconscious chord and the film is easy to get lost in anyhow considering the music, which is nothing short of mesmerizing as are the lavish sets and costumes. Among the films many curiosities are a few comedic bits involving food which Zulawski would repeat again in his follow-up film La note bleue (1991), but perhaps the most fascinating are the instances of explicit fourth wall breaking with Zulawski fully embracing the artifice, pulling the camera back revealing the action being performed on stage, showing the audience and the orchestra and simultaneously the filming of his own movie. 

An interesting moment early on the in the film sees a guard dressed in modern Soviet military garb appear in the midst of the period setting and given that the film was made in 1989, a year which saw several revolutions put an end to communist oppression in many eastern European countries, its not a stretch to speculate Zulawski drawing a parallel between the historical events of the story and what was happening throughout the world at the time of shooting. Its also important to note that the film features Mussorgsky's original score from the opera (naturally shorted due to time constraints) which is a rare occurrence in performances of the opera with a revised score written in 1872. In fact, the opera as a whole has been re-written several times since its original incarnation with performances of both versions prepared by Mussorgsky being scarce and as things of this nature normally go, the originality of Mussorgsky's initial score, which for whatever reason was thought to need “corrections”, hence all the revisions, is now considered highly innovative. Funny and more that a bit frustrating to think how Pushkin's original play, which fascinatingly was barred from actual performance until 35 years after its initial publication, ultimately became his most well known work while Zulawski's film remains his most obscure when it should in fact be recognized for the brilliant, singular achievement that it is.