(1988, Fr, 100 min) Dir Jack Vitesse. Cast Denis Lavant, Richard Bohringer, Dominique Pinon.
Night. As the people leave the metro and the lights go off, the Underground Men (led by Lavant) can emerge from the shadows. The premise might sound like the beginning of a horror film but Vitesse is a man enamoured by the cinéma du look of the time and the Underground Men are street punks more like Christopher Lambert in Subway (an obvious influence) than Hugh Armstrong in Death Line. The film follows this half-dozen strong crew operating in silence, raiding stores, stealing cars and generally wreaking havoc. Soon enough le flics (led by Bohringer) are giving chase and the film goes underground for a prolonged subterranean chase on motorbike, skateboard and foot that takes up the film’s final forty minutes through service tunnels, train lines, the sewers and the catacombs into skyscrapers and monuments but always back down again, coming off like a Mad Max 2 beneath the streets instead of in the desert. While it doesn’t all add up (Why are they stealing the cars? How have they not been noticed before?) and the characters personalities are non-existent, it’s slick and stylish enough to hook the viewer into leaving these questions for later.
Friendly postman Alain kisses his wife good day and makes to leave for his rounds on his bicycle but upon leaving his house finds, in dismay, that it has been stolen. Thankfully a passing bicycle selling gypsy offers him an astonishing discount for a new one which Alain can’t help but take. The salesman – it is revealed to us once Alain is gone – is none other than Beelzebub himself and the bicycle he sold Alain is demonically possessed. Poor Alain soon finds himself flying through the countryside at a terrifying speed, flinging his letters left and right as he vainly tries to do his job regardless and setting into motion all kinds of catastrophes. Due to a Rube Goldbergian confluence of events spurred by a flying parcel the devil gets his comeuppance by the end. The ingenuity of the filmmakers in realising the hilarious accidents caused by the careering postman is to be applauded. Though never mentioned by the man, this was undoubtedly an influence on a young Jacques Tati (in particular, of course, on his short film L’École des facteurs) and it’s a miracle to have survived in the pristine condition in which I saw it.
Poor Edith Scob. She’s Sophie, a down on her luck waitress in a grey winter’s Paris who has just lost her last job. But what luck – as she wearily trudges her way through the puddles home there appears the fantastically glamorous Delphine Seyrig (in Daughters of Darkness mode) in a big white limo to offer her a job serving the ball she is throwing in her massive country residence that weekend. And what a job offer it is –a huge sack of francs foo one night’s work!? Of course it’s too good to be true but what’s poor Edith to do but say yes? At least the slinky Delphine is pleased to hear of her acceptance, her sleepy cat grin just visible as her window goes up. At the appointed time a car arrives at her sad garret to whisk her off to the house of the party, the lamps that line the endless drive being lit as she arrives. Without a moment to think about it she’s dressed in her uniform and out among the party already under way. She can’t help but notice the way that the masked guests look at her though, as though they are appraising her… As the night wears on her suspicions grow but surely nothing diabolical could be afoot? Before you know it the film has devolved into Satanically fuelled class war with the well off trying to tuck into the help. Great fun and beautifully shot – every frame could be cut out and hung on the wall.
(1973, Fr, 84 min) Dir Jesus Franco. Cast Montserrat Prous, Anne Libert, Francisco Acosta, Howard Vernon.
AKA Passion of the Zombies AKA Lust of the Dead AKA Erotiknomicon AKA one of about a million films that the legendarily prolific Jess Franco is credited with the same year. Jack and his pals have travelled to an off-season resort for some manly times together fishing, getting drunk and shooting passing snakes to bits whilst laughing at nothing much. Thankfully night falls and from the woods around them comes the sound of eerie song followed by a trio of beautiful half-naked women. That’s right – to the relief of some and the consternation of sickos the living dead of the title aren’t as decomposey as might have been feared. No, they’re just spooky forest dwelling nudists and of course Jack and his pals don’t seem to think that there’s anything weird about this either, they just take it in their stride that buck-naked ladies are in the habit of such behaviour. Local man Danny (Vernon) turns up though and he finds the whole set-up a touch out of the ordinary. On top of that thinks that he might have seen these ladies before… Yes it’s slow and yes it’s riddled with all kinds of inconsistencies of tone and behavior but hey, it was probably shot in a weekend. On the plus side is Bruno Nicolai’s soundtrack and some choice badly dubbed awful dialogue such as “Hey asshole, is that a lake?” and “You don’t mean that I just had sex with -gulp- a zombie?” With films like this it’s best to just sit back and enjoy the ham.
(1976, Fr, 111 mins) Dir Roland Sacher. Cast Roman Polanski, Romy Schneider, Hans Neuber.
It’s plain to see what attracted Polanski to a rare performing role in Sacher’s second film – it’s the story of a man (Monsieur P, Polanski) under house arrest in his apartment in an anonymous European city where everyone speaks English who is spiralling into madness and is repeatedly visited and interrogated by a beautiful woman (Schneider). All three of the main points here – the enclosed space, the slide into insanity and the beautiful woman – tick the right boxes for the diminutive Polish auteur. There is a fourth thing too: oppression by unknown forces. Monsieur P wakes one morning to find a letter having come through his letterbox stating that until further notice he is forbidden to leave. He tries anyway and is confronted by Hans Neuber’s trenchcoat-clad goon waiting in the hallway. He calls his work but they already know about his arrest and request that he not contact them until the board have discussed the matter themselves. He calls his family but they are no longer there. What is happening to him? Why is his life falling to pieces? Then his interrigator arrives and with her the meat of the film too – a series of two-handers where the interrogator dissects every moment, every slight and folly of Monsieur P’s life. Filmed while Polanski was in Paris making The Lodger, it’s an interesting film for him to have made at that particular point in his life following his comeback with Chinatown and just prior to the arrest that would see his move to Europe made permanent.
Another marvel from Illienko, the first following his relocation from the Ukraine to Paris and only the second of three films he would ever make. The ‘Petite Ombré’ of the title is a sentient umbrella that seemingly drops from the clear blue Paris skies and proceeds to flit about the streets, causing mischief wherever it goes. It’s essentially a silent film in that there is no dialogue, just the sounds of the street and the umbrella’s schoolgirl giggling. It all leads to some fantastic slapstick worthy of the silent masters. In one sequence the whole of a street with its half dozen market stalls is turned into an elaborate Rube Goldberg style cause and effect contraption by the umbrella brushing its handle against a mere lemon. Just as there’s no real beginning to the film there is also no real end – the umbrella simply makes to the skies once again at the end, off to cause mischief somewhere else no doubt. A seriously playful film whose occasional visible strings only add to the charm. Despite winning the Golden Star at the Paris Festival de Fantasie and garnering general praise it would be another nine years before Illienko made it to the big screen once again.
(1975, Fr, 85 mins) Dir Jean Rollin. Cast Christina von Blanc, Maria Rohm, Joëlle Coeur, Britt Nichols, Alice Arno.
Lesbian vampire nuns. If the preceding sentence has left you cold then there’s not much here for you as Dark Ecstasy hasn’t much to offer beyond the allure of those three words. Young novice Caterina (von Blanc) has been sent to the mountaintop convent of Marie-des-Monts by the shifty Sister Elizabeth who lived there herself years ago and now rocks back and forth while cackling incessantly. It seems that Caterina’s purity is just right for the perverted denizens of Marie-des-Monts, as led by the icy and statuesque Maria Rohm, to exploit. And exploit it they do, for the full of the film’s running time, with Caterina of course proving victorious in the end, burning the convent down and sacrificing herself in the process. Slow but fun for fans of lesbians, vampires and nuns. Originally the film ran for a trim 72 minutes but the relaxing of certification laws in later years saw Rollin return (possibly under duress, depending on whose version of events you believe) to insert a lengthy dream sequence that included hardcore sex scenes and, because they were popular at the time, zombies. This hardcore zombie version was released under the imagination-free title Nonnes lesbiennes de Vampire in 1981.
Imaginary Film Guide 