The Death Avenger of Soho (Der Todesrächer von Soho) (1971)

I was in the mood to watch a krimi and a Jess Franco film and, subsequently, found a flick that fit both bills:  The Death Avenger of Soho (Der Todesrächer von Soho) (1971). 

An anxious man in a London hotel asks the manager for his bags to be packed and to have a cab waiting for him at the curb.  He returns to his room to find his luggage already packed and waiting for him which, for whatever reason, greatly perturbs him.  He pays his bill, and while attempting to enter the cab, he is killed with a precision knife throw from an unknown assailant.  Handsome Inspector Robert Redford (Fred Williams) arrives to investigate, and the crime scene yields little evidence.  Redford hooks up with his friends, crime novelist Charles Barton (Horst Tappert) and photo-journalist Andy Pickwick (Luis Morris) for help.  The sole lead in his case is a doctor, Dr. Blackmead (Siegfried Schüremberg)—who happened to be in the vicinity of the film’s first kill.  At the doctor’s office, Redford meets Dr. Blackmead’s assistant, Helen (Elisa Montés), and is instantly smitten.  Another murder occurs with the same modus operandi, yet there is no discernable link between the victims.  Redford’s leads run cold.  A mysterious man (Dan Van Hussen) breaks into the home of Charles Barton, and is caught stealing red-handed by Barton.  The would-be thief says he knows Charles Barton, personally, and the man occupying this home and using his name is not the same.  Meanwhile, a distraught Helen meets Redford at a bar and reveals to him that she found a dangerous opiate among the doctor’s pharmacy.  She believes that the good doctor has too large a quantity of illegal narcotics to ignore.  Redford agrees and has a break in the case.  He promises to protect Helen, who reveals that she has a mysterious past, as well…

Franco crafts a fine krimi film with The Death Avenger of Soho.  The film is based on a novel by Bryan Edgar Wallace [which had been previously filmed as Das Geheimnis der Schwarzen Koffer in 1963] and its screenplay is by Franco and Artur Brauner, whose production company CCC was looking to cash in on the popular Wallace krimi craze. (1)  Death Avenger was made towards the end of the krimi cycle. (2)  There is a moodiness to Death Avenger quite like Sie Tӧtete in Ekstase (She Killed in Ecstasy) (1970) where there is an overwhelming sense of uncomfortableness accompanying the dramatic action.  As there is little information made available as to what is motivating the killings, the resultant vibe is uneasiness and dread.  Franco’s photography (by Manuel Merino) has some exceptional set pieces.  The opening alleyway, where the first murder occurs, has a haunting quality, as a blind organ grinder listlessly chimes away accompanies perfectly the composition:  a tight alley where a clearly audible gust of wind seemingly does not affect a small bank of fog.  Franco also makes good use of the wide-angled lens, as he did subsequently in La Maldición de Frankenstein (1972).  There is a particularly, nasty giallo-esque murder near the end of the film.  Despite the seriousness of the dramatic action, Franco does allow The Death Avenger to be a sexy, flirty film.  For example, when Redford meets Helen for the first time, she opens the door and asks what he wants.  Redford coyly replies with a marriage proposal which the young lady politely declines.  It is easy to tell that these two characters have chemistry, and the film is propelling them towards each other; but Franco does not have to labor over a romantic subplot in order to produce one.  Unsurprisingly, Franco gets to include a sexy, nightclub set piece.  I would be shocked to learn if Franco’s libido ever waned.  Finally, The Death Avenger of Soho is a good film, because it is character-driven with interesting people populating the narrative (as opposed to the paint-by-numbers, procedural-plot-driven krimi).

Perhaps my Franco bias is elevating The Death Avenger of Soho above most krimi.  However, I do believe that krimi fans, giallo fans, and Jess Franco fans will enjoy this one.  The Death Avenger of Soho is a neglected film in Franco’s filmography during a period where he was particularly fertile.

1. Blumenstock, Peter.  Obsession:  The Films of Jess Franco.  Ed. Lucas Balbo & Peter Blumenstock.  Graf Haufen & Frank Trebbin.  Germany.  1993:  p. 83.

2.  Ibid.

Mondo Cannibale (Cannibals) (1980)

Benvenuti nella Giungla

Mondo Cannibale (Cannibals) (1980) is Jess Franco's foray into the then-popular cannibal genre (decidedly marked by Ruggero Deodato's Cannibal Holocaust (1980)).    This production was "announced as Rio Salvaje to be produced by Magna Films/Madrid;" but, it was French film company, Eurociné, who overtook the production (with Daniel Lasœur serving as production manager). (1)  Italian actors Al Cliver (Pier Luigi Conti) and Sabrina Siani were cast as the leads.  Humorously, Franco admits to seeing Deodato's seminal film and "then one more" before having his fill of the cannibal genre (2), and despite his ambivalence towards the genre, I cannot fathom Franco ever turning down an opportunity to make a film.

Mondo Cannibale lacks the realism and sadism so characteristic of the genre.  Hence, it completely misses the mark with the genre’s fans.  The film was shot in Alicante (3) in a beautiful palm forest, a locale more suitable for young lovers to stroll under the moonlight than for human-flesh feasting.  Turtles, if they frequent the area, were left in peace.  Franco cast the local gypsies as the cannibal tribe, and frequent collaborator Antonio Mayans (aka Robert Foster) was cast as the tribal leader.(5)  Al Cliver plays Jeremy Taylor, and with his wife and young daughter they take a foray into the jungle for an expedition.  Shit goes from bad to worse when the cannibals attack.  Taylor’s wife is killed; Taylor is tortured and maimed; and his young daughter goes missing, presumed dead.  Cliver’s Taylor wakes up in a hospital in New York with amnesia.  Lina Romay appears as a nurse in the asylum (Romay as a non-blonde Candy Coster).  She becomes attached to Taylor and helps him recuperate.  He regains his memory and is determined to return to the jungle to find his daughter...

The only real gore of Mondo Cannibale are primarily close-ups of the requisite cannibal feedings.  Understandably, with Franco’s distaste for the genre, they look like people eating raw steak upon a willing victim’s stomach.  The plot of the film reads like an American pulp novel or serial:  the young daughter of Taylor grows of age and becomes the queen of the tribe and is forced to return to civilization with her family and abandon her adoptive tribal one.  Franco treats the material in a perfunctory manner.  Of highlight, however, is the film’s music.  Despite the credits reading Robert Pregadio as composer, Franco admits the music is the collaboration of him and Daniel White. (4)  The music is evocative of Riz Ortolani’s score from Cannibal Holocaust, yet it is quite beautiful appreciated on its own.  Despite the gore being gratefully little and poorly-rendered, the actors’ make-up is quite striking.  Eschewing any realism, Franco paints his actors’ faces in bright, festival-like colors.  In any state of mind, Mondo Cannibale appears like drunken Mardi Gras revelers making a film in the midst of partying.  The palm-forest setting must be quite striking, as Franco alters many of his compositions to emphasize their beauty.  The frames do not look like postcards but have Franco’s unique, poetic touch.

DVD label, Blue Underground released Mondo Cannibale on DVD a few years ago.  Its attraction is primarily for fans of Jess Franco.  Cannibal fans can get their fill and then some with Deodato’s masterful film.  Despite the fact that she has little dialogue and delivers a sub-par performance, one can see Sabrina Siani’s charisma.  She’s incredibly sexy and scantily-clad throughout the picture.  Antonio Mayans is surprisingly animated in his role, but he is always a compelling actor to watch.  Al Cliver gives a familiar performance:  he never stretches the heights of his acting ability but manages to deliver again, an emotional and thoughtful performance.  Lina Romay’s role is very straightforward and offers little in the way of character.  She should be given more but c’est la vie.  I’ll see anything that Franco makes and have seen well over a hundred of his films.  Mondo Cannibale gets a rare revisit from me.

Finally, to those who frequent these pages, I apologize for the lack of content over the last few months.  I’ve been fine yet haven’t had any inclination to write about anything.  This post ain’t the greatest, and I wrote it mainly to shake off the cobwebs and produce something.  I plan on writing more very soon.  If you enjoy reading these pages, feel free to comment upon any post.  Comments are open to anyone and everyone.

 1. Obsession:  The Films of Jess Franco.  Ed. Lucas Balbo and Peter Blumenstock.  Grauf Haufen and Frank Trebbin.  Germany: 1993.  p. 137.
2. Video interview “Franco Holocaust.”  Cannibals DVD.  Blue Underground.  November 13, 2007.
3.  Ibid.
4.  Ibid.
5.  Ibid.

Les cauchemars naissent la nuit (1970)

It is difficult to discern what Les cauchemars naissent la nuit is about, in as much as it is to discern what genre Jess Franco's film falls into. The latter is not important (but erotica is probably the answer); and as to the former, here is a plot description: Diana Lorys is Anna, a nightclub dancer, who meets Cincia (Colette Jack), who invites Anna to her home. Cincia tells Anna that her talent and beauty are above and beyond where she is working and makes a vague promise to Anna that she can make her a bigger success. Anna agrees and soon finds comfort in Cincia's home. A local doctor, Paul (Paul Muller), is eventually summoned to Cincia's home under the assumption that Anna is ill. Apparently, Anna has been having nightmares--those of her killing people or waking up not knowing what she has done, with someone dead in her bedroom. Les cauchemars naissent la nuit is, as a mystery, reminiscent of Umberto Lenzi's Orgasmo (Paranoia) (1969) in the respect that Anna's reality is being manipulated by those around her. Anna's subsequent madness is borne from this manipulation. The key figure in this manipulation would have to be Colette Jack's Cincia, but during the nightclub sequence when Cincia first sees Anna, it would appear that Anna actually seduces Cincia. Anna's striptease sequence is shot in Franco-style (aka very lovingly) (aided by José Climent's photography and a sexy score by Bruno Nicolai); and it almost seems that Cincia is compelled to have Anna in her home. Lorys's Anna remains the focus of Les cauchemars naissent la nuit, and this makes it difficult to discern what is going on around her. Franco shows many an emotional scene where Anna wants to flee Cincia's home, and Anna often runs into the arms of Muller's Paul. She continually asks for help. Paul, not uncaring, lends a sympathetic ear, yet his ultimate advice is often just "go home and rest." More telling perhaps about Les cauchemars naissent la nuit is where this falls in Jess Franco's filmography: it is only slightly removed in time from his previous Eugénie (1970); and his subsequent film would be Christina, princesse de l'érotisme (1971). It is very easy to see Les cauchemars naissent la nuit as an experimental, transitional film: Les cauchemars has the intense subjective sexual obsession of Eugénie combined with the ethereal, almost random, characters of Christina. Jack Taylor appears late in the film as one of Cincia’s lovers; and when Anna and Taylor’s character interact, it is often composed of poetic, playful dialogue. Taylor’s character doesn’t seem real, and if he’s helping Anna, then it is very cryptic. Finally, giving a very precious appearance in a small performance is Soledad Miranda as a beautiful girl peering out of a window across the street from Cincia’s house. She has dreams that she shares with her lover of coming into a lot of money (this is important to the plot?). Miranda is dead sexy--Franco composes her primarily nude wearing only thigh-high boots. Franco had an intense obsession for Miranda, and it undoubtedly shows.Les cauchemars naissent la nuit is a lithe, meandering, arty, poetic film. I tend to prefer my cinema like this--a film which has really nowhere in particular to go in terms of story, so its imagery becomes prominent and, in the case of Franco, seductive. A minor entry, perhaps, in Franco’s filmography, because of the films preceding and following it. However, here’s some facts to conclude this post taken from essential Obsession: The Films of Jess Franco:

Only released in Belgium, this variation of the Miss Muerte story (a nightclub dancer unconsciously commits murders for somebody controlling her) has become virtually invisible since this limited release. Franco used the same story three years later for his own production of Los Ojos Siniestros del Dr. Orlof. Local critics writing about Les cauchemars naissent la nuit found that “the vague screenplay in the crime novel vein was only a pretext for showing scenes of a dubious nature with excessive nudity.” It is also true that Belgium is probably the most prudish country in Europe: even sex magazines are sold with stickers to cover genitalia! When asked (in Vampirella n° 13) what had been his smallest budget to date (in 1973) Franco named this film.

(from Obsession, ed. Lucas Balbo & Peter Blumenstock, Graf Haufen & Frank Trebbin Publishing, Munich, Germany: 1993, p.77)
Les cauchemars naissent la nuit has been released by Media Blasters/Shriek Show on DVD as Nightmares Come at Night. Also, check out Aaron’s review at his killer blog, The Bone Throne.

Snakewoman (2005)

Snakewoman (2005) is one of my favorite latter-day Jess Franco efforts. Prior to my recent viewing of the film, with the intention of writing about it, I had read quite a bit of recent and not-so-recent criticism of Franco's cinema. Almost all of it noted flaws common in Franco's cinema, primarily his use of simple narratives, poorly-paced, sex scenes inserted as time filler, shoddy camerawork (all the more awful when the film was shot on video), and a continual recycling of older material (that is to say, Franco has made the same film more than once). My cinema tastes have always been in the most strict minority, and while I respect others' opinions, I still watch Franco's cinema with my own eyes. Having seen over a hundred of his films now, having lost count around that number, the only aspect of Franco's cinema which varies, for me, is the intensity. However, with this recent viewing of Snakewoman, for the first time in a while, I saw it influenced by the majority opinion.Oriana Balasz was a controversial, and now obscure, artist from the 1930s, whose work, primarily film, is closely-guarded by her descendants. Carla (Fata Morgana), an agent for a publishing house, has gone to the Balasz villa to persuade the family into selling the rights to her work. Carla arrives and meets a young woman (Carmen Montes) who claims to be Oriana. She refuses to sell the work to Carla. There is an inherent mystery in the premise of Snakewoman. One would intuitively begin to ask questions with the hopes that the subsequent narrative would, at the minimum, provide clues to the mystery. Such as: what was so controversial about her work? why would a family prefer to keep it hidden away from the world, despite lucrative financial offers? Those questions, perhaps, could be clouded with the irrational, supernatural themes: is the young woman really Oriana? how is she still young?

These questions are answered by Snakewoman's narrative, but I would really be pushing my limited ability at persuasive criticism to prove it. As a mystery, it fails. As a horror film, it fails.

It had been a while since longtime collaborator, Antonio Mayans (aka Robert Foster), had appeared in a Franco film. He appears as a doctor who is treating a young patient named Alpha (Christie Levin) who appears to be suffering from delusions--seeing a person who is not there (who is influencing her behavior). Lina Romay appears during the final act of Snakewoman as Carla's doctor. Subsequent to her rebuff by the Balasz family, Carla left the villa and spent three days in a daze. She could not remember what happened or where she went. Carla's doctor recommends that she spend a week recuperating at her isolated country resort. During the week that she spends there, Carla's publisher calls to tell her that he has acquired the rights to Oriana's work and thanks Carla.

All of these events really occur in Snakewoman, and to be truthful, I had never really noticed the salient details until this recent viewing. The plot is nonsensical and not coherent. Snakewoman has a very simple narrative that is not frustrating because it is hard to follow, but frustrating because it is so simple.

My previous viewings of Snakewoman and my feelings and thoughts about the film were quite different. What I would describe (and will now) is not proper criticism.Carmen Montes, as Oriana, is a gorgeous and seductive woman. Franco's first shot of her is a fake silhouette. That is to say, with his composition, he wants to outline Montes's svelte figure against a light backdrop; but Franco also wants to draw attention to the wonderfully provocative tattoo which surrounds her body--a large snake. The end result is dim light coming from the background and soft light upon the foreground. The opening scene is both lulling and soothing. Almost perfect atmosphere for an erotic film. Mayans's character has a very tenuous connection to the main plotline, and his patient, Levin's Alpha, has an even thinner connection. Franco later reveals who Alpha is seeing in her delusions and has the two meet. When these two characters meet, they fuck. For a long time. For a duration way beyond the threshold of most viewers. This is not a deterrent for Franco. In a humorous touch, Mayans's character is shown in crosscut during the scene, chanting in Latin. I have no idea why, but it almost seems as if Franco is making a religious joke on solemnity. With the Mayans crosscuts, Franco is breaking his solemnity for this erotic sequence, but don't worry, Franco is going to capture it all. I cannot tell if it's genuine, but in the background in several scenes of the villa, there is a promotional photo of Marlene Dietrich, taken during her heyday, and it is autographed. It is framed, and occasionally, Franco will begin his scene with a close-up on the photo, and as the scene plays out, the framed photo will blend into the background with the rest of the props and furniture in the villa. The Dietrich allusion has a tenuous connection to the character of Oriana. In later sequences, Franco shows Oriana's film work (in black-and-white). It's fairly explicit and not unlike Franco. However, Oriana's films do not appear like old stag films: they're framed and shot with a reverence and detail to light and dark.My math may be incorrect, but I believe Jess Franco was in his mid-seventies when he filmed Snakewoman. It is difficult not to see a connection between Oriana's work and Franco's own. What Montes's Oriana says about the fictional filmmaker is possibly applicable to Franco's cinema. During Oriana's first meeting with Carla, Oriana gives a very inappropriate speech about the culo. This speech makes me laugh, because I cannot think of another film maker, save Tinto Brass, so devoted to the female culo.

At the end of this long post, all that can really be said definitively is that Snakewoman is quintessential Franco: erotic, irreverent, both poetic and haunting, and unique.

Lorna, the Exorcist (1974)--Repost with critique of the Mondo Macabro DVD

Save this paragraph, what follows below is my original post on Lorna, the Exorcist, as published on December 27, 2009. Despite my desire to tinker with the text, I have resisted the urge to change it. It is not very good, alas. The original title of this post was "Jess Franco's Lorna, the Exorcist (1974)," and I have removed the "Jess Franco's" from the title (as an incidental note, this is because I've largely abandoned the auteur theory as a workable critical approach). I've recently received the Mondo Macabro DVD release of Lorna and am, again, quite impressed. The DVD release presents the film in a beautiful, anamorphic widescreen transfer, and the film is presented with an English language option and a French language option with English subtitles. I've watched the disc twice and have yet to listen to the English track, as I much prefer the French. The subtitles are excellent. Included on the disc are text essays and interviews with author Stephen Thrower and Gerard Kikoine. The Kikoine interview is of particular interest, as he shares his anecdotes about Robert de Nesle, editing Jess Franco's films, and his early work as a sound editor and film editor. Kikoine also talks about French cinema and censorship in France during the seventies. It is recommended and is my favorite supplement on the disc. The super-dope Mondo Macabro trailer reel is included also. This DVD release is essential Franco, and I cannot think of a true, cult film fan who does not have a stack of red DVD boxes on their shelf in his or her collection. One other note, there is a scene in Lorna which I reference below as being more provocative in its original version. Mondo Macabro has included this scene in their loving restoration of the film (an introductory text halts the beginning of the film on the disc, describing the laborious process of bringing this transfer to the public. This is very commendable work, and I appreciate it when Franco is attributed the value that he deserves.). I have left the original screenshots from my old vhs transfer and have included, above them, screenshots from Mondo Macabro's release. This is not done for comparison, as it is obvious that there is none. I have left the original screenshots, as they were part of the original post and they show how old school Franco fans saw this film, perhaps, prior to this essential release. I purchased my copy here, but it can also be found here.

Patrick (Guy Delorme) and Marianne (Jacqueline Laurent) Mariel, along with their daughter, Linda (Lina Romay), near the threshold of her eighteenth birthday, decide to leave their lush villa and head to the coast for a vacation. Patrick receives a phone call at his holiday destination from a woman named Lorna (Pamela Stanford), who wants Patrick to keep his end of the bargain that the two made nearly eighteen years ago. Lorna, The Exorcist (1974) (a more apt title is this French one, Les possédées du diable) is another Robert de Nesle/Jess Franco collaboration. Whatever pact the duo made with the devil of low-budget cinema is unleashed upon the viewer. The trademark Franco production style, cheap, small crew, few actors, single locations, etc., works completely in Lorna's favor. "Franco delays the descent into the plot as long as possible," write the authors of Immoral Tales, "increasing the claustrophobia, working out his compulsions." The film's extremely simplistic narrative allows Franco to paint a perverse tableau of images, shrouded in the most intense and haunting atmosphere.The eroticism of Lorna, the Exorcist is carried by Romay's Linda and Stanford's Lorna, and their love scenes are captured by Franco with longing, loving looks, slow embraces, and gentle touching and caressing. Lorna begins with Linda emerging from a balcony to seduce a willing Lorna upon a bed. It's a sequence made all the more powerful upon the later revelation that Lorna is the actual seductress; and Lorna's visits to Linda are in her dreams. Visually this sequence and another where Lorna seduces Linda while taking a bath are treated by Franco at the edges of voyeurism. Each sex scene dares to move one step further into its intimacy, threatening to remove any intimacy at all by revealing all. When Lorna finally confronts Linda and reveals her plans for the young daughter, she tells Linda her tale of first meeting her father and the pact they made before she was born. Lorna and Linda embrace again, and perversely Franco plays on the film's incestuous theme. Apparently, this consummation scene was far more provocative and graphic originally (fact from Immoral Tales) and was absent from my French print of the film. (A still from Lorna from this sequence is included in Obsession: The Films of Jess Franco.) The erotic sequences are not reserved completely for Lorna and Linda. Catherine Lafferière appears as a mad patient (victim or lover of Lorna) being treated by a doctor played by Franco; and her performance is as uninhibited as Romay or Stanford. Her scenes have little narrative weight and seem to exist to only permeate the truly erotic and haunting atmosphere.Virtually all of the characters have one motivation and each actor is able to play to his/her motivation with a singular intensity. Delorme's Patrick runs on fear and plays as a desperate man throughout out the film. Laurent's Marianne, like Linda, is a victim of Patrick's pact with Lorna: she doesn't know what to do or what is about to happen. In a particularly nasty scene, she's the victim of one of Lorna's spells in one of the most wince-inducing scenes in Franco's filmography. Lina Romay is fantastic as Linda and is able to genuinely balance the effective and seductive erotic sequences with a wide-eyed performance in the more innocent scenes. Stanford, as Lorna, again delivers with another seductive performance, even all the more brilliant as Franco has her hidden behind quite a bit of bizarre makeup and some impressive costumes. The primary location of the modern hotel lacks the grandeur of the genuine and more ancient locations of Franco's other work, but as the Immoral Tales authors note, the hotel (and Franco's compositions) contributes to the film's claustrophobic and intense atmosphere. Producer Robert de Nesle contributed to the hauntingly beautiful score with André Bénichou, an essential element to Lorna. In Lorna, the Exorcist, Franco plumbs the dark depths and delivers a provocative and dark gem.

Les demons (1972)

"While Lorna was Franco's most over the top and fevered film for de Nesle, some of the others, like The Demons and Sinner (both 1972), come pretty close to its creative outrage. The Demons was one of those 1970's films that used witch-hunting as an excuse for sadistic sexual shenanigans. It was less flat than the earlier Der Hexentö ter von Blackmoor (Night of the Blood Monster; 1969), which tackled a similar subject. Despite lashings of dungeon scenes and pernicious nipple torture it had some joyous overtones. The demons, or witches, of the title were lusty catalysts of desire who writhed around with tumescent vigour. Unlike other films inspired by Ken Russell's The Devils, these demonic nuns weren't neurotic figures, they were more like unstoppable forces of nature. In contrast, the witchfinders were one-dimensional power brokers, puritans, who in the end were defeated by their own repressions. In another break from most period films, the music in The Demons wasn't ambient or medieval, it was pure European progressive rock, with plenty of rapid bongo beating, scattershot guitar solos and atonal bowing and bending on the strings. Twenty years on, it adds a kitsch quality to the proceedings, making the film ripe for rediscovery....
"The Demons is basically another Women in Prison film. There's the same heated bed-writhing, the same fixation on lesbian activity and depraved frolics. Unlike the Women in Prison films, the authorities can't cope. The Mother Superior reels, red-faced and turned-on, when she finds a hot-blooded naked nun rolling around in a cloistered bedroom. Overcome by lust, she throws herself off the balcony rather than give in to her amplified desires." (from Immoral Tales: European Sex and Horror Movies 1956-1984 by Cathal Tohill and Pete Tombs, St. Martin's Griffin Press, New York: 1995, pp.110-11)

"Franco's second examination of the evil doings of witch-hunter Judge Jeffreys has some things going for it, but all in all, this must be considered a disappointing movie despite the talent involved.
"I don't agree with Phil Hardy's Aurum Encyclopedia which complains about 'zooms moving in and out of female crotches.' Well, zooms are there, and also female crotches. But Raoul Artigot's camerawork compares favorably to Manuel Merlino's, being much less hectic and providing the movie with a badly-needed solidity that almost manages to weld together the disparate elements (In the same year, Artigot helmed his own witchcraft-movie, La Noche de las Brujas, starring Patty Sheppard.) The acting in the movie is uneven. Doris Thomas as the doomed Mother Superior is actually very good, and so is Karen Field as the evil Lady de Winter.
"Howard Vernon takes a 180 degree turn from his role as the main torturer in Franco's El Proceso de la Brujas (1969) to his part as a good nobleman who takes pity on Jeffreys' victims. The tortures are presided over by Luis Barboo, who does his job with relish. Most of the other performances are not really memorable, even if there are some pretty faces (the award for the sexiest nun-eye makeup goes to Britt Nichols!). There are some rough sex scenes with much pain and agony.
"The music ranges from medieval music and church organs to wild electric guitars and the 'nuns-in-heat' subject has never before been treated with so much squalor." (from Obsession: The Films of Jess Franco, by Lucas Balbo, Peter Blumenstock, Christian Kessler, and Tim Lucas, Selbstverlag Frank Trebbin, Berlin, Germany, 1993, p.93)"The first work Franco authored with the assumed name of Clifford Brown (as a homage to the omonimous black trumpet player, an exponent of the so-called hard bop style), the film features once again Judge Jeffreys, the leading character of Proceso de las brujas/Il trono di fuoco (starring John Foster aka the Iranian Cihangir Gaffari in place of Christopher Lee), in a story mixing I lunghi capelli della morte (1965) by Antonio Margheriti with The Devils (1971) by Ken Russell. A formidable lesbian sequence, bordering on hard core, performed by Britt Nichols and the ambiguous Karin Field (here on her first and only interpretation for Franco) dominates the rest of the movie, a very second-rate work with a horrible soundtrack.” (from Bizarre Sinema! Jess Franco El sexo del horror, edited by Carlos Aguilar, Stefano Piselli, and Riccardo Morrocchi, Glittering Images, Firenze, Italy: 1999, p. 103.) “Dieser Film ist mit Sicherheit einer der sehr professionell aufgezogenen Franco-Filme, da er auch mehr Budget zur Verfü gung hatte. Die Mischung aus sinnlicher Erotik, mittelalterlichem Religionswahn und grausamer Folterszenen hebt den Film ungemein an. Selbst VMP war damals sofort als Videoanbieter gefunden. Leider war die FSK 18 Schnittauflage fü r dieses Band sehr streng, so daß aus der 93 Minuten Originalversion eine deutsche 82 Minuten-Fassung wurde. Bestes Beispiel dafü r ist die Szene, bei der man bei der nackten, gefesselten Nonne die Brustwarzen mit heiß en Eisen zerquetscht. Der Film ist mit Sicherheit auch fü r nicht-Franco-Fans und bietet keinerlei Trash, sondern nur gut ü berlegte Inszenierung. Daß Howard Vernon vom bö sen Folterknecht hier zum Edelmann wird, ist ebenfalls sehr untypisch.” (from Jess Franco Chronicles, by Andreas Bethmann, Medien Publikations, Germany, 1999, p. 47.)A woman is tortured and pronounced a witch by Lord Jeffreys. Before being burned at the stake, she curses the populace, and noblewoman Lady de Winter requests from Jeffreys to hunt the countryside for any relatives of the deceased witch. This search leads the Lady to a convent where two sisters, Kathleen (Anne Libert) and Marguerite (Britt Nichols), are housed. Their parentage is unknown, and noting a suspicion, the Lady, much to her enjoyment, probes the two sisters to determine if they are virgins. Kathleen is not and is subjected to torture. She is pronounced a witch by Lord Jeffreys. Marguerite is visited that evening by her mother, the deceased witch who uttered the curse; and the old crone recruits Marguerite into the league of Satan to exact revenge.

Franco's Les demons is a corruption of the story of Justine and Juliette which Franco had film previously as Justine in 1968 for Harry Alan Towers. In Les demons, Libert's Kathleen is Justine, but unlike the Marquis de Sade's heroine, Kathleen is literally innocent, unlike Justine who is naive and innocent in the ways of the world. Like Justine, Kathleen floats into and out of the arms of various people, most of whom take advantage of her while precious few show her kindness. Nichols's Marguerite is like Juliette who quickly adapts to the ways of society, but here, Marguerite is adapting to exact revenge. The majority of Les demons takes place outside of the cloister, and to be noted, the version here under review is the 2003 "Director's Cut," from the region 2 DVD from German label, X-Rated Kult. It runs approximately a hundred minutes.

Les demons, despite quite a bit of sex and violence, is one of Franco's most conventional films, enhanced by Artigot's formal and classical photography and Franco's own screenplay. Here is an interesting tidbit found in a old digest magazine, serving as a "sneak preview" for a subsequent release of Les demons:

The Demons. Starring Anne Libert, Britt Nichols, Doris Thomas, Karin Field. Directed by Clifford Brown.

In the recent months, there has been an increasing interest in the occult, witchcraft and, of course, a resurgence of the "Dracula" theme. The forces of evil have never had it "so good" as in films. The Demons begins with a witch burning in medieval England, just before William of Orange acceded to the throne. Vengeance, erotic witchcraft, curses (which the scenario writers pass on to the audience) not to mention "every extreme of torture and degradation" make up some the happy components. For those who have a genuine interest in black magic (and for those who like it combined with old fashioned sexuality), look for The Demons. (from XSighting Cinema, Vol. Two, No. One, P.S.I., Canoga Park, CA, Fall, 1976, p.40.)

The preceding quote I find of particular interest as to giving perhaps an insight into the cultural (and commercial) milieu of time.

The Devil really does exist and appears in Les demons. This is a telling reveal. Any sociological or theological examination is absent. Nearly all those in power in Les demons are self-absorbed, corrupt, and abusive. Libert and Nichols are two of my favorite Franco actresses. Libert is given a very rich role and gives one of her better performances. Nearly all of the performances are well above average. The best scenes in Les demons always involve either Libert or Nichols or both; and when they do appear, Franco has a tendency to loosen up his camerawork and make some creative compositions. Unfortunately, Les demons lacks the poeticism and hallucinatory quality of other De Nesle productions during the period. It's a precious film, however, for Libert and Nichols.

Kárate a muerte en Torremolinos (2001)

Karate is funny. By no means do I wish to be disrespectful to its practitioners, as I’m well aware that the martial arts have deep cultural roots and have important significance to unique cultures. I respect that. However, if I were ever confronted by an opponent who entered into a karate stance and made a readying battle cry, then I would completely lose my shit. Game over before the battle ever started. Some of the greatest martial arts films that I have ever seen, have not only impressed me but made me laugh immensely. For example in Fists of the White Lotus (1980), Gordon Liu and Lo Lieh square off in a phenomenal sequence: Lo Lieh as the White Lotus Chief is meditating in the bath. Liu’s character attempts to get the jump on him by attacking him in the bath. Not only does Lieh exit the bath and put on his clothes, but he manages to fend off Liu’s attacks and win the fight. One of the greatest martial arts films ever. To further gauge my own sense of humor, I also laugh immensely when the vending machine kicks the shit out of the little league coach in Stephen King’s Maximum Overdrive (1987). Go figure.
I discovered a little gem recently entitled Kárate a muerte en Torremolinos (2001).
Torremolinos is a Spanish resort town whose primary source of income is tourism. Jess (José María Cruz Piqueras) is a twenty-year-old surfer with a beautiful girlfriend named Danuta (Sonia Okomo). Jess is a member of the Catholic Brotherhood of Surfers and has made a vow of chastity until he is twenty-four. This is a problem for Danuta as she really wants to fuck. It may be a blessing, however. Torremolinos also houses a local legend: that of Jocantaro, a half-crab, half-octopus monster who lives off the coast and under the sea. Enter Dr. Malvedades (Paul Lapidus), a diabolical genius, who plans on raising Jocantaro from his watery depths to take over the world. With his zombie ninja henchmen, Dr. Malvedades needs five “newly-screwed virgins” to complete his plan. Oh shit. I was initially attracted to Kárate a muerte en Torremolinos by learning of the inclusion of Jess Franco as one of its actors. Its director, Pedro Temboury, according to his IMdB credits, served as an assistant director for some of Franco’s latter-day efforts such as Lust for Frankenstein (1998) and Tender Flesh (1998). Franco has always acted in his own films, and I have to admit that he’s pretty funny in Kárate a muerte. By the time Franco appears in the film, Jess has recruited his fellows in the Brotherhood of Catholic Surfers to combat the impending evil upon Torremolinos. Franco appears as a karate instructor named Miyagi who appears from an ethereal plane to instruct the desperate group in combat. In twenty four hours all the secrets of karate are revealed. The most humorous thing about this sequence is Franco’s delivery of his dialogue: he goes from quiet and meditative to ridiculously animated. While everyone in the cast gives enthusiastic performances, perhaps Oliver Denis deserves special mention. Denis plays, according to the film’s ending credits, one of the zombie ninjas but also served as fight coordinator for the film. In one hilarious sequence, four to five black-belt students at the local dojo head outside to practice. The zombie ninjas interrupt them and dole out some ass-whippings. Each karate student is wearing a white t-shirt with the logo “Karate Denis” on the back, so I take this as an indication that Denis teaches karate somewhere close to the location. If I had to choose my favorite character in Kárate a muerte, then it would have to be Denis portraying a mercenary, karate master named “Chuk Lee,” who is hired by the mayor of Torremolinos to stop the mayhem. Yes, he ultimately fails, but it is an entertaining failure. Denis is very good at karate and he’s dead serious when performing. I’m certain that he’s in on the joke, but that’s incidental. Denis’s performance and contribution, like all of Kárate a muerte, is perfect camp humor: never too self-aware, always straight, and when necessary, absolutely dead serious. Paul Lapidus, as Dr. Malvedades, also deserves mention. Temboury and Pablo Álvarez Almagro, screenwriters, give Lapidus the best dialogue in the film. No cinematic evil genius deserves this much ripe material. (The English subtitles are well-done.) Like all diabolical and evil masterminds, Dr. Malvedades has to relate his plan to everyone that he meets, and he is having a wonderful time doing so. He even has a copy of the Necronomicon (which is interesting that he owns it, as it appears non-essential to his plan.). His nemesis, named “Dr. Orloff,” played by Temboury, has a wonderful late-nite occult television show. I could watch this show over and over. When Dr. Orloff is finally recruited by the mayor after the failure of Chuk Lee, Dr. Orloff plans on using toys. Like plastic swords and dry-erase boards, I bullshit you not. While all of the characters have a glimpse in their eyes that this man is going to combat the ultimate evil with toys, none makes any mention. The only complaint that I can make about Kárate a muerte en Torremolinos is the opening credit sequence is too long, but it appears as if the collaborators put a lot of time into making it look spiffy. The entire film runs less than eighty minutes, and I could have watched a film twice as long. The film is low-budget, has a rubber-suited monster causing havoc on the beach, martians appearing out of nowhere, and a tremendous amount of heart. As much entertainment as Kárate a muerte en Torremolinos has provided me, it’s earned the tag: brilliant, phenomenal, amazing. I purchased the Region 2 disc here.

Jess Franco's Christina, princesse de l'erotisme (1973)

Christina (Christina von Blanc) arrives at a small coastal village from a boarding school in London to attend the will reading of her late father (whom she has never met and only seen in photos sent to her by her aunt and uncle). At the village inn, she is met by Basilio (Franco) who escorts her to the family villa where she meets Uncle Howard (Howard Vernon), Aunt Abigail (Rosa Palomar), and lovely Carmence (Britt Nichols). Despite some eccentric behavior from villa's "open" inhabitants, they are kind people towards Christina as she is welcomed. Following breakfast the following morning, Christina strolls the villa's grounds and meets a young man. Christina invites the young man inside the villa, and he is shooed away by Uncle Howard. The young man believed the villa was empty and always avoided it. In fact, Christina was told no one was living in the villa upon her arrival in the coastal town at the inn but she disputes the fact--her whole family lives there. She has been receiving letters.

Jess Franco's quiet and poetic Christina, princesse de l'erotisme (1973) is notable for its "closed" characters at the villa, Linda (Linda Hastreiter), Anne Libert's character, a queen, and Paul Muller's character and for its final act. However, before describing Christina for what it is, here is a look at what it is not (or what others tried to make it), from Obsession: The Films of Jess Franco:

One [of] the most widely distributed of Franco's films, "Christina queen of sex" is also one of the most worked-over of his films. Originally a a nouvelle vague style horror film, it was first presented at Cannes Film Festival. When Robert de Nesle's Comptoir du Film Francais released it theatrically three years later, soft core inserts for the X market had been added [note: the Obsession authors date this film as 1971]. Of course, the new footage badly distorted Franco's original concept. Worse was still to come... In the early eighties Eurocine bought back the original copyright and hired director Jean Rollin to shoot several zombie scenes to replace the softcore footage. This version, which better fitted the sales title, Virgin Among the Living Dead, is the one now available on video in the U.S. and some European countries. An Italian distributor even released the film in an edited version mixing in one of Jean Rollin's vampire films as Exorcismo per una Vergine (the poster showed a drawing of Vincent Price in Diary of a Madman!).

Image Entertainment, thankfully, released a region-one DVD of Christina under the title, A Virgin Among the Living Dead (the Amazon link also interestingly credits actors who do not appear in this version, such as Arno who was cast for De Nesle's erotic inserts (Obsession)). The version on Image's DVD appears to be Franco's original cut, as there is an absence of scenes as described above. Included are thirteen minutes of deleted scenes as an extra, most of which are obviously Rollin's work. This image is quintessential Rollin:De Nesle added sex to a Franco film, and Rollin added zombie footage, like corpses rising from the ground, in the eighties (did any influential zombie films appear after 1973?). Another interesting note, Christina's French-language credits from the Image DVD credit the film's composer and conductor, the legendary Bruno Nicolai, as having one other credit: special effects. According to Nicolai's IMDb entry, Nicolai has one hundred and nineteen "Musical Department" credits, ninety-five "Composer" credits, and one credit for "Special Effects" with Christina. Why not? His music for Christina is signature Nicolai, haunting and beautiful. Franco writes the character Christina as innocent and sheltered and von Blanc plays her that way, wide-eyed and curious. Christina's character bridges the "open" characters and the "closed" characters who populate the narrative. The "open" figures, such as Vernon's Howard, Franco's Basilio, and Nichols's Carmence, are eccentric but superficially harmless. These characters have darker sides but walk openly in the villa and with Christina. The "closed" characters of the narrative, such as Libert's and Muller's characters, hide in the shadows of the villa with little interaction with Christina (until the final act). These characters are very dark. One of the images that Franco repeats within Christina is this one of Christina ascending the stairs:There is also a small chapel on the villa's grounds, and it perhaps houses the darkest secret within Christina and also represents the films strongest theme: supposedly, according to an elderly man who has been perpetually waiting for the chapel to open, one may receive a special blessing from a Saint within. The chapel is not open to him. Christina does not enter the chapel but the villa is open to her: "open" and "closed," light and shadows, blessings and curses. A personal favorite in Franco's filmography.

Jess Franco's Sinner (1972)

"'If there is any message in my films,' says Franco, 'it's about the distance between people,' and Sinner is a field trip into seventies' alienation." (from Immoral Tales: European Sex and Horror Movies 1956-1984 by Cathal Tohill and Pete Tombs, St. Martin's Griffin Press, New York, 1995.)I've encountered quite a diversity of opinions in my research on Jess Franco's Sinner (1972). The authors of Obsession: The Films of Jess Franco write:

Drug movies were popular in America in the early 70s, but this attempt to adapt to the trend didn't hit its target and is no more than a tedious sexploiter. While The Trip and such like are still fun to watch for their hordes of hippies in bell-bottom pants their "hallucination" scenes, "Diary of a nymphomaniac" only had a few hippies dancing in a nightclub and a drug delirium scene in which Kali Hansa endlessly rolls on the floor to a stoned score. The real purpose of the film was a sort of disguised pleading for sexual liberation (totally out of date by today's standards)...It is hard to guess whether he [Franco?] really cared about his subject when one analyses the sterotyped situations and the obsessive voyeuristic angle of the camera. It is also worth remembering that this was made in 1972, one of Franco's most prolific years, in which he made at least nine films.

The authors of Immoral Tales write:

Sinner is one of those strange creations you can only find in the bargain basement of cinema. In lesser hands it would have no discernible style, no garish intonations to take it outside the usual cheap sex film limitations. If the film works, it's because it straddles a stack of opposites. On the one hand it's phony and kitsch. On the other it's heartfelt and serious. Like many of Franco's best films it oscillates, refusing to be tied down to categories, forming a riddle that attracts some and repulses others.

Despite its extremely low budget, Sinner is one of Franco's most even productions; it doesn't plunge from the heights of heady fantasy to the depths of sloppily lensed realism.

Finally, the authors of Bizarre Sinema: Jess Franco El Sexo del Horror write:

Without being discouraged by his new flop [Los ojos del Dr. Orloff (1972)], Franco went back to work with [Robert] de Nesle: after having confirmed Prous and Hansa and "dusting off" Libert and Vernon, he shot two French produced back-to-back movies in Alicante, Le journal intime d'une nymphomane (1972) and Les ebranlees (1972). Two examples of the purest soft-core genre, their final outcome is, curiously, antithetical. The first one is a big detective-erotic melodrama, whose complex and very interesting plot--inspired by the narrative structure of Citizen Kane (1940) by Welles and to the The Killers (1945) by Sidomak, incorporating (yet again!) several sadeian overtones--also features Montserrat Prous' best interpretation (sometimes sensual, sometimes sweet, yet always effective) and a memorable ostentation of scabrous sex on the part of Kali Hansa, confirming her bent for lesbianism, already hinted at in her roles for Manacoa...

While all three pieces of criticism have merit, I find the criticism by the Immoral Tales authors the most persuasive. Perhaps Franco's statement quoted above says more than all (it's context completely unknown to me). Sinner is both totally unreal and real.

Linda (Montserrat Prous) comes from the country to the big city where at a carnival, with her suitcase in hand, she meets an older gentleman who rapes her on the ferris wheel. Linda gets a job with a laundry delivery service and while making her rounds she spies one of her customers, the Countess Anna De Monterey (Anne Libert) having sex with a suitor. The Countess is either curious or taken with young Linda and houses her, eventually having a romantic relationship with her. Eventually, Linda opens up socially and begins a relationship with a man and also with nightclub dancer, Maria (Kali Hansa). Her relationship with Maria causes a rift with her and the Countess, and Linda leaves the Countess's villa. With Maria, Linda gets a fast-track course on both sex and drugs. Linda is eventually arrested and released. A doctor (Howard Vernon) doesn't think Linda is a drug addict and can recover, so he houses her in order to give her treatment. Like all of Linda's relationships within Sinner, it ends badly. The opening sequence of the film is Linda's last day.

While the English-language title is more sensational, perhaps the French title, Le journal intime d'une nymphomane is slightly more appropriate, as it hints towards both the film's narrative structure and perhaps a deeper psychology working within the film. I have little to no formal training in sociology and psychology and the like, so I will not be speculating as to the film's genuineness towards its depiction of Linda's life. However, a meticulous detail is given to Linda's relationships within Sinner, and they are focal. The narrative structure is a mystery through the eyes of Rosa Ortiz (Jacqueline Laurent) and revealing who she is would be a serious spoiler. However, the story moves backwards through Rosa's discovery through her meeting with the police, with the Countess, and eventually with Maria who holds Linda's diary where her secrets are held.

Despite any psychological underpinnings and attempts at social realism, Franco creates images, and Sinner is Franco mixing the subjective and the objective shot: what is real and not real flickers with the frame, so whatever is shown is totally unreliable from a narrative standpoint in terms of visual storytelling. For example, the visual rendition of Linda's trip to the carnival, where she meets the older gentleman who rapes her, is far from sensitive. Prous's Linda is dressed like a literal doll at a child's tea party with pigtails and a short dress with frills and bobby socks (intimating that wherever she came from into the city was off of the pages of a fairy tale book rather than an actual place). The creepy older gentleman buys her pink cotton candy, and Linda, childlike, takes in the carnival atmosphere. Perhaps this is Franco rendering Linda's point-of-view, childlike and innocent for the viewer. The sequence is shot like a dream with wide angles and swooping zooms and disorienting editing.

The opening sequence of Sinner is perhaps the most "objective" since its quintessential Franco: a nightclub scene with a sex floor show with every one's eyes (including the viewer) glued to the action. Linda's first appearance is here (as is also Maria's) and when the viewer first sees her, she looks as sophisticated as her surroundings. What she begins to do and how she operates are revealed in this opening sequence as extremely meticulous and thought out--a plan perfectly executed.

Then the viewer gets to meet the storytellers within Sinner: Libert's Countess, Hansa's Maria, and even Linda, herself, through her diary. It is really only after a second viewing of Sinner do their motives become more obvious (as each is revealed to be extremely self-absorbed); and what each tells to Rosa reflects more about them than anyone. So what about poor Linda? I think that's Franco's point (emphasizing more so his quote at the beginning of this entry). There are scenes which feel very real, especially Linda's scenes with Maria. Then there are other scenes which feel too tabloid and sensational to be taken seriously. That's just Franco I suppose being playful (and sometimes playfully profound) with the sensitive and the sensational, creating another Franco experience.