Film Reviews by NP

I don’t know why I find it comforting that there are many giallo films, especially from the early 1970’s, but I do. Those I have seen are consistently well made and well told, competently acted (compromised often by occasionally poor dubbing into English) and never less than interesting. They follow a similar pattern – often there is a black-gloved/masked killer and several nubile young women in jeopardy. The male heroes often appear to compete with them in the beauty stakes. Here, the meticulously styled Gregory Moore (Jean Sorel) is the main man here, but he is upstaged regularly by the wonderful Barbara Bach as his girlfriend Mira (“You’re adorable,” he tells her at one stage, and I can only agree). She is particularly striking in her final scenes.

The main difference between this and others of its genre is when we first meet Moore, he appears to be dead. We return to his unblinking, unmoving body at various stages of the story as it is prepared at the mortuary – the shocker is that Moore still appears to think and to reason. Quite how this has come about and continues, is a mystery throughout; luckily for us all, the film is mainly told in flashback, and it deals with the lead-up to Moore’s apparent incarceration and the disappearance of Mira.

Giallos are often leisurely paced, at least initially, and this is certainly no exception – in fact there are no glimpses of any answers for a lot of the running time, which often makes the viewing annoyingly opaque.

When they come, the revelations are particularly harrowing and exciting, and things race to a head in a wincingly powerful way. And then, at this peak, the end credits scroll down; it is over. It is a frustratingly sharp finale, but expertly handled, the finale brings things to an end in a way you may not forget in a hurry.

… in which prolific Spanish Director Jess Franco gets his hands on what had become something of a franchise, with three previously released films meeting with some success. Also known as ‘Fu Manchu and the Kiss of Death’, ‘Kiss of Death’, ‘Kiss and Kill’ and ‘Against All Odds’, this is either the fourth in the Fu Manchu series, or ‘just another Franco film’, depending on your point of view.

Franco is an odd choice of director for this – his style thus far (and increasingly throughout the 1970s) was far from that of a straightforward horror/adventure auteur. Personally, Fu Manchu’s appeal has mostly escaped me, although I found the perverse relationship between Fu and his daughter Fah Lo See (Myrna Loy) very interesting in 1932’s Boris Karloff-headed ‘Mask of Fu Manchu’. Other than that, he’s always seemed a pretty one dimensional villain pursued by a dull British nemesis.

As that nemesis, Richard Greene here plays Nayland Smith with applicable stoic decency and blandness, until he quickly succumbs to Fu’s latest machinations: a pretty young woman has been sent to him infused with poison from a venomous snake. Once kissed, Smith – along with ‘nine other of Fu’s greatest enemies’ – goes blind, and subsequently, it is hoped, will die. Due to Fu’s ‘genius’, the women are not infected by the poison and are simply carriers.

While Christopher Lee is imperious and crisply spoken as Fu Manchu, Tsai Chin as daughter Lin Tang is rather more interesting. Her perverse delight in torture – something you would expect Franco to exploit – is too briefly featured, as is she, which is a shame. Instead we get many long scenes full of characters who have nothing to do with the ongoing plot - bandits, jungle attacks etc. Interest begins to wane.

Actress (and 60s sex symbol) Shirley Eaton pops up for two minutes as ‘The Black Widow’. The scene was spliced in from another film. Shirley not only claims she was not paid for this, but didn’t even know of her inclusion for years.

Christopher Lee and Tsai Chin are effective in under-used roles, indeed they are the highlights here (although Howard Marion-Crawford is good fun as Dr. Petrie). The story is uneven, the pacing very laboured and thrills few and far between. I love many films from Jess Franco, but his style is wholly wrong for this kind of adventure, I think. 94 minutes has rarely seemed so long.

Describing a Jess Franco directed film as a curio is like describing the sky as ‘a bit blue’. ‘Nightmares Come at Night’ – not one of the greatest titles – is either a hypnotic and sensual journey, or barely comprehensible, badly shot, softcore porn.

Susan Korda, or Soledad Miranda as she is better known, plays the air-headed girlfriend of ‘the neighbour’ in very brief scenes that don’t do her justice. Diana Lorys plays Anna de Istria, who is being driven out of her mind, or so it seems. Her friend Cynthia (Colette Giacobine) may or may not have something to do with this. The always brilliant Paul Muller plays Dr. Lucas, again pretty under-used. As the story goes, that is pretty much it – not that intricate plot contrivances usually bothered Franco too much.

The rest is much as expected – a fine, jazzy musical soundtrack, lots of swooping cameras and ‘deliberately’ blurred scenes, extravagantly made-up women and shifty men. It doesn’t, however, add anything new, horrific, or particularly interesting and so the attention tends to drift more than once before some answers are finally revealed at the end.

Perfunctory by Jess Franco’s standards. Not unenjoyable, but not very engaging either.

Howard Vernon, dapper and hidden in shadows for his first few appearances, abducts silly young ladies in order to transplant their faces onto that of his scarred daughter. Vernon began his long association with Spanish Director Jess Franco with this film, often starring as main characters in often low-budget European horrors after a career playing mainly playing ‘gangsters and heavies’. As his billing in mainstream films got lower and lower, his star rose under Franco. Vernon is excellent in this, as he is in all Franco’s films – an underrated actor often starring in underrated productions.

He plays Orlof, a villain with a smattering of sympathy and a henchman called Morpho (Ricardo Valle). The practicalities of employing a totally blind assistant must be limited – Morpho’s scarred, boggle-eyed make-up is not dissimilar from that of the titular monsters in Franco’s ‘Oasis of the Zombies’ twenty years later. The name Morpho would be given to many villainous underlings in future projects.

Inspector, Tanner (Conrado San Martín), finds his time divided between this gruesome case and his new fiancée Wanda (who on occasion, bears a resemblance to Yvonne Monlaur’s character from Hammer’s 1960 hit, ‘Brides of Dracula’ – a film that inspired Franco to pursue a horror film career). Imagine if Orlof decides that she should be his latest victim!

Taking cues from ‘Frankenstein’, ‘Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde’ and especially the French classic ‘Eyes Without a Face (1960)’ – there’s even a black cat thrown in for good measure - this is reputedly Spain’s first horror film. It is a chiaroscuro triumph, striking in black and white, almost film noir. Directed with assurance and almost completely lacking Franco’s predilection for camera zooms, ‘The Awful Dr. Orlof’ is the film that put Franco on the map – and deservedly so. Otherwise known as ‘Screams in the Night’/’L'Horrible Docteur Orloff’, there are few signs of his future in cut-price ‘exploitation’ that would become his trademarks. An entirely respectable, well played, good looking and confidently produced horror, it ticks all the right boxes and a few more besides.

Of course, you wouldn’t expect this Jess Franco directed film to have a simple history. After rejecting the earlier ‘Zombie Lake (1981)’ (which was handed to the masterly Jean Rollin) for reasons unknown, Franco helmed this under the pseudonym AM Frank, and produced Spanish and French versions. The film has been released under several titles – ‘L'Abîme des Morts-Vivants’, ‘The Abyss of the Living Dead’, ‘Bloodsucking Nazi Zombies’, ‘El desierto de los zombies’, ‘The Grave of the Living Dead’, and ‘The Treasure of the Living Dead’.

The zombies themselves are seldom seen, and when they are, they are often viewed from behind. Their faces, featured mainly in close-ups, are impressively embroidered with convincingly rotting flesh, popping eyeballs, the occasional wriggling worm and mummified, slack open jaws.

The story – as I understand it - involves Robert (Manuel Gélin) telling, in a lengthy flashback liberally interspersed with footage from higher budgeted films, how a squadron carrying a shipment of Nazi gold is ambushed across the African desert. Robert is telling his story to bounty hunter Kurt (Henri Lambert), who then kills him. Robert’s son then vows to locate the treasure, but his expedition finds that a group of Nazi zombies are guarding it.

Meeting with a generally negative reception, the lack of Franco’s best friends sex and gore (for the most part) helps to make ‘Oasis of the Zombies’ a fairly dull affair. The cadaverous antagonists are not featured often enough, and the other characters are by and large, negligible. There are, however, some incredibly picturesque locations, and full advantage is made of them. Scenes of zombies shuffling around the dunes of a desert environment, sometimes very effectively in silhouette, look great.

The ending, as is the case with quite a few Franco films, is so abrupt that it comes from nowhere. Such is the slowness of the film (not always a bad thing, and here conjurs up some occasionally hypnotising moments) hardly commands rapt attention, and ‘The End’ credit is suddenly there, a deeply inauspicious end to a film I nevertheless quite enjoyed, given its flaws. Mind you, I enjoy ‘Zombie Lake’ too!

Sometimes, watching a film by Spanish Director Jess Franco only covers half the experience. The other half is in tracking down the definitive version of the film, or even working out which the definitive version actually is. ‘Demoniac’ seems to be the name given to the dubbed version of X-rated ‘Sexorcismes (1975)’, and/or ‘El sádico de Notre-Dame (1979)’, which was expanded to give, as Franco puts it, ‘greater character motivation’. Possibly then, this is the original version, before additional footage was added.

Lina Romay, nearly naked, star-shaped and chained to a rack, is being tortured by a similarly clad female. In a favourite Franco trick, her indignities are revealed as being part of a show. When it’s over, an audience applauds politely. By day, she’s Anna, secretary to Raymond (Pierre Taylou) at ‘Garter and Dagger’ magazine (together they stage sadomasochistic shows in a sleazy Parisian underworld). An occasional contributor to the publication is Mathis Vogel played by Franco. He is not a convincing actor. His decision to cast himself in many of his films is odd (although the characters he plays often interact with a bevy of half-naked females, which may well explain the choice). There are many things to enjoy about ‘Demoniac’ – most of them provided by Romay who doesn’t remain troubled by clothing for any length of time.

Vogel is a defrocked Priest who also secretly tortures nude females in a nearby rented room. The ‘justification’ is, he is unhinged enough to convince himself he is ‘purifying’ these people, taking his victims from such rituals as the one that opened the story, believing them to be genuine black mass events. One couple is visited in their hotel directly after a protracted orgy scene, where the elderly husband is remonstrating with his young wife for enjoying herself too much. When she replies that anything else would be a bore, he replies, “I just don’t like looking ridiculous,” which must surely be irony, as he is sporting the most appalling silvery white wig.

This is far from my favourite Franco film, but like them all, it has merits. The camera-work is often ham-fisted, swooping in on …. nothing, and then pulling back again. There’s no sense of drama or pace, and Franco injects no character into Vogel, so his motivation seems arbitrary. “I am the sword of the Lord,” indeed! However, the sleazy underworld of a murky Paris is nicely conveyed, and those who enjoy the hirsute pleasures of 1970’s pornography have plenty to enjoy here. However, the final light-hearted lines of banter between the cops at the end, seem to have been drafted in from another film.

‘Eugenie’ is also known as ‘Marquis de Sade's 'Philosophy in the Boudoir’' and ‘De Sade 70’. Based on the perversion of de Marquis de Sade, directed by Jess Franco and guest starring Christopher Lee, ‘Eugenie’ has to be a horror film. Doesn’t it?

Few were more surprised at the film’s content than Lee himself, who had agreed to record a number of brief scenes as Dolmance, ostensibly a narrator of events. When viewing ‘Eugenie’, he found that scenes filmed after he had left the set were more explicit than he was lead to believe. Rather than being affronted, he seemed quite philosophical and even amused in subsequent interviews. Immaculate in a velvet smoking jacket (worn in his Sherlock Holmes outings), he wrings every last drop of enunciation from the words he is reading.

20 year-old star Marie Liljedahl (playing 15 year-old Eugenie) was uncomfortable filming some of the more extreme scenes, although this isn’t noticeable from her performance. Perfectly exuding a kind of naïve sensuality, of someone desperate to grow up but not sure how to, she is immersed slowly into a world of sex and cruelty and is convincing throughout (one of the most interpretative scenes involves her wandering, skimpily dressed, into a room full of danger – and a hanging corpse – whilst clutching a child’s doll for comfort). In fact, all the cast are exemplary – regulars Jack Taylor and Maria Rohm in particular, never seem to turn in less than impressive performances.

The film contains various horrific moments and eventually emerges as a true horror story - Eugenie’s plight is distasteful and awful indeed (we are treated once again to the dubbing of the sound of hollow wind over scenes of scorching sunlight to indicate – quite effectively – the remoteness of the location). Rather than being the cut-price skin-flick one might expect, this is actually very evocatively filmed by Franco, suggesting more time (and possibly budget) available than usual, to do justice to his ‘vision’. It looks sumptuous, possibly due to the involvement of Producer Harry Alan Towers, who by this time had skipped bail for charges involving operating a vice ring, but still pursued a long-running career in films.

Convincing an audience that a cuddly, furry ginger cat is any kind of arbiter of doom was never going to be easy, but ‘Seven Deaths’ makes a good, er, stab at it.

Jane Birkin plays Corringa, who we first see returning to her family home: a splendid, gothic castle in the highlands of Scotland. Here, she is reunited with her neurotic mother, salacious uncle, and petulant cousin. And a wandering orangutan.

Serge Gainsberg, 41, and Birkin, 23 collaborated in 1969 on the controversial hit single ‘Je t'aime... moi non plus’ (originally written for and sung with Brigitte Bardot). Here, Serge briefly plays the Police Inspector; it is strange to see him dubbed with a think Scottish accent. For an Italian film set in a small Scottish village, however, results could have been far less convincing. This leads me to continue my belief that as a genre, giallo films are consistently well made. Having said that, this is somewhat less satisfying than others I have seen.

The ape seems merely a reference to Edgar Allen Poe, as is the idea of a cat somehow orchestrating/influencing dark events. Both animal-related concepts pretty much disappear some way into the story anyway.

The ending is also reliant on the unasked villain gloating and explaining the plot, and his part in it, which is something these kind of films don’t often feel the need to resort to.

Sean Bridgers plays Chris Cleek as the antithesis of smug. Head of a family of acquiescent children and a particularly spiritless wife Belle (the always excellent Angela Bettis), he happens upon a wild woman (Pollyanna McIntosh, who would be so good in 2014’s ‘White Settlers’), half-naked, hunting fish in the wilderness. With typical arrogance, he announces he is going to capture her, keep her chained up in the shed and ‘civilise’ her. Happily, one of the first things she does is bite off his finger, for which he punishes her.

Cleek clearly considers his prisoner something he has the right to exercise control over, to demand obedience, on which to stamp his authority. He introduces the family to his conquest, whom he describes as a ‘project’, and decides it is their shared responsibility to ‘help’ her. ‘We can’t have people running around the woods thinking they are animals; it isn’t right,’ he states with authority, and by this time my detestation of this monstrously presumptuous, ‘civilised’ man is huge. Belle questions the wisdom of what he is doing, and he gives her a slap, which she receives with no emotion.

Watching this film is an intense experience. I wouldn’t imagine Director Lucky McKee is making a point as mundane as the untamed woman is more civilised than her ‘acceptable’ captors: as events move on and her humiliation worsens, we see echoes of daddy Chris’s dysfunctional behaviour in his children: his family is a fragile unit. The eldest son Bryan (Zach Rand) sneaks out of the house one night to spy Daddy having sex with the bound woman, and this, he feels, gives him the right to sneak in later and torture her. When eldest daughter Peggy Cleek (Lauren Ashley Carter) is visited at home by her concerned teacher, her unconscious mother is being lifted out of the kitchen after Chris’s latest physical assault. The Woman is incidental to the family’s apparent psychosis, just an additional release for it.

Warnings notwithstanding, I won’t spoiler any more of this. Suffice it to say that events in general, and Daddy’s behaviour in particular, rapidly hit several new layers of depravity to such an extent that merely labelling Chris Cleek as obscene becomes inconsequential, the film itself reaches stages of repellence that straddles brilliance and absurdity. Although the ending brings with it a conclusion of sorts, there are several questions pleasingly unanswered, and a post end-credits sequence that can most conservatively be labelled ‘bizarre’.

Recommended, but finish your dinner first.

Adding to the incredible amount of horror films released during the first few years of the 1970’s, this giallo features Anthony Steffen as Lord Alan Cunningham, who spends the early part of this looking distraught whilst sporting the most magnificent clothes (my genuine favourite is velvety suede burgundy suit). The death of his wife Evelyn had lead to a breakdown for the Lord, and subsequent incarceration at a mental institution. Now the aristocrat is intent on luring other eager young red-heads to his expansive, crumbling mansion (his chat-up method includes grabbing them by the hair to check whether or not they are wearing a wig) for his own fetishistic games, often including the wearing of exotic thigh-length leather boots.

It’s all a little ponderous for the most part. One girl follows the pattern of seduction and murder, and then the plot moves onto exactly the same scenario for the next. Only when he marries Gladys (Marina Malfatti) do things become less repetitive. Cunningham’s homes and grounds (the film is set in England) is a jaw-dropping location. Alan fears his mental problems may be returning when he begins to see visions of his dead wife. His cousin Farley (Umberto Raho) reveals Alan was convinced Evelyn had a lover prior to her death.

As Alan once again deteriorates, deaths begin to occur (including a briefly gory incident featuring foxes nibbling on various innards)

This is a solid, a rather than spectacular, giallo film with lots of well-constructed twists (especially the final one). Occasionally, the villainy verges on pantomime levels of subtlety.

Apparently there are several versions of this Jess Franco directed project. This appears to be the French version, dubbed into English, and featuring ‘The Living Dead Girl’ herself, Françoise Blanchard (as Melissa). Amidst the candle-lit wailings, darkened, crumbling passages and overwhelming architecture are Franco veterans Lina Romay (the housekeeper, Maria) and Howard Vernon (Eric Vladimir Usher).

Whilst clearly out of the hands of Franco, it has to be noted the dubbing for this is pretty appalling. Whether the voice artists are actors at all, is debatable – the exception is Usher’s voice-over, which sounds like an impression of James Mason.

The story, twisting and meandering and far too thin, involves Doctor Alan Harker (echoes of Dracula? There is also a Doctor Seward, who has in times gone by – played by a different actor – featured with Dracula, Frankenstein’s Monster and fleetingly, a werewolf under Franco’s direction) who visits the house/castle of his former Professor Usher. Usher is clearly insane and looked after by his housekeeper. His daughter (Blanchard) died years before, but can apparently be reanimated by the blood of prostitutes, who are kept imprisoned within the castle.

Despite the effective (and beautifully shot) locale, this is clearly one of the less budgeted Franco productions. Whether an artistic decision or a financial one, there is a lot of stock-footage from the earlier, far more acclaimed ‘The Awful Doctor Orloff (1962)’. There is far too much of this, although these flashbacks are far superior to the film they are supporting. Although it features a younger Vernon as Orloff/Usher, the actress playing Melissa is noticeably different. The story of Orloff has been changed to fit the narrative of ‘Revenge in the House of Usher.’

When this was released, audiences weren’t as privy to recordings of earlier films as we are these days, so the use of such footage is possibly justified. Seen now though, it seems like a way of backing up a weak story and padding out the running time. As a result, this is a patchwork affair. It isn’t, as has been suggested, Franco’s worst production – the locations alone are incredibly atmospheric and really promotes Usher’s magnificent isolation, as does the minimalist soundtrack. And yet whilst saturating the viewer in its macabre mood-scapes, it remains an often ponderous exercise, with Franco’s two trademarks – sex and gore – almost entirely absent.

Cocky, invasive, sex-pest photographer Carlo (Nino Castelnuovo) has no problem stripping nude empty-headed attention seeking poser Lucia (Femi Benussi) under the pretence of an ‘in depth’ interview. Her first words to him are, “That thing’s making me nervous, put it away.” Luckily, she’s talking about his camera.

Not untypically for a giallo film, the main characters are dislikeable, before the forthcoming perils they face gradually earn them the sympathy, even empathy, of the viewer. And as the title of this film hints, there is much pale flesh on display. Equally, the soundtrack is dreamily excellent (except for what sounds like the flapping of a plastic ruler foreshadowing the next murder).

The most appealing character is probably Magda, who is played by Edwidge Fenech. Fenech had proven so effective in what was effectively a vehicle for her, ‘The Strange Vice of Mrs Wardh (1971)’. Initially, her role here seems a minor one, but grows as the story progresses.

This is a fairly regular giallo. Lots of twists, lots of red herrings and a fairly satisfying reveal. It is also more typical than most of early 1970’s styles, both in terms of fashion and our attitudes to one another. The lifestyle of the characters seems casually sadistic – and that’s just the ‘good guys.’ The past isn’t always rosy!

Is ‘Eugenie de Sade’ simply an excuse for Spanish Director Jess Franco to film as many shots of Soledad Miranda’s semi-naked body as possible? What do you reckon? Did he even need an excuse? Whether curled up in front of the fire, walking through the snow in a large hat and leather coat or sprawled out on the bed, Miranda (who plays Eugenie) is a true presence. Not just because she is stunningly beautiful. She exudes more than that. The fashions from Franco’s projects from this period (or many projects from this period) often strip anyone of dignity or appeal, but Soledad somehow rises above the red leather boots and the outsized shades etc, remaining captivating throughout. And mainly, as is proved here several times, she was a terrific, uninhibited actress.

Here Eugenie recounts the film’s story whilst lying broken in a hospital bed – horribly pertinent since Soledad was dead by the time of the film’s release. She relays her story to writer Atilla Tanner (Franco), who wishes to write a book about her father Albert’s life. He shadows her throughout the story, not condoning nor condemning her actions.

Albert Radeck de Fanvel (Paul Muller) is a writer of erotic books – when his daughter discovers one, it opens her mind to a new world of desire, and this is centred upon her father. They agree to go on a murdering spree, with Albert taking pictures whilst Eugenie commits the atrocities.

One such moment involves inviting a blonde Austrian hitch-hiker back to the family home, where a drunken evening brings on a selection of increasingly uncomfortable ‘games’. There is a definite sense of dread, because we are sure the girl will be murdered – but what form it will take isn’t revealed for a while, until things have become progressively perverse. All of this fuels their desire for one another.

This is rare for Franco in that the intended ‘eurotica’ is actually erotic. No ham-fisted fumblings here with the camera trying to keep up with things. When one of their victims is young, male and handsome (Paul, played by André Montchal), the inevitable happens, and Eugenie falls for him. Dad, who killed his wife for her unfaithfulness, is not happy.

One thing that separates this from many Franco films that are usually bathed in searing sunshine and exotic locales, is that this is set during the winter, and a pretty heavy one at that. It adds an extra element to the bleak unreachable debauchery of the father and daughter’s murderous escapades in what is often a three-hander: Miranda, Muller and Franco.

Only the ending lets things down a little. Low-key is one way of putting it. Like other such films, it doesn’t end, it just sort of stops, with (in this case) Franco as the last performer we see – and for all his skills as a director, his acting pales in comparison to everyone else on screen. A beautiful film, though, and probably the best showcase of Soledad Miranda’s talent.

This is a jazz-tastic, psychedelic Jess Franco film starring Stephanie Powers-alike Janine Reynaud as nightclub stripper and kinky ‘adult actress’ Lorna Green. The story begins focussing on her and doesn’t let up until the end. Franco centres on the statuesque former model in virtually every shot.

Like many such films, the specifics of the story are open to interpretation. To me, Lorna is either drifting into some mental abnormality, possibly as a result of her extreme lifestyle, or in fact is becoming under the influence of some demonic possession. She drifts in an out of reality and fantasy, and the audience is given no clue as to what is real and what is not. She is a sensuous, dangerous conflict of heady emotions, that girl!

Franco stalwart Howard Vernon (credited as Varnon) only features briefly in this maelstrom of exotic imagery. He has one fairly major scene, seducing the lovely Lorna, before being stabbed in the eye! The character of Pierce (Michel Lemoine) seems to exert some control over her. Some reviewers have speculated that he may be Satan, which is a possibility. In this, anything’s a possibility! It isn’t so much that it is incomprehensible, it’s more that Franco seems more concerned with communicating a series of images of unease, of psychedelic delirium, than anything that conforms to the limitations of linear story-telling. In that way, it succeeds.

‘Succubus’ was a financial success upon its release, despite having difficulties behind the scenes (one of the backers reneged on the project. Producer Pier A. Caminnecci agreed to finance the project, and pretty soon embarked on an affair with Reynaud).

This is the slickest Jess Franco film I have seen. In fact, the difference in production values between this and something like ‘Dracula Contra Frankenstein’ is so staggering, they seem like the work of two different directors. The actors, including a wild-eyed Klaus Kinski and a shifty-looking Dennis Price, look immaculate. Only the over-used footage of the Rio carnival betrays the less shiny quality of its spliced-in origins.

James Darren plays Jimmy Logan, a jazz musician who becomes obsessed with beautiful Wanda (Maria Rohm), whom he finds dead on a beach in Istanbul (this scene opens the film, with swathes of backstory told in flashback, narrated in film noir-ish style by Darren). We are then treated to a swirling, delirious cocktail of sex and horror intrigue, often threaded through with the image of a girl in furs who looks like a mannequin – there is one lengthy scene where she appears to seduce, torture and kill Price’s Percival Kapp whilst alternating between dream and reality. It is very weird, intoxicating and even more impressive because the fantasy is played without any dialogue.

One of my favourite characters here is the least complex. Rita (Barbara McNair) makes no secret of the fact that she adores Jimmy in spite of his infatuation with Wanda. McNair’s expressions of forlorn longing and subsequent dejection when she realises she has lost her love, are powerful, and we are relieved for her when she finally musters up the sense to make a dignified exit. However, she literally has the last laugh, as it is Rita who sings out the title song over the end credits, full of life ad gusto, which is more than can be said for her ex.

For such a delirious, jazzy cocktail of a film, it is Franco’s restraint that makes it work so well. His trademark zoom-ins are here, but used sparingly, and only to enhance a mood. Filtered camera effects also abound, but only in tone with what is revealed to be going on. I enjoyed ‘Venus in Furs’ very much for its consistent storyline (the twist at the end doesn’t make much sense, alas) and atmosphere. I also very much enjoy Franco’s tatty, less acclaimed works for opposite reasons.