16 June 2016

Just Vamps 6!



Just Vamps 6!
by Kristin Battestella



Here we are on our sixth vampire viewing list – this time with a hungry helping of foreign, avante garde, and saucy little bloodsuckers to tempt your toothy grin.



Dracula's Widow – Red titles, neon signs, and late night storms set the Hollywood horror noir tone for this 1988 vamp moody from director Christopher Coppola (Deadfall) and starring Sylvia Krystel (Emmanuelle). Wax museum artifacts, rattling crates, and jar specimens add an old fashioned Gothic creepy while antiques, retro film reels, red spotlights, and colorful shadow schemes invoke period style. Musty books, horseshoe phones, swanky jazz, and classic cars are sweet, too – better than the dated hairstyles, shiny suits, and symbolic red splash screens inserted over the toothy bites. Krystel's forties femme suit and silky white shirt also mystically remain blood free despite claw-like webbed hands and bemusing gore. Camera irises, stockings, garters, and mid century hats do more for the noir update than the unnecessary bitter detective voiceover and cranky cop clich├ęs – bad dialogue and unfortunate scene chewing miss the attempted dark comedy mark. This movie is very specific on the eighties does forties hot minute, and while audiences from those eras will recognize the look, most viewers today will just end up confused by the seemingly mishmashed genres thanks to the uneven then-contemporary hip and devil worshiping punk gangs intruding on the otherwise careful noir design. Fortunately, there are some good moments here, a lot of the campy works, and the eighty-eight minutes moves fast with investigation clues and vampire research – complete with a crazy, feeble Van Helsing who still has enough amazing strength to stake some vampires in the morgue. Interesting Renfield transformations and conflicts accent boobs, rack torture, bathtub perils, rituals, and slice and dice montages so laughable they are actually kind of good. Despite seriously Saturday morning cartoons ridiculous flying bat graphics and hammy interference, the eighties visual schemes do make for a unique yuppie horror retro and late night suave to fulfill your unintentional vampire comedy needs.


Lips of Blood – French Director Jean Rollin gets right to the mausoleums, Winnebagoes, shrouded bodies, coffins, and rituals in this more upscale than his usual 1975 tale. A somber score, beautiful but spooky memories, and a mysterious woman in white are immediately eerie while a colorful, swanky party and retro fashions create drama and a sophisticated foundation. Blocked childhoods, an overprotective mother, and castle ruins maybe real or imagined add to the secret cemetery passages, hidden tunnels, and questions regarding perfume, scent, and memory. Naturally, there's nudity both male and female complete with a bonus photography session, seventies bush, and masturbation. However, the saucy isn't as rampant here, and this has a more put together story compared to Rollin's usually thin plotlines. Although there is a bit of walking around filler, blue street lights and a moonlight ambiance anchor the after hours aquarium pursuits with an abandoned about the city feeling – there's a dead body in the water fountain and The Shiver of the Vampires is playing at the late night movies, too. Mysterious men follow on the subway while bells, alarms, abductions, and straight jackets intensify the bats, toothy vampire nurses, and undead who help one and hinder or kill another. Phone the mayor the hungry, naked, vampire chicks are loose so gather the staking posse! Though rushed in the end, the unique finale is well edited with an interesting mix of doubt, mystery, character drama, and a sexy creepy. Who's the worse villain – entombed vamp ladies or the village torch mob? And who knew coffins would float so well? Did we know this?


The Shiver of the Vampires – Pall bearers and a black and white graveside set the 1971 Jean Rollin mood before colorful castle ruins, overgrown greenery, and edgy music both embrace the heady and keep the medieval flair with torches, goblets, and candelabras. Howling winds, red lighting, and askew camera angles accent torture chambers and sacrifices, creating a surreal dreamscape with saucy vamps in ye olde but tie dye dresses. The bride in white contrasts those mourning in black while gruesome skulls belie the cathedral architecture, canopy beds, and rustic yet cozy fireplaces. She's too distraught for the marital bed – but our bride strips downs when a hippie woman humorously pops out of the grandfather clock and they lez be friends no questions asked. Sheer clothing doesn't cover the perky naughty bits, so they need all those furs to keep those caressing ladies warm. That poor lonely groom gets left out in the cold! More camera panning, vampire opportunists stepping in and out of the frame, and overhead shots parallel the us versus them debates and whirlwind talk of undead religions and vampire persecutions. Although flashbacks add to the dreamy tone, they also confuse the wild library scene and talk of past crusades, former vampire slayers, and predestined deadly fates. But hey, killer nipple spikes! Yes, the premise is thin with strung together coming to and going fro or looking cool, meandering scenes. Rather than one vampire perspective or the young couple viewpoint, the focus constantly resets. Who's dead? Who's alive? Who's undead? Rival vampire hierarchies at first seem tempting, but twists and true colors ultimately show. Granted, you can say that if you've seen one Rolling vampire movie, you've seen them all. However, had there been seriously proper writing, The Nude Vampire, Shiver of the Vampires, and Requiem for a Vampire could have been a fine trilogy. Fortunately, the nicer production values keep this bizarre romp brimming with an avante garde but no less creepy atmosphere.


Tale of a Vampire – A delicious Julian Sands (Warlock, people, Warlock) leads this 1992 brooding character study brimming with “Annabel Lee” and Poe references to match the bleak back alleys, dark morgues, abandoned blue buildings, and dreary British mood. Despite the underlying urge to bite, predatory love, black cats, creepy vampire beds, and sucking on some bloody fingers, this isn't a gorefest thanks to multilayered social awkwardness, melancholy, loss, and conflict. This lovelorn vampire spends his time in the rare books section of a sweet old library – you use that card catalog! The plot is unfortunately very slow, the isolated characters have no sounding board, and confusing flashbacks of lookalike women and lost bliss don't explain much. The centuries ago golden patinas are well shot, however the uneven pacing and flawed constructs interfere with the storytelling. We should have seen the past to start, using that previous to accent the current torment and slightly unreal, demented fairy tale tone. Why is the audience more sad than creeped by this thirsty stalker? Fine performances carry the drama once the characters actually interact by quoting history and poets in insightful two-handers. “'Tis better to have loved and lost” and all that. Lighting and shadow schemes add to the mysterious rivals, for good love or ill pain possibilities, and strange seductions. Can it really be love if a vampire's idea of romance is to consume the life of his lover? It's oddly pleasing to see this kind of twisted vampire bite symbolism rather than teenage moon eyes, and this simmer builds to a fine finale with some interesting surprises. While not scary, the Gothic romanticism and Victorian waxing on forever and death not being the end of love provide a solid helping of morbid and memento mori.


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