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
clichés – 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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