Tag Archives: 1970

CAPSUE: NIGHTMARES COME AT NIGHT (1970)

Les Cauchemars Naissent la Nuit

DIRECTED BY: Jess Franco

FEATURING: , Colette Giacobine, ,

PLOT: An exotic dancer in a psychologically abusive lesbian relationship thinks she’s going insane when she has vivid recurring nightmares in which she kills people.

Still from ghtmares Come at Night (1970)

WHY IT WON’T MAKE THE LIST: The simmering erotic atmosphere of Nightmares is either tedious, or hypnotic, depending on your outlook; but either way, although there are some dreamy moments, it’s not good enough to make the List of the 366 Weirdest Movies on its merits, nor weird enough to warrant inclusion despite its flaws.

COMMENTS: It is bad enough to be constantly plagued by nightmares, but imagine—horrors!—if those nightmares were also directed by Jess Franco. They’d be poorly lit, out-of-focus, and go absolutely nowhere. This is the position poor Anna (voluptuous Diana Lorys) finds herself in. Not that her regular existence is vastly superior: even in her waking hours, she’s still trapped in a Jess Franco movie. Anna is in an unhealthy relationship with her Lady Svengali lesbian lover, Cynthia, who promises to make her a star but spends more time sleeping around and slapping her around than getting her gigs. Anna has nightmares where she kills men while birds fly around inside the house, then wakes up with actual blood on her hands. She thinks she’s going insane. She reveals her story to her psychiatrist in a long flashback that itself dissolves into more dream sequences. Whether its from intentional disorientation or merely sloppy scripting, the loopy storytelling of Nightmares does effectively create a situation where at times you aren’t sure whether the protagonist is dreaming, or whether what’s happening is supposed to be occurring in the present or in a flashback. Like a good bit of Franco’s oeuvre, Nightmares was made in a rush, and the movie frequently seems improvised. The short parts featuring cult actress Soledad Miranda were probably originally intended for a different film entirely (she watches the action from a window near Anna and Cynthia’s manor home and is never appears in the same frame as any of the principals). Franco’s directorial choices are frequently bizarre, and it’s often hard to locate the line between incompetence and experimentalism. For example, when Cynthia meets Anna for the first time, she proposes to make the stripper into a model: they carry on the conversation, but, because it is a flashback, Anna is simultaneously narrating the meeting in voiceover, recapping the conversation in real time as we listen to it. Later, while Anna and Cynthia are making love for the first time, Franco zooms in and out of focus seemingly at random, choosing to spend a lot of time on blurry closeups of the top of his actresses’ heads—it’s as if he’s suddenly handed the camera to a small child, or a monkey. At other times, his arty photography is more purposeful. When Anna and her psychiatrist talk in their car, he shoots the doctor from the side so his features appear normally, but films Anna head-on through a sunny windshield, so her visage is diffuse and otherworldly, as if she’s trapped in a separate reality. Nightmare‘s strangest sequence is, without a doubt, Anna’s narcotized, eight-minute striptease routine. She lies on a divan before a red backdrop next to a marble statue draped with white furs and very, very slowly removes her clothes while a tenor saxophonist plays Ornette Coleman licks over slightly out-of-tune piano chords (you know—strip club music). The strangely depraved atmosphere of this scene could believably have inspired ‘s “red room” sequences in “Twin Peaks,” although Lynch, of course, took that extra step of actually having things happen in his dream sequence. For an extra dollop of oddness, Franco announces this scene by having Anna explain that the cabaret owner had instructed her to “keep the audience’s attention for as long as possible with a strip that seemed to last forever.” In other words, not only is Franco padding his film, he’s brazenly rubbing his viewers’ noses in the fact that he’s padding the film. This slow-as-molasses, narratively confusing movie can be strangely hypnotic, if you’re in the right mood or very drunk, and there are nude women onscreen at almost all times, if that’s your thing. It seems obvious that Franco assumed that nudity would carry the movie and he could do pretty much whatever he wanted with the rest of it; the results are so peculiar that it’s unclear whether he was utterly indifferent about the effect he was creating, or completely enraptured by his own creativity.

Jess Franco directed nearly two hundred movies in his forty-five year career, most of them sleazy exploitation pieces, so it’s no surprise that almost all of them feel rushed. In 1970 alone he directed three other features besides this one, plus a forty-minute short. It may be hard to believe but, as bad as Nightmares is by any measure of conventional filmmaking, this movie is arguably Franco working at near the peak of his abilities.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“It all comes together in Franco’s characteristically dream-logic-beholden way, the plot holes and pacing bumps smoothed over by the film’s low-key eroticism and semi-surreal atmosphere.”–Casey Broadwater, Blu-ray.com

GIMME SHELTER (1970): AN INTERVIEW WITH JOHN SEMPER

Gimme Shelter (1970) is a documentary film about the last ten days of the 1969 Rolling Stones tour. The film was directed by brother documentarians Albert and David Maysles. It is best known today for having captured footage of the murder of a black man by a Hells Angels security guard at the Altamont Speedway near San Francisco. Gimme Shelter recently received the Criterion treatment on DVD. This is an interview with John Semper, Jr., who worked for Albert and David Maysles while they were editing that film.

John Semper Jr’s experience with Gimme Shelter, the Maysles brothers, documentary filmmaking, the film industry, and film as art and commerce.

“What happened was in high school I knew this guy named Gregor Shapiro. In fact, we’re still friends even though he lives in Sweden these days. Somehow Gregor had a connection to the Maysles: Albert and David. I already knew who they were because I was a budding young filmmaker back in the days when nobody under twenty saw any future in being a budding young filmmaker. It was a completely different time. We were not as drenched in media as we are today. For most of my peers being in the media was not a viable career option. That’s how long ago that was, but for me it was, and I was paying a lot of attention to the documentary filmmaking that was going on.

The Maysles were unique because they had created a custom-built,16mm hand-held camera. This was cutting edge technology. They had designed this camera. I think David had designed it. It was balanced so they could have it on their shoulder for a long period of time and it would not cause them a great deal of fatigue. The idea of something hand-held that would not cause you a great deal of physical discomfort was a huge breakthrough.

The other thing about their equipment was that the camera ran silently. 16 mm cameras in those days were extraordinarily noisy and blimps that you would put on them to make them quiet were huge. You couldn’t really do documentary filmmaking without being very visible and very loud. Not only could the Maysles carry their equipment unobtrusively, without causing them physical pain, but it was silent so after a while people forgot that they were there.

They did this one documentary that got a lot of attention called Salesman [also a Criterion release] where they followed around a bible salesman in New England, following him from door to door. The fact that they could get this candid footage was unheard of. Also, the fact that you could record sound on the fly. Remember sound had to be recorded separately from pictures. There were no cameras really that recorded sound while you were recording picture. That was all very new and exciting. The footage that they got, which today we would call “reality” footage, in those days it was very much “documentary” footage. The Maysles ability to capture people in their regular lives was unrivaled and amazing

Still from Gimme Shelter (1970)This was the late 1960s. I knew the Maysles’ work because I had seen Salesman and I was heavily into watching and studying documentaries. Gregor went and worked for the Maysles during one Christmas vacation. Gregor came back to school afterwards, and he had somehow got hold of a duplicate of the footage from Gimme Shelter where the guy gets killed: the one guy that the Hells Angel is knifing, a poor black guy who is wearing a lime green suit. Gregor had this footage and he showed it to us. We were all just mesmerized that this had happened and that Gregor had the footage.

As I recall, Gregor was not as interested in film as much as I was. He had just kind of stumbled onto this job. Gregor was more interested in still photography. He turned to me and said: “I know you are really interested in film. Why don’t you come to New York with me next summer, I will introduce you to the Maysles. Let’s see if we can work there again.”

That summer Gregor and I went to New York and stayed at the Chelsea Hotel. The first night we walked in who was in the lobby, drunk out of her mind, but Janis Joplin! We were checking in and Janis Joplin comes walking Continue reading GIMME SHELTER (1970): AN INTERVIEW WITH JOHN SEMPER

136. VALERIE AND HER WEEK OF WONDERS (1970)

Valerie a Týden Divu

“…one of those haunting, dream-like films that once seen is difficult to forget.”–Tanya Krzywinska

Recommended

DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: Jaroslava Schallerova, Petr Kopriva, Helena Anyzova, Jiri Prymek, 

PLOT: Young Valerie lives in a farmhouse on the edge of a small town with her Granny. She flirts with “Eagle,” a boy about her age who is either a neighbor or her brother, and they both fear a pale-faced bogeyman they call “the Weasel.” On the day she becomes a woman (symbolized by blood drops appearing on a daisy), Valerie’s life suddenly becomes a strange dream involving family betrayals, lusty priests, constantly shifting identities, and a vampire infestation.

Still from Valerie and Her Week of Wonders (1970)

BACKGROUND:

  • Valerie and Her Week of Wonders is an adaptation of the novel of the same name by Vítězslav Nezval, which was written in 1935 but not published until 1945. Nezval was a co-founder of the Czech Surrealist group (one of the first Surrealist groups organized outside of France).
  • This is considered one of the last works in what was known as the , although that term more commonly refers to Czech movies made or released just before or during the Prague spring of 1968. In contrast to most of the New Wave canon, Valerie was released after the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia and the installation of a hardline government who redoubled censorship efforts. Despite the fact that it’s a Surrealist work, equally offensive to the official aesthetic of Socialist Realism as a banned New Wave movie like 1967’s Daisies, Valerie appears to have evoked little objection from the censors. This may be because the film’s heavily anticlerical tone meshed with the Communist Party’s official stance on the Church.
  • A Philadelphia “freak folk” supergroup dubbed “The Valerie Project” wrote an alternate soundtrack to the film, and toured across the U.S. from 2006-2008 performing the score while the film screened as a silent movie.

INDELIBLE IMAGE: Drops of blood on white daisy petals.

WHAT MAKES IT WEIRD: Valerie and Her Week of Wonders is often, and accurately, described as a Freudian version of Alice in Wonderland, with the confusion of new hormones surging through the young heroine’s body coloring her encounters with a dark and fearful tinge: Valerie faces vampires and rapist priests instead of Alice’s White Rabbits and Cheshire Cats. The plot makes no literal sense, because characters keep changing into different characters, the way they might in a dream; but overall Valerie’s welter of wonders hangs together as a mosaic of a girl’s anxieties about impending adulthood and the enticing but scary world of sex.

Clip from Peter Hames Criterion Collection commentary Valerie and Her Week of Wonders

COMMENTS: Valerie and Her Week of Wonders opens with images of pretty young Valerie drinking from a waterspout, petting a dove, sniffing Continue reading 136. VALERIE AND HER WEEK OF WONDERS (1970)

CAPSULE: ZORNS LEMMA (1970)

DIRECTED BY: Hollis Frampton

FEATURING: N/A

PLOT: The prologue is a reading from the “Bay State Primer.” The main body of the film cycles through one second shots of signs each beginning with a successive letter of the Roman alphabet; each letter is gradually removed and replaced by a scene of waves or grain or a man walking until the film consists entirely of such images. A reading from a 13th century mystical treatise serves as an epilogue.

Still from Zorns Lemma (1970)

WHY IT WON’T MAKE THE LIST: It’s odd, strange, and maybe even bizarre, but it’s not “weird.” What I mean is that the word “weird” implies an emotional gut level reaction to some scene of ineffable strangeness, and Zorns Lemma, while as far away from ordinary as is possible to get, provokes no emotional response whatsoever (if it does raise some feeling, it’s not aimed at the film itself, but rather by the audience’s anger at Frampton for having wasted their time). This is purely intellectual and philosophical filmmaking, not meaty or bloody enough to rate as weird.

COMMENTS: In 1975 Tom Wolfe wrote a controversial critical essay entitled “The Painted Word” about how modern art had abandoned the attempt to represent reality and become instead about illustrating the artist’s beliefs about the function and nature of art: that art had paradoxically ceased to be art at all, and turned instead into theory. I wonder if Wolfe had seen Zorns Lemma just before writing his screed, since this philosophical film about language and representation could have been easily and appropriately titled “The Filmed Word.” Beginning with the words of a child’s alphabetical primer (“in Adam’s fall we sinned all”), Frampton soon moves to create a primer of his own: 24 shots of New York City street signs, each illustrating a letter of the alphabet (minus “j” and “u,” which did not appear in the Roman alphabet). So, there is a shot of an “Abbey,” followed by a sign reading “back,” and so on (sometimes someone will hold up a hand-painted sign or a legend will appear on screen, but usually a marquee or logo supplies the key letter). Each shot is held for one second, which, since a film conventionally projects at 24 frames per second, means that the main body of the film consists of 24 sets of 24 frames. As the film cycles through the alphabet the rarest letters are replaced by images, i.e. the letter “x” is first to go, replaced by a shot of a roaring bonfire, then “z” yields to a scene of receding tide, and so on until all of the letters have been replaced by pure images. Most of the replacement shots are commonplace; a few are themselves experimental, such as a multiple exposure image of a boy bouncing a ball and a split screen of a woman’s face that’s been slightly displaced along its vertical axis. After about forty minutes of this repetitive cycling the circuit is completed and all of the letters have been replaced. We then see a man, woman and dog walking away from us in a snowy field. On the soundtrack, a metronome clicks away as different speakers’ voices (each says one word) are stitched together collage-style to recreate a monotone reading of a 13th century mystical text about the primacy of light (by Bishop Robert Grossetete): “…the light of the higher is more spiritual and simple while the light of the lower is more physical and multiple…” What does it all mean? I believe it’s primarily an expression of Frampton’s odd but apparently sincere belief that language was outdated and was due to be replaced (or at least strongly supplemented) by thinking through images: as he says in an interview included on the DVD, he believed that “the intellect of the West has been struggling for some time to find a natural counterbalance for language as a way of accounting for the world, a way of doing it through images.” Frampton believed that film was a new language of thinking and communicating through images, and he also felt that we were only at the beginning of that process; he was interested in creating a new vocabulary, grammar and even alphabet of images. Zorns Lemma is more an announcement of that intent than it is a development of it. Frampton’s concern in the film with preserving mathematical ratios, his obscure reference to “Zorn’s Lemma” (a complicated proposition of set theory), and the clockwork, mechanistic structure of the piece suggest a filmmaking mind that’s as obsessive as it is rigorous. As theory, Zorns Lemma is somewhat interesting, to a theoretician; as a film, I think the best thing we can say about it is that it’s somewhat hypnotic and not as intolerable an experience as it reads on the page. That may be low praise, but we judge experimental films by a different set of criteria than commercial films, or even art films; we don’t hope to enjoy them so much as to see our expectations of what a “film” can be challenged and expanded. In that sense, Zorns Lemma is worth encountering for students of cinema at its most basic level. I’d be highly suspicious of anyone who claimed to love Lemma, though, in the same way I’d cast a wary eye at anyone who claimed to be enamored with the obscurant prose of postmodern philosopher Jacques Derrida.

Zorns Lemma is included on a double-disc Criterion Collection set entitled “A Hollis Frampton Odyssey,” together with fifteen other Frampton experiments and supplemental interviews and lectures by the erudite director. Lemma is the most intriguing of the projects; several of the others make for frustrating watches, such as the seven minute “Lemon” (a static shot of the titular fruit, with only the lighting changing). By the time Frampton gets to his “Magellan” period at the end of his life, the works are totally abstract and unwatchable for normal audiences. In the period immediately following Lemma, some of Frampton’s most interesting experiments are collected in a series called “Hapax Legomena” (“unique words”). “(nostalgia),” a movie in which Frampton burns several old photographs while relating anecdotes from his life, has potential, but the director can’t ever resist alienating his audience. The stories aren’t synced to the photograph they describe; each commentary refers to the picture we’re about to see instead of the one we’re currently watching shrivel up on the burner. “Poetic Justice” (a surreal erotic story told through static shots of pages from the script) and “Critical Mass” (the film “stutters,” resulting in a trippy rendition of an improvised argument) have clever core ideas, but each goes on for too long after the audience has absorbed the concept. I would expect “Odyssey” to be Criterion’s worst selling release of the year; it would have fit better in their budget “Eclipse” series. But the gala treatment illustrates how seriously Frampton’s work is still being taken by some cineastes.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…never, at least so far during the Film Festival, have so many Philharmonic Hall viewers slithered outside for a cigarette.”–Howard Thompson, The New York Times (contemporaneous festival screening)

THE AMAZING TRANSPLANT (1970)

Of course, , the self-taught, innovative grand dame of sexploitation and grindhouse films, personally stamped everything she did. Wishman’s repeated focus on inanimate objects is her most infamous trademark. Hideous wallpaper, repeated shots of feet, and dirty floor tiles were favorite concentrations in some of the most outrageous compositions ever filtered through a lens. All of those abound in The Amazing Transplant (1970), but there is an additional focal point here: a giant moose head hanging on the wall. I have no idea what the hell it means, if anything. It is tempting to say that, perhaps, it’s a symbolic joke at the expense of male testosterone, except that this may also be Wishman’s most misogynistic film—which is saying quite a lot.

The Hands of Orlac (1924), Mad Love (1935), The Beast With Five Fingers (1946) and The Hand (1981), all dealt with with hand transplants resulting in murderous hands. Most of these films at least had an iota of style, and two of them starred the iconic character actor Peter Lorre. In this film, Doris Wishman gives us her take on a transplanted member. Naturally, no Wishman film would dare to tackle something so acceptable as a hand. No, Wishman’s raving lunatic has a newly-grafted penis. Lest one be tempted to conjure up the image of David Cronenberg’s vampire phallus growing from the armpit of the late porn star Marilyn Chambers (Rabid-1977), I lament to report that The Amazing Transplant is nowhere near as anatomically outrageous. That is simply because we never see the Edward Hyde anaconda of poor Arthur (Juan Fernandez)—which is probably a good thing. Perhaps the hanging moose head is a sufficient avatar for all things phallic after all.

Still from The Amazing Transplant (1970)Wishman usually dubbed her films, which led her to focus the camera on anything but the actor speaking. Here, Wishman did her audience a commendable service, despite the fact that the dubbing is atrocious. The acting here is possibly the worst found in any Doris Wishman film, and not seeing her amateur thespians mouth their dialogue may actually make the film more bearable.

Arthur was never too adept with women, at least not until his late bosom bud Felix, a Casanova Continue reading THE AMAZING TRANSPLANT (1970)