EROTIC RITES OF FRANKENSTEIN AT THE HORSE HOSPITAL
I have always been of the opinion that the best place to see a film is in a cinema. Not in a pub or even in your living room. And certainly not in a horse hospital.
Not that it's a horse hospital now of course, it's a 'three-tiered arts venue' just behind Russell Square tube, but still far enough out of my comfort zone that it took a very special film to get me there on a Wednesday night. Or at least, a very special title. 'EROTIC RITES OF FRANKENSTEIN' said a sheet of A4 paper stuck to one wall of the building, and beside it an arrow pointed to the entrance and the small queue in front of it. I felt slightly wary about joining this queue. What might passers-by think? It didn't say anything on the paper about it being a film.
Frankenstein, it seems to me, is the least erotic of the classic horror myths. Vampires, as we know, are sexy, and so are werewolves if you like a bit of rough. Even the mummy can do a striptease if it comes to it. But Frankenstein? All those disembodied brains? Definitely one for more specialized tastes - and therefore intriguing. My Aurum Horror Film Encyclopedia referred to this film as 'a slapdash quickie', but that sounded quite exciting in its own right.
First, however, I had to get into the venue. The queue was slow going. People went in, and didn't come out again, and then a long unexplained pause would follow. Were they being 'processed' in some way? Maybe they were having holes drilled in their heads. It didn't help that I needed the toilet. And what if the place was too avant-garde to have one?
Eventually I found myself in a low-ceilinged stone-floored basement room that wouldn't have looked out of place in Frankenstein's castle itself (though it did have a toilet). The sound of fallen beer bottles clinking on the stone added atmosphere.
The film is directed by the outstandingly prolific Spanish director Jess (Jesus) Franco, who made films at such a rate that they practically went directly from his brain onto celluloid. Yes he dreamed them, which may explain their incoherence. It turned out that this was the 'clothed' version of the film, the one that met General Franco's standards of decency (not that he probably saw it). There was no stampede for the exits when this was announced, as the guy introducing it feared. The film remains diverting enough.
Dennis Price plays Frankenstein, killed early on by a blind vampire bird woman. This is an imperfect creation of the legendary magician/charlatan Cagliostro (Howard Vernon) who did it by 'impregnating a bird's egg', we are told. Cagliostro steals Frankenstein's monster and sets about creating a mate for it with the unwilling assistance of Frankenstein's daughter, whose name is Vera. The idea is that the resulting 'perfect woman' will mate with Frankenstein's monster in front of a lot of resurrected dead people ('the sect of Panthos') in a kind of, well, erotic rite for want of a better phrase. Cagliostro, he of the hypnotic eyes, selects likely body parts from a number of passing females to create his 'perfect woman'. It might be noted that he seems a lot more concerned with the looks of his female creature, than with those of the shambling Halloween-masked monster, but this kind of disjunction will be familiar to even the most casual viewer of porn.
As for the venerable Dennis Price's Frankenstein, despite being killed in the early stages of this, he is frequently resuscitated (using his own 'fixation ray') by various characters who wish to ask him questions. Judging by his grimaces and bodily contortions this is a very disagreeable process - almost as though Price himself were continually being reawoken to the realisation that he's a long way from Kind Hearts And Coronets. Eventually he manages to rouse himself voluntarily and attempts to strangle one of his questioners; another throws sulphuric acid over him, dissolving him completely except for a hand. Meanwhile the film keeps returning to a woman called Esmerelda, who finally proves to have very little to do with any of it.
Well, I thought to myself, it makes a change from Downton Abbey. The music's great and Franco himself makes a Hitchcockian appearance as 'Morpho', Frankenstein's assistant - that's Jess Franco, not General Franco of course. A nice guy, apparently (Jess) . He's been making films since the early sixties and is still doing it. Despite the nature of these he has recently been awarded a Goya, the Spanish equivalent of an Oscar - proof, tonight's speaker Stephen Thrower maintained, that if you carry on doing anything for long enough, you will eventually get a medal.
Hmm, maybe there's hope for this blog yet.
Not that it's a horse hospital now of course, it's a 'three-tiered arts venue' just behind Russell Square tube, but still far enough out of my comfort zone that it took a very special film to get me there on a Wednesday night. Or at least, a very special title. 'EROTIC RITES OF FRANKENSTEIN' said a sheet of A4 paper stuck to one wall of the building, and beside it an arrow pointed to the entrance and the small queue in front of it. I felt slightly wary about joining this queue. What might passers-by think? It didn't say anything on the paper about it being a film.
Frankenstein, it seems to me, is the least erotic of the classic horror myths. Vampires, as we know, are sexy, and so are werewolves if you like a bit of rough. Even the mummy can do a striptease if it comes to it. But Frankenstein? All those disembodied brains? Definitely one for more specialized tastes - and therefore intriguing. My Aurum Horror Film Encyclopedia referred to this film as 'a slapdash quickie', but that sounded quite exciting in its own right.
First, however, I had to get into the venue. The queue was slow going. People went in, and didn't come out again, and then a long unexplained pause would follow. Were they being 'processed' in some way? Maybe they were having holes drilled in their heads. It didn't help that I needed the toilet. And what if the place was too avant-garde to have one?
Eventually I found myself in a low-ceilinged stone-floored basement room that wouldn't have looked out of place in Frankenstein's castle itself (though it did have a toilet). The sound of fallen beer bottles clinking on the stone added atmosphere.
The film is directed by the outstandingly prolific Spanish director Jess (Jesus) Franco, who made films at such a rate that they practically went directly from his brain onto celluloid. Yes he dreamed them, which may explain their incoherence. It turned out that this was the 'clothed' version of the film, the one that met General Franco's standards of decency (not that he probably saw it). There was no stampede for the exits when this was announced, as the guy introducing it feared. The film remains diverting enough.
Dennis Price plays Frankenstein, killed early on by a blind vampire bird woman. This is an imperfect creation of the legendary magician/charlatan Cagliostro (Howard Vernon) who did it by 'impregnating a bird's egg', we are told. Cagliostro steals Frankenstein's monster and sets about creating a mate for it with the unwilling assistance of Frankenstein's daughter, whose name is Vera. The idea is that the resulting 'perfect woman' will mate with Frankenstein's monster in front of a lot of resurrected dead people ('the sect of Panthos') in a kind of, well, erotic rite for want of a better phrase. Cagliostro, he of the hypnotic eyes, selects likely body parts from a number of passing females to create his 'perfect woman'. It might be noted that he seems a lot more concerned with the looks of his female creature, than with those of the shambling Halloween-masked monster, but this kind of disjunction will be familiar to even the most casual viewer of porn.
As for the venerable Dennis Price's Frankenstein, despite being killed in the early stages of this, he is frequently resuscitated (using his own 'fixation ray') by various characters who wish to ask him questions. Judging by his grimaces and bodily contortions this is a very disagreeable process - almost as though Price himself were continually being reawoken to the realisation that he's a long way from Kind Hearts And Coronets. Eventually he manages to rouse himself voluntarily and attempts to strangle one of his questioners; another throws sulphuric acid over him, dissolving him completely except for a hand. Meanwhile the film keeps returning to a woman called Esmerelda, who finally proves to have very little to do with any of it.
Well, I thought to myself, it makes a change from Downton Abbey. The music's great and Franco himself makes a Hitchcockian appearance as 'Morpho', Frankenstein's assistant - that's Jess Franco, not General Franco of course. A nice guy, apparently (Jess) . He's been making films since the early sixties and is still doing it. Despite the nature of these he has recently been awarded a Goya, the Spanish equivalent of an Oscar - proof, tonight's speaker Stephen Thrower maintained, that if you carry on doing anything for long enough, you will eventually get a medal.
Hmm, maybe there's hope for this blog yet.
posted by martin at 11:01 AM
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