Paroxismus

then I'll never watch another franco movie. I was excited to see this by the reputation and the American title (shades of Leopold von Sacher Masoch)and all I saw was fifteen minutes of good film (the first 15) and then a bunch of stock footage,nonsensical dialogue, and BS plot development. I needed more dungeon scenes or more masochism, and less stock-footage/VO mental masturbation. I was sorely disappointed. Some might say "You should see it stoned", well, I did, and that didn't improve things. Someone compared this to "Lost Highway", and to them I can only spit derisively. I'd rather watch a Dolph Lundgren movie. How that guy still has a career is more honestly surreal than this stuff.

Trumpet player, Jimmy Logan (James Darren) is haunted by an enigmatic woman who looks identical to a woman named Wanda Reed (Maria Rohm). Jimmy knows it can't be Wanda, because she was murdered. A nightmarish mystery unfolds, as Wanda's killers are "visited" by this woman, and Jimmy is swept away by her. Is any of this really happening?

Arguably, one of Director Jess Franco's best films, VENUS IN FURS is a sort of surrealistic, erotic noir / revenge / ghost story. The jazzy soundtrack also plays a big role, nearly making this a musical! The lyrics, "Venus in furs will be smiling!" will pop into your head for weeks after seeing this movie! Ms. Rohm is utterly captivating, dominating every scene she's in.

Co-stars Klaus Kinski as the perverse Ahmed, Margaret Lee as the wicked Olga, and Barbara McNair as the long-suffering Rita...

Venus in Furs, by Jesus (Jess) Franco, is pretty good. It's about a jazz trumpeter, played by James Darren, who finds a naked, dead woman washed up on the beach, and then things get weird.

It seems that Jimmy Logan recognizes the dead girl as Wanda Reed (Maria Rohm). In fact, he dimly recalls her murder - or did he dream it? Or is he dead himself? Welcome to 1969, where apparently this kind of hazy reality was, like, a reality.

Sometime after finding Wanda's body, Jimmy runs into...Wanda. Wait, isn't she dead? Who knows, man, but next thing anyone knows, the gang she was hanging with is joining her in the thereafter. Guys like art dealer Kapp (Dennis Price) and fashion photog Olga (Margaret Lee) and Klaus Kinski. Well, someone played by Klaus Kinski, but either way, weird.

Meanwhile, Jimmy's falling hard for Wanda, who - again - is probably dead. He likely isn't, because he has a girl named Rita (Barbara McNair), a singer in the combo wherein he jazz trumpets. And Rita can see Wanda, so it's not like Wanda appears only to Jimmy. So maybe Rita's dead too. It's not really important.

Visually speaking, this isn't a bad effort. And the score, particularly the jazz, is really cooking. James Darren isn't a bad actor. Also helping? The multiple naked women. I mean, they're in almost every scene.

As likely to be heralded in certain circles as a preeminent figure of stylish erotic Eurohorror as he is to be dismissed as a hack-of-all-trades and purveyor of Eurotrash, often both at the same time given his gargantuan and largely uneven filmography and depending where your affections lie, Jesus Franco if nothing else at least can't be brushed aside easily. If Oasis of the Zombies gives valid claim to the second, Venus in Furs does the same with the first.

A jazz player discovers the body of a woman washed up in a beach in Istanbul. Weirdness ensues. Not really 'meaningful' weird, the kind of weird that suggests a certain insight to be gleaned from closer inspection, but 'captivating' weird, 'hallucinogenic' weird, the kind of weird where you buy the ticket and are happy to be simply swept along for the ride. The movie seems disjointed at first, haphazard, low-key voice-over narration transporting us through time and space back and forth until plot and story cease to exist in any one given level. Yet it doesn't take long for a sort of inner rhythm and flow, jazzlike and hypnotic, to emerge. Suddenly we're in a ritzy party and Klaus Kinski is peering wide-eyed into the camera. The dead woman is now alive, scantily dressed and being flogged in a dimly lit basement by Kinski and two of his friends. From Istanbul to Rio back to Istanbul, the strange woman seems to be exacting some kind of revenge while she keeps a love affair with the horn player on the side.

For all the casual languid randomness, Franco seems to know what he's doing. Not narrative speaking so much as in terms of atmosphere and overall ambiance. The camera constantly zooms back and forth, the movie pulsating with a jazz vibrato. Shots from the primary narrative (the actual story) are later repeated inside a flashback (fantasy? reverie?) making the boundaries between present and past tense blur hopelessly, turning the linear into cyclical. Something which is further compounded by the bizarre ending where I think Franco reaches for more than he can grasp and comes up mostly with straws. That combined with the little epigraph superimposed over the screen brings the movie down a notch because it reduces the heady surreal noir that precedes it into a "so it was all..." conclusion. By openly stating what we've been suspecting, that everything exists in someone's head and adheres to the fragmented laws of dreams and memory, Franco robs us of the pleasure of understanding for ourselves.

Thirty years down the line Venus in Furs is more likely to appeal to fans of Alain Robbe-Grillet and David Lynch than Eurohorror hounds, the emphasis here being on mysterious rather than grotesque.

Anyone claiming that cult filmmaker Jess (Jesus) Franco was a hack, obviously has never seen his masterpiece, "Venus In Furs" aka "Paroxismus." Mind-bending, visually stunning tale of a jazz musician obsessed with the beautiful blonde woman, murdered as he watched, during an S&M session that went too far. Already haunted by her memory, he becomes lost in a hallucinatory World when her nude body washes up on shore. and the world in which he finds himself might..or might not be Hell. Very original concept at the time, an idea that has been imitated countless times since, in such films as David Lynch's "Lost Highway." The dreamlike jazz score is as sensual as the images on screen. The scenes in Istanbul, where the adventure begins and ends, are beautiful and chilling, and sexually charged images played against the backdrop of Mosques and Islamic chanting make for a bizarre and unsettling experience. Actor James Darren is perfectly cast in the main role of the trumpet player. Darren, who was an acquaintance of jazz legend Chet Baker, based his character on the horn player, imitating his mannerisms and way of speaking. Barbara McNair is wonderful as the lounge singer, who tries to save Jimmy Logan from his inescapable fate, and of course Maria Rohm inhabits her role as the 'Venus in furs,' back from hell to avenge her death. And who can forget the piercing blue eyes of Klaus Kinski, as Ahmed..the Turk with a taste for sadomasochistic sex. What a cast! "Paroxismus," with it's unique editing, camera work, framing, lighting etc is something that should be studied in film classes; it is that good. This is what cinema is all about.