La vampire nue

The eighth Jean Rollin film I have watched is also possibly the weirdest; the intriguing plot (such as it is) seems initially to be too flimsy to sustain even its trim 84 minutes but it somehow contrives to get inordinately muddled as it goes along! A would-be female vampire (scantily-clad, as promised by the title) is held in captivity inside a remote château and emerges only to 'feast' on the blood of willing victims (who are apparently members of a suicide club) As if unsure where all of this would lead him, the writer-director ultimately has the human villain – actually the blank-faced hero's kinky father – ludicrously revealed as a mutant(?!) from the future! The languorous pace and dream-like atmosphere (the cultists wear hoods and animal masks to hide their features from the sheltered girl) are, of course, typical of both the film-maker (ditto the seashore setting at the {anti}climax) and the "Euro-Cult" style, as are the bevy of nubile beauties on display. Personally, the most enjoyable thing about the whole visually attractive but intellectually vacuous affair was watching familiar character actor Bernard Musson (who appeared in six latter-day Luis Bunuel films) crop up bemusedly through it from time to time!

Pierre Radamante (Olivier Rollin) tries to help a beautiful young woman (Caroline Cartier) who is being pursued by people wearing creepy animal masks and brandishing guns. Pierre is unable to save the woman from being shot and captured. He follows the masked people to their headquarters- a club where his father, Georges (Maurice Lemaître), is a member. Pierre sets out to discover what is going on inside, and finds out that his father and his associates are experimenting on the beautiful woman: they believe she is a vampire and that, through her, they will be able to achieve immortality.

Jean Rollin's The Nude Vampire doesn't deliver on its title: she's never actually nude, always draped in one of the director's trademark pieces of coloured chiffon, and she's not even a vampire. What the film does deliver are plenty of seriously strange and surreal sequences, none of which make much sense, but which are so totally bizarre that the film still proves a fairly entertaining experience. The random weirdness includes a woman in a red wig and plastic nipple cones dancing to bongo drums, women with white faces, bindi dots and blue nipples, a pair of twins who dress in identical bizarre outfits, an artist's model who busily fondles her breasts, Georges' bizarre collection of mutilated toy dolls, rituals involving sacks placed over the head, and a suicide cult. But Rollin saves the best for last, the final scene (which takes place on the same beach that is in the majority of his films) involving inter-dimensional mutants who are the next step in human evolution.

The whole film is summed up perfectly by an exchange of dialogue between a couple of Georges' associates: "Do you understand any of this?" says the first guy. "Not really," comes the reply. It makes me suspect that Rollin knew what an incomprehensible mess this really was.

Rollin in his usual mode impresses with place, color, dreamlike reverie. His women are unappealingly scrawny and bland, but his teasing of the cinematic imagination works for me enough to want to step in his ether - his films feel much less constructed than what passes as sensual these days, the night air and architectural walls of the thing always feel real, the texture real.

The film opens with a distraught 'virgin' being followed in dark streets by mysterious masked figures, everything in the film that is of that same somnambulist quality carries resonance and I would not dissuade you from watching. It really is fine in ways that you will seldom see in a horror film and that Kubrick bombastically killed in Eyes Wide Shut (it breathes here).

But damn it all to hell, if he isn't utterly inept as a storyteller and ruins every pleasure of touch. I don't mean that he wants to confound logic, I like that he does. I welcome filmmakers of the sort - Lynch, Ruiz, Zulawski, those who tether you to narrative threads you have much less control of than usual then pull and leave you scudding through the shattered story-parts.

It's quite the opposite with Rollin. Though the world feels real, the interplay of story dynamics is cartoonish at best. Every initially baffling element has to be explained in due time, and each explanation is dumber than a sack of rocks. He is not illogical in the sense that we cannot fathom more than bits of a deeply inscrutable world, quite simply he jots down a coherent story from a few absurd/fantastical elements then gives it to us in conveniently random ways.

In this case, the movie about vampires is a horror show being put on, the vampires are only vampires because we believe they are. This is repeatedly stressed out for us.

The point of all this is apparently the celebration of the rigor and 'purity' of youth, remember those where the Vietnam years, who in Rollin's garbled set of metaphors are equated with a mutant race of immortals.

Rollin's problem is that he is not content to be a perfume master who seduces the senses, he wants to be a bit like the meditating mentor in this film, someone who promises initiation into the 'hidden dimension' of truths so he ends up being as silly.

A man named Pierre (Olivier Rollin) tries to uncover the strange goings-on at his father's chateau, involving a suicide cult, and a woman with a rare blood condition. After barely escaping death, Pierre gives his father 48 hours to explain what the hell is really happening.

Director Jean Rollin's THE NUDE VAMPIRE is a mostly absurdist film, loaded with odd characters, crazy costumes, unexplained events, and an atmosphere of lunacy. The story makes sense only when viewed through its own lens. Rollin has created a secret, dream-like underworld, where mysteries abound and rationality takes a seat in third class. It's best to simply enjoy the surreal imagery, weird intrigue, and the overall crackpot presentation.

Oh yes, there's also a vampire woman running around...

Bizarre vampire/sex fantasy about rich brat Martin, who stumbles upon secret bourgeois-like society, which conducts secret perverse ceremonies in a mansion rented by his father.

Let me say, this is a prime example of style over substance. While I am sure there is substance here (most of which does not make any sense), that is overshadowed by colorful costumes, strange alien vampires and just an array of unpredictable moments -- many connected in some way to nude women.

Best part of the movie? The chicks falling down the stairs. While one twin takes it pretty seriously, the other one is determined to reach the bottom step, even if she has to keep pushing herself. Sure, it does not look natural, but it got me chuckling a little.