Tower of London (Rowland V. Lee, 1939)

1939 was a busy year for filmmaker Rowland V. Lee. After Son of Frankenstein (reviewed on this site last month), he made the drama The Sun Never Sets before returning to the darker stuff with Tower of London, an epic but concise fictionalized historical action-drama with plenty of horror movie elements and Son of Frankenstein cast members Basil Rathbone and Boris Karloff, with added Vincent Price. 

Like Son of Frankenstein, it's an emotionally and narratively complex story skillfully told, with charismatic actors who, true or not, look like they're having the time of their lives. It was a passion project for Lee, who had been planning it for years. I had a great time with it.

The feeble king of England, Henry VI (Miles Mander), has been deposed by King Edward IV (Ian Hunter, not the Mott the Hoople singer) and locked up in the Tower of London, albeit in a comfortable room, unlike many of the other prisoners, who are shackled and tortured by the chief executioner and head of the prison guards, Mord (Boris Karloff), a bald, club-footed beast of a man who spends his downtime sharpening his blades with a raven on his shoulder and inflicting the aforementioned torture. As our lame duck president once said about Corn Pop, Mord is a bad dude. (The election was horrifying, the country is toast, both major parties are moral failures, nothing I can say about it here will be enjoyable, I hope a better system rises from the ashes or a meteor hits us, back to the movie.)

Henry's brother, Richard (Basil Rathbone), the duke of Gloucester, is a treacherous, scheming little freak who wants the throne and is willing to do anything to get it, often in cahoots with the bloodthirsty Mord. Richard has a secret dollhouse with a doll for each person in the line of succession. When he succeeds at removing the obstacle, the doll is chucked into his fireplace with much glee. 

Those obstacles include Henry, his own brother Edward, Edward's two young sons, the prince of Wales (G.P. Huntley) (he wants to snag the prince's wife, Anne Neville, played by Rose Hobart, who was the subject of a fascinating early experimental film by Joseph Cornell), the queen's cousin John Wyatt (John Sutton), and the Duke of Clarence (Vincent Price). Richard has everyone fooled except for Queen Elyzabeth (Barbara O'Neil), who has a visceral distrust of the man and is especially unnerved when he spends time with her sons. (Also in 1939, O'Neil played Scarlett O'Hara's mother in Gone with the Wind despite being only three years older than Vivien Leigh.) We also get substantial supporting parts for Nan Grey as Lady Alice Barton, John Wyatt's betrothed, and Ernest Cossart as Tom Clink, a sassy chimney sweep who gets mixed up in the intrigue.

This cast has the juice, as the perpetually online like to say. Rathbone, Hunter, Karloff, Sutton, Cossart, and Price tear into these roles, and O'Neil gets a surprising amount to do despite her more grounded part. (She's basically the straight woman for a bunch of wild dudes.) Hunter plays King Edward as a politically effective but goofy party animal in it for the good times and the prestige of power, lacking in empathy and easily manipulated by Richard. He's hilarious and knows how to ham it up just enough without wearing out his welcome. 

Karloff's role is pretty one-note but exceedingly memorable in its physicality and menace, and he's a major reason the film works as a horror film as well as a historical drama. Price and Rathbone are fantastic and immensely skilled at nailing that sweet spot between sincerity and camp. The scene where the two men have a wine-drinking contest to determine the fate of the duke's fortune is one of the great two-person scenes. Price would later play Rathbone's part in Roger Corman's 1962 remake of this movie, which also incorporated some of Shakespeare's Richard III.

Director Lee, so adept at handling the complex, competing interests of his characters in Son of Frankenstein, is equally adept at taking on the large canvas here, which includes all the palace intrigue in the tower, the love and family lives of multiple sets of characters, murders, executions, several exciting swordfights, and two epic battle scenes. He manages all this in just over ninety minutes, without letting the pace drag or hurrying the action along too swiftly. Nearly every major character is explored in depth, and even the minor characters get their moments. Lee had a reputation for going over schedule and over budget, but he got results. (He was also one of the founders of the Directors Guild of America, which was originally called the Screen Directors Guild, a union protecting filmmakers' rights.)

I don't know if 1939 was just a fluke or if most Lee films are as solid as Son of Frankenstein and Tower of London. If they are, I definitely need to dip into the catalog. Based on the two films of his I've seen, the dude had the goods. Lee retired from filmmaking in 1945, with the Charles Laughton-starring swashbuckler Captain Kidd his last movie as director. He spent the rest of his life ranching in the San Fernando Valley, though he turned part of the ranch into filming location property and rented it out to productions, including Laughton's only film as director, the masterpiece The Night of the Hunter, and continued to sell parts of it to developers for corporate offices and family homes. He made a short-lived return to the movies with the Biblical epic The Big Fisherman in 1959, producing and cowriting the screenplay but hiring Frank Borzage to direct. He died in 1975.

Dead Man Walking (Gregory Brown aka Gregory Dark, 1988)

This week, I'm writing about another apocalyptic sci-fi/action/thriller, 1988's Dead Man Walking, made by porn film director turned b-movie filmmaker turned A-list music video director Gregory Dark under his birth name of Gregory Brown. (He switched from Dark to Brown to differentiate his "legit" movies from his pornos but mostly went back to Dark for his later films and music videos. His employers for the latter career include such varied artists as the Melvins, OutKast, Cherry Poppin' Daddies, Britney Spears, Counting Crows, Orgy, Ice Cube, Sublime, The Shins, Busta Rhymes, Mandy Moore, and Snoop Dogg.)

Dead Man Walking makes the Roger Corman production in my last post, Deathsport, look like a glossy, expensive studio prestige picture, and it's probably safe to assume that the majority of the budget went to the hiring of the cult character actors in the lead roles, which is not a criticism. That's money well spent. The movie has a great premise and a pedestrian visual style clearly hampered by the obvious production budget limitations, but the mostly exciting cast does a lot to keep a film-loving viewer interested.

In the terrifying future of 1997, a world hit hard by a deadly plague is in the process of rebuilding itself. The infected plague victims, who look like sufferers of leprosy (or at least a community theater playhouse version of leprosy), have been confined to heavily guarded shanty towns/slums called plague zones. The uninfected and immune live freely in a society that's close to ours, far away from the plague zones. Wealthy corporations swooped in and consolidated even more power during the pandemic phase (sound familiar?), and the biggest corporation, Unitus, has just begun a process to build housing projects in the plague zones, giving plague sufferers an apartment for their final few years in exchange for cheap labor for Unitus.

Besides the healthy and the plague-infected, a third group of humans called zero men are free to do their freaky thing. Zero men have the plague and will eventually die of it but are non-contagious and don't show any outward symptoms. A healthy person could hang with zero men and not get infected, but would any of them want to? Most of the zero men live lives of reckless abandon and erratic craziness.

John Luger (b-movie legend Wings Hauser) is a zero man who spends his days and nights giving zero effs and drinking at Club Zero, a freaky bar for zero men. We meet him at Club Zero playing chainsaw roulette with another crazy zero man. Hoisted from the ceiling is a chainsaw with a cranky pull starter. The roulette players take turns holding the saw to their opponent's neck and pulling the chain. If you can get the touchy starter to kick on and shred your opponent's neck, you win the game. Luger plays calmly while puffing a cigar and kissing his lady friend Rika (Tasia Valenza) in between turns. To no one's surprise, especially anyone who looked at the credits and saw Hauser's name at the top, Luger wins the game as blood spurts on the fellow patrons.

Meanwhile, Unitus executive Mr. Shahn (John Petlock) and his daughter Leila (Pamela Ludwig) are taking a ride through a plague zone in Shahn's limo, driven by Shahn's chauffeur Chaz (Re-Animator's Jeffrey Combs), to inspect the site of one of the future housing projects. The unlucky trio is set upon by three escaped prisoners, Decker (the late, great Brion James, who eats this role alive), Snake (the great Sy Richardson, who doesn't get enough to do in this movie), and Gordon (Joe D'Angerio). Snake and Gordon are run-of-the-mill criminals, but Decker is a crazed, violence-loving maniac as well as being a zero man. 

Decker kills Shahn, leaves Chaz for dead, and kidnaps Leila, taking her deep into the plague zone. A rescued Chaz tries to get the cops to go after them, but no authority will enter the zone, so Chaz tries his luck at finding a mercenary for hire at Club Zero. Luger likes the idea of heading into the zone on a crazy adventure, so he joins Chaz in the search for Leila. Lots of freaky post-apocalyptic shenanigans ensue, including a visit to Café Death, a plague zone bar that, according to Decker, "makes Club Zero look like Disneyland." (Neither of these bars will win any production design awards, but they have a low-budget charm.) Café Death has a more punk rock vibe than Club Zero's biker bar without the bikes feel, as well as live entertainment from a performance artist/emcee who sets a guy on fire. My wife recognized that emcee as Diz McNally, the co-host along with Dave Coulier of Nickelodeon's Out of Control. We didn't have Nickelodeon in my hometown when I was growing up, so my wife's Nickelodeon references frequently sail right over my head.

This is the kind of premise that's crying out for a decent production design budget and a strong director (imagine what Brian Trenchard-Smith could do with a story like this), but Brown, who hadn't made many non-porn films at this point in his career, doesn't really have the resources or the experience to make this look better than a random A-Team episode. Still, he knows the power of his actors' faces and lets Hauser, Combs, and especially James turn this mother out. (Again, I wish Richardson had more to do.) Hauser gets some great closeups in his early Club Zero scenes, stogie in mouth and chainsaw in hand (or at neck), James takes full advantage of his villainous charisma throughout, and Combs is perfect for playing a conflict-avoiding wimp who discovers his inner strength (though I never quite understood why he was so hellbent on saving his boss's daughter at all costs other than some unexplored relationship or unrequited love angle).

Dead Man Walking is not a great movie. You've seen the apocalyptic road movie done much better and much worse if you've been around enough. Still, I couldn't help but enjoy myself watching these actors navigate this story, and I liked the touch of having actual newscasters turned actors (Mario Machado and Mary Ingersoll) deliver the post-apocalyptic network news in between scenes. Actors always sound wrong when they pretend to be newscasters, but actual newscasters or actors with broadcast news experience have an instinctive feel for newscaster voice. I think you have to be born with it. So, Dead Man Walking. If you're a b-movie fan who digs the '80s low-budget sci-fi/action straight-to-video aesthetic, give this one a go. It's solid.

Deathsport (Nicholas Niciphor & Allan Arkush, 1978)

The second Roger Corman-produced post-apocalyptic vehicle-based movie about a deadly sporting event starring David Carradine (and the third involving vehicular insanity if you include the non-post-apocalyptic Cannonball!), Deathsport was meant to follow up on the success and popularity of Death Race 2000 but turned into an enormous fiasco for almost everyone involved, though it's still an enjoyable if not particularly distinguished b-movie. The behind-the-scenes drama involved Roger Corman trying to convince David Carradine not to do the movie, Carradine regretting not taking Corman's advice, a chaotic atmosphere on set involving much drug and alcohol abuse, an inexperienced director leaving the movie twice (he quit, came back, and then got fired), Corman vet Allan Arkush coming in to save the day twice, and physical altercations between director and actors with vicious but contradictory he-said/he-said accounts of what went down from Nicholas Niciphor and Carradine.

Carradine signed a five-picture deal with Roger Corman in 1975, beginning with Death Race 2000 (written about on this site a few months ago). He followed it up for Corman with the aforementioned cross-country road race movie Cannonball! (not to be confused with The Cannonball Run) and moonshinersploitation comedy Thunder and Lightning. In the meantime, the popularity of Death Race 2000 and the Kung Fu TV series put Carradine back on the radar of Hollywood casting agents and major international productions, and he snagged the lead in Hal Ashby's Woody Guthrie film Bound for Glory (one of the only good music biopics) and Ingmar Bergman's The Serpent's Egg (one of Bergman's only English-language films).

Back on the A-list or at least comfortably near it, Carradine stayed loyal to Roger Corman and their five-movie deal and agreed to play the lead in Deathsport. Corman tried to talk him out of it, telling him to wait for something better, but Carradine insisted, figuring a similar concept to Death Race 2000 could cross over from drive-ins to mainstream audiences the way that movie had. He almost immediately regretted the decision, saying the movie killed his career momentum and stuck him in b-movies and episodic television for most of the rest of his working life, though some of that stuff was great, especially The Long Riders, Q: The Winged Serpent, and his Hollywood comeback in the Kill Bill movies.

Deathsport was a thorn in Corman's side almost from the beginning. Corman's veteran screenwriting collaborator Charles B. Griffith took a crack at it first, but Corman didn't like the results and thought it was a rare Griffith dud. So did most of the directors in the Corman stable, who turned it down one after another, including Arkush (co-director of Hollywood Boulevard and director of Rock'n'Roll High School, Heartbeeps, Get Crazy, Caddyshack II, and at least one episode of at least half the network TV shows from the '80s to the 2010s). Corman got recent USC film school graduate Nicholas Niciphor to completely rewrite the movie. Niciphor had just written the screenplay for the indie drama Our Winning Season, an early film from Stepfather director Joseph Ruben that had done well. That film's producer, Joe Roth (later a major studio executive), told Corman he should let Niciphor direct Deathsport because he'd seen his USC student films and thought the kid had the goods. Corman gave him a shot, which turned into a disaster.

According to Niciphor, he walked into a hostile, drug-addled set with a perpetually stoned Carradine and a perpetually drunk and/or coked-up Claudia Jennings who wouldn't stop giving him the business. He claims Carradine was also physically abusive, roughing him up on multiple occasions. Carradine admits to the heavy drug use on set from both him and Jennings but says that Niciphor was erratic, prone to tantrums, and physically and emotionally abusive to Jennings. When he saw Niciphor hit Jennings, he went ballistic and kicked Niciphor's ass. Carradine's version of events is mostly backed up by Deathsport cinematographer Gary Graver (a lifelong Orson Welles collaborator and close friend who took jobs on b-movies and porn films to scrape up some cash for Welles' projects), who emphasized that Niciphor was especially mean to Jennings, and Arkush, who says Jennings was very coked-up but that Niciphor didn't know what he was doing and behaved inconsistently. Graver also says he thinks Niciphor had untreated PTSD from Vietnam and that the director would often become obsessed with relating the grisliest details of his war experiences. We don't have Jennings' point of view because she sadly died in a car accident in 1979 at the age of 29. Whatever the truth, this was a majorly dysfunctional set.

Corman mostly kept his distance from the on-set drama but felt that the inexperienced Niciphor was struggling to handle the action scenes. When an exasperated Niciphor quit near the end of the shooting schedule, Arkush stepped in. Niciphor came back and agreed to finish the film on the condition he didn't have to direct any Carradine scenes, but the problems persisted and he was fired, with Arkush again stepping in for reshoots as well as a re-edit. Corman told him to salvage the film by shooting some exciting motorcycle chases, even more nudity, and several explosions. Arkush delivered the goods. The usually tight-pursed Corman really let him go wild with the pyro, and the film has a comically awesome number of major explosions. Niciphor never directed again (he's credited on this film under the fake name Henry Suso), but he continued to work as a screenwriter.

Despite all this behind-the-scenes insanity, what's on screen is a pretty standard Roger Corman b-movie. We have a post-apocalyptic wasteland in a future "one thousand years from tomorrow" where most of humanity and our institutions and technology have disappeared. A handful of independent city-states still exist but what lies between is mostly a barren desert, inhabited by cave-dwelling cannibal mutants. A nomadic, scantily clad tribe of nomadic guides with mild psychic healing and telepathic powers make their living by safely guiding people from one city-state to another. Two of these guides are Kaz Oshay (Carradine) and Deneer (Gator Bait star and Playboy Playmate Jennings). The mad dictator of one of the city-states, Lord Zirpola (David McLean), has replaced capital punishment with deathsport, a battle to the death in an explosives-laden outdoor stadium with the prisoners on souped-up motorbikes called death machines. If you kill your opponent, your criminal record is wiped and you go free.

Lord Zirpola's right-hand man is Ankar Moor (Richard Lynch, especially memorable in The Seven-Ups, God Told Me To, and Bad Dreams). Zirpola has the wild idea to kidnap all the guides and make them fight the prisoners in the deathsport events. This is an insane move, but Ankar is one hundred percent on board because he got his ass kicked by Oshay's mother several years ago and wants revenge. Ankar also wants Lord Zirpola's job. After a valiant battle with Zirpola's men where he dispatches most of them with these awesome devices that instantly vaporize people, usually mid-scream (we get a lot of hilarious interrupted screams), Oshay is captured and imprisoned. Deneer has already been captured, too. Zirpola even throws his doctor, Dr. Karl (William Smithers), in a cell after the doc tells him he has a previously unknown brain disease caused by excessive radiation and needs to step down as leader. Dr. Karl's son Marcus (Will Walker), who was being guided by Deneer when she was taken, returns to save his dad. I just watched Will Walker the previous Friday in Paul Schrader's Hardcore, and here he is again on a second consecutive Friday. You can't make this stuff up.

After a harrowing imprisonment, torture (including nude electric shock treatment for the women; the dudes get to keep wearing their loincloths), a deathsport game, and a daring escape, Oshay, Deneer, Dr. Karl, and Marcus take off across the desert, with Ankar and his boys in pursuit. The cannibal mutants also get in on the action. More motorcycle chases, nudity, explosions, decapitations, tender moments, cannibalism, laser blasting, and sword fighting ensue. It's all pretty silly and pretty fun.

With Arkush's help, Deathsport made it past the finish line. It's not one of the great Corman movies, but it's not turgid slop. If you like the drive-in b-movie experience, you'll probably find something to like here, but it's nothing to rearrange your schedule for if you have a great movie to watch. I can be an arty son-of-a-bitch, but I also like shit blowing up real good, motorcycles driving real fast, decapitated heads rolling, and sexy ladies, so I can never dismiss Deathsport entirely. It's no Death Race 2000, but, hey, it's alright.

One last wild bit of trivia for my fellow music fanatics. The film's score by Andy Stein is played on a bunch of bleeping and blooping synths by cult avant-garde composer (and member of Iggy and the Stooges on the final leg of the Raw Power tour) "Blue" Gene Tyranny and on guitar by Jerry Garcia. I would love to know the story behind the music. The score is pretty bonkers and one of the movie's highlights.

Son of Frankenstein (Rowland V. Lee, 1939)

Son of Frankenstein, the third Universal Studios Frankenstein movie, was the first without the magic touch of James Whale. Whale, one of the best filmmakers of the first Hollywood golden age, directed four of the greatest horror movies of the 1930s (Frankenstein, The Old Dark House, The Invisible Man, and Bride of Frankenstein) but, deciding that he couldn't top what he'd already done, left horror behind for the remainder of his career, turning his focus to musicals, war movies, romantic comedies, and adventure movies.

Fortunately, Frankenstein ended up in the capable hands of director Rowland V. Lee and a stacked cast, including Basil Rathbone, Lionel Atwill, Bela Lugosi, and a returning Boris Karloff in his last appearance as Frankenstein's monster. Lee and screenwriter Wyllis Cooper, instead of trying to mimic Whale's style and tone (a fool's errand), decided to ignore the one-of-a-kind Bride of Frankenstein altogether and create a direct sequel to the first film (and Mary Shelley's novel). Lee also chose to place the action on dramatically stylized German Expressionist-influenced sets that call to mind some of the silent film classics like Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and Waxworks, giving this version of Frankenstein a truly unique look.

Freed up from trying to imitate Whale, Lee creates a surprisingly complex, atmospheric, tragic tale with moments of silliness and camp, particularly with Atwill's and Rathbone's characters, who were memorably parodied in Mel Brooks' Young Frankenstein, a pastiche of the first three Frankenstein movies that draws heavily from this installment. Though reputationally a footnote to Whale's two Frankenstein movies and Brooks' parody, Son of Frankenstein is a pretty damn good movie in its own right and deserves to be seen on its own terms.

The longest Universal monster movie at 99 minutes, Son of Frankenstein begins with Frankenstein's son, Baron Wolf von Frankenstein (Basil Rathbone, most famous for playing Sherlock Holmes), inheriting the castle, laboratory, and servants of his late father. Wolf, a British doctor living in the United States with his cosmopolitan American wife Elsa (Josephine Hutchinson) and their inexplicably Southern-accented son Peter (Donnie Dunagan, a tap-dancing child prodigy who was born in San Antonio and raised in Memphis, so maybe not that inexplicable; he later became the voice of Bambi in the Disney movie and spent his adult post-showbiz life as a career Marine, eventually working in counterintelligence) decide to move to the castle permanently, angering and frightening the villagers, who thought they were finally free of these damn Frankensteins and their crazy damn experiments. A series of mysterious deaths in the village has also given rise to the rumor that the monster is still alive, making the anti-Frankenstein sentiment even more pronounced.

Arriving at Castle Frankenstein in the middle of a suitably gothic thunderstorm, the Frankensteins get the cold shoulder from the villagers but a considerably warmer one from the castle servants. Wolf and Peter dig the castle, but Elsa gets bad vibes almost immediately and doesn't seem too enamored of its wacky German Expressionist architecture. Meanwhile, a creepy bearded dude named Ygor (Bela Lugosi) is skulking around the premises and spying on the family.

Also skulking around, albeit with a much friendlier presentation, is police inspector Krogh (Lionel Atwill), who tells the Frankensteins that he's here to serve and protect the family while secretly harboring suspicions that Wolf is up to the same shenanigans as dear old dad. Krogh has an artificial right arm since his biological arm was ripped off by Frankenstein's monster when he was a kid. His stiff movements adjusting his arm and monocle are parodied by Kenneth Mars in Young Frankenstein, but it's almost a parody of a parody, with Atwill playing the movements straight-facedly but with deliberate physical comedy.

The next morning, after the storm has subsided, Wolf checks out his father's old laboratory, which is missing a roof, cluttered with rubble, and adjacent to a bubbling hot sulfur pit, but otherwise in surprisingly great shape. Ygor, suspicious of the stranger, attempts to smush Wolf with a heavy stone, but Wolf is too quick and too armed with a rifle for Ygor to succeed. After Ygor finds out the man is Frankenstein's son, he ushers him into a secret underground lair where the body of the monster (Boris Karloff) is still very much alive, though in a coma after being struck by lightning. Obsessed with his father's research and urged on by Ygor, Wolf decides to bring the monster out of his coma. He gives the lab a makeshift roof covering and cleans it up, experimenting on the monster with the assistance of Ygor and the assistant Wolf brought with him from the United States, Thomas Benson (Edgar Norton), whose addition to the team angers Ygor.

It will surprise no one that Frankenstein's monster returns to consciousness, setting up a complex power struggle between all our characters. The monster just wants to live in peace. Ygor, the only human the monster trusts, wants to use him for his own nefarious revenge-based purposes (he was genuinely mistreated by the villagers but his plans are also morally dubious) and to get the other people in the castle out of his way now that he has what he needs. Wolf wants to win the monster's trust, get him away from Ygor, study him further, become a legend in the scientific community, and keep all this shit a secret from Inspector Krogh (and, for the time being, his own family). Krogh knows the monster is back and wants him dead and is also becoming much less enamored of Wolf, who goes from mild-mannered friendly doctor to zero-chill obviously-hiding-the-truth obsessive ball of intensity in the blink of an eye. The villagers want the Frankensteins the hell out of their once tourist-friendly village. Elsa wants to know why her husband is acting so damn weird and also wants the hell out of the village. The sulfur pit just keeps getting hotter and bubblier. No one is on the same page here, and the conflicts, secrets, and opposing viewpoints become a tornado of drama. I grew up in a small town, so this is just like a documentary to me.

This is such a well-designed, well-written, well-made, well-performed Universal monster movie. It looks beautiful and remains compelling throughout, and, though it never reaches the heights of the James Whale films, it comes surprisingly close. Later installments may have become more soulless and profit-chasing, but this feels like a heartfelt work, made by artists and craftsmen. I love it. (Though Wolf does get off a little too easy at the end. He was part of the problem, man.)

  

Marquis de Sade's Justine aka Deadly Sanctuary (Jess Franco, 1969)

Despite my love of drive-in/exploitation/b-movie/underground/cult film, I've never quite warmed up to Spanish filmmaker Jesús "Jess" Franco, one of the horniest and most prolific of b-movie directors, who released the first of his 100+ features, Tenemos 18 años, in 1959 and the last, Revenge of the Alligator Ladies, in 2013, the year of his death at the age of 82. To be fair, I've seen only a fraction of his output, including two movies I wrote about on this site, Barbed Wire Dolls, a standard-issue women-in-prison movie with an absurd number of crotch shots and one hilarious slow-motion scene that, instead of changing the frame rate of the film, has the actors (unconvincingly) move slowly, kids-on-a-playground style, and Oasis of the Zombies aka Bloodsucking Nazi Zombies, a standard-issue zombie movie in which the zombies that are supposedly reanimated Nazi soldiers sport early '80s shaggy rock'n'roll hairstyles like they're in Quiet Riot or Def Leppard.

This is usually the kind of thing I can get behind, but the lackadaisical sloppiness and narrative inertia of these two films and Franco's artless use of the zoom and casual disregard for whether his images are in focus (picture '80s camcorder footage of a children's birthday party, but shot on film) didn't win me over. I was expecting more of the same but on a grander scale with Justine, a Marquis de Sade adaptation with name actors and a much bigger budget than Franco usually had at his disposal that is frequently referred to by the Franco-heads as one of his dullest and most disappointing films. I think I'm in opposite land when it comes to Franco, because I really enjoyed this one, occasional artless zoom notwithstanding. It's nutty, ridiculous, horny, and bewildering, and it also has an energy and passion missing from the other Francos I've seen. He even manages to capture some exciting and beautiful images in between the scenes that look like he handed the equipment to a child or a drunk dad.

The worst part of Justine is the framing device, despite featuring Klaus Kinski as de Sade. This wordless performance sees Kinski behind bars, writing Justine in the Bastille between bouts of meaningful glowering and pacing and the occasional vision of Justine and lightly tortured nude women who otherwise don't seem to be a part of the narrative. Franco zooms his camera in and out on Kinski's aggrieved mug and the bars of the cell for what feels like an interminable stretch of time. This must have been a quick paycheck for Kinski for what I'm assuming was less than a day's work. He surprisingly appeared in several Franco films, and Franco is possibly one of the only directors Kinski never threatened to murder. (I recently saw the Brian Eno documentary with a friend of mine at the Austin Film Society. Afterwards, noticing Fitzcarraldo on the schedule, my friend made the comment that Kinski would have been unsuitable for any job on earth other than actor. After some pondering on this, we decided he would have been the proprietor of an extra-legal high-end exotic pet smuggling ring in Europe. "Hans, my Russians can get you three black bears by Thursday.")

Fortunately, the rest of Justine is much more entertaining. A loose adaptation of the de Sade novel, the film tells the story of the virtuous but naive Justine (Romina Power, daughter of Tyrone Power), and her unfortunate travels through France. Justine and her sister Juliette (Maria Rohm) are teenage girls living in a convent. The nuns inform the girls that their mother has died and their father has been forced to flee the country due to some kind of legal entanglement and can no longer pay for their room and board. The nuns boot the sisters out of the convent, which is devastating for Justine but fine and dandy with hedonistic bad girl Juliette. (The film flips the script on the usual stereotypes by making the blonde the bad girl and the brunette the goodie-two-shoes.) Justine is heartbroken by her mother's death, but Juliette is more concerned with any inheritance they may have received.

Given 400 crowns by their parents' estate and dumped on the street by the convent, the sisters make their way to Paris, where Juliette claims to know a place where they can stay. Of course it's a brothel, and the shocked Justine decides to take her chances on the streets rather than take up sex work. Juliette stays and wastes little time entering into a steamy relationship with fellow hedonist libertine Claudine (Rosemary Dexter). 

In short order, Justine gets her crowns stolen by a man in Catholic vestments, who says he'll look after the money for her at the church and sends to her a house where she can stay. When she arrives at the rooming house, the weirdo landlord Harpin (Orson Welles regular Akim Tamiroff) has no idea what she's talking about. Realizing she's been scammed, Justine begs for a job, and Harpin makes her the house maid, but her habit of wearing short nightgowns sans underwear while cleaning draws the attention of house resident Desroches (Gustavo Re). She rejects his aggressive advances while also rejecting Harpin's plan of using her to rob Desroches of his stash of gold jewelry.

Eventually, Justine is framed for stealing Desroches' gold brooch and sentenced to death, which is just the beginning of her scantily clad but virtuous journey across the French countryside, where she repeatedly meets and naively trusts unscrupulous people, gets cruelly taken advantage of, and miraculously escapes, only to get in another jam. Meanwhile, Juliette and Claudine also hit the countryside in an orgy of violence, theft, and nude river bathing. In contrast to her virtuous sister, the more wickedness Juliette indulges in, the more her fortunes grow.

Along the way, Justine encounters the evil head of a criminal gang, Madame Dusbois (Mercedes McCambridge, who appears to be having a fantastic time playing a baddie); sensitive painter Raymond (Harald Leipnitz), a seemingly decent guy with a spectacularly architecturally strange house; the marquis of Bressac (Horst Frank), a sadistic weasel who tries to get Justine to poison his much wealthier wife, the marquise (Sylva Koscina), so he can inherit her family fortune and freely have sex with his boy toy; and Antonin (Jack Palance), the head of a freaky, pleasure-seeking, S&M monastery with women slaves. Palance also pulls double duty as the film's narrator. 

I haven't seen every single Jack Palance performance, but I'm confident that what I'm about to type is one hundred percent accurate. Palance's performance as Antonin is the weirdest performance of his entire career and could conceivably be the weirdest performance an actor has ever delivered in anything. There's a wild moment where Franco fades down Palance's voice and superimposes a different scene over his face, mid-monologue. It's as if Franco is telling us that Palance's maniacally eccentric approach to the character is even too much for Franco.

Aside from the dull Kinski scenes (which only eat up maybe 10 minutes of the running time, tops), Justine is grade-A late '60s Eurotrash. I was thoroughly entertained, and, since I'd never read the de Sade novel (though some of it has been dramatically changed here), I never knew what to expect. This movie takes some wild turns. Even the crazy Franco zooms (which frequently go out of focus) don't bother me here because it feels like the director's id has completely taken over the proceedings and can't be bothered with technical details, and that's an exciting feeling. The actors mostly give campy (but not too campy), energetic, personality-filled performances, and Romina Power makes a good straight woman enveloped by nuttiness. She has the right face and delivery for the material. She's believable as the virginal, naive, pure of heart girl, but she also has just a hint of a sly, knowing look that subtly lets the audience know she's in on the joke. That may be the only time I ever use the word "subtly" in a Jess Franco review. Maybe I was too hasty in my initial Franco judgment, maybe this is an outlier, maybe I'm a contradictory man, but I like this one.