L'Amour Braque (Andrzej Żuławski, 1985)

There's a scene that occurs midway through Andrzej Żuławski's L'Amour Braque that is the key to judging whether or not this film is a success. Personally, I thought the scene where Sophie Marceau rips the crotch of her tan pantyhose to help the trajectory of Tchéky Karyo's erect, vagina-bound penis was all I needed to deem this film a success. However, in order for this come off a real movie review, I need to allude something that is not perversion-based. And since it's tradition for me to type words that pertain to the insanity of the characters whenever I write about the films of Andrzej Żuławski (this is my fourth), I think opening with a bit about madness is only fitting. Anyway, as I was saying, when Francis Huster falls to the ground shouting incoherent nonsense at the top of his lungs at around the midway point, I... Wait, I think every scene in this movie either begins or ends with Francis Huster falling to the ground shouting incoherent nonsense at the top of his lungs. Be that as it may, the fact that none of the people who were walking by as Francis Huster engaged in a full-body conniption fit took notice of him put my mind at ease. The reason it did so is quite simple, everyone who appears in an Andrzej Żuławski film must be on the same wavelength as the director. The second someone comes off as shocked or appalled by what is transpiring in front of them, is the moment I get taken out of the movie.

Thankfully, everyone is completely on board. Meaning, good luck finding a voice of reason in this two-toed clusterfuck of a romantic comedy. Yep, you heard me, romantic comedy.

I know this goes against everything I just said, but I would have loved to have seen a character ask a simple question. You know, something like: Do you know what time it is? Imagine how Tchéky Karyo or Francis Huster would have reacted to a question like that? I can just picture Tchéky holding this person down (while screaming incoherent nonsense at the top of his lungs) as Francis proceeded to eat escargot from their quivering butt-hole.

(It can't be that absurd, can it?) Oh, trust me, it can. No one acts like a normal human being in this movie. Of course, I don't mean to imply that using the outer layer of someone's anus as an escargot bowl is abnormal. But you got to admit, it's highly irregular, especially when you factor in the sheer amount of non-rectal tableware that was available in France during the 1980s (they don't call it the dish and plate decade for nothing).

If I was at screening of this film and Andrzej Żuławski was on hand to do a Q and A afterward, I wouldn't ask a goddamn thing. Actually, that's not entirely true. If I was able to communicate via telepathy (using your mouth to express ideas is for saps), I think I would ask him if Brian de Palma's Scarface was an inspiration. I know, it clearly states that Fyodor Dostoyevsky's The Idiot was the inspiration for this film. It's just that some of the action scenes had a Scarface feel to them.

Yeah, that's right, I said, action scenes. So, let's recap: It would seem that Andrzej Żuławski has directed an absurdist romantic comedy/action movie that was inspired by Fyodor Dostoyevsky's The Idiot.

At any rate, like I was saying, there's plenty of action in this film. We're talking car chases, we're talking shoot outs, we're talking bank robberies.

Opening with a bank robbery involving four jumpsuit-wearing thieves in Disney masks, L'Amour Braque establishes right away that this is going to be a film that plays by its own rules. Oh, sure, it looks like a bank is being robbed (a common occurrence in action/crime cinema), but the way it's executed is unlike any bank robbery I've ever seen.

Hopping aboard a train, the gang, lead by Micky (Tchéky Karyo), seem to be making a clean getaway, when all of a sudden, the police arrive. Luckily, Tchéky and the gang are able to thwart the authorities with the help of Léon (Francis Huster), a dim Hungarian émigré.

Seeing him as a sort of good luck charm, Micky takes Léon under his wing and proceeds to show him how Parisian criminals unwind. Part of the unwinding process involves introducing him to Mary (Sophie Marceau), his gorgeous Parisian girlfriend. I don't think I have to tell you what happens next.

Actually, even if I did have to tell to you, I don't think I would want to. First of all, while the story is pretty straight-forward gangster stuff, as with the bank heist scene, the way it plays out is nothing but... straight-forward. Careening from one scene to another in a nonsensical fashion, the film will severely test the patience of those who are accustomed to hearing dialogue that makes a modicum of sense.

Now, unlike the characters in Andrzej Żuławski's Possession and Szamanka, these people are not mentally-ill. They simply express themselves in a manner that is somewhat unorthodox. (Somewhat?) Okay, they do so in a manner that is extremely unorthodox. So much so, I don't think I understood a single thing any of the characters said in this movie. Granted, I was familiar with the words they were saying. It's just that the manner they were arranged was so baffling.

Let's just say, people who pretend to be smart for a living will eat this shit up. As for the rest of us–you know, those who are painfully aware of their own brain deficiencies–we will have to find alternative ways to navigate this film's pompous ass-enabling mind-field. And the best way I discovered to do so is to relish in the film's visual bouquet.

My favourite example of this "visual bouquet" occurs when we see a group of Dick Tracy-esque hoods strutting down the middle of a neon lit street near the famous Folies Bergère. Looking like a scene lifted straight from the pages of a sleazy comic book, the cartoonish energy of this scene flies in the face of the film's art-house temperament. Hold up, forget about flying in the face of, the two styles actually complement one another.

If cartoon violence and neon lighting isn't your thing, you could simply sit back and bask in the beauty that is Sophie Marceau. If you're not into brunettes, you could always bask in Christiane Jean, who plays... to be honest, I have no idea who she plays. Either way, Jess Franco fans will recognize her from Faceless. In conclusion, out of the handful of Andrzej Żuławski film I've seen so far, I would have to say L'Amour Braque is the most challenging.

The Public Woman (Andrzej Żuławski, 1984)

The next French, Czechoslovak, West German, Italian, Spanish, Danish– ugh, this is hard work–Lithuanian, Swedish, Dutch...  (Just say "Euro-trash douchebag," it will rescue you from the geographic gymnastics routine you are currently trying to perform.) Thanks, I'll give it a try. The next Euro-trash douchebag to lay a finger on Ethel, the frequently on the move woman at the centre of The Public Woman (La Femme Publique), is going to feel the wrath of my no-nonsense Canadian fist slamming against their infrequently washed face. Oh, don't get me wrong, I get what the film, directed by Andrzej Żuławski (Szamanka and Possession), was going for. It's just that I was growing increasingly tired of seeing Ethel being pushed around by a bunch of ambiguously European pansies as the film progressed. But then it dawned on me. If a French or Polish woman with shapely legs and a demented disposition isn't being driven more insane than she already is by the men in her life or enduring psychological torment caused by outside forces beyond her control, it wouldn't be an Andrzej Żuławski film, now would it? In a rare twist, however, some of the characters in this film are fully aware of the lunacy around them. Meaning, if they see something that is straight-up meshugganah, they will call that shit out. This happens on a few occasions over the course of this film, but the first time it does, I was somewhat taken aback. I mean, the act of pointing out someone's lack of mental fortitude in an Andrzej Żuławski seems like it would be an activity fraught with unintended/unforeseen consequences.

You think calling people "crazy" in an Andrzej Żuławski film is weird, wait until you see the third act car chase. And not only that, a third act car chase that features an Uzi being fired from one of the cars involved in the chase. An Uzi!!!!! This is definitely not your typical slice of arty European cinema.

Don't worry, though, there's still plenty of relationships of a psychosexual nature, tons of pontifical dialogue, and the usual amount of Steadicam shots of fashion forward women walking briskly through the streets of French and/or Polish cities to savour in this film.

The way I usually determine how I'm going to feel about an Andrzej Żuławski film begins and ends with the performance given by the lead actress, and, of course, by the quality of her wardrobe.

Now, we all know what my feelings are when it comes to the first-rate crazy Isabelle Adjani and Iwona Petry put out there in the Andrzej Żuławski films they appeared in. So, the question on everyone's mind is: How does Valérie Kaprisky measure up?

And she's off! Wasting very little time, we're shown Valérie Kaprisky walking briskly down a smoke-filled street right from the get-go. Seriously, there's no establishing shot or subtle lead in, the sight of Valérie Kaprisky stomping down the street in an authoritative manner is the first thing we see. I have no idea where she's going, but I do have a strong feeling it's going to involve a shitload of hysterical shouting. Okay, she, Ethel (Valérie Kaprisky), just handed some guy in a restaurant a wad of a cash (she actually told a waitress to give it to him), and now some of the other restaurant patrons are trying to take the money away from him. A brawl ensues. Head-butting one of them and throwing another out a window, it would seem that the guy Ethel gave the money to knows how to handle himself.

Hurling herself down an alleyway while blubbering and screaming incoherent nonsense, Ethel is already becoming unhinged. Oh, wait, it's just clever editing device. You see, she's not blubbering because of the brawl she just witnessed, she's actually on her way to an audition for a role in the latest film by Lucas Kessling (Francis Huster), the new face of European independent cinema (he's on the cover of the latest issue of Cahiers du Cinéma).

Reciting dialogue from the script for a group of producers, things, judging by their unmoved faces, seem to be going rather poorly. While the producers don't see anything in her, Lucas thinks otherwise and introduces himself to the inexperienced actress/model.

We get a taste of what Ethel's modeling career entails in the next scene, as she poses nude for some creep at a photo studio. (Poses nude?) Yeah, that's not the right term for what she does in this scene. I think spastic nude aerobics is a more apt description. Anyway, after dancing naked to some kind of new wave techno Euro-funk for a rather lengthy period of time, Ethel gets dressed and leaves. Oh, before she goes, the creep with the camera (Roger Dumas), tries to chat with Ethel, who cuts him off mid-sentence and says, "Did I ask you anything?" In other words, don't ever talk to me again, creep.

Felt up by the photo studio's female secretary and groped by a guy in a parking garage elevator, it would appear that Ethel can't go anywhere without being molested by strangers.

It should be noted that every scene starts with Ethel on the move. And even though the film is fast-paced and full of energy without them, these walking intro thingies give the film a real sense of urgency. Where is she going? And why is she walking so fast? These are the type of questions that dart through the minds of normal people.

All I could think about, on the other hand, was what the exact temperature was inside Ethel's pantyhose. (Oh, boy. Here we go.) What? You didn't think I was going to write a review for La Femme Publique and not mention the abundance of pantyhose in this movie? This is the most pantyhose friendly movie I've seen in years. (It's just that I don't think that's what Andrzej Żuławski going for when he set out to make this movie.) He didn't, eh? Well, I don't give a shit. You put an attractive actress in pantyhose and parade her around an urban setting for ninety-plus minutes in said pantyhose, I'm going to take notice.

Putting aside all this pantyhose talk for a second, let's discuss those dresses Ethel likes to wear. Now, I don't know what you would call them exactly, but the style of dresses Ethel wears throughout this movie did nothing but intensify her pantyhose ensnared legs and hips. (Wait, did you say, hips?) I did.

The dresses, a sort of new wave-tinged, Roman-style mini-tunic, have slits down the side that go all the way up to the waist. Meaning, you can totally see her hips. And since she never goes anywhere without her lower half poured into either black or grey pantyhose, her pantyhose-accentuated hips are constantly on display. Depending on the strength of the wind or the level of exuberance of the wearer's movements, you can also see pantyhose-accentuated side-booty.

Hello? You still there? Oh, there you are. It looked you were about to pass out.

Don't be ashamed, I almost did too. I'll give you a quick example. It occurs when Ethel, who is shacking up with a Czech dissident named Milan (Lambert Wilson). It's somewhat complicated as to how Ethel ended up living with this Milan fella, but... It's not important. Well, it is important, just not to the point I'm trying to make here. Stay focused. There's a scene in Milan's apartment where Ethel puts on these gold pumps that literally had me bouncing off the walls...of my padded cell.

After putting on the gold pumps, Ethel gets up and begins to clear the table. What's happens next is hands down one of the sexiest things I've ever seen. (Isn't this the film where Valérie Kaprisky dances naked on three separate occasions?) Oh, I see what you're saying. But, no, I still say Valérie Kaprisky clearing the table in a green new wave-tinged, Roman-style mini-tunic; gold strappy heels; and jet black pantyhose is way sexier. But, hey, that's just me.

While rehearsing for Lucas Kessling's film, an adaptation of Fyodor Dostoyevsky's "The Possessed" (a.k.a. Demons), it becomes clear that Ethel is way over her head. Dressed in period costume (one of the rare of instances we see her out of her trademark mini-tunic) and surrounded by pompous French actors and a crew that obviously has little to no respect for her as an actress, Ethel struggles with the material. The scene that involves her performing a monologue about a large spider in a wardrobe in particular.

Screaming, "I don't understand what you mean! I don't understand what you want!" in response to Lucas' direction/meltdown, Ethel has lost all her confidence.

Did she just get fired? Who knows. But a strange plot twist occurs at this point. I'm not 100% sure, but I think Ethel is pretending to be Elena Mliska (Diane Delor), a Czech actress who has recently gone missing. Well, sort of missing. Her husband, Milan, says she went back to Czechoslovakia, but Ethel's not buying that. She thinks Elena was... murdered!

Nonetheless, Ethel moves in with Milan, dyes her hair red and starts dressing like Elena (gold pumps, baby). To complicate things even more, Ethel thinks Milan had a hand in the recent assassination of an important Lithuanian religious figure (the Archbishop of Kaunas, perhaps?)

While all this sounds somewhat convoluted, it's actually pretty straightforward. You see, Ethel wants to be a better actress. And what better way to improve your acting chops than by assuming the identity of a missing, presumed dead Czech actress and getting mixed up with her troubled, archbishop assassinating husband. At least that's what I think the film is about.

Either way, Valérie Kaprisky is gorgeous and Francis Huster and Lambert Wilson are both a couple of handsome motherscratchers. So, if you like watching attractive French people yelling at each other for a period of time no longer than two hours (stopping every now and then to fuck one another), then by all means seek out La Femme Publique. It will arouse your genitals and make you feel smart at the same time.

Important keywords: Pantyhose, Uzi, Mini-tunic, Gold pumps, Stand up sexual intercourse, Burnt sienna tights, Film within a film, Assassination, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Peach coloured dress, Jeu de paume, Walking, Hair dye, Protest, Naked dancing, and Toothbrushing.

Szamanka (Andrzej Żuławski, 1996)

If Anna, Isabelle Adjani's character from Possession, saw Iwona Petry's "The Italian" walking down the street, she would probably think to herself, "Girl, you ain't hooked up right." Or, "Girl, you need to take it down a notch." And, as anyone who has seen Possession can attest, that's a little like the...I'm gonna have stop myself for a second, because I don't want to use that idiom that involves a talking pot and a dark-coloured kettle. But let's just say, Anna from Possession is a bit of a hypocrite. I mean, who is she trying to kid? She's the queen of acting unhinged in an urban setting. Though, in all seriousness, I did wonder what would happen if Anna, a deranged brunette in an indigo dress, and The Italian, a deranged brunette in a leopard-print dress, were to run into each other on the street. Which reminds me, wouldn't it have been great if Isabelle Adjani made a cameo appearance in this film? Nothing too fancy, just show the look on her face as she watched The Italian eat a plate of cow brains at an outdoor cafe. Actually, now that I think about it, that kind of cuteness has no place in the enigmatic world of Szamanka (The Shamen), Andrzej Żuławski's erotic clusterfuck about the healthiest relationship this side of Wrocław. (Oh, and, by the way, if you pronounce it "Wrock-claw," I get to kick you in the crotch. It's pronounced, "Vrots-waf." Learn it. Know it. Live it.)  Even though you will occasionally see people, Polish people, to be ethnically specific, doing things that could be construed as normal. Make no mistake, nothing that occurs in this film comes close to being normal. And, to make matters even less normal, I'm the person who's been selected to watch it. Let me give an example of how the pairing of me and this exceedingly odd slice of Euro-reared art-house meshuganah is a spastic hissy-fit just waiting to happen. Every time Iwona Petry would appear onscreen in her trademark black leather cap, I would start to sing the lyrics to "My Time" by Ann Steel, a catchy disco song from 1979.      
 

 

What's the reason for this seemingly random connection? Damn, there are so many. You know what? I'll give you two reasons. The first one is obvious, both Ann Steel and Iwona Petry are wearing similar hats. Sure, the one Ann Steel wears in the video for "My Time" is yellow and the one Iwona Petry is wearing is clearly black, but they do have the same Alpine jauntiness about them.
 

 

The other, less obvious one, has to do with the line in the song, "Stored on the shelves of my memories, my thoughts are in perfect array." Now, you could say that this particular passage summarizes Iwona Petry's intellectual temperament. However, if you did use that line to describe Iwona Petry's "The Italian" (a.k.a. Włoszka), you would be openly mocked by cinema snobs and jackbooted geriatrics alike, as her thoughts are nowhere near being "in perfect array." People who eat cow brains on purpose don't have their thoughts in perfect array. If anything, their thoughts are in perfect disarray.
 

 

The only non-zombie film in existence to begin with brain eating and to end with brain eating, Szamanka will frustrate and confuse most viewers. I, on the other hand. Yeah, yeah, we get it. You're cooler than the rest of us. What I was going to say was... Actually, now that you mention it, am I pretty cool. I mean, look at me. I'm typing words about an Andrzej Żuławski film in the most flippant manner possible.
 

 

Cue the part of the review where you go on long this tangent about how you wish Iwona Petry's "The Italian" was your girlfriend. Am I that predictable? Truth be told, I was drawn to The Italian, as I found her erratic behaviour to be bewitching at times. Yet, she also made a tad uneasy. I know, me? Uneasy? Poppycock. It's testament to the brilliance that is Iwona Petry, who, unlike Isabelle Adjani, isn't a professional actress. Seriously, though, the herculean effort she puts forth in this film is off the chart that registers such things.
 

 

Careening through the streets of Warszawa like a culturally inept marathon runner who's afraid of clowns, The Italian (Iwona Petry), called so for her talent for making pizza, bumps into an anthropologist named Michael (Bogusław Linda) at the train station. Trying in vain to convince his brother not to sell his apartment, The Italian somehow manages to get Michael to take her there.  
 

 

Once inside the apartment, The Italian and Michael engage in the first of many sex scenes that are featured in Szamanka. However, unlike most films, the sex scenes in this film are quite different. Oh, you can say that again. You can tell right away that things aren't going to be ho-hum as far as cinematic humping goes when the music of Andrzej Korzyński starts to blast on the soundtrack. Blast? Yeah, blast. It's akin to the music of Laibach or Test Dept. In other words, lot's of heavy drumming and operatic vocals.
 

 

Keep a close eye on Iwona Petry's face as her vagina is being penetrated by Michael's probably Polish penis. The sly smile she throws him the moment Michael reveals his "I'm currently ejaculating sperm from the tip of my penis" face, was awesome beyond belief. And what makes the sly smile even more awesome was the fact that she was already smiling at the time when she threw it. As for the reasoning behind the smile? My only guess is that The Italian realizes that she's the one who's going to be the dominate force in this relationship. And, as we all know, their relationship has just begun.
 

 

As The Italian, who is supposedly a student of some kind, goes about her daily routine, one that includes, trying to avoid the grabbing hands of pervy passengers on public transit, having unfulfilling sex with her doctor boyfriend (what makes it even more unfulfilling is the fact that he won't give her any money), trashing her mom's house, vomiting, reapplying smeared lipstick, and taking a piss by a lake, Michael and his team of scientists have discovered the perfectly preserved corpse of a 2,500 year old shaman at a dig site. 
 

 

Frustrated by the way her day has been going so far, The Italian attempts placate this frustration by tracking Michael down. Shouting, "Where is anthropology?" at almost everyone she comes in contact with (my favourite response was "anthropology is everywhere"), she finally finds him giving a lecture about shamanism to a group of students. As I watched her hump and French kissing a glass display case while she waits for him to finish, it's clear that The Italian wants to fuck something. Warm synths, spit licking, and weird face touching precede their eventual corporeal commingling.
 

 

After losing it at a cafe, The Italian, who must lose her shit at least five times a day, goes home to eat cat food and smear ice all over her face. In-between attending classes and working at her father's slaughterhouse, The Italian is brought to the birthday party of one of Michael's friends, or it could have been his father's birthday [Edit: The party was for Michael's fiancee]. Either way, Michael tells The Italian to wear a skimpy leopard-print dress paired with black pantyhose (his logic being, she can't attend a fancy party that's being attended by so-called "normal people" dressed like a gothic hobo).
 

 

Does performing an impromptu voodoo-style tribal dance at a birthday party count as losing your shit? The only reason I ask is because I think I might have missed the mark on the amount of times The Italian behaves erratically (a.k.a. loses her shit) over the course of a single day. Truth be told, I have a feeling she acts this way all the time. So, trying to pinpoint the exact amount of times she acts insane in a single day is a fruitless endeavour.  
 

 

The examination of the body of a two thousand year-old shaman covered with mystical tattoos and boasting a rectum full of two thousand year-old sperm, a train toilet sex scene where the male participant extols the virtues of his dead gay priest brother in-between moans, and the sight of leggiest woman ever to walk past a graffiti-covered wall are all what greet us over the next few scenes. Oh and if you liked The Italian's leggy graffiti walk, a similar walk occurs later on in the film as well.   
 

 

All the film's sex scenes, and there are plenty of them, have this raw, animalistic quality about them. Sure, they thrust their basin-shaped trunks one pelvis at a time like everyone else, but their sexual jabs seem to have an apocalyptic urgency about them.
 

 

Featuring one of the most perplexing performances in film history, three instances where brains are consumed, and two leggy walks (three if you include the leopard-print pantyhose walk), Szamanka, despite being chock-full of pompous gobbledygook half the time, is unlike anything I have ever seen. It's true, almost anyone can make a film that has mentally unhinged characters doing mentally unhinged things in an urban setting. But Andrzej Żuławski seems to be able to create worlds where everyone, even the extras, have decided to stop taking their meds. That's right, everyone is crazy in this film; The Italian's antics are just magnified. You would move in an irregular fashion as well if everyone you came in contact with was trying to paw at your supple flesh.
 

 

If you like your romantic comedies to have a metaphysical bent, this isn't the film for you; it's not a comedy. However, if you like watching deranged Poles fornicate to industrial music, and who doesn't? Then you need to watch this film.

video uploaded by cainavideo

Special thanks to Thomas Duke (Cinema Gonzo) for recommending this "crazy and awesome and crazy awesome and sexy as balls" film.