Countess Perverse (Jess Franco, 1974)

I've been known for going on these long tangents about a certain fleshy appendage, especially when they appear in the cinematic works of Jess Franco. If the exaggerated language that is typically used to describe these stem-like entities has caused many a reader to question my sanity, than so be it; I'd rather be insane than live in a world without Jess Franco-approved legginess. When I first approached Countess Perverse, with my usual usual mix of arrogance and stupidity, I knew exactly what to expect: Gorgeous European woman cavorting about in a slightly surreal paradise as Howard Vernon stands creepily in the background. And, yes, it delivers all that and more. However, I had no idea what a profound impact the slits that adorn the dress worn by Alice Arno would have on my fragile psyche. Now, I've seen a lot of slits over the years (large slits, small slits), but never have I seen a slit like this. The moment I first saw it, I thought there might be something wrong with my television; in that, there's no way that slit can be real. When I realized that there was nothing technically wrong with my television, I started to panic. How can a slit like that actually exist? I asked myself as I lay curled up in a ball underneath my coffee table (a.k.a. a piece of glass supported by two milk crates) mumbling a disturbing mishmash of slit-based gibberish and profanity-laden nonsense. After taking a brisk walk to clear my head, I returned to the scene of the slit. In other words, I re-watched the scene where Alica Arno first appears in the now infamous slit-heavy garment. As I watched Alice's massive slit flap erotically in the wind, I knew almost immediately that the slit in question would take up the bulk of my time whenever I got around to typing words about this particular film.   
 

 

If I didn't broach the slit subject right out of the gate, I wouldn't be able to look myself in the mirror. And now that I have, I believe I can continue in a calm, rational, non-slit obsessed manner. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm still going to give the slit its due in the coming paragraphs. It's just that I wanted to get some slit out of my system before moving on to less slity ground.
 

 

What's great about Countess Perverse, besides the slit on Alice Arno's slit-tastic dress (hey, behave yourself), is the fact that Talia Busselier (Isla, the Wicked Warden) wears pants in the opening scene. Are you serious? Pants?!? That's exactly what I thought. Pants plus Jess Franco is an equation I never want to see scribbled on the nylon-infused blackboard that is my sick and twisted subconscious. You didn't let me finish. What's great about it is that Talia Busselier's tantalizing lower half is encased in pants (a bland pair of dark blue jeans), yet seconds later, she's wearing brown bikini bottoms. Maybe she changed when you weren't looking. Get out of here. She's clearly wearing pants when she runs down to the beach with Bob (Robert Woods), her male companion, to collect the naked body of a woman who has just washed ashore (an everyday occurrence in the gauzy world of Jess Franco). When she changed into a brown bikini is anyone's guess. Either way, I'm happy the pants fiasco is over and done with.
 

 

Carrying the naked body belonging to Kali (Kali Hansa), a woman who looks like the lovechild of Mary Woronov, Karen Black and a frisky Siamese cat, into their swanky bungalow on the Mediterranean, Moira (Tania Busselier) and Bob try to figure out where she came from. Suddenly, Kali starts rambling about this strange-looking house that sits atop a hill on a desolate island. After she's finished her bungalow-based rambling, a more coherent Kali begins to tell us why she went over to the island in the first place. Traveling by boat, Kali, who, on top of wanting to find her missing sister, is wearing a red floral shirt, is instantly troubled by the rocks that cover the island's shoreline. Even though she hasn't made much sense so far, I have to agree with her when it comes to those rocks, as they straight-up give me the willies. In order to hammer home this point, Jess Franco films the rocks from a number of different angles; okay, we get it, Jess, the rocks are willie-inducing monstrosities.
 

 

Greeted on shore by a man and a woman, Kali, who eventually changes into a blue dress with a red stripe across the top, finds herself the guest of Countess Ivanna Zaroff (Alice Arno) and Count Rabor Zaroff (Howard Vernon), two eccentric aristocrats with an unorthodox approach to fine dinning.
 

 

As they sat at the dinner table to eat something Rabor describes as "different and unique," I couldn't help but notice that both Alice Arno and Kali Hansa have sexy biceps.
 

 

Alluring arms aside, Alice proceeds to show Kali her hunting trophies. Are some of those heads supposed to be human? If they are, they don't look very convincing. Nonetheless, Ivanna and Rabor rape Kali. After employing some mild lesbian groping, Ivanna steps aside to to allow Rabor the opportunity to plunge his probably pockmarked penis balls deep into her forlorn vagina.
 

 

Later that night, Kali wakes up to find that she's been chained to the wall of their dungeon. Just as she begins to scream, Kali wakes up again. But this time, she's back on Moira and Bob's couch. Giving her a sedative to help her sleep, Bob asks Moira what she thinks they should do with her. Without missing a beat, Moira says, "Take her back to the island." You mean? Yep, Moira and Bob are in cahoots with the aristocratic cannibals. Well I never. They seemed like such a nice couple. Hey, man, times are tough. Some times you have to do things you wouldn't normally do to make ends meet. That's true, but luring young women to an island so that they can be eaten by a couple of aristocratic cannibals? That's low.
 

 

Well, Moira and Bob don't seem to think so, as they have already got another hot, underage piece of fresh meat for the Zaroff's ready to go.
 

 

Since telephones are for trailer trash housewives and acne-scarred bed-wetters, they place their order for fresh young girl patty via heliograph.
 

 

Please let the hot, underage piece of fresh meat be played by Lina Romay. Please let the hot, underage piece of fresh meat be played by Lina Romay. Please let the...Yes! Lina Romay is on the screen. I repeat, Lina Romay is on the screen. Wearing a busy red shirt dress with a pair of white [almost] thigh-high boots, Lina Romay is Silvia Aguado, a naive young  woman who...Wait, Lina Romay is playing someone who is naive? That's strange, I don't think I have ever seen Lina play "naive" before. In fact, she usually plays strong, independent women who don't take no guff from anyone. This should be interesting.
 

 

If you think Tania Busselier is going to stand idly by and let Lina Romay steal her thunder, think again. I ain't kidding around, think again! Has another thought been thunk yet? Good. In an attempt to stay relevant, Tania Busselier allows herself to be filmed lounging on the deck in a manner that can best be described as "leggy." Sipping a tropical beverage through a straw, Tania, her legs resting on the deck's railing, seems to get a perverse thrill out of knowing that perverts the world over will be drinking in every nuanced nook and cream-filled cranny of her sun-baked gams in forty years time thanks to the miracle of home video.
 

 

In order to milk her stems for all they're worth, Jess Franco zooms in on Tania's feet, then proceeds to pan across her reclining legs in a slow, deliberate fashion.
 

 

After some yawn-inducing lesbian sex (yeah, that's right, yawn-inducing), Bob, Sylvia, and Moira head over to the island. Hardcore fans of Jess Franco will probably notice that Lina Romay is sitting exactly like Soledad Miranda does in Eugénie de Sade (hugging her legs while resting her head on her arms) during the boat ride over. At any rate, as expected, Sylvia, like Kali before her, starts to feel a tad uneasy when they come upon the rocks. Who would have thought that a bunch of rocks would turn out to be more interesting than lesbian sex? Weird, wild stuff.
 

 

Speaking of weird and wild, I think we're about to get our first glimpse of the infamous dress that may or may not contain the largest slit ever to appear in a motion picture. Here it comes. Boom! Now that's a slit. Slicing its way all the way up to her armpit, the slits on the dress worn by Alice Arno, as she watches Tania and Lina frolic naked in the sand (both, by the way, have similar bums), are, to put it bluntly, fucking insane. And just like Tania Busselier's reclining leg pan, Jess Franco makes sure we get to view her slit from every angle imaginable. 
 

 

Here's a close-up shot of the slit from an angle that practically screams slit.
 

 

The dress itself is white and is covered with green, blue and gold dots, but it's the massive, atypical slits that appear on either side that grab our attention. Of course, you can't wear panties with a dress like this. In other words, the contents of Alice Arno's crotch were at the mercy of the wind. And let's just say, the wind was not kind on that day, my friend.
 

 

Realizing that she is in a losing battle with the wind, Alice Arno decides to let her slit flag fly, and stands for a moment on the stairs that lead to the front door of her creepy ass home. You can tell that Alice Arno is totally at ease with the winds mockery of her slit-generous garment as she stands there in defiance of nature. It was almost as if she was saying, "Yes, the slits on my dress are ridiculously large, and, not to mention, impractical. And, yes, everyone can see the colour of my cunt. But you wanna know what? I don't care. I'm more fabulous than you. Deal with it."
 

 

If you should come across a review of Countess Perverse that doesn't mention the slits on Alice Arno's dress, question their sanity right away. Of course, I'm not saying they should devout three or four paragraphs just to slits. No, I'm just talking about a single mention. As in, "the luminous Alice Arno plays Ivanna Zaroff, a cannibalistic countess with an affinity for nude archery and dresses with overreaching slits."  
 

 

Fashion must be cyclical, because I could have sworn I saw the same black frilly robe Alice Arno gives Lina Romay to wear to bed in the window of my neighbourhood Gucci store the other day. At any rate, as is the custom in Europe, when Alice Arno gives you frilly sleepwear, you must thank her by licking her ass. What a continent!
 

 

I was shocked when the infamous extra high-slit dress makes its second appearance; I assumed that cannibalistic aristocrats rarely ever wore the same outfit more than once. But then again, they do live on an isolated island. Meaning, unlike my neighbourhood, there's no Prada, Zara, Escada, Max Mara, Chanel, Guess, or Louis Vuitton to shop at. Anyway, Lina Romay suddenly realizes that her blemish-free thighs are in serious danger of becoming a tender, succulent roast, and the film goes into naked hunt mode. Replacing her slit-bountiful dress with a belt and a determined sneer, Countess Zaroff chases Sylvia (who is completely naked) through the arid underbrush with a bow and arrow. Will anyone step in to help Lina Romay? Who's to say? All I know is, I want to go to Calpe, Spain (come from the creepy rocks, stay for the free-range cunnilingus), and, of course, get my hands on Alice Arno's slitful dress. Slit sliding away.

Sinner: The Secret Diary of a Nymphomaniac (Jess Franco, 1973)

Looking for hold-up stockings in the cinematic world is usually a waiting game. You could sit motionless for hours on end waiting for the hold-up stockings your thigh-high-obsessed aura so sanely desires, yet still come up empty at the end of the day. Well, your days of waiting for nylon-based satisfaction are over, my friend, as Jess Franco's Sinner: The Secret Diary of a Nymphomaniac (a.k.a. Le journal intime d'une nymphomane) is here to soothe, caress, and gently grope all your hosiery-related needs with the sheerest form of aplomb ever to exist. Circumventing the usual Jess Franco tropes that typically open his films (arty shots of flowers and ornamental grasses swaying in the breeze), we're immediately greeted by two shapely pairs of exquisitely crafted legs, encased in the smoothest black hold-up stockings money can buy, intertwined together in a fashion that caused them to look like a human pretzel. Oh, and when I say, "immediately," I don't mean five seconds, eight seconds, or even ten seconds. I'm talking about hold-up stockings in your face right from the get-go. In fact, it was so quick, that my mind had a hard time adjusting to what it had just seen. You see, I'm not used to watching films that get things right in such an efficient manner. It usually takes three or four scenes for me to properly gauge a film's worthiness as a work of art. But this particular undertaking, which could be seen as the non-supernatural companion piece to Jess Franco's Lorna The Exorcist, managed to win me over during its opening frame. However, unlike most Jess Franco films, this one does not star Soledad Miranda (The Devil Came from Akasava) or Lina Romay (Isla: The Wicked Warden), which, if you ask me, is a risky endeavour. In other words, you can throw all the hold-up stockings in the world at me, that doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to roll over and ignore the fact that your film is terrible. Sure, I'll praise the aspects that are genuinely titillating. But I'm not going to blindly ignore its glaring flaws, either.
 

 

Despite being soft to the touch, hold-up stockings, pantyhose, and thigh-high boots are merely  inanimate objects when you get right down to it. What really matters is the corporeal character of the fleshy contents that have been lovingly pored into them. That's right, fetishism is a two way street. While I'm sure there are people out there who are to able to attain stain-friendly fulfillment from just the object alone. Let me be blunt: I am not one of those people. The relationship between the object and the person wearing said object must be harmonious. Meaning, you can't have one without the other. A pair of fully-fashioned stockings resting on a table, while an arresting image, are nothing without the flesh to give them shape. Same goes for the flesh, as flesh without the aid of a silky pair of nylons is simply unacceptable.
 

 

"A true lady always wears powder on her nose and stockings on her legs." ~ Estée Lauder
 

 

It would seem that Sinner was made during the period of Jess Franco's career when the Soledad Miranda era was about to give way to the Lina Romay years. Given the unenviable task of filling the void left by Soledad Miranda (though, to be fair, the cinematic world had no idea what a dynamo Lina Romay would turn out to be) is the gorgeous Montserrat Prous, a striking brunette with all the attributes necessary to make it as a Jess Franco leading lady. First and foremost, she's not ashamed of her body, as she prances around half-naked without reproach. And secondly, she can writhe in erotic agony like nobody's business. It's true, her writhing technique is not quite as squirmy as Lina Romay, the queen of barely dressed distressed thrashing. But I thought her tossing and turning, whether the result of lust or intoxication, was admirable.
 

 

A nightclub stage bathed in red light is the where our erotic journey begins, but that's not where it starts. Actually, it starts on the stage of a nightclub, but that's not where the story begins. While I'm not quite satisfied with the way I worded that explanation, if it will have to do for now. Hold-up stockings, elaborate belly chains, unhurried caresses, drunken audience members, gold platform heels, and creepy, bass-heavy music is how we're introduced to world of Linda Vargas (Montserrat Prous), a stripper, a prostitute, sex fiend, and a drug addict who seems to be on one of them downward spiral thingies, the kind that suck the innocent dry.
 

 

After she's finished her performance, which, like I said, was a lesbian number that was bathed in red light and featured stockinged legs intertwined with one another, Linda asks a bald man with a mustache if he would like some "company." Moving to a booth (booth number seven, if I remember correctly - I can't believe my mind is able to recall such minor details) in the corner of the club, Linda and the man, one Mr. Ortiz (Manuel Pereiro), talk about Paris and drink champagne, and I mean lots of champagne.
 

 

The harsh, unflattering light of dawn hit Linda and Mr. Ortiz squarely between the eyes as they exit the nightclub. Inviting him to come over to her hotel room, Linda, who is now wearing a pair of black thigh-high boots with a short black dress, corrals the still inebriated lout onto the bed. You know Linda means business when it's revealed that she is not wearing any panties. During a lull in the sloppy foreplay, Linda pulls out a knife and begins to circle the bed. A passed out Mr. Ortiz doesn't realize it yet, but he's about to be framed for murder. Who's murder, you ask? Linda's murder, that's who. You mean? Yep. Sitting on the bed, Linda calls the police, pauses for a moment, and then she slits her own throat.   
 

 

Waking up to find a dead prostitute in black thigh-high boots lying on top of him, Mr. Ortiz suddenly finds himself with a lot of explaining to do when the police burst in and see that he is holding a bloody knife. A cop, an Inspector Hernandez (Jess Franco), to be exact, tells Mr. Ortiz to sign some papers–you know, one's that pertain to admitting his guilt for the crime. Unsure if he actually killed the young woman in the black thigh-high boots, Mr. Ortiz decides not to sign the papers. Even though we know he didn't do it, he's having pretty hard time convincing the police and his wife, Ruth Ortiz (Jacqueline Laurent), otherwise.
 

 

As Mr. Ortiz is trying to explain to his wife that he is not a killer, I couldn't help but wonder how a such a creepy-looking lowlife ended up marrying a milfy goddess like Mrs. Ortiz. I mean, I'm nowhere as a creepy as Mr. Ortiz, so, where's my milfy goddess? It's not fair.
 

 

Determined to uncover the truth, Mrs. Ortiz begins to seek out Linda's associates. The first person on her stop is the Countess Anna de Monterey (Anne Libert), the leggy, which should go without saying, as everyone is leggy in this film, mistress of a guy named Paco (Francisco Acosta). Meeting her while practicing to be leggy on her balcony, Mrs. Ortiz asks the Countess about Linda's life. If, by the way, this storytelling technique sounds familiar, you're right, Sinner: The Secret Diary of a Nymphomaniac is Jess Franco's Citizen Kane, as each character Mrs. Ortiz runs into tells her the story of how Linda ended up where she did.
 

 

In order to properly understand how Linda wound up trying to frame a creepier than usual audience member at one of her burlesque-style shows for murder, the Countess tells us all about Linda's first day in the big city. Wearing a white dress with white shoes (you heard right, there's not a single pair of black thigh-high boots in sight during this sequence), Linda oozes pure innocence as she strolls down the boulevard. Acutely aware of this, uh-oh, Mr. Ortiz starts to follow her; no doubt using the red ribbons in her hair as some sort of perverted guidance system. Utilizing a hand held camera to capture this outdoor unsavouriness, Jess Franco creates a realistic sense of dread, as Mr. Ortiz is right on top of Linda as he stalks her along the beach and eventually to an amusement park. Buying her some cotton candy, Mr. Ortiz takes Linda on the big wheel. Barely waiting for the wheel to make one full go around, Mr. Ortiz is pawing at Linda with a series of unwanted gropes and untoward feels of a copped nature. As the molestation process goes from hand touching to penis-based poking, Linda tries to scream, but her cries for help are drowned out by the inane carnival music.
 

 

Clearly traumatized by what had just occurred, Linda sits there in a state of shock. Getting a job at a backroom sweatshop/laundry service, one that allows her to wear white pleated skirts, Linda is soon raped again, this time by her scumbag boss. Just as life in the big city is about to break her spirit (too much rape, not enough sunshine), Linda comes across the Countess and Paco in the throes of passion while delivering their laundry. Watching them from afar, Linda notices that the Countess wearing nothing but black hold-up stockings. I wonder if this is the first time Linda has seen a pair of hold-up stockings up close? Either way, Linda is intrigued by consensual sex, as it seems less unpleasant than the non-stop rape fest she's been experiencing over the past couple of weeks.
 

 

Spotting the impish little scamp spying on them in the corner, the Countess walks over to her and before she can say anything, Linda kisses her. Surprised by the softness of her mouth, Linda is enamoured with the Countness, who in return, takes the naive girl under her wing. Teaching her about the wonders of hold-up stockings, pantyhose, and, of course, wigs (the pigtails are quickly replaced by a large brunette wig), the Countess and Linda become best friends. However, despite the fact she says she's not jealous (she catches Linda and Paco getting it on), you could totally tell that their relationship is already on shaky ground.
 

 

When Paco dumps Linda to be with his wife (black pantyhose and gold platform shoes be damned), she interprets the Countess's lack of sympathy (she decides to go on holiday during the height of Linda's despair) to be a betrayal. Enter the cat-like gorgeousness of Maria Toledano (Kali Hansa), the definition of alluring, and also trouble. First noticing her dancing at the Lucky Ghost, a groovy as all get out nightclub that caters to the hip and happening of this far out universe, Linda is obsessed with Maria's body, which is sheathed in a colourful crochet number, platform heels, and, of course, tan pantyhose.
 

 

Sultry and languid, Maria, a stripper by night, who poses for pornographic pictures during the day, doesn't know it yet, but she is being pursued by a brattish brunette in black hold-up stockings. And it's during one of these photo shoots that Maria and Linda finally become acquainted with one another. Introduced when Mrs. Schwartz (Doris Thomas), the mannish photographer, lifts Linda (who is wearing a black dress covered in holes and a pair of black hold-up stockings) and places her on Maria's lap, which is adorned with an irregular belt buckle.
 

 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Ortiz, after engaging in some mild naked writhing, decides to meet with Maria to discuss Linda and her much talked about descent into madness. What does one wear when meeting a stylish stripper who does porn on the side? Well, thanks to Jess Franco, we get a scene that attempts to answer that very question. Of course, some might say that a scene like this is just gratuitous nonsense. I, on the other hand, respectively disagree, as I thought the scene where Jacqueline Laurent stands naked in front of her wardrobe gave us some much needed insight into the mindset of a desperate woman eager to discover the truth. The same could said for the scene where Doris Thomas does heroin and rubs her hairy, nylon-ensnared pussy with the receiver of a rotary telephone, but I won't; say it that is. As I think enough has been said about the subject.
 

 

After much erotic dilly-dallying, the diary, "the secret diary" of the film's title, that belonged to Linda finals surfaces. Reading from it for the benefit of the prudish Mrs. Ortiz (she confesses that she has never seen herself naked) while lounging on her bed in the buff (the caustic grip of her tan pantyhose having long been expunged), Maria covers the chapters in troubled Linda's life that involved pot parties, rehab clinics run by Howard Vernon, photo shoots for tall photogs in tiger print mini-skirts, nightclub debauchery, and, as usual, lot's of intense naked writhing.
 

 

Unique, in that, it's a non-women-in-prison, non-supernatural film with a mostly cohesive structure, Jess Franco's Sinner: The Secret Diary of a Nymphomaniac is a stand out release that's been lovingly restored by the fine folks at Mondo Macrabro (this and their Lorna The Exorcist release are probably the best DVDs in my modest collection - the covers are aesthetically pleasing and the picture quality for both is top-notch). In terms of mixing art with perversion, it's doesn't get any better than this. Hell, even the titular diary is a work of art; one that I would definitely buy if it was for sale at The Beguiling or wherever fine underground comics and graphic novels are sold.

uploaded by MondoMacabroUSA