Vampyros Lesbos (Jess Franco, 1971)

Here it is. The review for the movie that started it all. I know, you're probably thinking to yourself: Started what? Well, if you must know, Vampyros Lesbos was the first Jess Franco movie I ever watched. The time, the late 1990s. The place, Showcase (a Canadian specialty channel that used to air arty sleaze from around the world after 11pm). The movie, Vampyros Lesbos. While I'll admit, I didn't become a Franco-phile immediately after viewing his trippy tale of vampires and lesbians. The film did, however, act as a sort of gateway drug that would ultimately lead to more Jess Franco in the not-so distant future. Of course, I had to wait for the DVD explosion of the early 2000s to get my hands on more of that sweet Jess Franco nectar. But thanks to companies like, Blue Underground, Mondo Macabro, Redemption and Severin, I was able to bathe my eyeballs in copious amounts of Jess Franco juice. Unfortunately, the DVD for Vampyros Lesbos (put out by Synapse) wasn't readily available (I think it went out of print rather quickly). Anyway, fast-forward to modern times, and I'm sitting here holding a brand new edition of Vampyros Lesbos (put out this time by Severin). And you better believe I'm chopping at the bit to crack open my brain and see what spills out in correlation to this funky masterpiece.

Oh, and one more thing before I start cracking open my brain. After having watched countless Jess Franco films over the years, I'm kind of glad Vampyros Lesbos was my first, as I personally think it encapsulates everything I like about Jess Franco. In fact, if I were to recommend a Jess Franco flick to someone thinking about diving headfirst into the sleazy/wonderful world of Jess Franco, I would suggest that they go with Vampyros Lesbos. Either it, or Lorna the Exorcist, as both seem to capture the director's essence perfectly.

The reason I would give Vampyros Lesbos a slight edge is simply because the film's soundtrack, by Manfred Hübler and Sigi Schwab, is hands down one of the greatest ever created. Seriously, this review almost had to be postponed due to my overplaying of the soundtrack.

Of course, the fact that I was also staring at pictures of Soledad Miranda writhing around on the floor in black hold-up stockings didn't help matters.

This won't come as a shock to anyone, especially to those with genitals that are on the cusp of being functional, but it's difficult to look away when Soledad Miranda is writhing. Hell, it's difficult to look-away when Soledad Miranda is doing anything.

On top of writhing, Soledad Miranda slithers, skips, slinks, saunters and skylarks throughout this movie. Okay, maybe she doesn't skip or saunter, but she definitely slithers. As for slinking? I don't think you're ever going to come across a performance that is this slinky. I'd even go as far as to say that Soledad Miranda is slinky as fuck.

Just in case the late 1990s version of me happens to stumble across this review after they accidentally fall into a wormhole, "as fuck" is a phrase that is usually added to adjectives in order to increase their power. For example, I'm cool as fuck, or, those winklepickers are fierce as fuck. And by saying that Soledad Miranda is "slinky as fuck," just means that she's extremely slinky.

Now that we've cleared that up, let's move on to the subject of writhing. While writhing typically occurs while one is trying to get a good night's sleep, the majority of the writhing that takes place in Vampyros Lesbos is a direct result of psychosexual trauma.

You see, the person doing the writhing desperately wants to feel the caress of another human being. And when these caresses are not forthcoming, the consequences commonly manifest themselves in the form of more writhing. And you know what they say? More writhing means more unabashed lesbianism, and more unabashed lesbianism means more passion. And more passion means more unabashed lesbians writhing in the throes of unabashed lesbian passion.

Should I even bother to continue to write words? I mean, that right there is some clever ass shit. Nah, I better keep going. It's just that people like, Nicole Elizabeth "Snooki" Polizzi and Kimberly Kardashian have had books published, yet here I am languishing on the fringes of the internet. At any rate, the reason I better keep going is because someone has to got to talk about the red yarn ceiling or Soledad Miranda's monster sunglasses. Think about it. If I don't talk about them, no one will.

Even though nothing seems to phase me when it comes to fashion and interior design from the early 1970s (I've seen it all, baby), the clumps of red yarn that dangle from the ceiling of the foyer in the bungalow that belongs to Countess Nadine Carody (Soledad Miranda) had me flummoxed like you wouldn't believe. Resembling strands of bloody hair, the red ceiling yarn is just one of the many flummox-worthy sights that are peppered throughout this movie.

As for Countess Carody's monster shades. All I can say about them is this: Damn, girl. Those are some big ass sunglasses.

After watching Countess Carody perform her porn-esque performance art at a local club in Istanbul, Linda Westinghouse (Ewa Strömberg) and her dull boyfriend Omar (Andrea Montchal) go home to sleep in the same bed.

Suddenly, Linda hears a voice calling  out her name. Linda! Linda! Linda, the voice cries out. After that we get shots of a kite flying through the air, a scorpion strutting by the pool, a moth trapped in a fishing net and blood dripping down a window.

What does all this mean, Linda wonders? She tries to get some answers from her shrink, Dr. Steiner (Paul Muller), but he's too busying doodling in his notebook. In other words, he doesn't give a rat's ass. Personally, I thought the scorpion represented Countess Carody (the seductive predator) and the moth trapped in the fishing net represented Linda (the damsel in distress), but I don't think you should try to comprehend too much of what appears in this film.

A sort of estate agent who works for a company called Simpson and Simpson, Linda's finds herself having to travel to a remote island to take care of some business for a Countess Nadine Carody. Yep, the very same woman from the writhing-heavy performance art show and the one whose been calling out her name for the past few days.

While we've seen her writhe in black stockings and watched her call out a dim blonde's name while sporting a face that can best be described as dour, the scene where Nadine comes face-to-face with Linda, is our official introduction to the countess. Who has to be the sexiest vampire in movie history. I know, what kind of vampire wears a white(!) bikini and goes swimming in the middle of the day? Well, that's just it, Vampyros Lesbos isn't your average vampire film. In fact, I don't think there's a single scene in this movie that takes place at night.

Other characters soon enter the story as Nadine's hold over Linda grows stronger. An occult expert named Dr. Seward (Dennis Price) tries to figure out what's wrong with Linda during her brief stay at his clinic, but he gets nowhere. The same goes for another patient named Agra (Heidrun Kussin), as all she does is writhe on the floor sans pants. As I watched Agra writhe in this movie, I couldn't help but think of Catherine Lafferière's superior writhing work in Lorna the Exorcist.

To give the film more creep-appeal, we're introduced to Jess Franco's Memmet, a hotel bellhop/saw-wielding serial killer/sleazy weirdo, and the Nadine's loyal henchmen, Morpho (José Martínez Blanco). In a classic scene, a cornered Nadine calls out: Morpho! And Morpho leaps into action, taking care of Nadine's problem without fail. Oh, how life would be so much easier if everyone had their own personal Morpho.

Screw Morpho, I want my own personal Soledad Miranda. It should go without saying, but Jess Franco's camera loves Soledad Miranda. Say what you will about his films from a technical point-of-view, the man knows how to shoot leggy women under duress in exotic settings. Whether they be slithery brunettes or slinky brunettes, the women in his film's always look amazing. What I think I'm trying to say is, Soledad Miranda looks hot in this movie. And, yeah.

She Killed in Ecstasy (Jess Franco, 1971)

Did Paul Muller's character in She Killed in Ecstasy (a.k.a. Sie tötete in Ekstase) seriously just tell Soledad Miranda to leave her alone after she asked him for a light? Is that what just happened. Please tell me there's a logical explanation for this, as I just saw Soledad Miranda get shutdown by a middle-aged Euro-creep. Forget that, I don't need no stinkin' logical explanation. What I just saw was unacceptable. I don't care if Paul Muller's character knows for a fact that Soledad Miranda plans on knifing him in the dick (multiple times, mind you), you still give her a light. That being said, who doesn't want to be murdered by Soledad Miranda? Exactly. Nobody. Okay, while I can't speak for straight women, I'm positive that most gay men, straight men and lesbians would agree that being murdered by a vengeful Soledad Miranda would be the greatest thing to ever happen to them. Or how 'bout this. Let's say there's some kind of after life, and you're sitting around swapping stories with your fellow dead. Suddenly, the topic of how you died comes up. When everyone else has finished boring the group with the details surrounding their pathetic deaths, you get to stand up and say, in a loud and steady voice, I died as a direct result of being stabbed multiple times by a lingerie clad Soledad Miranda. Trust me, you will be the envy of the after life.

In case you haven't figured it out yet, I happen to think that Soledad Miranda is an attractive woman. And the only director I can trust to capture her attractiveness in a manner that I deem satisfactory is Jess Franco. (So, does he manage to capture her attractiveness in a manner that you...) I'm sorry to cut off like that, but you must already know that the answer is... yes. Of course, I'm not saying Soledad Miranda should be allowed to murder the scientists who fucked over her hunky scientist husband just because she looks like Soledad Miranda. No, what I am saying is that the scientists should be thankful that their final moments on planet earth are being spent straddling a half-naked Soledad Miranda. In other words, if you have to be murdered, wouldn't you want Soledad Miranda to be the one holding the knife that plunges deep into your worthless, improperly utilized genitals?

Now that I've established to the best of my ability that being murdered by Soledad Miranda isn't all that bad, can we talk about the top Mrs. Johnson (Soledad Miranda) is wearing when her husband, Dr. Johnson (Fred Williams), shows her his lab?

Looking as if she cut off a chunk of a chandelier and taped it to her chest, Soledad Miranda's top is too ridiculous for words.

I'm not kidding around, Soledad Miranda's chandelier top left me speechless. So much so, that I didn't hear a single word Dr. Johnson said as blathered on and on about his research. Or, I should say, groundbreaking research.

Unfortunately, Dr. Johnson seems to be the only one who thinks his research is "groundbreaking." Submitting his research to a panel of his fellow scientists, Dr. Johnson is devastated by what they have to say about it. Words like, unethical, immoral and criminal are bandied about as Dr. Johnson's colleagues eviscerate his work.

If you're wondering what Dr. Johnson's research entails exactly. I'm sorry, I can't help you. As I said earlier, Soledad Miranda's metallic steampunk chandelier top was too distracting.

How does she manage to keep that thing on?!? There are no sleeves and there are no straps visible. It sort of just hovers there.

Nevertheless, the film's opening credits features words written in a frosty pink font, foetuses in jars, and the funkiest, the trippiest, most psychedelic music you'll ever hear.

If that wasn't enough to convince me that Jess Franco plans on delivering the goods, he then shows a forlorn Soledad Miranda running down multiple flights of stairs in jet black stockings (you get a glimpse of them with every other step) and a crocheted purple cape.

The reason Soledad Miranda is forlorn is because she misses her dead scientist husband. Oh, sure, she still has sex with him every now and then. But it's just not the same.

Driven to suicide by his fellow scientists (their harsh words of disapproval haunt his very existence), Dr. Johnson slits his wrists.

Instead of calling the authorities to haul away his corpse, Soledad Miranda holds on to it. You see, instead heading down to local pub to find another hunky scientist to marry, Soledad Miranda decides to murder those who caused her husband so much pain.

The first target on her list is Prof. Walker (Howard Vernon), a kinky blowhard with a thing for beige suits and degrading sex. This is guy is relatively easy for Soledad Miranda to snag, as all she has to do is flash the tops of her stockings and... boom. Look who's escorting you to his hotel room for some femdom fun. Well, there's fun to be had in the early going. But I think even the most ardent of femdom enthusiasts would frown upon being stabbed so forcefully in the junk.

When word of Prof. Walker's grisly demise gets out to the other scientists, nothing much happens. It's true, Jess Franco's Dr. Donen organizes an impromptu scientist meeting on a secluded beach to discuss the situation. But none of them changes their routine. Just look at the way Dr. Crawford (Ewa Strömberg) hits on Soledad Miranda while on vacation. Actually, I think the reason Dr. Crawford was so bold was because Dr. Donen tells them that a "vulgar brunette" was seen leaving Prof. Walker's hotel room on the night he was murdered, and, as we can clearly see, Soledad Miranda is not a vulgar brunette. Thanks to a short blonde wig and a well-worn paperback, Soledad Miranda has transformed herself into a bookish blonde who is itching to smother to death a smug blonde lesbian with a giant translucent pillow.

Which reminds me. Are you tired of not being able to see the face of the person you're murdering as you smother them to death with a pillow? Well, here at Giant Translucent Pillows, we want you experience the full magnitude of your victim's suffering by allowing you see them gasp for air in graphic detail. So, the next time you're thinking about smothering to death a loved one, or that pesky smug blonde lesbian lady scientist who caused your hunky scientist husband to kill himself, make sure to have a Giant Translucent Pillow handy.

If Soledad Miranda didn't have a Giant Translucent Pillow handy, she could have simply killed Dr. Crawford by plunging her face into the shag carpeting. Seriously, I've never seen shag carpeting so thick. I know, it's 1971, and such carpet-based anomalies were quite commonplace back then. But damn, that was some bushy shag.

Maybe I was a little harsh on Paul Muller's Dr. Houston earlier when I scolded him for not being receptive to Soledad Miranda's advances. I mean, if I saw Soledad Miranda eye-balling me the way she eye-balls people in this movie, I, too, would be somewhat hesitant. What I think I'm trying to say is that Soledad Miranda's eyes are like dark whirlpools filled with nothing but rage and contempt.

While Prof. Walker and Dr. Crawford were unable to pick up on this (the rage and contempt), Dr. Houston spots it almost immediately. However, even the most perceptive of scientists have their weaknesses. And like most men, that weakness is black silk stockings. In other words, flash a little thigh, and you'll have them eating out of the palm of your hand in no time.

If you think about it, that sums up the effect the film's of Jess Franco have on his audience rather nicely. The sensation one experiences while watching a Jess Franco film, when he's firing on all cylinders, is unlike anything in the known universe. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to see if I can buy myself one of them metallic steampunk chandelier tops on Etsy.

The Hot Nights of Linda (Jess Franco, 1975)

You're initial thought might be, as you begin to enjoy Jess Franco's The Hot Nights of Night (a.k.a. But Who Raped Linda?), how much longer do we have to watch Alice Arno–who is, to the best of my knowledge, not wearing nylons on her shapely, Arno-ian legs–walk around Paris, France in a bulky winter coat? However, once she has finished walking around Paris, France and arrives at the location of her new job, you will no doubt start to miss the streets of Paris, France. In fact, you will probably wish they would cut to anywhere in the world after you have spent a day or two with the Steiner family in their Greek-style castle/home on the ocean, or was it on the sea? No matter, the film, like the best Jess Franco's films, manages to create a world unto itself. You see, by ignoring what's going on beyond the walls of the film's primary location, the film slowly begins to develop its own unique ecosystem. And if, say, you were to own a noodle factory similar to mine, the first thought you would have is: Why can't I get a job at a Greek-style castle/home where a nympho-virgin prances about in black stockings and where said nympho-virgins eat penis-shaped fruit in an erotic fashion? And after that thought had subsided, your second would most likely be: Are the women in this film writhing on their beds in order to escape their dreary existences or are their backs simply itchy?

First of all, there's nothing dreary about living in a Greek-style castle/home with a nympho-virgin. (Yeah, maybe for you, but what about the nympho-virgin? Don't you think she wants more out of life?) And secondly, you're kinda right. They do want to escape. And best way to do so is to grind your naked body into the bed your currently lying on.

(Are you sure that's the best way? I mean, wouldn't the front door be a more effective way to escape?) It's true, doors are a terrific root to go when trying to leave somewhere (as someone who has used doors all his life, I can attest that what this person just said is indeed a factual statement), but The Hot Nights of Linda isn't about providing easy ways out, it's a... (Wait, let me guess, is it a psycho-sexual maelstrom of perverted proportions?) Hell yeah. That's exactly what is.

Let's see how that looks when written out as a semi-proper sentence: "The Hot Nights of Linda is a psycho-sexual maelstrom of perverted proportions." - Yum-Yum, House of Self-Indulgence

Oh, yeah. We have a winner. Put that sucker on the box, baby. Do it. What are you waiting for?

What do you mean Severin Films isn't going to put that quote on the back of their handsomely produced The Hot Nights of Linda Blu-Ray + DVD Combo Pack? You're not going to come across a better blurb than that. What's that? Uh-uh, I see. Well, it would seem the reason my quote is nowhere to found on the artwork of the combo pack is because it's already in stores. Meaning, I'm a little too late. *sniff*

Anyway, getting back to grinding and writhing. Even though it's physically impossible to grind your way to freedom by writhing on your bed without any clothes on, the message you are sending to the world is loud and clear.

While the primary purpose for the all writhing is no doubt connected to the desire to flee, you could argue that a large chunk of the writhing has a lot to do with pent-up sexual frustration. Speaking from personal experience, whenever I find myself writhing in the nude, it usually has nothing to do with wanting to getaway and everything to do with heterosexual ineptitude.

(Enough about writhing, what's this film actually about and is it any good?) Uh, yeah, about that. Believe or not, but those are some pretty tough questions you're asking there, budski. I mean, I could try to explain the film's plot. But then again, I don't want to damage my brain while doing so. As for being good. What does "good" even mean? Seriously, can you tell me?

(I'm sorry, pal. I can't help you there. What I can tell you is, if you patiently wade through this film's...) "psycho-sexual maelstrom of perverted proportions"? (Yeah, that... you'll be generously rewarded with the sight of Lina Romay sunbathing in the nude, Lina Romay peeling and sort of eating a banana, and Lina Romay putting on black stockings--roll them up into a little ball and slip them onto your sturdy legs, you brown-eyed harlot.)

If you watch Les Nuits Brûlantes de Linda, a rare cut of the film that comes with the Severin Films Blu-Ray + DVD Combo Pack (limited to the first 2500 copies), you will be generously rewarded with the sight of Lina Romay sucking on some retards uncut cock, Lina Romay performing cunnilingus on a couple of well-made cunts, and Lina Romay allowing the genitals attached to some retard spew their probably retarded load all over her stomach. Oh, and when I say, "retard" and "retarded," I don't mean it in a Lindsay Lohan sort of way, the retard in question is actually retarded.

The best part about this particular cut of the film is the fact that the scene where Lina Romay puts on black stockings includes some garter belt adjustment--the softcore version omits the garter belt adjustment scene all-together. (Are you sure the best part of this particular cut wasn't the sight of Lina Romay wiping up a dollop of the retard's snot-like jizz with her hand and proceeding to consume with her mouth?) Oh, I'm sure. It should go without saying, but garter belt adjustment is way hotter than eating pearly droplets of spunk.

In order to not cause any unnecessary confusion, I'll stick to referencing to the softcore cut of the film from now on. Even though, deep down, I kinda prefer the hardcore version. (Are you sure you want to do that? I mean, Lina Romay rapes her invalid cousin with a banana in the hardcore version.) A banana, eh? You know what? I'll mention both. Let unnecessary confusion reign!

If you're wondering where Alice Arno fits in all this... What's that? You weren't wondering that. I see. Well, either way, she plays Marie-France Bertrand, and she gets a job working as a nurse/teacher at the home of Radic Steiner (Paul Muller), who lives with his invalid daughter Linda (Verónica Llimera from Tombs of the Blind Dead), his sex maniac niece Olivia (Lina Romay) and Abdul (Pierre Taylou), their retarded houseboy.

Since the sex scenes in the non-hardcore don't take up as much time, the running time needs to be padded with filler. And that's where a photographer (Catherine Lafferière, who played the sex-crazed mental patient in black hold up stockings in Lorna the Exorcist) and a detective (Richard Bigotini) come in. They appear onscreen every now and then. But don't ask me what their connection to the main plot of the film is, cause I haven't the slightest idea. Well, that's not entirely true, I have a general idea, but it's not really worth getting into.

The only aspect of this subplot that held my interest was when we get a Jess Franco orchestrated close up of Catherine Lafferière's creamy thighs as she is attempting to climb a fence.

Highlights of the softcore version include: the scene where Alice Arno meets Lina Romay for the very first time. Filing her toenails, smoking a cigarette, and drinking Champagne (the girl knows how to multitask), Lina tells Alice that life in this town is monotonous and dull (hence the reason she writhes so much). What makes the scene so great is that Lina and Alice stare at each with a fiery intensity.

You gotta love the film noirish scene where Lina and Alice chat while smoking.

And the scene where Lina, who is wearing black boots, toys with Abdul by peeling a banana in a–you guessed it–erotic manner. You probably already know this, but Lina Romay does everything in this movie in a manner that could be construed as erotic. (Everything?) Yeah, you heard me, everything.

These three scenes are not in the hardcore version, so... enjoy them, I guess, because nothing in the hardcore version comes close to topping them in terms of  non-threatening titillation.

My only complaint, besides the boring bits, is the fact that the lovely Monica Swinn's part as Lorna, Paul Muller's dead wife, is so skimpy. There's a scene where she is having straightforward bedroom intercourse with her lover while wearing back hold up stockings, but the lighting is so dark, you can't really appreciate the shape of Monica's Jess Franco-approved curves.