Ferat Vampire (Juraj Herz, 1982)

Walk up to anyone who owns an expensive sports car and ask them what kind of engine is under the hood, there's a good chance you'll be getting a guided tour of said engine mere moments after the question was asked. The desire to show off  the complicated apparatus that helps propel their vehicle is something that lies within almost every driver on earth. However, what if your engine doesn't contain an intake manifold, a Johnson rod or spark plugs? What if your car has a vampire instead of an engine? And in place of gasoline, it uses blood, your blood. Do you mean there's a vampire living underneath the car's hood, or do you mean the actual car is a vampire? I'm not sure. It could be a metaphor for soaring gas prices. But then again, I've never purchased gas. Though, I've heard the sensation one feels after filling up their tank with gas is akin to feeling as if you have been sucked dry. The manufactures of the Škoda Super Sport 1100 in Ferat Vampire (a.k.a. Der Autovampir), a deeply weird film about a car that may or may not be a bloodthirsty vampire, don't want you to know what's under their hood. A veiled attack against capitalism, an ironic jab at the ridiculousness that is the automobile industry, and an inspirational tale of a nerdy doctor who gets more Czechoslovak tail than the display only bidet at your local Bed Bath and Beyond, director Juraj Herz (Morgiana) takes his bizarre premise and runs with it; well, "drives with it," is more like it, as there's not much running in this film. Is all this an elaborate rouse to drum up interest for Ferat's prototype sports car, or is there something truly sinister going on? Interesting question. In fact, I'm surprised you were able to pick up on the film's satirical tendencies. Are you sure you didn't just read someone else's take on the film and are currently trying to pass it off as your own? No, I'm afraid this all me.
 

 

You know how they say, "any publicity is good publicity." Well, the makers of the car at the centre of this odd undertaking seem to be hedging their bets on that concept, as the publicity mad company seem to be encouraging the wild speculation that is swirling around their product.
 

 

I've often wondered, how many times a day does your average ambulance driver think to his or herself that they could easily make the transition from driving ambulances to driving rally cars? No, seriously. I've often wondered that. Well, at the beginning of Ferat Vampire (a.k.a. Upír z Feratu), a blonde ambulance driver named Mima (Dagmar Veškrnová-Havlová) seems to think she can do just that. Of course, it doesn't hurt that she used to be a race car driver before her ambulance driving days. But still, driving ambulances and driving rally cars aren't quite the same thing. For starters, ambulances are slow and clunky compared to rally cars, which are specially built road-legal cars. Also, you need to have nerves of steel to drive rally cars professionally.
 

 

Actually, now that I think about it, ambulance drivers are perfectly suited for rally car racing. And it would seem that the makers of a new car by Ferat, a German motor company, think this as well. How else can you explain the strange events that occur on a rural road just outside of Prague? Driving her ambulance, along with Dr. Marek (Jirí Menzel), Mima is hounded by the prototype for Ferat's latest car. After the Ferat disappears, Mimi and Dr. Marek realize the address they were called to doesn't exist, and start to wonder who would do such a thing. Suddenly, the black Ferat reappears. Opening the car's unique door (both its doors and windshield are pushed up), the curly-haired driver of the Ferat, Luisa Tomášová (Jana Brezková) sticks her legs out and awaits Mima and Dr. Marek. Since she's obviously still steamed about almost being run off the road, Dr. Marek suggests that he do most of the talking.
 

 

Telling the bespectacled doctor that there's something wrong with her foot, Luisa shows Dr. Marek a foot that is covered in contusions. As Dr. Marek is examining Luisa's foot, Mima decides to sit in the Ferat. Playing her foot on the accelerator, Mima can't help but notice that it's oddly shaped; she even points it out to Dr. Marek.
 

 

Advising her to rest her feet, Dr. Marek and Mima hop back in their ambulance and drive off. Call me crazy, but there was something not right about Dr. Marek and Mima's encounter with Luisa. The situation gets even more not right moments later when Dr. Marek and Mima come across Luisa's Ferat turned over on the side of the road. Being a doctor and all, Dr. Marek tries to aid Luisa, who looks like she's been injured. The key word there being "tries," as another ambulance, the media, and members of Team Ferat are already at the scene. How did all these people know that Luisa's car had crashed so quickly? Shoved aside by the throng of reporters and the fleet of Ferat employees (you can spot the people who work for Ferat by their distinctive red and black uniforms), Dr. Marek is helpless to stop Luisa from being carted away in this other ambulance.
 

 

Meanwhile, back at Ferat headquarters, Madame Ferat (Zdenka Procházková) and her gang of leather-clad sycophants are reviewing the tapes of the event that occurred at the side of the road. When Dr. Marek appears onscreen to tell the reporters that there's something wrong with the car Luisa was driving, the room grows quiet. What interest could Ferat have in a nondescript doctor who pines over an ambulance driver. Speaking of which, has anyone seen Mima? The last time I saw her she was getting in a car with one of those Ferat assholes; I think it was a guy named Kross (Petr Čepek, the moderately handsome lawyer from Morgiana). Either way, I'm worried about her.
 

 

Akin to the paranoid thrillers that littered the cinematic landscape of the 1970s, with, of course, a touch of David Cronenberg thrown in there for good measure, Ferat Vampire is many things: A horror film with science fiction overtones. A satire of mindless consumerism. But it's also an attack on driving. Think about it. Driving is one the most unnatural activities the human body partakes in during the modern era. A morgue employee, one who apparently performed the autopsy on Luisa Tomášová, informs Dr. Marek that spinal cords and automobiles don't mix. In other words, people's bodies aren't equipped to handle the trauma that can be inflicted by a car in motion. Anyway, when Dr. Marek goes to look at Luisa's body, it's missing. Which is too bad, because according the morgue employee, her foot appeared as though it had been bitten off.
 

If the mild-mannered doctor's imagination wasn't already going into overdrive, a "scientist" named Kaplan (Jan Schmid) makes sure it is when he starts filling Dr. Marek's head with all sorts of outlandish nonsense. The kicker being that Ferat's cars run on human blood. Arguing that the fine folks at Ferat have made an startling advancement in the field of biological machinery, Kaplan basically tells him that their car kills all those who drive it.
 

 

In an attempt to convince him that his theory is sound, Kaplan shows Dr. Marek an old vampire movie. While not the most common method to persuade someone into thinking there's a car out there that runs on human blood, it makes sense that a company would want its customers to become addicted to their product. You see, once the car gets a taste of your blood, you will find that you won't be able to stop driving it. Which is exactly what happens to Mima, who has apparently signed a contract to be Ferat's newest test driver. This causes Dr. Marek to become more determined than ever to unveil the truth, as he cares deeply for Mima. And why wouldn't he? She's freakin' adorable. 

 

 

Still curious to know what happened to Luisa Tomášová (he would really like to know if her foot was in fact bitten off like the morgue guy said it was), Dr. Marek heads to the church where Luisa's coffin is lying in state. Finding an empty coffin filled with dirt, Dr. Marek meets Luisa's twin sister Klára Tomášová. Also curious to know what happened to Luisa, Klára and Dr. Marek decide to share resources. And, of course, have sex.

 

I don't know how Dr. Marek managed to pull this off, but watching him score with the ladies was inspirational. Only problem being that both his sexual encounters in Ferat Vampire end with him being covered with blood. Don't ask.
 

 

At the end of the day, we all, sooner or later, become whores to capitalism. And Dr. Marek is no different. Signing a deal for 60, 000 korunas, Dr. Marek is told by Ferat to write an article about their car. Now, I don't know what Ferat are up to, but Dr. Marek simply wants to get close to the car. Which the contract he signs allows him to do. In the film's most memorable, non-leg crossing scene, Dr. Marek approaches the car in the Ferat showroom (a slick space filled with neon and smoke). Noticing that the car seems to be breathing (its hood throbs same way the television set does in Videodrome), Dr. Marek puts his hand inside. And, well, let's just say, things get a little messy.
 

 

Did you just say, "non-leg crossing scene"? Oh, yeah, the leg crossing scene. Oh my god, can you believe that I almost forgot to examine this scene? During one of the many conversations that take place between Klára Tomášová and Dr. Marek, Klára decides to sit down on the couch. And as her ass is hitting the cushion, she completes the sitting down process by crossing her legs in a forceful manner. Unwittingly creating the Czech leggy moment to end all Czech leggy moments, one that oozed an untoward amount of Czech legginess, Klára realizes that she might have overplayed her leggy card (all Czech women have this card in their corporeal deck of cards) and quickly covers her crossed legs with the material attached to the bottom half of her robe.
 

 

Obviously having seconds thoughts about her leg-based sheepishness, Klára Tomášová chooses to re-implement her legginess moments later while sitting on a small bookshelf. While not as forceful or in your face as the couch display, Klára Tomášová makes it clear that her legs are in total control of the situation. And judging by Dr. Marek's crumpled demeanour, they're definitely that...in total control.
 

 

A pleasant surprise, in that, I had no idea Czechoslovak cinema was still being weird and fanciful into 1980s, Ferat Vampire makes a mockery of the advertising industry and the lengths some companies will go to get publicity. Culminating at the Škoda rally, complete with time trials, the truth slowly starts come out. Or does it? Either way, the film, on top of being an excellent showcase for Jana Břežková's Czech legginess and Dagmar Veškrnová-Havlová's cuteness, is a curious slab of Eastern European sci-fi horror. Oh, and did anyone else notice the word "ferat" can be found in the word "Nosferatu"?  At any rate, see you at this year's Moscow International Motor Show (Московская Международная Автомобильная выставка).

video uploaded by gregstacamaro

Morgiana (Juraj Herz, 1972)

Is there anything more Goth than watching your annoying sister slowly die while creepily stroking a Siamese cat? Actually, I'm not really asking a question, I'm simply stating a fact. Oh, you could try looking for something that oozes a purer, more unadulterated form of Goth. But you needn't look no further than Iva Janžurová, who plays "Viki," in the excessively dainty yet stylishly morbid Morgiana; the Gothiest hunk of Gothiness that has ever Gothed in front of my tired Goth eyes. Which is saying a lot. I mean, I've seen the Sisters of Mercy live in concert. Sure, it was the late '90s and I left midway through the show because the buckles on my winklepickers were pinching my feet like something fierce, but I made the effort; no matter how misguided and sad it might have been. In hindsight, I should have gone to see Rhea's Obsession instead, who were, if memory serves me correctly, playing at Lee's Palace on the very same night. (Wait a second.) Okay, before you ask, yes, I'll admit, going to see the Sisters of Mercy in the late '90s was kinda lame. And... (No, what I wanted to ask you was: What kind of name is "Viki" for someone who purportedly oozes so much unadulterated Gothiness?) Excellent question. You see, her name is actually Viktoria (a Goth-friendly moniker if I ever heard one), but her fair-haired, non-Goth sister, Klára, insists on calling her "Viki." Now, is that any reason for her to try to poison her? Of course it is. Don't you see what she's doing? She's trying to undermine her Goth cred. And I don't have to tell you, but a Goth without the proper credentials, is a weak Goth, and, some might say, a tepid Goth. In other words, I saw Viktoria as the victim of the piece, not the villain. All she wanted was to be treated with respect, and to have the moderately handsome lawyer in the tailcoat notice her refined beauty. But Klára wouldn't have any of that. In fact, the reason the attention was not forthcoming was because Klára had already distracted the moderately handsome lawyer with her curly red hair,  propensity for smelling flowers, and less extreme approach when it came to applying eye makeup. Most lawyers, moderately handsome or otherwise, will always choose to penetrate the vagina that is attached to the sister who is more impaired in the meshugana department.   
 

 

It's a sad state of affairs, but most men tend to lean towards sunny and warm, as supposed to dark and weird, when it comes to courting a mate. It doesn't matter that Viktoria (Iva Janžurová) and Klára (Iva Janžurová) are identical twins, their personalities and their sense of style are completely different.
 

 

Lacking the exploitative elements I've grown accustomed to over the past couple of years, Morgiana bypasses sleaze and tawdriness for elegance,  scenes that are drenched in dreamlike atmosphere, and, of course, the occasional implementation of point-of-view shots that are shot from the perspective of a precocious Siamese cat. 
 

 

Opening at the funeral of their father, Viktorie and Klára are told what their inheritance will be: the former gets the residence of "Green Flute" and and assortment of jewels, while the latter gets everything else. That's right, if Viktoria didn't have enough reasons to murder her sister before, she's got plenty now. After that seed of evil is planted in our heads (why did Viktoria's father snub her in his will?), we're treated to the sinister sounds of Luboš Fišer, as his combination of eerie flute work and monotonous drumming accompany the equally sinister opening credits (shots of colourfully bizarre paintings are shown intermittently).
 

 

As Klára is getting ready for bed, staring at herself in the mirror, as usual, Viktoria, who is wearing a red slip, sticks her gorgeous visage in her bedroom door and tells her sister that her face annoys her. Okay, before you say, "Oh, no she didn't," and accuse Viktoria of being a troublemaker, you should know that Klára's face is annoying. But don't they have the same face? Yeah, I guess. However, while Viktoria is always pursing her lips–you know, like a normal person, Klára is constantly giggling like a brainless twit.
 

 

The following morning we get our first view from the point-of-view of Viktoria's cat, Morgiana. Hey, that's the same name as the movie. Very observant, my doltish friend. Anyway, the flute from opening credits accompanies Morgiana as she make her way to the breakfast table where Klára is currently sitting. Even though we know Viktoria is up to something, our attention is focused squarely on her sea green eye makeup and red lipstick outlined with black, as this is our first clear view of the work of art that is Viktoria's face. Reducing me to a puddle of pure giddiness, Iva Janžurová's makeup in Morgiana was too much for my on the cusp of being gay brain to handle at times. Realizing that this only her second scene, and that the movie has just started, I quickly composed myself, and prepared to be immersed in what will surely be the makeup event of the year.
 

 

You really get a sense of their contrast in styles during an afternoon garden party, as Klára is playing with swans and flirting with Glenar (Petr Čepek), the moderately handsome lawyer I was telling you about earlier, while Viktoria lurks in the shadows, popping out every once in a while to make the occasional catty comment. Feeling sorry for her sister, Klára instructs Glenar to talk with her–you know, humour her, make her feel better. Listening to their conversation from the aforementioned shadows, Viktoria overhears Glenar tell Klára that he'd rather be with her and that he doesn't like Viktoria. What the fuck? He doesn't like Viktoria?!? Insanity.
 

 

Seeking advice from a tarot card reader, Viktoria is basically told that the queen of hearts is standing in her way. And you don't have to be a genius to figure out that Klára is the queen of hearts. The dramatic music can only mean one thing: it's time for Viktoria to go down to vial store to pick up a receptacle that is suitable for containing poison. If I was in the market for a vial, one that came with a swanky carrying case, I would have gone straight to Siren Clothing on Queen West, as I distinctly remember seeing vials for sale there. Unfortunately, they closed in 2005, so my vial needs aren't as secure as I thought they were. At any rate, getting back to Viktoria for a second. Sporting one of her trademark black lace dresses, Viktoria watches her sister smelling the roses in the garden; we'll soon learn that Viktoria prefers the smell of cut flowers.
 

 

It only makes sense that filmmaker Juraj Herz (Ferat Vampire) would include a scene where Viktoria is putting on her iconic makeup, as he knows the audience is dying to know how she applies it. After she's done putting her makeup on, Viktoria is changing into some Goth-friendly attire, when all of a sudden, she notices that one of the masons working on the exterior of the house is peering into her window. Covering herself almost immediately, the mason reacts indifferently to the sight of Viktoria's supple body. This, of course, angers Viktoria, as it appeared that she had deliberately allowed the mason to catch a peek at her supple body. Much like people nowadays, who seem to go out of their way to let complete strangers to view images of their unclothed junk, Viktoria was hoping to attain positive reinforcement pertaining to her body. But sadly, the reinforcement she received wasn't even close to being positive.
 

 

Oh, and when I said that Viktoria was "changing into some Goth-friendly attire," I didn't mean to imply that the clothes she changing out of were not Goth-friendly, as everything about Viktoria is Goth-friendly. What I should have said was that Viktoria was changing into some clothes that were even more Goth-friendly, making sure to put the emphasis on "more."
 

 

After poisoning Klára's water during breakfast, Viktoria and Morgiana head back to Green Flute to await the results (the poison apparently takes time to work). When she arrives at her residence, Viktoria is greeted by her staff, who are all young women with reddish hair. The other cool thing about her staff was the fact that they all wore blue hosiery, blue gloves, blue puffy shirts, and these dark green dresses; in other words, very chic, in a rustic sort of way. As you might expect, Viktoria starts wonder if the poison she used to kill her sister was actually poison. Agonizing over this quandary (she has a feeling the person she bought the poison from might have cheated her), Viktoria decides to test the poison on the dog belonging to one of the help's kids.
 

 

As the poison starts to slowly take effect on her sister (symptoms include: an abnormal desire to ingest liquids and strange hallucinations), it would seem that Viktoria is suffering from a bit of poisoners remorse. Or is she? It's true, I don't know what compelled her to go down to the beach in order to throw a large rock at the head of one of her servants, but it must have something to do with the guilt she feels over poisoning her sister. If it doesn't, well, I would still date her in a heartbeat. Yeah, like I would totally date her. More like worship the ground she walks on. In fact, I would be honoured if Viktoria took the time out of her busy schedule to poison me. As it's been a long standing dream of mine to be murdered by a woman who wears an excessive amount of eye makeup.
   

  

When the blackmailers start coming out of the woodwork, you know the shit is about to hit the proverbial fan. Shut the front door! How dare you sully Viktoria's name by associating her with a fan that is about to be covered with globs of fecal matter. I'm sorry. As all hell begins to break loose (that's better), Viktoria's paranoia seems to go into overdrive. Whether placating blackmailers who wear fingerless gloves and sort of look like Sharon Mitchell, or being repeatedly forced to walk along windy cliff faces in inappropriate clothing, Viktoria has got her work cut out for her.
 

 

Convinced for the duration of the film that Iva Janžurová was performing alongside her twin sister, let's call her, Anezka Janžurová, I was shocked to discover that there was no Anezka. That's right, Iva plays both sisters. Now, I wasn't shocked because I felt tricked or anything like that (the sisters rarely appear onscreen at the same time). I was shocked because Viktoria and Klára are so dissimilar to one another. Sure, they have the same face. But like I said before, things like, fashion, makeup, temperament, attitude, and body language played a huge role in creating two distinctly different characters. It's a testament to Iva Janžurová's talent as an actress that she was able to pull off such a feat so effortlessly.
 

 

Using camera angles shot from the point-of-view of a Siamese cat, featuring a dainty wardrobe (costumes by Irena Greifová) that seemed to come directly from the mind of a sullen teen who has been reading nothing but Charles Baudelaire for two weeks straight, crazy eye makeup (the lipstick is pretty kooky, too), trippy nightmare sequences, and a stunning lead performance, Morgiana is like watching a novel. Except instead of words, it uses sounds and images to tell its story. In other words, you could call it a filmed novel. Replete with Goth-approved clothing and surrealistic imagery, this fanciful tale of two vastly different sisters will tickle all right pleasure receptors on those who like their costume dramas to have a malevolent edge to them.