♥ 9
→ 10 Oct 11 at 3 am
→ 10 Oct 11 at 3 am
That black thing looks like a dildo.Olive Street Cinema, Sunday 4 September 2011: Daughters of Darkness (1971)
70’s Euro-Sleaze at its best, I think. A good-looking couple arrive at an empty hotel (which made Wolfman and me wax poetic about one day staying in a large, lux, creepy hotel during the off-season) after impulsively getting married. She is a lean, blonde, tan, beautiful Swede. He is a repressed, sadistic Brit who wimpily puts off telling his family that he’s married a tall, blonde, beautiful Swede who (for reasons I cannot even begin to fathom) loves him. Enter a mysterious descendant of Elizabeth Bathory and her Angelina Jolie-like ”secretary”. The acting is excellent, the scenery is divine, and do not even get me started on the clothes. The way Bathory is decked out is so lush and very 30’s boudoir (she even has, as I pointed out to Wolfman, silent movie star eyebrows). And the dialogue is wonderfully blood-curdling, and is sampled in several White Zombie/Rob Zombie recordings, according to Wolfman. Ultimately, I feel like this movie might be a warning to young men to keep their wives in line lest they fall into the clutches of lesbian blood drinkers (not to be confused with lesbian vampires), but it’s fun to step into this odd little world, without giving much consideration to the societal/gender/sexuality implications and undertones. And as far as horror goes, this is definitely satisfying. In one scene in particular, the Countess and Stefan (the new husband) recount together the various horrors of the original Elizabeth Bathory (who, in case you are unfamiliar, notoriously bathed in the blood of young virgins—google her; she’s a doozy), in stomach-turning detail, while Valerie (the new wife) cringes on the couch in utter horror. Throughout the film, Valerie’s terror at this newly-discovered sadistic side of her husband, the fact that he and the Countess are turned on by this talk of bleeding, dying virgins, is palpable, and I, for one, began to share her fear and forboding. Daughters of Darkness relies more on imagination than gore, for which it and films like it should be applauded.
(via imgTumble)
(vía marilyn-monblow)
♥ 9
→ 08 Sep 11 at 4 pm
→ 08 Sep 11 at 4 pm
Olive Street Cinema, Sunday 4 September 2011: Daughters of Darkness (1971)
70’s Euro-Sleaze at its best, I think. A good-looking couple arrive at an empty hotel (which made Wolfman and me wax poetic about one day staying in a large, lux, creepy hotel during the off-season) after impulsively getting married. She is a lean, blonde, tan, beautiful Swede. He is a repressed, sadistic Brit who wimpily puts off telling his family that he’s married a tall, blonde, beautiful Swede who (for reasons I cannot even begin to fathom) loves him. Enter a mysterious descendant of Elizabeth Bathory and her Angelina Jolie-like ”secretary”. The acting is excellent, the scenery is divine, and do not even get me started on the clothes. The way Bathory is decked out is so lush and very 30’s boudoir (she even has, as I pointed out to Wolfman, silent movie star eyebrows). And the dialogue is wonderfully blood-curdling, and is sampled in several White Zombie/Rob Zombie recordings, according to Wolfman. Ultimately, I feel like this movie might be a warning to young men to keep their wives in line lest they fall into the clutches of lesbian blood drinkers (not to be confused with lesbian vampires), but it’s fun to step into this odd little world, without giving much consideration to the societal/gender/sexuality implications and undertones. And as far as horror goes, this is definitely satisfying. In one scene in particular, the Countess and Stefan (the new husband) recount together the various horrors of the original Elizabeth Bathory (who, in case you are unfamiliar, notoriously bathed in the blood of young virgins—google her; she’s a doozy), in stomach-turning detail, while Valerie (the new wife) cringes on the couch in utter horror. Throughout the film, Valerie’s terror at this newly-discovered sadistic side of her husband, the fact that he and the Countess are turned on by this talk of bleeding, dying virgins, is palpable, and I, for one, began to share her fear and forboding. Daughters of Darkness relies more on imagination than gore, for which it and films like it should be applauded.
