Beastly Behaviour

Marquis (Henri Xhonneux, 1989)

Portrayals of historical figures or past events on film can often stray from the truth. Perhaps it's for creative reasons. Whether to offer a different perspective, subvert expectations, or appeal to a contemporary audience, historical facts can potentially be susceptible to being revised. Take the French nobleman and libertine writer Donatien Alphonse François, better known as the Marquis de Sade. His association with blasphemy, perversity and depravity is so well known that his very name is now a part of our lexicon to describe people who seek pleasure from those pursuits (and it's the professional name of the Soul singer Helen Folasade Adu, might I add). Therefore, it is somewhat disconcerting whenever de Sade is depicted in popular culture with a sense of romanticism as a sort of free speech activist. A bit like the contemporary view amongst 21st-century nerds that Velma Dinkley is more attractive than Daphne Blake.

Belgian director Henri Xhonneux (what an awesome surname) and his French co-screenwriter Roland Topor adopt this revisionism, and take it a step even further with an unorthodox approach on the libertine pervert in their 1989 film Marquis. What makes their idolised offering unique, is the use of anthropomorphic animals portraying all the characters. Actors wearing striking animal based animatronic masks, and partaking in acts unsuitable for Sunday afternoon television, make this an appealing proposition for purveyors of out-there cinema. Disney, this is not. Furthermore, our eponymous protagonist, played by François Marthouret, resembles a Spaniel dog, and spends the majority of the film talking to his ginormous, talking penis Colin (Valérie Kling). Cock and Spaniel!

They are both held in the Bastille, the infamous state prison which became a symbol of the French Revolution. De Sade is imprisoned there for the crime of religious blasphemy. While there, both he and his talkative appendage pass the time with stories. Colin presents his master with surreal and erotic concepts which are developed into popular novella by the Marquis. These are featured in the film as short and horrifying claymation sequences. These stories have made the Marquis a national celebrity. Colin also serves as his master’s most vocal critic, notably pointing out his excessive use of verbs in his writing. Amusingly, de Sade constructs a miniature puppet theatre for Colin to entertain him in. The surreal nature of a dog human conversing with a large talking penis is heightened even further by the addition of the latter in a costume and wig.

Within the Bastille, we are introduced to other unusual animal-human hybrids. Justine (Isabelle Wolfe), a bovine commoner, is the central figure in a conspiracy involving her carrying the unborn child of the king, who had forcibly taken her. To avoid scandal, the lecherous priest, Don Pompero (Vicky Messica), devises a plan with the Bastille’s governor, Gaëtan de Preaubois (René Lebrun), to implicate de Sade as the father of Justine’s child. Unbeknownst to them, the repugnant, rodent-looking jailer, Ambert has also had his wicked way with Justine and believes the unborn sprog is his. However, he is far more interested in the Marquis. He yearns to be buggered by the prisoner, and is willing to make life all the more unpleasant for the Marquis unless he obliges. In another section of the prison, two other inmates, the former Chief of Police Lupino, now involved with the bourgeois revolutionaries, and his gluttonous cellmate Pigonou, are planning an escape with the assistance of Juliette, a dominatrix mare.

The characters and various subplots interconnect over the course of the film, and it makes you appreciate just how well put together a perverse effort like this is.

The film’s primary draw is undoubtedly the use of anthropomorphic characters. Topor also designed the characters in Marquis and their distinctive features are immediately captivating. The uncanny valley association with these animal-human hybrids is complemented by their personality traits reflecting their animal likeness. For instance, the bovine Josephine is surprisingly docile and accommodating given her dire circumstances. In contrast, the rooster-like Gaëtan de Preaubois is full of vigour and cocky in his physical expressions and movements. This is a production decision one would expect to find in an animated children’s feature, such as a Disney adventure. Hence, this makes Marquis feel like a subversive perversion of family-friendly content, given it features an orgy, S&M, and sodomy with a crayfish to name but a few examples.

The decision to use claymation for the short stories was a wise choice. The crudeness and simplicity of stop-motion, renders the extreme content less disturbing. Drastically softening what potentially might have been the most nightmarish sections of an already outrageous film. Nevertheless, they are notable highlights.

Marquis’s closest relative is Peter Jackson’s Meet the Feebles (1989), an adult-oriented take of Jim Henson’s legendary creation The Muppet Show. However, Jackson’s film is more blatant with its intention to shock, whereas Xhonneux’s effort comes across as less exploitative. Despite their graphic nature, they work within the context of the film. Thus, I believe both Xhonneaux and Topor were focused on a narrative primarily rather than merely delivering strong content for the sake of controversy. I think it’s evident in both the professionalism of its production crew and the mature performances of its cast. 

The film was produced after Xhonneux and Topor completed their popular children’s television programme Téléchat (1983–1986). The series ran for 234 episodes and featured anthropomorphic puppets presenting the news in a satirical manner. Both creators felt the desire to work on a completely different project to Téléchat; to cleanse their palates. With the approaching bicentennial of the French Republic, a historical film relating to the birth of the nation seemed topically apt. Thus, Marquis was conceived.

Topor was a prolific individual whose talents extended into the creative arts. He co-wrote and illustrated René Laloux’s surreal, science fiction feature Fantastic Planet (La Planète sauvage, 1973) and starred as Renfield in Werner Herzog’s 1979 remake of Nosferatu. Perhaps his most significant contribution to cinema was as the author of The Chimeric Tenant (AKA Le Locataire chimérique), which was adapted into Roman Polanski’s 1976 film The Tenant - the third entry in his Apartment trilogy.

Apart from films based on the Marquis de Sade and his works, I haven't read any of his books, but I would hazard a guess they would be moderately tame by today's standards. When you have clit-lit, furry fantasy Morning Glory Milking Farm (a novel for lonely women, who yearn to wank off a Minotaur) being a best-selling book, you know the standards of depravity have definitely slipped. I digress, of course.

I have faint memories of seeing production stills of Marquis, possibly in the pages of the now-defunct Cinefex magazine, during my visits to Forbidden Planet in the 1980s and early 1990s. I was aware of the film’s notoriety, but it was far too obscure for the average teenaged film obsessive to track down back then. Today, however, the film is much easier to find, thanks to t'internet. Marquis was recently released on Blu-Ray as a limited edition by Mondo Macabro, a specialist distributor of unusual world films, and this unearthed my long-buried recollection of the lewd French film with anamorphic animals. I purchased it before it completely sold out.

Turns out Marquis lived up to my weird expectations and also surprised me with being a well produced film full of satire. More importantly, it's the type of taboo costume drama that appeals to my sensibilities, rather than the sleep-inducing, endlessly overpraised, Charlotte Brontë-like material that is always everywhere. I was also unprepared for a emotionally affecting farewell scene between a giant talking penis and a canine human hybrid. For that, I feel incredibly fortunate to have (re)discovered such an eccentric film. I don’t think I’ll see anything else like this again anytime soon, which makes Marquis all the more precious. Worth tracking down for fans of utterly bizarre European cinema.

Ben at Work

Man Bites Dog (Rémy Belvaux, André Bonzel & Benoît Poelvoorde, 1992)

From the country that has culturally enriched us with Jean-Claude Van Damme, the saxophone and mayonnaise on chips, Belgium’s dark comedy Man Bites Dog remains a significant work that has left a lasting impression upon the found footage format and the mockumentary film.

Originally called C’est arrivé près de chez vous (It Happened Near Your Home), Man Bites Dog is a disturbingly comedic treatment of a small film crew capturing a fly-on-the-wall documentary on serial killer Benoît Poelvoorde; better known as Ben. The film shines a satirical spotlight on Ben’s world; along with his heinous influence upon his documentarian entourage. As the film draws closer to Ben, the distinction between the subject matter and his observers becomes increasingly blurred. The film crew become complicit in the crimes; while Ben becomes even more involved in the documentary, by becoming its producer.

While chronicling Ben's crimes, the film also depicts the more tender side to him; showcasing his relationships with family and friends. Ben proves to be a charismatic individual with a penchant for the fine arts, philosophy and boxing. Like all murderous psychopaths, Ben feigns empathy, sympathy and respect for most people. In the film, it's used for comedic effect. While lamenting over his latest victim, he confesses to burying two Arabs nearby; facing Mecca.

Shot in 16mm black and white, Man Bites Dog mixes cinéma vérité with the snuff film. The film’s gritty and raw look compliments its theme perfectly. Plus, many of the actors use their real names, which adds to the film’s sense of realism. Scenes with Ben’s family are his actual family; unaware of the type of film they are starring in.

Following the murder of a female passenger on a train at the beginning, the film shifts to Ben preparing to dispose of a corpse into a canal. Ben’s candidness towards Rémy Belvaux’s film crew, where he shares his expertise in dead body disposal, establishes the film’s underlying tone and twisted sense of humour.

Benoît Poelvoorde: There’s a ballast ratio for corpses: Three times body weight
for an average adult like this victim. But for children and midgets, it's different. Kids are lighter. So, it's four times body weight. What?

Rémy Belvaux: Never had problems?                   

Benoît Poelvoorde: No. Midgets are heavier, so you double the weight. Midgets have denser bones, so you double the weight. For old people, multiply by five. Old bones are porous.

As well as murder being his living, Ben takes pride in the innovative methods he employs in extinguishing the very life of his victims. After being invited into an elderly woman’s apartment, he discovers a box of heart medication on her coffee table. He induces a heart attack by shouting in her ear. As she succumbs to shock, he derives satisfaction from not having to waste a bullet on “Granny Snuff”.

Ben places a greater priority on the elimination of the elderly population as they typically possess greater financial resources than younger individuals. But he doesn’t alway adhere to his code of murder. Ben commits a home invasion in a well-to-do suburb; killing a married couple and their young son. This was to prove to his accomplice film crew that he is capable of being amongst the most notorious serial killers in history.

The central theme of Man Bites Dog is the gradual complicity of a group of impoverished student filmmakers in killer Ben’s sickening crimes. Initially subtle, their involvement escalates from assisting with the disposal of a corpse, using their equipment to track a person, and ultimately, gang-raping a woman before mutilating her and her husband. This shocking turn of events turns this twisted comedy into a sobering depiction of evil. The film can be interpreted as a commentary on the media’s impact on society. It questions the point at which impartiality is abandoned and the extent to which the media is willing to compromise its principles given the circumstances. However, an archive interview with its directors suggests that Man Bites Dog is intended to be a meta-film on film making rather than media as a whole. The scene in which Ben and company encounter another film crew also following a killer is an obvious example, and down right hilarious. It is likely that this inspired a similar scene from Shaun of the Dead (2004).

Man Bites Dog is a remarkable mockumentary that bridges the gap between This Is Spinal Tap (1984) and The Blair Witch Project (1999); in terms of genres and technical execution. It stands out in the genre for its ability to elicit laughter while simultaneously evoking a sense of moral revulsion. This dual effect is a rare achievement, particularly for a film that appeals to a desensitised audience. Consequently, it is highly recommended for viewers who are not easily offended by its disturbing scenes.

Along with being available on a far too expensive Australian Blu-Ray, you can watch Man Bites Dog for free on YouTube.

Floundering Nemo

Inside (Vasilis Katsoupis, 2023)

One is the loneliest number for Willem Dafoe in his latest film, Inside (2023). I can relate, since judging by the various comments and reviews I've read, I'm probably the only one who likes the film. If you watched the trailer and expected a Michael Mann style art-heist thriller, then that's on you!

Willem Dafoe plays Nemo an artist/art thief abandoned by his accomplices after a botched theft to steal an Egon Schiele self-portrait. Trapped within a swanky and inpeneterable penthouse, he's left at the mercy of the smart home's faulty automated settings and what little food is available to keep him alive. From Willem Dafoe to Daniel Defoe, Inside is conceptually Robinson Crusoe in a high-rise appartment.

What makes the prospect of Inside so enticing is seeing Dafoe, an incredible actor synonymous with playing unhinged characters, carrying an entire film while he is trapped in a single location. The premise might not appeal to some, but it's far more appealing than the usual over-hyped Hollywood brain rot out there, that's for certain. It's also wildly entertaining watching Dafoe completely trash a penthouse apartment.

Not without its faults, Defoe's performance makes this film a mesmerising viewing experince. Watching him fall into complete despair and lose his mind, feels almost sadistically entertaining. Munching on ice from the freezer to stay hydrated and keep cool from the sweltering heat coming from the aircon, is desperately gruelling. To then hear, the fridge freezer auto play the Macarena song whenever it's left open too long, is hilarious. Nemo eventually being broken by it and finding it entertaining is on par with Dr. Yen Lo's brainwashing from The Manchurian Candidate (1962).

With the plumbing turned off, water becomes a scarce commodity, and so Nemo has to collect water from taps on a timer for the house plants and take dumps in a bath. Food is also limited, and our imprisoned protagonist eventually has to resort to eating the penthouse's tropical fish and dog food.

Starved of social interaction, Nemo observes the penthouse's CCTV as a window beyond his confines; the others are a hurt pigeon facing a similar fate outside the apartment, and a video art installation room. He becomes drawn to "Jasmine", the cleaner he desperately tried to alert. As his health and mental state deteriorate, Nemo experiences hallucinatory fantasies of both her and the penthouse's owner. These surreal scenes are welcome breaks from the obvious monotony at times.

Nemo's hope of escape from his palatial confine materialises with a tall structure created from various furniture reaching up to the apartment's skylight. It resembles a modern art sculpture. There's also his elaborate mural borne from his deteriorating mental state. A person utilising his pain and suffering to creative: a satirical take on art by Katsoupis, perhaps? There's also the scene where Nemo finds William Blake's The Marriage of Heaven and Hell in a secret room. Which is right about the time the film takes an about turn into the existential and symbolic representations of mankind's relationship with Heaven and Hell.

Biggest gripe with the film was its finale. Ambiguous endings are often a clichéd cop-out. A cheap trick employed by pretentious film makers. Their intention might have been to let the viewer fill the last piece, but it often comes across as either their lacking the necessary skill, or apparent laziness to effectively end their film with the same level of expertise with what preceeded it. Given the film's obvious spiritually symbolic final scenes, the ambiguous climax might have been intentional by Katsoupis, but it still comes across as underwhelming, regardless. Still, despite this blunder, Inside is a film where Dafoe gets to deliver a phenomenal performance, and it's completely indebted to him for being such a compelling viewing experience.