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.

The Man of Steal

Danger: Diabolik (Mario Bava, 1968)

Until recently, I had deliberately delayed reviewing Mario Bava’s deliriously, mad cap film Danger: Diabolik (1968) due to not having read any of the comics it was adapted from. The master thief known as Diabolik was created by Italian sisters Angela and Luciana Giussani in 1962. He was more of an anti-hero/villain, given his motivations and actions. From my understanding, the ingenious thief, with a maniacal laugh, would not hesitate to murder any innocent bystander who stood in his way. Hence, the book is allegedly more subversive than traditional comics of that era. Diabolik’s popularity spawned a whole sub-genre of Italian comics known as fumetti neri (dark comics) and gave rise to other notorious characters: Kriminal, Satanik and Sadik; some of which had their own film adaptations.

I found it challenging to locate an English translation of Diabolik . As an alternative, I decided to watch the recent trilogy of films directed by the Manetti Brothers: Diabolik (2021); Diabolik: Ginko Attacks! (2022) and Diabolik: Who Are You? (2024). Fans of the comic consider the trilogy to be more faithful to the source material compared to Bava’s film. After binge-watching all three films, I shan’t bother with the comic books. They are drab, dire and completely lifeless. The complete opposite of Bava's adaptation. All three of them are diabolically bad (I thought I was being clever here, but I'll probably regret typing that sentence whenever I reread this review). Therefore, I can confidently conclude Danger: Diabolik is the superior version; regardless of its deviation from the comic.

Danger: Diabolik is pure bork overload. A visually striking Italian-French co-production, characterised by Bava’s vibrant colour palette and camera wizardry; grandiose and opulent set designs; recognisable European actors in camp mode; and Il Maestro of film composers, Ennio Morricone, creating a distinctive blend of his trademark spaghetti western sounds, ecclesiastical organs, jazzy pop and lounge lizard muzak, furthering the psychedelic experience. The result is a demented Pop-Art film that easily sits between the early James Bond films and the kitsch Batman television series.

The film’s production history was fraught with difficulties. The Nanny’s Seth Holt was the original director when filming commenced in 1965; with Jean Sorel being cast as the titular character. Producer Dino De Laurentiis was dissatisfied with the dailies and production was brought to a halt until Mario Bava was hired to restart the film on a significantly reduced budget. Sorel was out by this time. Having already been familiar with the comic, John Phillip Law secured the lead after impressing De Laurentiis with his dastardly eyebrow expressions; a skill essential when having to wear a latex balaclava while racing around in a speedboat or a sport scar. Bava was unhappy with Catherine Deneuve as Eva Kent, Diabolik's beautiful girlfriend and partner in crime. The Austrian bombshell Marisa Mell was subsequently cast in her place. This proved to be a successful casting decision as Law and Mell exhibited great onscreen chemistry and contributed to the racy scenes in the film.

In terms of the film’s plot, Diabolik’s ingenious and daring heists have driven the nameless European country’s Minister of Interior, played by the gap-toothed, British toff Terry-Thomas, to extreme measures: by enforcing the death penalty on all criminals. His arch-nemesis, Inspector Ginko (Michel Piccoli), is counting on the crime syndicate, led by Ralph Valmont (Adolfo Celi, virtually reprising his villainous role as Emilio Largo from the 1965 James Bond film Thunderball) to rid them of the master thief. Following the kidnapping of his beloved Eva and a free-falling confrontation with Valmont, Diabolik steals the world’s largest gold ingot. Unaware that traces of the ingot were irradiated under Ginko’s orders, thus the objects serves as a homing device. This leads to the law's discovery of Diabolik’s secret lair and the film’s climactic finale.

Bava’s film presents an intriguing dynamic by positioning Diabolik against both law enforcement and the criminal underworld; forcing the master thief into an anti-hero. This is evident when he unleashes a bombing campaign against the state’s tax department after learning of their enforcement of the death penalty. By not permitting Diabolik to steal, he will reciprocate by preventing the government from doing the same. His anti-establishment and individualistic nature comes across as subversive and ahead of its time for a 1960s comic book character.

Danger: Diabolik is an exceptional visual experience for those who appreciate wonderfully eccentric and vibrant cinema. Mario Bava was a masterful filmmaker; renowned for his exquisite cinematic eye, autistic levels of detail to the mise-en-scène and ingenious visual effects. Bava demonstrated his ability to create a wonderfully whimsical and trippy comic book movie with the same care and attention to the sumptuous, atmospheric, gothic Italian horror he became renowned for. A very versatile and capable director, who was unjustly lumped as a poor man's Alfred Hitchcock.

The elaborate sets provide an exceptional playground that are a huge part to the film’s charm. The most notable is Diabolik’s underground lair. An eye-catching, post-modernist structure built within a vast cavern. It’s spectacular enough to rival some of Ernst Stavro Blofeld’s residences. The home is furnished with modern conveniences including his and hers groovy showers and a giant, rotating circular bed (you won’t find one of them in Dreams) where they make passionate love all day amongst all their stolen cash. Not exactly hygienic, but a lifestyle I can respect. The lair is surrounded by a fleet of Jaguar E-Types; the protagonist’s trademark wheels. With a subterranean entrance to the sea, Diabolik’s hideout comes complete with its own submarine. A convenient transport for moving a giant gold ingot. Above all, I’m particularly fond of the giant pipe organ which serves as the lair’s security alarm. A unique, yet very fitting device for any supervillain.

Sources suggest the reason a sequel was never made was that Bava did not enjoy his experience working with De Laurentiis. Alternatively, the film’s commercial failure is a more plausible explanation. If Danger: Diabolik had been successful, a sequel would have been produced even without Bava’s involvement. Regardless of which is true, it is now considered a cult film and often listed amongst the best comic book movies by various media. 

Danger: Diabolik did not leave the same first impression on me as Bava's gothic horror films initially did. The film has greatly grown on me with subsequent revisits. I think it might have been Diabolik’s quintessential European stylings and campiness being not to my taste during my edge lord youth. This was a time when Batman had long abandoned the campiness of the ‘60s television series and embraced the dark and gothic sensibilities as reflected by Tim Burton’s 1989 Batman film. Since then, however, I have found Danger: Diabolik deeply refreshing in comparison to the irreverent deconstruction and revisionism committed to familiar comics book characters today. They are trends that have become increasingly tiresome and clichéd for me. Hence, a fictional character who steals for the adrenaline rush and to support his lavish lifestyle with his sexy girlfriend, is both beautifully simplistic and far more appealing to me than the latest Marvel and DC slop.

One of Mario Bava’s greatest films.

Eureka has recently released a superb 4K UHD of Danger: Diabolik as part of its Masters of Cinema series. This is perhaps my favourite boutique film release of the year. Alternatively, I would highly recommend that those who have not seen the film to check it out for free on YouTube. Deep, deep down, you know you want to!

Of Death, of Love

Dellamorte Dellamore (Michele Soavi, 1994)

Largely considered as the last great Italian Horror by film critics and genre enthusiasts, Michele Soavi's darkly comic Dellamorte Delllamore (AKA Cemetery Man, 1994), is both a surreal and unconventional offering bound to frustrate and confuse anyone mistaken into thinking this would be another gory, flesh eating, Italian zombie flick in the vein of Zombi 2 (1979) or Burial Ground: The Nights of Terror (1981). While commonly described as an existential zombie film, it's only partially accurate, as the zombies, or "returners" as called by the film's protagonist, are only prominent in the first half of the film. The remainder is a descent into madness, where the living are the bigger focus of the story. Culminating with an ambiguous ending, that's open to all sorts of interpretation.

Gianni Romni's screenplay is an adaptation of the novel of the same name, penned by author and comic book writer Tiziano Sclavi. The book was a prequel to Dylan Dog, a cult Italian comic storied around an English, paranormal investigator. Artist and co-creator, Angelo Stano based his on the titular character on the English thespian Rupert Everett, after seeing him in the drama Another Country (1984). Flattered by the use of his image and the general premise of Dellamorte Dellamore, Everett's eagerness and involvement in the film's pre-production came very early on.

On the outskirts of Buffalora, a rustic town in northern Italy, the chronically depressed Francesco Dellamorte is the caretaker of the nearby cemetery, which is besieged with the select undead who rise from their graves seven days after their burial. The thirty-something protagonist, who has more in common with an emo teenager, is accompanied by an almost mute (the only thing he utters is, "Gna!" and in typical Lassie fashion, its meaning is understood by Dellamorte), spherically-shaped manchild known as Gnaghi (François Hadji-Lazaro). Together, they deal with the returners like a humorous odd couple burdened with the most mundane of tasks. Interestingly, Dellamorte is a bit of a pretentious prat with his depressed poetic drivel and confessing to only reading the telephone book. His cellar dwelling companion, however, likes nothing more than consuming plates of spaghetti with bread and watching war footage on his beloved TV.

Their dynamic changes with the introductions of She (the stone cold, Finnish Italian fox Anna Falchi). The buxom bombshell plays three different, but identical looking women (technically four if you count her returner form). The first is a beautiful, young widow with a penchant for the ossuary. The second is the second mayor's secretary with a fear of male genitalia. The final version of She is a college student who turns out to be a prostitute. All three of these incarnations have a profound effect on Francesco Dellamorte's mental state. Ultimately, turning him into a man who no longer kills the dead, but the living. As shown when the Grim Reaper appears and tells Dellamorte, "Stop killing the dead. They're mine. If you don't want the dead coming back to life, why don't you just kill the living, shoot them in the head? Are you listening to me?" Indeed he does, as he eventually drives into town and goes on a killing spree; shooting the local youths who mocked him for supposedly being impotent.

Structurally, Dellamorte Dellamore is top heavy (not a pun on Falchi's fantastic topless scenes*) as the first incarnation of She consumes the first hour of the film. The other versions of the alluring femme and their impact in the film, run far shorter. They're all pivotal, however, as they're key triggers to the decline of Dellamorte's deteriorating mental state. There is of course Gnagi's sideplot, where he falls for the career obsessed mayor's daughter. Dead or alive; she's still only fourteen years old, regardless of Gnagi believing he is also a child. Back on topic, the film does manage to work really well, despite its absurdity. It's largely due to its uniqueness and its surreal, dreamlike quality; everything feels and behaves so out-of-wack, that any flaw might come across as intentional by Michele Soavi. A notable reason why Dellamorte Dellamore is given the clichéd description as being Lynchian. Although, Italain horror has always had its own eccentricities and general weirdness well before the term was ever coined.

In terms of the film's visual style, it's a veritable mix of vintage Sam Raimi and early Peter Jackson; particularly many of the nocturnal graveyard scenes. Mauro Marchetti's stunning cinematography easily elevates the film above most other '90s horror films, let alone the barely functioning Italian horror industry at the time. Soavi, a fan of classic fine art and recreating them in his films, creates a homage to one during the ossuary scene, where Dellamorte has his head wrapped in a scarf, passionately kissing a veiled She; an obvious reference to Rene Magritte's The Lovers II. Other films also get the referential treatmentl  the most blatant being the snow globe from Orson Welles's Citizen Kane (1941). A totally obscure one, is Dellamorte constantly mistaken for an engineer; a reference to David Hemming's character in Dario Argento's Deep Red (1975). Of course, Soavi was no stranger to referencing grand pieces of art with his directorial debut, the Euro-slasher Stagefright (1987); a classic horror in its own right.

Perhaps the film's greatest achievement is Rupert Everett being in it, playing it thoroughly emo, yet defying the odds and being the superb lead. Easily his best film. Witnessing him shoot dumdum bullets into the undead while acting thoroughly morose is how I would imagine Ash J. William would be if he was a poncey English bloke. Everett is also the common element that keeps the film flowing and compelling, regardless of its incoherent plot. He bridges all the on-screen insanity from one scene to the next, from his comedic scenes with Hadji-Lazaro's Gnagi, to his doomed romances with Falchi's multiples of She; it's thoroughly entertaining.

Bottom line - Dellamorte Dellamore is a classic, yet sadly perfect swan song as the last great Italian horror. It's also tragic Soavi never helmed any other theatrical films afterwards and retreated into TV work, as he stepped out of the shadow of being Dario Argento's protégé and proved to possess his own unique style and talent. The Italian film industry was in dire straits at the time, and all the great directors were well past their primes, which makes Soavi an important name in the canon of Italian horror for being responsible for its last great entry.

*Can't link any of the multiple screenshots I took of Anna Falchi's topless scenes as Imgur deleted them. The philistines.

Ravagé à Trois

MadS (David Moreau, 2024)

After the euphoric buzz of Coralie Fageat's outstanding body-horror The Substance (2024) comes the inevitable comedown. It's been a downer for quality films the last couple of weeks. Nothing new has provided a decent high. Fortunately, Shudder's usual deluge of shite horror has been mickey finned with actual dope. French film maker, David Moreau, the bloke responsible for the utterly compelling home-invasion thriller Them (2006) AKA Ils, has achieved a blinding comeback with the electrifying zombie horror, MadS (2024) — you're guess is about as good as mine as to why it's spelt like that.

Playboy, rich kid Romain (Milton Riche), kickstarts his eighteenth birthday celebrations with snorting a few lines of a mystery party drug and driving around in his old man's vintage sports car, when suddenly, a completely distraught young woman, in bandages, bumps into his vehicle. Ruining Romain's high, the distressed passenger plays a recording device which clues him in on what's happened to her. Unwilling to be busted for being high as a kite, Romain hangs-up his call to the emergency services, once he's informed the police would also be notified. Deciding to take the mysterious passenger to the local hospital and dump her there, she repeatedly cuts herself in despair, bleeding all over the birthday boy, before slumping to her presumed death in the passenger's seat. In utter shock, Romain drives her to his house, instead. Score!

Now in a panic, Romain hops in the shower to wash all the blood off. He's disturbed by his father calling to enquire about his flight details. During this time, his mysterious passenger is no longer in the parked car, or anywhere in the garage. Romain presumes she has somehow left the premises. Without a moment to reflect on everything which has occurred, his girlfriend, Anais (Laury Pavy) arrives. They're both picked up by their loud and leary friends and taken to a near-by house party. We're introduced to Anais' best friend Julia (Lucille Guillaume) and the revelation that she's been secretly having an affair with Romain and might be pregnant. Domestic soap story shenanigans aside, the house party is primarily focused on Romain's deteriorating state, along with his eccentric behaviour.

MadS' ultimate selling point is the novelty of it being shot in one take. A phenomenal feat, as it's a logistical nightmare for any film. Miraculously, MadS succeeds in this endeavour as the viral outbreak spreading in real time lends to an utterly kinetic and adrenaline charged film; laced with unsettling anxiety. Cinematographer Philip Lozano deserves major credit for photographing such an aesthetically pleasing film. MadS looks striking, even with sickly, yellow street light illuminations. Astonishingly, the film avoids the typical disorientating and dizzying ordeal inherent in many POV + found footage films, allowing for the viewer to process events on-screen much easier. If anything, for its ilk, it looks grandiose and cinematic at times. Even more commendable, is the skilful switching of its three protagonists during this nihilistic night, which feels both natural and effortless.

Technically, MadS is a zombie film! Being all in real time, it's a slow process from the unfortunately infected victim to an undead, flesh-eating fiend. There are some unique differences, however:

• The infected exhibit extreme emotional swings and outbursts.
  
• They can hear maniacal laughing and voices in their heads.
  
• Infectees show exaggerated character traits of their former selves. For instance, Anais' sexual desires are amplified greater. "You smell good. Can I smell you?" she utters off-screen to Julia's neighbour before killing him.
  
• Light makes them superhuman. As evident during a memorable moped chase sequence and a poor man being thrown over a barrier and into a river.
  

Julia's encounter with Noa (Lewkowski Yovel), one of the armed, hazmat suited containment operatives, offers important information about these zombies: "This life no longer exists. Listen to me. How do you feel? Is your head spinning? Are you hearing voices? Are you drawn to the light? If you haven't ingested any of their blood, you're okay. Stay in the dark. Use as little light as possible. It makes them stronger."

Moreau's zombie film bears all its influences on-screen. The most obvious ones being The Crazies (1973) and 28 Days Later (2002). The latter being even more pronounced with a score that sounds blatantly similar to John Murphy's classic soundtrack. There is also the claustrophobic spontaneity of [REC] (2007) and various recognisable elements associated with Gaspar Noé's oeuvre. None of this makes MadS less than the sum of its parts, however. If anything, Moreau clearly understands why all those elements worked, and manages to weave them into his film, creating a unique and refreshing take on a tired and completely oversaturated subgenre.

Remarkably, MadS achieves so much in its lean run time. Watching it again the following night, is equally rewarding as various details and nuances, missed initially, further improve what was already a great film. MadS is both mesmerising and energetic. The tone might overall be nihilistic, but it's a thoroughly riveting viewing experience, regardless. A white-knuckle, roller coaster film which is highly recommended, as it's easily one of the great horror highlights this year. Should have released it in the cinema, ladS!

Beauty is the Beast

The Substance (Coralie Fargeat, 2024) 

Our celebration of beauty and youth is hardly a new concept; they've been well documented in art, literature and music throughout our history. Achieving such perfection often comes at a high price. Coralie Fargeat critiques these impossible standards in the satirical body horror that is her sophomore film, The Substance (2024). All this, while waving the tricolore flag as the true queen of New French Extremity.

Much like her star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, celebrity aerobics instructor Elizabeth Sparkle's career (Demi Moore) has lost its lustre. The knives are out for the fifty year old fitness guru. Eavesdropping her obnoxious slime boss Harvey (Dennis Quaid), the search is on for a young and attractive replacement for Elizabeth as she will be unceremoniously carted off to the knacker's yard. The distressing news leads to her being involved in a car accident. Whilst at the hospital, she learns from a member of staff there of a wonder treatment simply known as the Substance.

"Have you ever dreamt of a better version of yourself? Younger, more beautiful, more perfect. One single injection unlocks your DNA, starting a new cellular division, that will release another version of yourself. This is the Substance. You are the matrix. Everything comes from you. Everything is you. This is simply a better version of yourself. You just have to share. One week for one and one week for the other. A perfect balance of seven days each. The one and only thing not to forget: You. Are. One. You can't escape from yourself."

Elizabeth's desperation leads to crawling below a roll shutter in a dodgy backstreet alley where it leads to a brightly-lit, Kubrickian white room. With no other human interaction, this mysterious area is where Elizabeth obtains the black market miracle drug known as the Substance. Resembling Herbert West's fluorescent green serum from Stuart Gordon's classic film Re-Animator (1985), the wonder drug comes with a bunch of vacuum packed plastic utensils that ordinarily be off-putting for anyone. The procedure is almost fetishistic adds and highlights the ridiculousness procedure involved to be young and beautiful again.

The film firmly arrives at destination body horror when Elizabeth injects the serum into her body, and in the first of many Cronenberg inspired scenes, gives birth to her younger and improved genetic double. The execution of this sequence is sublime. The mononymous Sue (Margaret Qually) is the Mr. Edward Hyde to Elizabeth's Dr. Henry Jeckyll. Whilst one of them is active, the other is in a catatonic state. Sue requires a daily stabiliser to keep going; essentially the spinal fluid she retrieves from Elizabeth.

While not stating the obvious, the pair are remarkably different in behaviour. While Elizabeth is timid and uncertain, Sue is confident and brash. People don't see Sue and bump into her without giving her a second look; her younger version has slack-jawed men dumbstruck by her beauty. Needless to say, she lands the aerobics job as Elizabeth's replacement. The Substance holds no restraint in its critique of society's idolisation with beauty and youth. Sue's aerobics show is far more lurid in comparison to her predecessor's routines. Stylistically speaking, it's evocative of the risqué dance music videos which were popular in the noughties. The camera is completely and utterly fixated over Sue's fit and supple body. No complaints from me.

At its core The Substance has a similar structure to Forgeat's impressive debut, Revenge (2017), as they both feature a small cast, along with being films which blend the fantastical with reality. This is all about  satirising both the beauty and entertainment industries in an extreme fashion. For this reason, The Substance comes across as cartoonish on the surface, yet completely fathomable with our assumptions of these fields. The outrageousness style is further reinforced in the film's aesthetic production design, as well as its obnoxiously loud EDM soundtrack..

Possibly Demi Moore's best performance captured on film, as she's perfectly cast as an ageing beauty. The obvious cosmetic work on her face only reconfirms the film's commentary on our obsession with capturing our prime again. One scene in particular, where she's getting ready for a date, is almost as disturbing as the grotesque body horror scenes elsewhere in the film, as she's in complete distress trying to look good to validate herself. Her dysmorphia reveals her complete fragility as she tears at her hair and face in anguish. Qually, on the other hand, is equally effective playing the ultra desirable femme, since she also exhibits personality flaws as well; notably her greedy selfishness to extend her allotted seven days, which is detrimental to the older host which sustains her. Thus the Jeckyll and Hyde parallel becomes more symbiotic and extreme.

Fargeat takes a huge risk in the third act by going in a direction which might lose folk who didn't pick up on the film's intentional humour. Without giving away any spoiler details, the film goes completely off-the-rails, albeit in an outlandishly spectacular way; evoking notable films by Brian Yuzna and Brian De Palma. The icing on the cake is how it leads to a deeply poetic scene right before the end titles. 

Regardless of the cinephile fodder which rear their heads around this season, The Substance is undoubtedly one of the biggest highlights for me this year. It won me over by completely catering to my love for genre cinema, and based on my observation at my screening, entertained me about as much as the turd wave feminists who were also in attendance. It earned my respect for putting a huge smile on my face, making its epic two hours and twenty minutes run time (which was admittedly off-putting, initially) completely fly by.

The Substance is a deeply impressive sophomore film and a grotesque work of art.

Inspectors from Mars

Mars Express (Jérémie Périn, 2023/2024)

Might as well copy and paste my Godzilla Minus One (2023) review for Jérémie Périn's directorial debut. It echoes a lot of my sentiments on an alternative industry delivering what Hollywood can't or will no longer deliver. Mars Express (2023) is a French, animated, science fiction film proudly wearing its inspirations - notably Blade Runner (1982) and Ghost in the Shell (1995) on its sleeve. It forgoes the popular, Marvel standard which has infected other sci-fi properties over the years, opting for the type of philosophical themes you would expect from an Isaac Assimov novel.

Set in the year 2200, Périn manages to construct an incredible amount of world building in his debut. Undoubtedly the film's major strength. Throughout its lean running time Mars Express impresses in marrying future tech in a human society; opening the books on various moral and ethical quandaries. Prime example is the topically relevant subject matter — artificial intelligence.

Mars Express transitions from a conventional film noir/detective story to a conspiracy/espionage thriller. Its two main leads: Mars based private investigator Aline Ruby (Léa Drucker) and her robotic partner Carlos Rivera (Daniel Njo Lobé). Aline is very much reminscent of the traditional private dick with personal demons; notably her drink problem. Carlos is an interesting contrast; a dead human brought to life as a robotic back-up, replete with a hologram head. A chase sequence early in the film involving the two leads apprehending a jailbroken robot and a shady tech engineer really highlight the dynamic between the two leads and the amazing world(s) which they inhabit.

Artistically speaking, Mars Express looks distinctively European in style. Obviously inspired from Moebius and sci-fi themed bande dessinée books, it stands out in comparison to its American and Japanese peers. The entire reason the film even earned any time from me.

Périn's Mars Express is hardly a game changer, but it does handle its themes and topics superbly well for what's essentially a ninety minute feature. That's commendable, especially in the wake of the soporific and forgettable The Creator (2023) — a cyberpunk title that's already wreaked amnesia on everyone less than a year later.

File Mars Express as another surprising gem from 2023 which has eventually made its way onto the Dada Debaser telly box much later on. Still calling it a 2024 film in the end of year lists, though.

Demoness Souls

eXistenZ (David Cronenberg, 1999)

Amongst film critics and cinephiles, Crash (1996) is largely regarded as Canadian director David Cronenberg's best film from the nineties. As good as it is, personally, I prefer eXistenZ (1999) over it, as its subject matter is more appealing than a feature focusing on a bunch of pervs turned on by being involved in car accidents. That's just me, though.

The tragedy of Cronenberg's sci-fi body horror was it being overshadowed by the Wachowski's popular blockbuster The Matrix (1999) at the time. Both films tackle the concept of simulated realities; it's just one had Keanu Reeves in school-shooter trench coat swagger and the appeal of bullet time visual effects (a gimmick which would be nauseatingly copied and parodied throughout the following decade), while the other was either remained oblivious to most people, or seen as far too niche for mainstream crowds.

You've got to admire Cronenberg unique artistic vision; eXistenZ has his indelible mark all over it. Aesthetically, the film has the worn, post-modern dystopian look about it which is synoymous with many of his films. Love the organic looking consoles made from mutated amphibian organs with what look like umbilical cords plugged into a bio port at the base of the spine. That's unmistakably so Cronenberg. This is all coming at a time when the Sony PlayStation had shifted the cultural belief that gaming was only meant for a very young demographic. There was also the popular influx of virtual worlds; notably the MMORPGs which were growing popular at the time, where players were completely sucked into.

The plot is a fairly linear affair; security guard Ted Pikul (Jude Law) is tasked with escorting to safety games guru, Allegra Geller (Jennifer Jason Leigh), after a botched assassination attempt on her life by a fundamentalist. From that point, the film goes down a rabbit hole of Cronenberg's perception of what immersive gaming might entail and extremes of industrial espionage. It's a meta affair, where our leads traverse through the realms of reality. Hardly a unique concept in a Cronenberg film as it's familiar territory for the auteur with the surrealist techno, body horror Videodrome (1983) as it also blurs worlds.

Despite its modest budget, eXistenZ boasts an impressive cast - Ian Holme, Christopher Eccleston and Willem Dafoe as a dodgy mechanic/bio-porter, makes some of the supporting cast. Both Jennifer Jason Leigh and Jude Law display great chemistry together. The highlight for me is when the pair order a special platter of mutated amphibians at a restaurant. Jude Law instinctingly assembles a high powered pistol from the bones of his disgusting meal, capable of firing human teeth for its bullets. It's also worth noting that eXistenZ might be the only film where I've found Jennifer Jason Leigh remotely hot.

Can't help but admire the uniqueness of Cronenberg's grotesque gaming pods parasitically leeching off its human host to be powered. The umbilical cord is also a nice touch. There's also the casual manner of having a bio-port jackhammered into the base of your spine and being compared to having your ears pierced in this dystopian setting. There's also the religious like fervour of Allegra's enemies who see her game as a threat to our world - "Death to the demoness Alllegra Geller!" Everything about it so distinctively Cronenberg, innit?

Sadly, Cronenberg's film was a commercial flop. That might have been the reason why he took an extremely long hiatus from making sci-fi body horror and broadened his wings with A History of Violence (2005) and Eastern Promises (2007). He didn't return back to the fold until relatively recently with the impressive evolutionary tale Crimes of the Future (2022). Still, can't knock any film maker for branching out whilst not selling out.

Today, eXistenZ is something of a cult film. It's aged incredibly well. The subject matter is still relevant today with tech lizard moguls like Mark Zuckerberg championing virtual reality and trying to make the Metaverse a thing. Lord knows how much money he's pumped into that. eXistenZ also serves as a more palatable precursor to Christopher Nolan's metaworld concept from Inception (2010). Proof eXistenZ was way ahead of its time.

gg!