DREAM LOVER 1986

I will dream a gentle dream

a soft dream.

I am at peace in this dream.

I am safe...

Dream Lover is a not-uninteresting Freudian psychological thriller from the director of Klute, derailed by a too-clinical fascination with the sterile, simultaneously uncinematic and exposition-reliant, world of dream therapy.

In the mid-‘80s, erstwhile child star and ‘70s teen idol Kristy McNichol made a tantalizing bid for adult credibility when cast against type in Alan J. Pakula’s visually persuasive psychosexual thriller Dream Lover. At age twenty-three, the two-time Emmy Award-winning actress (Family) with the easygoing smile and tomboy image was cast in her first truly adult role as Kathy Gardner, an emotionally and sexually repressed music student plagued by recurring nightmares.

Kristy McNichol as Kathy Gardner

Paul Shenar as Benjamin Gardner

Ben Masters as Dr. Michael Hansen

Justin Deas as Kevin McCann

Kathy is a talented and gifted jazz flutist (you’ll just have to take the movie’s word for that) living in a state of infantilized, vaguely incestuous arrested-development under the dictatorial thumb of her overbearing father (Paul Shenar), a prominent D.C. attorney.
After winning a scholarship to a prestigious New York music academy, Kathy, in an uncharacteristic show of independence and in strict defiance of her father's wishes, sublets an apartment in Greenwich Village, and, in short order, becomes romantically involved with her curly-permed jazz improv instructor (Justin Deas). 

Unfortunately, before Kathy even has a chance to adjust to her newfound freedom, Freudian guilt and paternal retribution comes swiftly and brutally in the form of an "I warned you it wasn't safe away from Daddy" apartment break-in and assault, resulting in Kathy killing her assailant with his own knife.
Now, haunted by recurring nightmares in which she is forced to relive the attack, Kathy submits to an unorthodox, experimental sleep therapy. A treatment which, while proving to be successful in quelling her nightmares, may have the unforeseen side-effect of inducing, in her waking moments, the compulsion to act out and upon emotions heretofore confined solely (and safely) to her dream world.

As a fan of psychological thrillers, I recall at the time hoping that Dream Lover—with its themes of violence, sex, dreams, and repression (redolent of Marnie, Spellbound, and Vertigo)—would be Pakula picking up the Hitchcock mantle after serial Hitchcock homagist Brian De Palma at last appeared ready to set it aside following the flop critical reception to his Rear Window-inspired Body Double (1984). If so, I was beyond excited at the prospect of what a director of Pakula's skill and sensitivity with actors could bring to the genre.
Thus, I turned a blind eye to anything negative portended by Dream Lover being released in the dump month of January (a traditionally low-attendance time), and remained blissfully ignorant of the fact that I was one of the few (the very few, as it turns out) enthusiastically anticipating the opening of this, Alan J. Pakula’s first film in four years…since 1982's Sophie’s Choice.
My imagination was tweaked by Dream Lover’s striking, pulpy poster art (my work commute took me past MGM’s Culver City studio, so for over a month I got to gawk at the sight of an enormous and threatening billboard featuring America’s teen sweetheart brandishing a switchblade). I was sent thoroughly over-the-top the first time I saw the theatrical trailer—all fast cuts, Psycho-strings, and ominous voice-over: “Imagine the terror of living a nightmare every time you sleep. Every... time… you sleep….” And I was unaccountably taken with the intriguing notion of seeing squeaky-clean Kristy McNichol in a role that promised to be a dramatic departure.

But what excited me most was the return of Alan J. Pakula (one of my ab fab favorite ‘70s directors) to the suspense thriller genre. To me, Klute (1971): a character drama disguised as a detective story, and The Parallax View (1974): a truly terrifying political paranoia suspenser, are two of the most stylish, distinctive, and chillingly effective thrillers of the decade. Pakula knew how to tell a story and go for the effect, but never at the expense of character. Indeed, he seemed to have the magic touch when it came to actors, often extracting unexpectedly fresh and authentic performances out of long-established stars. In The Parallax View Paula Prentiss, known for her light-comedy roles, gives a nakedly intense dramatic performance, while, conversely, Pakula’s comedy Starting Over (1979) single-handedly reinvented Candice Bergen’s career by unearthing the self-effacing comedienne beneath the actress' much-touted ice-princess veneer.

It’s this latter directorial alchemy I anticipated Pakula working on Kristy McNichol, a talented actress I’d always liked (even in the wretched-but-oddly enjoyable The Pirate Movie), but who, when not busy being the only good thing in a string of mediocre films, appeared headed on a career collision-course that threatened to turn her into Marie Osmond’s answer to Erin Moran.

Kathy, Scat Singing With a Jazz Combo
Remarkably, this is NOT the reason someone tries to kill her a few moments later.
(McNichol also played a flutist in 1984's Just The Way You Are)

However, when I say Alan J. Pakula is one of my favorite ‘70s directors, I say it with emphasis on the “70s” part, for I tend to be a tad less fond of the late director’s post-1979 output (Pakula died in 1998). Starting with the soporific financial thriller Rollover (1981), Pakula's work during this period vacillated between ambitious (Sophie's Choice), banal (See You in the Morning - 1989), conventional (The Pelican Brief -1993), and, in the case of Dream Lover, fascinating but flawed.

Kathy's dreams are affected by the repressed, conflicted feelings
she has about her love-hate relationship with her controlling father

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM 

As contemporary psychological thrillers go, Dream Lover is very much up my alley. Yet, due to reasons easily attributable to its script (a first effort by one-time Pakula assistant and co-producer Jon Boorstin), and less verifiably ascribed to Pakula’s directorial choices; Dream Lover proves itself to be one of those high-concept, high-style thrillers that start out promisingly, only to later develop serious problems sustaining suspense and maintaining a consistent tone. 

To Kathy's growing roster of father-related hang-ups, add male trust issues and sexual anxiety.
"Someday your father's gonna have to find out you're a woman."
"Not today."

Before its script gets hijacked by the self-serious contributions of a phalanx of sleep-research technical advisers (presented with the kind of grave earnestness guaranteed to make it sound absolutely crackpot), Dream Lover at least has the benefit of a marvelous setup. From the outset, the central conflict is established as one both emotionally subjective (Kathy’s unresolved feelings about her father) and psychologically reactive (resultant of the discrepancy between Kathy’s dream reality – aka her desires - and her actual existence). In being made privy to the content of Kathy’s dreams, we’re made aware of how her rather vague daily persona as a dutiful daughter contrasts significantly with her vivid and active dream life.

In her nocturnal life, Kathy variably casts herself as a child; her own late mother (dressed, significantly, in red); and as an imprisoned figure capable of escape only through means of literal flight. Meanwhile, her father, for whom Kathy in real-life serves as a combination surrogate wife figure and eternal child, appears alternately as an idealized figure of warmth and acceptance, or a threatening, faceless specter. 

In her peaceful dreams, Kathy places herself within the pastoral scene depicted
in a painting that hangs (significantly, again) over her father's bed.

Since Dream Lover is presented from the exclusive perspective of Kathy’s reality—the perspective of a repressed, bordering-on-regressed grown woman with serious daddy issues; the film makes an interesting case of positing Kathy’s attack (though psychologically scarred, she comes to no physical harm due to unleashed pent-up rage) as being a physical manifestation of guilt (she defied her father) and sexual panic (the attack occurs moments after what may have been her first sexual encounter).

"I stabbed him...he dropped his knife, so I picked it up and I stabbed him!
And...I never felt so good as when I stuck that knife in him!"

Dream Lover’s Freudian overlays are metered out with such style; its intensifying cycle of recurrence and repetition so measured and deliberately paced…it’s a little too bad that the gripping psychological thriller we’ve been primed for never actually shows up. The introduction of the sleep therapy angle —precisely when things should accelerate—takes what had heretofore been a fairly gripping, fun/trash psychological melodrama, and tries to turn it into a serious exploration of the scientific advancements made in the area of dream research. Zzzzzz. 

Movies themselves are dreams. If a director wins over an audience’s confidence, he/she can make us believe and accept almost anything, no explanations necessary. Thrillers grind to a pedantic halt the minute they find it necessary to try to ground the primarily emotional pleasures of the genre in sober factualism (especially when, in order to accommodate a patently preposterous climax, the film chooses to jettison all laws of physics and logic). Hitchcock had the good sense to leave all the psychological mumbo jumbo for the end of Psycho, and even then it still came across like the most superfluous scene in the movie.

Top: The red-walled apartment Kathy sublets is festooned with vivid animal prints, patterned drapes, and nude artwork hanging on the wall. It's like someone's libido has exploded all over the room. Below: Once moved in, uptight Kathy substitutes virginal whites for the blazing reds and bold patterns, removes the artwork, and covers the animal-print furniture with sheets. In this screencap we have the mysterious stranger (Joseph Culp) in search of the whereabouts of the unknown "Maggie."

Throughout the film, Kathy's surroundings consistently reflect her emotional conflicts, reinforcing the theme of Kathy's dream reality having an increasing influence on her real life.


THE STUFF OF DREAMS
From a literal standpoint, the phrase “Dreams are what le cinema is for” is no idle claim. Dreams have been depicted in motion pictures since their Inception (a little dream-related film-geek joke there…heh, heh) dating as far back as the early 1900s.
If asked to cite directors whose visual sense best captures what my own dreams look like, I’d have to say Ken Russell and Roman Polanski (making musical room for Busby Berkeley and Vincente Minnelli); but such baroque theatricality isn’t always necessary to make the fantasy world of dreams feel authentic to me.

Dream Lover presents dreams in a relatively straightforward, decidedly Freudian manner. All corridors, portals, vivid reds, and symbolism, one could likely reference any of the film’s images in a dream interpretation manual and arrive at precisely the intention Pakula intends. Dream Lover was lensed by longtime Ingmar Bergman cinematographer Sven Nykvist (Fanny and Alexander), who gives Kathy’s dreams an austere luster of atmospheric dread.
Unfortunately, Dream Lover came out just around the time of MTV over-saturation. Freudian symbolism had become such a clichéd, overused mainstay of music videos at this point that Dream Lover’s imagery (as beautiful and fitting to the plot as it is) was met with a lot of been-there, done that.

Taking Flight

PERFORMANCES

I know a great many people don’t care for Kristy McNichol in this film (if the words “great many” can be used in reference to a film as obscure as Dream Lover), but I find her to be absolutely riveting. Given what I consider to be the low to marginal quality of most of her films (Only When I Laugh and White Dog being the exceptions) it’s perhaps not saying much to credit this as my favorite of her screen performances, but it really is…she gives an authentic performance and absolutely makes the film for me.

It must be quite the challenge for actors to portray individuals who are emotionally shut-down, but McNichol gets under the skin of her character, infusing Kathy’s low-flame jitteriness with a great deal of poignance. McNichol has several really remarkable scenes, one of my favorites being when she is afraid to go to sleep and is asked by the empathetic sleep therapist to relate a sleep ritual from her childhood. Just absolutely marvelous work.

All of the performances in Dream Lover are uniformly fine, some suffering at the hand of their utilitarian service to the machinations of plot more than others. But I particularly like Ben Masters as the sleep researcher. He shares an easy rapport with McNichol and his genuine, seemingly nice-guy vibe plays well to the elements of the story centering on Kathy's suppressed distrust of (and impaired judgment regarding) men.

Gayle Hunnicutt & John McMartin appear in brief roles as family friends 

THE STUFF OF FANTASY
Dream Lover embodies two of my favorite things in off-beat films: 1) So-called "serious" directors tackling genre material, 2) Actors cast against type.
Alan J. Pakula can't help but bring a lot of technical skill and intelligence to this thriller (in spite of a screenplay that too often has intelligent characters regularly engaging in dumb behavior in order to keep the plot moving), but Dream Lover has the feel of a melodrama too proud to revel in its own enjoyably schlocky premise, instead, it keeps trying to convince us of the soberness of its subject matter. Too bad, because for at least 60 of its 104 minutes, Pakula looks like he's willing to go for broke and serve up a tasty, low-calorie thrill-ride. It only falls apart when he tries to shoehorn in the substance.
As for Kristy McNichol, her participation in the film was a major draw for me back in 1986, it's nice to report that her subtle and affecting performance looks even better to me 30-years later. Not so much the '80s fashions and Kenny G-type sax musical interludes.

The '80s were not fashion-forgiving

BONUS MATERIAL

 The theatrical trailer that got my pulse racing back in 1986

Copyright © Ken Anderson   2009 - 2016

DAUGHTERS OF DARKNESS 1971

“I’m just an outmoded character, nothing more. You know, the beautiful stranger, slightly sad, slightly…mysterious...that haunts one place after another.” 

In spite of their vast number and long history, I’m not sure I can name even five vampire movies I like. There’s Andy Warhol’s Dracula (1974), Werner Herzog’s Nosferatu the Vampyre (1979), The Hunger (1983), and… OK, looks like I hit the wall at three. Well, make that four; for topping this very short list and ranking #1 as my absolute favorite vampire movie of all time is Belgian director Harry Kümel’s sleek, sexy, and exceedingly stylish Daughters of Darkness.

A Belgian/French/Italian/U.S. co-production, Daughters of Darkness combines—with wit and flair—‘70s arthouse sophistication with good ol’ grindhouse exploitation in the telling of a modern-day Countess Dracula myth set in a desolate, cavernous hotel in Belgium. Conceived as a strictly commercial venture contingent on the internationally market-friendly ingredients of bosoms and bloodshed, Daughters of Darkness, in the hands of Harry Kümel (whose other work I’m unfamiliar with) undergoes a kind of alchemic transformation. A transformation wherein the alternatively limiting factors of a low budget, brief shooting schedule, somewhat trashy material, and a minimal cast of unevenly-skilled actors with clashing accents—become the very elements that, when combined, contribute the most to defining the offbeat allure and eerie fascination of this film.

Delphine Seyrig as Countess Elizabeth Bathory

John Karlen as Stefan Chilton

Danielle Ouimet as Valerie Chilton

Andrea Rau as Ilona Harczy

Paul Esser as Pierre

When the train of a honeymooning couple jumps the track (literally and metaphorically), the pair, having wed in Switzerland just three hours hence and now en route to England, is temporarily waylaid in Ostend, Belgium. Stefan, the groom (Karlen), strangely reluctant to reach their destination and have his bride Valerie (Ouimet) meet her aristocratic mother-in-law, suggests a brief stay at an off-season beach resort where they are the only guests.“It’s rather dead around here this time of the year,” intones Pierre (Paul Esser) the concierge.

That is, until night falls and an exquisite, 1940s vintage Bristol motorcar arrives at the hotel, from which emerge a mysterious, vaguely predatory, smoky-voiced Hungarian countess (Seyrig) and her exotically overripe “secretary,” (Ilona (Rau). Descending upon the establishment like a couple of, well...vampire bats, upon catching sight of our unwitting honeymooners (who, given the degree of duplicity and discord already manifest between the two, appear to have met and married in haste) our chichi new guests immediately lay claim. 

"...both so perfect. So good-looking. So sweet."
The concierge recognizes the unchanged Countess from 40 years earlier,
when he was just a young bellboy at the hotel

Veiling steely determination behind a charming smile and the kind of languid savior faire unique to the very rich and well-traveled, the glamorously debauched countess wastes no time insinuating herself into the lives of the newlyweds (think Eva Gabor as Marlene Dietrich cast as a lesbian Auntie Mame). Corruption of the innocent is the goal and possession of that which is most desired is the objective, but the countess and her protégé soon find the path to seduction is not without its obstructions.

There’s the persistent interference of the suspicious and bewildered hotel concierge who always seems to materialize on the periphery of the action (“He’s already up…when does he sleep?” snaps the countess at one point). And then there’s that other figure from the countess’ past, a retired policeman (Georges Jamin) engaged in the amateur investigation of a recent rash of murders of young women.

But it is Stefan, the not-quite better half of our virtuous couple, who may not be all that he seems. Sharing with the countess an eerily simpatico affinity for brutality and the hypnotic allure of decadence, Stephan is both match and pawn to the countess’ femme fatale charm. And true to form, Stephan is yet another self-assured male who enters into a game thinking he holds all the cards, only to discover that the women in his life have rewritten the rules.

The Happy Couple
Both Roman Polanski (Bitter Moon) & Paul Schrader (The Comfort of Strangers ) have made 
interesting films about debauched couples intent on seducing innocent, unsuspecting couples

Daughters of Darkness is a knowing (and sometimes winking) take on the vampire film, alternately sending up and paying homage to a genre that, by the '70s, was in dire need of a transfusion. In playing it straight, yet with a touch of clever malice, the film‒not unlike the countess herself ‒ exists tantalizingly between two worlds: it’s both a deliberately leisurely, aesthetic horror film and an amusingly camp Eurotrash skin flick. The unified benefit to each is that the arty side never has the chance to become pretentious, and the exploitation side is surprisingly, refreshingly restrained and imbued with a great deal of sophistication and sly wit.

Stylistically, Daughters of Darkness is a knockout, making subtle visual reference to other genre films and cinema in general. Among them: Hitchcock’s Psycho, Garbo, Louise Brooks, the horror tropes of F. W. Murnau and Tod Browning, and Dietrich’s von Sternberg collaborations. It's a film so comfortable in its self-awareness that at one point a character (the detective) breaks the fourth wall, looks directly into the camera and identifies the film's tone and wry perspective.

Georges Jamin as the Retired Policeman reminds us not to take what is to follow too seriously

 “The kind of thing you read about in medieval manuscripts. You know, silly tales about ghosts chased away by garlic…and vampires shrinking from crosses and running water and daylight. Satan’s ritual under a full moon.”

   

The neoclassic opulence of the desolate Belgian sea resort makes for a picturesque alternative to the usual gothic vampire castle, while the desolate backdrop of a vacation spot in the bleakness of winter predates Nicolas Roeg’s similar use of Venice, Italy in the 1974 supernatural thriller Don’t Look Now (especially the scene where Stefan & Valerie explore the canals of Bruges and happen upon the scene of a brutal murder). 

I can’t attest as to what a horror/vampire film fan makes of Daughters of Darkness (my sense is that it’s too slow and lacking in scares and gore to be satisfying), but everything about this movie is as suited to my tastes as a Ken Russell-Roman Polanski film festival.

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM

There’s a kind of predictable, to-be-expected adherence to form and structure that comes with the territory of genre films. Filmmakers deviate from it at their own risk. As a movie fan, I can’t help but give historical credit to horror films in general for their vast stylistic influence on the art form, as such. But as a non-fan of vampire films, it helped a great deal that I came to Daughters of Darkness with little in the way of expectations and devoid of an awareness of any vampire film "traditions" I longed to see upheld. I simply hoped the film wouldn’t live up to its limp U.S. ad campaign and that cheesy title, which made the film sound like a made-for-TV movie starring Donna Mills and Kay Lenz. 

To my delight, Daughters of Darkness proved to be one happy surprise after another. It felt both old-fashioned and invigoratingly fresh. An arty exploitation film that I fell in love with the moment Delphine Seyrig’s elegant vampire makes her memorable entrance.

"I want to be loved. I want everybody to love me."

In addition to what I find irresistible about the concept of Daughters of Darkness (for my money, female vampires are just waaaay cooler than their male counterparts) is the way it looks. I would stylistically compare it to the works of Roman Polanski and Ken Russell. Director Harry Kümel, who has stated he was influenced a great deal by surreal and expressionist cinema in devising a look for the film, gives Daughters of Darkness an operatic theatricality reminiscent of Ken Russell (as much as its meager budget allows). The vivid use of color abounds (pointedly, red, black, and white) and the compositions are arresting in their beauty and in creating atmosphere. 

The similarities to Polanski arise out of the film’s measured pacing, claustrophobic atmosphere, and emphasis on psycho-sexual conflict. Manipulation is indistinguishable from seduction. Evasion is revelatory. Pain is pleasure. Harry Kümel has taken stock characters and genre tropes and created one of the most gleefully sleek, consistently surprising, intriguingly stylish horror films I’ve ever seen. 

Worthy of Polanski
A nightmarish shot of the pre-dawn disposal of a dead body as two figures
 (looking like winged creatures in black & white) retreat into the distance

PERFORMANCES

Successful casting is always a result of a great deal more than simply hiring capable actors. Many an enjoyable film has been populated with folks who couldn’t act their way out of a broom closet (Beyond the Valley of the Dolls), while numerous stinkers feature casts who have to move their Oscar & Tony Awards out of the way to get to the door (August: Osage County). It's easy to understand why Kümel was able to secure financing for Daughters of Darkness exclusively due to the participation of French film star Delphine Seyrig (Last Year at Marienbad); she is the main reason the film is worth seeing at all. Everything about the film – from décor, cinematography, screenplay, and supporting cast – feels as though it is in service of and silent acquiescence to, her extraordinary presence and canny performance. She’s really that good, and so incredibly fascinating to watch.

Things That Make You Go Hmmm
Stefan is brought to a state of ecstasy recounting the bloody atrocities of Elizabeth's ancestor 

Possessing an unforgettably seductive voice, Seyrig conducts herself with a kind of otherworldly regal aplomb making plausible the film’s conceit that her character is not (as she claims) the ancestor of Countess Elizabeth Bathory (a notorious true-life 15th-century serial killer) but the genuine, ageless article.

Best of all, Seyrig’s characterization is a refreshing interpretation of the female vampire. She dispenses with the clichés of the predatory vamp or femme fatale (no dark, sultry gazes or feline stalking); rather, she plays Countess Bathory as though she were a pampered cinema queen: eager to please, desperate to be liked, all disarming smiles and solicitous attentions, yet underneath it all, a despotic monster. 

"I wish I could die."

Another personal fave in the film is Ilona, the countess' pouty companion with the sexy 3-D lips. As embodied by German pinup model/actress Andrea Rau (who lends camp appeal by resembling a kewpie-doll Sally Bowles) her limitations as an actress are more than compensated for by her striking presence, appealing screen charisma, and a vague "otherness" that comes across in stilted line readings befitting her status as an alluringly louche member of the undead.

My general antipathy toward vampires accounts for my not recognizing - until fairly recently - actor John Karlen as Willie Loomis of the popular mid-60s vampire TV soap opera Dark Shadows (I was practically the only kid in my school who didn't watch it). As Stefan, Brooklyn-born Karlen, the only American in the cast, oozes so much Eurotrash skeeviness, I always assumed he was European. So, on that score at least, he certainly succeeds, and gives a solid, tensely mercurial performance.

Though it pains me to say so, hands-down prizes for the film's worst performance go to former Miss Quebec, Danielle Ouimet. It pains me because Ms. Ouiment’s barely discernible acting ability (she’s singularly inexpressive of voice and face) strangely works to her advantage in the context of the film. Surrounded by the morally desiccated people in a surreal environment under fantastic circumstances, Ouimet’s somewhat dazed countenance comes off as stylized and subtextural; as though the sole character in the film in possession of a soul is the one least able to express emotion.

"Be sure to tell the young woman 'Mother' sends regards."
Stefan is revealed to be the kept "Ilona" in a homosexual May/December pairing.
The feared "Mother" is portrayed by Dutch film director Fons Rademakers

THE STUFF OF DREAMS

Whether considered an arty trash film or a trashy art film (I personally think it’s a special kind of high-style pop masterpiece), Daughters of Darkness is a great deal of campy fun. I know next to nothing about Harry Kümel, but were I to go by the way this film makes me feel and how it engages me with its visuals, its sharp screenplay (credited to Kümel, Jean Ferry, Pierre Druot, and Manfred R. Köhler), and Seyrig’s knowing evocation of the film sirens of yesteryear; I would say he is a man who not only loves movies but understands them. It’s evident in every frame.

I'm a sucker (Hee hee!) for thematic a visual duality in movies

Les Lèvres Rouges (Red Lips) is just one of Daughter of Darkness' 14 international titles

Ever the illusionist, Elizabeth carries a mirrored compact despite (her being a vampire and all) not being able to see her own reflection

THE STUFF OF DREAMS
Apropos of the timeless beauty of Seyrig's Countess Bathory herself, Daughters of Darkness is a film that looks better to me with each passing year. Save for a rather harrowing shower scene and a still-creepy nighttime burial sequence, the sex and violence that once seemed so sensational is now rather tame. Similarly, with movies now becoming faster and busier, yet saying less; the deliberate pacing of Daughters of Darkness feels like a welcome extravagance.
Even the film's camp elements, in this age of overkill and overdetermination, sparkles on a far more ingenious plane than what I seem to remember ("Good day to be alive, eh?" remarks the countess in forced jocularity to the concierge upon returning to the hotel after a particularly grisly homicidal outing).

It's Not Easy Having A Good Time

In the end, you've got to hand it to a director told to go out and make a commercial film with plenty of sex and violence, and he comes back with an erotic expressionist feminist lesbian arthouse camp vampire horror mini-classic.

BONUS MATERIAL

Director Harry Kümel talks about Daughters of Darkness in the excellent BBC documentary Horror Europa (2012) by Mark Gattis. He's the first director interviewed, and he sheds fascinating light on the reasons behind his choices for the look of the countess and the dominance of the colors red, black, and white. 

I also understand that the DVD release is loaded with commentaries and extras.
*6/10/16 Update - Just watched the DVD and listened to Harry Kümel's commentary. Incredible evidence that one can be handed a genre film and still imbue it with an aesthetic sensibility. Of course, I especially love when he says "Films are not reality...they are dreams. They are the stuff that dreams are made of." A man after my own heart.

Copyright © Ken Anderson   2009 - 2016

THE FOX 1967

 

Films that attempt to dramatize (and, in so doing, comment upon) distasteful aspects of the human condition, set a difficult course for themselves. Pedestrian directors, often in an effort to appear even-handed and avoid offending, tend to oversimplify. In these instances, the nuanced complexities of flawed personality and moral ambiguity are muted in ways designed to confirm audience preconceptions and, by fade-out, restore order and confidence in life's parity.
By way of contrast, artful directors take the risk of being misunderstood and misinterpreted as they eschew easy answers in favor of a little emotional honesty. Invested in examining more than explaining, while at the same time respectful of an audience's ability to extract from a story whatever ideas or themes they wish to divine on their own; this particular genus of film is not often a popular taste favorite, but it's the kind of movie that bears the stamp of creative fearlessness (recklessness?). 

Ellen: "No, I tried. I tried, and I couldn't shoot."

Paul: "Then you didn't want its life."

Ellen: "Yes...yes, I did!"

I can't vouch for movie audiences worldwide, but we Americans have earned a reputation for preferring our films to tell us how we should think and feel about a topic. Otherwise, we seem to get easily confused. Take, for example, when Bryan Forbes' feminist horror film The Stepford Wives (1975) was thought by many to be sexist chiefly because the women don't "win" in the end, and the chauvinistic behavior exhibited by the men wasn't as obviously satiric as some would have liked. Similarly, Samuel Fuller's powerful anti-racism film White Dog (1982) was practically yanked from theaters because many mistook this dramatic parable about the teaching of hatred (a dog is trained by white supremacists to attack black people), for actually being racist itself.

The depiction of objectionable behavior (especially in the absence of punishment or retribution) is not necessarily an endorsement of it. Often, as in the case of the predatory male character in The Fox, a man whose motives and actions can be read as despicable, it is a means of provocation. A sly method of exposing us to the unpleasant things within ourselves we fail to recognize because it doesn't flatter our self-image.
I'm no fan of morally dubious movies that glorify selfish instincts or try to normalize evil (we have reality TV and our current Presidential election to do that); but I do admire films that aren't afraid of ambiguity, are open to interpretation, and resist the impulse to explain the complex.

Sandy Dennis as Jill Banford

Anne Heywood as Ellen Marsh

Keir Dullea as Paul Renfield

As relationships go, few are more emotionally and psychologically complicated as the triangular one at the center of The Fox, director Mark Rydell's (The Rose, On Golden Pond) 1967 adaptation of D. H. Lawrence's 1922 novella.

Jill and Ellen are two college friends living a life of isolated independence on a remote farm in Canada (Lawrence's story took place in WW I England, the film updates to '60s Ontario). Jill (Dennis) is the domestic type, forever fretting over her stove and household accounts ("You and your mixing bowl and your muffin tray have conquered the elements"), while Ellen (Heywood) stomps about in work boots handing the entirety of the farm's manual labor.
One blonde, one dark, this kind of easy, heavy-handed symbolism is something of a motif in The Fox, one I don't particularly mind since the cues are taken from Lawrence's heavily-Freudian short novel. Both are younger than portrayed in the novel, and the film presents the pair's adoption of traditionally feminine/masculine roles as arising as much out of practicality as personality: Jill's verbose excitability, physical weakness, and pragmatic temperament contrasting with Jill's athleticism, protectiveness, and taciturn malleability (her standard response to all questions is "It makes no difference to me"). 

But if Jill's obvious contentment with their domestic arrangement suggests the fulfillment of a desire to cloister herself away from the male (even the animals are mostly female: Edwina the hen, Eurydice the cow- and in a monologue I don't believe is in the book, she recounts a college date-rape incident); Ellen's distracted restlessness hints at something suppressed rising to the surface. Her waking hours are dazed by a kind of sensual reawakening, while in her dreams she is simultaneously haunted and hypnotized by the fox that has been raiding their henhouse.


In spite of their sharing a bed (never even touching or kissing goodnight until a distraught conciliation scene near the end) and evince the relaxed affection of a long-married couple, like the book, the film leaves ambiguous the degree of Jill and Ellen's intimacy. Although the notion of a platonic "Boston Marriage" was easier to accept in 1920 England than in the sexually liberated '60s. 

This ambiguity, whether one finds it maddeningly coy or simply a cop-out, genuinely serves to make what might otherwise be just another romantic triangle more emotionally provocative. Label it lesbianism or bisexuality, whatever is between Jill and Ellen is intensified once their peace is invaded by the fox-like Paul (Dullea), the merchant seaman grandson of the farm's deceased former owner. 

The initial effect of the screenplay's refusal to define the particulars of Jill & Ellen's relationship (or the women's sexuality) is that the audience is placed in the unwanted but self-reflexive position of identifying with the townspeople and Paul. We're forced to ask ourselves, is our desire to KNOW what these women are to one another just part of a need to define them, explain them, and assign roles to their behavior…indeed, to subject the characters to the confining, socially-imposed definitions they seek independence from?  

Secondarily, once Paul makes the shift from welcome guest to predatory intruder, the motives for his actions become less obvious when we don't really know exactly what it is he has insinuated himself into the middle of. Depending on the scene, Paul comes across convincingly as either harmless or sinister.

The Fox, a three-character drama, set, pointedly, in the chilly dead of winter, is something of a war movie. Its vast battlefield encompassing everything from sexuality, gender politics, masculinity, femininity, love, violence, passion, and independence. The weapons of choice: nature (human and animal), instinct (masculine and feminine), self-preservation, domination, and possession.
The catalyst for it all, the fox (the male); an animal functioning out of a natural, violent instinct to dominate, or an animal of cunning?

Ellen: "You know, you do resemble him (the fox), Mr. Renfield. It's remarkable."

The Fox is one of the few "adult" films from my childhood I was unsuccessful in persuading my mom I was mature enough (at 10 years old) to see. Though crushed at the time, in retrospect I'm glad she didn't relent, for not only wouldn't I have understood it, but I'm certain that at the time I would have been deeply disappointed that this intelligent, psychologically intricate film wasn't the risqué, lesbian romp its ad campaign (and my pre-teen imagination) led me to expect.

When I ultimately got around to seeing The Fox in 1979 or so, I remember enjoying it, but somehow feeling afterward that I'd been the victim of a bait-and-switch. Over the years the film had developed a reputation as an LGBT favorite, but when it was all over—with Jill dead by murder/accident, and Ellen whisked away by the domineering Paul—I knew what I'd just watched wasn't a film depicting lesbianism so much as another Hollywood movie using the sensationalistic lure of homosexuality to merely: (quoting Karen Hollinger's book Feminist Film Studies) "validate the superiority and desirability of heterosexuality." A feeling I also got from a similar triangular tug-of-war in the 1984 film adaptation of Henry James' The Bostonians.

It's an opinion I still hold about The Fox, but having read the book and lived a good deal more of life since then, it's now just one of many opinions and impressions I'm left with regarding this fascinating and compelling movie.

Female & Male: Natural Enemies?

WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM

I began this essay by citing how difficult it is for films to dramatize distasteful behavior without audiences (me, in this instance) resorting to the knee-jerk response of disapproving of a film because they disapprove of the behavior depicted.

That's precisely what happened the first time I saw The Fox. The character of Paul (his being a fox and all) is supposed to be a disruptive force in the relationship of Jill and Ellen. Instinctively, without malice and without even knowing why, his male sense of superiority compels him to seek dominance over these women; in particular, a need to possess the life of Ellen, the woman most threateningly "masculine" and self-possessed of the two.

His marriage proposal (the least romantic on record, and underscored with ominous music) is more an act of authority and submission than a declaration of love. 

Paul, locking his prey in his gaze

Because I so strongly resented the negative subtext (the "weak" women being easily overpowered, the sexual pliancy of Ellen, the nagging femininity of Jill) and became preoccupied with my expectation of the film offering a conclusive, pro-individualism message. So keenly was I hoping for some last-minute sign of feminist redemption, it went entirely over my head how Paul's assumptive, force-of-will-dominance in the narrative (and seeming victory in the end) is depicted as an ultimately negative destructive force that actually (and tragically) results in none of the characters getting what they want.

The Fox turned out to be exactly the anti-machismo declaration I wanted it to be - an intelligent look of the predatory nature of man in the face of the vulnerable; but because it took the subtle, roundabout route, it took me several years and many viewings to catch it.

Of course, this is just my personal take on a film among whose many virtues lies its ability to be appreciated, interpreted...and even reviled...in many different ways.

Ellen "What is there here for me, Jill?"
Jill: "Yourself. Something I could never take from you."

"And when he holds me, I feel I'm seeping into his flesh...and there's no more me."

PERFORMANCES

No matter how one ultimately feels about The Fox as a film, it's hard not to credit its three stars with giving vividly realized performances. Anne Heywood - whose honest-to-god real name of Violet Pretty(!) makes me want to hug her - is sensational. I've never seen a single one of her other films, but I think I'd have a hard time seeing her as anyone but Ellen Marsh. Playing the most conflicted, least communicative character, Heywood somehow manages to make us feel Ellen's strength as well as her uncertainty. In the marvelous scene in which she reveals to Jill that she has always felt responsible for taking care of her, Heywood says it with such tender weariness it just breaks your heart.

The beautiful Keir Dullea (I'll do it for you now, so you won't have to: "Keir Dullea, gone tomorrow" - Noel Coward) is well-cast as the living embodiment of the fox. Facially, he's not the most expressive actor, but he's been blessed with the most astounding eyes, and it's they that do all the emotional heavy-lifting. 

Shot in a manner to best emphasize his vulpine features,
Dullea gives an appropriately sly performance

Coming as a surprise to no one, Sandy Dennis (long-rumored to be lesbian in real life, I certainly hope she was) is my favorite in the film. She's the warmth the film needs in the early scenes, but when she turns chilly, she's truly excellent...in these scenes, the excitable Jill reveals an unexpected sturdiness. Dennis' Jill Banford is one of her least-mannered performances, but given her high annoyance ratio among film lovers, one can't help but feel she serves a purpose in The Fox not dissimilar to that which the casting of Shelley Duvall  served for Stanley Kubrick in The Shining: asked why he cast Duvall in his film, Kubrick gallantly responded: "Well, you gotta have somebody in that part that maybe the audience would also like to kill a little bit."

THE STUFF OF FANTASY

Lalo Schifrin's beautiful Oscar and Grammy-nominated musical score.

William Fraker's (Rosemary's Baby, Looking for Mr. Goodbar) breathtaking cinematography.

Paul wields his phallic ax
If it is Paul's wish to have Ellen lose herself within him, then it's imperative that he
remove the one person who reminds Ellen she has a self-worth preserving 

THE STUFF OF DREAMS

For movies to work for me, they don't have to always be about the truth. They can be just as engrossing and engaging if they are about a truth. The Fox is not the triumphant feminist/LGBT love story I thought it would be. But what it is I've seen played out countless times in my life.

You see it in the "mansplaining" phenomenon (which is nothing new). You see it in the way men like Donald Trump can only relate to women by trying to exert power over them; either through sexual objectification or, when feeling threatened, trying to belittle or destroy them in some way. I see it in gyms I've worked in, where men feel the need to exert a subtle superiority over women by being "helpful" and offering unsolicited workout tips.
You see it in the paradox of male fantasy fetishizing of girl-on-girl sex existing side by side with a real-world hatred and fear of lesbians and bisexuals.

The Fox explores how merely the idea of women existing without need for a man
can ignite a primal fear in the male

I've personally listened as scores of bright, accomplished, self-reliant women tell me they're looking for a man who'll boss them around or take control. I've been around when women with loyal cores of loving girlfriends dropped them all like hot potatoes when a fascinating man came along and consumed all their attentions.

Lost or Found?
When Ellen appears in her pink feminine finery, making like a contented, domesticated female,
has she reclaimed a suppressed part of her nature or surrendered herself to what Paul wants her to be?

These things are neither admirable nor desirable, and not even indicative of most people's relationships; but here, some 90 years after D.H. Lawrence put pen to paper, the contradictory and cruel power plays between men and women seem to have changed little.
For me, The Fox is an allegory about a particular kind of male/female dynamic, with the suggestion that what is instinctual and primitive is not necessarily natural.

I've been crazy about the poster art graphic design for The Fox since it came out. The striking poster is one of the most beloved in my personal collection. But I only recently learned that this marvelous work represents one of the very few examples of a Black artist being commissioned for movie poster work. The sublime poster is the collaborative art of Leo Dillion and his wife Diane Sorber, the award-winning illustrators of countless children's books. Apparently, it is the only movie poster they worked on.

Copyright © Ken Anderson  2009 - 2016