Welcome to Target Practice, where we here at Shock take a look at the output of Arrow Films. Arrow has brought the best in horror, cult and exploitation repertory titles into UK homes since 1991. Now theyve finally crossed the Atlantic, delivering genre stalwarts and oft-overlooked gems via beautiful Blu-ray & DVD editions.
This second entry pairs two sets of psychotic lovers in Island of Death (1976) and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Miss Osbourne (1981)
The Films
Island of Death shows up to the blood orgy letting you know its down to fuck, and has a few kinky toys in its lambskin bag. Christopher (Robert Behling) and Celia (Jane Lyle) seem like the perfect couple from the outset, yet the first phone booth they find becomes a smoke signal rock formation, allowing them to transmit their perversions into the Grecian hemisphere while Christophers mother helplessly listens on the other end of the line. Nico Mastorakis notorious Greek riff on The Texas Chain Saw Massacre lets the sexuality bubble instead of fester, creating a stewing pot of insidiousness. Yet for all the sunbathed sexual perversions that help cement this exploitation raritys notorious reputation (including the rape and butchering of a live goat), its the motifs of moralistic suppression that shine through an otherwise soiled aesthetic.
Alternating between naturalistic and amateurish, Mastorakis chronicling of two pious punishers on a self-appointed plowing through the sinful Greek countryside is stilted, yet never stagnant. While the movie is undoubtedly overlong (what grindhouse picture dare stretch over one hundred minutes in length?), the 4:3 home video cum New Wave leitmotif often threatens to outstay its welcome right before jolting you back upright with an act of unspeakable offense. However, the pictures shamelessness in providing a veneer of faux tisk-tisking enlightenment (i.e. having its fundamentalist protags murder a homosexual couple) never feels like anything beyond sleazy posturing sensationalism in the guise of acceptance.
The cheekiness of Island of Death can often be charming, as a jagged edit between a man blowing his brains out (after fellating the pistol, of course) and a bowl of strawberry jam is meant to elicit laughter. However, it comes off as a sick elbow in the ribs, delivered by a sociopath whose jokes youre afraid not to laugh along with. This batshit guide to the Greek countryside is the best creature to lead you into the taverns and alleys that will never be found on any map; a shady provocateur who is reveling in the beauties of his own backyard. Mastorakis is the townie you never want to encounter on vacation, as the ten Euro you pay him to act as an escort to the indigenous flavor ends up delivering a nightmare you can never shake. Island of Death digs into idyllic rural crevices, exposing the filth that exists just beneath our eyes reach.
Nevertheless, Mastorakis film ends up being more notorious than good. Even the steeliest admirer of trash cinema is going to tire of the seemingly endless cuckolding antics by the time the credits roll around, as the movie never even endeavors toward a semblance of subtlety to balance out its repugnant filmic impudence. Certainly worth a look from those who fancy themselves hardcore enthusiasts of the cult film variety, Island of Death is still a taxing viewing experience due to its wanton indulgence in juvenile moralistic soap-boxing.
Roughly halfway through the first act of Walerian Borowczyks The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Miss Osbourne the artful pornographers 1981 take on Robert Louis Stevenson a lot of air is given to the idea of transcendentalism. While certainly the film is thematically spelling out the murderous duality foundation for the age-old Jekyll/Hyde story, this recurring keynote simultaneously announces Borowczyks dreamy visual sheen. Hovering somewhere between Andrzej ?u?awski and Dario Argento, the Pole-French stylist never once dips a toe into the boring bath of realism, opting for a fugue state of drunken dreaminess. But instead of sticking with the usual gender script of mans continuous split-personality, Borowczyk wants his mass murderers to have a harem thatre just as bloodthirsty as their lesser halves. This is the wet dream of a madman high on Hammer Horror, completely randy while never losing the unyielding edge needed to weird everyone in the audience out.
Operating in the same synth drone arena as Werner Herzogs spin on Nosferatru, Dr. Jekyll and Miss Osbourne combines a lush ambient electronic score (courtesy of Bernard Parmegiani) with airy, diffused photography of Noël Véry. Theres an almost rococo ornateness regarding the amount of sumptuous set decoration each frame contains, causing this hazy Victorian hellscape to feel inescapable. Borowczyk isnt so much attempting to titillate (though that can naturally occur), as he is lulling the audience into an erotic stupor. You can almost smell the rich mahogany browns as must gathers on the eggshell walls of Jekylls mansion. Perhaps the most genius aspect is the films complete jettisoning of any traditional plot mechanisms, opting instead to shift into a narrative glide, careening over emotive waters without so much as breaking a sweat. Expressionistic in its desire for primal connection over complete story logic, Borowczyk seems to want you to sensually experience the film more than make linear sense of it all.
Udo Kier and Marina Pierro are perfectly cast as the mad doctor and his luminous other half, acting out their directors horrifically perverse desires with reckless abandon. Yet its Gérard Zalcbergs angular, sinewy representation of Mr. Hyde that steals the entire movie, injecting a kind of amphibian ferocity that threatens to dwarf every other already impressive artistic choice Borowczyks movie has already made. This is lump in your throat Eurosleaze a sick filmic pheromone whose lens isnt afraid to linger on the vagina of a torture victim or the brutalization of a young child at the hands of a maniac. Orgasm and flesh wound bring the same sensation, as sex and death are inseparable from one another on both a moral and spiritual level. In short, Borowczyks The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Miss Osbourne is a singular delve into twisted art-house eroticism.
The Discs
While both discs sport utterly stunning transfers, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Miss Osbourne may end up going down as the best looking Blu of 2015. With a restoration supervised by cinematographer Véry, the intense care thats obviously been put into preserving the pictures unique, textural miasma is downright stunning, never once faltering or showing signs of print wear and tear. This is a disc best thrown on during the dead of night, with your sound system calibrated just right, as the meticulousness just washes over the viewer in a cinematic rush. Incredible work that deserves special recognition.
The contextualization of these titles continues. Arrow has included not only archival interviews with Mastorakis on Island of Death, but also a feature with historian Stephen Thrower on the films making, and a new Return to Island of Death video, where the director takes the audience back to the movies gorgeous filming locations. Theres a four part documentary on Mastorakis other work, complete with a trailer reel, should one be interested in perusing his other unscrupulous output. Noted academic Johnny Walker contributes the liner notes, detailing how Island of Death fits into the exploitation canon amongst its more influential brethren.
The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Miss Osbourne walks Borowczyk virgins through his work with an archival interview and a video essay, while Udo Kier and Marina Pierro contribute brand new interviews, where they recollect working on the picture (Kier is his usual beguiling self). Himorogi, a short film made in homage to Borowczyk by artists Marina and Alessio Pierro, is a nice addition, allowing the viewer to see just how the Polish pornographer left a mark on future generations. Daniel Bird penned an essay for the booklet, which is also peppered with work by the filmmaker himself and hot take reactions to the movies premieres, which were unsurprisingly less than flattering. Out of the two, Strange Case is the essential disc, presenting a truly forgotten gem for a new generation of fans to discover.
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Jacob Knight is an Austin, Texas based film writer who moonlights as a clerk at Vulcan Video, one of the last great independent video stores in the US. You can find find him on Twitter @JacobQKnight.
