It Came From the Basement: The Perverse Countess
By John Seal
May 5, 2004
The Perverse Countess (1973 FRA)
Video Search of Miami
The story: Young women are disappearing at an alarming rate on a remote island off the coast of France. A sister of one of the missing women is determined to find out what’s going on, but she hasn’t taken into account the bizarre and disturbing predilections of the island’s occupants, Count and Countess Zaroff, and soon three new victims are pulled into their evil orbit.
The film: Two words are guaranteed to send shudders down the spine of even the most hardened Eurotrash film fan’s spine: Jesus Franco. The master of the sex ‘n’ slash quickie, the still active Franco has directed almost 200 films from the late 1950s to the present day. Some of his productions, most notably The Awful Dr. Orloff (1962 FRA-ESP) and Count Dracula (1970 ESP-BRD-ITA-GB), are respectable genre fare and reflect a modicum of talent, some take advantage of his not inconsiderable musical skills, and others are basement budget productions aimed primarily at the adult cinema market of the time. Unfortunately, this film — never released theatrically in the United States — falls firmly into the third category.
Released in Europe as Les Croqueuses (The Munchers), this film wasn’t even deemed suitable for the rain-coated denizens of New York’s 42nd Street and only arrived on American shores thanks to this rough but apparently complete (and now subtitled) print via Video Search of Miami, the nation’s foremost dealer in public domain foreign films. Beginning inauspiciously with an apartment room scene involving the film’s main character, Sylvia, and her roommate Carole, The Perverse Countess tips its hand early as the two young ladies discuss Sylvia’s good friend Tom whilst casually stripping and changing outfits. Tom lives on the French seaside, where we’re soon introduced to him and his wife Moira, an uninhibited couple who discover a woman, barely alive, swept up on the beach one day. The suitably nude woman deliriously recounts her experiences on a mysterious island located off the coast, explaining that she went in search of her missing sister (“they screamed of death, but I had to go!”), only to be sexually abused upon arrival by the island’s reclusive owners, Rader and Ivana Zaroff. Moira immediately insists that they travel to the island — exactly why is not made clear — Tom consents and invites Sylvia along for the joyride, and the three of them set off on what ultimately will be a less than enjoyable pleasure cruise. The severely injured woman from the beach conveniently disappears from the film at this point, never to be seen again.
Upon reaching the island, the threesome take a nude swim and then discover the bizarre house wherein Count and Countess Zaroff reside. This building, a truly unique architectural construct of extreme angularity, was probably the reason the film was made, as it’s the only remotely interesting thing about the story — I can imagine the filmmakers found the location before they even had a script. The Zaroffs take in their uninvited guests, secretly feed them a meal of human flesh carved from the corpses of earlier victims, kill Moira, rape Sylvia (the sight of actor Howard Vernon’s hairy butt is particularly disturbing), and ultimately engage her in a cat-and-mouse game of nude hunting.
This is basically an unattributed remake of Richard Connell’s The Most Dangerous Game, a story filmed many times since the original RKO screen version was released in 1932. Franco, naturally, used copious nudity, savagery, and even hardcore sex scenes - apparently added at the behest of producer Robert de Nesle - to flesh out his interpretation of this timeless classic. The end result, unfortunately, is the most boring version of this classic tale I’ve seen, with absolutely no effort made to provide either food for thought or eye candy for the viewer. Franco is primarily interested in female genitalia, overusing his zoom lens to repeatedly make the point, and the rest of the film’s scenes are shot with apparent disinterest and an utter lack of camera movement. Even the final chase scene is completely uninteresting and the denouement predictable, though Count Zaroff’s final words to the audience supplies a certain frisson of disgust. Unfortunately Franco proceeds to undercut Vernon’s soliloquy with a final scene that completely cheats the audience and undoes what little has been artistically accomplished in the previous hour and a half.
The cast and crew: Franco also wrote the screenplay, and his disdain for the pirated source material is evident throughout. Franco is a talented filmmaker, when he bothers; this is, after all, a man who worked with Orson Welles twice, as second unit director for Chimes At Midnight (1965 ESP-SUI) and as co-writer for the incomplete Don Quixote (released in fragmented form in 1992). Franco’s output is truly prodigious, but this is one of his worst—and that’s saying quite a bit. Taking a cue from Welle’s Mercury Theatre approach to filmmaking, Franco loved to use the same actors repeatedly in his identikit films, including Lina Romay as Sylvia in this one. Lina and Jesus have worked together in an incredible 110 films, probably a record for an actor-director duo, even taking into consideration the weekly one-reelers of the silent era. Count Zaroff is played by one of Franco’s favorite actors, the late Howard Vernon. The two worked together almost 50 times, and Vernon was another workaholic, with credits in over 170 films himself. Alice Arno, the actress portraying Countess Zaroff, had a briefer fling with Franco, appearing in a dozen of his films, usually in the buff, and spaghetti oater veteran Robert Woods played Tom. Woods and Franco worked together SIX TIMES in 1973, and never again thereafter. The balance of the cast had brief European film careers and the crew—besides Franco himself—are even more obscure, but Jean-Bernard Raiteux’ psychedelic wah wah guitar instrumentals are a minor redeeming distraction.
Nostalgia value: For those who fondly remember the sticky floors and unpleasant odors of the local Pussycat theatre, this film will bring back many memories — but I don’t promise they’ll be good ones. Otherwise, unless you have a particular thing for women in micro minis and thigh high boots, you’re best advised to skip it.
The print: VsoM’s print is obviously a second or third generation dub and is in pretty dire condition. Reel changes feature spectacular speckling. The print is also full frame, which is probably close to its correct aspect ratio. Heaven knows Franco would have been stretched to fill up a Panavision lens. The print clocks in at a fraction less than 87 minutes, probably its full running time.
DVD prognosis: Franco completists will want this, but there won’t be much of a market beyond that. Image’s Euroshock imprint has released several (much better) Franco films than this, but the hardcore material would probably be considered unsuitable for that company’s American market. Looks like it may be up to Erwin Dietrich’s Swiss-based VIP Productions (via their Jess Franco collection) to bring this one to the small screen.
Ratings:
Film: F. Nearly unwatchable.
Print: D-. Washed out, heavily damaged, and Howard Vernon, aside, butt-ugly.
DVD worthiness: D-. If not for Vernon’s final line, this would rate an F.
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