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9
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10 |
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10
= Highest Rating |
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Guest
Review by Troy
Howarth |
Dr.
Zimmer, a brilliant but eccentric scientist, develops a technique
of controlling people through electronic impulses. When he reveals
his findings to the scientific community, they declare him a
charlatan and ask for his disbarment. Shattered, Dr. Zimmer
dies of a heart attack but implores his lovely daughter Irma
to carry on his work. She vows to avenge her father, and to
that end she sets her eyes on a beautiful exotic dancer, Nadja,
with the intention of controlling her will and using her as
the instrument of her vengeance...
The
Diabolical Doctor Z
is one of Spanish maverick Jess Franco's best films. Cowritten
by Buñuel collaborator Jean-Claude Carriere (The
Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie) and Franco himself,
it's a fascinating tale of obsession and revenge that rehearses
many of Franco's favored themes and imagery to excellent effect.
One can argue that
all the key European horror directors perfected some particular
set-piece —
Argento does murders better than anybody, Mario Bava mastered
moody shots of protagonists skulking down half-lit hallways
and chambers, and nobody could film gore and grue like Lucio
Fulci —
and this film shows us one of Franco's specialties: the stylized
nightclub act. From the stylized stripteases of Soledad Miranda
and Rosalba Neri in Vampyros Lesbos
(1970) and 99 Women
(1969), respectively, to the lively swinging of Kiss
Me Monster (1967) and the languid performance of Barbara
McNair, singing a song while writhing on the floor, in Venus
in Furs (1969), one gets the impression that heaven
for Franco would be nothing more than a packed nightclub with
funky jazz setting the beat. Doctor Z
continues that tradition by offering up a wonderfully stylized
little number in which the exotic dancer, wearing a seethrough
leotard embroidered with a giant tarantula on the crotch, lolls
about on a cobweb design on the floor and makes love to a male
mannequin before putting on a literal "death's head" mask. Imaginative
stuff, and fiercely erotic for 1965 —
Franco never was one for, um, beating around the bush!
Dashes of eroticism
to one side, the film offers up plenty of moody atmosphere.
Viewers accustomed to the rough edged, zoom-ridden nature of
later Franco films are in for a surprise with this one —
the black and white cinematography is artfully rendered, reminding
one of a Fritz Lang thriller, and there's nary a zoom shot to
be seen. A film like this is enough to ascertain that Franco
is capable of delivering a smooth product —
it's just that, most of the time, he isn't interested in doing
so. The cast, for the most part unknown to U.S. viewers, does
a fine job. Howard Vernon has a smaller role than one might
expect after toplining The Awful
Dr. Orlof (1961), but he acquits himself well and gets to
participate in one of the film's highlights —
his seduction/demise at the hands of Miss Death. Franco appears
in a sizable supporting role, sans customary mustache and goatee,
as a bespectacled inspector complaining of insomnia in light
of his wife having given birth to triplets! A fine actor in
his own right, he easily steals his many scenes and adds some
humor to the proceedings. Daniel J. White, who wrote the excellent
music for this film and many other Franco films, plays an English
colleague of Franco's inspector. The best impression, however,
is made by Estella Blain, the stunning blonde who imbues the
character of "Miss Death" with poignant pathos and a sense of
depth sometimes lacking in films of this sort. She is every
bit as effective as Soledad Miranda in Franco's semi-remake
of this film, She
Killed in Ecstasy (1970), and stands out as one of
the director's most fascinating "fetish figures".
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Mondo
Macabro's DVD release of this European gem is surely one of the
best DVD releases of the year. The film has been lovingly transferred
from excellent source materials, perfectly letterboxed at 1.85,
enhanced for widescreen TVs and presented with the option of either
the English soundtrack or French with English subs. The English
track is actually quite good; Howard Vernon provides his own English
dubbing and the other characters are done with unusual care. The
soundtrack is in very good shape, with White's atonal score especially
well served.
Extras include a featurette on Franco originally aired by England's
Channel 4, an alternate English opening credits sequence, trailers,
stills and some well written and researched talent bios. You can
find an amusing Easter Egg in the Howard Vernon bio, but I won't
spoil it for those who haven't found it yet. Clearly produced
by fans of Franco's cinema, one can only hope that Mondo Macabro
will follow it up with some more Franco releases. 12/17/03 |
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