Dir: Jean Rollin.
Cast: Sandra Julien, Jean-Marie Durand, Jacques Robiolles, Michel Delahaye, Marie-Pierre Tricot, Kuelan Herce, Nicole Nancel and 'Dominique'.
The issue of Starburst with this
on the back cover
got confiscated during my lunchbreak
by my form teacher.
Bastard.
Somewhere in a creepy French castle, two of the skankiest maids this side of West Bromwich town centre on a Saturday night (moonheaded blonde poppet Marie-Pierre Tricot and the toothsome, lank haired Kuelan Herce) gaze drunkenly as Isabelle (the less drunk yet even more skank like Nancel) pops a couple of caskets into a wall, as one does.
Beanz meanz yeast infectionz.
Bored with staring gormlessly at a wall the maids decide to go visit the tower to gaze at the couple of men that just happen to be chained to the wall, the stakes thru their chests making the two unfortunate fellas look like novelty coat hangers.
With his dying breath the one that can act (kinda) tells the maids to hurry to the graveyard and stake anybody who has dead within the last week in case they turn into vampires (I hope you're following this....it's way more complicated to type this shite than to watch it).
But on arriving at the cemetery the girls are shocked (well apathetic) to see that the sultry Isolde (the mysterious - and painfully skinny - 'Dominique') has already risen from her grave and been tucking in to jam sandwiches by the look of her lips.
Recognizing a good deal when they see it, the girls offer to serve their undead masters and help them entice unwary travelers to the house so that they may drink their blood.
Dominique: up the casino, Benidorm, 1964.
Within hours of this happening (or so it seems) the beautiful (and not to mention germ free) Ise (Julien) and her greasy mulleted husband Antoine (the rat-like Durand) arrive at the castle straight from their wedding ceremony.
It appears that Ise reckoned it'd be a good idea to combine her honeymoon with a visit to her overtly camp cousins castle and a chance to grieve for another dead relative at the same time.
No doubt her new hubby is really happy with this plan but it's hard to tell seeing as he just stands there grinning and shuffling about uncomfortably in what looks like his dads suit.
Dwarf or far awayism?
Her unnamed cousins (Delahaye: tall, silver haired, lip wristed and fish lipped and Robiolles: lank haired, limper wristed and poppy eyed) seem far too happy to see little Ise and after much hugging, hair stroking, lip licking and knowing looks settle down for a slap up meal.
Davison and McGann are upset to hear that
David Tennant has all the best lines in the
75th Anniversary special 'The Nth Doctor'.
With a full tummy and a head full of grief at her (other) cousins' recent death, Ise goes all stroppy and makes Antoine sleep on the sofa. Annoyed at not getting the chance to consummate their marriage but not wanting to come across as an unfeeling brute (or even come across one....he's not that frustrated...yet) her hubby huffs and settles down for the night with a good book and the dog blanket whilst Ise drapes herself across the bed before adopting the patented horror film saucy virgin pose.
Wiggling and moaning in that sexily sweaty way that only girls in 1970's Eurohorror shlockers can, Ise is rudely awoken at midnight by Isolde noisily stepping out of a grandfather clock.
Ise is immediately entranced by her druggy (sorry, dusky) beauty.
The official Penelope Keith Cuckoo
clock was a huge hit in Bavaria.
clock was a huge hit in Bavaria.
Isolde takes Ise up the cemetery (ooeer), where she uncomfortably fondles her breasts before biting her neck.
Ise's descent into darkness (and lipstick lesbianism) has begun....
"Tongue in mah mooth!"
Poor Antoine, the more he tries to get into his blushing brides pants the more distant and cold she becomes and, adding insult to injury whilst he's getting a crick neck from spending every night on the sofa she's getting bitten and fondled by her new vampiric lover.
Antoine's frustrations are at bursting point (and that's not all that's bursting from the way he's walking) as he wanders the castle grounds shooting indiscriminately at pigeons to satisfy his urges, this at least brings the couple together as every time he shoots one of the poor little buggers Ise darts out of the shadows and drinks its blood.
A classy date and no mistaking.
"Go on....I'll promise I'll pull your
nightie down when I've finished".
nightie down when I've finished".
Ise is becoming more and more the creature of the night with every passing, um, night until she is finally given a choice. Skulking about the castle she stumbles across Isolde's coffin sitting dangerously close to an open sunlit window.
Will Ise come to her senses, open the casket and killing Isolde before losing herself to the pleasures of the cock or will she embrace (quite literally) her feminine side and complete her transformation into a saucy vampire vixen?
With a seductive smile, Ise forsakes her humanity......forever!
Doodle Do: the porn years.
After years of serving their undead masters however, the two maids have been secretly planning a way to escape from their nightmarish existence of serving drinks, fondling each other on a nightly basis and having their breasts exposed by the cousins after dinner for the amusement of guests. Their plan involves sabotaging Antoine's car so that he can't grab his missis and drive away (tho' why he didn't think of that earlier I've no idea) forcing him to confront the vampire family whilst they sneak out the back.
And this plan took years to come up with?
Marie-Pierre farted and it's an eggy one.
As if the plot wasn't confusing enough, Isabelle finds out that her ex-lovers are now evil vampires and arrives at the castle to administer a severe telling off.
The cousins stoically taking the verbal abuse until she starts slagging off their purple loon pants and girly blouses, accusing them of the terrible crime of being 'unmanly and pathetic'.
Obviously being the one that chose their outfits, Isolde goes mental and butchers Isabelle which in turn enrages the cousin so much that they pin her down and rape her whilst Isolde screams about how much she hates men.
"Can you smell petrol?"
Antoine by this point has had enough of all these skinny lesbians, the crack whore maids jumping into his bed to steal his jammie bottoms and the piss and gin soaked camp cousins so decides to change into his best action slacks and confront the twee twosome with a crucifix. But after a frankly pathetic struggle that would shame even two seven year old schoolgirls they slap him about for a bit and tie him up.
As he wriggles limply on the hall carpet sniffling like a girl and begging Ise for help the cousins camply giggle at him as they lead his beloved wife away for her final 'initiation'.
Deciding to push their escape plan ahead the maids untie Antoine, wiping his nose before pointing him in the direction of the graveyard.
He manages to follow the directions and make it to the graveyard without tripping over or bumping into something and surprisingly succeeds in abducting Ise before the ritual is complete, much to the annoyance of the cousins who mince after him waving their arms like big gay seagulls.
Whilst all this is going on a frankly bored Isolde decides to retire to the relative comfort of her coffin (for crack and buns obviously) only to find that the maids have set fire to it and surrounded the vampiric junkie with big crucifixes.
Gah!
The fire must go on for weeks as she finally dies of hunger (?) after trying to bite her own neck and with this the maids skip away hand in hand for a joyous, vampire free life of soap free lesbian sex.
Which we never see.
Forget the ample arse, check the tide
mark round her waist. Dirty cow.
mark round her waist. Dirty cow.
Back to our hero and Antoine is running across a beach carrying Ise (he looks very out of breath so either the beach is miles away or he's even weedier than he looks) but it's not long before the cousins have caught up with him, kicked sand in his face and dead legged him.
Crying even more now he begs Ise to come with him and to let him at least put it in her once but she choses to go with her cousins, leaving Antoine sobbing like a wee boy who's had his football stolen by the big boys blubbing and shaking in the sand.
Turning her back on her man (well her ex man....can't he take a hint?) she slinks toward her cousins who then nibble her neck, strip her naked and fondle her senseless till the sun rises and fries all three of them in an orgy of blood, sweat, egg and semen.
I would so hate to be their local laundrette.
Distraught and confused, Antoine runs around the beach, firing off his pistol stumbles about like a loon.
Remember kids, all women are evil.
There are those who will tell you that Jean Rollin is a purveyor of fine motion pictures and that if you look beyond the crass sex scenes and stilted performances that a hidden gem of art house cinema will appear.
This is, of course utter shite, I mean come on, this is the man responsible for Zombie(s) Lake!
and we love him for what he truly is....a dirty old man with an arse (and shoe) fetish.
And you'll all agree I'm sure that there's nowt wrong with that.
Appearing in the mid ground of his 'female vampire' obsession (following on from Le Viol du vampire in 1968 and La Vampire nue in '69) Le Frisson Des Vampires is the most accomplished of Rollin's vampire epics. At once both cheap and cheerful and as pretentious as a first year art student it's moments of surreal genius (Dominique sleeping in a grandfather clock) are cruelly juxtaposed with arse numbing scenes of plotless ramblings and random snatches of female nudity.
Exploitative rubbish or an artistically erotic masterpiece? Well I know what I think and, if you've never experienced this little gem for yourself you really should rush out and buy it now so you can make up your own mind.
Just don't forget the tissues.
This is, of course utter shite, I mean come on, this is the man responsible for Zombie(s) Lake!
and we love him for what he truly is....a dirty old man with an arse (and shoe) fetish.
And you'll all agree I'm sure that there's nowt wrong with that.
Appearing in the mid ground of his 'female vampire' obsession (following on from Le Viol du vampire in 1968 and La Vampire nue in '69) Le Frisson Des Vampires is the most accomplished of Rollin's vampire epics. At once both cheap and cheerful and as pretentious as a first year art student it's moments of surreal genius (Dominique sleeping in a grandfather clock) are cruelly juxtaposed with arse numbing scenes of plotless ramblings and random snatches of female nudity.
Exploitative rubbish or an artistically erotic masterpiece? Well I know what I think and, if you've never experienced this little gem for yourself you really should rush out and buy it now so you can make up your own mind.
Just don't forget the tissues.
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