Films That Witness Madness

review

REVENGE OF THE LIVING DEAD GIRLS / JACK THE RIPPER

As a man enters his lover's bedroom, he begins undressing. As soft music plays on the soundtrack, he approaches slowly, unaware his lover has just had a high heel shoe shoved into her brain via her eye-socket. He speaks to her, saying:

"Our wedding night. Don't be afraid, my love. The first time is delicate, but I promise you many, many nights of happiness. Don't say anything. Don't move. You must feel my expert caresses on your body and the white dress of your virginity will be the witness of our love".

How's that for quality screen writing?

According to the DVD cover, REVENGE OF THE LIVING DEAD GIRLS is the first French gore film. I'd give that dubious honor to Jean Rollin's 1978 disaster GRAPES OF DEATH. But no matter. If it's gore you're looking for, there's a good bit here, from an eye being gouged out, a penis being bitten off, and a disturbing rape with a very long sword. If you're looking for a good film, however, steer clear because REVENGE OF THE LIVING DEAD GIRLS is anything but a good film.

Devotees of Jean Rollin will find plenty to love here. An attractive cast, plentiful nudity, a few buckets of blood, fog machines and poor actors aplenty are sure to bring back fond memories of flicks like LIPS OF BLOOD, FASCINATION, and REQUIEM FOR A VAMPIRE. The rest of you, however, should stay far, far away. Rollin's name might not be on the credits, but director Pierre B. Reinhard sure does a good impression. Some claim that Reinhard is merely a pseudonym for Rollin. I'm inclined to agree. The two share many, many similarities in both style and composition. Whether or not Reinhard and Rollin are the same person, one thing can be said for sure: they both made films with Brigitte Lahaie and, goddamn, could this film use her.

Some have pegged REVENGE OF THE LIVING DEAD GIRLS as a cautionary tale about environmental care. That's giving it too much credit. While it does contain a germ of an idea about co-existing peacefully with Mother Nature, whatever moral center the filmmakers had envisioned is lost amid constant double-crossings and zombie murders. So little of the action in this film makes sense that trying to find a message amidst the confusion is difficult, to say the least. You know what kind of film you're in for when the only way to find closure and make sense of the proceedings is to watch the alternate ending.

Despite the frequent nudity and bloodletting, I can't bring myself to give this film any sort of recommendation. Those people who enjoy slop will get the most out of it. Those people who had a problem with the DAWN OF THE DEAD remakes running zombies will flip their lids at the sight of the films titular living dead girls swimming, ducking for cover behind tombstones, and even driving a car (all of which is explained in the aforementioned alternate ending).Stupid enough for you yet?

No?

How about a zombie three-way with a prostitute?

If REVENGE OF THE LIVING DEAD GIRLS was the agonizing rape, then JACK THE RIPPER was the equally uncomfortable reach-around.

Though rather beautifully shot (by Franco standards, anyway - it's obvious that this was a project he coveted), this film is simply D.O.A.. Overlong and boring, with little in the way of action to break up the monotony, JACK THE RIPPER completely ignores the reality of the Ripper murders that plagued London in 1888 and instead plays up to the romantic myths. As is typical in almost all the filmed versions of the story, all the prostitutes are young and beautiful (Lina Romay has never looked lovelier) and all the gruesome violence is muted. What's left is more melodrama than suspense. If FROM HELL was a slap in the face of Ripperologists everywhere, JACK THE RIPPER will have them positively screaming.

Klaus Kinski, who is always a welcome presence, plays a mad doctor, obsessively venting his mother issues on the lowly women of Whitechapel. With the help of his obedient female assistant, Saucy Jack disposes his victims in the Thames. Similar to Lang's M, there's a blind man who will successfully pinpoint the killer, this time using a scent rather than a song. A subplot dealing with the lead detective and his ballerina girlfriend does nothing but pad the running time and poor Kinski gets to do incredibly little ripping. He mostly just squints and looks menacing.

As I said before, the film does look wonderful, with impressive fog shrouded exteriors and some great Expressionistic touches, but those moments can't keep this turd afloat. For Franco fans only.

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