The Jekyll and Hyde Portfolio is of particular interest to fans of VHS-era horror, as it was released on VHS in a very limited run and therefore highly sought after by tape collectors. Additionally, the film’s appearance in Stephen Thrower’s exploitation bible Nightmare USA helped stoke interest in the film among hardcore genre fans. For some time, the film was difficult to find even on dedicated torrent sites, where a viewer would be lucky to get a smeary, chopped square frame transferred from one of those old tapes. To say that this Vinegar Syndrome release is a welcome upgrade—scanned in 2k from the 35mm blow-up negative—is to be guilty of exceptional understatement, even if this new transfer has a good amount of dirt, noise and dense grain from originally being shot on 16mm. As for the film itself, well… not all obscurities can be diamonds in the rough.
And The Jekyll and Hyde Portfolio falls pretty squarely into the category of “rough.” After a scene shows a woman in a tree swing being murdered with a pitchfork in slow motion (well, less “shown” than “implied”), Detective John Kinkaid (Donn Greer) begins the voiceover narration that will occasionally punctuate the film by talking about the story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde while blood flows over a collage of drawings of famous historical murderers like “Rasputin, the Mad Monk.” This voiceover eventually transitions into the story of murders taking place at the Florence Nightingale Institute, a nursing school run by the obviously insane Dr. Cabala (Sebastian Brook). Kinkaid has been called to investigate the pre-credits pitchfork murder, and finds no shortage of suspects: Lip-smacking, wild-eyed Cabala, repressed headmistress Hettie (Casey Larrain), randy handyman Moss (Hump Hardy), dashing but dissection-obsessed Dr. Mark Carter (John Terry), Carter’s wildly jealous fiancée Dr. Leticia Boges (Mady Maguire), and pretty much everybody else except Carter’s “virginal” mistress June (porn star Rene Bond, the biggest name in the cast).
In Nightmare USA, Stephen Thrower refers to The Jekyll and Hyde Portfolio as “the closest thing to an Andy Milligan film made by a heterosexual.” That’s about as apt a description of the level of filmmaking style and technique on display here as any. The film is loaded down with characters all wearing period costumes and having lengthy discussions about the goings-on behind the scenes at the institute. The editing is frequently disorienting, probably at least somewhat deliberately, to help sell the murder scenes. Blood is bright red paint, cheap Hammer knockoff style. Lengthy close-ups of live frog dissection help pad out the “horror” element of the film. Unfortunately, two major things that make Milligan’s films so compelling are sorely missed in The Jekyll and Hyde Portfolio: Milligan’s dedicated cast and his crazed, overheated dialogue. Watching the actors tear through paragraphs of dialogue in Blood as though a gun was pointed at their heads (entirely possible!) is a much more enjoyable experience than watching everyone slog through their dull speeches in Portfolio. Still, for fans of American 1970s regional horror filmmaking, this is going to be required viewing.
The same can certainly not be said for A Clockwork Blue, which is basically a nudie cutie with occasional hardcore sex thrown in. That means a lot of sub-vaudeville race and sex humor, naked people, and more slide whistles and wacky horns than you can probably take in one sitting. Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: A black guy named Blackie (yes, that’s his name, and the actor is not credited, although whether this was an oversight of the production or by the actor’s request is unknown; both seem equally possible) and a Jew (Joe E. Tata) enter Heaven, which apparently smells like weed. God grants them each one wish: Blackie wishes for a million dollars, while the Jew gets a nice pocket watch. Cue opening credits, then a return to Blackie sitting at a table where a watermelon with a porthole in the side is connected to a pair of TV antenna “rabbit ears.” Blackie is watching as a nerdy janitor named Homer (also Joe E. Tata) stumbles upon the Jew’s watch, and each time he pushes a button on the watch Homer is transported to another time period to watch wacky hijinks and/or people having sex. Blackie will sometimes offer up humorous commentary. The guys at the local Elks’ lodge must have been losing it when this thing unspooled on their rickety old 16mm projector.
We find out that George Washington and Paul Revere liked to visit a brothel right next to a British stronghold, Helen of Troy has the deep voice of a man (and her lover Paris speaks in the voice of a young woman), Indians regularly had sex in the middle of Puritan villages to taunt the guys in the stocks, Marie Antoinette and Madame Dubarry were friends with benefits, and there were no jokes at all in Viking times even though somebody was wearing a bear suit at one point. There’s more, but it all sort of blurs together after a while, and at 81 minutes this is much too long for what it is.
This limited-edition Blu-ray combo release presents A Clockwork Blue in its X-rated cut, transferred in 4K from the original camera negative, while the DVD release set for May features the R-rated cut of the film, which probably runs a bit shorter. 1970s porn completists (Rene Bond appears here as well), though, will no doubt want this X-rated version.
In the end, Vinegar Syndrome was probably wise to hedge their bets by releasing this as a limited edition. While more horror fans will be interested in seeing The Jekyll and Hyde Portfolio now that it is finally widely available, the number of people who would feel compelled to own it on Blu-ray is probably comparatively small. The same applies to A Clockwork Blue for serious fans of 1970s adult film: the hardcore niche will want the Blu-ray transfer of the X-rated version, but most audiences will be fine with the R-rated cut on DVD. If you’re one of those hardcore fans, you should probably act fast and check out DiabolikDVD.com soon (Vinegar Syndrome is sold out of this release on their site) or visit one of the film conventions where Vinegar Syndrome will be selling the title before it starts commanding The Jekyll and Hyde Portfolio VHS levels of cash on Ebay!
Joseph W. Sarno Retrospect Series: All the Sins of Sodom (1968) and Vibrations (1968)
Originally published on Film Monthly 9 October 2017
It’s been a long time coming, but Joe Sarno is finally starting to get the recognition he deserves. Sarno was an independent filmmaker and contemporary of such “grindhouse” exploitation legends as Doris Wishman, Andy Milligan, and Michael and Roberta Findlay. But Sarno had a much different approach to those filmmakers. Like Russ Meyer, Sarno learned photography and filmmaking in the armed forces. He used his meager resources to maximum effect, using light and shadow to stunning effect, especially in his black and white features. His keen eye led to his being popularly dubbed “The Ingmar Bergman of 42nd Street,” and watching his work from that era it’s not hard to see why. Last year Film Movement Classics released a double feature of Sarno’s Vampire Ecstasy (1973) and Sin You Sinners (1963) on Blu-ray and DVD, and they have followed it up this year with a release including All the Sins of Sodom and Vibrations, both from 1968. These two black and white features are excellent examples of Sarno’s work at its most visually striking.
In All the Sins of Sodom, photographer Henning (Dan Machuen) shoots tasteful erotic images in his studio with a revolving cast of beautiful young models. One of them in particular named Leslie (Maria Lease) serves as Henning’s personal muse and the closest thing he has to a partner. Things are going well until the arrival of Joyce (Sue Akers), a seemingly innocent young woman who Henning offers a place to crash for a while. Joyce’s presence soon starts to interfere with Henning and Leslie’s relationship, and Joyce has no compunction about seducing the other models who come to the apartment either. The “evil” energy she has in front of the camera becomes an obsession for Henning, who sees in Joyce the ultimate expression of his vision. But how much will he have to sacrifice for that vision?
Vibrations stars Maria Lease as Barbara, a young woman living in a small New York apartment and working as a typist for hire. Her landlady Edna (Peggy Steffans, who later married Sarno) informs Barbara that the apartment next door to hers is a storage for Georgia (Rita Bennett) where she keeps things “her daddy” left her. Georgia comes and goes at odd hours, so Edna is
curious but insists it’s none of her business. The audience learns early on that Georgia uses the storage room for sexual adventures, sometimes solo (with an original “Swedish massager”) and sometimes with companions. When Barbara’s sister Julia (Marianne Prevost) arrives to crash at her apartment, Barbara is immediately set on edge. Julia is sexually forthright, and the two clearly have an uneasy relationship. Julia visits Georgia and soon Barbara is tortured by the sounds of lust and ecstasy coming through the wall night after night. Will she succumb to her base desires, or can she escape the strange hold her sister has over her?
Both of these films were made around the same time and use the same sets and some of the same cast members. While the films do have a similar look–both were shot by Steve Silverman, a frequent Sarno collaborator–it is to their credit that they don’t necessarily feel like they were shot in the same place. Sarno was a proponent of using dark backdrops that could place the location of scenes anywhere. He also placed actors close to the camera and each other, where he could use visual space to suggest intimacy or claustrophobia (the latter put to excellent use in his 1966 occult feature Red Roses of Passion, recently released on a gorgeous Blu-ray by Vinegar Syndrome). Sarno also wrote all his own scripts, often concerned with the relationships between women and including frequent themes of guilt and shame. It’s a rare thing for a Sarno film to end happily, and his thoughtful, artful approach to sexploitation cinema set him apart from his contemporaries. This double feature is a great introduction to the work of an important exploitation filmmaker, and anyone looking for a good place to get into Sarno’s imposing oeuvre would do well to start here.
Kijū Yoshida: Love + Anarchism: Eros + Massacre (1969), Heroic Purgatory (1970), and Coup d’État (1973)
Originally published on Film Monthly 12 May 2017
Many American cinephiles are familiar with the French New Wave, but in the 1960s a number of countries were seeing their own versions of that movement in cinema. In Japan filmmakers like Nagisa Oshima, Koreyoshi Kurehara, and Seijun Suzuki were taking a wrecking ball to tradition and expanding Japanese cinema in new directions. A number of films by these directors have been made available in the States thanks to The Criterion Collection, but there are still treasures that have yet to appear in English-friendly editions. One director whose work has been difficult to see in the States is Kijū Yoshida, a filmmaker who began his career with Shochiku in 1960. A contemporary of the aforementioned directors, Yoshida’s best known work outside of Japan is probably the trilogy of political films he made starting with 1969’s Eros + Massacre and continuing with Heroic Purgatory (1970) and Coup d’État (1973). Arrow Films has given these films their stateside debut in a beautiful Blu-ray/DVD set, but anyone thinking this set is anything like Arrow’s previous Japanese collections such as Stray Cat Rock or Nikkatsu Diamond Guys will be in for a shock. These films are dense and challenging works of art, thankfully presented with thoughtful commentary and supplementary materials to help the viewer find their way.
Eros + Massacre is a sprawling epic that takes place along two occasionally intersecting timelines. One story follows young filmmaker Wada and Mako, a prostitute who claims to be the daughter of Noe Ito (a real-life woman who was involved in a Taisho-era scandal with the anarchist Sakae Osugi), as they wander away from the city and civilization and discuss Osugi’s philosophies. The second story takes place in the Taisho era and depicts episodes in the life of Osugi (played by Toshiyuki Hosokawa), his wife Yasuo, and his two mistresses Itsuko Masaoka (Yûko Kusunoki) and Noe Ito (Mariko Okada, Yoshida’s wife and frequent collaborator). Osugi lived by a philosophy of free love, although as the film depicts his life that seemed not to work out terribly well for anyone with whom he was involved–he completely neglected his wife, and Itsuko attempts to stab him to death in a fit of jealousy. The “modern day” segments of the film depict Wada setting things on fire and having aimless conversations with Mako, occasionally stopping for psychedelic interludes set to fuzzed-out guitars. The Taisho era sequences are much more in line with traditional Japanese drama, at least in tone and acting styles. There is very little that is traditional about Yoshida’s direction and Motokichi Hasegawa’s cinematography, however–Eros + Massacre demands careful attention, and at least a passing knowledge of the Japanese political climate of the day is hugely helpful in making sense of the film (or as much sense as can be made of it).
This set presents two versions of Eros + Massacre: the theatrical release (running 165 minutes) and a director’s cut (running 216 minutes) restored in the early 2000s. The character of Itsuko Masaoka was based on a woman named Ichiko Kamichika, who was none too happy about how she was depicted in the film. In the film Itsuko tries to stab Osugi; in real life, Kamichika was indeed arrested for attempted murder and spent time in jail for it. Kamichika was a politician in the 1960s, and although Yoshida changed the name of her character in the film she threatened legal action if the film was released in its original form. Yoshida made significant cuts to the film in order to create the theatrical version, both to sections of the Taisho storyline as well as the “modern day” story. For many years, the theatrical cut was the only one available, and during its time in obscurity approximately nine minutes of the director’s cut became too damaged to restore. Each cut of the film gets its own disc in this set, complete with introductions and scene-specific commentary by David Desser (author of Eros Plus Massacre: An Introduction to the Japanese New Wave Cinema). The director’s cut commentary showcases scenes that were cut from the film for the theatrical version, which mostly serve to tip the balance of the narrative more toward the past than the “present.” In either form, Eros + Massacre is a daunting viewing experience both in form and content. Watching it as the first of Yoshida’s films to make its way to the States feels very much like jumping in the deep end of the man’s work.
Even more avant-garde is Heroic Purgatory, which stubbornly resists any simple plot synopsis. As the film opens, Nanako (Mariko Okada) brings a young woman home to the apartment she shares with her husband Shu (Yoshiaki Makita). After Shu returns home from work, another man appears at the apartment claiming to be the girl’s father. She resists his attempts to take her with him and he leaves Shu and Nanako to deal with her. From there Heroic Purgatory jumbles time and space, taking place simultaneously in the 1970s, 1980s, 1960s, and specifically 1952. This was the year the Treaty of San Francisco went into effect, ending the Allied occupation of Japan that followed World War II. Shu appears in different timelines as himself–sometimes a young communist radical, later an elder statesman–and Nanako attempts to follow him, but the mysterious young woman appears to change identities as the time and place shifts around them. It’s utterly confounding, but absolutely breathtaking to look at. Motokichi Hasegawa returns as Yoshida’s cinematographer, and every frame in the film is starkly gorgeous and unpredictable, adding to the sense of disorientation. In his introduction, David Desser compares Heroic Purgatory to Alain Resnais’s Je t’aime, je t’aime in its defiance of chronological narrative. This is a very helpful point of reference, and honestly the film would seem to be nigh-impenetrable without it. The film’s rhythms of repetition, its defiance of time and space, and especially its astonishingly beautiful photography also call to mind Resnais’s Last Year at Marienbad.
Coup d’État, the final film in the set, is considerably more traditionally narrative than the others. It is focused on nationalist philosopher Ikki Kita (Rentarô Mikuni), whose 1919 book An Outline Plan for the Reorganization of Japan inspired an attempted coup in 1936. The film follows Kita as he advises the men assembling the necessary forces for the coup, as well as an unnamed young soldier (Yasuo Miyake) who wants to prove his patriotism by joining the revolution. This young soldier is held back both by his own lack of courage and his concern for his sickly young wife (Akiko Kurano), who for her part seems to want him to fulfill the duty he feels he owes the revolution. The soldier and Kita cross paths repeatedly, and after the young man fails to pla
y his part in an earlier failed coup he and his wife are taken in by Kita. By this time, Kita’s home has become the de facto headquarters for the planned coup. He advises the mutinous officers, but never personally takes action, which in his mind shields him from the same consequences as those who have literally taken up arms at his suggestion. Instead of depicting the actions of the coup, Coup d’État stays with Kita during the tense days of the standoff and afterward to his eventual execution. As with the other two films, this is beautifully shot by Motokichi Hasegawa, although its framing is not quite as consistently adventurous as Heroic Purgatory. It bears some resemblance to more conventional period dramas, but it features a score that sounds like a horror film: jagged, shrieking strings, dissonant piano and organ, and synthesizers give its depiction of 1930s Japan an alien, nightmarish quality.
For their home video debut in the States, Arrow Films has given these films their typically spectacular treatment. All three are presented in new high-definition transfers supervised by Yoshida himself with uncompressed mono PCM audio and newly translated English subtitles. Arrow has ported some features over from 2008 French DVD releases of the films including video introductions for Heroic Purgatory and Coup d’État by Yoshida and a 30-minute featurette on Eros + Massacre entitled “Yoshida …or: The Explosion of the Story” that includes interviews with Yoshida and film critics Mathieu Capel and Jean Douchet. All of these provide invaluable information that helps set the stage for the films, and the introductions in particular should be required viewing before watching the films in question. In addition to these previously-produced features, Arrow commissioned new introductions and scene-specific commentaries on each film by David Desser. Like Yoshida’s introductions, Desser’s observations are extremely valuable in learning about the political climate in which the films were made as well as touching on Yoshida’s cinematic influences. “Love + Anarchism” is presented in a box with new art designed by maarko phntm that also includes an 80-page book with new pieces on the films by Desser, Isolde Standish (author of Politics, Porn and Protest: Japanese Avant-Garde Cinema in the 1960s and 1970s) and Dick Stegewerns (author of Kijū Yoshida: 50 Years of Avant-Garde Filmmaking in Post-War Japan). If Arrow has been making a name for themselves as a sort of “cult Criterion,” their recent releases of less grindhouse and more arthouse films such as this see them making a clear bid for that vaunted imprint’s crown. “Love + Anarchism” is a spectacular release that rivals Criterion’s best work, and provides a whole new audience of cinephiles a long-overdue introduction to a crucial filmmaker’s work.
The Unrepentant Cinephile Page 84