Ganja and Hess


1h 50m 1973

Brief Synopsis

Afer being stabbed with an ancient, germ-infested knife, a doctor's assistant finds himself with an insatiable desire for blood.

Film Details

Also Known As
Blood Couple, Double Possession, Ganja & Hess
MPAA Rating
Genre
Horror/Science-Fiction
Drama
Experimental
Horror
Thriller
Release Date
1973
Distribution Company
KELLY-JORDAN ENTERPRISES )/KINO LORBER/THIRD WORLD NEWSREEL; Kino Lorber

Technical Specs

Duration
1h 50m
Color
Color
Theatrical Aspect Ratio
1.85 : 1

Synopsis

A New York anthropologist, Dr. Hess Green, is embroiled in a study of the lost ancient African culture of Myrthia, a nation that died out due to a communicable parasite that fed on human blood. During his research, Dr. Green is stabbed with a jewel-encrusted Myrthian dagger by his crazed assistant and finds that he has become infected with the virus, turning him into a vampire-like creature who is addicted to blood and fancies himself an invincible African God; and who turns his wife, Ganga, into a vampire as well.

Film Details

Also Known As
Blood Couple, Double Possession, Ganja & Hess
MPAA Rating
Genre
Horror/Science-Fiction
Drama
Experimental
Horror
Thriller
Release Date
1973
Distribution Company
KELLY-JORDAN ENTERPRISES )/KINO LORBER/THIRD WORLD NEWSREEL; Kino Lorber

Technical Specs

Duration
1h 50m
Color
Color
Theatrical Aspect Ratio
1.85 : 1

Articles

Ganja and Hess


The immensely talented director, writer, and actor Bill Gunn (1934-1989) was a seminal figure in African American art. Recognized in his lifetime as an important playwright and stage director, he is now best known for his work in films. Yet his contributions to cinema were limited, no doubt mainly for two reasons: an institutional racism that confined and tokenized African Americans and Gunn's refusal to work within ordinary commercial frameworks.

In 1973, the year of Gunn's major filmmaking achievement, Ganja & Hess, Gunn had already directed one film, Stop (1970), for Warner Bros. Dealing with both male and female homosexual relationships, the film was saddled with an X rating and shelved by its distributor. It remains unreleased, though a video copy was screened in 2010 in a Gunn series at BAM in Brooklyn. Writing on that occasion in the Village Voice, Nick Pinkerton called Stop "a Puerto Rico-set, bisexual, interracial ménage à quatre - a languid, druggy-decadent psychodrama of high emotional toxicity at a time when emerging black filmmakers were expected to work in familiar genre and earthy 'reality.'"

Perhaps inspired by American-International Pictures' announcement of their production of Blacula (1972), independent company Kelly-Jordan Enterprises approached Gunn in 1972 to make a "black vampire" film on a $350,000 budget. Gunn accepted with misgivings. "The last thing I want to do is make a black vampire film," Gunn confided in a friend. Nevertheless, he thought he could redeem the project by using vampirism as a metaphor for addiction. "If I had to write about blood, I was going to do that, but I could not just make a movie about blood," he later said. The producers' inexperience meant that Gunn had a free hand in writing, directing, and editing Ganja & Hess. Shot on location at the Apple Bee Farm (Croton-on-Hudson, New York) and the Brooklyn Museum, the film was released in 1973 and was selected for the Critics' Week at the Cannes Film Festival that year. Discouraged by poor box office, Kelly-Jordan took the film out of distribution and sold it to another company, Heritage Enterprises, which issued a rescored and drastically recut version under the title Blood Couple. (This version has been released on VHS under a number of titles.) Gunn disowned this version, and, fortunately, his original cut was donated to the Museum of Modern Art, whose screenings of Ganja & Hess helped build its reputation as a neglected classic of independent African American cinema.

The bare outline of the plot of Ganja & Hess suggests a very strange horror film. The hero is Dr. Hess Green, a wealthy anthropologist who is doing research on the Myrthians, an ancient African nation of blood drinkers. When his unstable assistant, Meda, stabs him with a Myrthian ceremonial dagger, Green becomes a vampire endowed with immortality. Meda's wife, Ganja, comes to Green's house in search of her husband, who has committed suicide, and Ganja and Green become lovers.

What the recital of the plot fails to make clear is the extent to which Gunn has incorporated the horror elements of his story into the rich texture of a work that deals with a range of themes: the opposition between African religion and Christianity, class and social divisions among urban African Americans, sexuality, the independent Black Woman, and more. Gunn's complex storytelling makes it impossible to reduce Ganja & Hess to any simple allegory. Preying on the black urban underclass, Green is not only a romantic, aristocratic hero but also a murderous exploiter of people. On the other hand, his final search for redemption in the arms of the Protestant church is a surrender and a betrayal. Ambiguities abound: what are we to make of Meda's obsession with suicide, or of Ganja's hostility toward Green's docile butler? By complicating the viewer's responses to all the characters and situations, and to the religious and cultural symbols surrounding them, Gunn evokes some of the paradoxes of African American experience, seeking not to resolve them but to place the viewer in the middle of them. In its strengths, Ganja & Hess is reminiscent of Hal Ashby's stunning The Landlord (1970), for which Gunn wrote the script, and it seems likely that the most interesting aspects of The Landlord are due to Gunn rather than to Ashby (whose later and better known films do not reproduce these elements).

Languid, cloying in the beauty of its images, Ganja & Hess sometimes accumulates great visual force. In a scene of love-making-slash-killing, the victim seems transformed into a glistening apparition, as much crystal as flesh. The soundtrack is striking, with its insistent use of African chant, contrasted with soul-rock passages. The warped solemnity of much of the film is successfully tempered by elements of deadpan black comedy (as in the scenes between Ganja and the butler). Gunn draws effective performances from Duane Jones (the male lead of George Romero's Night of the Living Dead [1968]) as Green and Marlene Clark as Ganja. Jones's elegant, abstracted bearing sharply delineates the doctor's psychological predicament, while Clark, matching him in poise, negotiates Ganja's transformation from a tough, aggressive, me-first survivor into a romantic increasingly fascinated with her new lover. ("Ganja is not unlike Billie Holiday," write Manthia Diawara and Phyllis Klotman. "She is a woman who defines her values in the skepticism of the Blues tradition.") Gunn himself makes a strong impression as the enigmatic and ill-fated Meda. In casting himself in this role, Gunn perhaps had in mind the link between art and death that is one of the underlying themes of his film; perhaps he also had in mind the chronic difficulties of the black artist in the United States, difficulties he had long struggled with and that helped ensure that Ganja & Hess would be his last film.

Producer: Chiz Schultz
Director, Screenplay: Bill Gunn
Cinematography: James E. Hinton
Film Editing: Victor Kanefsky
Art Direction: Tom H. John
Music: Sam Waymon
Cast: Duane Jones (Dr. Hess Green), Marlene Clark (Ganja), Bill Gunn (George Meda), Sam Waymon (Reverend Williams), Leonard Jackson (Archie).
C-110m.

by Chris Fujiwara

Sources:
Manthia Diawara and Phyllis Klotman, "Ganja and Hess: Vampires, Sex, and Addictions," Jump Cut, no. 35 (1990), pp. 30-36. Online at http://www.ejumpcut.org/archive/onlinessays/JC35folder/ganja-Hess.html.
David Kalat, "In Search of Ganja & Hess," Video Watchdog, No. 130 (May 2007), pp. 20-25.
Phyllis Rauch Klotman, editor, Screenplays of the African American Experience. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991.
Nick Pinkerton, "'The Groundbreaking Bill Gunn' at BAM," Village Voice, March 31, 2010. Online at
http://www.villagevoice.com/2010-03-30/film/the-groundbreaking-bill-gunn-at-bam/
John Williams, "Bill Gunn (1929-1989): A Checklist of his Films, Dramatic Works, and Novels," Black American Literature Forum, Vol. 25, No. 4 (Winter 1991), pp. 781-787.
Ganja And Hess

Ganja and Hess

The immensely talented director, writer, and actor Bill Gunn (1934-1989) was a seminal figure in African American art. Recognized in his lifetime as an important playwright and stage director, he is now best known for his work in films. Yet his contributions to cinema were limited, no doubt mainly for two reasons: an institutional racism that confined and tokenized African Americans and Gunn's refusal to work within ordinary commercial frameworks. In 1973, the year of Gunn's major filmmaking achievement, Ganja & Hess, Gunn had already directed one film, Stop (1970), for Warner Bros. Dealing with both male and female homosexual relationships, the film was saddled with an X rating and shelved by its distributor. It remains unreleased, though a video copy was screened in 2010 in a Gunn series at BAM in Brooklyn. Writing on that occasion in the Village Voice, Nick Pinkerton called Stop "a Puerto Rico-set, bisexual, interracial ménage à quatre - a languid, druggy-decadent psychodrama of high emotional toxicity at a time when emerging black filmmakers were expected to work in familiar genre and earthy 'reality.'" Perhaps inspired by American-International Pictures' announcement of their production of Blacula (1972), independent company Kelly-Jordan Enterprises approached Gunn in 1972 to make a "black vampire" film on a $350,000 budget. Gunn accepted with misgivings. "The last thing I want to do is make a black vampire film," Gunn confided in a friend. Nevertheless, he thought he could redeem the project by using vampirism as a metaphor for addiction. "If I had to write about blood, I was going to do that, but I could not just make a movie about blood," he later said. The producers' inexperience meant that Gunn had a free hand in writing, directing, and editing Ganja & Hess. Shot on location at the Apple Bee Farm (Croton-on-Hudson, New York) and the Brooklyn Museum, the film was released in 1973 and was selected for the Critics' Week at the Cannes Film Festival that year. Discouraged by poor box office, Kelly-Jordan took the film out of distribution and sold it to another company, Heritage Enterprises, which issued a rescored and drastically recut version under the title Blood Couple. (This version has been released on VHS under a number of titles.) Gunn disowned this version, and, fortunately, his original cut was donated to the Museum of Modern Art, whose screenings of Ganja & Hess helped build its reputation as a neglected classic of independent African American cinema. The bare outline of the plot of Ganja & Hess suggests a very strange horror film. The hero is Dr. Hess Green, a wealthy anthropologist who is doing research on the Myrthians, an ancient African nation of blood drinkers. When his unstable assistant, Meda, stabs him with a Myrthian ceremonial dagger, Green becomes a vampire endowed with immortality. Meda's wife, Ganja, comes to Green's house in search of her husband, who has committed suicide, and Ganja and Green become lovers. What the recital of the plot fails to make clear is the extent to which Gunn has incorporated the horror elements of his story into the rich texture of a work that deals with a range of themes: the opposition between African religion and Christianity, class and social divisions among urban African Americans, sexuality, the independent Black Woman, and more. Gunn's complex storytelling makes it impossible to reduce Ganja & Hess to any simple allegory. Preying on the black urban underclass, Green is not only a romantic, aristocratic hero but also a murderous exploiter of people. On the other hand, his final search for redemption in the arms of the Protestant church is a surrender and a betrayal. Ambiguities abound: what are we to make of Meda's obsession with suicide, or of Ganja's hostility toward Green's docile butler? By complicating the viewer's responses to all the characters and situations, and to the religious and cultural symbols surrounding them, Gunn evokes some of the paradoxes of African American experience, seeking not to resolve them but to place the viewer in the middle of them. In its strengths, Ganja & Hess is reminiscent of Hal Ashby's stunning The Landlord (1970), for which Gunn wrote the script, and it seems likely that the most interesting aspects of The Landlord are due to Gunn rather than to Ashby (whose later and better known films do not reproduce these elements). Languid, cloying in the beauty of its images, Ganja & Hess sometimes accumulates great visual force. In a scene of love-making-slash-killing, the victim seems transformed into a glistening apparition, as much crystal as flesh. The soundtrack is striking, with its insistent use of African chant, contrasted with soul-rock passages. The warped solemnity of much of the film is successfully tempered by elements of deadpan black comedy (as in the scenes between Ganja and the butler). Gunn draws effective performances from Duane Jones (the male lead of George Romero's Night of the Living Dead [1968]) as Green and Marlene Clark as Ganja. Jones's elegant, abstracted bearing sharply delineates the doctor's psychological predicament, while Clark, matching him in poise, negotiates Ganja's transformation from a tough, aggressive, me-first survivor into a romantic increasingly fascinated with her new lover. ("Ganja is not unlike Billie Holiday," write Manthia Diawara and Phyllis Klotman. "She is a woman who defines her values in the skepticism of the Blues tradition.") Gunn himself makes a strong impression as the enigmatic and ill-fated Meda. In casting himself in this role, Gunn perhaps had in mind the link between art and death that is one of the underlying themes of his film; perhaps he also had in mind the chronic difficulties of the black artist in the United States, difficulties he had long struggled with and that helped ensure that Ganja & Hess would be his last film. Producer: Chiz Schultz Director, Screenplay: Bill Gunn Cinematography: James E. Hinton Film Editing: Victor Kanefsky Art Direction: Tom H. John Music: Sam Waymon Cast: Duane Jones (Dr. Hess Green), Marlene Clark (Ganja), Bill Gunn (George Meda), Sam Waymon (Reverend Williams), Leonard Jackson (Archie). C-110m. by Chris Fujiwara Sources: Manthia Diawara and Phyllis Klotman, "Ganja and Hess: Vampires, Sex, and Addictions," Jump Cut, no. 35 (1990), pp. 30-36. Online at http://www.ejumpcut.org/archive/onlinessays/JC35folder/ganja-Hess.html. David Kalat, "In Search of Ganja & Hess," Video Watchdog, No. 130 (May 2007), pp. 20-25. Phyllis Rauch Klotman, editor, Screenplays of the African American Experience. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991. Nick Pinkerton, "'The Groundbreaking Bill Gunn' at BAM," Village Voice, March 31, 2010. Online at http://www.villagevoice.com/2010-03-30/film/the-groundbreaking-bill-gunn-at-bam/ John Williams, "Bill Gunn (1929-1989): A Checklist of his Films, Dramatic Works, and Novels," Black American Literature Forum, Vol. 25, No. 4 (Winter 1991), pp. 781-787.

Ganja and Hess - GANJA AND HESS - NOT YOUR TYPICAL VAMPIRE THRILLER


A long-rumored artifact of the heady, counter-culture semi-underground-film Nixon era, Bill Nunn's Ganja & Hess (1973) may have been the first film to overtly frame the well-worn myth of vampirism as a metaphor for drug addiction – not merely an ordeal by hunger for the bloodsucker in question, but as a tribulation as well for his or her surrounding loved ones, who are used up and wasted in the process. Sounds like a rich serving of thematic pie, but it doesn't come close to characterizing Gunn's film, which is an anti-horror film in the way Monte Hellman's films of the same era were anti-westerns, dreamy, disjointed, indulgent, and almost ludicrously ambiguous. Made on a paper-route budget amid the original blaxploitation hullabaloo (as was the rather crummy Blacula, released the previous year), Ganja & Hess doesn't tell a story so much as bump into one every now and then while lazing around in a druggy, self-actualizing ramble. What cult the film has acquired since its first release has feasted on the movie's somnambulistic, off-kilter mood, a fusion of misty cinematography, counter-intuitive compositions (sometimes the actors aren't even entirely in the frame), canned sound, Gunn's suave egomania, and the narrative's uncanny ability to ignore its own need for speed. Destined to fail even in the early '70s, Gunn's movie has acquired the patina of a rogue antique, unwanted in its day but evocative and unique years hence.

Duane Jones, the fated hero from the original Night of the Living Dead, plays an archaeologist returned from an excavation who invites his talkative assistant (Gunn) into his mansion for food and shelter (where it is, exactly, we cannot be sure, despite one of the movie's alternate titles being Vampires of Harlem). In the night, the seemingly unhinged assistant attacks the good doctor and stabs him with an ancient knife, infecting him in an undetermined way with blood-thirst. Gunn's wayward loser eventually kills himself – naked, in the bathroom – leaving Jones's stoic hero to brood, smoke and search for victims. Into this dour scenario comes the dead man's irate wife (Marlene Clark), who soon enough loses interest in her forgone husband and falls for Jones, marrying him and becoming a vampire herself.

Or something. Ganja & Hess is a deliberately fractured film, a fugue of notions rather than a propulsive or even transgressive genre riff. Gunn is nothing if not aware of the ironies he musters up: he more or less begins with Christ's claim that "Whoever drinketh my blood will have eternal life," a familiar quote given claws in this context, and continues right to extended sequences of an African-American, gospel-belting evangelical service. In fact, race haunts the film's fuzzy peripheries, with Africa-set dream sequences, music, iconography, evocations of griot culture, and even, with the appearance of a single noose, the ghost of lynch-mob guilt. (Blacula, too, traced vampirism back to the tribal life of slavery-era Africa.) But the points are dulled by the very same air of passionate inertia that makes the movie fascinating. The role in the thematic soup played by the doctor's butler (Leonard Jackson) is tell-tale – much is made of his diligent servitude (though we don't even glimpse his face until more than halfway through), while entire scenes seem comprised of improvised dialogue the other actors must negotiate around his interruptions. What we are to make of this remains a mystery; the film itself feels half-made, semi-conscious and intoxicated.

What remains clear is that in 1973 the world was not ready for the cat-eyed, zesty Clark, who outshoulders look-alike J-Lo, and juices Ganja & Hess with a respectable dose of old-fashioned sex appeal. (It could be observed that, next to the uncommunicative Jones, anyone would come off as a firecracker.) But Gunn's film needed her more than she needed it – it served as no one's career springboard, and the actress's career petered out into infrequent TV roles after the blaxploitation wave and seminal kung fu pulp days were over. (Jones also worked infrequently, usually in homage to his unforgettable debut in George A. Romero's zombie fest.) Gunn, too, was on the road to nowhere, shunted aside by the industry as if he'd never directed this freakazoid at all, and had never written the Oscar®'-nominated 1970 film The Landlord. (He focused mostly on theater in the subsequent years before his death in 1989.) Only the neglected film lingers, in this DVD edition assembled from various sources (including, we're informed, a poor 16mm print). Clearly a labor of love for archivist-DVD maven David Kalat, the disc includes an audio commentary by the surviving filmmakers, restored footage, a making-of featurette with interviews by producer-raconteur Chiz Schultz, an animated photo gallery, Kalat's critical examination of key sequences, and DVD-ROM readings.

For more information about Ganja and Hess, visit Image Entertainment. To order Ganja and Hess, go to TCM Shopping.

by Michael Atkinson

Ganja and Hess - GANJA AND HESS - NOT YOUR TYPICAL VAMPIRE THRILLER

A long-rumored artifact of the heady, counter-culture semi-underground-film Nixon era, Bill Nunn's Ganja & Hess (1973) may have been the first film to overtly frame the well-worn myth of vampirism as a metaphor for drug addiction – not merely an ordeal by hunger for the bloodsucker in question, but as a tribulation as well for his or her surrounding loved ones, who are used up and wasted in the process. Sounds like a rich serving of thematic pie, but it doesn't come close to characterizing Gunn's film, which is an anti-horror film in the way Monte Hellman's films of the same era were anti-westerns, dreamy, disjointed, indulgent, and almost ludicrously ambiguous. Made on a paper-route budget amid the original blaxploitation hullabaloo (as was the rather crummy Blacula, released the previous year), Ganja & Hess doesn't tell a story so much as bump into one every now and then while lazing around in a druggy, self-actualizing ramble. What cult the film has acquired since its first release has feasted on the movie's somnambulistic, off-kilter mood, a fusion of misty cinematography, counter-intuitive compositions (sometimes the actors aren't even entirely in the frame), canned sound, Gunn's suave egomania, and the narrative's uncanny ability to ignore its own need for speed. Destined to fail even in the early '70s, Gunn's movie has acquired the patina of a rogue antique, unwanted in its day but evocative and unique years hence. Duane Jones, the fated hero from the original Night of the Living Dead, plays an archaeologist returned from an excavation who invites his talkative assistant (Gunn) into his mansion for food and shelter (where it is, exactly, we cannot be sure, despite one of the movie's alternate titles being Vampires of Harlem). In the night, the seemingly unhinged assistant attacks the good doctor and stabs him with an ancient knife, infecting him in an undetermined way with blood-thirst. Gunn's wayward loser eventually kills himself – naked, in the bathroom – leaving Jones's stoic hero to brood, smoke and search for victims. Into this dour scenario comes the dead man's irate wife (Marlene Clark), who soon enough loses interest in her forgone husband and falls for Jones, marrying him and becoming a vampire herself. Or something. Ganja & Hess is a deliberately fractured film, a fugue of notions rather than a propulsive or even transgressive genre riff. Gunn is nothing if not aware of the ironies he musters up: he more or less begins with Christ's claim that "Whoever drinketh my blood will have eternal life," a familiar quote given claws in this context, and continues right to extended sequences of an African-American, gospel-belting evangelical service. In fact, race haunts the film's fuzzy peripheries, with Africa-set dream sequences, music, iconography, evocations of griot culture, and even, with the appearance of a single noose, the ghost of lynch-mob guilt. (Blacula, too, traced vampirism back to the tribal life of slavery-era Africa.) But the points are dulled by the very same air of passionate inertia that makes the movie fascinating. The role in the thematic soup played by the doctor's butler (Leonard Jackson) is tell-tale – much is made of his diligent servitude (though we don't even glimpse his face until more than halfway through), while entire scenes seem comprised of improvised dialogue the other actors must negotiate around his interruptions. What we are to make of this remains a mystery; the film itself feels half-made, semi-conscious and intoxicated. What remains clear is that in 1973 the world was not ready for the cat-eyed, zesty Clark, who outshoulders look-alike J-Lo, and juices Ganja & Hess with a respectable dose of old-fashioned sex appeal. (It could be observed that, next to the uncommunicative Jones, anyone would come off as a firecracker.) But Gunn's film needed her more than she needed it – it served as no one's career springboard, and the actress's career petered out into infrequent TV roles after the blaxploitation wave and seminal kung fu pulp days were over. (Jones also worked infrequently, usually in homage to his unforgettable debut in George A. Romero's zombie fest.) Gunn, too, was on the road to nowhere, shunted aside by the industry as if he'd never directed this freakazoid at all, and had never written the Oscar®'-nominated 1970 film The Landlord. (He focused mostly on theater in the subsequent years before his death in 1989.) Only the neglected film lingers, in this DVD edition assembled from various sources (including, we're informed, a poor 16mm print). Clearly a labor of love for archivist-DVD maven David Kalat, the disc includes an audio commentary by the surviving filmmakers, restored footage, a making-of featurette with interviews by producer-raconteur Chiz Schultz, an animated photo gallery, Kalat's critical examination of key sequences, and DVD-ROM readings. For more information about Ganja and Hess, visit Image Entertainment. To order Ganja and Hess, go to TCM Shopping. by Michael Atkinson

Quotes

Trivia

Miscellaneous Notes

Released in United States Spring April 1973

Re-released in United States October 1974

Limited re-release in United States May 30, 2018

Released in United States May 1973

Released in United States June 1990

Original version shown at Cannes Film Festival May 1973.

Released in United States Spring April 1973

Re-released in United States October 1974 (as "Blood Couple")

Limited re-release in United States May 30, 2018 (New York)

Released in United States May 1973 (Original version shown at Cannes Film Festival May 1973.)

Writer-director Bill Gunn, who has a key role in the original version, is not listed in the cast of the 1974 re-release.

Released in United States June 1990 (Original version shown at Whitney Museum of American Art June 1990.)