La Bete (aka The Beast), which followed in 1975 and was originally intended to be a short episode in Contes Immoraux aroused much greater controversy for its sexually explicit interpretation of the fairy tale, "Beauty and the Beast," and was banned in England for years. After that Borowczyk was largely ignored by most influential film critics but he continued to go his own way, making highly personal features which continued his interest in sexuality as a destructive force while also depicting the flip side - the effects of sexual repression. Except for Europe, it became impossible to see his later films in the U.S. except as poor quality bootleg videos but there were simply no commercial prospects for him here. His films were considered too arty and dull for the hard-core sex film market and too explicit and disturbing for the art house/repertory cinema circuits. And so Borowczyk faded from view even though he continued to work in other mediums, producing an erotic anthology series for French television, collaborating on a graphic novel version of La Bete, and authoring several articles and books including a partial autobiography, Moje polskie lata (My Polish Years). One day perhaps his films will be reevaluated and recognized as the work of a true auteur, one which invites favorable comparison to the films of another surrealist, Luis Bunuel. But regardless of whether Borowczyk is ever enshrined in some cinema Hall of Fame, he remains a true original, mixing sex, nihilism, black humor and subversive social commentary into fascinating, idiosyncratic movies - Dzieje grzechu (aka The Story of Sin, 1975) may indeed be his peak; it was nominated for the Palme d'or at Cannes.
Those of you who have never sampled any of Borowczyk's films and are curious about them no longer have to wait for the opportunity. The eclectic DVD company Cult Epics has recently released The Walerian Borowczyk Collection, a 3-disc set that includes Goto, Island of Love, The Beast and Love Rites. A brief synopsis of each appears below:
Goto, Island of Love
This was the first live action feature Borowczyk directed after working as an animator for more than twenty years (his first short was Mois D'aout in 1946). Filmed in black and white with occasional, almost subliminal bursts of color, the movie is pure theatre of the absurd. The storyline resembles one of Shakespeare's revenge dramas and immerses us in an alternate universe where the social structure is determined by the strange whims of Goto III, the island's dictator. The central character, Grozo (every character's name in the film begins with 'G"), is a treacherous lowlife who is saved from the guillotine by Goto III's beautiful wife Glyssia (played by Ligia Branice, Borowczyk's wife) but put to the test in gladiatorial combat. He survives and is rewarded with the coveted position of official dog walker, fly-catcher and boot-cleaner for the island. But Grozo hungers for greater riches and plots his ascension to the throne in order to possess Glyssia, eliminating her lover and any opposition along the way. The victory proves to be a hollow one, however, in the film's unexpected climax which reveals the dark turn of events as a cruel joke.
Goto, Island of Love is directed in a droll deadpan style and evokes the early years of silent filmmaking with static but visually striking tableaux. Occasionally Borowczyk will break the spell and interrupt the narrative flow with an unexpected tracking shot or a close-up of the odd detail - a trunk full of rotting apples, stuffed birds behind a glass case, a detail of a woman's lace corset. It's no wonder Borowczyk is often compared to a museum curator with his artistic eye for detail. The blatant sexuality of his later features is relatively subdued here with only a few fleeting scenes of female nudity but a sense of the perverse is always lurking just around the corner. And there is a dark sense of humor at work that is comparable to the absurdist shorts Roman Polanksi, Borowczyk's fellow countryman, produced in his youth such as The Fat and the Lean (1961) and Two Men and a Wardrobe (1958). As for the hard-to-pinpoint historical period, it might be the late nineteenth century but could also be some post-apocalyptic world where Mad Max would be at home. The deceptively somber mood is further enhanced by a classical music score - Handel's Concerto No. 1 - that transforms the lunacy into a mock-tragic opera. Admittedly, it's not for everyone but those willing to take the plunge will discover a renegade work of art. As an added treat, the disc contains the unconventional French trailer for Goto, Island of Love which includes some scenes not in the film and the animated short, Les Astronautes, which Borowczyk collaborated on with Chris Marker (La Jetee, 1962) in 1959. The latter film, with its unusual mix of cutouts, photographs and optical effects, was clearly an influence on the work of Monty Python's Terry Gilliam as well as the Brothers Quay and Jan Svankmajer. We can only hope that in the near future someone will release a DVD collection of Borowczyk's animated shorts including Renaissance and Les Jeux des Anges.
The Beast
Still notorious after 31 years, Borowczyk's take on "Beauty and the Beast" explores the implications of that famous fairy tale and reimagines what would happen if the two star-crossed lovers were allowed to act on their mutual attraction. Borowczyk, however, has more on his mind than an X-rated tale of bestiality and uses the fable to skewer bourgeois society. The film's central conceit of man's inability to reconcile his intellect with his baser instincts is presented in the style of a playful French farce. He sets The Beast in motion with a quote from Voltaire: "Troubled dreams are in fact a passing moment of madness." What transpires is closer to a wet dream. While visiting her fiancé's crumbling manor in the French countryside, the future bride's erotic presence has a powerful effect on the household's occupants, unleashing all sorts of sexual intrigues. While there, the visitor becomes obsessed with a local legend - one in which a prowling beast had his way with a former lady of the house - and begins to concoct her own fantasy of the encounter with herself as a willing victim. In these fantasy sequences, her own unbridled sexual appetites prove to be too much for the Beast and he expires from sheer pleasure.
The Beast generated a storm of controversy when it was first shown at the 17th London Film Festival in 1973. According to Cathal Tohill and Pete Tombs, the co-authors of Immoral Tales: European Sex and Horror Movies 1950-1984, the editor of The New Statesman was outraged, writing 'What on earth does the British Film Institute think it is up to? '...He went on to describe a film that had 'sent even the National Film Theatre's normally unshockable audience shuffling out shamefaced.' It still packs a punch today, opening with an extremely explicit coupling between a stallion and a mare that has a raw, primeval power. And the sexual encounters between the sensual Sirpa Lane and the hairy monster leave nothing to the imagination. But you may find yourself laughing at the outrageousness of it all which may have been part of Borowczyk's intention. Close-ups of the monster's enormous ejaculating member are not only hilariously inappropriate but seem designed to challenge the viewer's expectations. You came to see a sex film, right? Well, don't you like this? The beast, it must be said, is a pretty ratty looking creation - obviously a man in a bear suit - and the film won't win any points with feminists, particularly the central rape fantasy sequence. Like most of Borowczyk's later films, women are viewed through a male gaze which presents them primarily as sexual objects. In addition, racial stereotypes abound in the depiction of the black household servants. On the other hand, The Beast has a lush, soft-focus look to it that pulls you into its fetishistic world and, as Joe Ruffell wrote in his essay on Borowczyk, "His attention to isolated objects and decor, photographing them with the same detail as if they were human beings, gives his films a sense of the cruel surroundings in which the characters often find themselves in." (from "Rich and Strange: An Introduction to the live action features of Walerian Borowczyk" at www.se-nsesofcinema.com).
Love Rites
Based on a novel by the acclaimed French author Andre Pieyre de Mandiargues (a personal friend of Borowczyk whose work was often adapted by him for the screen), this 1988 feature stands as the director's final film to gain a theatrical release though it barely played in Europe and never opened in the U.S. The movie is set in modern Paris and recounts the meeting of an antiques dealer named Hugo (Mathieu Carriere) and the prostitute Miriam (Marina Pierro). They share a seat in a subway car and Hugo is immediately intrigued though at first they don't speak or make direct eye contact. Though Miriam departs and disappears into the cavernous Metro, Hugo pursues her and she willingly lets herself be captured. Then the sexual games begin, first in conversation as the couple share their intimate secrets and desires. The affair intensifies back in the prostitute's apartment where Hugo dominates Miriam completely but then the tables are suddenly turned in a sequence that prefigures Takashi Miike's Audition (1999). Hugo is "punished" for his excessive male pride and banished into the streets where his fate continues to spiral downward until the grim final denouement.
Love Rites is much more macabre and menacing than most of Borowczyk's earlier work and frames the story in a claustrophobic urban environment. The first third of the film is brilliantly told through an array of mesmerizing images and the use of nature sounds with a minimum of dialogue. Once the conversation between Hugo and Miriam begins, the film becomes a two character play in which each actor dons a "mask," playing a part in a mutual sexual fantasy. Yet despite the philosophical tone of the dialogue, this artificial role playing sets the stage for the shocking climax. It has to be said that the French are much better at this sort of thing than American filmmakers - consider such examples as Jean Eustache's The Mother and the Whore (1973) and Eric Rohmer's Pauline at the Beach (1983) - and the result often conveys a pleasing literary quality that is not pretentious.
Marina Pierro, in the role of Miriam, had previously appeared in several of Borowczyk's films but disappeared from the screen soon after this. Mathieu Carriere, on the other hand, has enjoyed a long, prolific career that continues to this day. You may remember him as the conflicted teenage protagonist of Volker Schlondorff's Young Torless (1966); he went on to appear in numerous high profile "art" films over the years such as Marguerite Duras's India Song (1975), Eric Rohmer's The Aviator's Wife (1981) and A Woman in Flames (1983), to name just a few.
In terms of the print quality on The Walerian Borowczyk Collection, Goto, Island of Love is a fairly sharp anamorphic transfer with burned-in English subtitles which are easy to read. The Beast, which is the director's cut of the film, is also an anamorphic transfer but is dazzling to the eye with rich colors and two audio options (we recommend the French with English subtitles). Love Rites is presented in the original 97-minute cut and a faster-moving 87-minute edit but both films have a muted, slightly hazy cast to them due to Borowczyk's use of various filters.
To order The Walerian Borowczyk Collection, go to TCM Shopping.
by Jeff Stafford
