Color, 1969, 84m. / Directed by Piero Schivazappa / Starring Philippe Leroy, Dagmar Lassander / First Run (US R1 NTSC) / WS (1.78:1)
Though Radley Metzger didn't actually direct The Frightened Woman (originally Femina Ridens or The Laughing Woman), you wouldn't know it by looking at the actual film. A kinkier stepsister to Camille 2000 (with which it shares the amazing production designer Enrico Sabbatini), this eye-popping trip into a world of pop art S&M is one of the most sensually dazzling films of the late '60s; no wonder Metzger rushed it out immediately under the imprint of his Audubon Films. Following a cryptic opening in which a frizzy-haired secretary and a mysterious accomplice have a deadly encounter with a man in an eyepatch, the story proper begins with the seemingly mild mannered Dr. Sayer (Philippe Leroy) convincing the sweet, innocent, and beautiful Maria (Dagmar Lassander) to join him at his home. Once there he initiates her into a series of exercises in bondage and discipline (though fairly mild considering the time period), which mostly consists of him spraying her down under a power hose, showing her a graphic slideshow while playing a tape of women screaming, and forcing her to cut her hair. Eventually Maria begins to become a more pliable partner in Sayer's game, and under her influence, he begins to fall in love. However, there's much more here than meets the eye.
Like most soft erotica from Europe during the period, The Frightened Woman is low on plot and only features a few teasing bits of nudity. What makes it so powerful and compulsively watchable (even on repeated viewings) is the impeccable command of both visuals and sound by the filmmakers, with each scene offering a new delight. Whether it's the famous "Sex" sculpture (into which Leroy enters through the memorable vagina dentata and returns as a skeleton during one memorable fantasy) or Lassander's scorching dance in the swanky pad while wearing an unraveling gauze dress, this film tweaks the viewer's imagination and continuously peels off one layer to reveal another surprise underneath. Along with Forbidden Photos of a Lady Above Suspicion, Lassander has never looked more stunning than she does here; take a look at her in Lucio Fulci's The House by the Cemetery to see what ten years of hard living in Italy can do to a girl. Special kudos go out to composer Stelvio Cipriani, who adds to the film's spell with his brilliant, infernally catchy lounge score. Someone really needs to release it commercially on CD one of these days.
Rarely seen after its initial release, The Frightened Woman turned up on VHS from Audubon in 1995 in a disappointing transfer which slapped a fake 2.00:1 matte over the opening credits and squeezed the rest of the image for the duration of the film. On top of that, image quality was chalky, hazy, and virtually unwatchable. The same transfer was rehashed for First Run's VHS release in early 1999, which coincided with a British PAL edition from Redemption. Beautifully colourful and letterboxed, the Redemption version would seem definitive except for one fatal flaw-- both the slideshow and skeleton sequences were cut! For its DVD debut of The Frightened Woman, First Run has at least gotten two out of three right- the print is uncut and correctly letterboxed. The framing is absolutely crucial to enjoying this film on every level, and it's nice to finally see it back the way it belongs. Unfortunately, while the image quality is definitely a couple of notches above the tape and looks crisp enough, the colour is still distractingly muted, almost sepia during several scenes, and the print displays a lot of wear (with some mysterious dropouts in evidence as well). The audio is adequate but very hissy in a few spots. Don't let these shortcomings prevent you from watching the film, though; it's definitely worth seeking out and a guaranteed delight for anyone in love with the surreal delights of European exploitation. The disc also includes Audubon's exceptional original trailer.
Color, 1988, 94m. / Directed by John Carpenter / Starring Roddy Piper, Meg Foster / Image (US R1 NTSC) / WS (2.35) (16:9) / DD2.0
Roddy Piper (yes, the wrestler) stars as Nada (as in "nothing," get it?), a homeless drifter who goes from job to job and winds up in a construction position in an unnamed large city. A group of radicals keep breaking in on the TV signals and warning of an evil conspiracy that's been brainwashing the general public, but everyone tends to ignore it. After a series of government attacks on one faction holing out in a local church, Nada uncovers a pair of sunglasses which reveal that the world is not quite as he thought. All advertising and written material contains subliminal messages, such as "Marry and Reproduce," "No Individual Thought," and "This Is Your God" (printed on money). Even worse, it appears all the wealthy people are - surprise! - ugly skeletal-faced aliens in disguise. Pretty soon Nada is suiting up for battle, and the fun begins.
Generally dismissed as one of Carpenter's goofier films (along with Big Trouble in Little China), They Live has some serious things to say about right-wing suppression and the growing apathy near the end of the millennium. Piper's role seems tailor-made for Carpenter buddy in crime Kurt Russell (including such lines as the immortal "I've come here to chew bubble gum and kick ass... and I'm all out of bubble gum"), but Piper fills the action hero shoes pretty well. He got a lot of bad press at the time, but after we've endured such action wannabes as Steven Seagal and Jean-Claude Van Damme, he looks like Laurence Olivier in comparison. In fact, it's surprising how well this film has aged over the past decade, though it does suffer from a few flaws. Piper's idiotic fight scene with Keith David seems thrown in for no good reason at all and drags on way past the breaking point; it seems including solely for the purpose of pleasing wrestling fans. Also, the final sequence is a serious let-down, a knee-jerk jokey finish that wraps the film up on an abrupt, unfinished note. Interestingly, They Live now feels like a dry run for Carpenter's subsequent In the Mouth of Madness, an even more extreme look at the world's seemingly normal sheen being slowly removed to expose a completely different, malicious force lurking underneath (and which also features an unsatisfying ending). As Carpenter has explained, all of his films in one way or another revolve around normal people who become heroes when thrust into situations beyond their control; here, the hero deals with corruption in the aliens and the human beings around him who have sold out for wealth from the invaders. It's one of the most interesting sci-fi conceits of the past few years, and while the execution doesn't always do it justice, there's plenty of food for thought here for the open-minded viewer. The previous Japanese laserdisc version of They Live was incompletely letterboxed (about 1.90:1) and had a colourless, washed-out appearance that failed to do much justice to this satiric sci-fi political actioner. No director takes advantage of the full scope widescreen image more than Carpenter; and this DVD presents the full 2.35 image and features incredibly rich, vibrant colour and deep shadows, along with a fabulous Dolby Digital surround remix. Though it has no extras (the Japanese laser did have a pretty nifty behind-the-scenes featurette, so don't chuck it if you have it), this one was definitely worth the wait.
