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Posts Tagged ‘Isabelle Adjani’

Werner Herzog is such a distinctive and idiosyncratic figure that it’s easy to sometimes lose track of everything that he’s done. Certainly, his is a CV of dizzying variety as an actor and director – documentary about cave art? Check! Role as villain in a Tom Cruise thriller? Check! Drama about a man dragging a steamboat over a mountain? Check! Studio Ghibli US dub voice role? Check! It almost comes as a shock to recall he ever did anything as straightforward as a serious adaptation of Bram Stoker’s famous novel Dracula.

Then again, to describe the genesis of Herzog’s 1979 film Nosferatu the Vampyre as ‘straightforward’ is probably somewhat disingenuous. Nosferatu isn’t just an adaptation of Dracula, but a remake of Murnau’s 1922 film Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens. Here things begin to get a little more tangled, as the Stoker estate refused Murnau permission to adapt Dracula for the big screen. Murnau went ahead and made his movie anyway, changing some of the character names in a rather feeble attempt to disguise what he was up to – Count Dracula became Graf Orlok, Harker became Hutter, Renfield became Knock, and so on. Unsurprisingly, this fooled no-one and Florence Stoker attempted to have Symphonie des Grauens destroyed (luckily, this did not happen, as it is a superb movie).

By 1979, Dracula was out of copyright and so Herzog was able to use the ‘proper’ names for the characters, but still retained Murnau’s version of the plot and the title Nosferatu (an etymologically problematic word which has effectively become a synonym for vampire; Nosferatu the Vampyre is rather tautologous). The movie is openly another take on the much-told story of Dracula; however, it is just as distinctive and idiosyncratic as its director.

As noted, Herzog sticks with Murnau and dispenses with the English-set portion of the story; instead, the tale opens in Wismar, in north-eastern Germany, where estate-agent’s wife Lucy Harker (Isabelle Adjani) is troubled by disturbing, bat-filled dreams. Maybe she is right to be concerned, for her husband Jonathan (Bruno Ganz) is given the unexpected assignment of going to Transylvania to conclude a deal with the mysterious and reclusive Count Dracula.

It soon turns out that the only people wanting Harker to go are his boss Renfield (Roland Topor) and possibly Dracula himself; Lucy doesn’t want him to go, the Transylvanian gypsies he encounters don’t want him going anywhere near Castle Dracula, and neither do the local peasants. Harker ends up having to walk most of the last stretch of his journey, mist-wrapped mountains rising around him and the half-ruined castle creeping into view. (The journey from the ‘normal world’ to the place of horror is obviously something of a staple in movies of this genre, but Nosferatu handles it unusually well.) Soon enough he arrives at the castle and meets his host.

Dracula (Klaus Kinski) is delighted to meet him. Actually, delighted may not be the right word, as Dracula seems to exist in a permanent state of existential anguish, bordering on actual despair. Chalk-skinned, with rat teeth and ears like a bat, one wonders just how badly Harker needs his commission if he’s willing to contemplate staying at this guy’s castle. This is before Dracula starts musing on the horrors of eternal existence and how there are far worse things than death.

Well, eventually Harker puts zwei and zwei together and figures out that there’s something not quite right about his host. The sight of Dracula loading coffins onto a wagon preparatory to taking up residence in his new property may have something to do with this, to say nothing of Dracula’s nocturnal visits to Harker’s room, when the estate agent discovers that the price of staying at Castle Dracula really can be a pain in the neck.

Dracula eventually departs for Wismar, leaving Harker a prisoner in the castle. He escapes, weak and feverish, desperate to get home and warn everyone of the terror soon to be in their midst – but is it already too late…?

This wasn’t the only Dracula of 1979, of course: the same year saw John Badham’s version, with Frank Langella and Laurence Olivier. Both are recognisably adaptations of Bram Stoker’s novel, but they have almost nothing in common with each other beyond a few character names and the basics of the plot. Badham’s Dracula is set entirely in England, dispensing with the Transylvanian section of the plot (the two films almost mirror each other in this way), and Langella’s Count is a suave, romantic anti-hero. The American film is a vivid one about passion and desire. Herzog’s film, on the other hand, opens with a series of shots depicting mummified human corpses, establishing from the start that this is to be a much bleaker and more morbid film about the boundaries between life and death.

Romantic is the last word you would choose to describe Kinski’s Dracula: quite apart from the fact he is physically hideous, he seems to exist in a state of existential torment. He is cursed as much as he is a curse, much given to doleful complaints about the terrible loneliness of immortality; Lucy Harker may dream about bats and the film may mention the vampire’s affinity with wolves, but for most of the movie Dracula is associated most closely with rats, which swarm around his various resting places and provide a visual symbol for the Black Death which he propagates wherever he goes. (Animal-lovers may wish to steer clear of behind-the-scenes accounts of the making of this movie, as the rats were apparently very poorly treated indeed.)

Kinski actually manages to find the pathos in this conception of Dracula as a miserable, rodent-like parasite, and he is never entirely unsympathetic at any point in the film – then again, most of the characters manage to retain a degree of sympathy, not least because they are all trapped in such an obviously bleak and horrible world. My researches have not revealed whether Herzog and Kinski’s collaboration on this occasion resulted in one of the director’s various attempts to murder his troublesome star, but it is a eerily powerful performance and easily one of the most striking screen Draculas. Herzog and Murnau’s amendments to the story also produce some interesting effects – Harker is never normally a plum role in Dracula, but Bruno Ganz ends up with some interesting things to do as the film goes on, not least during the twist at the end of the story. Likewise, Lucy is not just a passive, ornamental victim of the vampire’s lust, but a character with real agency and strength; Isabelle Adjani’s performance is as eye-catching as her ethereal beauty. Most of this comes, however, at the expense of Van Helsing, who normally gets all the best lines in any version of Dracula. Here, Van Helsing is a closed-minded, sceptical materialist, played by Walter Ladengast – his contributions to the story are minimal. The same can probably be said for Renfield – Roland Topor isn’t afraid to go way out there with his performance as a giggling madman, but one wonders what the character really adds to this version of the story.

You can tell this isn’t a movie which has been made on the biggest of budgets, and some of the scenes do lack the kind of atmosphere you get in the better Hammer horrors. It must also be said that this is not a film in which the plot moves along like a bat out of hell (or from anywhere else, for that matter). However, the pervasive atmosphere which Herzog generates has considerable power, especially as the film goes on and the scenes of a plague-stricken Wismar acquire a hallucinatory, nightmarish quality. At one point the soundtrack seems to include an excerpt from a Kate Bush album that would not be made until six years after the film’s release, and this does not feel entirely surprising (Herzog and Bush both decided to employ a snatch of the same Georgian folk song, apparently).

As I mentioned, this is not the most lavish Dracula, and it may lack some of the set-piece moments some may be expecting. But the strength and consistency of the film’s vision of the story is considerable, and matched by its execution. It is a bleak and morbid version of the story, entirely bereft of most of the comforting moments and touches found in other retellings of the novel. Nevertheless, Nosferatu the Vampyre is hugely impressive for its atmosphere and for Kinski’s performance; this is definitely one of the best versions of Dracula on film, and a worthy updating of Murnau.

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This is going to sound weird – and, more than likely, it is weird – but I’ve been thinking about films which, whatever their running time may be, are most associated with a single iconic image. Sometimes this isn’t even in the film itself – and sometimes the image is much more famous than the film itself. I imagine most people in western culture are familiar with the image of Marilyn Monroe on the grating in the white dress, or Raquel Welch on the lava flow in not very much rabbit-skin, but I would also go on to venture that many of these people might struggle to name The Seven Year Itch or One Million Years BC.

I am the kind of person with the kind of brain where, once I hear a piece of information like that, it sticks with me. But sometimes the single-picture principle still applies. What’s brought all this on is recently watching Luc Besson’s 1985 film Subway – yes, it’s another Luc Besson review – for the first time. This is a film I’ve been aware of for a long time without ever actually seeing; I vaguely recall its first TV broadcast in the UK about a quarter of a century ago, remember seeing it in various arty video rental shops (remember those?), and so on. And the film is always advertised with a single, striking image: a dyed-blonde, shock-haired Christopher Lambert in a tunnel somewhere, dressed in a tuxedo, casually wielding a flourescent light tube as though it’s a lightsaber. I bet it’s on the actual film poster. Let’s find out:

subway

Well, you see what I mean. I must confess I didn’t expect Isabelle Adjani to be quite so prominently featured, but she is very photogenic, after all. There’s something strikingly odd and atmospheric about that photo of Lambert and his tube, and it perhaps creates a false expectation of what the actual movie’s going to be like – something very visually inventive and intense.

The actual movie opens with a knockabout car chase through the streets of Paris between Fred (Lambert), an enigmatic young man, and some other guys in tuxedos. This concludes with him driving his car down the steps into a metro station and taking refuge there. It transpires that Fred is some sort of loveable pathological safebreaker and has just blown up the vault of a rich man whose party he has been attending. He has nicked a lot of valuable documents in the hope of selling them back for a substantial sum of money.

The situation is somewhat complicated by the fact Fred has developed un thing for the beautiful young wife of his victim, Helena (Adjani), and would quite like to see her again. And so he attempts to romance her, while striking up a relationship with a bunch of other unlikely characters living in the subway system and avoiding the police and various agents of his victim.

The first thing you notice about Subway is that this was clearly the film to be in if you fancied moving out of the Francophone movie business and appearing in mainstream American movies in the mid 80s: quite apart from Lambert, who by this point had already made Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan and was a year away from his signature role in Highlander, and Adjani (less of a crossover star, but still appearing in Ishtar and Diabolique), the film also features substantial appearances by Jean-Hugues Anglade (later to turn up in Killing Zoe) and a young and beefy Jean Reno (Leon, the first Mission Impossible, and the 1998 Godzilla, to name but three). There’s even a semi-acting appearance by Eric Serra, who’s best known as a film composer these days (various other Besson movies and GoldenEye).

Then again, this is a Luc Besson movie, and his films have nearly always had at least one eye on the international mainstream. This is Besson near the beginning of his career, and you can almost sense that this is the work of a guy in his 20s (he was 26 at the time) – the film is vibrant with a restless, unfocused, extravagant energy. While some elements of the plot suggest a homage to French New Wave cinema, the film’s debt to American cinema is almost too obvious to need mentioning – this felt to me to be very much like the kind of low-budget punk-inflected movie coming out of Los Angeles at about the same time, and various aspects of it make it hard to believe that Besson hadn’t spent a few evenings watching and rewatching The Warriors.

The crucial difference, for me, is that films like The Warriors had a very definite sense of what they wanted to be – they were unapologetic genre movies, in short. The Warriors is an action movie, whereas Subway is… well, it’s a bit unclear. There’s a car chase, and someone gets shot at one point, and there are various scenes involving police, but on the other hand there are various light-hearted scenes, and at one point even a musical number… it’s trying to be all sorts of things, and not unsuccessfully, but one gets a sense that the plot and characters are secondary to visuals and imagery and colour.

And it’s not quite as dark or stylish as that photo of Lambert and his tube might lead you to expect. At one point it looks like the film’s about to develop into a quasi-fantasy about a hidden world of unlikely characters living out-of-sight in the underground – a more mundane version of Neverwhere – but it never quite follows through on this, and the most improbable thing you see in the course of the movie is Jean Reno in an explorer’s outfit and pith helmet, playing a full drum-kit on a subway platform (which is admittedly still fairly improbable).

All-in-all I found it a hard film to really come to grips with. If this is, as everyone claims, part of the cinema du look (or possibly cinema du Luc, in this case), then perhaps its not surprising that three decades later that look is a bit less striking. Or perhaps it’s just that I am a sucker for a film with a little bit more substance than this one. It’s a fascinating movie to watch, given how the careers of many people involved have developed, but I don’t think anyone would honestly claim it as a career high.

 

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