Wednesday, October 4, 2017

lost in france.

Day 4 of that 31 days of horror thing.

Anyone else bored yet?


Seven Women for Satan (AKA Les week-ends maléfiques du Comte Zaroff. 1976).
Dir: Michel Lemoine.
Cast: Michel Lemoine, Nathalie Zeiger, Howard Vernon, Joëlle Coeur, Sophie Grynholc, Robert Icart, Stephanie Lorry, Patricia Mionet, Emmanuel Pluton, Maria Mancini and Nathalie Zeiger.



Please welcome dear readers the studly French businessman Boris Zaroff (writer/director and general show off Lemoine) -  a self made millionaire whose success is all down to hard work and a good dose of old fashioned morals.

Just imagine a sexier (and by default greasier) version of Lord Alan Sugar.

If that were possible.

But unlike Shugsy poor Boris hides a family secret.

You see his dad, the late (as in dead not crap at time keeping) Count Zaroff was a sexually corrupt mentalist who liked nothing better than to hunt unfortunate ladies around his vast estate before torturing them in his deadly dungeon of, um, death upon capture.

And if that wasn't enough the family butler Karl (Jess Franco regular and human rodent, the late great Vernon) made a blood pact with the Count on his deathbed to teach young Boris about the pleasures and pain of 'the flesh'.

Saucy.

Well it would be if Boris wasn't such a prude.


"Oh no! I have a woman's period!"


You have to feel for poor Karl, spending his days continuously inviting large breasted burds to the house in the hope that his master will stick something in them.

By this point you can tell he wouldn't mind if it was his cock, a knife or a hamster.

But Boris just can't get the hang of it, sitting as he does in a dribbly, hypnotic state at the first sign of a decent pair of bristols.

All this embarrassing sexual failure is about to change tho' when Boris - whilst out for one of his early morning drives - picks up Stephanie (Mancini, probably not the one that was one of Cardinal Mazarin nieces* or the type of cigar), a young, voluptuous hitch-hiker and invites her back to his castle for an evening of champagne fueled sexiness and a sausage roll or two.

As the booze flows the sight of the sausage grease glistening on Stephanie's chin stirs something in Boris and the pair retire to the bedroom for some quality Eurocentric sexiness.

Waking the next morning and stuck for conversation (as well as being stuck to the sheets) Boris offers to escort his new beau around the castles grounds.

Aw what a sweetheart.

Well he would be if halfway round the cabbage patch he didn't try to strangle Stephanie then feebly attempt to convince her that she had a wasp on her neck.


A bird in the bush yesterday.

Panicking that he may have made a wee faux pas Boris decides to break the uncomfortable atmosphere by punching his new love in the face, pinning her down an attempting for force feed her dirt.

Which as you can probably guess doesn't impress Stephanie too much, so she decides it'd probably be best to leave.


Pavement in mah mooth!


Boris, rightly worried that he's messed up his one chance of true love gives chase in order to apologise but Stephanie, having the legs of a gazelle is too quick for him so Boris (with a confidence that only French men have when seducing ladies) decides to catch her up by using his car.

By catch her up I really mean run her down like a dog and hide her body in the boot.

As you do.

Karl, after standing in the shadows and witnessing the whole sorry event can't believe his eyes.

After years of trying to get Boris to follow the family traditions he's overjoyed to see his hard work finally pay off.


Your mum's party piece.

Cue ninety minutes of bonkers Boris picking up busty babes, shagging, chasing then torturing them in a variety of sleazily eurotrash ways.

And if you think that's not enough to entertain you there's also a heart breaking love story between batty Boris and a sexy lady ghost.

What's not to love?

Runner up of the Gerry McCann lookalikey
competition 2008.


Orson Welles wannabe Michel Lemoine's naively heartfelt yet still intellectually challenging discourse on humanities eternal struggle to reconcile the wants of the family with the needs of the individual is quite possibly one of the best movies with the words seven, Satan and women in the title ever committed to celluloid.

Lost for decades after the French authorities (who were probably too busy burning British beef, sinking Greenpeace boats and worshiping at the altar of Jerry Lewis at the time to truly appreciate it) banned the film for being 'too bouncy', Seven Women for Satan has never received the praise or cult standing it truly deserves and is only available now thanks to Lemoine himself having a not too knackered copy lying about in his cupboard just waiting for someone to have the vision to release the thing onto an unsuspecting public.

Which means we can finally forgive Mondo Macabro from punting the terrifyingly bad Queen of Black Magic onto us a few years back.

With it's deceptively linear storytelling, Lemoine's film comes across as a kind of junior Jess Franco aimed at the under 12's (my wee boy Cassidy will testify to that), especially the one's who like their victims a wee bit more on the curvy (and not to say massively bushed) side.

Any of your kids got a party coming up soon because that's the only excuse you need to get this.

And trust me, little Jimmy or Jennifer's friends will love it too.








* For those of you that don't know, Anna Maria (Marie) Mancini (28 August 1639 – 8 May 1715) was the third of the five Mancini sisters; nieces to Cardinal Jeff Mazarin who were brought to France in order to be married off to some rich blokes.

Along with two of their female Martinozzi cousins, the Mancini sisters formed a proto-riot girl group and played a number of low key gigs at the court of King Louis XIV of France under the name "The Mazarinettes".

And they say this blog isn't educational.



No comments: