Mother Joan Of The Angels (1961)

"Maybe there are no demons. It's only a lack of angels."

France, in the 17^th century, witnessed one of the worst atrocities perpetrated by humankind. A popular and openly libertine priest, Father Urbain Grandier of Loudun, known for his philandering ways, was accused of witchcraft and commerce with the Devil. A group of Ursuline nuns, led by the Mother Superior, Jeanne of the Angels, claimed to have been possessed by demons, owing to being seduced and corrupted by Grandier, who was ultimately convicted, tortured and burned alive at the stake. Legend has it that the whole incident was purportedly an organized witch-hunt, to oust the unorthodox priest, with Mother Jeanne's personal grudge against Grandier and an irrefutable evidence of possession, providing a strong advantage.

This story has been the subject of various literary works and plays, also adapted by English filmmaker Ken Russell in his controversial masterpiece, "The Devils" (1971). Polish filmmaker Jerzy Kawalerowicz's "Mother Joan Of The Angels" (1961), although released ten years earlier, is somewhat of a quasi-sequel to Russell's film. Albeit with character names slightly altered, Kawalerowicz's film is loosely based on events following Grandier's execution.

The nuns at the notorious convent are still supposedly under the influence of the demons, exhibiting hysterical traits, and spitting blasphemous ramblings. With exorcisms already in progress, although with little success, another priest, a specialist, Father Józef Suryn (Mieczyslaw Voit) is called upon to take up the challenging task. Following interactions with the curious local folk, including patrons of a nearby inn, the nuns, and more importantly, a startling face-off with Mother Joan (Lucyna Winnicka), Father Suryn finds himself grappling with his own faith, conflicted by the questionable veracity of Mother Joan's claims, and tormented by his own undeniable attraction to Mother Joan.

Despite directly following the events in Russell's film, "Mother Joan Of The Angels" is a far subtler version in contrast to "The Devils". While the brazen, scandalous depiction of the madness and hysteria of Russell's film is missing here, Kawalerowicz's fairly restrained approach renders a darker and more meditative tone to the proceedings, and what results is a film with a distinctively bleak, tense atmosphere, and aptly so. It is akin to an eerie calm following a deadly storm, with its desolate surroundings and the burnt remains of a carnage serving as horrific reminders of a black chapter in the history of the town; its baffled inhabitants haunted by the ghosts of a terrible episode, still questioning the truth about what really happened.

Without being too unabashed about it, Kawalerowicz manages to shrewdly attack and expose the hypocrisy of organized religion with masterful writing of scenes, comprising of philosophical musings, riveting confrontations and intelligently composed, symbolically heavy imagery. Meticulously in control, and not swaying towards preachiness, Kawalerowicz offers plenty to chew on about the tenets of orthodox religious practices.

Having very human, amorous feelings of desire and carnal needs is a sin, and a work of the devil, they say. So is it that, in a way, God created the Devil, for apparently it is His teachings that direct followers to repress their natural desires? What sort of a religion asks a human to stop being human? Some individuals devoting themselves to serve God are disallowed from having simple human, sensual feelings, and if they do, they are said to be possessed by an evil force!

And what about the unspeakable evil unleashed upon the priest who was burned, by these servants of God? A close look at the circumstances leading to the Loudun possessions do reveal that the priest was burned at the stake as a result of insane jealousy of one woman, an evil that was born out of repressed, unrequited desire, perhaps.

One of the film's highlights is a powerful conversation between Father Suryn and a Rabbi, also played by Mieczyslaw Voit, symbolically incorporating the theme of duality, perhaps hinting at the ambivalence of religious teachings and at the same time conveying that essentially all religion is the same and yet at conflict within or with each other. A near delirious Suryn addressing himself in the mirror, believing to have been possessed, also hints at the two-faced nature of man-made religion. It is interesting that the first frame of the film shows Father Suryn lying face down on the ground and filmed in an angle that makes his profile resemble an inverted cross.

With the theme of demonic possessions and exorcism, the horror quotient is not far behind and the sequences of the ritual are terrifying to say the least. But the first meeting between Mother Joan and Father Suryn almost rivals it in that department and ends with a chilling note while still retaining the ambiguity surrounding the existence of a supernatural force.

The performances are superlative. Mieczyslaw Voit portrays his crisis of faith and self-doubt with an earnestness that rivals Gunnar Björnstrand's performance in Bergman's masterpiece, "Winter Light" (1963). Lucyna Winnicka embodies Mother Joan with an impeccably versatile performance, although for someone who has seen Vanessa Redgrave's mind-blowing freaky hunch-back act in "The Devils", this reviewer finds himself preferring that by a significant margin.

A recurring motif in the film is of the ringing church bells, for those who are lost on their journeys. Beyond the literal purpose of the bell is some potent symbolism that comes alive in the very final shot of the film, with the close-up of the ringing bell against the sound of Mother Joan and spurned Sister Malgorzata (Anna Ciepielewska) sobbing together. This haunting audiovisual juxtaposition speaks volumes of how these poor souls feel lost in their respective emotional journeys and misfortunes, brought about by the beliefs they embraced and eventually imposed upon them in the ruthless world of organized religion in a male-dominated, Godless universe.

Score: 9/10

Kwaidan (1964)

A revisit of Masaki Kobayashi's masterpiece of atmospheric horror, "Kwaidan" (1964), an epic collection of four spine-chilling tales of the supernatural, effortlessly enthralled yet again, with its majestic flourish, this time in a brand new, fully restored, uncut Criterion transfer, the spectacular cinematography with its gorgeous colours enhanced, like you've never seen. 

All four stories now appear in their full, unabridged detail, previously unavailable even in the earlier Criterion edition. Of course, the cuts were in no way hampering the meaning or the flow of the stories, but what is the point if a film is not enjoyed in its complete form, in its original, intended glory?

What we get with the new release, is the complete 183 minutes version with a mesmerizing image transfer that will make your jaw drop. The richness of the beautiful colours is significantly highlighted in this stunning new transfer. The film's biggest asset is its chilling, slow-burning, otherworldly atmosphere, the likes of which are rarely matched, and this new edition with its sharper, fuller look, accentuates it like never before. 

Kobayashi takes us right into the realm of the spirits with a dense, enchanting environment replete with a bravura sound design and a dissonant score by the great Tôru Takemitsu, creating an unsettling, hypnotic atmosphere. The set design is magnificent; words are simply insufficient to describe how great the achieved look really is!

The supernatural realm comes frighteningly alive with Kobayashi's extraordinary vision. There are effects of the kind that would shame any modern horror. Forget all the mindless gore, fake CGI and those annoying, cliched jump scares of today; this is true horror that makes your hair stand on end, simply by placing you in spirit (pun not intended) in the ghostly otherworld created by the talent on board.

In order to enjoy a film like "Kwaidan", you really have to immerse yourself in the universe created by Kobayashi. Of course, he does more than half the job quite effortlessly, for once you witness those magnetic frames, you can't help but experience the mystical pull and be swept away, far within! With a strong command on storytelling already established with his prior masterworks like "Harakiri" (1962) and "The Human Condition" (1959-1961) films, the viewer cannot help but submit to Kobayashi's narrative prowess and watch the haunting poetry in motion unfold.

All of the tales are brilliant of course, but the one that stands tall is still "Hoichi the Earless" an old folk tale, often recreated in Japanese theatre as well. Akira Kurosawa regular, Takashi Shimura stars in this segment in an important role. There's a distinct tragic air to this ancient lore; a dirge-like quality that has to be seen and felt to be believed. The assembly of ghosts in a manor listening to the recital of a tragic tale of a lost battle is one of the greatest sequences ever seen in cinema, accomplishing the unique feat of being hair-raising and sorrowful at the same time!

"The Black Hair" tells the story of a wronged woman, whose husband, a samurai abandons her owing to poverty and returns many years later, full of regret, only to make a horrible discovery. The design of desolate ruins, and especially the makeup effects in this segment are nothing short of brilliant. It is unbelievable how authentic they are for the time the film was made.

"The Woman in the Snow", starring one of Japan's most famous stars, Tatsuya Nakadai, tells the tale of a ghostly woman who asks for a solemn oath from a young woodcutter in exchange for sparing his life. The woodcutter manages to keep the oath, except much later in his life. The consequences of breaking a promise are revealed in a terrifying twist. The use of colours in this segment is exemplary. Various vivid shades of blue and red are used to a striking effect. Special mention must be made of the colouring of the sky; the way it changes across times, and that nightmarish design of a giant eye looking down upon the earth is goose-bumpy as hell!

The final tale, "In a Cup of Tea" is the shortest and the most surrealistic of them all. It all begins when a middle-aged samurai begins to see the reflection of an unknown younger man in his cup of tea. The man in the reflection eventually shows up, causing havoc with the samurai's mental state.

This story ends with a fantastic meta twist, while maintaining in an initial disclaimer that it was an old folklore passed down across generations, but one that did not have a concrete ending! A clever little conclusion is provided here in the form of an epilogue of sorts, of course, and it is the kind of finale that will make you cheer in sheer admiration. 

"Kwaidan" is an essential classic of Japanese cinema. If you wish to witness a filmmaking marvel, grab it now!

Score: 10/10

Anguish (1987)

"All the eyes of the city will be ours!"

Now this one came out of nowhere and managed to sink its claws firmly into the psyche, somewhat reflecting the occurrences in its bizarre story. Spanish filmmaker Bigas Luna taps some of the classic horror essentials in a tribute of sorts and demonstrates the true power of cinema in a manner that is effective enough to get under your skin.

It is quite difficult to outline the plot synopsis of "Anguish" (1987) without spoiling some of the fun, but as an entry point in order to pique the interest of the viewer/reader, it is sufficient to say that what we are dealing with are at least two parallel stories, occurring in two different universes. One of the major narrative strands deals with a psychotic old mother, Ms. Pressman, the fabulously over the top Zelda Rubinstein, who sends her only son John (Michael Lerner), an optometrist, out to murder people via hypnosis and mind control, so that he can gouge their eyes out and bring them home to add to her eye-collection!

In a separate narrative, a disturbingly violent film playing in the theater begins to have an effect on its audiences, with many of them showing visible signs of discomfort and anxiety. In particular, a teenage girl in the audience suspects something grossly wrong as she begins to feel giddy and senses a sinister, murdering presence lurking within the theater. Incidentally, the film playing on screen also depicts a murderous psychopath storming a movie theater....

Bigas Luna bases his film on a gimmick that thankfully doesn't come off as forced or cheap and justifies its presence in the context of his story. The result is a cracker of a film with intertwined tales, intelligent juxtapositions and narrative ideas that are wholly original, despite stylistic borrowings from Italian horror maestros Dario Argento (in the visuals, lighting effects, atmosphere) and Lucio Fulci (in the gore department), albeit with a lot of polish, enhanced production values and crisp photography, that saves "Anguish" from the B-movie tackiness.

The segment involving mother Pressman and her son John, in particular boasts of some of the finest hypnotic imagery and the most imaginative sound design ever; something that David Lynch would surely be proud of. In a particularly disorienting scene of brainwashing, there are some trippy visuals and sonic effects that literally mess with your head and throw you in a trance. The Pressmans' home decor itself renders a surrealistic touch, what with its collection of strange artefacts, small birds and animals including metaphorical snails the mother uses to describe her son ("Hiding, happy..") in a mantra in one of her procedures. The insanity, the dominating mother, the weirdo son and the birds, all combine to form a nice little Hitchcock homage as well.

The setting and premise of the other narrative thread of the movie theater does bring to mind Lamberto Bava's horror classic "Demons" (1985), but Luna's film definitely trumps it in almost every department by a huge margin, if not the gore department. That isn't to discredit the gore in Luna's film; it is very much there in adequate doses, and some of the sequences are downright quease-inducing!

The references are not limited to other cinematic works but to cinema itself, as a medium that is capable of enslaving the audiences who are willing to submit themselves to its immersive power. Cinema has the ability to transport the viewer to another time and place. 

An involving film makes the viewer a part of the narrative, and with "Anguish", Luna takes this idea several steps further and makes it literal. Boundaries are crossed, and mediums collapse upon each other, rendering the distinction invisible. The choice of eyes as Ms Pressman's collectibles and the quote above are not random. Eyes is the primary means of perception and with Ms Pressman owning the eyes, the film in Luna's film and Luna's film itself owns its respective audiences!

John Carpenter pulled off the idea of crossing the barrier between the dimensions of fiction and reality really well in his "In the Mouth of Madness" (1994). In that film, the power of written fiction has an effect on its fans and they go insane. Luna's film came seven years before Carpenter's and, albeit not explicitly, Luna dabbles with a similar idea, with a very inventive film-within-film-within-film trope that works brilliantly. Luna also juggles multiple narrative threads quite skilfully as they meld or cross paths in some meticulous editing choices, often throwing the viewer off guard by almost obfuscating the line between distinct narratives and in this case, even between celluloid and actuality!

Michael Lerner and Zelda Rubinstein add to the delight of the film with their outstanding performances, mixing deliciously creepy and darkly hilarious together, acts that they clearly seem to be enjoying, while the teen girls in the theater and other cast members somehow disappoint with their half-baked acts and stilted mannerisms and line delivery.

The acting in the theater segment doesn't become so much an eyesore however, thanks to Luna's handling of the material that rises above the problem areas. He keeps it all considerably tense by constantly playing with the viewers' minds and expectations with disconcerting imagery, remarkable sound effects and startling plot shifts, eventually culminating in an unpredictable and chilling finale that aptly reflects the old idiom, "It's not over, 'til it's over", and compels you to stick around till the final credit roll.


Score: 8/10