Sagrada Reset Part 1 (4 Stars)

Sometimes I have problems rating a film. There's a lot that's positive in "Sagrada Reset Part 1", but it's difficult to follow what's happening. That's not because the plot is complex, it's because the characters are complex. They all have different powers, and whenever a character returns to the story after half an hour's absence I scratch my head and ask myself what his powers are.

The story takes place in a Japanese town called Sakurada where almost everyone has special abilities, i.e. superpowers. They only retain their powers as long as they remain in the town. As soon as they leave, they lose their powers, and they don't get their powers back even if they return.

Suspend disbelief.

Most of the characters in the film are schoolchildren aged 14 to 16.

Haruki is a girl who has the ability to reset time up to three days. Everyone goes back in time, and she doesn't even know that she's done it.

Kei is a boy who has perfect memory. He never forgets anything he's seen or done, not even he smallest details. This means that when Haruki resets time, he's the only one who remembers what happened before the reset, so he's the ideal partner for Haruki.

Tomoki is a boy who can send a voice message to anyone at a scheduled time, whether it's the past, present or future.

Yoka is a girl who can change the shape of anything. She can also make others do her will.

Eri is a girl who can make anyone forget something when she makes eye contact. Usually she makes the other children forget how to use their powers. Kei is the only one who can resist her.

Sasano is an old man who can create portals with a Polaroid camera. Either he uses his pictures himself, or he gives them to others. Anyone who rips a picture goes to the time and place where the picture was taken, but he can only remain for ten minutes.

An unnamed priestess can see the future.

Sakagami is a boy who can copy the special power from one person to another, but only as long as he's touching both of them.

Now you can see why I have trouble remembering everything. And these are only the major characters. There are other children with other abilities. 

There are confusing plots and subplots. I'll just mention the most important one. Kei's girlfriend Soma died two years previously. It was too long ago for a Reset, and Sasano wasn't there to take a photo. So how do they get her back? It's a confusing mixture of the abilities, used in a specific order. I can't even remember what they did, I'd have to watch the film again to figure it out. But the biggest shock is that (unknown to anyone) Soma committed suicide, because she wanted to be rescued after her death. That's a risky plan.

After watching the film I read up on it. Sagrada Reset began as a comic book series. Ah ha! That explains everything. In comics many characters can be included, and it's easy for readers to follow them, especially if they're introduced one at a time. The film is obviously made for people who've read the comics.

I might watch the film again. I'll understand it better next time.

Wakanda Forever (3 Stars)

This is the 30th film in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. It's a big disappointment. It's so mediocre. Maybe my three star rating is too generous. In its favour, the CGI works well, and the images are pleasant, except when Prince Namor is on the screen. (Do they even call him "Prince" in the film?) 

The film wasn't just necessary, it's a mistake. "Black Panther" was a brilliant film, and there should never have been a sequel after the death of the great Chadwick Boseman. "Wakanda Forever" smears dirt over his memory. I just put the film back in my shelf. I doubt I'll ever take it out again.

Success Rate:  + 2.3

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The Escapees (4 Stars)

In one of his most understated films, Jean Rollin trades gothic horror for something more intimate; a drifting, melancholic tale of escape and fragile connection.

The story follows Michelle and Marie, two women who flee a psychiatric institution together and form an immediate, almost instinctive bond. Their journey unfolds less as a conventional narrative and more as a series of encounters, shaped by mood, landscape and the constant tension between freedom and vulnerability.

Central to that journey is Sophie, the pickpocket who helps facilitate their escape and becomes an essential third presence. Sophie brings a harder edge to the film; she understands survival in a way the other two do not, and her pragmatism both sustains and subtly undermines the fragile, almost utopian world they begin to build together.

Equally important is Louise, a commanding figure within the dockside underworld. As a bar owner, she represents a very different kind of power; rooted not in escape, but in control. Where Michelle and Marie drift, Louise is anchored; she navigates the same shadowy spaces with authority and confidence. Her presence broadens the film’s perspective, suggesting that life on the margins is not only about vulnerability, but can also offer its own forms of dominance and self-determination.

Visually, the film is pure Rollin; empty beaches, decaying buildings and quiet, in-between spaces that feel detached from time. The pacing is languid and at times aimless, but that is part of its charm. This is a film that prioritises atmosphere over plot, emotion over structure.

"The Escapees" may frustrate viewers looking for a tight storyline, but as a mood piece it is quietly absorbing; a wistful, dreamlike exploration of freedom, survival and the fleeting bonds formed in the spaces between.

We see Louise on stage singing several times. Here she's accompanied by an unnamed man played by Jean Rollin. Louise is played by the actress Louise Dhour. She appeared in three of Rollin's films, and in each film her character was called Louise, even though they were three different people. There were rumours that she had an affair with Jean Rollin. They denied it, but it didn't stop people whispering.

Louise Dhour died on 27th December 2010, only 12 days after Rollin himself. Was it coincidence, or brought on by grief after the death of her lover? I'll let you draw your own conclusions.

General: My Top 100 Films

Today I updated my top 100 films list for the first time in 18 months. By that, I mean that I updated it on my web site. I have a list on my computer that I update frequently. In the list I'm showing below, I've put the position in brackets that films had in my original list in 2021. It's mostly slight adjustments, but it's still interesting, to me at least. Please leave comments telling me what you think is too high, too low or missing. I'll take all constructive criticisms seriously, but at the end of the day, tastes differ. I'd be overjoyed to see comments with your own top 10, top 20 or any number.

1. (1) Lost Highway (1997)
2. (2) Donnie Darko (2001)
3. (3) Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)
4. (4) Tag (2015) (Japanese)
5. (5) The Matrix (1999)
6. (6) Terminator 2 (1991)
7. (7) Terminator (1984)
8. (8) Spider-Man (2002)
9. (10) Supervixens (1975)
10. (9) The Wall (2012) (German)
11. (–) The Art of Self-Defense (2019)
12. (12) Jurassic Park (1993)
13. (14) Faster Pussycat Kill Kill (1965)
14. (15) Kill Bill (2003-2004)
15. (20) The Life of Pi (2012)
16. (–) Bicentennial Man (1999)
17. (11) Jurassic Park: The Lost World (1997)
18. (21) The World's Fastest Indian (2005)
19. (17) I know what you did last summer (1997)
20. (16) The Last Circus (2010) (Spanish)
21. (19) Curse of the Golden Flower (2006) (Chinese)
22. (24) Inglourious Basterds (2009)
23. (18) I still know what you did last summer (1998)
24. (13) Batman (1966)
25. (23) Spider-Man 2 (2004)
26. (22) House of Flying Daggers (2004) (Chinese)
27. (27) Witching and Bitching (2013) (Spanish)
28. (33) Basic Instinct (1992)
29. (32) 800 Bullets (2002) (Spanish)
30. (28) King Kong (2005)
31. (29) The Truman Show (1998)
32. (25) Downfall (2004) (German)
33. (41) Jackie Brown (1997)
34. (30) Cold Fish (2010) (Japanese)
35. (49) Night Train (2009)
36. (26) Pleasantville (1998)
37. (37) Dark City (1998)
38. (36) Triangle (2009)
39. (31) Mars Attacks (1996)
40. (59) Scream (1996)
41. (35) Django Unchained (2012)
42. (43) The Red Violin (1998)
43. (39) Deadpool (2016)
44. (47) Tommy (1975)
45. (51) Evita (1996)
46. (34) Ed Wood (1994)
47. (40) The Door (2009) (German)
48. (42) Love Exposure (2008) (Japanese)
49. (44) The Ninth Gate (1999)
50. (38) Deadpool 2 (2018)
51. (–) Run Lola Run (1998) (German)
52. (46) Thelma and Louise (1991)
53. (54) Falling Down (1993)
54. (74) Young Frankenstein (1974)
55. (60) Scream 2 (1997)
56. (62) Slumdog Millionaire (2008)
57. (61) Reservoir Dogs (1992)
58. (53) Death Proof (2007)
59. (56) The Raid 2 (2014) (Indonesian)
60. (69) Tragedy Girls (2017)
61. (52) Assault on Precinct 13 (1976)
62. (79) The Walk (2015)
63. (50) Pulp Fiction (1994)
64. (45) Phone Booth (2003)
65. (55) Adaptation (2002)
66. (71) Enter the Dragon (1973) (Chinese)
67. (65) Ip Man (2008) (Chinese)
68. (57) Summer in Orange (2011) (German)
69. (73) The Legend of 1900 (1998)
70. (85) We are the night (2010) (German)
71. (88) The Shining (1980)
72. (83) Monster (2003)
73. (66) Ip Man 2 (2010) (Chinese)
74. (58) Flowers of War (2011)
75. (81) The Green Mile (1999)
76. (97) Iron Rose (1973) (French)
77. (48) Legend of the Fist (2010) (Chinese)
78. (63) The Gift (2000)
79. (–) Mulholland Drive (2001)
80. (–) IT (2017-2019)
81. (77) John Rabe (2009) (German)
82. (68) Lock, stock and two smoking barrels (1998)
83. (67) Snatch (2000)
84. (64) From Dusk Till Dawn (1996)
85. (–) Barbie (2023)
86. (93) Spider-Man 3 (2007)
87. (72) Pink Floyd: The Wall (1982)
88. (70) Gladiator (2000)
89. (78) The Paperboy (1994)
90. (75) The Virgin Psychics (2015) (Japanese)
91. (90) The Mummy (1999)
92. (–) Barb Wire (1996)
93. (98) Kick-Ass (2010)
94. (86) Dark Water (2002) (Japanese)
95. (–) I, Tonya (2017)
96. (–) Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon (2000) (Chinese)
97. (–) Pearl (2023)
98. (–) John Wick 2 (2017)
99. (–) John Wick 3 (2019)
100. (–) River (2023) (Japanese)
     

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There are 13 new films in my list. In case you're interested, these are the 13 films that were knocked out.

(76) The Man who would be King (1975)
(80) Perfume (2006)
(82) Little Nicky (2000)
(84) Gloomy Sunday (1999) (German)
(87) What to do in case of fire (2001) (German)
(89) Azumi (2003-2005) (Japanese)
(91) Wie Feuer und Flamme (2001) (German)
(92) Attack of the 50 Foot Centerfold (1995)
(94) Titanic (1997)
(95) Mad City (1997)
(96) Leon (1994)
(99) Rush Hour (1998)
(100) Bella Martha (2001) (German)

Sigh... all of them still deserve to be in my list, but I don't want to kick anything out.

Bicentennial Man (5 Stars)

Netflix Thursday #47

"Bicentennial Man" is a film that was made ahead of its time. When it was released in 1999 it seemed faintly embarrassing, yet it has aged into something quietly fascinating, commonly being called a cult film. Directed by Chris Columbus and starring Robin Williams, it was initially dismissed as overlong, sentimental and tonally confused; a family film that strained toward philosophical seriousness without quite earning it. But in the age of contemporary AI, its reputation has shifted. What once felt naive now feels oddly prescient.

The film, loosely based on Isaac Asimov's novella "The Bicentennial Man", charts the 200-year life of Andrew, an android who evolves from a household appliance to something approaching a human being. At the time, this arc was framed largely as a Pinocchio-style fable; a machine who wants to become "real". Today, that premise lands differently. The question is no longer abstract. With the rise of machine learning systems and conversational AI, Andrew's journey speaks directly to contemporary anxieties about consciousness, identity and rights.

One reason the film has become a cult object is precisely because of how unfashionable it once was. In 1999, audiences were primed for sleeker, more ironic science fiction; the same year saw "The Matrix" redefine the genre with cyberpunk cool and philosophical edge. By contrast, "Bicentennial Man" is earnest to a fault. It takes its time, embraces melodrama and leans heavily on Williams' gentle, increasingly restrained performance. That earnestness, once a liability, now reads as sincerity. The film is not trying to be clever; it is trying to be humane.

And that is the key to its afterlife. Modern AI discourse is often dominated by fear; job displacement, surveillance, loss of control. "Bicentennial Man" approaches the subject from the opposite direction. It asks not what machines will do to us, but what it would mean for a machine to join us. Andrew's desire is not to surpass humanity but to belong to it; to love, to create, to die. The film's central provocation is quietly radical: humanity is defined not by biology, but by experience, vulnerability and mortality.

There is also something newly poignant in the film's incrementalism. Andrew does not leap into consciousness; he inches toward it over decades, through small acts of creativity and self-modification. In an era when AI progress is rapid and opaque, this slow, legible evolution feels almost comforting. It suggests a continuity between tool and personhood that modern systems, with their black-box complexity, often lack.

The film's flaws have not disappeared, but these very flaws are now considered its strengths. The romance subplot used to divide critics; how could a woman possibly have a romance with a robot? But today there are common news stories of people forming relationships with online chatbots, which contributes to its cult appeal. The film is marked as a sincere attempt to grapple with big ideas within a mainstream framework; something increasingly rare.

Ultimately, "Bicentennial Man" endures because it asks a question that has only become more urgent: if a machine can think, create and feel, what, exactly, is left to distinguish it from us? In 1999, that question felt speculative. In 2026, it feels uncomfortably close.

What was once a misfire now plays like a time capsule from a more optimistic technological imagination; one that believed the endpoint of artificial intelligence might not be domination or disaster, but a quiet, hard-won recognition of shared humanity.

The film has returned to the public eye through being revived by Netflix. For that we can be thankful. The DVD releases from the turn of the century are now difficult to find. On Netflix the film is in HD quality, even though it's never been released on Blu-ray. Discerning fans are clamouring for a Blu-ray or even 4K release.

Success Rate:  - 1

John Wick 3 (5 Stars)

"John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum" pushes the mythology of the series to its most overtly operatic extreme; where "John Wick" hinted at a hidden order and "John Wick: Chapter 2" mapped its structure, the third film tests its limits, asking what happens when a man openly defies it.

The key shift in "Parabellum" is that the mythology is no longer background texture; it becomes the narrative engine itself. The concept of excommunicado, introduced at the end of the previous film, transforms the assassin world into something closer to a totalitarian system. Once John Wick is cast out, every rule, every ritual, every institution we have seen before turns against him. The coins, the markers, the sanctuaries; all are rendered useless. What was once a structured society becomes a mechanism of pursuit.

This escalation brings the governing body, the High Table, into sharper focus. In earlier films it functioned as an abstract authority; here it begins to take on form through emissaries like the Adjudicator. The shift is significant. The mythology moves from suggestion to embodiment, from whispered power to visible enforcement. Yet the High Table remains deliberately opaque; its members are never shown, preserving a sense of distance that keeps it from becoming mundane. It still feels less like a boardroom and more like a pantheon.

One of the film’s most striking developments is its expansion into the past. Wick’s journey to the desert and his encounter with the Elder reframes the mythology in quasi-religious terms. Authority is no longer merely institutional; it is spiritual, almost metaphysical. The idea that allegiance can be sworn through acts of physical sacrifice suggests a belief system rather than a legal framework. This pushes the series further away from crime fiction and closer to myth; the assassin world now resembles a faith with its own rites and absolutions.

At the same time, "Parabellum" complicates the idea of neutrality that was so central to the earlier films. The Continental, once an inviolable sanctuary, becomes a battleground when its manager refuses to bow fully to the High Table’s demands. This is a crucial development. The rules are no longer stable; they can be bent, reinterpreted or outright broken depending on who holds power. The mythology, which once felt rigid and ancient, begins to show cracks.

However, this expansion comes with a certain loss of elegance. In "John Wick: Chapter 2", the pleasure lay in discovering the system; here, the film risks over-articulation. The more the mythology is explained, the less it retains the enigmatic quality that made it compelling. Characters speak more openly about rules, hierarchies and consequences, and the sense of a hidden world gives way to something more explicit, almost bureaucratic in its complexity.

Yet the film compensates by using this very complexity to redefine John Wick himself. If the first film made him a legend and the second bound him to a system, the third positions him as a potential disruptor of that system. His survival is no longer just a matter of skill; it becomes an act of resistance. The mythology, once something that elevated him, now seeks to erase him; and in opposing it, he begins to take on a different kind of mythic status.

The final act underscores this transformation. Alliances shift, loyalties fracture and the supposedly immutable order reveals itself to be contingent. The world of assassins is no longer simply a closed circuit of rules; it is a contested space, where power can be challenged, if not easily overturned.

In the end, "John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum" represents both the peak and the strain of the series’ myth-making. It expands the universe to its widest scope; geographically, philosophically and symbolically. But in doing so, it edges closer to demystification. The balance between suggestion and explanation begins to tilt.

Still, the achievement is undeniable. The trilogy evolves from a minimalist revenge tale into a fully realised mythos, one that blends ritual, violence and hierarchy into a coherent, if increasingly elaborate, world. "Parabellum" may reveal too much, but it also proves that the world of John Wick can sustain that revelation; and perhaps even survive its consequences.

The Continental hotel is an imposing building in the film. In real life the building used for external shots is the Beaver Building, on the corner of Beaver Street and Pearl Street, close to Wall Street. In actual fact there's a restaurant on the ground floor, and the upper floors are used for office space. It's 22 floors high, one of the smallest buildings in the vicinity. The buildings on either side are 37 and 42 floors high, respectively, while the buildings on Wall Street are 60 floors high or more.

Success Rate:  + 2.4

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The Night of the Hunted (5 Stars)

While watching Jean Rollin's films in 4K I'm giving them better ratings. Is it because I appreciate them more in better quality? Or am I simply enjoying them more after multiple viewings. Whatever the reason, I'm giving "Night of the Hunted" a five star rating for the first time. I don't understand why I ever gave it less.

A young man called Robert is driving home at night. He sees a woman yelling for help. He picks her up and offers to drive her home, but she doesn't know her address or even her name. As he soon discovers, it's not just amnesia. Her memories are breaking down. Within 30 minutes she forgets everything that's happened. She doesn't even remember getting into Robert's car. He takes her home with him and they become lovers, but the next morning their romance is forgotten.

The woman has been tracked by two mysterious doctors. They take her to a hospital where dozens of patients are suffering from the same symptoms. At least, they claim it's a hospital. It looks more like a bare apartment building. Anyone who tries to help a patient leave is shot. It's left open until the final scenes whether the doctors are trying to heal the patients or are responsible for their illness.

The narrative unfolds in a deliberately ambiguous way, focusing less on clear explanations and more on atmosphere, emotional disorientation and the terrifying idea of losing one's identity piece by piece. This ambiguity is what makes the film a beautiful masterpiece.

John Wick 2 (5 Stars)

"John Wick: Chapter 2" takes the sleek, stripped-down revenge framework of "John Wick" and expands it into something far more elaborate; not just a sequel, but a deepening of a strange, ritualised underworld that now feels almost mythic in scope.

In the first film, the mythology was tantalising but restrained. We glimpsed a hidden society of assassins governed by codes, currencies and neutral zones; The Continental stood out as a kind of sanctuary, its rules lending the violence a peculiar sense of order. John Wick himself was less a man than a whispered legend; "Baba Yaga" invoked in hushed tones, his past suggested rather than explained.

"Chapter 2" decisively pulls back the curtain. The sequel introduces the idea that this world is not merely a loose network, but a fully institutionalised hierarchy with global reach. The High Table – an unseen governing body – shifts the tone from crime thriller to something closer to dark fantasy; power is abstract, distant and absolute. This is no longer just about gangsters; it is about systems that feel ancient and unbreakable.

The expansion is most effective in its details. The gold coins, already present in the first film, are given greater texture as a kind of all-purpose currency that transcends national borders. Blood oaths, embodied in the "marker", introduce a feudal element; obligation is literal, sealed in blood and enforced with ritual gravity. These touches suggest a society bound less by law than by tradition, as though the assassins operate under a code older than modern civilisation.

Crucially, the film also widens the geographical scope. Rome becomes a stage for this underworld’s operations, with its own Continental branch and its own local customs. This decentralised yet unified structure reinforces the sense that John Wick’s world exists parallel to our own; invisible, but everywhere. The mythology grows not by exposition dumps, but by showing how the same rules manifest in different places.

Yet there is a trade-off. As the mythology expands, John Wick himself becomes slightly less mysterious. In the first film, his legend was defined by absence; here, the film risks over-defining him by embedding him more concretely within the system. His past is no longer just rumour; it becomes contractual, bureaucratic. The danger is that myth turns into lore, and lore into something almost procedural.

That said, the sequel cleverly uses this very expansion to trap its protagonist. By formalising the rules of the assassin world, Chapter 2 turns them into a mechanism of inevitability. Wick is no longer simply avenging a personal loss; he is ensnared in obligations he cannot escape. The climax, set within the mirrored halls of a modern art museum, feels like a visual metaphor for this shift; infinite reflections of a man who can no longer step outside the system that defines him.

In the end, "John Wick: Chapter 2" succeeds not just by raising the stakes, but by redefining them. The violence is still balletic and precise, but it now unfolds within a world that feels governed by mythic rules rather than mere narrative convenience. Where the first film hinted at a hidden order, the sequel reveals it; vast, intricate and ultimately inescapable.

It's a bold move. By expanding its mythology so aggressively, the film risks diluting the elegance of the original’s simplicity. Yet it also lays the foundation for a saga that can sustain itself beyond a single act of revenge. John Wick is no longer just a story; it is a world, and in "Chapter 2", that world finally takes shape.

Success Rate:  + 2.3

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Fascination (5 Stars)

This is Jean Rollin's tenth film, made in 1979. It's yet another vampire masterpiece. The film takes place close to Paris in 1905. A jewel thief called Marc has betrayed the other members of his gang and is on the run across the countryside. He takes a refuge in a mansion occupied by two women, Eva and Elisabeth. They claim to be servants looking after the mansion while the owners are away, but Marc doesn't believe them. Unknown to Marc, the two women are waiting for the arrival of five other women to perform a yearly ritual.

While dancing with Elisabeth, she tells Marc, "At midnight you'll see what seven women can do to one man". There are only five women in this photo, but I'm sure they can handle a man as well. As a matter of fact, even one woman is too much for a man to handle. We see this when Eva kills the four gang members hunting Marc by herself.

Eva is played by the French actress Brigitte Lahaie. Jean Rollin met her when she took part in "Vibrations Sexuelles", a hardcore sex film that he made in 1977 when he was desperate to make money. He recognised her as a talented actress and promised he would give her a part in one of serious films. He hired her a year later for "Grapes of Death" (not yet available in 4K). She went on to appear in another three of Rollin's films, including "Fascination".

Lips of Blood (5 Stars)

This is Jean Rollin's eighth film, made in 1975. It's a beautiful, emotionally moving film. Many of Rollin's fans consider it to be his best film, and I can understand why.

When Frederic was 12 years old he got lost late at night. He found an old castle whose sole inhabitant was a mysterious pale woman. He immediately fell in love with her, as 12-year-olds do. She let him stay the night in his castle, and the next morning she sent him back to his mother. He promised to come back the next day, but he didn't.

Time went by. Frederic forgot the woman. 20 years later he's at a party with his girlfriend, when he sees a photo of the castle being used in a perfume advertisement. Memories come flooding back. He's determined to find the castle again. But there's some sort of conspiracy. He contacts the photographer who took the photo, but she's murdered by a vampire before she can tell him.

When he eventually finds the castle, the woman is still waiting for him. She hasn't changed. She says that she's loved him all these years.

That's an oversimplification of the plot. There are a few shocks on the way. But the atmosphere is still haunting and beautiful.

Jean Rollin has a cameo as a funeral caretaker.

He's killed by four beautiful vampires when he's on the night shift. To be honest, this scene is totally gratuitous. But I can understand Rollin wanting a scene where four scantily clad vampires are on top of him. If it were me I'd insist on at least twenty takes before moving on.

Demoniacs (5 Stars)

This is Jean Rollin's seventh film, made in 1974. He claims it was the first film for which he had a large budget available. This is obvious in the choice of locations, which are larger and more extravagant than in his previous films.

I was recently told, in a different context, that I overthink things. I denied this at first, but I can understand what my friend meant. Applying it to "Demoniacs", overthinking makes it difficult to enjoy the film. It's Rollin's most incomprehensible film so far. So much of it doesn't make sense. Maybe it would make sense if it were explained, but Rollin doesn't explain what happens. It just happens.

It starts with a real world background. A group of wreckers operate on the French coast. They're modern landbound pirates. They use lights and false signals to make ships run aground, where they steal the cargo and kill the survivors. The ship that they wreck in this film doesn't bring them great riches. The only chest that washed ashore contains clothes and a single necklace. But there are two survivors: the women shown above. Rather than killing them immediately, they rape the women first.

This is where the supernatural story begins. The two women haunt the wreckers as ghosts. Or are they really ghosts? In later scenes they're wounded in battle, but they heal from their wounds quickly.

The two women are found by a clown who takes them to a ruined castle to meet a bishop. He tells them that they can only get revenge by freeing a powerful being who's been held in the dungeons for centuries. A vampire? Don't overthink it. After releasing him, he gives them his power for 24 hours, so they can fight and defeat the wreckers.

The wreckers are men, with the exception of their leader Tina. She's cruel and sadistic, demanding that the men who follow her show no mercy on their captives. Do you recognise her? The actress is Joelle Coeur, who played one of the schoolgirls in "Schoolgirl Hitchhikers" a year earlier. This is her usual appearance, when she's not made up to look ten years younger.

Does the plot make sense? Not really. I didn't overthink it. You shouldn't either.

Schoolgirl Hitchhikers (3 Stars)

This is Jean Rollin's sixth film, made in 1973. The title written on the box of the new 4K release is "Girls Without Shame", a literal translation of the original French title, "Jeunes filles impudiques". The title "Schoolgirl Hitchhikers" was given when it was dubbed for American audiences, to make it sound more racy. The film itself contains no hitchhiking, and the girls don't claim to be schoolgirls. The actresses were both in their late twenties when they made the film. The brunette Monica (Joelle Coeur) could just about pass for an older teenager, whereas the blonde Jackie (Gilda Arancio) looks more like a woman in her 30's.

It's a simple plot, a criminal story with erotic elements that borders on farce. Two young women are in the woods camping. They find an abandoned mansion and move in. What they don't know is that it's also being used by a jewel thief, who returns late in the evening. After a night of sex the two girls leave. The thief discovers that his jewels are missing and chases the girls. But it wasn't them.

This unnamed man is the thief. Do you recognise him? It's Jean Rollin himself. He did brief cameos in most of his films, but this is his only film in which he plays an important role. His name is missing from the credits.

Whatever the film is called, it's untypical for Jean Rollin's films and doesn't come up to the standard of his usual work. It's not bad, but there's nothing special about it. If you're a Jean Rollin fan like me you'll want it to complete your collection.

Requiem for a Vampire (4 Stars)

This is Jean Rollin's fourth film, made in 1971. He's on a roll; four films, and they're all about vampires. Admittedly, his type of vampire is unlike any vampires shown in American or British films, but they're still vampires.

As any fan of Jean Rollin will tell you, the cinematography of his films is more important than the plot. He wants to paint luscious scenes. The pace often slows down so that the camera can pan across a gorgeous field, or a sunset. Enjoy the imagery.

You'll find recurring elements in Rollin's films. They almost all have cemeteries and castles. He's obsessed with vampires, clowns and lesbians; I can't say in what order. "Requiem for a vampire" begins with two clowns, Marie and Michelle, taking part in a car chase. They wander into a castle, where we see that they're lesbians. Later in the film they become vampires. The perfect mix for a Rollin film.

As usual, things aren't all explained. When asked why they're dressed as clowns, the girls say they were performing at a party. But they don't explain why they were being chased. Did they rob somebody? It's not important.

Jean Rollin says this is his best film. I disagree, because I find the BDSM scenes where the women are whipped distasteful.

A beautiful girl sitting on a grave. This is the sort of beautiful image that you'll find in Rollin's films. The actress is Marie-Pierre Castel, who has an identical twin sister Catherine who appears some of Rollin's other films. Supposedly, he always wanted them to appear together, but Catherine had to skip this film because she was pregnant.

The Shiver of the Vampires (4½ Stars)

"The Shiver of the Vampires" is Jean Rollin's third film, made in 1971. It opens with a newly married couple, Isabelle and Antoine, travelling through the French countryside on their honeymoon. They intend to spend their honeymoon at the remote castle of Isabelle's cousins, the enigmatic brothers Paul and Frederic, whom she hasn't seen since childhood. For reasons that are left unexplained, they're her only living relatives.

They arrive just too late. They're told that Paul and Frederic died the previous day. This unsettles Isabelle so much that she tells Antoine that she wants to sleep separately on their wedding night. But she isn't completely alone. In the middle of the night a mysterious woman called Isolde enters Isabelle's room and seduces her.

The next day Isabelle remembers nothing about Isolde. Food is served by two young women who say that they were Paul and Frederic's servants. At night the apparent reality of the situation begins to unravel. Paul and Frederic reappear, very much alive, revealing that their "funeral" was part of a secretive rite. They are members of a vampiric cult led by Isolde, who is not merely an associate but a commanding supernatural presence. The brothers attempt to draw Isabelle and Antoine into their world, treating vampirism less as a curse than as a decadent, liberating philosophy.

Antoine reacts with hostility and disbelief, clinging to rational explanations. Isabelle, however, is increasingly mesmerised. The castle becomes a liminal space where ordinary rules dissolve; its rooms are filled with symbolic objects, mirrors, and shadows, while strange music, including the now-famous psychedelic organ score, heightens the sense of dreamlike unreality.

Isolde begins to exert a powerful influence over Isabelle. Unlike traditional depictions of vampires as predatory monsters, these figures present vampirism as an ecstatic release from repression, particularly sexual repression. Isabelle is seduced not only physically but psychologically, drawn into a state where fear and desire merge. She forms a deep, almost trance-like bond with Isolde, whose authority over the cult is absolute.

Antoine, increasingly isolated, tries to rescue his wife. He seeks rational solutions, including consulting anti-vampire lore and attempting to destroy the brothers. However, his efforts are clumsy and ineffective; he is an outsider in a world governed by different rules. His inability to understand what is happening only accelerates Isabelle's transformation.

As the nights pass, Isabelle's allegiance shifts. She becomes less responsive to Antoine and more attuned to Isolde and the brothers, embracing their nocturnal existence. The film presents this transition ambiguously; it is both a loss of identity and a form of awakening. Isabelle is not simply victimised but appears to choose her fate, surrendering to the allure of immortality and erotic freedom.

The climax sees Antoine making a desperate attempt to break the spell. Armed with traditional methods, he confronts the vampires, leading to violent confrontations in the castle. Some of the vampiric figures are destroyed, yet the victory is partial and uncertain. The narrative does not resolve cleanly into good triumphing over evil.

In the final movement, Isabelle is fully absorbed into the vampiric realm. The ending suggests that she has crossed an irreversible threshold; whether this is damnation or liberation remains deliberately unclear. Antoine's efforts to reclaim her fail, and he is left either defeated or irrelevant in a world that has moved beyond him.

Like much of Jean Rollin's work, Shiver of the Vampires resists conventional storytelling. The plot unfolds less as a logical sequence of events and more as a series of hypnotic tableaux. Vampirism here is not merely literal but symbolic, representing desire, transgression and the seductive pull of an alternative existence that rejects societal norms.

The Nude Vampire (4 Stars)

This is Jean Rollin's second film, made in 1970. I need to stress that I'm only going to be numbering his serious films. What I mean is that Rollin wasn't successful in the 1970's. His talent wasn't recognised by film critics until the late 1990's, and the release of his films on DVD in the early 2000's exposed him to a larger audience. To make money, he made about 20 hardcore sex films from 1975 to 1984, using pseudonyms to distinguish them from his serious films. These films have never been officially released on DVD. The lucky few who have seen them say that they're pretty awful. I'll take their word for it and only write about his serious films.

"The Nude Vampire" unfolds as a strange, dreamlike narrative that deliberately blurs the line between reality, delusion and the supernatural.

The story follows Pierre, the son of a wealthy industrialist, who becomes obsessed with a mysterious young woman he glimpses being pursued through the streets of Paris by a bizarre group of cloaked figures wearing animal masks. She appears fragile, almost spectral, and is eventually captured and taken to a secluded mansion that Pierre later discovers belongs to his own father.

Inside the mansion, Pierre uncovers a suicide cult composed of aristocrats and scientists who are convinced that the young woman is a vampire; more specifically, they believe she is part of an ancient, possibly immortal race whose blood holds the key to eternal life. Unlike traditional depictions of vampires, she shows none of the usual traits; no fangs, no overt predatory behaviour, no clear aversion to daylight. Instead, she is silent, passive and almost otherworldly, often dressed in a sheer gown that emphasises her vulnerability rather than any sense of menace. When the cult meets they draw lots to decide who should shoot himself to offer his blood to the vampire.

Pierre, increasingly disturbed by the group's clinical cruelty, develops a deep emotional attachment to her. He comes to see her not as a monster but as a victim; a captive subjected to endless experiments by men who project their own fantasies of immortality onto her. His father, by contrast, is coldly rational. He insists that their work is scientific, that the woman's nature will eventually be proven, and that her sacrifice is justified by the potential rewards.

The central question of whether she is truly a vampire is never resolved in conventional terms. Rollin avoids any definitive confirmation. There are hints that support the society's belief; her apparent agelessness, her enigmatic presence, the suggestion that she does not belong to the ordinary world. Yet there is no concrete evidence. She never displays supernatural powers and never behaves like a predator.

By the film's final act, Pierre rejects his father's world entirely. He rescues the woman and escapes with her, abandoning the rationalist framework that sought to define and exploit her. In doing so, the film shifts away from the question of scientific truth and towards something more poetic and ambiguous.

The ending suggests that the woman may indeed belong to a different realm, but not necessarily in the literal, folkloric sense of a vampire. She is less a creature of horror than a symbol of mystery; something unknowable that resists categorisation. Whether she is really a vampire becomes almost irrelevant. What matters is that the men who sought to define her were driven by obsession and control, while Pierre's response is one of empathy and surrender to the unknown.

In that sense, the film leaves the question open. She may be a vampire, or she may simply be a woman onto whom others have projected their desires and fears; Rollin ensures that both interpretations remain equally possible.

Wicked Memoirs of Eugenie (4 Stars)

Made in 1980, this is the second film that Jess Franco made based on Marquis de Sade's novel "Philosophy in the Bedroom". The first film was "Eugenie", made in 1970. Jess Franco expressed dissatisfaction with the 1970 film, which is ironic, because it's now considered a cult film. On the other hand, "Wicked Memoirs of Eugenie" has been forgotten. With the exception of a heavily censored German version, it's never been released on DVD or Blu-Ray. The only version available to me is a poor quality rip from television.

The film is structured around Eugenie herself, played by the German actress Katja Bienert, who can be rightly considered to have been Franco's muse. She functions as both participant and narrative anchor. Rather than arriving as an innocent to be educated in the manner of "Philosophy in the Bedroom", she's already integrated into the decadent world of Alberto's coastal villa. From the outset, she moves through it with familiarity, suggesting that her memoirs are not about initiation, but about immersion.

Alberto, a wealthy libertine, presides over the villa, while his sister Alba shares his life in a relationship that carries an incestuous charge the film treats as entirely normal. Sultana, their slave, completes the central arrangement, her status clearly defined and repeatedly reinforced. Eugenie circulates within this closed system, interacting with each of them in turn, and often acting as the point through which their relationships are expressed.

The narrative unfolds as a series of encounters that Eugenie either participates in or observes. At times she seems aligned with Alberto, sharing his detached, voyeuristic perspective; at others she mirrors Alba's more active, manipulative role, drawing Sultana or other figures into increasingly elaborate situations. This fluidity is key to the film's structure; Eugenie is not fixed in a single position, but shifts between observer, instigator and participant.

Sultana's role as a slave provides a recurring axis for these interactions. Many of the film's sequences revolve around how Eugenie relates to her; sometimes exercising power alongside Alba, sometimes appearing more ambiguous, as though testing the limits of the system she inhabits. These variations do not lead to change so much as repetition with slight differences, reinforcing the sense of a closed world.

Alba remains the most consistently active presence besides Eugenie, often initiating scenarios that Eugenie then enters or reshapes. Alberto, by contrast, begins largely as a spectator, watching the women, but gradually becomes more directly involved, drawn into the same cycles he once merely observed. Eugenie's position links these shifts together, giving the film its loose continuity.

There is no conventional plot development or resolution. Instead, the film accumulates episodes that revolve around Eugenie's movement through the villa and its inhabitants. By the end, she has not "changed" in any clear sense; rather, the film has revealed the full extent of the environment she inhabits and her ease within it.

In contrast to the 1970 film, which retains at least a trace of de Sade's didactic framework, this later work by Jess Franco uses Eugenie less as a character to be shaped than as a constant around which its repetitions and variations can revolve.

The Rape of the Vampire (3 Stars)

This is Jean Rollin's first film, made in 1968. When it was first released it was met with hostility by cinema-goers. The vampires in the film have almost nothing in common with the vampires shown in American horror films.

"The Rape of the Vampire" begins like an exposé and ends like a dream; what initially appears to be a rational investigation into supposed vampirism gradually reveals itself as something far less easily dismissed.

The first part centres on four young women living in a secluded château under the guidance of an older guardian. When journalists and sceptics arrive, they assume they are dealing with a hoax, or at best a case of shared delusion. The women are pale, withdrawn and oddly ceremonial in their behaviour; they claim to be vampires who have lived for 400 years, yet show none of the expected traits. They do not hunt, they do not display supernatural strength, and they seem almost fragile, as if the slightest disturbance might shatter them.

It would be easy to read them as frauds or victims of manipulation. Rollin encourages this ambiguity by filtering their world through the intrusive, rational gaze of the investigators. The château becomes a stage on which belief and scepticism clash; the women are probed, questioned and ultimately violated, both psychologically and physically.

Yet the film quietly resists the sceptics' interpretation. The more the outsiders attempt to expose the women, the less convincing their explanations become. The women's detachment from ordinary life, their strange unity and their apparent disconnection from time and consequence all suggest that they are not merely pretending. Their vampirism is not expressed through conventional horror imagery, but through atmosphere and persistence; they exist according to a logic that does not align with the human world around them.

The act of violence implied by the title is crucial here. It is framed less as titillation than as an assertion of control, an attempt by the intruders to force the women into a recognisable, human framework. If they can be dominated, the logic goes, they can be explained. But the effect is the opposite. The brutality only deepens the sense that the women belong to another order of being; they may be physically vulnerable, but they are not reducible to the terms imposed on them.

By the time the film drifts into its more overtly surreal second half, the question of whether the women are real vampires has already been answered in everything but explicit statement. They are not frauds, nor are they simply mad. Instead, Rollin presents a form of vampirism stripped of its usual theatrical power; these are creatures defined by frailty, isolation and an almost mournful remove from the living. Their weakness does not negate their nature; it redefines it.

What remains is a haunting inversion of the vampire myth. Rather than predators, these women are survivors of an existence that offers neither release nor fulfilment. Their authenticity lies not in spectacle but in persistence; they endure, quietly and inexplicably, beyond the reach of those who would explain them away.

The Iron Rose (5 Stars)

I watched this film twice today, so I'm reviewing it twice. That's the rules. I can only remember two other films that I've watched twice on the same day, and both were before I started writing my blog. The first was "Downfall"/"Der Untergang", and the second was "Inland Empire".

I'll stick to a few things that I picked up from the excellent commentary by the film critic Tim Lucas.

The cemetery used in the film is the Madeleine Cemetery in Amiens. It's a small town, but it's famous as the burial place of Jules Verne. There's a special memorial to him, with a sculpture that's well known. Jean Rollin was careful not to show Jules Verne's grave in any scenes, because he wanted the cemetery to remain anonymous.

Most of the scenes were filmed at night. The caretaker was bribed with bottles of wine to allow the film crew to spend all night in the cemetery. I hope he didn't lose his job.

The unnamed man in the film was played by Hugues Quester, a moderately successful French actor. He was arrogant and thought the film was below his standards. He looked down on Jean Rollin and hardly spoke with him. He asked for his name to be kept secret, and many film posters called him Pierre Dupont. Ironically, in retrospect "The Iron Rose" is considered his greatest film.

When Jean Rollin died in 2010 an iron rose was placed on the lid of his coffin.

Tim Lucas also went into some detail about the question I asked about whether Karine died at the end of the film or returned to the beach. He's convinced that she survived, but he added some additional thoughts. He suggests that the old woman in the cemetery might be Karine years later, so the sealing of the crypt could be decades later. He also suggests that the beach scenes are Karine celebrating the man's death. It's possible (in Tim's opinion) that the nude scene never happened, it was just a dream she had when the man was locked in the crypt. I personally doubt this interpretation.

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The Iron Rose (5 Stars)

I'm really excited. This week I found out that all of Jean Rollin's films are going to be released as 4K editions. This brings my film collecting full circle. When I bought my first DVD player in 2003, Jean Rollin's films were among the first that I bought. Now, 23 years later, I'm rebuying them all on 4K discs. I ordered 14 of his films last week, and the first eleven have arrived. They're all in beautiful boxes with 80-page booklets, and the discs are packed with special features. The picture quality of "The Iron Rose" was always below average, as a poorly stored film from the 1970's. Now it looks glorious. The film's restoration is obviously a labour of love.

I watched the film twice today. The first time it was the film itself, the second time I watched it with a commentary track by the film critic Tim Lucas. I don't usually listen to commentary tracks from external contributors, I prefer the director or the actors, but in this case Tim has done an excellent job.

Every time I watch the film I ask new questions. This is the most Lynchian of all of Jean Rollin's films. The opening scene on the beach obviously takes place after the events in the film, but Karine seemingly dies in the final scene. That still confuses me, so I asked ChatGPT the question, "Does Karine die at the end of The Iron Rose or return to the beach?" I received a very insightful reply.

---

That final movement in The Iron Rose is one of Jean Rollin's most deliberately unresolved endings; and it's meant to support both of the readings you're suggesting.

1. She dies in the cemetery

The most literal interpretation is:

Karine never leaves the cemetery.

She fully yields to its logic; calm, detached, almost at peace.

The male character collapses into panic, while she assimilates into the world of the dead.

In this reading:

Her "death" is not shown conventionally.

It’s more a spiritual or existential absorption than a physical event.

The cemetery doesn't just trap her; it claims her.

2. She returns to the beach

The alternative, and very compelling, interpretation is:

The beach scene represents a return or continuation after the cemetery.

Karine emerges changed; no longer frightened, but aligned with death.

The rose links the cemetery to the beach, suggesting continuity rather than escape.

Here, she hasn't escaped in any meaningful sense; she's simply carried the cemetery with her.

3. The key idea: transformation, not outcome

What matters isn't whether she "dies" or "leaves", but that:

She accepts the cemetery’s reality.

She becomes emotionally and symbolically one with it.

By contrast:

The man resists, panics, and disintegrates.

He experiences the cemetery as horror.

She experiences it as something closer to belonging.

4. Why Rollin leaves it open

Rollin avoids closure because the film isn’t about plot resolution:

Time is circular or collapsed.

Spaces bleed into each other.

Life and death are not cleanly separated.

So asking "did she die or return?" is almost the wrong question; the film's answer is:

    "those two states are no longer distinct".

Bottom line

Yes, you can read it as Karine dying in the cemetery.

Yes, you can read it as her returning to the beach.

But the strongest reading is:

She undergoes a transformation where death, memory and continuation become the same state.

That's why the ending lingers; it doesn't resolve, it echoes.

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Synecdoche, New York (5 Stars)

"Synecdoche, New York" is one of the most ambitious, disorienting and emotionally punishing films of the 21st century; less a conventional narrative than a sustained immersion into consciousness, memory and decay.

Written and directed by Charlie Kaufman, the film follows theatre director Caden Cotard, played with extraordinary vulnerability by Philip Seymour Hoffman. At first, his problems seem recognisable: a failing marriage, a distant child and a growing catalogue of unexplained illnesses. What begins as a character study soon expands into something far more abstract and unsettling.

After receiving a MacArthur Fellowship, a seemingly unlimited grant, Caden embarks on a theatrical project of total realism. He rents a vast warehouse in New York and constructs a full-scale replica of the city inside it, populating it with actors who play real people, including actors who play the actors themselves. As the project grows across years, then decades, the boundary between representation and reality collapses. Time becomes unstable, identities blur and Caden loses any fixed sense of self.

Kaufman’s central idea, that art is both an attempt to capture life and an admission of its impossibility, unfolds through increasingly recursive layers. The warehouse becomes a physical expression of the mind: obsessive, self-referential and incapable of completion. Each attempt at authenticity pushes Caden further from it. The more detailed the simulation becomes, the less meaningful it feels.

Hoffman anchors the film emotionally. His Caden is not an eccentric visionary but an ordinary man overwhelmed by existence. His physical decline mirrors his inner disintegration, and the film’s emphasis on bodily decay, illness, ageing and fragility, gives it the texture of existential horror. Death is not distant here; it is constant and mundane.

The supporting cast, including Samantha Morton, Michelle Williams and Catherine Keener, reinforces the film’s shifting emotional terrain. Relationships begin, transform and dissolve without resolution. People drift in and out of Caden’s life with dreamlike abruptness; time seems to accelerate beyond comprehension.

Visually, the film moves from muted realism into quiet unreality. Spaces subtly distort, timelines overlap and the warehouse expands into something impossible. Kaufman avoids spectacle; the surreal elements emerge gradually, which makes them more disturbing.

What makes the film so challenging is its refusal of catharsis. There is no clear arc, no resolution and no comforting conclusion. Instead, it confronts the viewer with difficult ideas: that life exceeds understanding, that identity is unstable and that the search for meaning may itself be futile. Yet there is also a kind of tenderness. Even flawed, incomplete attempts at connection, in art or in life, are all that remain.

Over time, the film has come to be regarded as a modern masterpiece, though it remains divisive. Some find it deeply moving, others find it alienating or oppressive. Both responses feel appropriate. Kaufman is not aiming for entertainment; he is attempting to mirror the overwhelming complexity of being alive.

In the end, "Synecdoche, New York" lingers. It unsettles and gradually reshapes how one thinks about time, art and mortality. Few films demand so much; fewer reward that effort so completely.

Success Rate:  - 4.4

The Testament Of Ann Lee (3 Stars)

I saw trailers for this film when I went to the cinema in the last few weeks. It looked good, so I went to see it today, on opening day. I felt confused, not knowing what the director was trying to say. It was only at the end, when the final credits rolled, that I realised it was a true story. I wish I'd known from the start, because I would have got more from it.

Ann Lee is a woman who was born on 29th February 1736 in Manchester, England. She came from a poor family, and she became a child labourer at the age of 10. She felt religious, so she visited different religious groups. Eventually she remained with the Wardley Group, also known as the Shakers. They were a religious group that had split from the Quakers. The leaders preached that Jesus would return as a woman. Ann had visions that revealed to her that she was the new Messiah.

Ann got married and four children. One died in childbirth, the other three died before they reached the age of one. Her visions told her that sexual intercourse is a sin, and even married couples should refrain. The Shakers became celibate.

In 1774 Ann emigrated to America with her followers. In 1784 she died, and the world didn't end.

Despite my low rating, I need to watch the film again. Knowing the background will help me enjoy it more.

The Wandering Swordsman (4 Stars)

"The Wandering Swordsman" is a lively martial arts adventure from the golden age of the Shaw Brothers studio. Directed by Chang Cheh and starring David Chiang, the film blends wandering-hero mythology, fast-paced swordplay and a slightly playful tone that distinguishes it from the director's more solemn works.

David Chiang plays Yu Hsiao, a cheerful but formidable swordsman who roams the countryside helping those in need. When he becomes involved with a group of travelling performers and refugees, he learns that a ruthless warlord is oppressing the local population. Yu's sense of justice draws him into the conflict, and his easy-going personality gradually gives way to fierce determination as the violence escalates.

Unlike many of Chang Cheh's later heroic bloodshed tales, the film begins with a surprisingly light touch. Yu Hsiao is a relaxed and occasionally humorous protagonist; he drinks, jokes and drifts from place to place without much concern for consequences. This carefree attitude gives the early sections a breezy charm, and it makes the eventual confrontations feel more dramatic when the hero's patience finally runs out.

The action sequences are energetic rather than elaborate. The choreography emphasises speed and physicality, with David Chiang's agile performance carrying much of the excitement. While the fights do not reach the operatic intensity of some later Shaw Brothers productions, they remain satisfying and clearly staged.

Visually, the film displays the colourful studio style typical of Shaw Brothers productions of the period. Bright costumes, theatrical sets and bold lighting create a stylised world that feels closer to traditional Chinese storytelling than to realism. The wandering-hero theme also echoes classic wuxia literature, presenting Yu Hsiao as a knight-errant who follows his own moral code rather than any official authority.

Although "The Wandering Swordsman" lacks the tragic weight found in some of Chang Cheh's most famous films, it remains an engaging entry in the wuxia genre. Its combination of humour, wandering adventure and bursts of action makes it an enjoyable showcase for David Chiang's charismatic screen presence. For fans of Shaw Brothers cinema, it offers a pleasant variation on the director's usual themes while still delivering the heroic spirit that defines his work.