Sexuality has been a part of art
since its beginning. In fact, in many ways sex is synonymous with art itself.
From the very earliest writings of King Solomon to the celebration of the human
figure by Renaissance painters such as Leonardo Da Vinci and Jacques
Louis-David, eroticism has permeated creativity. And, from the banned writings
of the Marquis de Sade to the very latest polarizing film Blue is the Warmest Color (La vie de Adéle) [2013], it has
engendered controversy.
De Sade isn’t the only artist to
have been imprisoned for ‘obscenity’. Author Oscar Wilde, comedian Lenny Bruce,
and filmmaker Ruggero Deodato are just a few other examples. Much more common
is censorship, whether in the form of imposed ratings, limited release, forced
cuts, or even the wholesale banning of works á la the UK’s Video Recordings Act
of 1984 – a bill that labeled many films as video
nasties.
Sometimes it is the depiction of
graphic violence that incurs censorship, but by and large it is the free and
frank portrayal of human sexuality that brings the hammer down. Sex is
undeniably the most profitable and yet also the most controversial subject in
art, media, and education. We live in a peculiar, prudish age where graphic violence
and the taking of life is considered appropriate for general audiences aged 13
and above, while the very nature of humanity that is responsible for the
creation of life is labeled inappropriate and NC-17: No One Under 17 Admitted.
Why is the ugly okay and the beautiful obscene?
Obviously this is a far-reaching topic
that has been the focal point of endless discourse, argued and pontificated over
and over again by doctors, professors, authors, filmmakers, musicians,
ministers, politicians, teenagers, and generally everyone. There is not much
new to be said, really. But this author and film fan would like to relay his
own newfound outlook to all of you, my dear audience, if only to make it clear
in my own mind and to achieve some degree of satisfaction in the act of sharing
it with someone, anyone at all.
I wish to examine sexuality in cinema by
taking a look at a director whose body of work has encompassed nearly every
perspective possible on the subject: Jess Franco.
Jesús Franco Manera, publically known as
Jess Franco, was born in Madríd, Spain on May 12, 1930. He died this year on
April 2, 2013. In his eighty-two years, he directed nearly two hundred films.
Most of these, if not all, deal with the themes of sexuality as it relates to
every sort of area in life. Franco marries sex with violence, horror,
obsession, politics, history, romance, crime, spirituality, and a variety of
different cultures – from contemporary Europe, to Istanbul (a seeming favorite
of his), to South America, to the islands of the Caribbean.
His films run the gamut of sexual
expression. At times sensual (Venus in
Furs [1969]) and surreal (Vampyros
Lesbos [1971]), and at others violent (99
Women [1969]) and deviant (Eugenie de
Sade [1974]).
Many critics have labeled Franco a hack,
describing his pictures as sleazy, trashy exploitation. Yet many also praise
the way he managed to frequently turn low grade grindhouse fair into
psycho-surreal arthouse erotica.
With such an extensive catalogue of
films to his credit, Jess Franco must at least be considered the master of
prolific output. During a career that spanned half a century, he would
routinely complete three to four films per year, at times six to seven during
his high period of the late-1960’s to early-1970’s.
Naturally, such a vast filmography
yields movies of widely varying quality. One has to wonder, when viewing such
treasures as Eugenie… Philosophy in the
Boudoir (1969), what could Franco have produced given ample time and budget
to really focus on a picture? Even so, each film, good or bad, deals with the
enigma of sexuality. Perhaps wrapped up in the inexplicable draw of these
forbidden cinematic fruits is an insight to the need for sensuality in film,
and even in art itself?
When one hears about Jess Franco,
inevitably two films always get mentioned: Venus
in Furs and Vampyros Lesbos. Each
stars a muse of the director’s. In Venus
in Furs, she is the seductive Maria Rohm; and in Vampyros Lesbos, the charismatic and gorgeous Soledad Miranda. Both
turn in gripping and intensely vulnerable performances for their respective
films. But their acting talent is clearly not the focus. Instead, it is their
presence.
It is no secret that Franco is a
dominantly visual storyteller. Everything the audience needs to know is held in
the way he shoots these beautiful ladies. The camera follows their movements;
almost as graceful as the actresses themselves. The close zooms on their faces
and slow pans across their elegantly clothed figures are almost impossibly
erotic, more so even than the abundant nudity so often on display elsewhere in
the films.
While it may seem obvious, so many
directors tend to forget that cinema is a visual medium. They tell their
stories with dialogue and exposition, paying little attention to shot
composition and color placement. Not so with Jess Franco. He fills his frames
corner-to-corner with lush images and eye-popping colors. Every tiny bit
appears deliberately designed to stimulate, titillate, and enthrall.
Such visual audacity is the key to his successfulness
with surreal eroticism. Another is the comparative restraint he demonstrates in
his best pictures. Not showing too much is the name of the game in truly
effective erotica, and it is when he is teasing us with fleeting glimpses and
drenching set pieces with moody atmosphere that Franco is at his brilliant
best.
This is made even more apparent when
such restraint is absent, as in his harsher films like Women Behind Bars (1975) and Sadomania
(1981), where the content includes sadism, extreme deviancy, and nearly
hardcore moments. Even these pictures, though distasteful to some, have their
place as Franco explores every vestige and nature of sexuality.
In Vampyros
Lesbos, as well as other movies like Count
Dracula (1970) and Succubus (1967),
he constructs our view of eroticism through the lens of horror. This may be a
particularly apt setting because it speaks directly to that singular symptom of
Western society: the fear of sex.
It is an undeniable truth that we suffer
from a sort of cultural brand of erotophobia. The evidence for this is
everywhere! Schools use the threat of venereal disease to encourage abstinence,
while churches unabashedly employ the fear of God and damnation to hell in
order to frighten youth into submission. The State sends a contradicting (but
no less destructive) message by funding abortion clinics while forcing
employers to provide health care that covers contraception. Sexuality in our
society is muddled and confusing at best, dangerous and evil at worst.
These attitudes, and others, are
reflected, satirized, and exploited unashamedly in Franco’s films. Men are
often devious fiends with the goal of plundering a young starlet’s virtue,
where a woman may be a seductress, laying traps for the protagonist with all of
her wiles and sensual cunning.
Yet, while in life the pitfalls of sex
are pressed on us in fear, in these pictures the darker side of mischief is
incredibly alluring. The danger is
erotic. Quite often, the downfall of Franco’s characters is not due to
their sexuality, or even to their all-consuming obsessions, but to the
inability of society to be reconciled with their existence.
Can we reconcile our own sexuality with
the freedom and beauty of the world we live in? Or will society – with its
religion, politics, repression, and fear – forever keep us from embracing the
joy of this God-given gift?
What would such freedom look like?
Certainly not the freedom of the Summer of Love that produced hippie culture
and little else. And hopefully not the shameless objectification resultant of
Victorian England, nor the repression of puritanical thought.
Hopefully, it will be a frank and honest
freedom. And a respectful and responsible one as well. It may seem far off, but
thankfully until that day comes, we have Mr. Jess Franco to explore it for us!
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