Blood Hunger

Edgar G. Ulmer's Detour (1945) wasn't exactly a lost film, but every remaining print was in such bad shape, it might as well have been. Anyone who caught the infrequent screenings on Turner Classic Movies could attest that it looked like 10-miles of rough road, with dirt, splices and a warped soundtrack distracting from what those-in-the-know claimed was an unheralded masterpiece of film noir. Well, thanks to a massive restoration by the Criterion Collection, this piece of poverty row history is finally getting its due.

Hitchhiking cross country to reunite with his fiancé, Tom (Al Roberts) is a talented pianist who life has hit its own rough patch; and things get rougher when the talkative fellow who picks him up keels over on a lonely stretch of road. Fearing the police will blame him, Tom drives off in the man's car and clothes, assuming his identity just long enough to get to California. But the plan is interrupted by Vera (Ann Savage), a femme fatale who's wise to Tom's story and blackmails him in order to take advantage of the dead man's wealthy family.

With little actual history to go by, stories surrounding the production of Detour have been floating around for decades. Rumors said it was shot in days on a shoestring budget and left to die by its parent studio, PRC. But that only enhanced the reputation of what Ulmer was able to accomplish, crafting an odd fever dream within the usually tightly plotted noir genre. That's not to say that the film lives up to its almost legendary reputation; there's clumsiness to the script and claustrophobic monotony to production value that are far from intentional. But, as is so often the case in genre filmmaking, a lack of resources inspires creative ingenuity.

Ulmer, whose Hollywood career began with the unforgettably stylistic Universal horror entry The Black Cat (1934), still hadn't lost his touch. Detour exists in a shadowy netherworld of seedy motels and all-night diners, using dramatic lighting effects to amplify Tom's tragic psyche. Most of the film is made up of first-person narration or lengthy conversations shot against a process-background as Tom and Vera dodge the law. And all that talking would be the kiss of death if it weren’t for Vera herself, a vicious force of nature whose mad-at-the-world attitude is shocking and amusing in equal measure. Quite unlike any other femme fatale in noir history, her demeaning one-liners ("You're making sounds like a husband!") disguise a woman desperate to be loved, but damaged beyond hope of ever achieving it.

Criterion's new 4K restoration is a revelation; very few films have been rescued this close to the brink. To watch the set Blu-ray, one would never believe how much work had been put it. Thankfully, a featurette on the restoration is part of the package of extras, which also include a 2004 documentary on Ulmer himself, a new interview with film scholar Noah Isenberg and new writing on the film.

Blood Hunger: The Films of Jose' Larraz finally puts the spotlight on a director whose work no genre wants to own up to. Part sexploitation, part horror, part aggressive art film, there's a bit of everything going on in the three films collected by Arrow Video's limited edition collector's set. Whirlpool (1970) involves a suspicious pair of swingers who invite a naive aspiring model out to their country home. Vampyres (1974) follows the exploits of a pair of lesbian bloodsuckers who pick up their victims by posing as hitchhikers. And finally, The Coming of Sin (1978) features another dangerous love triangle between a lonely artist, her gypsy houseguest and a sinister horseman.

Larraz's films could quite easily be dismissed as soft-core dreck along the lines of Jess Franco, but there's an artistic consistency to his work that suggests otherwise. A Spanish born director shooting in England (on Whirlpool and Vampyres), his camera captures the country differently than his native contemporaries; there's an autumnal gloominess to every frame that seeps into the characters. Despite the necessary exploitation elements of sex and violence, these films seem in no hurry to get where they're going...which, in itself, makes them stand out from the crowd.

Whirlpool, building its voyeuristic main character out of leftovers from Norman Bates' twisted psychology, is uncomfortable as both a sex film and a thriller, staging long lesbian interludes with a middle-aged actress that are miles away from a traditional turn on. With its stilted, pretentious dialogue and nihilistic tone, its very unappealing nature is what compels the viewer to keep watching. Vampyres doesn't need to make apologies; it's Larraz's universally praised masterpiece of blood-drenched erotica. But as a horror film, it still veers into unusual territory, using the plentiful sex scenes as a distraction, and then delivering a brutal - almost animalistic - approach to the vampire legend, far more transgressive than similar Hammer films of the period. The Coming of Sin takes Larraz' style to its lyrical extreme, intertwining the now familiar romantic power struggles with hints of psychology and the supernatural. That said, it's the blandest film of the bunch, lifting the deviant sexuality of Borowczyk and stuffing the film with soft-core filler.

Although Whirlpool and Sin were previously hard to catch anywhere, Arrow’s set sports all-new 2K transfers so you can ditch whatever bootlegs were in the collection. And the extras are certainly nothing to sneeze at either, with audio commentary on each film, brand-new interviews, featurettes, image gallery and (not provided for review) an 80page book featuring new writing on the films. Larraz is finally getting his due. Here's hoping it's just the beginning.

As a genre, the giallo is already notorious for its lapses in logic, all of which is forgiven as long as the film in question has enough flashy murder sequences and provocative female flesh on display. The Iguana with the Tongue of Fire (1971) certainly provides both of the latter, but pushes the limits of narrative coherence, with enough suspects and clues to fill up a whole series of mystery novels. In fact, director Riccardo Freda's film is so outrageously plotted its often closer to Mel Brooks then Agatha Christie.

When an arrogant diplomat (Anton Diffring) is implicated in the murder of his mistress, the entire household falls under suspicion after more bodies turn up, all accompanied by clues that could point the finger at any one of them. Working the case as a personal favor, former police detective John Norton (Luigi Pistilli) woos the ambassador's daughter (Dagmar Lassander) in an attempt to get some information on the complicated family squabble. Blackmail, extramarital affairs and bobsled tampering all add up to one of the most gonzo gialli of all time!

From its animal-inspired title to the traditional black-gloved killer, The Iguana with the Tongue of Fire puts all the giallo clichés on the table. But the result is more of an entertaining spoof, full of pop zooms and musical stings every time a character reveals their possible secret identity. For fans of the genre, it's great fun, especially seeing Luigi Pistilli - usually typecast as the sweaty degenerate - cast in the role of hero. Set and filmed in Dublin, the change of scenery is a welcome one, with stunning scenery and even a crane shot or two adding some unexpected production value. The finale turns surprisingly brutal, but it's just one more way Freda's film deserves a look from genre fans who thought they'd seen it all.

Arrow Video's special edition Blu-ray presents a terrific new 2K restoration that, while still a bit grainy on the interiors, looks miles better than any previous version out there. Extras include a commentary track, video appreciated, interviews, trailers and collector's booklet with new writing on the film.