Rape of the Vampire

The first feature of legendary French sex/horror director, Jean Rollin, Rape of the Vampire (AKA in French, Le Viol du Vampire, from 1968) infamously started out as a short film, later being expanded to feature length (although still being structured in the final product as two parts, even so far as to having the second part credits midway through the film!).  Feeling almost like a silent product that has stumbled into the sixties, the story has something to do with a group of women, believing that they are creatures of the night, who have been enslaved by a strange old man posing as an effigy.  They are tracked down with attempts made to 'save' them from their apparent psychosis in the first part.  In the second part the mythical vampire queen herself materialises to despatch the old man, reviving the dead where possible, and coming into conflict with a doctor who is searching to cure vampirism.

It's not an especially easy film to 'like', particularly from a conventional perspective, and mainstream audiences will probably have switched off within minutes.  The narrative flow is awkward (although Rollin stated that it made perfect sense to him), and personally I struggle to fully understand of what's going on.  Proving as he did later on that his art sits within a surreal, supernatural realm, the hallmarks of his work take shape here.  The film is probably best approached as one might witness a dream unfolding, something that makes little sense but can at times be captivating in its own right.  Certainly the first part, running approximately half an hour, shows great promise: it is steeped in some incredible gothic imagery, as the girls reside in a dilapidated house in the middle of a winter-stripped forest.  Rollin shows amazing flare for composition, drawing the viewer into a world that they might want to remain enslaved within.  The second part is where I find difficulty, with the story meandering possibly a little too much, but as I say, if one approaches in a certain way there is value to to be acquired.

I have a long history with this film, as with many of Rollin's other classic works.  This began with Redemption introducing us more adventurous fans in the UK market to his work in the 90s via VHS.  Rape of the Vampire, as with several other Rollin works, was foolishly cut by the BBFC at the time (around 41 seconds), an affliction that remained until 2023.  In the early noughties I picked up the stateside Redemption (who had shifted operations overseas, most likely thanks to the BBFC) DVD release which offered a better presentation.  Around 2012 Redemption (alongside Kino) updated their offering with an improved Blu-ray.  This delivered excellent picture quality and a booklet (mostly written by Tim Lucas and suffixed with thoughts from Nigel Wingrove, founder of Redemption Films) - this was the best release by far at this point, containing interviews, a documentary, short films, and other titbits.

Finally (and this must surely be definitive), after Indicator acquired US/UK rights to the Rollin catalogue, both a 4K and Blu-ray upgrade edition appears.  I picked up the 4K edition (limited to 6000, whereas the Blu is limited to  4000).  This has been remastered from the negative and frankly looks incredible, the stark black and white photography (framed quite rightly at 1.66:1) truly showing off its beauty whilst being underpinned by a consistent and finely rendered level of grain (which has not been over-managed at all by Indicator - this is how film should be presented).  Considering the film was produced mostly by amateurs, it's quite astounding what a work of beauty they achieved here.

As always, the audio is French language with English subtitles.  The design of the package is wonderful: a weighty feel, the outer slipcase holds a book and digipack style disc holder, all adorned with carefully selected artwork.  It should also be pointed out that Indicator have finally gotten this one past a marginally more sensible BBFC for 2023; it is now uncut.  The extras gathered is quite something, taking the owner days to trawl through.  As with the others in this series, there is an exquisitely presented book/booklet (it teeters between the two, consisting as it does of 80 pages on high quality paper) with articles and interviews acquired from various sources.  The best of these is an extensive making-of essay by Rollin himself that documents the genesis and shooting of the film, including it's rather sad initial audience reactions (inappropriate as they were, the project still managed to bring in unexpected amounts of money).  The extras of the old Redemption Blu-ray are largely present, including filmed interviews, an extended (several minutes longer on the Indicator) making-of documentary as well as a lovely pre-Rape 16 minute short by Rollin called The Far Countries (AKA Les pays loin), 1965.  This will sound familiar: two lovers-to-be (male and female here, rather than the lesbians of Rollin's later work) are lost in a maze of inhospitable city streets unable to find their way to the centre or back out, everyone they speak for help to using unrecognisable foreign tongue, until they effectively locate refuge and settle with one another.  Even this short is treated with great respect in the Indicator set: remastered in gorgeous 1.66:1 B&W, it contains a commentary from the director (prompted at various points by an interviewer), accompanying stills, and a piece in the book.

The Redemption disc does contain Rollin's very first film (The Yellow Loves, AKA Les amours jaunes) from 1958 which does not appear in the new set (instead there is a reconstruction of one of his lost early shorts, L’Itinéraire souvenir), so I am of course hopeful it will turn up on one of Indicator's other releases.  The other thing that the Redemption has to its benefit is the aforementioned Tim Lucas booklet essay, which may be considered quite invaluable.  On the whole though, the extras of the Indicator set far outweighs anything previously.

Even if this lovingly produced package did not contain the title film - just the extras, design, and book - it would be worth the asking price.  Overall, a flawed (from my point of view) beginning for Jean Rollin punctuated by moments of ethereal beauty, Rape of the Vampire has been bestowed with its most significant home video offering, one which will surely never be bettered.  Now, imagine for a second if major studios treated their catalogue titles like this...