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by Gregory S. Burkart Senior Staff Writer
After my glowing review of SATAN'S BLOOD, you might be thinking, "What's up with this guy and satanic sex cinema?" Who knows, maybe I'm just in the mood lately - what with the calendar date 06/06/06 rapidly approaching (although many scholars now believe that this number comes from an erroneous translation of Revelations, and the correct number is actually 6-1-6, while others believe the whole thing is just a load of hoo-hah). Maybe it's just because these movies are so fucking cool. At their best, they're transgressive, outlaw entertainment, designed to make you uncomfortable, yet entice and thrill you at the same time. At their worst, they're still guaranteed to offend puritan types, who would probably flagellate themselves severely just for glancing at the promotional art.
One of the best examples of intentionally anarchistic, sacred-cow-roasting sinister cinema has been thoroughly hidden from public view since the early '70s: Joel Seria's scandalous DON'T DELIVER US FROM EVIL, which met with scorn in its native France before enjoying a brief successful run as an exploitation title in England, then slipped off the cinema map altogether. No longer, thanks to the industrious imps at Mondo Macabro, who have rescued this groundbreaking and amazing relic from limbo and restored it to its rightful place in film history.
The simple but eloquent tale begins in a convent/boarding school, where cute adolescent schoolgirls Anne (Jeanne Goupil) and Lore (Catherine Wagener) are breathlessly reading "Maldorer" by Compte de Lautreamont beneath the sheets of their bunk and watching one of the nuns disrobe behind a curtain. Anne, the dark-haired dominant half of the pair, has pledged her life to Satan, and with naïve blonde waif Lore as her devoted sidekick, declares her intent to honor the dark master and defy the laws of God by… well, by doing very naughty things. While Anne's parents are away on holiday, the girls decide to set their plan to action.
At first, they initiate their satanic strategy through simple acts of mischief: after spying a senior nun stealing a kiss from one of the novitiates, Anne works up some crocodile tears and reports the act in a bogus confession to the school's lecherous priest, whose fantasies are inflamed by her story. Later, their diabolical scheme takes a more deliberately wicked turn, as Anne "offers" Lore to a local hayseed for sex and takes her own sweet time rescuing her from his advances, then sets about poisoning and strangling the pet birds kept by her family's slow-witted gardener Leon (Michel Robin), just to upset him. This act in particular is so cruel (and graphically depicted, though the filmmakers insist the little birdies were only given a light anesthetic) that even Anne's black little heart feels a stab of guilt, prompting her to run sobbing to a chapel… not that it stops her from doing more evil, of course.
Playing perfectly into the girl's diabolical scheme is the discovery of an abandoned villa, which they convert into a blasphemous altar using items from the convent sacristy. Recruiting the hapless Leon with more sexual taunting, they make him carry a cross in a twisted version of the Passion Play, then dress him in priestly vestments and act out a kind of inverted mass - using their own blood as the communion sacrament - in which they formally declare their allegiance to Lucifer. The ceremony culminates with the girls, dressed in ceremonial garb (which includes flimsy see-through nighties), tossing dozens of stolen communion wafers into a lake.
Needless to say, their scheme eventually goes too far, resulting in an unintended murder, after which their confidence quickly unravels. As the authorities begin to close in, they turn to the words of Baudelaire for inspiration, leading to a spectacular and poetic climax with a shocking performance at the school talent show. Seria claims to have taken his inspiration from the case of New Zealand's notorious teen murderesses Pauline Parker and Juliet Hulme - also the basis for Peter Jackson's celebrated 1994 film HEAVENLY CREATURES. Seria riffs fairly loosely on that theme here, discarding the facts of the case altogether and instead focusing on the twisty conundrum of seemingly innocent young girls gone bad, in ways that eclipse even Parker and Hulme's strange and lethal relationship. Their obsessions become the vehicle for some mighty church-bashing and decidedly uncomfortable sexual posturing, all packaged within that same fever-dream setting employed so effectively by great film surrealists like Bunuel.
As lewd as this kind of material could have been, given the scandalous subject matter (the film's more blasphemous moments were snipped by order of the churched-up French government, and remained so for decades) and its jailbait protagonists (though both actresses were apparently over 18 at the time… so the filmmakers claim), this is a remarkably reserved and refined work of confrontational surrealist art - casting Seria's vehement anti-Catholicism as personal expression and challenge to mindless dogma (note the hilariously dumbfounded faces of the congregation during the Sunday sermon) rather than simply juvenile rebellion against a strict religious upbringing. It also challenges the audience by allowing them to giggle at the girls' seemingly playful dalliance with blasphemy, then forces them into an uncomfortable corner when Anne turns deliberately malicious.
Though her callous disregard for the feelings of the well-meaning gardener - to say nothing of her willful murder of cute little birds (as an avid birdwatcher, I found these scenes quite painful) and casual use of Lore as sexual bait for drooling older men, Seria forces us to confront our vicarious complicity with their wicked games. There are no easy answers provided: since Anne chooses independently to do evil (Lore can be excused somewhat due to her slavish devotion to her friend), and there are no apparent supernatural elements at work, we do not see the kind of influences - aside from bored, wealthy parents and strict church-guided schooling - which might motivate her to do the devil's work. We aren't even offered the simple excuse of Anne being inherently evil, as she is shown to succumb to feelings of remorse on more than one occasion. This is one of the most challenging works of art I've seen in a while, and it comes as little surprise that it has remained largely unseen by the movie-going public.
No strangers to Satanically-themed, surrealist '70s Euro-cinema, Mondo Macabro have stormed in to rescue this gem from obscurity, and the resulting Special Edition DVD is nothing short of miraculous. Having never even heard of this title before, I have no point of reference with which to compare their HD-remastered 1.66:1 anamorphic transfer, but I can venture a pretty good guess that this is the finest this film has ever looked, considering its vintage. There is only a mild amount of print damage, and the colors are rich and deep. The French audio track (with optional English subs) is clean Dolby 2.0 stereo, and the effective lullaby-like musical cues come through bright and clear. The extras here and are pretty amazing, given the film's nearly "lost" status: we get an in-depth analysis from British true-crime writer Paul Buck, who elaborates on the phenomenon of murderous couples and offers many details from the Parker & Hulme murder case in support; there are also interviews with the director - who talks extensively about the film's checkered history - and star Jeanne Goupil, who talks briefly about her experiences as a first-time actress on the film. Other supplements include a text essay from Pete Tombs, a still gallery featuring some exploitive UK ad mats, and the usual lurid MM preview montage, which is getting bigger and better all the time.
This one's a keeper, and not just for fans of devilishly naughty entertainment. It's a powerful and thought-provoking work that comes across as fresh and unique, despite being totally off the radar for nearly 35 years, and stands up to repeat viewings. It seduces you into Anne and Lore's eerie netherworld of illicit temptations, then kicks you soundly in your own nether regions by showing you the price the real world exacts for their wicked obsessions. Despite the inversion of the Lord's Prayer in the title, there is neither supernatural Good nor Evil at stake here; this universe exists outside of conventional morality, but is grounded by very human frailty. The result is a masterpiece of tragic beauty.
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