Bloodless Countess

The legend of Countess Erzésbet Báthory holds a special place in the hearts of Goths, metal-heads, and vampire enthusiasts alike, with only Vlad Draculea being more revered. The 16^th century noblewoman was one of the most powerful aristocrats in Hungary, and reportedly harboured a dark secret. In 1610 she was accused of the murder of over 600 young women and bricked up in a room of her castle until her death in 1614. Since then legends have sprung up detailing the countess’ penchant for bathing in the blood of virgins, an attempt to keep her young and beautiful forever. Historically speaking the evidence of this, and even the murders, is pretty slim, but that hasn’t stopped her from entering the pop cultural as a Vampiric serial killer, with Hammer Studios reinventing her as Countess Dracula in 1971, and the black metal band Cradle of Filth dedicating their 1998 concept album Cruelty and the Beast to her legend.

Juraj Jakubisko’s movie Bathory (2008) initially sets out to readdress the balance with a historically accurate retelling of the countess’ life, however this soon goes out the window in favour of a picturesquely gothic tragedy. In the film, Bathory (played, with a sexy eastern European accent, by Anna Friel) is a benevolent renaissance woman, with a talent for healing, and an interest in anatomy. While her brutish husband is away fighting the Turks, she protects the chastity of her maids and household from overenthusiastic soldiers. So far, so plausible. However things quickly take a turn for the ridiculous. A romantic subplot is introduced where the blood countess has an affair with an imprisoned Milanese painter, who then turns out to be Caravaggio.

Jakubisko decides to throw all pretence of historical accuracy to the wind, and we end up with a film with all the factual merit of its Hammer predecessor. The story is narrated by a Catholic monk, who posits that the religious and political establishments turn against Erzésbet to seize control of her land and wealth, but that isn’t really important when the film is also asserting that the Countess was an early surgeon and coroner, and that the Church invented the photograph several hundred years before the French did.

If the films plot is weak (and it is) it does at least make up for it a bit with the visuals. The films lush cinematography highlights the baroque set pieces, the sumptuous gothic costumes (which includes a gorgeous Venetian ball scene), and the stunning Hungarian countryside (although in actuality it was filmed in Slovakia and the Czech Republic).

Bathory isn’t going to change people’s perceptions of the supposed serial killer; it will at least prove a guilty pleasure for fans of Goth melodrama and so-called bodice rippers.

“Post-Modern before there was any modernism to be post about”

I had heard bad things about Tristram Shandy: a cock and bull story (2006), which is why I was only recently compelled to watch it after seeing, director, Michael Winterbottom’s follow up series The Trip (2010) on BBC 2. Actually, to say The Trip is a follow up is slightly misleading, but the film and the TV series are both cut from the same post-modern clothe. The key word that describes Tristram Shandy is Metatextual, a word only used by wanky ex-students like myself who can’t quite get over leaving academia. Basically Winterbottom has approached the problem of filming an un-filmable book (The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy by Laurence Stern) by not filming it at all, but by exploring its central themes via a mockumentary about the attempt to film the aforementioned book. Confused?

Some people would argue that this level of ‘clever clever’ indulgence doesn’t really make an interesting film, and that it’s only those in the know who enjoy the in-jokes, but I personally think that’s cock and bullshit. For a start this a serious insult to the intelligence of the average viewer, and yes it probably did go over the heads of its American audience, but that’s mainly because Steve Coogan hasn’t been the tabloid hit over there he has here.

Speaking of Coogan, he gives an absolutely star performance here, confirming his own claim in The Trip, that he is the modern Peter Sellers. His onscreen chemistry with Rob Brydon is one of the most enjoyable elements of the film; with Winterbottom allowing the pair to improvise some classic banter which feeds into the Coogan/Brydon myth (both claim that they aren’t actually that close friends in real life, whatever that is).

I do have to admit that the film is a little up its own arse. The scene where Coogan is being interviewed, as himself, by the late Tony Wilson, who Coogan portrayed in Winterbottom’s Twenty-Four Hour Party People (2002), for a non-existent DVD extra that is announced by a voice-over, in particular makes me think that Winterbottom is being a little too smug. Also the cameo by Gillian Anderson as herself feels a little forced, though the scene where she grills Dylan Moran about his drinking made me giggle.

All in all Tristram Shandy does suffer from a few moments of art-college over indulgence, but it is probably one of the cleverest movie ideas of the last decade, and surely the only way you could film the nine volume novel. Coogans willingness to play himself as a cheating, vain, paranoid prima-donna is admirable, and the rest of the cast create a hilarious realism that is comparable to (though not as good as) Spinal Tap. Perhaps this film is just aimed at smart arses like me, but I think in the wake of The Trips success it’s a film that needs re-evaluating.