Panna a netvor (1978)

... aka: Beauty and the Beast
... aka: Die Jungfrau und das Ungeheuer (The Virgin and the Beast)
... aka: Piekna i potwór (Beauty and the Monster)
... aka: Virgin and the Monster, The

Directed by:
Juraj Herz

Published in 1756, French author Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont's "La Belle et la Bête" ("The Beauty and the Beast"), a rewritten, shortened version of a previous 100+ page book by Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve, would go on to become one of the most beloved fairy tales of all time. The story of a working class beauty named Belle, the kindest and most pure of heart of all her siblings, and how her growing appreciation and love for an ugly beast of a man (or is that a beastly man?) eventually changes him into a handsome prince, would see its earliest adaptations for the stage; both as an opera and later as a play. The film versions stretch all the way back to 1899, with a now-lost French version produced by Pathé Frères. Numerous other silent shorts followed, including the first American version in 1903, the first British version in 1905, a second French version (running 11 minutes) in 1908 and a second American version (the longest yet at 40 minutes) in 1913. Of all those, only the 1908 version is still known to exist. Many other movies would follow, most notably Jean Cocteau's beautifully-made, wonderfully atmospheric version in 1946 and the Disney animated musical take in 1991, which became the first animated film to ever received a Best Picture Academy Award nomination. In addition to the movies, there were additional books, TV shows, toys, video games, board games and much more, plus more operas, plays and musicals. And these are only the credited adaptations.

"But hey, Beauty and the Beast isn't a horror film!," you say. And I respond, "Well, you must have not seen this version yet, have you?" The story already lends itself well to a horror adaptation, especially considering the mysterious castle setting and the fact one of the main characters is, you know, a monster. Cocteau's version has a definite eerie, Gothic horror feel to it and a 1962 version from director Edward L. Cahn had the Beast as a cursed prince who was normal during the day but transformed into a werewolf at night. Herz's film opens on a similar note where you can tell this isn't going to be a children's movie. We see creepy old artwork accompanied by droning organ music over the opening credits, follow a caravan hauling goods through the foggy forest before everyone is slaughtered by a figure on horseback worthy of screaming your head off over and are treated to the sight of a village slaughtering chickens, goats, pigs and other animals in preparation for an upcoming double wedding.

While her bitchy, vain, cruel, gold-digging older stepsisters Gábinka (Jana Brejchová) and Málinka (Zuzana Kocúriková) have already been betrothed to well-off merchants in the area, the lovely and kind Julie (Zdena Studenková) is reluctant to fall in love and leave because she doesn't want their widowed father (Václav Voska) to be left all alone. The father is having major financial problems after investing unwisely and must start begging for money and selling all of the furniture in their home. He eventually becomes so desperate he's forced to try to sell a painting of his late wife in a gold frame, which requires a trip through the Black Woods; an area rumored by his village to be evil and cursed. As he makes his way through the forest, his horse mysteriously dies and he's forced to walk on foot. He finds the corpse of a murdered woman, ventures on and finally runs across a gated, crumbling mansion. Inside, a man who keeps hidden in the shadows offers the weary traveler wine, roast pig and a place to rest.

The next morning, the mysterious man has left behind gold and jewels for the father to take with him, but the father makes the mistake of cutting one of the man's prized roses for his youngest daughter. The man, who reveals himself to be the Beast (Vlastimil Harapes), then tells the father that he'll only spare his life if he'll allow one of his daughter's to come there and stay with him. On the promise that he'll return, the Beast allows him to leave so that he can make sure his daughters will be provided for. Upon hearing the story and learning about the bargain when her father's return, Julie saddles up a horse and decides to sacrifice herself to ensure his safety. She enters the mansion, drinks some drugged wine and has a soft focus dream about being swept off her feet by a handsome Prince Charming in an all-white ballroom. When she awakens, she's in another situation entirely.

The Beast is not a big woolly teddy bear as seen in most other versions, but instead a hideous creature with a hairy body, sharp claws, a bird-like head and a thirst for fresh warm blood. He shares his home with a variety of other strange creature servants that mostly lurk in the shadows and barely make their presence even known. Where he's been forced to live a life of solitude and loneliness for so long, The Beast has also picked up some schizophrenic traits along the way. A whispering, nagging, persistent voice in his head - that he holds conversations with because he's never had anyone else to talk to - constantly tries to tempt him back to his more animalistic ways. The voice tells him he's better off alone and should kill Julie and drink her blood because that's what he really wants to do. The Beast refuses to let Julie see him, even when he finally makes his presence known to her, and she's asked to have her back turned at all times and never look his way. The two then get to know each other through voice alone during his nightly visits but, of course, things can't always stay that way...

Many viewers may takes issue with the unusual Beast design, which does take some getting used to, as do such odd sights as what is essentially a giant bird galloping around on a horse. Thankfully, that ends up hardly even mattering in the long run. The film is so beautifully-crafted, visually arresting and richly atmospheric the Beast could have been wearing a paper bag over his head and I still would have bought it. The sets / art direction, costume design, photography, visuals and shooting locations are all superb and the organ-heavy score is also very effective in enhancing the film's dark, heavy mood. Perhaps most impressively at all, even with the newly-added horror elements pushed to the forefront, this remains completely respectful to the core message of original story and delivers it as powerfully as any of the other versions I've seen. That is; "Every woman has the power to make beautiful the man she loves."

As a warning, those who have an issue with animal cruelty may want to give this a pass. You see various animals being killed and butchered right at the beginning and, later on, see the Beast use his horse to trample over a poor, scared deer fawn trying to pass through a lake. Though thematically the deer scene has relevance to the story, that doesn't mean it absolutely had to be filmed. In fact, it shouldn't have been filmed as they could have easily gotten the same point across in another way that didn't harm or kill an actual animal.

Sadly, Czech director Herz has pretty much been ignored by horror fans over the years (including yours truly) despite the fact he includes strong horror elements in much of his often hard-to-classify work. Because he typically refuses to be a slave to genre conventions / cliches, I'm sure many distributors probably figured there wouldn't be a huge market out there for what he does and didn't even bother distributing most of his films internationally. Very few of Herz's films have been released here in the U.S., though Panna a netvor was one of the few that actually was; receiving a very limited theatrical run in 1983 through International Film Exchange (IFEX). There's been no video or DVD release to follow, however. I guess it's no coincidence Herz's most acclaimed work; the disturbing and blackly comic The Cremator (1969), also happens to be his easiest to find film. Some of his other horror films include Morgiana (1972), Deváté srdce ("The Ninth Heart," 1979), Ferat Vampire (1982) and Darkness (2009).

★★★1/2

Child's Voice, A (1978)

Directed by:
Kieran Hickey

Talking over cartoon stills of a tower, wavelengths and a married couple cheerfully listening to a radio while cozying up next to a warm fire, sinister-sounding, deep-voiced narrator Valentine Dyall starts things out for us on a suitably gloomy note. "In those days, radio was a power and a light in the land. People in their homes at night gathered by the radio and heard the crackling, stilted reports of a world they had only read about and now imagined more intensely," he says. "Radio fixes the person, but frees the imagination... and the people most affected by it were those who lived and listened alone." Set in the heyday of radio as the world's primary source of at-home entertainment in the evenings (most likely sometime in the late 30s or early 40s), this sadly forgotten 28-minute short is centered around Ainsley Rupert Macreadie (T.P. McKenna), "one of broadcasting's best known voices."  An imaginative, influential and somewhat narcissistic loner, Ainsley has been nicknamed "the disturbing gentleman of the wires" by the press because of how he uses his soothing, cultured voice to recite chilling and macabre horror stories of the supernatural that he himself has written for his popular late night radio program. Art will soon start imitating life for poor Ainsley... or is it all in his head?

After concluding his latest story, Ainsley sits down for my his favorite snack; a glass of sherry and a biscuit, with his producer (R.D. Smith) and a young production assistant (Stephen Brennan) and relays what next week's planned story will be about. The story, called "A Child's Voice," involves Orsino the Magician and the young boy he employs as his stage assistant. Though the boy is helpful and good at what he does, a foreboding premonition causes him to refuse to participate in a disappearing trick involving a "magic cabinet," where whoever the magician makes "disappear" can simply just exit out a hatch in the bottom. During a stage performance, Orsino forces the boy into the cabinet, the door becomes jammed and by the time a blacksmith is able to open it, the poor young assistant has asphyxiated and died. Afterward, Orsino is haunted by a child's voice in the middle of the night asking to be let out of the cabinet and it slowly drives him mad.

After broadcasting his first portion of the story, Ainsley has a creepy feeling someone is watching him on his late night stroll back home. He's later awoken from his sleep later that night by a phone call. On the other end of the line is a little boy, who doesn't seem too happy with the radio host's latest story. "I would prefer you to go no further with it," says the child, "It troubles me a great deal." Ainsley suspects the voice on the other line isn't actually a little boy, but an adult impersonating one playing a prank. His second segment of the story in the studio is beset with problems as Ainsley cannot get out a single line without stuttering, shaking and being overwhelmed by the feeling that he's being smothered. However, one of his co-workers insists it all came out as smooth as silk and no one has phoned in to complain. In an attempt to prevent was had happened the night before, Ainsley takes his telephone off the hook before bed... but a child can still loudly be heard singing through the receiver, forcing the frightened radio host to hang up and then answer the next incoming call...

This deceptively simple set-up opens up many different possibilities. The child's voice haunting our protagonist may be a disgruntled viewer, or a ghost who tuned into his broadcast, or perhaps the vengeful character Ainsley himself created somehow miraculously materializing in the real world. Or it may even be that living a loner's existence outside of work and telling ghost stories for a living are finally taking their toll on Ainsley's mental state. By the end we, just like those back in the day listening to radio dramas, have to use our own imaginations to fill in the blanks. There's plenty of interesting subtext going on here under the surface, especially how the two earliest methods used for impersonal communication simultaneously manage to enlighten and isolate us. At work, Ainsley is the voice, the storyteller and in control of what goes out, what is heard by others and ultimately even how his words affect others. Out in the real world, things aren't quite as controlled as they are in his tidy recording booth as Ainsley's telephone is the response he can't ignore from anyone with an opinion about what he's putting out into the world. The many close-up shots of telephones and microphones throughout are hardly coincidental.

Produced in Ireland and shot on 16mm for peanuts, this is a very-well-done short and very much in tune with those great BBC "Ghost Stories for Christmas" and other similar TV specials from the 70s. I've really grown to love these things over the years and especially love what they stand for: no glossy, needless distractions or self-indulgent pretensions, just solid performances from a small cast, good multi-layered storytelling and simple but effectively-elicited chills with a little food for thought thrown in there as well. To date, this is the only script credit from renowned film critic, biographer and writer David Thomson. It not only played on BBC TV, but also was selected for screening at both the London Film Festival and the Chicago International Film Festival; taking home top prize at the latter in their short fiction category, There's no official VHS or DVD release for this one that I know of, but it's well worth watching if you can find it.

★★★