Cover Art

Credits

Director: Jean Rollin Starring: Françoise Blanchard, Marina Pierro, Mike Marshall, Carina Barone Screenplay: Jacques Ralf, Jean Rollin Music: Phillipe d'Aram Country: France AKA: La Morte Vivante, Lady Dracula, La Muerte viviente, Zombie Queen

Then again, 50/50 – them's not bad odds. Paid out in this case.

Many moons ago when I was a young Goth about town – no, wait, don't hate me – I had the usual Goth fixation with vampires, and I read a book about vampire cinema (the focus being on European cinema), and this film was mentioned in dispatches alongside Female Vampire, Hammer films like Vampire Circus, Twins of Evil and such, Blood For Dracula – you get the picture. So imagine my surprise when it fronts up as part of a Redemption boxed set called The Zombie Collection. (By the way, I'm no longer a Goth – it's kind of hard to be when people tell you that you bear an uncanny resemblance to Bill Bailey…) If you have a look to the left of the page, you'll see that the confusion stretches on – how can you be Lady Dracula AND Zombie Queen?

Does it work on either level? Zombie or vampire? Yes, it does, actually. Surprisingly enough – both. And can I tell you that when people are losing eyes in the opening five minutes of a film – it's a good thing.

So anyway, our tale begins with Catherine Valmont, a young dead woman, being re-animated by chemical waste (gotta love that chemical waste in horror films; is there nothing it can't do?) and returning to her ancestral home, which is in the process of being flogged off by the local real estate agents (the agent responsible for the sale being Catherine's childhood chum, Helene). Then loads of graphic violence and nudity occur. Kind of like in the way that in the novel of Dracula the vampire becomes younger the more blood he consumes, the same in The Living Dead Girl. The more people the eponymous protagonist kills (ably aided and abetted by Helene), the more blood spilt, the more memory she regains – turning by degrees from a silent shambling brutal murderer into something more lucid and articulate, plagued with painful memories and a conscience. And so the film unfolds – not an original idea, but rather a nifty one to help the audience gradually unravel the back-story, as much as propel the narrative.

I know the word "haunting" gets hurled around with some gay abandon in relation to this film, but I guess it's kind of justified. By the end of the film, you're taken to a strange moral place where who the real monster is becomes a thing of conjecture, and Catherine becomes an object of pity rather than revulsion. I guess that much is quite clever, but it's let down by some of the supporting performances – the photographer in particular had me grinding my teeth every second she was on-screen, and the guys shifting the chemical waste at the beginning were laughably poor – as well as the dialogue. Mind you, possibly it was the translation rather than the script itself.

The acting is rudimentary at best, and the gore effects are not so much primitive as primordial, but it's certainly an entertaining romp. If, like me, you like 70s/80s Euro-sleaze, you'll definitely enjoy this film. There's enough blood and boobs for all to enjoy, and nudity done the way only the continental Europeans can. Now, while none of these women are Isabel Adjani (sigh), I'm certainly not one to be turning up my nose at fine imported booty.