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Before the chateau is the stable, declares Walerian Borowczyk, wobbling phallus and winking vulva and dilating nostril are practically characters in the equine prelude. "Beautiful France!" "Beautiful France... has always lived in lust." The patriarch (Guy Tréjan) rests on the edge of ruination, his father (Marcel Dalio) nurses a "morbid hatred of women" in his wheelchair and his son (Pierre Benedetti) needs a baptism and a shave. The engagement is between the brutish scion and the lissome heiress (Lisbeth Hummel), who arrives swathed in furs and carnal curiosity—both are newborn creatures, he forced into society and she catapulted into the animal realm. The guests wait for a call from the Vatican while the servant's tryst with the boss' daughter is interrupted (the bedpost comes in handy when she needs to finish herself off), at dinner there's the wizened priest's lament, "we're bound by the laws of nature, alas." A sunny shutterbug, the heroine knows that wildlife is serious but not sad and that champagne is not for everyone, with Mallarmé's rose in hand ("pareille à la chair de la femme") she fantasizes about an ancestor's fairy-tale dalliance. Dissolve to the stupefying centerpiece, with tinkling harpsichord clashing with savage roars as the bewigged maiden (Sirpa Lane) meets the furry behemoth with a raging erection. Punctuated by a still-life of a snail on a discarded shoe, the raunchy wackiness has ravaged victim turning eager participant and semen flowing into blood. Flashback? Reverie? Deleted Contes immoraux segment? "Tirons-nous la queue," a Rimbaud punchline for the poem that is itself a missing link, bridging the marital jitters of Cocteau's La Belle et la Bête and the gooey slapstick of gonzo porn. With Elisabeth Kaza, Roland Armontel, Pascale Rivault, and Hassane Fall.
--- Fernando F. Croce |