Distractions of Lola

i think i was in the fourth grade when i first learned of Elizabeth Bathory, the “Blood Countess”. this 16th century Hungarian noblewoman was described as a real-life vampire who supposedly bathed in the blood of virgins in order to maintain her youthful appearance. eventually, the law caught up with her and she was imprisoned and walled-in in her bedroom until she died.

and that’s essentially the gist of The Countess, a historical biopic about Erzebet Bathory (in Hungarian) written, directed, produced, scored and starring Julie Delpy, multi-tasker extraordinaire. it sounded like a fantastic project when i first heard about it a couple years ago, but the resulting film is so insipid, i doubt the film would even gain a cult following.

the film begins with a narration by Istvan Thurzo (Daniel Brühl), who recounts the life of the countess from childhood up to the point when he meets her at a ball. the two fall in love, but are separated by Istvan’s manipulative father, Count Thurzo (William Hurt), who sends his son to Denmark to marry the daughter of a trading partner. thinking that her young lover abandoned her because of her age, Erzebet is heartbroken but soon finds a remedy for wrinkles and fine lines in the blood of young virgins.

the biggest problem with The Countess is that while the film insists Erzebet’s story is based on lies and rumors, it plays out her story exactly as the myths depict her, without attempting to explore the true story behind the legend. Delpy’s script depicts Erzebet as an intelligent and powerful woman in the first act, so the countess’ subsequent murderous inclinations based on her vanity (and perhaps

insanity) are incoherent and befuddling. the other issue with the script is that the dialogue is uneven and a little cheesy at times (e.g. “i must go before i lose my mind”). granted, English isn’t Delpy’s first language, but she does have experience with Before Sunset and 2 Days in Paris. perhaps historical dramas just aren’t her forté.

consequently, the acting suffers as the the actors can only do so much with their characters. Brühl, who has a great track record and had quite a memorable cameo in Delpy’s 2 Days in Paris, is only so-so in his limited role as the young lover. even veterans like Delpy and Hurt (yea, i was surprised he was cast in this) don’t offer much to improve the film.

The Countess does make you think about our fascination with eternal youth and how women, in general, strive for ageless skin. it’s pretty horrific to think that someone would kill others and smear their blood on their face as part of their beauty regimen, but today, people are still doing crazy shit to beautify themselves (hopefully minus the killing and blood though). we’ve all heard of women injecting neurotoxic proteins into their foreheads to paralyze the area for a wrinkle-free look (that’s botox, by the way) and the stories of people dying in freak accidents during routine liposuctions (not just Cher Horowitz’s mom). and i know i’m not the only one out there who’s bought ridiculously expensive products that promise blemish-free, youthful skin, only to partake in the placebo effect as a way to justify spending $125 on a small tub of moisturizer.

but i digress. anyway, don’t go into this film expecting an opulent costume drama in the tradition of Marie Antoinette or Elizabeth. and actually, this is one of the few aspects i liked about The Countess. the solemn and subtle production and costume design reflects the grim and austere realities of medieval Central Europe and of the story’s horror elements. the dominant tones are black, grey and brown, giving the film a touch of Rembrandt. it’s nice to see a historical drama that doesn’t rely on the costumes to tell a story, but unfortunately, The Countess lacks a solid story to flaunt.

(interesting how this promo poster actually lists the names of actors who were at one point attached to the film.)

weird. via.

If man is true Soviet, he does not die. When buried, yells for undertaker and rings bell.

Bell rings. Is no wind.
Undertaker asks, “Are you lady Gorbochev?”
Voice says, “Yes!”
“Born winter of 1927?”
“Yes!”
“Gravestone says ‘Died 20 February, 1957”
“Niet, am still living!”
“Am sorry, but is August. In June, ground will thaw. You must wait for June.”

And woman is true Soviet, waits for June.