What says Halloween better than Jesus and Franco? Er, that is, Jesús Franco, the infamous Spanish horror director. While his namesakes may have earned their reputations walking on water or suppressing trade unions, Jesús Franco is perhaps best remembered for making low-budget exploitation films with dazzling names like Vampyros Lesbos or The Bare-Breasted Countess. With nearly 200 film credits to his name, nearly all of which were shot on paltry budgets with a dedicated, yet underpaid group of collaborators, it’s safe to say that the man could work cinematic miracles. For this very special Halloween edition of Throwback Thursday, we take a look back at the life and work of the “European Ed Wood”: a man whose unmistakably horrific style inspired directors like Quentin Tarantino and even anticipated entire genres like Italian giallo and something called nunsploitation.
Born in Madrid in 1930, Franco (Jesús Franco, that is) first cut his teeth as assistant director on a smattering of classic films along the lines of Juan Antonio Bardem’s Death of A Cyclist and Orson Welles’ Chimes at Midnight, before making the leap to directing with a string of forgettable genre pics. It wasn’t until 1962, when he made Gritos en la Noche (The Awful Dr. Orloff) that Franco truly found his voice. The film follows the exploits of Howard Vernon as the demented Dr. Orloff, a man who sets out to repair his daughter’s disfigured face using other people’s skin. Employing a Tarantino-esque mash-up of different styles, with Gritos en la noche Franco laid out some of the hallmarks of his personal style, namely the use of excessive violence and lots of tetas.
As these things tend to go, The Awful Dr. Orloff was critically panned at the time of its release, only to go on to gain cult status as the years passed. Yet, Franco wasn’t entirely convinced by the horror genre. Throughout the 1960s, Franco began switching focus to spy thrillers and softcore films inspired by the Marquis de Sade, although he did make a handful of horror films that continued refining the sexually-fueled, torture-horror that would become his personal signature. Around this time he also began perfecting the art of surreptitiously shooting two movies at the same time, effectively getting two films for the price of one without anyone being none the wiser.
By the 1970s, Franco had essentially sealed his reputation as a sleazy erotica director — that’s essentially what he was — but once in a while he would throw in some blood and a European countess or two to stay true to his horror roots. One of the more successful of the super-eroticized and increasingly experimental works Franco pumped out in the 70s was, you guessed it, Vampyros Lesbos, also known by it’s original Spanish title, Las Vampiras.
http://youtu.be/EJotH1400F0
While the film’s plot and acting are certainly nothing to speak of, Franco’s oneiric directing style was in full expression, and his deep love for music led to a critically praised soundtrack composed by Siegfried Shwab, Manfried Hübler and Franco, who himself was an accomplished composer and jazz aficionado.
Proving that you’re never too old to catch a break, after over twenty years in the trenches Franco was finally given a sizable budget to make a couple of English-language horror films in the late 80s and 90s. The result was Faceless and Killer Barbys. Reminiscent of Gritos en la noche — Faceless brought together a cast of internationally renowned actors such as Helmut Berger and Telly Savalas to tell the story of a mad doctor who along with his sexy assistant kidnaps unsuspecting women and uses their skin to graft onto the doctors disfigured sister. With a Nazi subplot, chainsaw torturers, and plenty of scantily-clad women, it’s clear that even big budgets couldn’t stop Franco from being, well, Franco.
By the 90s, Franco was well into retirement age but that didn’t stop him from pumping out a couple dozen more films before his death from a stroke in 2013. While a lot of things can happen at the fragile age of 82, his death came only a year after the passing of his wife and longtime collaborator Lina Romay, a devastating heartbreak that proves that just maybe Franco was a hopeless romantic the whole time.