Exciting news for horror fans everywhere! If you love Eurotrash, classic exploitation genre-films and a general ora of the bizarre, there’s a chance that you already love cinema’s greatest freak, Jesús (Jess) Franco: the controversial Spanish horror legend who produced almost (though perhaps over) 200 feature-length films in his career. These pictures were frequently defined by their musical experimentation; inclusion of erotic, almost pornographic, scenarios; as well as a flowing, stream-of-consciousness aesthetic formed through never-ending zooms, lack of concrete narrative, and reliance on the expressionistic language of editing.

I’m very happy to announce then that we’ve been blessed with two new 4Ks / blu-rays from Severin (a long-time supporter of Franco’s work) which are both lovingly put together with hours of phenomenal bonus features. The movies are Vampyros Lesbos (1971) – Franco’s most known and celebrated work – and She Killed in Ecstasy (1971), both starring the tragically departed Soledad Miranda in two of her six titles she produced with Franco over the span of a year. I was lucky enough to get early access to these discs and not only found myself falling in love with these movies again, but becoming truly inspired by the additional material provided. So, let’s dive into this provocative double-bill!

On a rewatch, I can safely say that Vampyros Lesbos is a masterpiece, but in its own unusual way, and on its own unfathomable, formally stimulating terms. And part of what makes it a masterpiece might be because it requires more than one viewing, as well as a complete immersion in the larger contexts of Jess Franco’s filmic intentions. Franco’s love of older literature, especially horror, can be seen through much of his filmography, yet nowhere is it better crystalised as here, wherein he reinterprets the classical tale of Bram Stoker’s Dracula through a modern-day setting, queer characters and a sexually explicit presentation.

My main takeaway from the piece itself on my first rewatch is this: Franco is most skilled at immersing his audience in environments and feelings that are utterly intangible. For instance, the opening burlesque performance involving the use of reflection, the black background (which the film keeps returning to in snippets after the fact) completely exists within the deepest recesses of my psyche – despite, or because, it geographically lacks clarity, and doesn’t feel as if it has any real beginning or ending in terms of sequential beats. This is the kind of stuff this critic obsesses over.

I listened to one of the two featured audio-commentaries provided, that by Kat Ellinger, which is quite wonderful. At first, I found it overwhelming when it came to the focus on more academic discussion; but as soon as I settled in for her thought-provoking perspective, I became absorbed in how Ellinger framed what we were watching through the political and historic. I loved how she takes us through the relevance of literature as well as the contexts under which Franco made his films (frequently in exile due to the constraints imposed by dictator Generalissimo Franco of Spain and his regime, in addition to the authoritarian nature of the Catholic church at the time). Jess Franco was a real radical!

There is a featured interview with an old and grizzled Jess Franco, shortly before his passing in 2013, titled ‘Interlude in Lesbos’ which is quite interesting. Holding onto a cigarette which seemingly remains forever unlit, the man rests further and further back in his chair over the course of the footage, and the way the camera tracks his movements I found quite amusing.

‘Fever Dracula’ is then a featured interview with the incredibly articulate Stephen Thrower – the leading Franco academic whose writing and testimony has long been a bit of a staple of many physical releases of the director’s films. In this interview, he focuses on how Vampyros Lesbos announces a new and abstract form of cinematic language – one that would come to define the Franco style.

But maybe the biggest boast of these bonus features is titled ‘The Red Scarf Diaries’: an interview with Sean Baker regarding how the work of Soledad Miranda and Jess Franco influenced his Best-Picture-winning Anora. One can’t help but be charmed by how the Oscar-winning filmmaker expresses the journey all genre-fans embark on with Franco; one of perplexed beguilement, at first unimpressed by how “rough around the edges” the work is, yet eventually identifying the hallmarks of a real “auteur” with undiluted vision.

We then get an entry in an extended travel docuseries entitled ‘In the Land of Franco’ (this being Part 12). This is also presented by Stephen Thrower as he travels across Europe to now-iconic shooting locations, this part featuring hidden-away areas of Paris most prominently. It’s simple, informative and effective.

But arguably most significant on the disc is a feature which directly addresses the feeling of mourning which has hovered over every previous bit of testimony: the tragic car crash which lead to the death of Soledad Miranda at just age 27, while she was only partway through her planned collaborations with Franco. ‘Sublime Soledad’, presented by Amy Brown, serves as a poignant tribute. It’s tragic that Miranda never got to see any of these movies in the completed states which have become so beloved, but

Brown puts it nicely that it’s apparent that she found this kind of work creatively gratifying. Her performances will live on.

Finally, there’s a short and silly feature entitled ‘Jess is Yoda’ which I don’t want to spoil for everyone… but it’s hilarious, and quite enlightening.

What an insane film. Again, a rewatch for this critic, this picture is the far pricklier counter to the hypnotic tendencies of Vamyros Lesbos. She Killed in Ecstasy is a truly visceral watch, consisting of deeply disturbing sequences and genuine horror. It’s the strangest “revenge” movie out there.

A medical man is discovered to be conducting experiments on unborn foetuses (Thrower amusingly describes them as “pickled foetuses” since we’re shown the disruptive imagery of them stored in jars accompanied by the funky opening credits) and is then outcast from his profession, leading the character to commit suicide. His lover (played incredibly by Miranda) then takes it upon herself to brutally murder everyone on the board who voted for his dismissal. I love this movie.

Within the bonus features, it’s hilarious how conflicted Thrower is with the backwards moral implications of the film. His interview is ‘Ecstasy in Rage’ and is a great watch. It’s almost as if we are witnessing in real time Thrower attempt to make sense of what Jess was trying to say. He concludes that there’s a cognitive dissonance at play; Franco is depicting some of the most unsettling stuff but doing so in an almost glib and flippant manner, with suicide and murder being complemented by a fast-paced, comedic-sounding style of jazz.

My interpretation is that the presentation of the film – and just how unapologetically it places us in the perspective of a ‘bad person’ – makes the story feel even more disturbing, and Franco’s style and experimentation all the more ideologically provocative.

Other offerings on Disc 2 include another instalment of ‘In the Land of Franco’, another interview with Franco called ‘Jess Killed in Ecstasy’ (same setup as last time – in his old age, he’s still funny, horny and a genuine cinephile), as well as the same ‘Sublime Soledad’ video essay by Amy Brown. Also, on both this and the previous discs are the very entertaining German-language trailers.

But one more touching feature is an interview with actor Paul Muller in his old age, who was a frequent Franco collaborator. He provides some amusing anecdotes about the director and his fascinating persona. I especially enjoyed how he highlighted Franco’s ultra-relaxed style of direction. There was never any script, and Franco would just allow the performers to act whenever they either did or didn’t feel like it – often getting just partway through the day, Jess would break for lunch and say, “we’ll continue tomorrow” (there are many similarities to Franco’s idol Jean-Luc Godard in this respect).

To surmise, Severin has produced a comprehensive guide and appreciation of Franco’s work, with two of his most significant releases and creatively pure expressions. These discs were also far more emotionally involving and reflective than I was anticipating! And when reevaluating what Jess Franco did so well as a visual artist, one could argue that more cinema should be brave enough to offer a location or mood without the need for point B to follow on from point A.

Franco’s worlds grow in the mind over time, crafting a place that you can revisit, be hypnotised by, and yet still not fully comprehend the reasons for its resonance.