Jesús Franco vs. the Catholic Church
There were few boundaries
that Exploitation producers respected when it came to earning a profit, and not
even the Church was safe. In fact, in the predominantly Catholic countries of
Europe, the Church became a frequent target of a new generation of radical
filmmakers, men and women who had become disenchanted by the strictures and
traditions of Catholicism. While the more talented of them used metaphor and
symbolism to comment on what they felt was the pervasive, and negative,
influence of religion on the everyday lives of common people, exploiteers often had to find less subtle, more direct ways to
voice their opinions. Few ways were more direct, in-your-face, and tasteless
than the sub-sub-genre of Sexploitation known as the Nunsploitation film.
Little more than softcore porn masquerading as social commentary, most films of the Nunsploitation cycle treated the insular, gynocentric world of the convent as though it were a college sorority house, focusing on the discipline, ritual, and Sapphic relationships the sisters enjoy to the detriment of plot and character development. A few, however, sought to provide more cogent commentary on what they viewed as the religious excesses of the Church, and used the convent as the allegorical setting of their comments. One of the latter was Jesús Franco, who overachieved with his 1977 Nunsploitation classic Love Letters of a Portuguese Nun (Die Liebesbriefe einer Portugesischen Nonne), a West German / Swiss co-production.
Franco, who was listed in the Guinness Book of Records as the most prolific director in Cinema history, with well over 200 films to his credit, was an outspoken critic of the Church; so much so that the Vatican once named him and his fellow Spanish filmmaker Luis Buñuel “the most dangerous filmmakers in the world.” How dangerous Franco was is debatable, though this film gives us a clue as to why the Vatican may have held that opinion; that he was less than a great filmmaker is accepted fact. The majority of his films have a cheap, crude appearance, looking like the work of an inexperienced amateur. The director himself frequently disparaged his own work, remarking in a 2009 interview with Sean O’Neal for AV Club,
“No, I don’t like my movies. I prefer John Ford’s movies. [Laughs.] I’ve made some movies that were interesting, or that have some point, or are more or less beautiful. But I’ve never made anything big to me, from my point of view.”
Occasionally however, Franco’s films exceeded expectations, and gave lie to those of his critics who considered him to be a hack. Though not the equal of his counterparts in the Italian cinema, Exploitation auteurs such as Fulci or Lenzi, or his countryman Amando De Ossorio, he nonetheless possessed remarkable talent with a camera, too often wasted on inferior scripts, frequently written by Franco himself, and uninspired actors. These rare glimpses of brilliance serve to frustrate the true fans of the director, by showing that he was, indeed, capable of greatness—when he wished to be.
This film is one of Franco’s better, though less well-known, efforts. It is also one of the better examples of the Nunsploitation genre, with a good story, better than average photography, and decent acting. Perhaps the fact that this was one of the few films of Franco’s that he didn’t write is the difference. The script was written by Erwin C. Dietrich (writing as Manfred Gregor) and Christine Lembach, and based loosely on the 17th Century novel Letters of a Portuguese Nun, attributed to a nun by the name of Sister Mariana Alcoforado (1640-1723), but generally believed to have been written by Gabriel-Joseph de Lavergne, comte de Guilleragues (1628-1684), a minor French nobleman. First published in 1669, the book purports to be the collected letters of a young Catholic nun, written to her lover, a French soldier. The film bears little resemblance to the literary work, other than the fact that the central figure is a nun.
Maria Roselea (Susan Hemingway) is a young girl in Inquisition-era Portugal. While walking through the woods one day, she and her boyfriend Christoph are seen laughing and playing around by Father Vicente (William Berger), who accuses the pair of acting immorally. He takes the girl home and informs her mother that Maria’s immortal soul is in jeopardy, and unless he takes her to a convent immediately, both she and her daughter will surely be condemned to Hell. The priest then extorts money from the woman to pay for placing the girl in the convent, her entire savings.
When they arrive at the abbey that houses the convent, the girl is subjected to a physical examination to confirm her virginity by the Mother Superior, Mother Alma (Ana Zanatti), who demands that Maria call her the “Grand Priestess.” This examination is conducted in full view of Father Vicente, who displays a rather unclerical interest in the proceedings. When the Abbess has satisfied herself that Maria is intact, she is taken to confessional, where Father Vicente forces her to recount every sexual thought and act she has had, even her dreams, as he masturbates. She is then undressed by Mother Alma, who commands her to remain confined in her quarters for three days, wrapped in a belt of thorns. This sort of torture continues for the poor girl, as the viewer becomes aware that the priest and priestess of this convent are actually Satan-worshippers, well before Maria is made aware of the fact.
Over time, however, she comes to realization that something is not right, and tries to send her mother a letter asking her to bring her home from the convent. The letter is intercepted, however, and Maria is confined to a cell as punishment, where Vicente molests her, though sparing her virginity. That night, a black mass is held, at which the Devil manifests, and Maria is offered as a virgin sacrifice to him. He rapes her as Alma tells the girl that, having given her virginity to Satan, the Gates of Heaven are forever barred to her. This is just the beginning of the young girl’s torment, a series of tortures that eventually end with her on trial before the Grand Inquisitor.
This might be Franco’s most professional effort, pulling together all the elements of good filmmaking. Seldom does Franco’s creative engine fire on all cylinders; frequently it lopes along, chugging away as though badly in need of a tune-up. In Love Letters… however, that engine is racing along. Even the cast, often a weak point in the director’s movies, does a credible job, especially Susan Hemingway as Maria. Possessed of a beautiful face that radiates innocence from the screen, she was an excellent choice to play the young girl impressed into a life of torture, abuse, and sexual servitude. At first bright and impertinent, as time goes on, and abuse after abuse is heaped upon the girl, the character of Maria undergoes a change into an apathetic creature, resigned to her fate. It is a remarkable performance, worthy of a better production.
Though the story was undoubtedly crafted to be as exploitative as possible, and succeeds very well at that task, concealed within the abundance of nudity, sex, violence, and gore is a cogent commentary on the excesses and corruption of the Catholic Inquisition. Father Vicente, even apart from his sexual predations and devil-worship, is a stereotype of the venal, dishonest churchman common in the age of the Inquisition. The ease with which he is able, with the threat of hellfire and damnation, to separate a mother from her daughter, and demand payment for having done so, gives ample testimony to the man’s character. Whether this commentary stems from Dietrich and Lembach, or is due to Franco’s input are matters of debate. It is certainly the message that Franco wished to convey.
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