Category: Filmography

Dir: Alfred Vohrer
Star: Heinz Drache, Sabine Sesselmann, Hans Nielsen, Klaus Kinski
a.k.a. Chamber of Horrors

This early krimi feels like a precursor to some of the later Kinski roles we’ve reviewed recently, e.g. The Soldier. It’s a very brief role: he collects his check about the fifteen minute mark. Yet it’s one where he still manages to make an impression. The main difference is, I suspect, that at this point in his career, he was probably happy simply to get the work, especially given the recent birth of his first daughter, Nastassja, for whom Klaus now had to provide. While this film is not mentioned by name in All I Need is Love, there is this passage from around the period.

For a while I shoot most of my films for Rialto-Constantin. When I need more money and ask the shithead for a bigger advance, he says, “Of course, my boy, come to my office tomorrow.”When I get to his office he has a contract for five more films prepared, which he lays before me for signature before he’ll give me the promised advance. So I’ve sold myself for another year. I have no idea what I’ve signed. I have to take on any shit. As I’ve said, it’s all the same to me.

All I Need is Love, pp 142

Still, I have to say I quite enjoyed this one. The focus is an apparently unconnected pair of murders in London, where it’s eventually realized the victims were both carrying almost matching keys. Inspector Dick Martin (Drache) investigates the cases, and finds a letter to the attorney Haveloc (Nielsen), who is the executor for the estate of the late Lord Selford. The heir apparent, currently living a raucous lifestyle on the continent, is about to return to Britain, in order to come into his inheritance, which has been held in trust. It appears his father sent seven associates a key which, together, will open a door in the family crypt on that day.

Clearly, one or more people have a vested interest in preventing that from happening. As well as Haveloc, possible candidates to fall into police interest include (but are not limited to): former employees Mr. and Mrs. Cody; their butler with a criminal past, Tom Cawley; impoverished niece, now working as a librarian, Sybil Lansdown (Sesselmann); and Dr. Antonio Staletti, a disgraced scientist who has set up his operation at Selford Manor. It is up to Martin, along with his plucky sidekick Holmes (series regular Eddie Arendt) – and, yes, they do go there! – to fend off attempts on their lives and figure out who is/are the guilty party or parties.

Although it turns out the murder are not actually the only nefarious deeds going on. For Staletti has grown fed up of experimenting on animals, and has turned his attention towards more human subjects. His first didn’t quite turn out as intended, becoming a mute child-like hulking brute (played by Austrian pro wrestler Ady Berber, in a very Tor Johnson-esque performance – he has a similar role in The Dead Eyes of London). But, if at first you don’t succeed… All the mad doctor needs is an appropriate candidate for the pituitary gland surgery, in his basement dungeon. Where there’s a large ape kept in a cage, because why not.

For once, Kinski is not one of the potential candidates under suspicion. As noted, he checks out rather quickly. Indeed, he appears in the first scene after the opening sequence depicting a murder at Victoria Station. The safe-cracker he plays, Pheely, is banging on the door of Inspector Martin’s apartment, offering to trade information in exchange for security. He was commissioned to crack the seven locks on the door, but got cold feet after suspecting that he wouldn’t be allowed to live and see what was beyond the portal. He’s now willing to tell everything he knows to Martin in exchange for protection, but the detective gets called in to Scotland Yard.

Naturally, by the time Martin returns to his apartment that night, Pheely has been silenced. The corpse is stuffed into a wardrobe, from where he slumps when his host opens the door. From the point of view of the Kinski fan, this is a decent scenario, given the relatively small role. He shows up early, has a good scene, then becomes a corpse in no uncertain manner, meaning we can simply relax and enjoy whatever pleasures the rest of the film has to offer. Which are quite adequate, Martin providing a quirky hero with a fondness for magic, using sleight of hand to pull a cigarette, lighter and even an egg out of a bemused Pheely’s ear during their conversation.

This was the second adaptation of the Edgar Wallace novel, published in 1926. There had previously been a British film, The Door With Seven Locks, directed by Norman Lee in 1940, with Romilly Lunge in the role of Inspector Martin, with Lilli Palmer (a future Mrs. Rex Harrison) as Ms. Lansdowne. I haven’t see it, but sense this is a bit more lurid. One German site called it, “probably one of the trashiest Rialto thrillers,” though you’d never get me to admit that was a bad thing! Production on this was delayed so that the script, which was originally considerably more globe-trotting, could be pared down to a level consistent with the available budget.

I do feel the mad scientist angle feels rather bolted on and superfluous, though did appreciate the mention of Soviet experiments in head transplantation (credited here to a Dr. Pavlov, when it was actually Dr. Vladimir Demikhov). There’s plenty going on in the main body of the plot as it is, and the horror element it provides, seems at odds with the more prosaic motives of the other characters. I’m also not quite sure the logic stands up to scrutiny, with the bad guys possessing knowledge far in excess of what they plausibly should e.g. how did they know Pheely had gone to see Inspector Martin?

Still, I can’t argue I was not entertained: it’s full of interesting characters, and the plot keeps moving on, without significant dead spots. Any weaknesses certainly didn’t stop the film from being a roaring success. It sold over three million tickets in Germany to put it among the top half-dozen of Wallace adaptations. The krimi gravy train was well under way, and as we found out earlier, Klaus was apparently inked in for a number more stops.

Dir: Raphaële Billetdoux
Star: Pénélope Palmer, Klaus Kinski, Hélène Surgère, Michel Robin

Time and subsequent events have not been kind to the story here. Even when it was made, the idea of an adult man having a relationship with a 11-14 year-old girl was clearly problematic, regardless of its nature (and we’ll get to that in a bit). The subsequent accusations by Klaus’s daughter, Pola, that he sexually abused her from the ages of five to nineteen, add an unwelcome resonance to proceedings. Admittedly, it’s not something writer-director Billetdoux – who, incidentally, is a woman – could have foreseen coming out of the woodwork, more than thirty years later. However, watching scenes such as Klaus flat-out staring at the girl as she takes a bath… Well, if you don’t feel a bit uncomfortable, you’re made of sterner stuff than I.

Yet that may also be part of the point here. The film’s title translates as “The woman-child”, but you could argue that it might just as well be called “The man-child”. For Kinski’s character, Marcel, seems to be behind his chronological age, as much as the other half in the relationship, Élisabeth (Palmer), seems to be advanced ahead of her years. Initially, they are in some ways a match, both being starved of affection. But in the three years over which this takes place, Élisabeth matures, and leaves Marcel behind, emotionally and intellectually, as well as geographically. The realization of this destroys him, and leads to a tragic conclusion, in which she rejects her own family, telling her father (Robin), “Your slap is four years too late, and your kisses too.”

The film is, deliberately, ambivalent as to whether or not there is a sexual component (be that physical or mental) to the relationship between Élisabeth and Marcel. When she takes a bath in front of him, it’s with a complete lack of self-consciousness, as if he were a little brother. But his intense focus on her, as noted above (and shown below), is unsettling. On the other hand, there is also a scene where she puts lipstick on before going to see Marcel, and pouts at him. His reaction? He slaps her across the face. Yet, another sequence has her trying on petticoats and swirling them in his face, to Marcel’s obvious delight that, shorn of context, would reek of pedophilia. It’s all maddeningly inconsistent – again, I suspect, intentionally so.

The film draws a parallel between Élisabeth and the mythical Lorelei of German legend. In school, there’s a discussion of Heinrich Heine’s poem and it’s meaning: “Loreleï, is a very beautiful young lady. She swims, and she sings too… The men bewitched by her often lose sight of the water… This wonderful lady will cause their death, leading them to perdition.” It proves to be Élisabeth’s musical talents which cause Marcel’s downfall. For they lead her to move away, to a musical conservatory in Lille, triggering his collapse, when he believes she has abandoned him.

Making motivation and intent harder to discern, Marcel is completely mute. Yes, Klaus doesn’t say a single word over the course of proceedings. It makes for a challenging role, and you can see the appeal of it, especially to someone like Kinski, bored with more normal parts. It is a limitation that literally robs the actor of his voice. Instead, he is forced to use his eyes and his hands to put over his internal emotions, and also to communicate with Élisabeth. If a good demonstration of his theatrical talents, it feels like you are watching a chained-up tiger. The results are, inevitably, one-sided. And since that side belongs to a prepubescent child of limited acting experience (though Palmer made her debut at the age of three months, in one of Andy Warhol’s Screen Test series), the results leave a bit to be desired.

As the above suggests, Klaus was unhappy with several aspects of filming. Firstly, the location in the Somme (specifically, the village of Bovelles), about which he wrote, “I don’t think there’s a nastier and more suicide-inducing region in France than the area this director bitch has chosen for the flick. It’s near Belgium. Brutal and insidious, and now, in November and December, it’s gray and bleak, with a freezing slush. Fog, snow, and icy roads.” Then there’s the hotel accommodations: “The so-called deluxe ‘Turkish’ baths, with their huge, round plastic tubs where you could easily drown, function as follows: If you flush the toilet, shit and piss well up from the bathtub drain. If you turn on the cold-water faucet, out comes boiling water that stinks of shit. And so on. It’s a Laurel and Hardy flick. This so-called luxury chateau is used by Parisian men and their whores as a weekend brothel.”

But that pales into insignificance compared to his views on Billetdoux. His opinions on having a female director (my initial instinct is for the only time?) don’t exactly appear progressive, shall we say: “The first thing I think of is fuck­ing this director. That would be something new!” On the other hand, one can perhaps forgive Klaus for that, since “Our dis­cussions about the shooting take place on a bed”. Even though “she insists on remaining fully dressed,” that seems like a needless provocation. Was Billetdoux not aware of Kinski’s ferocious reputation? The actor was thoroughly unimpressed. “It takes me forever to grab a piece of her ass, forget about her cunt. She’s not only dumb and has no talent whatsoever, but is also stubborn.” None of the above paragraph made it into Kinski Uncut.

Regardless of his opinions about Billetdoux, you can’t deny Kinski, as usual, delivered the goods with his performance. Nothing sums this up more than the scene where Élisabeth goes to spy on Marcel, in his job as gardener/farmer on a local estate, and watches him tending to a cow. Any normal actor might have been content to feed the cow, perhaps slap it on the rump. Not Klaus, who buries himself up to the shoulder in its digestive tract. And not from the front end, either. Such commitment to his craft, can only be admired.

Dir: Roberto Rossellini
Star: Ingrid Bergman, Mathias Wieman, Renate Mannhardt, Klaus Kinski
a.k.a. Fear

And this is how the gods of site content punish me. Last month, I was complaining about the brevity of Klaus’s appearance in The Soldier. But I managed to squeeze my usual thousand words out, with the help of a behind-the-scenes interview with the director. So what do they send me next, for my hubris? A film where Kinski’s on screen performance is approximately five seconds in length, I kid you not. His entire appearance is literally GIFable. Yeah, I’m not holding out enormous hope for this hitting the normal quota, but let’s give it the old college try…

Not that it’s without interest, being the final collaboration between Rossellini and then-wife Bergman, before they separated. Their relationship had begun in scandal, with both being married at the time. The affair caused Senator Edwin C. Johnson to denounce them in the US Senate, saying Bergman “had perpetrated an assault upon the institution of marriage,” and was “a powerful influence for evil.” In this light – and that of their eventual break-up – this has a certain resonance. For the story of La Paura is about a woman whose affair, and the threat of its exposure, sends her teetering towards the edge of a breakdown.

There will be spoilers below, in order to discuss the film fully. If you’re concerned about things read no further. Though I had it spoiled for me before I watched it, and I didn’t feel it impacted my enjoyment too much. The way the story-line unfolds, it feels like it could be a Hitchcockian thriller, in which case the twist would probably be more relevant. But it’s really more of a psychological drama, intent on getting inside the head of the lead character, Irene Wagner (Bergman). As such, the revelation is not crucial to an appreciation of it.

The film begins with Irene having an argument with her lover. Curiously, both Wikipedia and IMDb give this character’s name as Erich, but she clearly calls him Heinz at the start. Is this a result of the film having been shot in two versions – German and English – rather than being dubbed from one to the other? I’ve only seen the German version. Adding to the confusion, there may also be multiple cuts. An IMDb review says, “A fishing scene is missing and tiresomely expositional monologue is added in two scenes.” But the fishing was present in what I saw, and there was no Blade Runner-esque monologue to be found.

I digress. Heinz/Erich is annoyed at the lack of time Irene spends with him these days. While the film certainly doesn’t make this clear, other reviews state that the affair began while her scientist husband, Albert (Wieman), was away in prison following the end of the war, but has since gone on the back-burner. Irene gets door-stepped one night by Johanna Schultze (Mannhardt). She explains she was a former girlfriend of Erich, and threatens to reveal Irene’s relationship with him to her husband, unless she gets paid. First, she asks for five thousand marks, and eventually it escalates to twenty thousand.

However, the twist is that the scheme is actually instigated by Albert. He wants his wife to confess in order that he can forgive her. This motivation is made clear during a scene at the family’s country house, where the son and daughter have been packed off for the summer. The boy gets an air-rifle as a present, but the girl is jealous, so hides it. Initially, she won’t confess to what she has done, but her father delivers the following lines to her – though they resonate both with the audience and Irene. Given Albert’s role, it’s likely his choice of words is entirely deliberate.

For what it’s worth, his lines translate as:
Where they sit on their fists like a heavyweight,
on their tower of law and burn beside their smiles…
Make of that what you will.

Johanna ends up confessing she was put up to the blackmail stunt by Irene’s husband, a revelation which sends the victim even further into despair. She is about to attempt suicide – and I have to say, it’s a very powerful scene, showcasing Bergman at her most intense – when her husband arrives and stops her, forgiving her even without the desired confession. Though I’m not sure she could, or will, forgive him for putting her through the emotional wringer.

Hey, whaddya know. I still reached a thousand words, though for obvious reasons, not much about KK! There is a small chunk in All You Need is Love, which refers to Rossellini, though it’s not clear if it’s in regard to this film. Klaus writes:

Roberto Rossellini comes to Berlin to cast his next movie. Count Treuberg, whom I met through Sasha and who is supposedly Rossellini’s consultant and is always meddling and lying, takes me to him. The waiting room in the pro­duction office is stuffed with unemployed actors who are all desperate to play in Rossellini’s film. Rossellini is on the telephone with Anna Magnani in Rome and has apparently forgotten, or doesn’t even know, that we are all here. After four hours of hanging out in the smoke-filled room, I am ripping mad. I roar out, cursing Rossellini and his fucking movie. Rossellini throws the door open, gives me a friendly laugh and says to Treuberg, “Chi έ quello? Mi interessa! Fategli un provo.”

The last sentence translates, from what I can work out, to “Who is that? I’m interested! Give him a shot.” But if all that resulted was the five seconds here, can’t say I blame Kinski for being mad!

Dir: James Glickenhaus
Star: Ken Wahl, Alberta Watson, Jeremiah Sullivan, Klaus Kinski

It just seems wrong somehow, that it will take you considerably longer to read this article than to watch the entirety of Klaus Kinski’s appearance in the film. For he makes his first entrance timestamped at 31:34 seconds into proceedings, sporting a very natty set of white ski gear, which matches both his hair and his pale complexion. He is last seen, less than three and a half minutes later, at 35:02, scurrying away from a cable-car control panel. We’ll get to the specifics of why later. Let’s just say that, even by the standards of Klaus cashing the check, this was a remarkably brief appearance.

I feared writing my standard 1,000 words on this particular entry would be a challenge. But fortunately, there’s an interview with Glickenhaus on the DVD, where he talks about Kinski – again, probably for longer than his appearance! All quotes below are from him, beginning with the director’s explanation about how Kinski got involved with the film.

We were monitoring the budget as we went along, and we were actually doing pretty well… It turned out we had a little extra money, so I said, let’s go after a little bigger star for that part. This was in the middle of shooting, and we called up Klaus, and he said “Okay, well send me the script.” And he called back and said. “This is ridiculous, it’s a teeny part! I’m a star, I can’t do this!” I said, “Look, I don’t want to insult you. Here’s what I’m willing to pay for this. Yes or no?” And he said, “Oh, okay, I’ll go.”

Writer, producer and director Glickenhaus is quite interesting himself; he came to cinematic prominence as writer/director of 1980’s The Exterminator. This hyper-violent vigilante flick was labeled by Roger Ebert “a sick example of the almost unbelievable descent into gruesome savagery in American movies.” Needless to say, this didn’t stop it from being a big enough hit that Glickenhaus got significantly more funding for The Soldier. Afterwards, he gave Jackie Chan his first Western role in The Protector, but eventually quit the film business in the mid-nineties, and now runs Scuderia Cameron Glickenhaus, an ultra-high end custom car manufacturer.

Klaus was a trip from the second he got to the set. He basically tried to attack anything that walked and was female. The PA that we sent to get him, started sitting next to him and wound up, I think, getting a bus back to the hotel where we were.

This is also squarely in the wheelhouse of the cold war, though it’s perhaps less jingoistic than I expected. The central focus is a threat to nuke the Saudi Arabian oil fields, unless Israel pulls out of the West Bank. Given this would render half the world’s oil supplies useless for 300 years, and probably bring about the collapse of Western civilization, allowing communism to take over, this is not a good thing. America, in particular, is unimpressed, and decides that if Israel won’t pull out voluntarily, then they will go into the West Bank and eject them. The Israelis aren’t too happy about this, obviously. Fortunately, there is an alternative, our nameless but titular hero (Wahl), and his four colleagues, making up an extra-judicial task-force, responsible only – indeed, known only – to the head of the CIA.

One thing I do remember about Klaus, he was very concerned about the outfit that he wore. He had very particular ideas on how it should look. So we took him shopping at the fanciest ski-place in St. Anton, and he picked out this very tight, white ski parka that was way too tight to ski in. But the pants that he picked out were… he had in mind he wanted to show off… I don’t know exactly what, but they were so tight it was kinda silly. I was afraid he was going to cut off his circulation and pass out… At the end he disappeared with them, even though he was supposed to give them back to us.

The obvious villains in this are the Russians, who would benefit massively [not least. because they have most of the uncontaminated oil supplies]. However, the Soldier doesn’t think they are directly responsible, and believes a rogue faction of the KGB are likely responsible. To see if this is the case, he arranges a meeting with Dracha (Kinski). He is a Russian agent, someone the CIA director says “Is absolutely loyal to the KGB, but he has always been straight with us in the past.” So, a meeting is arranged at St. Anton in Austria, but it turns out Dracha is part of the plot, sending the Soldier up in a cable-car at which his minions fire an RPG.

The Soldier escapes, leaping from the cable-car just before it explodes. There then follows a rather good ski-chase down the mountain, ending with him rotating 180 degrees in mid-air to unleash a burst of automatic fire at his pursuers. It has to be said, the action overall is nifty, culminating at the end when our hero flies a Porsche over the Berlin Wall into East Berlin. There, he tells the Russians if they don’t defuse their bomb in Saudi Arabia, he’ll nuke Moscow. For his team has taken over a missile silo in Kansas – apparently, you can get into these facilities by hiding in the trunk of a car. Nice to know they are less secure than your average drive-in movie theater.

I didn’t see him again until Cannes when he was there with Werner Herzog, who he had just filmed a film about an opera-house in the jungle, and bringing a boat over the mountains, and he was completely drunk. Just coincidentally, I was there just in the room – it wasn’t that I had gone there to see him or anything. Someone asked him about Werner Herzog and he said, “He’s an idiot, an asshole, an incompetent who doesn’t know how to make films. And that guy” – he pointed to me – “He knows how to make films!” But this was just Klaus. I mean, no-one took him seriously.

While technically solid, it all feels very fragmented, scenes bouncing from continent to continent, without much cohesion. At times, it seems it’s trying to be an American version of a Bond film, except the Soldier never succeeds in coming over as a memorable character. The Tangerine Dream score is quite good, though it does irrevocably lock this as an eighties film. Otherwise, while passably entertaining, it’s unquestionably one of the most minor entries in the Kinski filmography.

Dir: Alfred Vohrer
Star: Heinz Drache, Barbara Rütting, Günter Pfitzmann, Klaus Kinski
a.k.a. The Squeaker

The alternate title seems to have lost a little in translation. Or, at least, a letter L, for “The Squealer” is more accurate. About the only squeaking to be heard here, is the brief exclamation given by a poor mouse that gets snatched up as dinner by a snake, the exotic reptile which helps power the plot. The squealer, on the other hand, is the mysterious character who rules the London underworld. If you have the misfortune to fall into his ill-graces – such as refusing the price offered for your loot – he has no qualms about betraying you to the police. Hence, the titular nickname.

While the cops seems fine with this, it appears that now something must be done. For as this film begins, the Squealer seems to have graduated from snitching to murder. People are turning up, apparently killed by the bite of a black mamba. This isn’t just not a native animal to England, it’s one which couldn’t even function in the depths of a British winter, making it an even more bizarre case. Investigating the case is Scotland Yard’s Inspector Elford (Drache), along with newspaper man Harras (regular krimi comic foil Eddi Arent), who keeps getting scooped by mysterious rival “Jos”.

Their inquiries bring them to Frankie Sutton (Pfitzmann), who runs an exotic animal supply business, with the help of the extremely creepy mute Krishna (Kinski). And by coincidence, he just “lost” a black mamba. They operate the firm on behalf of the former owner’s widow, Mrs. Mulford. Her husband committed suicide after falling victim to a blackmailer’s plot, leaving the business to her. Also in the mix of possible suspects are her niece, Beryl Stedman (Rutting), who is a wannabe crime writer, and a man recently released from jail, for Mrs. Mulford has a fondness for helping ex-cons. Which of them, if any, will turn out to be… the Squealer?

Based on Edgar Wallace’s 1927 novel of the same name, this was the fourth time one of his best-known works had been adapted into a movie. The first was just three years after the book was published, and was directed by Wallace himself, one of two such films. The following year, 1931, saw the first German adaptation, and there was another British version in 1937, this one produced by Alexander Korda. Remade once more as part of the sixties cycle of Wallace movies, it was the first of them to be made in scope, and also introduced the iconic opening sequence, with its “Hello. Hier spricht Edgar Wallace…” (“Hello. This is Edgar Wallace speaking…”).

It opens with a strong start, even before the credits. Krishna stalks through the English fog, before descending into the basement at Mulford’s, which is apparently used as their animal storehouse. He wanders past a couple of baby elephants and some llamas. But his mission is disturbed by another employee, who has to be dispatched ruthlessly by Krishna, and left dangling by a pit of alligators. [I am fairly sure this location would not pass muster by modern pet store standards] This lets him get what he came for: the case containing an African mamba, which Klaus snatches up and spirits off.

However, if you are expecting him to be a major player in the film, you will end up being disappointed, as that one sequence represents a good percentage of his screen-time. While’s he’s obviously involved in the murders, it’s more as a minion, carrying out the bidding of his unseen master on minor tasks. The important stuff, such as collecting the mamba venom, which is then frozen and used as lethal projectiles, is done by the Squealer himself. That said, Krishna does exude a creepy menace. It’s never clear if his silence is the result of some trauma or illness, or if he just doesn’t want to talk very much.

As shown, top, Krishna also has an apparent fondness for playing with his python. And, no, that’s not a euphemism, it’s a literal snake that he lets crawl over him. It’s an eerie foreshadow of what daughter Nastassja would do, a couple of decades later – at least Klaus keeps his clothes on. The snakes here are also a bit of an precursor to Kinski’s subsequent encounter with a black mamba, in 1981’s Venom. Though his character ended up as a victim of the poisonous reptile there, rather than weaponizing it. Maybe I need to start a really specialized website: KinskisWithSnakes.com.

There are a couple of really imaginative bits of cinematography by Karl Lob, to the point where they are arguably more a distraction than an enhancement. The one mentioned in just about every review is the shot from inside someone’s mouth, as they munch on a carrot! It’s probably just a bit much. But there is also another striking shot, looking up from the bottom of a sink, through the water, as the subject washes their hands. And, generally, the film looks very sharp, with excellent monochrome photography that frequently pops off the screen. The characters are quite fun too, a quirky bunch of potential criminal masterminds.

The problems are much more on the story-line side, with a plot which is confusing when it isn’t flat-out implausible. I mean, there are surely less convoluted ways to get rid of people than blowing frozen snake venom into them? And, let’s face it, such a method basically creates a large, flashing neon sign over any exotic animal supply houses, given that access to black mambas is not what you’d call universal, even in sixties London. It also doesn’t make MUCH sense for the Squealer to type up his blackmail notes on the same machine used for company business. All told, if this criminal mastermind was as smart as they are supposed to be, Inspector Elford would never have come within a mile of them.

But it does have Klaus cuddling a snake. And purely for that alone, it’s not without merit.

Dir: Yves Boisset
Star: Claudio Brook, Margaret Lee, Hans Meyer, Klaus Kinski

The titular character was the hero of an extremely long-running series of novels, written by Belgian author “Paul Kenny”. Quotes used there, since Kenny didn’t exist, being a nom de plume, initially used by Gaston Van den Panhuyse and Jean Libert. The non-existent Mr. Kenny wrote a remarkable 237 Coplan novels, beginning in 1953 with Sans Issue (No Exit). At its peak, they were selling 3.5 million copies a year, and their success led to six feature-film adaptations, as well as a TV miniseries and a long-running comic adaptation.

This was the last of the six movies, which had started with Action immédiate (To Catch a Spy) in 1957. Much like the Bond films which were their inspiration, different actors played the part of agent Francis Coplain. Actually, the six films starred six different actors in the role! This is the only one I’ve seen, but what stands out in particular here is the hero’s solo approach. There’s no indication of any organization behind Coplan, and not even a tech wizard to provide him with gadgets. He’s just left to fend for himself, with the fate of the world potentially on the line, until the late arrival of the authorities on the scene.

Most of this takes place in Istanbul, and it feels like a cross between From Russia With Love and Goldfinger, albeit probably more like the Ian Fleming novels than the movie adaptations of them. The first half has a lot of roaming around the city, interacting with all levels of society from itinerant bear handlers (!) to a sculptor/spiritualist (since that’s Kinski’s character, more on him later). The second has Coplan heading into the villain’s remote lair. where he is captured, and made to take part in a “human hunt.” It’s never quite clear what the villain is up to. There’s a door in the basement of his fortress, behind which is something which can (literally) melt your face off. But it’s more like the suitcase in Pulp Fiction – simply a MacGuffin.

This all kicks off when Coplan (Brook) gets a request for help from Mara (Lee), an old flame. She is scared for her life, as the scientist with whom she was working, just got stabbed to death in an Istanbul street. Her concern quickly proves to be justified, as she and Coplan get jumped by a group of thugs. Despite his heroic efforts, he gets knocked out and Mara is apparently killed. Rescued by a girl called Yasmine, whose grandfather is the beat handler mentioned above, Coplan vows to find the truth behind Mara’s death. His investigation leads to further corpses, bringing him to the attention of the local cops, led by Lieutenant Sakki of the Emniyet, who think he’s more likely the perpetrator than a victim.

Coplan discovers that Mara was a drug-addict, and is pointed in the direction of her supplier. Who turns out to be Thelier (Kinski) – the same sculptor/spiritualist mentioned earlier. Coplan shows up, disturbing one of his seances which Thelier is conducting with his shirt off, because… reasons. [I don’t think Kinski has his shirt on in any scene in the movie!] He seems to have been rather obsessed with Mara as well. Thelier reveals that he was able to reunite Mara with her brother, Hugo Gernsbach. Which is a surprise to Coplan, because Hugo supposedly died three years ago in a laboratory accident. “It just goes to prove, some ties are stronger than death” says Thelier enigmatically

When our hero goes to Gernsbach’s supposed grave, another lead presents itself. He sees what he initially believes to be Mara, on a hill overlooking the cemetery. After following the “dead” woman, Coplan discovers Mara’s doppelgänger, working as a dancer in a cabaret – and, I have to say, she’s pretty good at her job. It turns out to be Mara’s sister, Eva (also Lee), who was the black sheep of the family, and so was never discussed. After more deaths and an escape by Coplan from police custody, a further visit to Thelier, and a little spot of statue-smashing coaxes the location of Gernsbach’s lair out of him. It’s a breach of confidence which costs the sculptor dearly, being drowned in a sink at a Turkish bath by Gernsbach’s assassin for his sins.

This sets up the final act of the film, where Coplan basically marches into Gernsbach’s lair in the ominously named “Sepulcher Valley”. The villain couldn’t be more stereotypically Bond-esque if he tried, down to stroking the cat he carries around. His minions there include an Amazonian woman and a midget, while Yasmine (Ctrl-F if you don’t remember her; it was a while ago) is being dangled in an iron cage, in order to ensure Coplan’s compliance. As noted previously, this involves his participation in a hunting party – he’s the prey. However, Coplan manages to survive, leading to a final confrontation in the basement, where faces are duly melted, and we never discover the specifics of the global threat Gernsback is supposed to represent.

Unless you have a “topless Klaus” fetish – not that I’m judging – this is certainly a slight entry in the Kinski filmography, with him only appearing in three scenes. Despite that, and it being largely a shameless Bond knock-off, it’s still quite entertaining. There’s copious use of the Istanbul backdrop, which is always fun to see. The finale, if rather contrived (if you have to invoke ancient Hittite hunting traditions, you’re probably on thin ice), is fun. Not least, the moment where Coplan takes out an adversary with an impeccably accurate bit of poisonous spider tossing. It’s all nicely shot, and briskly-paced, if derivative.

What does Klaus have to say about the film? In Kinski Uncut, apparently nothing at all. But there is a passage in All You Need is Love, cut from the subsequent version, which appears to refer to it. “A film in Turkey. We shoot in a men’s brothel. Because of the endless filming, I come across only five cunts: one of my partners, two extras, a French barmaid, and a hefty Turkish waitress who works till four in the morning at an outdoor restaurant where fat Turkish women always appear singing for hours on end and never seem to stop.” There is a lot more about the last sexual partner. But I think we can take it as read, since it doesn’t exactly shed any light on the movie!

Dir: Riccardo Freda
Star: Klaus Kinski, Christiane Krüger, Sydney Chaplin, Günther Stoll

Like And God Said to Cain, this is a relatively rare film in which Kinski’s character is as much victim as victimizer – though also as there, it would likely be a bit of a stretch to call him “heroic.” He plays John Alexander, who married into wealth after wedding Helen (Margaret Lee), the owner of a successful company, who inherited it from her mother. After an initial honeymoon period, their relationship is now sinking fast, with neither partner remaining faithful. John is, at least, trying to be relatively discreet in an affair with his secretary. Helen, on the other hand, basically flaunts her lover, an actress named Liz, in her husband’s face.

Helen is then, apparently, killed in a car accident. I saw “apparently” for two reasons. Firstly, the audience sees the hands of a figure planting an explosive device on her sports car, so we know it’s no accident – it takes the police considerably longer to reach that conclusion. And, secondly, the body of Helen was “burned beyond recognition”. If I’ve learned anything from this kind of film, it’s that this inevitably means the corpse isn’t who you think it is. While this film does pre-date the use of DNA profiling, you’d think authorities might have looked into dental records. In their defense, there’s no reason for them to think it’s anyone other than Helen.

After a few weeks of mourning, John returns home to find the shower occupied by a bit of teenage Eurototty, Christine (Krüger). She turns out to be an actress in stag movies, and when she shows John her latest work, shot just a couple of days ago, he’s staggered to see elements strongly suggesting her veiled co-star is his supposedly dead wife. [As an aside, this felt a bit like a plot thread in Get Carter, made two years later] He starts trying to find out the identity of the participant, buying the film from its producer. However, the cops, under Inspector Stevens (Stoll), discover the truth about Helen’s death, and as the main beneficiary, John becomes suspect #1. When he shows the film to his father-in-law (Chaplin, the son of Charlie), evidence of it being Helen, such as a prominent neck scar, is no longer present.

So did John imagine it all? Or is he the target of a complex conspiracy? In this kind of film, which straddles the genres of Italian giallo and German krimi, it could be either. There was a point at which I was increasingly convinced that Christine was merely a figment of his deranged imagination, as it seemed that he was the only person who could see her. This was particularly the case during an extended sequence (okay, it’s only about 3½ minutes – it just feels a lot longer) where he follows her into the sixties version of a rave. This proves that young people have been getting off their faces in shit clubs while listening to worse music, and to the disapproval of adults, for over fifty years now.

After early effort to paint John as potentially Helen’s killer, it becomes clear that he genuinely did love her. The movie implies his affair was a reaction to her spurning, not only his affection, but that of the entire male gender. This would have to be a blow to any man’s self-confidence. Despite the early gloved killer, it does likely skew closer to the krimi field, even if the body-count is… well, one, which is considerably lower than usual, or indeed most giallo films. Plenty of nudity though, and other elements feel almost gothic, e.g. John wandering around by candlelight (below). While not based on a work by Edgar Wallace, it was advertised as such in Germany. It flopped so badly there, it caused a two-year hiatus in Rialto Films’ long-running series of Wallace adaptations, many of which had starred Kinski.

There is a definite sense of John gradually falling apart under the pressure of not knowing if his wife is dead or alive. At a couple of points, he cracks and teeters on the edge of unpleasant savagery. The ending, where he drinks heavily then gets a message to meet his “dead” wife at the deserted cathedral of St. Anne’s is likely the most obvious. Only the timely arrival of Inspector Stevens likely prevents John from becoming the murderer he is suspected of being. Yet there, he’s being manipulated into violence. Perhaps more telling is an earlier scene, where John breaks a bottle and threatens to slice up Christine’s face with it unless she talks, as shown in the poster (above). This is considerably closer to the Kinski we’ve come to expect.

Technically, the production is a bit variable, to put it mildly. The crash between a train and a car with which the film opens, is barely of the Hot Wheels level. There’s also some early green-screen work which is so bad, they probably shouldn’t have bothered. However, while the film clearly was not made in London as a whole, it’s a nice bit of period atmosphere to see Klaus strolling the neon-lit streets around Piccadilly Circus in swinging Lonson. At one point, he crosses the road in front of a cinema showing Where Eagles Dare. This would likely pin-point shooting as late 1968 or early 1969, since that film was released in the UK on December 4, 1968.

In truth, it does occupy a somewhat uncomfortable ground between genres, and it might have been better had Freda gone full-bore in one direction or another. While it’s a good role for Kinski, and he does a fine job of capturing the ambivalence of the character, the supporting cast are largely forgettable. Reportedly, Kinski didn’t get on with Freda and walked off the production until the director threatened to use a stand-in. There’s no mention of this in Klaus’s autobiography. But in the original version, All You Need is Love, is a section apparently referring to shooting this film in London (it mentions “Christine, my partner in the movie”), which is not present in Kinski Uncut.

This is mostly fairly banal, the usual sex and drugs shenanigans. It seems to mention Donyalle Luna, the first black supermodel, which could perhaps be why it was cut. Though since she died of a heroin overdoes in 1979, it’s hard to imagine her getting upset over the report of her “shooting up hard stuff into her veins.” But I was amused by this: “In London, I’m so stoned on hash that I lay down naked in the icy wind on the concrete balcony of my suite in the Hilton. When I come to, I eat eleven club sandwiches and drink three quarts of cold milk.” That certainly has the ring of Kinski-esque truth to it.

Dir: Georges Lautner
Star: Alain Delon, Ornella Muti, Jean Bouise, Klaus Kinski
a.k.a. Death of a Corrupt Man

This political thriller is impressively undated, and with few adaptations, could easily be taking place in the contemporary world. It begins with the murder of Serrano, a fixer with a lot of high-level connections. The man responsible is a member of the French parliament, Philippe Dubaye, who goes to his friend, Xavier Maréchal (Delon) for help. Turns out, Dubaye had also taken a ledger from Serrano, which implicates names all the way to the top in the government and beyond, as having taken bribes. Dubaye has stashed the ledger in the apartment where he keeps his young mistress, Valérie (Muti). But when Dubaye also turns up dead, it’s up to Maréchal and Valérie to navigate the treacherous shoals. For there are a lot of people who would like to get their hands on that ledger, by any means necessary.

Delon may be the epitome of cool, completely unfazed by anything and anyone. He barely raises a sardonic eyebrow when woken in the middle of the night by a friend confessing to murder [interestingly, what we see unfold of this in flashback, and what Dubaye describes, are clearly not the same thing at all]. He retains this phlegmatic temperament through several enthusiastic attempts to kill him. It helps that he’s entirely capable of handling these attempts, having skills better suited to a French F1 driver. But even so, his remarkable grace under the pressure is impressive. I guess when you look as good as Delon, massive slabs of self-confidence comes with the territory!

It’s all wonderfully murky, with the motives and intentions of just about everyone suspect, save for Xavier. He is solely interested in finding out who killed his friend, and that information determines to whom he will give the ledger. This is proof positive of his moral imperatives, for he could quite easily turn the evidence into a large amount of wealth and/or power. That said, it’s equally testimony to his cynical realization, that what happens to the information in it won’t necessarily make a lot of difference. Some politicians will take the fall for the bribes they’ve been given. They’ll just be replaced by others, quite likely with their hands equally out-stretched. Getting justice for Dubaye is about all for which Xavier can hope.

The other thing of particular note, is that this conspiratorial snake is one without a head. Initially, it seems the man at the top may be Monsieur Tomski, the small but important role played by Kinski. He shows up early, with a smile which is more creepy and disturbing than anything, apparently permanently on his face as he moves through the upper echelons of society. Tomski than vanishes from much of the middle. He only re-enters the fray after Xavier is arrested by the cops as a suspect in the murders, easily pulling the strings needed to get our hero released by Commissioner Perne (Bouise). Tomski then invites Xavier to a hunting party at his country mansion, in an effort to apply pressure towards giving up the ledger.

Though Maréchal is lucky to get there alive, since on the road, a pincer movement leads to three vehicles being dumped onto his, off the back of a car transporter. Was this Tomski’s work? Hard to say. Certainly, the industrialist makes it clear he’s not fooling around, with another participant on the hunt being shot, purely to drive home that very point to Xavier. Message delivered, they have a little chat, in which Tomski outlines the film’s worldview in the following terms, yet also indicates that there are other, unseen hands pulling his strings.

“Although you will not find my name on any piece of paper, the ledger you possess is my property. Or, if you want, I am responsible for it to certain people. Since the political climate now is very unfavorable, your exposure can only harm the interests of the country… As long as power has not been captured by the Internationale of workers, it entirely belongs to the Internationale of bankers. And it has its own laws, the new ones. Words like “enemies” or “allies” have lost their significance. There are no friends, only partners. Capital does not recognize any borders.”

Tomski exits the film shortly after. It’s not clear if he ever gets his hands on the ledger. Xavier doesn’t give it to him directly, yet it feels possible the eventual recipient could be working under Tomski. It doesn’t matter, certainly not to Maréchal – though he does remove any reference to his late friend from the dossier before handing it over. And he realizes Tomski was correct: nothing will change. “Some of the people’s representatives will stay on their toes, but not for long. I assure you, time will pass and they will have new masks of honest politicians – like old women, who tighten the skin on their faces… Sleep soundly, Parisians. All is well.”

A couple of other points of note. Muti is a total seventies fox, even if her role in this is rather minor, beyond finding a photographer’s studio where they can copy the ledger. [One of the few aspects which would need updating for a contemporary remake, now we all have cameras on our phones] Though I was amused, again, by Xavier’s low-key reaction on learning that his pal had a secret apartment with a dolly bird stashed in it. I am Xavier’s Complete Lack of Surprise. I also must praise the rich soundtrack by Philippe Sarde, a couple of years before being Oscar-nominated for his score accompanying Klaus’s daughter in Tess. Here, it features sax by Stan Getz. Though sadly, we don’t get Girl From Ipanema worked into proceedings at any point.

While I’d be hard-pushed to call this a major Kinski work, it’s one which I certainly enjoyed watching. Political films often suffer a high degree of attrition over time, as the social and cultural landscape changes. That isn’t the case here, with the nicely cynical attitudes contained just as relevant in 2020.