A long, rambling, shambling, doddering, staggering chaos of a film, blighted by (amongst other things): (1) impenetrable Middle European accents, most of them genuine but three put on ~ by Miss Friel, her husband, and her lover; (2) a narrative style that was very much like listening to a boring drunk recounting a shaggy dog story; (3) a schizoid attitude toward the countess herself ~ ambiguity is all very well, but to switch sides several times in the course of one story just makes the storyteller appear 'flakey'; (4) a sub-plot about two spying monks which ... well, which beggared description in its absurdity; (5) visual imagery and editing which frequently resembled pop videos; (6) so on and so forth.
Review of Bathory: Countess of Blood
