The Trouble With Harry
In Antwerp by Nicholas Royle, two women connected with an underground film production disappear, only for their dead bodies to be discovered next to video recordings of movies by the celebrated Belgian director Harry Kumel. A case of bad timing, then, when critic Frank Warner elects to bring his girlfriend Sian with him to the filmset where he is due to interview the controversial director Johnny Vos. When Sian goes missing, Warner finds himself drawn into the investigation as he becomes exasparated by the indolence, incompetence and suspected corruption amongst the local police. Are Kumel and Vos somehow implicated in the murders, and to what extent is Warner's troubled past a factor in the mystery?
Antwerp is Royle's fifth novel, but the first since becoming a full-time writer, and the depth of research into the city (and, in particular, its disused buildings) reveals itself in the way he impressively develops a sense of time and place. The book is the literary equivalent of an atmospheric, enigmatic art-house thriller - through clever usage of multiple perspectives, Royle skilfully keeps the reader slightly off-balance throughout. This sustained mood of anxiety and disorientation appears to reflect the author's depiction of Belgium's own uncertain sense of identity, riven with ethnic divisions it refuses to publicly acknowledge. Although the book might not be a favourite with the local tourist board, Royle professes to a 'life-long love affair' with Belgium and the works of surreal artist Paul Delvaux and director Kumel, in particular. His audacious use of the latter as a protagonist in the book acts like a Hitchcock cameo, a minor role which nevertheless leaves an indelible imprint on the work as a whole.
One of the strengths of the book is the way it intrigues you into checking out some of the great films it alludes to through the course of the narrative. In particular, I sought out the US region 0 DVD of Kumel's best-known work, the 1971 arthouse vampire flick Daughters of Darkness. Whereas the glaring weakness in the Royle book is the thinly-sketched female characters, Kumel's film is dominated by its impossibly glamorous women protagonists. Delphine Seyrig exudes the decadent allure of Dietrich at her peak as the Countess of Bathory who, with her gamine black-bobbed consort (played by the ravishing gothchick model Andrea Rau) ensnare a troubled honeymooning couple (a youthful John Karlen and the impossibly beautiful Andrea Ouimet) during the course of a stormy weekend in a Belgian hotel. By modern standards the pacing of the film is deliberate and slow, but all the better to absorb the stunning visuals and feel the devastating impact of the bloodletting as it unfolds. Kumel saves the best moments of the movie to the final scene: as two vampire lovers drive through the woods at breakneck speed in a frantic bid to avoid dawn's deadly daybreak, the film finally goes full throttle into exhiliratingly erotic territory.
The Blue Underground DVD is also worth noting for its extras: commentaries from Kumel and John Karlen (almost unrecognisable in his Abba haircut from his days as Tyne Daly's long-suffering husband in 80s cop show Cagney and Lacey) and an interview with Rau, who reveals that the erotic pull between her character and that of Seyrig extended into their private lives. Delphine Seyrig died not long after the film was completed but, perhaps ironically, this vampire film has helped seal her immortality as a screen goddess.
Related link: Nicholas Royle talks to Bookmunch.
In Antwerp by Nicholas Royle, two women connected with an underground film production disappear, only for their dead bodies to be discovered next to video recordings of movies by the celebrated Belgian director Harry Kumel. A case of bad timing, then, when critic Frank Warner elects to bring his girlfriend Sian with him to the filmset where he is due to interview the controversial director Johnny Vos. When Sian goes missing, Warner finds himself drawn into the investigation as he becomes exasparated by the indolence, incompetence and suspected corruption amongst the local police. Are Kumel and Vos somehow implicated in the murders, and to what extent is Warner's troubled past a factor in the mystery?
Antwerp is Royle's fifth novel, but the first since becoming a full-time writer, and the depth of research into the city (and, in particular, its disused buildings) reveals itself in the way he impressively develops a sense of time and place. The book is the literary equivalent of an atmospheric, enigmatic art-house thriller - through clever usage of multiple perspectives, Royle skilfully keeps the reader slightly off-balance throughout. This sustained mood of anxiety and disorientation appears to reflect the author's depiction of Belgium's own uncertain sense of identity, riven with ethnic divisions it refuses to publicly acknowledge. Although the book might not be a favourite with the local tourist board, Royle professes to a 'life-long love affair' with Belgium and the works of surreal artist Paul Delvaux and director Kumel, in particular. His audacious use of the latter as a protagonist in the book acts like a Hitchcock cameo, a minor role which nevertheless leaves an indelible imprint on the work as a whole.
One of the strengths of the book is the way it intrigues you into checking out some of the great films it alludes to through the course of the narrative. In particular, I sought out the US region 0 DVD of Kumel's best-known work, the 1971 arthouse vampire flick Daughters of Darkness. Whereas the glaring weakness in the Royle book is the thinly-sketched female characters, Kumel's film is dominated by its impossibly glamorous women protagonists. Delphine Seyrig exudes the decadent allure of Dietrich at her peak as the Countess of Bathory who, with her gamine black-bobbed consort (played by the ravishing gothchick model Andrea Rau) ensnare a troubled honeymooning couple (a youthful John Karlen and the impossibly beautiful Andrea Ouimet) during the course of a stormy weekend in a Belgian hotel. By modern standards the pacing of the film is deliberate and slow, but all the better to absorb the stunning visuals and feel the devastating impact of the bloodletting as it unfolds. Kumel saves the best moments of the movie to the final scene: as two vampire lovers drive through the woods at breakneck speed in a frantic bid to avoid dawn's deadly daybreak, the film finally goes full throttle into exhiliratingly erotic territory.
The Blue Underground DVD is also worth noting for its extras: commentaries from Kumel and John Karlen (almost unrecognisable in his Abba haircut from his days as Tyne Daly's long-suffering husband in 80s cop show Cagney and Lacey) and an interview with Rau, who reveals that the erotic pull between her character and that of Seyrig extended into their private lives. Delphine Seyrig died not long after the film was completed but, perhaps ironically, this vampire film has helped seal her immortality as a screen goddess.
Related link: Nicholas Royle talks to Bookmunch.
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