Film Fatales: Celebrating Cinema’s Vamps

Make it stand out

The monstrous woman graces our screens at the late-night horror movie showing. She seduces us, like she does with the feeble male protagonist, with her silent stares and tilted sunglasses. We wonder what her intentions are, we wonder if she’s really human. Even with her lack of words, she steals every scene with ease. This type of woman in horror explores the boundaries between power, sex and gender - a lady that gets what she wants by making use of the to-be-looked-at-ness she never asked for.

There’s an overwhelming amount of horror films that feature a woman who’s end goal is consumption. It’s usually blood that they’re after, especially with the sexy vampire craze of Jean Rollin. There’s a clear contrast between a woman who seconds ago was composed to now being animalistic and overwhelmed with the desire to feed off of the life sources she’s manipulated and drawn in. It’s gratifying to watch the on-screen woman get what she wants, especially in a horror setting, where she typically almost always has been a cowering victim. They satisfy their hunger and there’s no holding back, only some simple strategy to lure in her next meal.

The monstrous woman doesn’t stop at the vampire. As represented in The Lair of the White Worm (1988), there’s no limit to who she can be. Directed by Ken Russell in his surrealist fashion, the film is an unusual piece of clumsy cult cinema. It gives us Lady Sylvia Marsh, a latex wearing seductress amongst the Derbyshire cardigan wearing townsfolk. She skips along and gets what she wants with simplicity and ease — with a little help from her ability to stun victims with her bite. Her evil tendencies become a fun and entertaining game of watching a worm-woman hunt while she perches on trees and wears geometric sunglasses: Truly camp.

It’s hard not to root for the monstrous woman, especially when the world that surrounds her is treacherously plain and made to work against her. The combination of power, flawless outfits, and their indifference to men - they just want their blood! - creates a mysterious individual that we’re not used to seeing. Just like her craving for blood, the audience is craving a unique and engaging on-screen woman that does what she wants. 

We both eventually get what we’re looking for.

“It feels almost therapeutic to cosy up in front of the television screen and know that you’re in for a story that lets the bad girl win.”

On the other side of the genre, there’s monstrous women who stay quiet and become nothing more than a sexy and deadly narrative tool for the male protagonist. The vampires featured in Jean Rollin’s Lips of Blood (Lèvres de Sang, 1975) are examples of this. As like most of his filmography, the movie features an array of half-naked vampire women who are let loose in Paris after the protagonist (Frédéric) knocks over a protective crucifix in a catacomb. 

Lips of Blood is an alternative look at what these mysterious vamp women can be — with their lack of dialogue and characterisation, they are merely just visual forms of gothic vampiric fascination. The film follows Frédéric as he is trying to identify a woman he is envisioning in his memories from his childhood, and who is now turning up around town, unaged. The women in this film embody danger, but the lack of them having a voice takes away the real potential of what these characters can bring to a narrative. Nevertheless, they can still be appreciated as they trudge along Paris, drinking the blood of the people that stand in the way of Frédéric’s destiny of meeting his long lost vampire lover.

The ultimate portrayal of the mysterious monstrous woman, however, is shown in Daughters of Darkness (1971) directed by Harry Kümel. After two British newlyweds, Valerie and Stefan, take a rest stop at a glamorous hotel in Belgium, they are graced by Elizabeth Báthory and her ‘assistant’, Ilona. Elizabeth is a countess and immediately causes confusion and fluster to the concierge who recognises her from many decades ago, but how can that be possible if she looks like she hasn’t aged a day?

Even Elizabeth’s assistant, Ilona, is presented in the classic black hair bowl cut and red lip combination. Her all black ensemble makes for a complementary side piece for Elizabeth, perfectly fitting into the vampire women duos and trios seen since Dracula.

Elizabeth’s look is a mergence of eras; her blonde hair, red lip and thin brows giving a nod to 1930’s Hollywood, whilst her sequin dress takes into the 1970’s present. The film uses her fashion in an impactful way - paying homage to the eras she has seemingly lived through. The sequinned dress she wears during the candle lit dinner creates a hazy sheen of light across the screen, creating a dreamy image of a character who is plotting for blood.

What makes Daughters of Darkness so appealing, along with the memorable looks, is Elizabeth’s seduction of Valerie and her willingness to help her get rid of her unappealing new husband. We’re introduced to this couple during them both proclaiming that they don’t love each other, and with the violence that follows, it seems that Valerie was in for an unhappy ride. Although clearly under Elizabeth's spell, it’s endearing to watch the two women create a pact and leave the sleepy seaside hotel to their next unknowing destination, rejecting any sense of normality.

With horrors, thrillers, monster movies, genre films and the like all being accustomed to the terrorising of innocent women, it’s a satisfying watch to have it turned back around. It feels almost therapeutic to cosy up in front of the television screen and know that you’re in for a story that lets the bad girl win.

Photography, writing and creative direction: Charlotte Amy Landrum | Makeup: Grace Ellington | Hair: Hannah Godley | Set Design: Liv Thurley | Production: Camille Mariet & Ione Gamble | Featuring: Kenzie, Rosa Mercuriadis, Holly Bennett and Camille Mariet

Reserve your free print copy of the Hot Vamp Summer zine here.

Previous
Previous

Be More Theda

Next
Next

Agony Al: Glowy Base Routine for Textured Skin