Cuadecuc, Vampir (1971)

Cuadecuc, Vampir is composed of footage taken on the set of Jesus Franco's 1970 film Count Dracula.  It incorporates both scenes from Count Dracula and documentary footage of that film's production.  Portions of the footage are shot in incredibly high contrast, to the point where it's hard to make out more than simple shapes, and you can practically feel the scarring of the film stock.  

The film will allow scenes from Count Dracula to play for some time before interrupting them with behind-the-scenes details like makeup or effects work.  This often happens seamlessly, with an actor breaking character in the middle of a performance, or the mechanisms of special effects being visible in scenes that otherwise proceed normally. 

Even though this film exposes Count Dracula as an artifice, it lingers on the scenes from that movie long enough to get you caught up in its internal reality, to temporarily take it at face value.  Seeing the film set interrupts that.  It shakes up your state of mind a little to turn to the actors and crew members doing their work, or taking breaks between shooting scenes.  It's like seeing through different layers of reality, with one world and the lives therein sustained by the activity of another, more comprehensive world.  Then there's the realm of high-contrast cinematography, of shimmering forms of jet black and burning white.  These parts include both scenes from Count Dracula and behind-the-scenes material, but they all take place outside.  Some are near the edges of the film set, or outside of it, such as one in which a car drives to a location for shooting, or one in which a train passes by. 

The high-contrast scenes evoke the presence of something even more basal than the reality of the film set, something which can only be represented with indeterminate visuals that overwhelm the eyes.  In these scenes you can get a sense of the physicality of film stock and the presence of a world outside the film set.  

Between this film's promise of the possibility of looking beneath and the way it takes the manipulations of the film set and recomposes them into new sensory experiences, there's something liberating about it.  Many critics have attributed a political dimension to this film.  Its Catalan director, Pere Portabella, was being punished by the Fransisco Franco's government during this film's making and, obviously, the director of Count Dracula shares a surname with the dictator.

The film ends on a demonstration of how much one can do with just a small amount of poetic exercise.  In its final scene, the only one featuring any human speech, Christopher Lee discusses the ending of Bram Stoker's novel.  He remarks that the death of Count Dracula in the book is actually dealt with quite briefly, then he reads the passage aloud.  Despite its brevity, it works.