Demon of the Island (1983)

Original title: Le démon dans l'île

Dr Gabrielle Martin (Anny Duperey) moves to a somewhat isolated island to become the new general practitioner there. The islanders haven’t told her, but her predecessor, Dr Marshall (Jean-Claude Brialy), is still there, dwelling in the 80s idea of a high-tech mansion, and giving off a decided mad scientist vibe. Consequently, and for other reasons that will only become clear to Gabrielle much later, nobody wants to have anything to do with the guy.

At least, Gabrielle won’t have to fear a case of duelling doctors this way. She’s going to have larger problems anyway, for the island is hit by a series of curious and improbable accidents all apparently caused by objects of daily life – from razor blades to household appliances – acting out aggressively with little rhyme, reason, or respect for the actual laws of physics as we know them from the real world.

The truth behind these occurrences will be quite surprising, for our heroine as much as for the audience.

Which is the sort of surprise that’s predominantly caused by a film that builds up its mystery in so pleasantly nonsensical yet also derivative a manner, I was surprised to encounter it in something made in France during the 80s instead of Italy in the 70s.

In the case of Francis Leroi’s Demon of the Island, that’s a compliment, and certainly not an impediment to enjoyment. For what’s not to enjoy about a film that has such a good time finding improbable ways in which household appliances can mutilate people, then realizes them through decidedly not realistic but very fun effects, and finally makes them part of a story that touches on as many clichés as it can grab. I particularly enjoyed the misguided attempts at making Gabrielle’s trauma of child loss part of her motivation.

All of this is filmed by Leroi in the slick and appealing style I associate with softcore filmmakers like him doing horror for a change (or a buck). He’s not great at building suspense, but he’s certainly applying himself to it anyway, often mistiming things in ways I found charming rather than annoying.

Leroi also gets fun performances from Duperey and Brialy, the former increasingly losing her considerable cool, while the latter rants, raves and looks sinister with the best of them.

Even better, Demon of the Island finishes on a moment of genuine greatness, Marshall’s final fate being as strange as anything I’ve seen on screen.

Three Films Make A Post: It’s a Cop-Out!

Meurtres à domicile (1982): I’m not quite sure how “great comics writer Jean Van Hamme and director Marc Lobet adapt a story by great Belgian writer of the fantastique Thomas Owen” turned into this often very farcical end product, but if you enjoy your mysteries on the less than serious side, this one’s probably worth seeking out beyond the very different film I initially hoped for. Lobet is certainly good with putting his inspector (Anny Duperey) through many an encounter with her highly peculiar neighbours, and also hits some of the expected moments of anti-bourgeois humour you expect from French comedy of this style rather nicely, so there’s quite a bit of fun to be had here.

Focus on Infinity (2014): Joerg Burger’s documentary concerns the scientific search for the outer ranges of the cosmos and our existence in it, demonstrating individual perspectives, places, and devices through an awed eye. There’s a lot of room for scepticism towards the whole endeavour – though I’m not completely sure the film chooses the best arguments for it – but also for a deep exploration of the very different perspective very different people can and will bring to the Big Questions of the universe and our place in it.

Visually, Burger has a particular affinity for showing the places where science is done emptied of people, in marked contrast to the the very close and personal way his interviews with various scientists, a scientist-priest and an ex-scientist turned depressed writers work. It’s often genuinely thought-provoking, though I wouldn’t have given the last word to the last one of these interviewees, even in my role as a depressed pessimist.

The Cherry Tree With Gray Blossoms (1977): I have already lavished rather a lot of praise on Sumiko Haneda’s Poem of Hayachine Valley. As far as I’ve been able to read up on it, this short documentary was her first truly independently produced piece of work. It is a focussed, highly poetic and personal in the kind of way that also can become universal, exploration of an ancient cherry tree, the people living around and with it. Haneda uses this to explore personal grief, the idea of – for us humans – great spans of time, and how we as human beings can and do relate to these spans of time in the natural world. She does so rather brilliantly.