Rating: 2.5/5
Hooptober 7.0 | 20/32 | from this year 2/2
Naturally, our dear Count has tasted human blood from every corner of the world. English blood is his favorite, of course. He says it has something of the Roman Empire. A note of Viking skin. It's hard to define. A bitter blood. And dark. Regrettably, however, the Count has also sampled the blood of South America. The blood of the workers. He doesn't recommend it. "It's acrid," he says… "A plebeian bouquet that clings for weeks to his lips and palate."
Claude Pinoche grew up in a Parisian orphanage in the 18th century. At twenty, he became a royalist soldier for Louie XVI. While drunk, he bit a sex worker on the neck. They tried to kill him as a vampire, but he murdered them and escaped.
Pinoche deserted the nobility, pretending to be a peasant. Witnessing the French Revolution, he resolved to use his power to suppress revolutions.
In 1935, he moved to Chile and joined the Chilean Army as Augusto Pinochet. He desired to be a king but settled on becoming a general. He used his power to overthrow the socialist government in 1973, becoming Chile’s dictator and taking the title “Count.”
Decades later, he faked his death after authorities investigated his human rights violations.
After 250 years, Augusto no longer wants to live. However, a family dynasty does not go quietly.
The film metaphorically links vampirism to far-right movements throughout history. While not a brilliant metaphor, it is satisfying.
There’s a more nuanced version of this movie that trusts its audience to know the history that the narration recapitulates. But this is a Netflix movie.
Despite this, the narrator’s subjectivity adds depth to the story, so it’s not superfluous.
The gore is disturbing and graphic, and understandably so. If vampirism is the state, then the state’s violence cannot be under-emphasized.
The black-and-white enhances and abstracts the gore, making it more stomachable. The grading is beautiful, but beyond aping A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night’s style, it feels unmotivated.
Pablo Larraín’s biggest mistake was, after making a couple of successful movies about political figures — Jackie and Spencer — believing he had a sufficient understanding of Chilean and world history to write this movie.
But, like several critiques of class and wealth released recently, it rings hollow because the writer was born into wealth.
At its best, it’s pretty and entertaining. At its worst, it’s shallow and exploitative. Where you land will depend on how much you can stomach.