by Barry Meyer
How can a lesbian vampire flick be so boring?
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There’s a rich history of lesbian vampire flicks that dates back to the in-denial B/W portrayal of Dracula’s Daughter (1936), and includes the openly psycho-sexadelic Vampyros Lesbos (1971), Hammer’s erotically charged Countess Dracula (1971), the children’s fable-like Lemora; A Child’s Tale of the Supernatural (1975), and The Hunger (1983) with French sex goddess Catherine Deneuve. The Montreal lensed Eternal desperately wants to join this list of titillating fright flicks, but even with its endless parade of on-screen female beauties, Eternal could possibly be the most yawn-inducing lesbian vampire flick ever made.
The story opens with the tediously long scene of a young lady winding her way through a stormy night to the gates of a gothic mansion on a hill, where she is met by a less than frightening, growling dog. Inside the mansion she meets her chatroom rendezvous, the exotic Elizabeth Kane (Caroline Néron) who slinks about, seducing her willing prey with small talk that proves to be as boring as a VCR manual. And then, before we can even guess what happens next, the vamp slices the hapless woman’s throat and licks the blood from her cleavage. This whole bit takes 15 minutes to unfold and provided zero chills, thrills, and even less sexiness. The story plods on when the boorish Detective Pope (played by Conrad Pla, who looks to be Canada ‘s version of Billy Zane) shows up at the mansion to find his missing wife, and soon falls under the spell of Queen of the damned. It’s not until well after the halfway mark that Eternal picks up any steam with the plot twists piling on faster than a Mickey Rourke 80s sex-thriller. By then, though, it’s too late, and you’ve already fast forwarded in search of the films solitary nude scene.
A frivolous mix of kinky naughtiness and gore, Eternal desperately tries to claw its way into the engorged hearts of Anne Rice fans everywhere, but instead comes off more like a puffed up sexploitor that, more often than not, plays on a late night cable channel.
Barry Meyer is a critic and writer living among the cockroaches in New Jersey.
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