When I think of Julie Delpy's acting accomplishments, I think of women who never fail to be realistic, outspoken and most of all, contemporary. In many ways, I believe that she placed herself in Erzebet Bathory's shoes in an attempt to distance herself from these traits, if… More
When I think of Julie Delpy's acting accomplishments, I think of women who never fail to be realistic, outspoken and most of all, contemporary. In many ways, I believe that she placed herself in Erzebet Bathory's shoes in an attempt to distance herself from these traits, if not to challenge herself. This is absolutely not the movie to help her break this mold. She gave herself this role ready to pour herself fully into it, inhabiting a role centered around consumptive vanity as brutally as possible. Unfortunately, the results are confoundingly bad. She gets hamstrung by her total inability to write a solid historical piece - though the movie's navigation around its necessary exposition is graceless, worse yet is her tin ear for period dialogue. So sharp and insightful in 2 Days in Paris, her conversations here feel like flailing, purple thematic rants. As she has the primary role, she thus feels the most affected, spitting awkward lines right and left. Her motivations feel overly obvious, stripped of any deeper psychology (or if there is any, it's later trotted out in lousy voiceover). The rest of the characters don't really talk so much as they represent whatever Delpy chooses them to, and the results are generally pretty ghastly. Supporting performances range from technically strong but grasping (Anamaria Marinca, William Hurt) to barely there (Daniel Bruhl) to numbingly awful (Sebastian Blomberg as an antagonist so broadly evil, you expect him to sprout a mustache and start twirling it). Finally, the cherry on top of this mess is the total soup of accents that the actors seem to be swimming through. Bathory has one, Vizakna doesn't. Count Thurzo has one, but his son doesn't. What gives?
There's also a certain peculiarity to the story's construction. The Countess would posit Bathory as a tragic figure, misunderstood and condemned despite whatever crimes she may or may not have committed. That doesn't change the fact, however, that the movie still depicts her committing these awful crimes in cold blood. It uses Daniel Bruhl as a reliable narrator, informing the audience that what they see may not necessarily be true, but as if there was no way to get financing without showing Bathory REALLY killin' those virgins, it besmirches its own stance and paints a pretty picture of an insane woman anyway. It's like the scene in Marie Antoinette where Kirsten Dunst is seen as a black-clad Bizarro Antoinette, giggling manically and saying "let them eat cake!" only here it's the entire movie and not done for laughs.
Where The Countess does shine is Delpy's obvious gift for visual language. The script may render her redundant more often than it should, and the cheapness of the sets threatens to trivialize it, but there's no denying that she knows her way around a camera. We learn so much from the way Delpy compares her hands with those of her young paramour's, or the flash of revelation that befalls her after striking a servant girl with a brush and getting blood on her face. I truly feel that Delpy did not trust her audience in making this film, because things like this could easily acted as substitutes for the words words words that Delpy's awful screenplay heaps upon us.
Some might say that Delpy is a vain filmmaker, as she's been the star, writer and occasionally composer of all the movies she's directed thus far. I think of her more as a woman thoroughly and utterly committed to the craft. What we have here is an astronomical failure of a talented artist, and talented artists have no shortage of failures. The scary part of it is that it befell her so early in her directing career. Maybe this one will get swept under the rug and she'll correct herself after this misstep, but frankly, there's not much to justify The Countess in its own right.