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Strigoi, 2009
Vlad (Catalin Paraschiv) returns home to his Romanian village from a stint in Italy to find a local man named Florian is dead and his name is on the death certificate as the doctor who ruled the death accidental. But delving into that mystery soon leads him to another, more supernatural puzzle: why is the wealthy Constantin (Constantin Barbulescu) so sweaty and hungry? Why is Constantin’s wife (Roxana Guttman) consuming everything in sight? Tales of vampirism intertwine with a land-theft conspiracy, and Vlad must fight through layers of secrecy and tradition to sort it all out.
While I found the political allegories a bit challenging to parse, this was overall a fun, frothy little horror comedy with a charmingly laidback pace.
I do sometimes feel a bit undereducated on world matters/politics when time after time I watch a film from another country and find myself writing things like “I think I would have appreciated the film more if I knew more about the history of [insert place/political movement/etc here]”. And this film falls into that same category. I don’t know enough about either the Romanian folklore of strigoi (vampires) or the politics of post-WW2 Romania to feel confident about interpreting any of what I saw in this film. The good news is that this film doesn’t need interpretation to be a good time.
This horror-comedy leans pretty hard into the comedy side of things, and it’s quirky small town humor. What keeps the film moving is a solid cast of characters who manage to elevate even very slight conversations into something funny and engaging. Case in point is Vlad’s circular interrogation of the men he finds sitting watch over Florian’s body on his arrival back into town. Where did one of the villagers get those nice new shoes? What are those strange marks on Florian’s neck? The men deflect, talking to Vlad about Italy with its amazing women and pizzas. It’s a genial run-around, and Vlad will spend much of the film trying to pry the truth from the closed-lipped locals.
Paraschiv is very understated in his role as Vlad, but his character is gently persistent. When he discovers shenanigans related to land-ownership paperwork, he steadily works to get to the bottom of things. All the while he comes up against very human corruption and very supernatural vampires. Vlad’s no dummy, but he’s also no strapping action hero. Instead, he’s just a nice guy who wants to do the right thing. He’s a much needed rock of normalcy in a town filled with oddballs.
While none of the townspeople get a whole lot of character development, they are surely pretty fun to hang around with. That’s especially true of Vlad’s overbearing grandfather (Rudy Rosenfeld), who himself may be a vampire. (A great exchange involves Vlad grumpily accusing his grandfather of drinking his blood, in a tone you might associate with asking someone to stop putting empty milk cartons back in the refrigerator).
I also liked the way that the townspeople themselves are seen to grapple with the folklore. When one woman asserts that wife, Ileana, is a vampire, the townspeople debate whether that can be true because Ileana in her binge eating has consumed garlic. “Not strigoi!” one man asserts. “Then what is she?” asks the woman. No one has an answer.
But looking around at some other reviews---which I perused hoping for some enlightenment about the political background--I found that I wasn’t the only one a bit confused about exactly how vampirism is functioning in this movie. It’s communism! No, wait, it’s post-war corruption! It’s kind of scattershot, which gives a sense of aimlessness. Now, because the lead character is so laid back and the villagers are so charming, this isn’t the worst thing. But it does mean that as the film enters its final act it lacks some momentum or a satisfying sense of closure.
I also must mention the absolute nostalgia bomb that was the film’s use of the song “Postcards from Italy” by Beirut, which transported me back to grad school and a mix CD I had in my car.
Fun cast and characters, but just lacking enough direction or punch to be really memorable.
Strigoi, 2009
Vlad (Catalin Paraschiv) returns home to his Romanian village from a stint in Italy to find a local man named Florian is dead and his name is on the death certificate as the doctor who ruled the death accidental. But delving into that mystery soon leads him to another, more supernatural puzzle: why is the wealthy Constantin (Constantin Barbulescu) so sweaty and hungry? Why is Constantin’s wife (Roxana Guttman) consuming everything in sight? Tales of vampirism intertwine with a land-theft conspiracy, and Vlad must fight through layers of secrecy and tradition to sort it all out.
While I found the political allegories a bit challenging to parse, this was overall a fun, frothy little horror comedy with a charmingly laidback pace.
I do sometimes feel a bit undereducated on world matters/politics when time after time I watch a film from another country and find myself writing things like “I think I would have appreciated the film more if I knew more about the history of [insert place/political movement/etc here]”. And this film falls into that same category. I don’t know enough about either the Romanian folklore of strigoi (vampires) or the politics of post-WW2 Romania to feel confident about interpreting any of what I saw in this film. The good news is that this film doesn’t need interpretation to be a good time.
This horror-comedy leans pretty hard into the comedy side of things, and it’s quirky small town humor. What keeps the film moving is a solid cast of characters who manage to elevate even very slight conversations into something funny and engaging. Case in point is Vlad’s circular interrogation of the men he finds sitting watch over Florian’s body on his arrival back into town. Where did one of the villagers get those nice new shoes? What are those strange marks on Florian’s neck? The men deflect, talking to Vlad about Italy with its amazing women and pizzas. It’s a genial run-around, and Vlad will spend much of the film trying to pry the truth from the closed-lipped locals.
Paraschiv is very understated in his role as Vlad, but his character is gently persistent. When he discovers shenanigans related to land-ownership paperwork, he steadily works to get to the bottom of things. All the while he comes up against very human corruption and very supernatural vampires. Vlad’s no dummy, but he’s also no strapping action hero. Instead, he’s just a nice guy who wants to do the right thing. He’s a much needed rock of normalcy in a town filled with oddballs.
While none of the townspeople get a whole lot of character development, they are surely pretty fun to hang around with. That’s especially true of Vlad’s overbearing grandfather (Rudy Rosenfeld), who himself may be a vampire. (A great exchange involves Vlad grumpily accusing his grandfather of drinking his blood, in a tone you might associate with asking someone to stop putting empty milk cartons back in the refrigerator).
I also liked the way that the townspeople themselves are seen to grapple with the folklore. When one woman asserts that wife, Ileana, is a vampire, the townspeople debate whether that can be true because Ileana in her binge eating has consumed garlic. “Not strigoi!” one man asserts. “Then what is she?” asks the woman. No one has an answer.
But looking around at some other reviews---which I perused hoping for some enlightenment about the political background--I found that I wasn’t the only one a bit confused about exactly how vampirism is functioning in this movie. It’s communism! No, wait, it’s post-war corruption! It’s kind of scattershot, which gives a sense of aimlessness. Now, because the lead character is so laid back and the villagers are so charming, this isn’t the worst thing. But it does mean that as the film enters its final act it lacks some momentum or a satisfying sense of closure.
I also must mention the absolute nostalgia bomb that was the film’s use of the song “Postcards from Italy” by Beirut, which transported me back to grad school and a mix CD I had in my car.
Fun cast and characters, but just lacking enough direction or punch to be really memorable.