Jean Rollin’s Les démoniaques (also known as Curse of the Living Dead) is a film that is both haunting and troubling, filled with macabre imagery and a gritty, low-budget aesthetic that evokes a sense of deep unease. Released in 1974, this French rape-and-revenge supernatural horror film weaves a tale of vengeance, madness, and the supernatural that manages to be both intriguing and exploitative — all at once.
The film opens with a harrowing sequence in which a group of shipwreckers, led by the cruel Captain, force a ship to crash and proceed to loot it. What follows is nothing short of grotesque: the survivors of the wreck, two young women, are subjected to brutal assaults — rapes and beatings that would be hard to stomach even in a more polished production. It’s raw, unsettling, and sets the tone for what follows. Rollin is not shy about pushing boundaries, but what seems to be a raw depiction of vengeance quickly turns into an exercise in the bizarre and supernatural.
The plot quickly takes a turn from gritty realism to the fantastical. The Captain begins to have disturbing visions of the women’s dead bodies, and a local clairvoyant, Louise, senses that the Captain’s guilt may be the key to what happens next. This leads to rumors that the women, somehow still alive, are haunting a ship cemetery near an old, cursed ruin. Soon, the shipwreckers, who believe the women are still alive, track them down to these ruins, where a demon is supposedly imprisoned — and that’s where the film’s true madness begins.
Now, let’s talk about the demon and how Rollin’s bizarre narrative plays out. The demon, who has been trapped in the ruins for a century, is slowly awakened by the two women, who are brought to him by a mysterious Exorcist and a clown (because, of course, there’s a clown). The film then veers into the occult, with the women making a pact with the demon, temporarily gaining supernatural powers to seek revenge on their rapists. What follows is a gruesome series of acts where the women — now the “demoniacs” — use their powers of telekinesis and manipulation to exact bloody revenge.
Rollin’s film blends elements of classic supernatural horror with exploitation cinema, and it’s hard to separate the two. The graphic violence is shocking, but the film’s surrealism — the demons, the ghosts, and the strange, almost dreamlike sequences — also give it a level of intrigue that makes it compelling for fans of weird horror. There’s a unique atmosphere here, built through the combination of haunting imagery and the bizarre relationship between the two women and the demon. However, it’s also troubling to see just how much of the plot hinges on deeply uncomfortable moments of sexual violence. The film doesn’t shy away from the trauma the women face, but it also struggles with how to present their ultimate vengeance in a way that feels both empowering and exploitative.
The performances, especially from Joëlle Coeur and Lieva Lone as the two women, are suitably restrained, though the film itself doesn’t allow them the emotional depth that might have made the audience truly connect with their pain. The women are rather blank slates, at times reduced to mere vessels of vengeance and power. Joëlle Coeur’s Tina, for instance, feels more like an archetype — the femme fatale seeking revenge — than a fully realized character. The Exorcist (Ben Zimet) adds an interesting spiritual and mystical element to the film, but the film never fully explores his character beyond his functional role in the narrative.
Willy Braque as Le Bosco and John Rico as the Captain are also fine in their roles, but the film is never really about them; it’s about the women’s suffering and revenge. The relationship between the men is toxic and brutal, but their actions serve mostly to illustrate the film’s broader themes of punishment and the supernatural’s interference in the mundane world.
The special effects, as expected from a low-budget production, are somewhat crude. The supernatural events and visions are often depicted through simple tricks and double exposures, which may feel outdated or even laughable to modern audiences. Still, there’s a certain charm in Rollin’s willingness to embrace the low-budget style and make the most of it. The gore, the brutal death scenes, and the disturbing images — like the statues that come to life or the weird spectacle of the demon’s dark powers — are striking, but in an odd, offbeat way.
Perhaps the most fascinating, or disturbing, element of Les démoniaques is its central theme of vengeance and the cycle of trauma. The film doesn’t shy away from showing the women’s brutalization, but at times, it seems to revel in the very violence that it tries to position as retribution. While the supernatural elements do provide some level of escapism, they also carry a heavy burden — the characters are trapped not just by their tormentors but by the very supernatural forces they engage with. The demon, a symbol of revenge, is also a symbol of eternal violence, feeding off the women’s pain and ultimately ensuring they cannot escape the horror they’ve endured.
The film’s conclusion, with the women walking away from the ruins to face their future, is bittersweet, though ultimately nihilistic. The revenge they sought comes at a heavy price, and the film doesn’t offer any real resolution. It’s an exploration of how trauma shapes individuals and how seeking vengeance can only perpetuate a cycle of pain and violence.
In conclusion, Les démoniaques is a flawed, yet compelling, exploration of vengeance, trauma, and the supernatural. Rollin crafts a gritty, unsettling atmosphere with strange imagery, but the film’s use of graphic violence and sexual exploitation is both troubling and provocative. It’s a film that challenges the viewer — it’s not for the faint of heart, nor is it for those seeking a traditional horror movie. For fans of experimental horror and exploitation, Les démoniaques offers a unique, if unsettling, viewing experience that will linger long after the credits roll.
