...there is a place, an evil place where sane men fear to tread.

A masterpiece of feverish atmosphere and creeping unease, this bizarre and hypnotic film combines 19th-century gothic horror, 1970s erotic arthouse, 1940s surrealism, macabre family drama, mad science, mythological fantasy, and sex comedy farce. Oulandish, lurid, and baffling, Malpertuis, superbly directed by the underappreciated Belgian director Harry Kümel, a kind of more baroque Jean Cocteau, virtually vanished after its premiere at the 1972 Cannes Film Festival, an elusive legend among devotees of fantastical cinema for many years. Beautifully restored in 4K with supervision by the director, this unreal, nightmarish film, halfway between Hammer horror and giallo, and with a third-act revelation as audacious and bewildering as any ever filmed, should not be missed by anybody interested in cult cinema.

+ Bar Sounds
Before and after the film, lose yourself in the sounds of the dark arts: DJs conjure otherworldly, esoteric, immersive horror atmospheres.

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A young sailor, Jan (played with impassive baby-doll beauty by Mathieu Carriere in a tight white uniform), newly arrived onshore in his Flemish hometown, returns unwillingly to the remote, ornate, and decrepit family mansion, Malpertuis, the home of his sister, Nancy (Susan Hampshire), presided over by his moribund, inordinately wealthy, occultist uncle Cassavius (a memorably cantankerous performance by Orson Welles). Rotting in his bed, the despised, despotic old man spews venom on the grotesque and demented relatives and sycophants that haunt Malpertuis while scheming to inherit his vast fortune. The inheritance, however, carries repercussions far more horrific than anyone could imagine. Bound to never leave the mansion for the rest of their days, their mundane lives degrade into secret plots and gruesome deaths.

Finding himself unable to escape the cursed, labyrinthine house, Jan navigates the seemingly endless corridors (stretching into the shadowy forever), expressionist stairwells (that lead to nowhere), and hidden rooms (accreted upon hidden rooms), slowly uncovering dark intrigues, his own fate bound with everyone else's.

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Financial challenges forced Kümel to make Les Lèvres Rouges (Daughters Of Darkness) (1971), the wintry, languorous lesbian vampire tale that made his reputation, before he could turn to the passion project that was closest to his heart. Based on the macabre 1943 fantasy novel of the same name by 'the Belgian Edgar Allen Poe', Jean Ray - constructed as a 'puzzle box of nested narratives' and considered a masterpiece of the 'Belgian School Of The Strange' - and destined to become another surreal cult favorite, Kümel elaborates the mystery like a master, drawing much of his design and composition from Surrealist painting (Magritte, De Chirico). This striking and stylish 'histoire d'une maison maudite' is realised with stunning cinematography by Gerry Fisher (The Go-Between, 1971), enhanced by Pierre Cadiou De Conde's gorgeous, hyper-stylized gothic production designs, and adorned by a sumptuous, romantic, brilliantly melodramatic score from renowned composer Georges Delerue (Agnes Of God, 1985). Oppressively opulent and flamboyantly baroque, the film, like the mansion itself, is a beguilingly disorienting world in which to get endlessly lost.

The prominent multinational cast is a joy: Orson Welles, regally bombastic as the house's patriarch in one of the only two outright horror movies in which he featured (this film is a must-watch for Welles completists); Matthieu Carrière, Der Junge Törless wunderkind; Susan Hampshire, a revelation, playing three roles (actually four - no, five), each wildly different; two Claude Chabrol favourites (Michel Bouquet and Jean-Pierre Cassel, excellent); and French chanteuse Sylvie Vartan and, in an uncredited cameo, her then-husband, Johnny Hallyday.

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Malpertuis won't appeal to everyone, and one may struggle to fully grasp what unfolds inside the house, but those willing to surrender to its weird wonderfulness will find much to admire. Once the film tips from gothic mystery into... something else, it becomes magnificent. With its unpredictable, utterly engrossing, perfectly creepy story embedded with themes of queer identity, power dynamics, and intricate mythological symbolism, Malpertuis feels like a dream, a weird, unsettling, and yet incredibly intriguing dream that lingers long after the credits roll.

★★★★☆
'Extraordinary. The film has a surreal, dreamlike edge to it... the film-maker is a true original.'
Guardian

'Essential. Extremely ambitious, risky, and a bit camp too. It is also schlock, baroque, and grotesque - in short, it has the right bad taste'.
PopMatters

The CUBE Of Wyrding is the CUBE Microplex's ongoing transnational folk horror/urban wyrd/dark fantasy film series. It showcases the best in rural eerie, metropolitan fright, and occult fable cinema from around the world, including classics, lesser-known greats, intelligent trash and freaky oddities from the margins, and delves into the darker recesses of these genres. It additionally features silent films brought to life with spectacular live musical accompaniments, lively screen talks, and opportunities to immerse yourself in obscure horror soundtracks.

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Venue doors open 30 minutes before the advertised start time. All film screenings are ad-free and 18+ unless otherwise stated and start with no more than a 10-minute curated selection of trailers.

The CUBE is a membership venue; please remember to bring your card. You can join at the door for £1 (life membership). Attend six events and receive a free drink.