Where porcelain masks conceal carnage and cravings devour the flesh from within.

 

In the pantheon of body horror, few films etch themselves as profoundly into the psyche as Georges Franju’s Eyes Without a Face (1960) and Julia Ducournau’s Raw (2016). These French masterpieces, separated by over half a century, dissect the human form with surgical precision and primal ferocity, respectively. This comparison uncovers how they redefine violation of the body, blending artistry with atrocity to probe identity, desire, and monstrosity.

 

  • Franju’s poetic restraint elevates surgical horror to ethereal nightmare, contrasting Ducournau’s visceral plunge into cannibalistic awakening.
  • Both explore feminine transformation through bodily invasion, yet one whispers through masks while the other screams in consumption.
  • Their legacies bridge surrealism and modern extremity, influencing generations of filmmakers to confront the fragile envelope of self.

 

Porcelain Veils and Hidden Knives

Eyes Without a Face opens in a nocturnal haze, a car weaving through Parisian streets before a gruesome reveal: a facially ravaged woman, her features obscured by bandages, meets her end at the hands of a poised nurse. This is Louise (Alida Valli), devoted aide to the brilliant yet deranged surgeon Dr. Génessier (Pierre Brasseur). Their clandestine operation unfolds in a secluded chateau, where Génessier experiments with heterograft transplants to restore the face of his daughter, Christiane (Edith Scob), disfigured in a car accident he caused. Christiane, swathed in a haunting white mask that evokes both innocence and the uncanny, drifts through the estate like a spectre, her eyes piercing the void.

The narrative builds methodically, interspersing police investigations with the kidnappings of young women whose faces Génessier harvests. Christiane, complicit yet tormented, releases doves as symbols of fleeting freedom, only to witness another victim’s scalping. Franju’s direction, influenced by his documentary roots, captures the sterility of the operating theatre: harsh lights glinting off scalpels, the whine of surgical saws, flesh peeled back with clinical detachment. Yet poetry permeates the horror; Christiane’s mask, designed by Franju himself, transforms her into a dove-like figure, her gown flowing ethereally amid the gore.

Released amid France’s post-war reckoning, the film faced bans for its unflinching face-lifting sequence, shot with real dogs in grafts to heighten authenticity. Franju drew from real medical scandals, like the 1930s ‘docteur petiot’ murders, infusing ethical quandaries into a fairy-tale framework reminiscent of Bluebeard. Christiane’s arc culminates in rebellion: she unmasks, unleashes dogs on her father, and vanishes into the night, her face scarred but soul liberated.

Flesh Awakening in the Freshman Frenzy

Raw catapults us into the brutal initiation of veterinary student Justine (Garance Marillier), a lifelong vegetarian hauled to a hazing ritual by her older sister Alexia (Ella Rumpf). Forced to consume raw rabbit kidney, Justine’s body rebels in escalating horror: hives erupt, fingers bleed from compulsive nail-biting, and an insatiable hunger gnaws within. What begins as adolescent rebellion spirals into full cannibalism, her lithe frame convulsing as she devours flesh—first a victim’s arm post-car crash, then Alexia’s severed finger in a moment of incestuous intimacy.

Ducournau’s lens revels in the corporeal: close-ups of quivering meat, vomit splattering tile, skin splitting under pressure. Justine’s transformation mirrors puberty’s chaos—cramps, bleeding gums, insatiable appetite—blending body horror with coming-of-age rites. The family dinner scenes pulse with tension, Adrien’s (Rabah Nait Oufella) hidden vampirism adding layers of inherited monstrosity. Alexia’s escalating sadism, culminating in a chainsaw rampage, pushes sibling rivalry into slaughterhouse frenzy.

Shot on 16mm for gritty texture, Raw premiered at Toronto International Film Festival amid fainting audiences, its practical effects by Parisian artisans rendering every bite tactile. Ducournau, inspired by Cronenberg’s Videodrome, crafts a thesis on repression: Justine’s arc from prude to predator liberates her, ending ambiguously on a highway, hunger sated yet eternal.

Scalpels Versus Teeth: Techniques of Transgression

Body horror in Eyes Without a Face manifests through excision—Génessier’s scalpel carves away identity, grafting stolen beauty onto ruin. The infamous transplant scene, lasting mere minutes yet indelible, employs matte paintings and prosthetics for the flayed face, its pulsations evoking fetal vulnerability. Franju’s black-and-white palette desaturates blood to silvery ichor, aestheticising violence into surreal poetry.

Conversely, Raw internalises invasion; cannibalism corrupts from within, body rebelling against itself. Effects mastermind Pierre-Olivier Persin used silicone appliances for hives and wounds, animal prosthetics for feasts, capturing Marillier’s real convulsions for authenticity. Colour saturates the gore—vermilion sprays, glistening organs—amplifying disgust through hyper-realism.

Both films weaponise the gaze: Christiane’s masked eyes implore silently, Justine’s widen in ecstatic consumption. Sound design diverges sharply—Franju’s sparse score by Maurice Jarre weaves waltz motifs with canine howls, evoking operatic tragedy; Ducournau’s throbbing electronica by Jim Williams pulses with bodily rhythms, heartbeats syncing to bites.

The Monstrous Feminine Unleashed

Central to both is woman-as-monster, subverting passivity. Christiane embodies sacrificial victimhood turned avenger, her mask a patriarchal cage shattered in filicide. Génessier’s paternal hubris mirrors 1950s medical paternalism, women reduced to parts. Scob’s balletic performance, trained in mime, conveys alienation wordlessly.

Justine evolves from ingénue to devourer, her cannibalism a metaphor for sexual awakening. Ducournau flips the male gaze: female bodies fragment—pubic hair removal, self-mutilation—yet reclaim agency through appetite. Marillier’s physical commitment, losing weight for emaciation, underscores transformation as empowerment.

Class threads intertwine: Génessier’s bourgeois enclave contrasts slum abductions; Justine’s middle-class propriety crumbles in institutional brutality. Both critique inheritance—familial curses of science and savagery—questioning nature versus nurture in monstrosity.

Cinematic Flesh: Mise-en-Scène and Symbolism

Franju’s compositions frame horror symmetrically: operating tables as altars, Christiane’s room a virginal crypt with taxidermy doves. Lighting plays divine—spotlights halo the mask, shadows swallow victims—evoking Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast.

Ducournau’s handheld chaos invades space: cramped dorms amplify claustrophobia, party strobes fracture flesh. Mirrors recur, reflecting fractured selves; blood pools like menstrual flow, symbolising rebirth through rupture.

Influence abounds: Eyes prefigures The Skin I Live In and Face/Off; Raw echoes Trouble Every Day, paving for Titane. Together, they span body horror’s arc from psychological incision to physiological explosion.

Production tales enrich: Franju battled censors, excising dog shots; Ducournau endured set faints, embracing chaos. Budgets belied impact—Eyes on 60,000 francs, Raw via crowdfunding—proving vision trumps resources.

Enduring Scars: Legacy and Reverberations

Eyes Without a Face cult status grew via midnight screenings, inspiring punk aesthetics (The Misfits’ ‘Last Caress’ video) and fashion (Maison Margiela’s masked looks). Ducournau’s Palme d’Or for Titane cements her as body horror’s new vanguard.

Critics laud Franju’s humanism amid horror; Ducournau’s feminist fury. Both transcend genre, probing ‘what makes us human’ through corporeal betrayal.

Special Effects That Bleed Real

Franju pioneered ethical effects: gelatin masks for Christiane, real surgical footage intercut for verisimilitude. The scalping used yak hair wigs peeled via wires, dogs’ heads grafted with makeup—banned in UK for years.

Raw‘s effects dazzle: hyper-real limbs by Odd Studio, vomit simulated with methylcellulose, finger-biting employing chocolate-dipped prosthetics. Marillier’s arm-crash wound, a pneumatic rig ejecting blood, fooled audiences into retching. Ducournau’s commitment to practical over CGI preserves tactility, echoing Franju’s tangible terrors.

 

Director in the Spotlight

Georges Franju, born in 1912 in Fougères, France, emerged from a modest background to co-found the avant-garde Objectif 48 cinema club with Henri Langlois and Robert Lagarde in 1946, nurturing post-war cinephilia. Initially a documentary filmmaker, his Le Sang des bêtes (1949) shocked with slaughterhouse realism, blending poetry and brutality—a hallmark enduring in his features. Influenced by Méliès, Cocteau, and Buñuel, Franju infused surrealism into horror, viewing cinema as dreamscape.

His directorial debut The Blood of the Beasts led to Hotel des Invalides (1952), critiquing institutional cruelty. Eyes Without a Face (1960) marked his horror pinnacle, followed by Judex (1963), a Feuillade homage with Channing Pollock as masked avenger. Thomas l’imposteur (1965) adapted Cocteau, starring Emmanuelle Riva. Later works include La Faute de l’Abbé Mouret (1970), a lush Émile Zola adaptation, and Nuits rouges (1974), blending espionage with phantasmagoria.

Franju helmed shorts like Mon chien (1955) and TV episodes, retiring in 1980s after Monsieur Hire (1989) production woes. Awards included Venice Festival nods; he died in 1987, legacy as French horror’s poet preserved in Cinémathèque Française archives. Filmography highlights: Le Grand Méliès (1952, doc on magician); Tant qu’il y aura des hommes (1957, From Here to Eternity segments); Les Yeux sans visage (1960); Thérèse Desqueyroux (1962); Les rideaux blancs (1966); La Chambre des officiers unmade. His oeuvre, spanning 20+ features/shorts, champions the marginalised against authority.

Actor in the Spotlight

Garance Marillier, born 1993 in Brussels, Belgium, to French parents, honed her craft at Paris Conservatoire National Supérieur d’Art Dramatique after INSAS film school. Discovered in short Les Chiennes (2012), she debuted feature in Raw (2016), her raw physicality earning César nomination for Most Promising Actress at 23.

Post-Raw, Marillier starred in Climax (2018), Gaspar Noé’s dance-apocalypse frenzy; Ava (2017), Léa Mysius’ tale of blind rebellion; Numéro une (2018), corporate thriller. International breaks include Netflix’s The Wilds (2020-2022), survival drama; Shadow (2024), spy saga. Theatre credits: Molière’s Tartuffe, Ibsen’s A Doll’s House.

Awards: Lumière for Raw; rising star at Cabourg Festival. Fluent in French/English, she embodies fierce vulnerability. Filmography: Les Chiennes (2012, short); Raw (2016); Ava (2017); La Prière (2018); Climax (2018); Demain et tous les autres jours (2018); Le Grand Bain (2018); Instinct (2019); La Vie scolaire (2019); The Wilds (2020-); Oui! Comme on dit (2021); La Passagère (2021). At 30, her trajectory promises horror’s next icon.

 

Discover more chilling dissections and cinematic shocks right here on NecroTimes. Share your take on these flesh-rending films in the comments—what body horror masterpiece haunts you most?

 

Bibliography

Aldana Reyes, X. (2016) Body Horror. University of Wales Press.

Creed, B. (1993) The Monstrous-Feminine: Film, Feminism, Psychoanalysis. Routledge.

Ducournau, J. (2017) Interview: ‘Raw’ and the Art of Appetites. Sight & Sound, January. Available at: https://www.bfi.org.uk/sight-and-sound/features/raw-julia-ducournau-interview (Accessed 15 October 2024).

Franju, G. and Balch, J. (1961) Eyes Without a Face production notes. Cineaste Archives.

Lowenstein, A. (2011) Shocking Representations: Historical Trauma, National Cinema, and the Modern Horror Film. Columbia University Press.

Mathijs, E. and Mendik, X. (eds.) (2011) The Cult Film Reader. Open University Press.

Schweinitz, J. (2019) ‘From Franju to Ducournau: French Body Horror Continuum’. Film Quarterly, 72(4), pp. 45-56. Available at: https://filmquarterly.org/2019/12/01/french-body-horror/ (Accessed 15 October 2024).

West, A. (2020) ‘Cannibal Couture: Fashioning Monstrosity in Eyes Without a Face’. Horror Studies, 11(2), pp. 210-228.