“No, let them go. In the meantime I’ll just fondle your breasts.”
The title character is neither nude, nor is she a vampire. “The Mutant in Orange” would have been a more accurate name for this film.
However, “The Nude Vampire” does have a man in an antler hat — always a plus.
Jean Rollin’s The Nude Vampire (1970) lacks actual vampires and doesn’t have all that much nudity. It does have green slime on rocks by the ocean, and girls dressed up like I don’t know what, and a guy with the best antler hat this side of Wendigo.
And capes. Lots of capes.
See, Pierre’s kinda torked off that his rich father is up to something at the fancy house in Paris. He finally mugs a guy and steals his ticket, only to find that it’s a suicide cult, and the participants blow their brains out so this semi-chunky gal in a flimsy orange wrap can lick their blood. Not drink it, mind you, but lick it.
Pierre’s pop and two other old pervs are convinced the girl is a vampire and they want to know the secret of immortality.
The joke’s on them, however, as what the girl really is is a mutant that represents the next stage of humanity, but that little tidbit is only revealed at the end of the flick, down at the ocean with the green slime on the rocks.
We’re talking one seriously incomprehensible story here, and not nearly enough nekkidity to make up for it.
Man in cape. New race of mutants, many of whom appear to have just beamed down from The Planet of the Hal Holbrooks. Girls in red capes, standing on rocks covered with green slime. Fourteen breasts. Three stripteases. Gratuitous belly dancing. Avant-garde music on the soundtrack makes the entire experience even more forgettable.
It’s not as bad as Requiem for the Vampire. But it still sucks.