Eugenie (1970)

Eugenie is Jesús Franco in his most hypnotic, forbidden-garden mode: a sun-drenched island dream that slowly curdles into a feverish chamber piece about power, temptation, and the terrible cost of surrendering your will. It’s shot with a languid, surreal elegance—equal parts Euro-sleaze and arthouse trance—anchored by Maria Rohm’s cool, commanding presence and a sense that every flirtation is also a trap. If you’re curious about 1970s exploitation cinema that flirts with de Sade not as “story” but as atmosphere, this one delivers a sticky, unsettling mood you won’t shake easily. Fair warning, it’s absolutely not for everyone: the sexual content is explicit and the cruelty is part of the point, but for viewers with a strong stomach and a taste for transgressive cinema, it’s a bold, audacious trip into the dark side of desire.

Eugenie is clearly trying to be a transgressive, de Sade-inspired descent into decadent corruption, with Jesús Franco leaning hard into dreamlike sleaze and taboo provocation over conventional storytelling. If you’re expecting coherent drama or “horror” in the modern sense, you’ll likely find it meandering, repetitive, and more interested in shock-value sexual scenarios than character or plot momentum. The content is not just explicit but aggressively exploitative—sexual assault, coercion, and cruelty are central, not incidental—so this is an easy skip if you don’t want your evening dominated by grim erotic nihilism. That said, genre historians and Franco completists may appreciate the hypnotic, sun-drenched island atmosphere and the unapologetic 70s Euro-cult vibe, as long as they know exactly what they’re signing up for.