A Gothic tale of poison and plots, Morgiana (1972) is another dark rumination on the failings of the human spirit by provocateur Juraj Herz. Based on a work by Russian novelist Alexander Grin, Morgiana retains the writer’s Romantic inclinations while Herz adds his own nihilistic flavor. Neglected for far too long, Morgiana deserves a place alongside the works of Jean Rollin, Walerian Borowczyk, and José Ramón Larraz in the pantheon of Gothic cinema of the 1970s.
Morgiana tells of two sisters, Viktoria and Klára (both played by Iva Janžurová) who have inherited a vast estate. Viktoria’s portion includes the stately seaside home of Green Flute as well as the family jewels. Klára’s inheritance consists of all other land holding, property and most of the money. Once settled at Green Flute Viktoria poisons her sister in a bid to consolidate her wealth and holdings.
Viktoria is always adorned in black; her gowns, her wig, all of it is black. She’s a sinister Gothic villain who tests the poison on a dog and spies on her maids as they wash in the sea, even hurling a rock at one. Her murderous plan is contingent upon Otylie (Nina Divíšková) who has sold her the poison. This backfires when Otylie attempts to blackmail Viktora, who quickly dispatches Otylie off of a cliff face to her doom (or so she believes).
The labyrinthian plot of Morgiana takes on a dreamy quality with numerous POV shots that include psychedelic effects. These POV shots are rendered as expressionistic extensions of characters’ internal lives and hallucinations. Herz even includes a handful of POV shots from the perspective of Viktoria’s cat Morgiana. The overall effects of Herz’s strategy not only re-iterates the style of Grin’s text, but invites the viewer into an entirely internal world.
This internal world exists between the sisters Viktoria and Klára. The former is all things wicked and dark in human nature while the latter is pure and virtuous. Iva Janžurová, in playing both sisters, unites the characters in a clear dichotomy that suggests each sister is possibly only one half of a single person. This concept is further suggested by their own doubles; a pair of dolls that resemble the sisters who each posses the other’s likeness. Like Ingmar Bergman’s Persona (1966), Brian DePalma’s Sisters (1972) and Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958), Morgiana is arguably set within the mind on a psychological plain that takes the form of the narrative.
However, Herz merely suggests this interpretation of Morgiana. A more literal reading of the film would plant it in the tradition of a Hammer Horror picture. Given Herz’s other works, it’s highly unlikely that Morgiana is meant to be entirely escapist fun. There’s a danger to Gothic fiction that clearly appeals to Herz and it seems that he located that danger in the genre’s ability to give tactile form to abstract emotions and psychological impulses.
If one takes Morgiana as being in the same vein as other Czech films that deal in Gothic tropes, such as Valerie & Her Week Of Wonders (1970) and Herz’s own Beauty & The Beast (1979), an aesthetic trend becomes clear. All three features are focused on women who must navigate oppressive societal constructs. Klára, like Valerie and Julie (in Beauty & The Beast), are pale, naive and full of virtue; Gothic heroines reckoning with twentieth century anxieties that inherently subvert or recast the material from which they are sourced.
