Diamonds of Kilimandjaro

Within computer science there is a concept known as duck typing, by which “if it walks like a duck, and talks like a duck, then it might as well be a duck”. I mention this not to show off my wide ranging knowledge *cough*, but because I think it is a useful idea to apply to this 1983 entry, which isn't a Jess Franco film but, on the surface, might as well be.

I want to suggest that reading Diamonds of Kilimandjaro as if it were a Franco film, seeing where it convinces as such and where it does not, helps shed light on issues of auteurism in terms of the director and the film's studio, Eurocine.

It should also be noted that such a reading isn't entirely unprecendented, either within film more generally – is there any analysis of The Thing from Another World that fails to give more attention to the role of Howard Hawks than officially credited director Christian Nyby? – nor, arguably, within Franco's own territory if we think of an ersatzprodukt such as Erwin C. Dietrich's Rolls Royce Baby. (Or, from Eurocine, but less successful in my opinion, Pierre Chevalier's Orloff and the Invisible Man.)

Diamonds of Kilimanjaro's scenario is pure pulp, giving Edgar Rice Burroughs (Tarzan) the same kind of ironic yet somehow affectionate and sincere treatment as Franco had given Sax Rohmer, Edgar Wallace, Norbert Jacques and others previously:

While flying over a barely-charted region of Africa, the plane carrying Mr de Winter and his young daughter Diana crashes. Years later, adventurer Fred is treasure-hunting in the vicinity. He is captured by the natives with some of their diamonds and is about to be executed when a beautiful young white woman swings in to his rescue. Back in civilisation Fred and his friend Al Pereria visit Mrs de Winter, who agrees to bankroll an expedition to determine if Fred's rescuer was indeed Diana and, if so, bring her back. Along with Fred and Al, the expedition party comprises tough guide Matt Payton and de Winter's untrustworthy brother Mathieu and his girlfriend, who stand to inherit Mrs de Winter's fortune if her daughter is not found. Cue adventure, intrigue, decidedly non-PC representations of indigenous cultures and so on.

Reading this synopsis, the Franco fan will no doubt have noticed the presence of Al Pereria, one of his regular stock names/characters (along with Orloff, Morpho, Melissa, Justine, Tanner etc.) amongst the protagonists. He is played by Antonio Mayans, Franco's frequent right hand/factotum at the time. Other regulars making appearances are Lina Romay, Katja Bienert and Daniel White as the de Winter family with the last – whose role amusingly plays upon the Scottish side of his heritage – also contributing to the film's score.

In terms of personnel, scenario and themes, then, Diamonds of Kilimandjaro feels like an authentic Franco film. Where the difference emerges is in the mise-en-scene: direction and cinematography are too conventional and restrained by comparison, lacking Franco's peripatetic, voyeuristic approach and deploying the zoom in a purely functional, non-expressive manner.

What Diamonds of Kilimandjaro helps illustrate, then, is the distinction between purely bad films (Eurocine) and those that, regardless of how they may be perceived by conventional standards, can at least be seen to exhibit a distinctive authorial vision (Franco's work for Eurocine). For this reason, is worth the Franco enthusiast's attentions, if only for the fact that its absences confirm that something unque is indeed present in the director's work.