Ahh, Eurotrash, the pejorative that ruffles no feathers (at least where movies are concerned); fans love it, sane folks have never heard of it. For those not in the know, Eurotrash movies flourished from the '60s to the '80s, made on The Continent, these films were generally concerned with sex and death in various configurations. A lot of nominal auteurs flexed oodles of style (and little sense) with impunity by littering (or promising to) litter the screen with blood and breasts. Jean Rollin is a chief exemplar of the Eurotrash brand, and his 1969 effort The Nude Vampire is a shiny example of all that is good and bad in that sullied cinematic land.
It's nearly beside the point to lay out any sort of plot for The Nude Vampire. There really isn't any. Near as I can tell, a wealthy man and a few of his bored pals cook up a bogus suicide cult to amuse themselves while trying to scientifically explain vampirism. Bored man's son Pierre gets mixed up in things, falling in love with the titular vampire and forcing his dad's hand, before everyone walks through the curtain into an alternate reality to learn the truth. Or something.
As a Eurotrash purveyor, Rollin's weakness is that he hasn't an interesting story to tell, and if he does, he buries it under such an avalanche of faux-debauched, somnambulistic style that any dream-like state you might wind up in is entirely unintentional. At least that's the case with The Nude Vampire. Story-wise, Rollin ultimately gives his own game away at the end in a scene strongly reminiscent of the ending of Casablanca. As two vamp-sci conspirators stagger into the forest, one asks the other "did you understand any of this?" "No, not really," the other replies as they then go on to try to explain the movie to each other. While appreciated, such explicatory asides shouldn't be necessary.
No mistake, Rollin concocts, a lush, decadent experience rife with striking, expressionist imagery, miles of red velvet and gorgeous locations. Opening scenes of a young couple stalked through shadowy alleys by creepy dudes with masks and antlers have a primordial power. However the boggled 'story' then gets played out with alternating scenes of weird looking chicks dancing in spiked pasties, or the dad and his two goofy cohorts placing red hoods on people or being chased around by a vampiric dork and his silent, torch-wielding crew of goons through lovely castles and countryside - all at a very slow pace. Everything looks great (assured and well framed) and drips style, but the slow pace, dearth of plot, boobs and blood (far less than one would hope for in a movie of this ilk) ultimately ranks The Nude Vampire as one of Rollin's lesser efforts.