Established Euro star Florinda Bolkan stars as Flavia, a reluctant nun of 15th century Puglia, Italy. Growing bitter of the countless injustices inflicted upon her by an abusive and sexist church, Flavia finds no choice but to rebel. Fleeing both from a choking and patriarchal society (including her father, who situated her against her will in the convent) and the religion that enslaves her, Flavia seeks liberation. Once freed from the convent walls, she experiences a joyful freedom in the Italian countryside. However, her exuberance is cut short. Soon captured, Flavia is submitted to the henchman's whip and reluctantly rejoins her former vocation. Once again entombed in convent walls, Flavia strikes an unlikely friendship with a fellow sister, Agatha, and both channel their bitterness of male domination into an eventual plot of rebellion. The sisters' plot is soon aided by a sudden Muslim invasion. To Flavia's horror, Sister Agatha is slain, but Flavia seizes an opportunity and befriends a Muslim warrior and subsequently becomes a part of their cause. Flavia finds love for the first time in this warrior, and she boldly leads an offensive on her old coven. Purging herself of bitterness and settling old scores, Flavia eventually comes to rule the very coven that once imprisoned her. Her rule is soon terminated, however, when she is obligated to be a traditional Muslim wife. Disgusted by her inevitable subordination, she again defies her superiors and is consequently abandoned by the Muslims. Thus, she is easy game for her scorned convent, where she meets a gruesome death.

Made during the apex of the "naughty nun" and "witch hunt" genres, 1974's FLAVIA, THE HERETIC both embodies and deviates from those genre institutions. An exploitation film at its heart, the film nevertheless proposes many worthy concepts and messages to the viewer, including women's liberation, a scathing attack on the catholic church (another common symptom of the period's exploitation fare) and most importantly, an individual's strife in a claustrophobic society. Inquisitive and skeptical, Bolkan convincingly plays a woman finding herself a reluctant outcast of her society. Bolkan's stern, contemplative face proves perfect for her role of a pariah. Indeed, Flavia has much to find fault in. For starters, the French duke visiting her town of Puglia takes great pleasure in his virility by raping innocent farm girls, and Flavia's own father dispatches of so-called heretics in the most gruesome of ways. Flavia is equally dismayed at a religion that sweeps women under the carpet and punishes them duly for showing the slightest flash of humanity.

The intermittent blasts of horrific violence corroborate Flavia's bitterness quite nicely. Within the first half-hour, Flavia is witness to a cruel (and graphic) castration of a horse, and the agonizing death of a fellow sister Livia, a supposed heretic and follower of the pagan "Tarantula" cult. The gore scenes suggest the infuriating hypocrisy of the church, in quite the same way as the infamous scenes of torture in 1970's MARK OF THE DEVIL. A sight for sore eyes, indeed, to see a horror film make good use of its requisite gore scenes. After seeing only a few cruel acts of humanity by the church, one cannot help but root for Flavia's cause.

FLAVIA also has a solid score by Nicola Piovani. While not necessarily memorable, the score, primarily comprised of flutes, violins, and guitars, is at least evocative of the period and is largely unobtrusive. The period detail is also tastefully understated, unlike many similar Hollywood historical ventures. Gianfranco Mingozzi's direction is suitably restrained, augmented only by scarce tracking shots and zooms, which effectively reveal the eroded beauty of the convent and the town. Finally, the film sports at least a few eccentricities, such as the psychedelic "divine intervention" scenes, where a canvas animates itself, producing a saint who blesses his followers. Most bizarre of all, however, is an orgy sequence occurring in the latter half of the film. Once Bolkan has liberated the nunnery, the sisters gorge themselves on their repressed sexuality (a recurrent theme in the film). One sister climbs in a makeshift cocoon of a hanging, gutted horse, while men literally feast on the nubile body of a fellow nun. The sequence comes as quite a surprise and efficiently disrupts the flow of the film.

FLAVIA, THE HERETIC has a lot going for it. A surprisingly measured and truthful account of a woman's struggle for independence, FLAVIA is a unique item. Both sensitive and brutal, all too real and yet surreal, the film captures genuine emotion and queasy thrills in its typically condensed running time. How unique, indeed.