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Themroc (Blu-ray Review)

Cover art for Themroc Blu-ray, featuring Michel Piccoli’s name and the film title cut out from a cracked green wall.Some films whisper. The Themroc Blu-ray snarls. This 1973 oddity from French director Claude Faraldo trades dialogue for guttural grunts and middle fingers, ditching logic for raw provocation. It’s the kind of movie that will either hypnotize or repel — and sometimes both at once. Radiance Films has given it the kind of treatment usually reserved for revered classics. Whether you’re a longtime fan or just curious about its cult status, this Blu-ray edition demands attention.

 

Hand-painted title design of Themroc in bold green and red, showcasing the film’s raw artistic style.

Film 

There’s no easy entry point into the Themroc Blu-ray experience — and that’s by design.Claude Faraldo’s 1973 primal scream of a film ditches spoken language entirely in favor of feral grunts, howls, and guttural outbursts. What starts as a satire of workaday routine quickly crumbles into caveman chaos. Logic is thrown out the window. So are the rules of civil behavior. It’s absurdist cinema that doesn’t just wink at you — it grabs you by the collar and bellows in your face.

Underneath the noise, though, there’s a structure. Themroc opens with a nearly Orwellian flavor. Workers in grey shuffle to their jobs via sterile subway corridors. The walls are littered with signage identifying trades, as if to reduce every individual down to a single function. There’s a cold symmetry to it all, and a sense of looming authoritarian control. That grim order is what eventually combusts when Michel Piccoli’s character breaks from routine, boards up his apartment, and regresses — both figuratively and literally — into a growling, meat-tearing anarchist.

It’s easy to imagine Leos Carax watching this and nodding in approval. Themroc shares a kindred DNA with Holy Motors — both films unmoored from conventional storytelling, both daring the audience to make sense of them emotionally instead of intellectually. Faraldo’s film may lack the dreamy finesse of Carax’s work, but it operates on a similar frequency. Images dominate. Meaning is scattered like puzzle pieces. And once language is removed, everything else feels up for grabs: sexuality, social roles, power structures.

That said, the film’s commitment to its gimmick can wear thin. An entire cast grunting and shrieking without respite isn’t always easy to endure. But that’s also part of the film’s provocation — it forces you to confront primal noise without the buffer of dialogue or exposition. Whether you find that brave or grating will likely depend on your tolerance for cinema that proudly defies classification. Either way, Themroc leaves an impression. It just might not be the one you were expecting.

Scene from Themroc showing Michel Piccoli beside a woman bathing, reflecting the film’s absurd and voyeuristic tone.

Video 

NOTE: Stills are provided for promotional use only and are not from the Blu-ray.

Encoding: MPEG-4 AVC

Resolution: 1080p

Aspect Ratio: 1.66:1

Region: A, B

HDR: N/A

Layers: BD-50

Clarity and Detail: Despite the madness on screen, this is a surprisingly crisp presentation. Facial close-ups, scuffed stairwells, and collapsing plaster all show strong definition. The transfer captures the raw texture of the film’s 16mm source with care but without over-polishing it into something it never was.

Depth: There’s a lived-in flatness to Themroc, but depth holds up where it counts. Hallways stretch believably into the background, and the chaotic transformation of the apartment space reads with spatial clarity. It’s claustrophobic on purpose — not because the transfer fails.

Black Levels: Black levels lean toward deep gray more than true black, but they remain stable and free from crush. Shadows in the dim apartment or subway tunnels retain their texture, never dissolving into murk.

Color: The palette is muted but consistent. Industrial greys, washed-out greens, and sickly yellows dominate early scenes, giving way to grimy flesh tones and splashes of rusty red as the regression kicks in. It all feels deliberate, and Radiance’s transfer holds it together nicely.

Flesh Tones: What flesh tones exist — especially once shirts and social decorum are tossed aside—are rendered naturally, if intentionally pallid. You won’t find rosy hues here, but the tones match the film’s aesthetic decay.

Noise and Artifacts: There’s a fine layer of grain throughout, true to the film stock. No signs of digital noise reduction, banding, or compression glitches. The image remains stable even during fast movement or dim lighting.

Still from Themroc Blu-ray showing a woman in a red scarf peering from a crumbling apartment balcony.

Audio 

Audio Format(s): Gibberish LPCM Mono 2.0

Subtitles: English (signage)

Dynamics: For a soundtrack made up entirely of howls, moans, and primitive mutterings, the mono track handles it with surprising finesse. There’s clear separation between sound effects and the cacophony of voices — even if none of them say anything intelligible.

Height: N/A

Low Frequency Extension: N/A

Surround Sound: N/A

Dialogue: N/A

nterior signage from Themroc with French and English subtitles, hinting at the film’s satirical bureaucracy.

Extras

Radiance Films packs Themroc with a well-curated slate of extras that feel more scholarly than sprawling. The highlight is a 2025 interview with critic David Thompson, offering modern context for the film’s chaotic legacy, along with archival footage of Michel Piccoli and Claude Faraldo from 1973—an era when the film’s shockwaves were still fresh. Manuela Lazic adds further perspective with a thoughtful piece on Piccoli’s performance. Add in a gallery, trailer, and a nicely designed reversible sleeve by Sam Smith, and you’ve got a boutique presentation aimed squarely at cinephiles. The limited-edition booklet and Scanavo packaging seal the deal for collectors.

 

LIMITED EDITION BLU-RAY FEATURES

 

  • Interview with critic David Thompson (2025)
  • Interview with actor Michel Piccoli and director Claude Faraldo (1973)
  • Interview with Manuela Lazic on Michel Piccoli (2025)
  • Gallery
  • Trailer
  • Reversible sleeve featuring original and newly commissioned artwork by Sam Smith
  • Limited edition booklet featuring new writing by Alison Smith, author of French Cinema in the 1970s The echoes of May
  • Limited edition of 3000 copies, presented in full-height Scanavo packaging with removable OBI strip leaving packaging free of certificates and markings

Disturbing still from Themroc Blu-ray featuring disembodied hands reaching through a concrete wall -- symbolic of the film’s surreal collapse

Summary

Themroc is not a film I’ll be revisiting often, but there’s no denying Radiance Films has gone above and beyond in presenting it with care, context, and visual clarity. The restoration work is strong, the supplements are thoughtful, and the packaging is sharp enough to catch a collector’s eye. Even if the film itself grates more than it grips, this Blu-ray edition gives Themroc the archival polish it likely never expected — but definitely deserves.

More from Radiance Films? We’ve reviewed several of their Blu-rays—browse them all here.

Themroc is available on Blu-ray!

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Radiance Films' Themroc Blu-ray case showing the green slipcover with a dark silhouette breaking through the wall.

 

Back cover of the Themroc Blu-ray packaging featuring Michel Piccoli mid-scream in a green-tinted design.

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Gerard Iribe is a writer/reviewer for Why So Blu?. He has also reviewed for other sites like DVD Talk, Project-Blu, and CHUD, but Why So Blu? is where the heart is. You can follow his incoherency on Twitter: @giribe

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