Girl Slaves of Morgana Le Fay (1971) – Review

There are some films where the plot takes a backseat to the mood, and Girl Slaves of Morgana Le Fay unapologetically plants itself in that territory. Draped in velvet, soaked in sensual fog, and carried along on a slow-motion dreamwave of sapphic allure, this film takes us on a wild and weird journey.

If you ever wondered what Excalibur would look like if it had been directed by a fashion photographer with a thing for nymphs and mist, voilà, I give you the Girl Slaves of Morgana Le Fay, or by its know in France, “Morgane et ses Nymphes,” a cult French fantasy-horror film that replaces swords and sorcery with slow-motion sensuality, witchy softcore vibes, and a castle full of mysterious women who never age, rarely speak, and definitely don’t believe in bras. This 1971 French erotic fantasy tells the tale of two young women, Anna (Michèle Perello) and Françoise (Mireille Saunin), travelling through the French countryside, who become lost near the ruins of Brocéliande, a forest steeped in Arthurian legend. 

“Did that road sign say Cursed Village?”

And how do they get lost? Well, they ignore the advice of the bartender at a creepy pub, “Drink and go. Turn back. Don’t go through the village,” which is about the silliest thing you can do in this type of story. Then they decide to take a back road, which appears to be a loop of an endless road, before their car eventually breaks down. They choose to spend the night in an old barn where they make love. Because, of course, they do. That Françoise wakes up to find her friend missing is pretty much par for the course in this kind of scenario; the fact that both of them weren’t killed by an axe-wielding is the amazing thing. But what is strange is the appearance of a dwarf (Alfred Baillou) in medieval garb, who leads her through the enchanted forest of Brocéliande and to a nearby lake where a magic canoe carries her to an island, and then to a castle where scantily clad women frolic and kiss.

“I don’t remember the tourist brochure mentioning any of this?

She is taken to the mist-shrouded castle of the enigmatic Morgana le Fay (Dominique Delpierre), the sorceress of Arthurian legend, who is now ruling an all-female kingdom where time has stopped, and desire is eternal. Morgana reveals that the castle exists outside of time, a magical limbo where women live forever under her rule. These women—beautiful, sensual, and seemingly content—are her eternal companions, but their immortality comes with a cost: complete submission to Morgana’s will. The castle is essentially a gilded cage, where desire and domination intertwine. Some of the women have been there for centuries, drawn into Morgana’s orbit and unable to leave.

“Welcome to Medieval Hotel California.”

From there, the film abandons narrative propulsion almost entirely, preferring atmosphere, seduction, and a looping dream logic where time dissolves, and everything glows with unspoken menace. The line between enchantment and imprisonment begins to blur, as Françoise resists the allure of eternal pleasure in favour of autonomy, whatever that might mean in a world like this, while also trying to find out what happened to her friend. But as time passes, she begins to succumb to the decadent lifestyle, erotic allure, and ambiguous promises of eternal youth and beauty. Meanwhile, Anna is held captive in the dungeon where she is given the choice of becoming an eternal slave of Morgana’s or living her remaining days among the crones, who also spurned their mistress and have since paid the price for displeasing her.

Morgana has a hell of a sales pitch.

Worried about her friend, Françoise escapes to look for the boat, but realizing its magical nature would make its use futile, she decides to swim across, only to find Morgan waiting for her on the other side, wherever she turns; she takes her back to her castle and promises to teach her magic. As days pass, Françoise finds herself increasingly seduced by the castle and its pleasures. She is drawn into rituals of eroticism and pagan mystery: masked balls, nocturnal processions, and decadent feasts. The women engage in open, uninhibited love with each other. Despite the beauty and sensuality, there’s an underlying sense of menace; none of the women are allowed to leave, and those who try either vanish or are punished.

“Is it time for our nightly pillow fight?”

Unfortunately, three of Morgana’s maidens have become jealous of their mistress’s attention to the beautiful Françoise, and they plot with the dwarf to help her “escape,” and with three magical talismans, our heroine finally breaks the spell that has turned this enchanted island into a prison. But will Morgan let such a thing pass? The girl does eventually make it off the island, but the film ends in ambiguity. Has Françoise been genuinely seduced by Morgana’s promise of immortality and sisterhood, or has she simply given up the fight? Either way, she is now one of the girl slaves of Morgana le Fay, not in chains, but in enchantment.

This is an unconventional fairy tale, to say the least.

Stray Observations:

• The film takes loose inspiration from the Arthurian myth of Morgana Le Fay, but trades knights and quests for a seductive, all-female utopia. Think King Arthur reimagined by a dreamy, lingerie-obsessed Jean Cocteau.
• Morgana’s domain exists outside of time, which explains why nobody ever seems to age… or wear pants. Time stands still, but the costume department never rests.
• Every room has softcore lighting. Seriously, every room. The castle is lit like a 1970s perfume ad. There’s no practical lighting—just candles, coloured gels, and whatever was left over from a Pink Floyd laser show.
• At one point, women dance half-naked around as some kind of celebration. Is it a spell? A rite? A pagan sorority rush? Doesn’t matter, it looks great, and everyone’s into it.

Is there anything more evil than interpretive dance?

If you’re looking for fast-paced action or monster effects, turn back now. Girl Slaves is a mood piece through and through, practically a moving perfume ad where the scent is “Fey Despair and Lesbian Yearning.” Director Bruno Gantillon leans into the eroticism without veering into outright exploitation; this is less skin flick and more surreal, sapphic enchantment. Every frame is artfully composed, bathed in hazy candlelight or soft natural mist, with gauzy gowns fluttering and glances lingering just a little too long to be innocent. Visually, the film is a Gothic fairy tale filtered through the lens of a Euro-sleaze art student. The castle of Morgana is awash in candlelight, shadowy stone chambers, and rose-coloured haze. Every scene is soaked in visual mood, accompanied by an eerie, droning score and whispered dialogue.

That the only dude in the cast dies is not all that surprising.

As for our titular character, Dominique Delpierre plays Morgana with regal menace and feline detachment. She’s not an overt villain—there’s no cackling or lightning bolts—but rather an immortal woman deeply committed to maintaining her ageless, pleasure-filled world. She lures her guests with charm, comfort, and luxury, never with force. Her greatest power is seduction, and it’s a slow, luxurious kind. She is portrayed not just as a sorceress but as a symbol of temptation, power, and eternal femininity, offering immortality in exchange for complete surrender.

Who wouldn’t surrender to this?

Beneath the film’s lacy surface lies a quietly subversive feminist thread. On one hand, Morgana’s castle represents liberation from male-dominated society: a place of sensual freedom and female community. On the other hand, it’s also a gilded cage. Immortality, here, comes at the cost of choice, agency, and perhaps one’s soul. The women don’t grow, they don’t change, they’re frozen in eternal beauty and passive sensuality. Anna becomes the audience’s surrogate as she navigates this world with growing unease. The question isn’t just “Will she stay or escape?” but rather: “What does it mean to choose between safety and self?”

Trapped or enraptured, you be the judge.

The soundtrack, composed by François de Roubaix, is hauntingly beautiful, an ethereal blend of psychedelic tones, choral whispers, and gently hypnotic melodies. It deepens the film’s otherworldly feel and almost seems to breathe along with the mist. Between the score, the slow pacing, and the stylized visuals, the entire film feels like a trance. If you’re not on its wavelength, it can feel maddeningly slow. But if you let yourself drift into its rhythm, it’s strangely intoxicating.

The music is as beautiful as the film’s cast.

In conclusion, Girl Slaves of Morgana Le Fay is a cult oddity, part arthouse, part Eurotrash, wholly committed to its hypnotic tone. There’s horror here, but it’s quiet and psychological, less about monsters and more about the seductive comforts of surrender. The danger is not death, but stagnation disguised as paradise. It’s a sapphic fever dream steeped in soft horror and poetic eroticism. Not for everyone, but for lovers of ’70s Euro-fantasy and esoteric vibes, it casts a strangely lingering spell.