Wednesday, December 12, 2007Strip Nude for Your Killer Release Year: 1975Country: Italy Starring: Edwige Fenech, Nino Castelnuovo, Femi Benussi, Solvi Stubing, Franco Diogene, Lucio Como, Erna Schurer. Writer: Andrea Bianchi and Massimo Felisatti Director: Andrea Bianchi Cinematographer: Franco Delli Colli Music: Berto Pisano Original Title: Nude per l'assassino Availability: Buy it from Amazon You wouldn't think that a movie with a title like Strip Nude for Your Killer would turn out to be among the sleazier, trashier, less redeemable Italian thrillers -- or giallo -- but what do you know! Strip Nude for Your Killer turns out to be among the sleazier, trashier, less redeemable Italian thrillers, and if you know anything about gialli, you know that sleaze, trash, and irredeemability are practically requisites for the genre. Strip Nude for Your Killer is also probably not the best film to use as a primer on the tropes and history of gialli, but at the same time, perhaps the fact that it slavishly caters to the lowest common denominator expectations of giallo films and never exhibits much in the way of style or ambition beyond fulfilling the base formula requirements make it the perfect, if not respectable, candidate for the following brief -- and possibly wildly inaccurate in spots -- history of what fans loving refer to giallo. Giallo is, like pulp fiction in America, a loaded and often misrepresented concept that takes on various attributes and boundaries depending on who is doing the defining. Pulp, for example, was used to cover everything from romance to cowboy to crime to sci-fi and horror stories, though in time it became more specifically identified with crime and fantastic literature. And then, in the 90s, pulp started being used as a description of outrageous action cinema from the 70s, applied interchangeably with "cult film," "drive-in movie," and most recently, "grindhouse." Pulp thus became an adaptive term, and even though it no longer meant what it used to mean, just as "drive-in movie" could have been any movie (I saw Jaws and Star Wars at the drive-in in the 70s, after all) but now has a very specific exploitation-oriented definition, "pulp" has an agreed-upon (more or less) pop culture definition that most people live with.
The history and evolution of giallo in Italy is very similar. Giallo originally referred to a series of pulp novels published by a company called Mondadori. The name "giallo" arose from the bright yellow covers that identified books as part of the series. As with American pulps of the same era (the first giallo was printed in 1929), the subject matter of giallo varied wildly, but in time they seemed to settle down into a steady pattern relying predominantly on murder mysteries, horror, and lurid tales of wanton sauciness. From time to time, the stories of well-established and well-respected mystery authors like Edgar Wallace and Agathie Christie showed up as part of the giallo series. Thus, like pulp, giallo became a much more specific phrase, irritating some (as does the abuse and rampant application of the descriptor "pulp"). Making any claim regarding which film was "the first" of any type of film is pretty silly. No matter what you pick, someone is going to find an earlier film that fulfills the same basic requirements of whatever genre you've chosen, and then they'll start claiming that movie was the first. Sort of like, "who was the first punk rocker," a debate that includes everyone from Iggy Pop to Joey Ramone to the MC5 to Mozart. Or, to relate it to film, there's the endless debate over "the first slasher film." With "first" being nigh impossible to nail down, what becomes more important is the first film to act as a major cultural touchstone. So, while nailing down "the first slasher film" may be almost impossible, nailing down "the film that inspired the slasher movie boom of the 80s and defined the tropes of that trend" is much easier. The exact same problem exists in determining "the first giallo movie." Considering that Edgar Wallace and Agathie Christie books were part of the giallo series, you could reasonably argue that one of the movies based on those was the first giallo. What is more pertinent, again, and at least for our purposes here, is to define the film where the giallo trend really arrived, and the film that served as the template for the movies that would follow this trend. Regarding this, most people agree that it's Mario Bava's 1963 thriller The Girl Who Knew Too Much (which even features the lead character reading a giallo novel), with a major assist from Bava's Blood and Black Lace in 1964. It is in these two movies that we see most of the "rules" of the genre established, sort of like how George Romero's Night of the Living Dead certainly wasn't the first zombie film, but it was the zombie film, and it set forth a template that is followed to this very day. Bava's two early murder mysteries laid the foundation for what would come after them. And of course, just to dirty the martini further, from that start point forward, you can spend plenty of time endlessly debating which films are or are not gialli, or which films are or are not zombie films. So on and so forth. After all, us film nerds gotta debate something, and some of us are tired of arguing about whether or not Star Wars was awesome or sucked.
Bava's two movies give us the framework and the common themes that define giallo: the unreliable eye witness and the general unreliability and subjectivity of observation, the international jet set flavor (including frequent use of American and British leads), the obsession with fashion and photography (another form of observation) and the industries that exist around each, prolonged and often fantastically complex murder sequences, highly stylized lighting and cinematography, and perhaps most famous of all, the black-gloved killer. Giallo simmered through the 60s, but it was in 1970 that things really exploded. That year, a former scriptwriter and assistant director named Dario Argento made the film The Bird with the Crystal Plumage. Here, what started with Bava became crystal clear and fully realized. From 1970 on, the always zealous Italian exploitation market began cranking out all sorts of films that fit the giallo bill, more or less. Adding a dose of 1970s libertinism to the Bava formula, the giallo directors of the 70s were able to heap on more gore, nudity, and general sleaze. The films also showcased an increasingly cynical viewpoint of the morality of man, often featuring victim characters who were only marginally less rotten than the mysterious killer. Some of these films were incredibly good. Some wallowed in their own filth. A few were just plain awful, but most were enjoyable in a wild Grand Guignol fashion that demanded you abandon logic, accept often wildly improbably plot twists and resolutions, and concentrate instead on the imaginative style and outlandish setpieces. In other words, if you are going to be upset about disappointing revelations and idiotic, illogical behavior on behalf of the victims, giallo is not the genre for you to play in, and you will find little, even in the best films, that will convince you otherwise. These films take place in a world that appears similar to ours and involves characters who resemble humans, but ultimately, the world of the giallo film and the people who inhabit it resemble humans and the human world only superficially. Gialli operate under their own set of rules, and dealing with it can often be irritating -- especially since that leads to the age-old battle over when something is an intentional artistic vision and when something is just incompetent crap. In the case of Strip Nude for Your Killer, the debate is pretty one-sided. This movie is definitely incompetent crap. It's largely unimaginative, always seedy and mean-spirited, and laughable in its attempt to build the central mystery. That said, it's also horribly fun in a way you should be maybe just a little bit ashamed of, and it stars the queen of 70s giallo and one the most perfect and beautiful women to ever walk the planet, French Algerian actress Edwige Fenech.
To be fair, Strip Nude for Your Killer may be scummy, but it wastes no time letting you know exactly where you stand, as the first shot is a full frontal nude shot of a woman in a doctor's office, legs up in medical stirrups, with a doctor's face firmly planted between her legs. If this image -- and keep in mind that it is quickly revealed she's in the middle of an abortion -- offends or insults you, then it's best to just skip ahead to some other movie. I recommend Dario Argento's Deep Red. It's really good, and as far as gialli goes, it's pretty clean. At least it doesn't start off with a close-up of a chick getting an abortion. From this auspicious opening salvo, Strip Nude for Your Killer has the woman suffer a heart attack, causing the doctor and his pal to bring the woman back to her home and leave her in the bathtub in hopes that the police will just chalk it up to a heart attack without noticing the abortion thing. From there, the film picks up at a photography studio staffed primarily by snide, condescending people who all seem to hate each other. Among them are star photographers Carlo (Nino Castelnuovo) and Magda (Edwige Fenech), who are involved with each other though Carlo is by no means a one-lady man. The other cast members all have names too, but there's not much point in remembering them since, 1) they're all basically the same character, and 2) they're all going to die anyway. And sure enough, it doesn't take too long before someone is stalking the employees of the studio and killing them off. Signature murders include the stabbing of a woman who, upon realizing a prowler may be in the house and all her co-workers are getting murdered, investigates while completely nude except for a pair of clunky platform clogs; and then there's the one where, after charmingly attempting to rape a co-worker before going impotent, we get ample shots of an enormously fat man in his sagging tighty whities and black dress socks, clutching a deflated blow-up doll in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other while he cries uncontrollably. Tasteful! Eventually, the cast is whittled down to a few potential suspects, including Carlo, Magda. Carlo and Magda take it upon themselves to investigate the murder, though it's possible on of them is actually the culprit, and for some reason, any time they turn up a clue, they make a big fuss about how they couldn't possibly go to the police with it, even though there's no actual reason they couldn't go to the police beyond the fact that the giallo film depends on the concept of the amateur sleuth, and writer-director Andrea Bianchi sort of blows at writing stories. When the killer is finally revealed...well it's best for this movie and for many gialli to master the use of the phrase, "Oh, come on!" Strip Nude for Your Killer isn't quite so bad as to have the killer be someone that hasn't been in the movie until the point they are revealed to be the killer ("Why, it was his brother we've never seen all along!"), but it's really close. And there's plenty more "Oh, come on!" moments to keep your eyes rolling. Like the part where Magda goes to retrieve film from Carlo's studio that presumably has pictures of the killer on it. While there, the lights go out, and Magda hears someone else sneaking around. So, knowing that everyone who works at your studio is being murdered, knowing that you have a piece of evidence that could reveal the killer, and knowing that the killer knows you have this and also knows where it is, when you are in this place, and the lights go out all of a sudden, do you instantly think, "Goodness, it is entirely likely this killer who has been stalking us has now arrived here!" Or do you think, "Aw, it must be a blown fuse!"
In fact, there are three distinct points at which you will need to master the use of "Oh, come on!" if you are ever going to get very far into the world of Italian murder mystery horror fun. The first is used pleadingly and comes when you engage in the following exchange with a friend: You: Let's watch Strip Nude for Your Killer. Your Friend: That looks like crap. You: Oh, come on! You will also find the phrase handy to use in a sort of "just roll with it" use. For example: Your Friend: Wait! Why can't they go to the police? Man this movie is idiotic. You: Oh, come on! And finally, there is the point at which you and your friend can finally agree on the proper application of the phrase. This comes at the end, when the killer is revealed to be someone you can't even remember if they were in the movie before. It is here that you can both roll your eyes and exclaim, "Oh, come on!" Strip Nude for Your Killer definitely requires a healthy sense of humor to get through. Director Andrea Bianchi does not possess the stylistic flourishes that make many other bad gialli worth watching even when their plots are of dubious merit. What Bianchi lacks in terms of inventive direction he attempts to make up for with sleaze, and at least on that level, he's a Viking. Before you even start the movie, you can guess what sort of ride you're in for. And while some titles may make lascivious promises the movie can't keep, Strip Nude for Your Killer definitely is not one of them. I mean, here's a film that plays a botched abortion for cheap titillation and ends with a joke about a guy strangling his girlfriend and sodomizing her against her will. Oh, the hilarity! In between, you get near frequent male and female nudity (often in the form of people you never wanted to see nude), plenty of slasher gore (usually in the form of the aftermath of a murder), and an all-around level of scumminess that becomes so thick it takes on the properties of camp excess. I'm sure John Waters would appreciate the ludicrousness of it all. It's that gleeful willingness to reel about in the muck with such reckless disregard for even the most frayed threads of decent taste that keep Strip Nude for Your Killer from being offensive. It's far too idiotic to be taken with that degree of seriousness. This movie is like stumbling upon a hobo jerking off behind a dumpster. Sure you can get offended, but honestly, what's the point?
One of the fun things about gialli is that they actively invite psychoanalysis. Regardless of how shoddy and shallow the product may be, if it just follows the template close enough, it can piggyback on the psychological groundwork of Bava, who himself was nodding to Hitchcock. It's like buying meaning wholesale, or shopping at Hot Topic instead of making your own punk clothes. For example, I have no doubt that Bianchi had absolutely nothing to say with Strip Nude for Your Killer. He wanted to make a sleazy murder mystery and get Edwige Fenech naked as often as possible, plus show a fat guy in saggy underpants. And that's exactly what he did. But because, by 1975, so many gialli had been made and the cliches of the genre were so well established, he didn't have to put any thought at all into having things us film nerds could pick up on in our never-ending quest to artistically justify even the basest and greediest of crap. Strip Nude for Your Killer is rife with the standard giallo themes, the most obvious of which is the deceptive nature of observation. You could even justify the tasteless opening by saying that Bianchi is intentionally duping the audience into thinking they're getting a bit of cheesecake right off the bat, only to spoil it by introducing a dramatic and tragic revelation regarding the nature of the nudity we are observing. You would, I think, be full of shit if you did this, but it's still fun. Later in the film, the roll of film with the killer's identity is brought into play, under the assumption that a photograph of a murder in progress is irrefutable proof. Once again, however, very little is what it appears to be. Edwige spends much of the movie poring over photographs of the victim, an old magnifying glass plastered to her face as a visual homage to the dime store detective novels from which the giallo film grew (and also as a fine example of how magnifying glasses aren't designed work). In Strip Nude for Your Killer as in many other far superior gialli (specifically Dario Argento's Bird with the Crystal Plumage and Deep Red), the protagonist spends a great deal of time examining and re-examining something that seems perfectly clear but is later revealed to hold a significance no one recognized. Bird with the Crystal Plumage is one of the most obvious indictments of the notion of eye witness, but Deep Red is my favorite for playing off the lead actor, David Hemmings, and his role as a photographer obsessed with the grainy, minute detail of a photo in Anonioni's Blow Up. In the case of Strip Nude for Your Killer, Bianchi is obviously just copying what he's seen before, but it's still kind of fun and one of the reasons bad gialli are often still enjoyable to dissect. Bianchi is no stranger to sleazy thrillers. His filmography includes Cry of the Prostitute, The Malicious Whore, and Burial Ground, infamous for casting an obviously older midget as a child, and then having him bite off his mom's breast while she lovingly breast-feeds him. I ain't talking no Harry Earles looking guy, either, where you could almost believe the illusion that he was a little kid (still way too old to be breast feeding though, at least off his mom). No, this was more like a cross between Dustin Hoffman and Chris Kattan. Anyway, Bianchi isn't much of a director, and whatever style exists in Strip Nude for Your Killer is most likely the product of Bianchi aping those who came before. The direction is competent and professional, but not much else.
Of course, for most viewers, there is one big reason, at least above the simple blanket "because it's Italian giallo," to watch Strip Nude for Your Killer, and that's the appearance, usually nude or in little more than panties and an unbuttoned men's dress shirt, of Edwige Fenech. Fenech was a staple of both Italian sex comedies and the giallo film, and she brought to the game a wicked combination of actual acting talent, comedic timing, a willingness to drop her robe for pretty much no reason, and some of the most devastating good looks I've ever seen. She split her time evenly between exceptionally great gialli like All the Colors of the Dark and other films with director Sergio Martino, and dodgy nonsense like this and The Case of the Bloody Iris. She was always game, though, and never looked to be half-assing it, even when her primary role was to show half her ass. In Strip Nude for Your Killer, she's about as close as you're going to get to a likable character, even though she's kind of condescending and nasty to people. But when you're surrounded by the likes of mean-spirited S&M lesbians, a guy who thinks anal rape is hilarious, a fat crying guy who also thinks rape is the way to a woman's heart, and someone who is killing a bunch of people -- well, it's not hard to look like the good guy. If you are looking for a good and proper introduction to the world of Italian murder mysteries, Strip Nude for Your Killer is not your movie. You want to be watching Deep Red or Blood and Black Lace or All the Colors of the Dark. Still, if you are already prepared for the peculiarities of sloppy Italian filmmaking, Strip Nude for Your Killer is surprisingly enjoyable. Even though it's poorly written, even though it's relentlessly tasteless (actually, because it's relentlessly tasteless), even though it has very few points you could single out as being good other than Edwige, and even though it's packed full of gratuitously seedy garbage (once again, what I mean is because it's packed full of gratuitous, seedy garbage), it ultimately comes across as harmless. I think it's because you never get an opportunity to take the thing seriously for even a minute. Compare it to, for instance, Lucio Fulci's New York Ripper, a film that is marginally less sleazy, almost as absurd, but a whole lot meaner. The hatred for mankind is palpable in that film, and if you make it through to the end, all you really want to do is take a shower. Conversely, Strip Nude for Your Killer comes across as little more than a bunch of drunk Italians wanting to make a movie with a lot of nudity in it. If you go to the shower after watching it, you're doing something, but it's not because you feel grimy and depressed. Sure, the film is mean, but it never seems serious about it or committed to its misanthropy. This could just be my perception as a horribly twisted and dark individual, but Strip Nude for Your Killer just doesn't have that visceral kick you would need to really be offended. It was preposterous anyway, and I was having too much fun reveling in the filth alongside it to worry about the many faults. Labels: Country: Italy, Horror: Giallo, Stars: Edwige Fenech, Year: 1975 posted by Keith at 7:21 PM | 4 Comments Monday, June 11, 2007Thirsty for Love, Sex, and Murder
DIGG THIS ARTICLE. 1972, Turkey. Starring Yildirim Gencer, Kadir Inanir, Meral Zeren, Eva Bender. Directed by Mehmet Aslan. Buy it from Xploited Cinema.
(...how can you not love a film with that title?) I haven't really seen many of his films, but Mehmet Aslan seems like my kind of director. I've seen a couple of his Tarkan movies, and Karaoglan Geliyor, and they're collectively packed with fight choreography, crazy stunts, cheap (if very mild) gore, and fun costumes and obviously wooden swords. Following what I've seen on posters for his other movies, and the description Onar films presents in the biographical extras, most of Aslan's films feature a healthy dose of manic violence, crazy stunts, and a generally progressive attitude toward the optionality of clothing. It's for movies like these that I own a DVD player. As for Aslan's 1970 film Aska Susayanlar..., I should state up front that I'm not really a giallo connoisseur. Or, really, an avid watcher of non-supernatural murderer films in general. As such, I've never seen Sergio Martino's The Strange Vice of Mrs. Wardh--and I gather that Aslan's 1972 film pretty much adopted that film's plot, right down to finding leading characters who looked similar to the stars in the Martino film. I've stopped thinking about these things as necessarily "ripoffs" because, particularly in the Turkish case, they were made for the domestic market, not infrequently using Turkish stars. The Turkish movie industry appears to have been a business just like any other such industry, sure, but it seems to me that there's more at stake in these films. Higher-budget productions from the U.S., Italy, etc., were flooding into smaller countries such as Turkey in the later 20th century, and I can only assume that the differences between international and domestic production values were obvious to Turkish cinemagoers. Turks seem to have cherished their stars, but certainly they also enjoyed a good foreign flick; sooner or later, someone would have to try remaking these foreign films with local stars, and in appropriate cases even translate Christianity into Islam or otherwise make the film more culturally applicable to its new context. "Ripoff" suggests a lack of creativity; these Turkish films seem to be more like adaptations. As a side note, I've been openly critical before of the "let's remake Japanese films for American audiences" boom that occurred after the Ringu craze. I'm not recanting that. Hollywood was just cashing in on the popularity of foreign creativity in remaking Dark Water, and Ju-on, and whatever else they went and butchered. America has flooded its own cultural space with so many representations of its own conventions and obsessions and traditions on film that it's almost impossible these days to write a film that's not reflexive. The primary source of production was the primary source of consumption. By contrast, cinematic representations of Turkey have not historically traveled too far from ethnic Turks themselves, at home or abroad. Remaking a foreign giallo in 1970s Turkey seems like a way of assimilating some of that flood of foreign media (and its attendant foreign ideals). I don't want to succumb to an East/West or secular/Muslim dichotomy, but... I dunno, it seems like there's been a long history of tension in Turkey regarding what's viewed as Western-derived "secularism and the more gruesome or lascivious forms of free expression, versus Islam, which is seen as more traditional. Films like this are, I think, at least partly an attempt to make some of this foreign glamour more reachable. Or it seems that way to me, anyway. But back to the actual movie... The basic plot here is that a rich and recently-married woman knows someone who's a serial murderer, but she doesn't know who it is. She is being tormented by a man who once assaulted her, but the murderer might also be her husband, or her best friend's lover who seems to have a thing for her. Plot summary would be a waste here, but I can say that there are some effective scenes in the film (my favorite might be the parking lot chase), and the cinematography is at times much more refined than in some other Turkish outings of the same period. That said, at other times this film lacks some of the restraint and refinement of the better giallo outings from Italy (or at least those that I've seen), and adds in a very manic Turkish element instead. Or to put it another way, sometimes the gloved killer is artfully hidden and sinister, and at other times he just leaps in from offscreen to startle his next victim (in one case, in the middle of a very open field). The gore is restrained from an Italian perspective, but still nicely cheap and copious from my perspective, and the film ends with an old-fashioned round of fisticuffs, because I think Mehmet Aslan probably didn't know how to make a movie without a good, Turkish fight scene, complete with dubious flailing kicks and karate chops that send the villains flying. Our leading man here is no Cuneyt Arkin, but he does a worthy job nonetheless. Onar films released this film as a double feature with The Dead Don't Talk; I think I personally preferred the latter film, but other reviewers seem to have preferred Thirsty for Love, Sex, and Murder. So be it. These two films were saved from the brink of oblivion by the valiant efforts of Onar Films, and regardless of which you like better, they're both well worth watching. Labels: Country: Turkey, Horror: Giallo, Turkish Horror Double Bill, Year: 1972 posted by Ryan at 12:27 PM | 0 Comments Friday, January 20, 2006Bay of Blood
1971, Italy. AKA Twitch of the Death Nerve. Starring Claudine Auger, Luigi Pistilli, Claudio Camaso, Anna Maria Rosati, Cristea Avram, Leopoldo Trieste, Laura Betti, Brigitte Skay, Isa Miranda, Paola Montenero, Guido Boccaccini, Roberto Bonanni, Giovanni Nuvoletti. Directed by Mario Bava. Written by Mario Bava.
I'm going to have to cram a bunch of history up front in this review, so if you already know most of it, please forgive me. I feel it sets the stage properly for those among you who aren't nerdy enough to have a vast and swelling knowledge of the ins and outs of British censorship efforts, Italian slasher-thriller movies, and the joyous day those two tastes were plunged together into a scrummy treat known as the "Video Nasties" list. Let me first take back to a time when Samantha Fox was still a fox and the world was just beginning to discover the pleasure of home video systems. England has always had a somewhat contentious relationship with cinema censorship, and certain types who like to get upset over idiotic things were worried about the fact that the rules governing the rating, licensing, and editing of films for release to British theaters had not been written in a language that would allow them to be applied equally to films distributed on video. This little lapse in the foresight of censorship laws to anticipate the invention and subsequent wildfire-like spread of VCRs meant that films previously cut or banned could be legally (more or less) distributed in uncut format on videotape. Certain newspapers (The sensationalist Daily Mail being the leading culprit) in need of a moral crusade over which to express their burning outrage and indignation began a crusade against the potential free-for-all of home video, dubbing the sick and disgusting movies one could acquire for home viewing the "video nasties," since movies that benefited from the loophole were presumably packed with sex and violence and swarthy Italians stabbing each other in the eye. Having nothing better to do that day, and perhaps looking for something that would take the edge off less important problems, like the IRA putting bombs in garbage bins and mailboxes, the cause was embraced, thereby turning a bunch of films it was likely no one wanted to see in the first place into overnight legends and must-have taboo items. With a few swift strokes of the quill pen (I assume they still use those in England), a whole stack of awful movies got to plaster their oversized 1980s boxes with the phrase, "Banned in the U.K." For most of these movies -- the bulk of which were horror films from the United States and Italy which were considered so heinous in their content that they would fray the very moral fabric of youth Britannia -- there was no better advertising than being placed on the instantly-infamous Video Nasties list. Whatever revenues were lost by having British borders sealed against their intrusion was undoubtedly recouped via the spike in interest the banning caused elsewhere. The Young Ones did a whole episode revolving around efforts to obtain one of the movies on the Nasties list, and The Damned wrote a song about it. However, listing the Video Nasties as "banned" is slightly misleading. At the time the list was created, film censorship was handled by the courts, and a certain standard had to be met for a film to be eligible for censorship or outright banning. The Video Nasties list was actually a list of films the public prosecutors thought would be worth pursuing in court. So they were not so much banned as they were "potentially banned," with excessive sex, violence, or more importantly, sex-related violence being the primary focus of moral disgust. Just getting on the list was enough to effectively keep a film out of England, though, because no company wanted to invest money in releasing a tape that could potentially be confiscated a couple weeks or months later. Anyway, that's how I understand the history of the list. I may have taken a misstep here and there, so please alert me if I have. Reading through the list can cause one to take pause and wonder what sort of criteria went into developing the titles that appear on it. Some of them make sense. If you're going to ban a sick and perverse film, you can't do much better than have Cannibal Holocaust as your poster child. But other titles seem straight out of left field, with nothing in them that could possibly justify a banning under the guidelines set up by the BBFC for a country where Benny Hill could still conjure up random gusts of wind that would make a buxom lady's dress blow off, thus causing her to run around in fast motion wearing nothing but her knickers while Benny fluttered his eyelashes. Sure, some of the movies were gory, but really, where was the danger to morality in a movie as ludicrous as Lucio Fulci's Zombie or Luigi Cozzi's Contamination? And how did a movie like Tobe Hooper's Funhouse make the list? Or Dario Argento's Inferno, easily one of the least gory films he'd made? The big problem with the list, it was revealed, was that not only did it make a bunch of crappy, boring films (and some genuinely good ones) instant must-see "classics" of shock cinema, but the titles on the list were often placed there by people who had never seen the actual movie, or had simply run across a picture of the box art, or had gotten the movie confused with some other movie. It was a complete hodge-podge with no real research put into it. And like most attempts to ban or censor horror films, it only increased interest in the movies that made the cut, so to speak. Fulci's Zombie, Sam Raimi's Evil Dead, and Umberto Lenzi's Make them Die Slowly benefited hugely from inclusion on the list. I distinctly remember the giant boxes in the video store for both Zombie and Make them Die Slowly celebrating the banning of the films in England. Most of the movies on the list have since been released in the UK uncut on DVD, but having been place don the Video Nasties list will forever remain a badge of accomplishment for many of the titles. Heck, for some of them, it's about the only good thing they have going for them. Can you imagine fighting customs agents, smuggling in a video, risking fines and imprisonment, then sitting down to discover all your effort resulted in a movie as godawful boring as Funhouse? Among the titles on the list was Mario Bava's 1971 proto-slasher film Bay of Blood, known these days in the United States as Twitch of the Death Nerve. Bava, as you should know, is considered more or less the godfather of the Italian horror films, and one of the legendary greats of the genre as a whole. Any list of the best horror films of all time compiled by someone who knows about movies made before 1995 or so is pretty likely to contain at least one, and possibly several, Mario Bava films: gothic horror films Black Sunday (aka Mask of Satan) starring Barbara Steele, Kill, Baby...Kill!, or The Whip and the Body starring Christopher Lee; or perhaps his more modern horror films like Twitch of the Death Nerve and Blood and Black Lace. Bava's visual style was defined by his affinity for moody, hallucinatory atmosphere and candy-colored phantasmagorical lighting and remains to this day a major influence on filmmakers. With Blood and Black Lace, he pretty much created the Italian giallo film -- murder mysteries and supernatural thrillers that drew heavily from pulp novels and relied heavily on shocking murders and a highly stylized visual approach. Since Bava was from an older generation of filmmaker, he tended to restrain himself when it came to sex and gore. There was titillation, to be sure, and plenty of violence. But nudity was rare, sex scenes were non-existent, and bloody gore almost never made an appearance. Even as other filmmakers embraced increasingly lax regulations about what they could show on screen, Bava -- like his contemporaries at England's Hammer Studios -- stayed his hand. At least until 1971. Perhaps it was the fact that Bava had been saddled with a string of unsatisfying projects, thus filling the venerable director with frustration he needed to vent. Maybe he just thought the time was right. Or maybe he felt that the script for Bay of Blood was witty and funny enough for people to recognize that the excess was there to create an almost comic book-like sense of the absurd that couldn't possibly be taken seriously by anyone. Whatever the motivation, Bava decided to pull out the stops for Bay, which has ended up with more titles than I care to list. I'm sticking with Bay because it's the shortest. The film opens with serene shots of a wooded lake. As the credits role, it becomes evident that we're following the flight of an insect. As the credits wrap up, the fly suddenly and without reason drops dead. It's a foreshadowing of what's to come -- that anyone, and any time, is going to die in this film; that they will, in fact, be dropping like flies. Mimicking this opening is the next scene, which consists of an old woman in a wheelchair puttering about her fancy abode. Her daily routine is rudely interrupted when a man appears and strangles her with a noose, leaving her dead and dangling in a doorway. One would assume that the remainder of the film would revolve around various players attempting to discover the identity of the murderer, but Bava short-circuits that expectation by immediately panning up and revealing the killer's face -- then promptly has the killer murdered by yet another killer. I don't know if you would call this "playful," but it is an indicator that Bava is going to infuse this film with a little more humor than might be expected in a film with a title like Bay of Blood. From there, the story proper kicks in. After the old woman's death, the home and accompany murky lake are up for grabs by a cast of potential heirs, all of whom descend upon the house ostensibly for the sorting out of the will, but mostly so they can plot, connive, and be murdered by the mysterious assailant. Most of the cast is of a nasty disposition, and all of them have various things to hide. The twists and turns in gialli are often, oh let's say, either far-fetched or completely uninteresting, but Bava keeps viewers guessing and interested in the identity of the killer -- or killers, because it seems more than one person is bloodying their axe at this remote paradise. There's not much point in going through the machinations and revelations of the plot, since listing who stabs who inthe back (sometimes literally) doesn't have the same impact of simply lying back and watching the bloody delerium unfold on the screen. Suffice it to say that no one is especially nice, not even the odl woman we see murdered int he very beginning. It's possible that the symbolic fly from the credit sequence was a nice enough fellow, but then given the fly's tendency to vomit it's filthy eggs onto the top of your sandwich, it's likely that the fly was as much a scheming jerk as everyone else. Bay is a strong film, though not my favorite Bava outing (I prefer Kill, Baby...Kill! and Blood and Black Lace). Still, it's one of the best giallo films ever made, and it also has the somewhat dubious honor of being considered by many to be the first "slasher" film. For my money, establishing the first slasher film is a tricky proposition -- why is this a slasher film and Blood and Black Lace not? Whatever the case, it certainly means the slasher film was boiling long before the previously cited "first" slasher film, John Carpenter's Halloween. Without a doubt, Halloween was the impetus for the flood o' blood that spilled during much of the 1980s, but the Friday the 13th films have pretty much become the poster children, however bad most of them may have been, for the whole genre. There's not much doubt in my mind that the template for the F13 films was lifted wholesale from Mario Bava's much smarter, cleverer Bay of Blood. Bay establishes all the essential genre cliches that would be mercilessly flogged some ten years or so later. You have the remote, wooded location and a seemingly complete lack of police force. You have the diverse group of generally unlikable characters. You have most of those characters getting murdered by sometimes outlandish methods, then piled up in some central location for someone else to stumble across. And perhaps most important of all, you have the founding of the "get naked, then get killed" pattern that became the lifeblood, so to speak, of the entire slasher genre. Bava flirted with nudity in previous films, but it was generally incidental -- who would make a movie with Edwige Fenech, for instance, and not get her naked for at least a couple shots? With Bay of Blood, however, Bava went further with nudity than he had before, though it's still nothing compared to what we'd be seeing in the coming years from other Italian thrillers. But what's more important is that the film sets up the pattern: a woman gets naked, either for sex or for skinny dipping, and moments later they get skewered. Much has been made of the psychological implications of this tendency, that it is a manifestation of a repressed and/or oppressive male reaction to female liberation, arguments like that. In many of the later slasher movies, I don't doubt this one bit. It's mean-spirited venting, scenes written by frustrated horror writing nerds who weren't getting lucky with naked women of their own, so they take their frustrations out on female characters, and then in turn provide both titillation and some sort of grim, twisted satisfaction for the portion of the viewing population that shares their sentiments. With Bava, however, the entire premise seems less sinister, but that may just be me. What makes Bay of Blood markedly different from the slasher films it would inspire is the undeniable sense of humor that pervades everything. It's a twisted sense of humor, no doubt, but it's obvious that Mario Bava is out on a bit of a lark with this film, and as such there's really no point to getting especially upset or unnerved by any of the implications. Bava has always, in my eyes, been a slightly less controlled and more visually daring peer of Alfred Hitchcock, and Bay feels similar in many ways to late-era Hitchcock, or a particularly edgy Agatha Christie novel. There are plenty of other elements that set Bay of Blood apart from the pack it eventually unleashed. For starters, Mario Bava is a much better director than just about everyone else who made a slasher film, many of whom were helming one of their first films when they slid behind the camera to shoot the carnage in the woods, or wherever their film may have been set (it was probably the woods). But Bava was a veteran director, cinematographer, and writer by 1971, with some four decades of experience under his belt. His visual flare and stylistic approach shines through. He also has the good sense to populate his movie not just with a bunch of more or less anonymous, pretty throw-away non-actors who do nothing more than serve as fodder for the killer, but also with a cast of seasoned vets who know their way around a movie and lend it an element of maturity that is sorely missing from the teen slasher films of the eighties. Bond fans will be pleased to stumble across Thunderball Bond girl Claudine Auger in the film. Me? I'd be happy to stumble across Claudine Auger just about anywhere. So Bay of Blood is neither your typical giallo or your typical slasher film. It's something much smarter and better composed than the bulk of films it inspired, as is often the case. It was Bava's last great film, though I might be willing say second-to-last, as Lisa and the Devil is pretty spectacular and by far his weirdest film. Bay is mean but not exactly mean-spirited, clever without being irritating, and really just sort of nastily funny. One gets the feeling that Bava really relished the opportunity, after infusing so many of his films with a humanist compassion toward the lead characters, to simply cut loose and let a bunch of conniving, spoiled schemers really have it. So why did it make the Video Nasties list? You'd have to ask whoever put it on there, but my guess would be the mix of bare breasts and bloody mayhem caused it to be placed in the crosshairs. But it's just as likely that the box art set someone off, or that one of the people compiling the list was trying to sell some bayfront property and thought a title like this might hurt their chances. Whatever the case, while the Video Nasties list is nothing more than an oddity of eighties entertainment paranoia that has been largely forgotten except as the butt of jokes, Mario Bava and Bava's Bay of Blood have been rediscovered by a new generation thanks to DVD, and Bava's influence and importance to filmmaking continues to be explored and exalted. Labels: B-Masters Roundtable, Director: Mario Bava, Horror: Giallo, Horror: Slashers, Year: 1971 posted by Keith at 1:26 PM | 0 Comments Sunday, July 21, 2002Blazing Magnum
1976, Italy. Starring Stuart Whitman, John Saxon, Martin Landau, Tisa Farrow, Carol Laurre. Directed by Alberto de Martino.
There's this funny thing about the heroes in a film: you are supposed to like them. Oh sure, you might like him or her at first. They may be cocky, arrogant, and abrasive. Any number of negative personality traits may mar their character. But at some point in the movie something will happen that allows the hero to either show their true colors or causes a revelation that results in a character about-face and process of redemption. It's not important that we don't like the hero at the beginning of the film, so long as we like -- or at least admire them -- by the end. All things considered, it's pretty easy to churn out a likeable, if stereotypical and one-dimensional -- hero. The cliches are all time-tested, and audiences never seem to get tired of them. A catatonic chimp can write a screenplay that, if nothing else, at least gives you a generically likable hero. A few snappy come-backs, some sassing of stuffy superiors, possibly some self-sacrifice or tragic loss. Piece of cake. It is impressive then, that the Italian cop drama Blazing Magnum has managed to create a "hero" who is so unlikeable, so amazingly repugnant, that you can't help but cheer for even the most vile of criminals to get the better of this obnoxious asshole. The main cop in a poliziotteschi film is supposed to be a hard-ass. He's supposed to be tough as nails, and he isn't supposed to take shit from anyone. He doesn't let niceties stand in the way of his single-minded quest for truth, and he doesn't let the law get in the way of his pursuit of justice. At the same time, he has to be a remarkably human character -- prone to violence, anger, and indignation, yes, but also prone to sadness and melancholy. He does what he does because he so believes in humanity, that we are, despite all evidence to the contrary, worth defending. No one played this part better than the incredible Maurizio Merli, who could convey sadness -- the warrior with a broken heart -- with his eyes while he delivered beatdowns of the bad guys with his fists. Stuart Whitman, on the other hand, conveys all the depth of character and world-weary street smarts as a very small chunk of curb concrete that somehow got broken off from the rest of the curb. His character in this misanthropic but still entertaining actioner is, as I said, one of the most disgusting "heroes" ever to stumble onto the screen. He's not even an anti-hero. An anti-hero is usually hero by default because, while he may be evil, everyone else around him is even more evil. Witness Clint Eastwood in any of his spaghetti westerns, or witness Sonny Chiba in Streetfighter. But Stuart Whitman's driven cop out for revenge is so much more brutal, idiotic, and evil than even the baddest of the bad guys in this film that he becomes nearly impossible to bear. As you have no doubt surmised, Whitman is a cop on the edge who don't take no shit from no one and who rubs his superiors the wrong ways on account of his "questionable methods." You know the score with these guys. The big difference here is that you actually have to agree with the superiors on this one. The cop on the edge can always defend his action with the ol' "My methods get results!" zinger, but that doesn't even apply here, because all this cop's methods do is result in a lot of brutalized and violated innocent people. When his daughter turns up dead, Tony (Whitman) is determined to find the murderer. His first suspect is one of his daughter's college professors, played by Space: 1999's Martin Landau. It doesn't take long for Tony (Stuart Whitman) to uncover the fact that his daughter and the professor were engaged in a variety of extracurricular activities in the fields of biology and human anatomy. In order to keep a scandal from ruining his reputation, Tony figured, the professor just killed the gal. It's a pretty tenuous line of thinking, and in fact Tony has no evidence whatsoever beyond the fact that some jealous guy saw them in a mild quarrel. That doesn't stop him from breaking into Landau's house, roughing him up, shouting at him, accusing him in public, and generally taking the harassment to a level never before seen. The guy is, pure and simple, a grade-A prick. Making it all the sweeter is the fact that Landau is completely and totally innocent. Even after this revelation, even after learning that Landau never treated the girl with anything other than the utmost respect and tenderness, Tony still acts like an asshole and tries to beat the shit out of the professor before just settling on calling him a perverted asshole or something. I understand Tony's upset and all, but come on. I bet he kicked two puppies and tripped an old lady on the way home. His grating brutality directed at the innocent continues throughout the movie as he traces some clues to the posh apartment of a bunch of transvestites. These transvestites are not suspects. What Tony has uncovered is that they might have run into the killer when he might have been a customer at their hair salon at some point in their careers. Armed with this righteous truth, he blatantly violates every civil right he can think of. First he breaks into their apartment. When they show up decked out in full drag queen regalia, all they know is that some disheveled maniac with full-bodied Tim Thomerson hair has just broken into their house. When they demand he identify himself, he calls them a bunch of perverts or faggots or something and tries to kick their asses. What he doesn't realize is that these are no ordinary drag queens. These are drag queens who possess kick-ass kungfu. Even while wearing giant platform boots and tight skirts, the girls kick the shit out of Tony, who only gets the upper hand on them when he grabs a hot curling iron and rapes one of them up the bum with it. Yep, that's your hero, folks. I guess he watched Black Shampoo but failed to realize the guys who employ the same violation on poor Artie in that film were actually vile criminals, not the heroes of the film! At this point, all I could do was shake my head in amazement at the level of hatred this film spewed forth. I'm used to crummy characters, but Tony blew my mind. I'm supposed to root for this guy? Instead, as most people no doubt did, I was cheering for the drag queens to kick his ass and shut him the hell up. Come on! What the hell kind of hero rapes people in the rear with hot curling irons? People who have committed absolutely no crime and, in fact, have had crimes committed against them by some insane cop? It'd be different if the movie depicted Tony as an increasingly unstable man driven over the edge by his daughter's murder, but it's not that clever. Instead, it just expects us to think Tony's unbridled violence toward the innocent is admirable. Not one to stop there, Tony also bullies the blind girl who was his daughter's roommate, and then goes out to beat up some other guy, leading to what is easily one of the most insane, well paced, and energetic car chase sequences I've ever seen. It's truly a sight to behold, even though it ends with the guy finally crashing and then going, "Oh, that's all you wanted? Okay, sure," and giving Tony the information he wants. Right wing tendencies, even fascist undertones, are a staple of the poliziotteschi genre. In the better films, like Violent Naploi, they are handled well and a balance is struck between freedom and the desire to not be a prisoner in your own home while criminals run wild and free. Many of the films even spoof to some degree these attitudes, giving us take-no-shit cop heroes who, at the same time, are friends with prostitutes and freaks and other undesirables. It's only in more pedestrian films like Blazing Magnum that the fascism becomes annoying. I don't think, however, that this sort of film actually sets out to promote fascism. I don't think it sets out to do anything but make a fast buck. They're just painting by numbers and following the formula. Without the talent of a director like Umberto Lenzi or an actor like Maurizio Merli, the film seems a lot meaner and reactionary. But like I said, that has a whole lot more to do with simply being derivative and unimaginative than it has with wanting to promote any sort of political agenda. When confronted with a low-budget, low-intelligence poliziotteschi film like this, it's best not to read too much into the events. It's likely there is no political statement whatsoever behind the actions. They probably just wanted to make a movie with a lot of ass kicking and tough guys in it. Eventually, Tony uncovers the horrible truth about his daughter, which won't be much a shock to anyone other than Tony and John Saxon, who stars in this movie as Tony's underling. Tony's daughter was, in fact, quite insane. A murderer and aspiring urban terrorist and thief. I'm willing to bet she picked up those traits from her dear old dad. Of course, Tony still gets to kill some people, so at least that makes him feel better. Sure the guy who is eventually revealed to be the murderer is kind of a jerk, but even he can't hold a candle to Tony. After all the killing is over and done with, I think Tony stops by and calls Martin Landau an asshole one more time just to round out his dickishness, or there is some scene where Landau says, "Can I get an apology now?" and Tony says, "Yeah, I'm sorry you're such a perverted Poindexter. I'm gonna kick your testicles now!" And that's pretty much that. This is a straight-forward cop film that only strays from the tried and true formula in order to make its hero the most vile individual on the planet. Even the crazy-ass would-be criminal who runs wild and murderous with the daughter is a lot easier to like than Tony. Stuart Whitman brings to his fascist character all the charisma of a drunk, abusive uncle who corners you at Christmas and won't stop talking about skinning animals while he pounds down a bottle of Old Crow. He's not the funny uncle, or the quirky uncle, or the uncle who just comes over and watches a lot of football. He's the uncle who is most likely to actually take a swing at grandpa and stumble out of the room calling your mother a "goddamn whore." This is not a guy for whom you want to cheer. Through the entire movie, all I could was hope and pray that he would fail miserably. When he discovered his daughter was actually a killer and a nutcase, it was sort of satisfying, but the only way this movie could have dealt properly with Tony would have been to kill his ass off in some horrible and torturous fashion. On that end, it fails to deliver, and the world can sleep a little more restlessly knowing Office Tony Saita is still prowling the streets making even Harvey Keitel's character from Bad Lieutenant say, "Geez, pal, maybe you should tone it down a little." Despite the fact that this film features a main character who makes you want to take a shower, who is actually so sleazy that he'll make you want to go turn yourself in to the cops even if you didn't do anything, the film itself is actually pretty damn entertaining. The fascist leanings of the hero are so over-the-top that you can't even be offended by them after the first couple of infuriating civil rights violations. Well, maybe you can be offended by the curling iron thing, but even that is completely ludicrous. Chances are if you are the type to get offended at anything, then Italian cop films aren't your cup of tea, especially ones this totally nuts. With that established, we can simply sit back and enjoy the carnage, and this film has carnage galore. As I already mentioned, it has ass-kicking drag queen kungfu masters. That alone warrants a positive review from me. But it's also got the amazing car chase, lots of ass-kicking and two-fisted beat-downs delivered with little or no regard to whether or not the person on the receiving end actually did anything wrong, and a good pace to the proceedings. Alberto de Martino's direction is claustrophobic and gritty, nearly as uncomfortable to watch as the hero of the film, which makes it more interesting than it would otherwise be. de Martino was a workhorse director, like most of the Italian directors at the time, and made films in pretty much every genre there was, including Medusa Against the Son of Hercules, Secret Agent Double 007 starring Sean Connery's brother, Neil, and everyone's favorite, Puma Man. The cast isn't bad. They're all grizzled veterans of Italian action films. Whitman is relentless grim and unlikeable as Tony, which as I said may not be what you want from a lead character. John Saxon is hilarious as his dim-witted partner who can't seem to figure anything out and is amazed when Tony makes even the most obvious of observations. I think Saxon must say "Why didn't I think of that," about eight thousand times in this movie. Landau is more famous in retrospect, but I can't really say he was slumming it at the time. He does well enough in his role, which is to stand there and utter "Now just a minute!" as Stuart Whitman berates him endlessly. Tisa Farrow, as always, proves why she should have been the more famous of the Farrow sisters instead of ol' whats-her-name. Carol Laurre as Tony's insane killer daughter mostly just has to die, then come back in flashbacks where she screams and whirls her hair about while doing some psychedelic nude hippie dance. Were there really that many crazy-ass killer hippies out there? I admit that, being born in the early 1970s, I perhaps missed out on some of the world's wackier events, but other than Manson and his gang, I've never heard too many stories about roving bands of murderous, drug-crazed hippies roaming the streets in search of old women to victimize and squares to freak out. I don't doubt their existence; I'm just saying there were a lot more murderous hippies in the movies than maybe there were in real life, and most of the time what the movie sold as "murderous hippies" were really just bikers. I don't think your average murderous biker would appreciate being called a hippie, and maybe that's why they started killing people in the first place. I guess it's all a moot point since the killer daughter and her killer boyfriend may have drug induced freakouts but, in the end, are really more along the lines of obnoxious prep school students than they are hippies. This is a great movie to blow your mind as well as the minds of your friends, especially the more sensitive among them -- if you have sensitive friends. In a genre noted for mean-spirited misanthropy, it manages to take the hate to the next level. Tony Saita is the kind of cop who makes you wish for the liberal outlooks of, say, Benito Moussilini. Combine a remarkably unlikeable "hero" with a ton of gritty and fast-paced action, as well a some kungfu transvestites, and you have a sure-fire crowd pleaser. Labels: Horror: Giallo, Poliziotteschi, Stars: John Saxon, Stars: Stuart Whitman, Year: 1976 posted by Keith at 12:23 AM | 0 Comments Monday, April 15, 2002Phenomena
1985, Italy. Starring Jennifer Connelly, Daria Nicolodi, Dalila Di Lazzaro, Patrick Bauchau, Donald Pleasence, Fiore Argento, Federica Mastroianni, Fiorenza Tessari, Mario Donatone, Francesca Ottaviani, Michele Soavi, Franco Trevisi. Directed by Dario Argento.
Phenomena is often regarded as something of a turning point in the career of Italian thriller director Dario Argento. Unfortunately for him, the direction it is most often cited as turning is down. After Phenomena, the influential director had one more good film in him - the mean-spirited and sadistic Opera -- and then it was all downhill from there. In many ways, Argento's career seemed to reflect that of another highly creative, important director: Tsui Hark. Both men revolutionized film making in their respective countries and inspired (and continue to inspire) countless other writers and directors. Both men brought a highly stylized vision to the screen. And both men have spent the better half of the last decade trying to live up to their own reputations. Like Hark, at least when Argento fails he fails in a spectacular and interesting fashion. Trauma and Stendahl Syndrome are both wildly uneven works, but each film has moments of brilliance and macabre beauty where you can see the Argento of old shining through. Even if those films are disappointing, they're still worth taking a look at. Dario's Phantom of the Opera is such a deliriously bad mess that it becomes entertaining for all the wrong reasons. As for his more recent Sleepless, I will reserve judgment until such time as I have seen the film. It could be nothing more than a tired rehash of Deep Red, or it could be for Argento what Time and Tide was for Tsui Hark - proof that he still has it in him, even if it hasn't been tapped too much recently. Phenomena gets a bad rap for a lot of reasons, but much of it is lingering hostility based not on Phenomena itself, but on its drastically truncated American release, which was retitled Creepers. The negative reaction to that little experiment continues to color people's perception of Phenomena, and those opinions are sometimes perpetuated by critics (and fans) too lazy to revisit the original, uncut film and instead rely on past critics who bashed Creepers. They lazily figure it's more or less the same movie, so the same criticisms will apply. In some cases, that might be true, but it's hardly in the spirit of giving Phenomena a fair shake as a stand-alone work. Certainly the film is not immune to criticism, nor is everyone who reacts negatively to the film merely mimicking those who came before them. There are plenty of things that can be legitimately dissected even in the uncut version of Phenomena, especially if the viewer is not predisposed toward understanding - or at least excusing and tolerating - some of the peculiarities of Italian horror films in general and Dario Argento in particular. Like most people in the United States, my initial exposure to Phenomena was through Creepers, which was one of a dozen or so foreign titles stocked in the local video store I frequented with horror film cohorts Dave and Rob back in the day. The place was surprisingly well stocked for a mom and pop video store in tiny LaGrange, Kentucky circa 1987, but mom and pop shops always seem more open to weird movies, or at least more ignorant of how offensive the contents might prove. As rabid horror fans with a very limited menu from which to chose, we devoured every title we could get our hand son no matter how abysmal it may have been. Zero Boys? Okay, why not? The Hills Have Eyes II? Yeah, that works. Even at a relatively young age, though, we learned to treasure films from Italy. They were special. They offered a little something extra that was lacking in many of the contemporary films from America, most of which were simply operating on the Friday the 13th model. Sure, we had late-night monster movies on television, but even I can only watch Brice of Frankenstein so many times before I start thinking about maybe watching something else. The Italian films had a certain exotic appeal, a curious flash, style, and willingness to push the boundaries even in a genre of film where the boundaries were often pretty liberal. Okay, so mostly it was the gore and sex. What do you want? We were fourteen, fifteen years old and not exactly the most sophisticated viewers in the world. Hell, we couldn't afford to be sophisticated or picky about what we watched, because there just wasn't that much around. Even if we'd had the intellectual development needed to be discerning viewers, you can't do much when all you have to chose from is Screamers and Ghoulies. Compared to those, event he most idiotic Italian films were godsends, if for no other reason than they took things to such extremes and did it with gusto. No one is going to call Demons a work of art, but at least it tried to entertain you and did something a little different than the usual "killer in the woods" routine. When we found and watched a copy of Suspiria for the first time in high school, it was a definite banner moment for me and my taste in films. I'd never seen anything quite like it; never even knew that a horror film could be so sumptuous, surreal, and otherworldly. Parts of it didn't make any sense to me, but I was willing to roll with the hallucination simply because it was such a wild, unique trip. At the time, I'd never heard of pioneering directors like Mario Bava so the wild use of color was still all new to me, and it was my first brush with Dario Argento. Creepers would be my second. As a youngun, I thought Creepers was all right. It wasn't the masterpiece I expected after seeing Suspiria, but it wasn't bad, especially since we watched it on the same night we watched Screamers -- the movie that promises people turned inside out and then delivers naught but tedium and yawns. It also didn't hurt that I had a wicked crush on Jennifer Connelly (and I say "had" as if I still don't have it). I didn't see what was so special about it, and the film was indeed a bit of a mess. Of course, I didn't know how badly it had been edited at the time. Creepers jettisons over twenty minutes of material, shearing down the running time from 110 minutes to an anemic 82. Some of the gore was trimmed, as it always seems to be, and a lot of plot and character interaction. Even in its uncut form, there's no denying that Argento's film was not entirely logical. Missing almost half an hour, it becomes well nigh incomprehensible. Certain aspects of the plot, including the rather crucial revelation about the killer, are altered as well by the edits. For me, it was pretty much an "in one ear and out the other" affair as we moved on to the more visceral and less ambitious Zombie. Years later and more familiar with the back catalog of Argento and other Italian genre directors, I decided it would be worth my time to track down an uncut copy of Phenomena and refamiliarize myself with the film, or do the proverbial "getting to know it again for the first time." This was in the days before companies like Anchor Bay it possible to just waltz on down to any store and pick up a widescreen, uncut copy of such a film. I had to engage in fairly complex video trading gymnastics with a guy who kept insisting on telling me about all the Japanese rape porn he could send me. Man, I don't want to watch that crap! I just want to see something normal, like Jennifer Connelly, Donald Pleasance, and a razor-wielding chimp. After finally convincing this less than savory fellow that I didn't need any rape movies, I managed to complete the trade and get myself a really horrid looking God-knows-what-generation dupe of the uncut film. I was in college at this time, and though I was expanding my horizons, I was still pretty naive about a lot of particulars and not well-versed enough in Italian horror films to keep my opinion completely uncolored by the flood of negative commentary regarding the film. Once again, I watched it and dismissed it. It was kind of goofy. In parts, the plot was outlandish to the point of absurdity. It just didn't strike me as a very good movie, and I was comfortable agreeing with those who counted the movie as the beginning of the end for Dario Argento. Once again, years passed. Things changed. Phenomena was released on DVD, and all of a sudden I really wanted to see it again. Why? I mean, I didn't like the movie, right? So why had it become so captivating? Why did pieces of it stick so firmly in my mind and work so diligently on my desires? I suspected that my conscience had missed something in the movie that my sub-conscience had picked up and filed away for such a time as I was ready to understand it. So it was late one night that I sat down for my third look at Phenomena -- the look that would answer all my questions about the film. It was on this third viewing that I realized I'd fallen in love with the movie. Phenomena finds Argento straddling two worlds, with one foot firmly planted in the more-or-less logical giallo films like Deep Red and the other kicking around in the free-form phantasmagoria of supernatural fantasies like Suspiria. There is a logic to the film, but it becomes warped as Argento revels in the Italian horror film's philosophy that a horror film should be approached less like waking life and more like a nightmare. It is this philosophy that confounds so many people since it allows the director to meander in and out of sense without distinguishing between the two. It also affords fans of the films a rather sturdy aegis, as damn near any stupid idea can be defended with the simple statement, "You don't get it. It isn't supposed to make sense." Well, sometimes even things that aren't supposed to make sense can still stink, but that's neither here nor there. A young and somewhat awkward Jennifer Connelly stars as Jennifer Corvino, the daughter of an American movie star who has shipped his daughter off to a boarding school in Zurich. In a rotten bit of parenting, the father has neglected to research the area, lest he would have discovered that a serial killer has been stalking the countryside and preying on girls his daughter's age, including it seems at least one student at the school. I know parents can't be perfect, but sending your daughter to a school besieged by a serial killer just seems to be a bad idea. Oh well, you know how those movie stars can be. What really sets Jennifer apart from the other students is her curious ability to communicate, and in some cases even summon and control, insects. I'm guessing that the average bug rarely has anything interesting on its pinpoint-sized mind. You know, just stuff about "I gotta lift this leaf" or "Mmm, pollen," but even if the conversation is lacking, being able to control the bugs is a pretty good power to have, unless you're the kind of person who gets creeped out by bugs. In that case, you're probably not going to appreciate beetles dropping by all the time and asking if they can roll some dung for you or something. I've always thought horror films about bugs were a bit of a cheat. I mean, it's easy to creep people out with bugs because people are already afraid of them. You don't have to work very hard to make someone think a bug is icky. If a giant cockroach eats someone, the fact that it is eating someone is a distant second on the shock-o-meter than the simple fact that it's a big cockroach. However weird Phenomena and Creepers may have been, I was always happy that Argento never took the cheap way out. The bugs are around, and sure he trots out the maggots, but for the most part their application in the film is fairly subdued, and the fact that they more or less play the role of heroes rather than villains makes Phenomena unique among all "bug attack" movies. Jennifer's quirks don't end with insect telekinesis, however. She's also a somnambulist, prone to taking long and dangerous walks in her sleep. One such walk sees her witness a murder, then even more horrifying, get picked up by a couple of sleazy German guys in a sports car. When she does not share their love of Kraftwerk, they dump her down a hill where she finally wakes up and meets kindly wheelchair-bound entomologist Professor John McGregor, played with class by horror film mainstay Donald Pleasance. McGregor is accompanied by an ultra-intelligent chimp who helps him around. By this point, the chimp isn't even going to phase you. As more girls begin to disappear, McGregor and Jennifer hatch a wild scheme in which she will team up with a Great Sarcophagus Fly (they only feed on dead bodies) to track down the killer. Complicating matters is the fact that Jennifer's sleepwalking and general weirdness has put her at odds with the rest of the school, who constantly mock her while the head mistress demands the poor girl be subjected to a variety of pointless brain scans and medical tests. If hyper-intelligent chimps, detective flies, mind-melding with a maggot, sleepwalking, decapitations, and blasts of heavy metal at completely inappropriate moments don't mark this film as a bizarre one, that's because you've yet to get to the final act. That's where things really go off the deep end. For me, at least, there is something spellbinding about Phenomena. Argento's stylistic approach to the direction keeps the film fascinating to look at from beginning to end. His use of color, so prominent in Suspiria and Inferno, is more subdued here but no less effective. Cinematographer Romano Albani paints a simply sumptuous and terrifying picture with every movie of the camera. Fans of Lucio Fulci (and yep, I am one) like to celebrate the director's ability to paint an eerie cinematic picture, but Alabni (who also worked for Argento on the astoundingly beautiful Inferno) really sets the bar high with this one. The use of simple effects really give the film its power. The opening sequence in which a young girl (Dario's daughter, Fiore - the first but not last time I can think of where he menaces one of his daughters on screen) is left behind by a tour bus and wanders through the windswept, lush green hills until finally coming to the home of the killer, is an incredible sequence that draws a great deal of atmosphere and creepiness from the simplest of things. Like one of those old fairy tales that turns deadly sinister and macabre, the viewer knows that these idyllic grassy hills are a lie. Even though we've not been introduced to the plot yet, we know there is a killer hiding somewhere amongst the windswept beauty. Another of Phenomena's best moments comes when Jennifer finally has enough of the taunting of her classmates, who are making fun of her after they find a letter in which she discusses her ability to control insects. Although she goes through the initial head-clutching histrionics, Argento wisely pulls back from the cliché "angry school girl psychic attack" a la Carrie. Instead, Jennifer backs away calmly. She smiles, and suddenly a simple white light illuminates her face as a supernatural wind blows back her hair and she says simply, politely, "I love you. I love you all." The other students are confounded by her bizarre reaction to their torture, not to mention the fact that there's wind blowing through the inside of the school all of a sudden, but their confusion soon turns to shock and terrified comprehension as they realize that she's not talking to them. She's talking to the thousands upon thousands of flies that she summons. In a great cloud, they swarm around and envelope the school. But she never sends them to attack. They're only present as a show of her power while Goblin's masterful, haunting theme highlights the supernatural insect shenanigans. Description can't really communicate the bizarre beauty and power of the scene. Characters in Italian horror films are often flat and single-dimensional - if they're even that thick. Certainly Argento's film is populated by the stock characters we'd expect. There's the gruff cop, the creepy demanding head mistress, and an assembly of no-name schoolgirls who are only there to stick out their tongues and taunt our heroine. At the same time, however, the development of Jennifer and McGregor is engaging. Jennifer Connelly was an acting novice at the time, and a good many of her lines are delivered with a degree of flat awkwardness. Luckily, her character is so strange that the delivery doesn't really detract. In fact, it enhances the weirdness. Had she had more experience, she might have gone over the top and been less interesting. As is, she is reserved, aloof, and exactly as one would need to be for such a character. At the same time, the young actress has an undeniable charm and charisma that draws you in. In many ways, her off-kilter performance mirrors the off-kilter appeal of the film itself. Pleasance is, of course, a master of the genre, and he is as good here as he's ever been. The conversations between he and Jennifer are good, and weirdly enough, the interaction between he and his chimp are just as touching. One of the mot heart-wrenching scenes comes when McGregor becomes the inevitable target of the killer and his chimpanzee sidekick, locked outside but witness to the danger McGregor is in, howls desperately as it struggles to break into the house and come to the rescue. It's a completely ludicrous scene that is, within the supernatural universe of Phenomena, oddly tear-jerking. The chimp puts in a heck of a performance. Rounding out the main cast is Argento regular Daria Nicolodi as the only understanding face in the whole school. As the film enters it's final act, she gets to chew some major scenery and deliver one of the film's darkly humorous moments when Jennifer's guardian from American runs to her rescue, gun in hand. Of course, it wouldn't be an Argento film without some brutal special effects and scenes of vioelnce. He certainly doesn't let us down. From the opening murder to the disgusting pit of corpses to the final razor attack on the killer, and even for the blade piercing the neck and protruding from the mouth (an effect he liked so much he used again to even nastier effect in Opera), Argento and special effects supervisor Sergio Stivaletti (Demons, Dellamorte Dellamore) don't let us down. Where as goremeister Lucio Fulci often delivered violence and grue so over-the-top as to be cartoonish, Argento restrains the onslaught just enough to keep things shocking and unnerving. The bugs are a curious aspect of the movie. Like I said, for once they aren't there just to provide the gross-out factor or menace teenagers in hot rods. Other than a few maggots, the bugs aren't really that gross. Just flies, for the most part, and a bee here or there. They are not products of the atomic age, nor is Jennifer's ability to communicate with and control them explained away as some mutation from radiation. In fact, it's not explained at all other than a bit where McGregor reflects on the rather common occurrence of "ESP" -- or at least the ability to communicate without visual or audio aids -- among insects. Although their involvement in the plot is almost tangential, they do a play a key role in the film's completely off-its-rocker finale, in which Jennifer discovers the true identity of the killer(s), falls into a pit of gooey corpse muck, is menaced by the killer on a boat, and finally summons the insects to protect her, this time allowing them to do more than just make a show of it. It's rare in film that the bugs get to save the day, even rarer when the day has to be saved again, but this time by a vengeful razor-wielding chimp. Even with the various hints dropped in this review regarding the nature of the finale, it's still a serious mind warp. As gorgeous as the film is, it is not without its flaws. Chief among them are the many contrivances thrown at us to propel things along. It's convenient, for instance, that the girl with the psychic link to bugs rolls down a hill and wanders in her sleep to the home of a determined entomologist who has a grudge against the local serial killer. It's also convenient that the chimpanzee, while searching for sustenance in a public park, finds a brand new straight razor just lying in the garbage can. Character stupidity often contributes to some exasperation with the movie as well. In the most obvious scene, Jennifer is trapped in the killer's home and struggles desperately to fish a telephone out of an adjoining room. Rather than just crawling through the opening at the top of the door, she hangs there and tries to snag the phone with some sort of curtain rod. Who would do that? Just grab the dang phone! And then there's the heavy metal. From time to time, it almost works, but at other times it has absolutely no connection to anything going on in the movie. Why would an ambulance crew be blasting Motorhead as they cart away a murder victim? Add to that the lack of any real police presence and a "killer's identity" bait-and-switch not unlike the one in DeepRed, and there's certainly enough targets in Phenomena to keep critics of the movie busy. But none of that really matters to me, because the film takes on a logic all its own. I know that may sound like a weak defense of the film, and I'll grant you that seeing Phenomena as a great movie relies heavily on your ability to suspend not just your disbelief, but your rational sense of logic as well. I mean, we are dealing with a movie in whic a girl can commune with bugs, and a vicious, deformed little kid plays a prominent role in the finale. If you go into a plot like that expecting rationality, then you're lost before you begin. I think movies like Suspiria are more successful among people because it plays one side of the field It's a supernatural fantasy, so we willingly accept that our expectations for the real world do not apply. Phenomena, on the other hand, complicates matters by being equal parts supernatural fantasy and concrete whodunit. The mix is what keeps a lot of people uneasy about the film. Just as you settle into it being a murder mystery, Jennifer Connelly starts forming psychic links with maggots and summoning great clouds of angry flies to do her bidding. From its inauspicious role as one of my least favorite Dario Argento films, Phenomena has emerged as one of my very favorites, right alongside Suspiria and even inching out Deep Red and Inferno. It asks certain concessions be made on the part of the viewer, but if you are willing to make those, it's truly one of the most mesmerizing, fantastic films around. When I finished watching it for the third time, I was awestruck and more than a bit embarrassed by my previous dismissal of the film and failure to grasp what I was seeing. Every scene is constructed perfectly to pull you in and keep you feeling uneasy. As trite as this may sound, Phenomena exceeds the expectations of what a movie is and becomes a deliriously gorgeous work of art. Labels: B-Masters Roundtable, Horror: Giallo, Horror: Just Plain Weird, Year: 1985 posted by Keith at 11:16 PM | 0 Comments |
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