Todo Modo (Elio Petri, 1976)


With this technically dazzling and perversely humorous film Elio Petri tackles the trickiest and least cinematic of subjects: corruption. Supported by a stellar cast of euro titans (Mastroianni, Volonte’, Salvatori, to name a few), the underrated master of satire threads with amazing grace where Godard and Costa-Gavras have so splendidly failed. Luigi Kuveiller’s fluid camera glides through the oppressive, drab interiors framing the sweating culprits with surgical precision, set to Morricone’s haunting sounds. Petri’s very own brand of twisted humour helps the often bewildering proceedings along. Soon to be re-released in a restored edition, Todo Modo is a challenge of the most pleasurable kind.


Jess Franco’s XXX Files: PHOLLASTIA (1987)

rare Jess Franco hardcore porn film item summarized by Robert Monell.


Directed by “Betty Carter” [Jess Franco & Lina Romay]/Screenplay by Chuck Evans [Jess Franco], Lulu Lavere [Lina Romay]/DP: Terry De Corsia [Jess Franco]/Music: Daniel J. White/Editor: Jess Franco/83m 15s/Video: Fil a’ Films [France]

Additional cast: Carlos Quiroga, Bruce Leduc-rn A. Bartolos Velasco, Rex Robinson-rn C. Gonzalez Ordi, Traci King-rn Elisa Mateo, John Olms-rn Saez Montoro. [Credits from OBSESSION: THE FILMS OF JESS FRANCO which also lists an alternate French video title, Fellations Sauvages]


Above: The Carrington’s party in the mirror room…

Produced by “Phalos Films”, Madrid, this is rather upscale for a Jess Franco hardcore. Hiring a cast of experienced Spanish hardcore professionals and featuring some gleaming, mirrored sets, this shot-in-Benidorm sex comedy parody of the 1980s ABC primetime soap opera, DYNASTY (1981-1989),  has some interesting images and is staged with the kind of care a slightly more than average budget allowed.


Above: All in the family….

The Carrington family, including…

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Fallece Luciano Ercoli

R.I.P. Luciano Ercoli

La abadía de Berzano


Esta mañana el famoso crítico italiano Marco Giusti se hacía eco de una triste noticia en su muro de Facebook: el fallecimiento de Luciano Ercoli a los 84 años de edad en Barcelona, lugar donde el cineasta italiano tenía fijada su residencia desde hace ya algún tiempo. Aunque activo principalmente en labores de producción, su carrera suele ser evocada gracias a los tres giallos que dirigiera a principios de los setenta con similar elenco técnico-artístico: Días de angustia, La muerte camina con tacón alto y La muerte acaricia a medianoche, considerados a día de hoy tres de las mejores muestras del estilo por parte de los aficionados.

Nacido el 19 de octubre de 1929 en Roma, Ercoli se sentiría atraído por el cine desde bien temprano. Acorde a estas inquietudes, con tan solo diecinueve años abandonaría la carrera de derecho para comenzar a trabajar dentro de la industria…

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I Vampiri (Riccardo Freda, Mario Bava – 1956)


When a young girl’s body is fished out of the Seine drained of blood, it’s up to the trench-coated reporter Lantin to discover the secret of the modern-day vampires, all the while resisting the advances of the melancholy Countess du Grand.

Cinematographer-turned-director Mario Bava flexes his creative muscles while performing a last-minute job of stitching together a poorly-plotted Riccardo Freda quickie. The meandering tale (co-scipted by the ultra-prolific Piero Regnoli) is a hodgepodge of kidnappings, mad scientists and family curses (with the inevitable dead relative’s portrait hung in a cobwebbed chamber) interspersed with deadly dull police procedural scenes. Moments of genuine tension are regrettably brief and I Vampiri is only marginally watchable thanks to some elegant crane shots and arresting interplay of light and shadow.

While there is no denying the sumptuousness of the well-composed shots, it’s unjust to call I Vampiri an atmospheric film, for it takes more than a fog machine and some fake skulls to weave macabre cinematic poetry. I Vampiri dedicates more running time to nondescript ballroom scenes and irrelevant police procedural scenes then to depiction of the mad doctor’s macabre experiments or the kidnappings which give start t the story. Freda directs skillfully yet indifferently, never reaching out to the audience. Concepts of emotional involvement and catharsis seem alien to the veteran director who must have been too exhausted hustling backers for money to breathe life into a potentially exciting film. Pacing is leaden with most actors appearing uncomfortable inside the spacious Cinemascope shots, plastered over with Roman Vlad’s generic score.


Leading man Dario Michaelis’ acting amounts to little more than standing around looking skeptical with his hairdo perfect and trench-coat buttoned up; Antoine Balpetré’s crazed scientist easily elicits more sympathy than this perpetually scowling failure of a protagonist. Apart from the always dependable Paul Muller in a supporting role and some cleverly conceived and flawlessly executed visual trickery courtesy of Mario Bava, I Vampiri has little to offer. Renato Polselli would achieve livelier results four years later with his grotesque and entertaining L’Amante del Vampiro/The Vampire and the Ballerina (1960), written by Ernesto Gastaldi.