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.
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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R.I.P. Luciano Ercoli
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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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.
A surprisingly little talked-about film, Four Ways Out / La città si difende blends neorealism and film noir influences with somewhat uneven results.
Four amateur robbers pull a heist during a football match before splitting with bagfuls of cash. With their nerves frayed by the experience and seemingly the whole city against them, will these militant paupers live to enjoy their new-found wealth? The fact that, despite their misery, they’re not devoid of compassion, works against these would-be gangsters. Each time one of the robbers behaves humanely, the consequences are grave, with the most intelligent gang member meeting a particularly nasty end. Speaking of ends: the finale sees a desperate youth give in to the mother’s tearful pleading and hand himself over to the solemn and horrifyingly grey cops. Thus, the law at its’ most bureaucratic and the family institute connive to bring yet another doomed generation to its’ knees.
La città si difende is a an imperfect film, a film at odds with itself but also a fascinating film. It’s not clear who’s side the filmmakers are on: while undeniably a attempt at social criticism, the films sways between sympathy for the robbers and their condemnation.
Whatever misgivings one might have regarding the overall message, the casting is dead on, from the excellent leads to the bit part players: the stroppy ticket officer on the tram, the creepy lowlifes Paul Muller’s desperate ex-painter gets mixed up with, to the stern, pig-faced cops – every rugged tormented face tells its’ own story.
La città si difende presents the viewer with a fairly rare opportunity to see the prolific Swiss actor Paul Muller in an early and substantial role. Muller, with his distinctive looks, went on to appear in dozens of genre films, including Jess Franco´s low-budget masterpiece Eugenie De Sade (1971) and the Fantozzi films with Paolo VIllaggio. Muller´s face is the face of European cinema, he has acted alongside such stars as Alain Delon (Plein Soleil) and Ingrid Bergman (Viaggo in Italia), worked with E.M. Salerno and Andrea Bianchi, Umberto Lenzi and Riccardo Freda.
Cinematographer Carlo Montuori (Bycicle Thieves) and camera operator Goffredo Belissario should have been decorated for their achievement, as technically La città si difende is beyond praise. Knowingly framed and expertly photographed in high-contrast black and white, the film’s visual impact is undeniable. Night scenes in particular are highly atmospheric, the impressively mobile camera capturing terrified characters as they scuttle through nightmarish post-war Rome, dwarfed by the towering blocks of flats.
La città si difende may bot be for everyone but it’s most definitely cinema.