Santo in the Witches Attack/Atacan las brujas/The Witches Attack (1964)

‘Creatures, whose steps shake these dusty spider webs, which imitate diabolical tentacles ready to trap in their web whatever exudes life.’

Nightmares have plagued a young woman since returning to her parent’s house to claim her inheritance. In her dreams, she is abducted by witches to be a human sacrifice, and her only hope is a man in a silver mask…

Legendary Mexican hero and champion of justice, Santo tangles with the supernatural again under the direction of José Díaz Morales. Script duties were in the hands of regular writers Fernando Osés and Rafael García Travesi, who had been involved with other entries, such as ‘Santo and the Vampire Women/Santo vs. las mujeres vampiro’ (1962).

Despite the calming influence of her boyfriend Arturo (Ramón Bugarini), young blonde heiress Ofelia (María Eugenia San Martín) is becoming increasingly nervous. A clause in her late parent’s will means she has to stay in their gloomy old mansion for a year to claim her inheritance, and the atmosphere is getting her down. Every night she dreams of being captured by a witch’s coven led by Mayra (Lorena Velázquez).

All her fears are pure nonsense, of course, as her parents’ old secretary, Elisa (Velázquez, again), is only happy to confirm. Still, Bugarini takes them seriously and is particularly intrigued by her description of a man in a silver mask, realising that it must be Santo. A little investigation reveals that Elisa died 15 years ago, so he reaches out to the wrestler, who is only too happy to look into the matter himself.

This was the first in a four-picture deal Santo inked with producer Luis Enrique Vergara, and their first collaboration is a bit of a disappointment. That’s not to say the film is not entertaining; there’s certainly enough action and bizarre elements for fans of the series. The problems are twofold; firstly, it’s just a rehash of ‘Santo and the Vampire Women/Santo vs. las mujeres vampiro’ (1962); secondly, it’s on a noticeably smaller budget and with none of the gothic style of its predecessor. In short, there’s a little less delivered in every department.

Still, there’s plenty to enjoy. Santo is apparently some kind of P.I. now. He has an office in a tower block with a desk and filing cabinet. No more secret underground lab for him or big screen TV communication hookup with the police department. For the first time in the series, this is Santo out on his own; the authorities never appear. There’s also a brand new element: sex. Velázquez sends her right-hand woman Medusa (Edaena Ruiz), to seduce our hero via the time-honoured technique of a drugged drink and glittery underwear, but, fortunately, Santo finds it all a bit absurd and kicks the door down to escape.

Unfortunately, the lack of budget shows through at times. Almost the first fifteen minutes of the film are one of San Martín’s dreams, and these are some of the same events that happen at the end of the film, although it’s not repeated footage. Bugarini’s car accident is horribly unconvincing, and when Santo climbs over the mansion’s wall, the day suddenly turns into night. The only wrestling in the ring also arrives without warning, or any logic, and proves to be one of the contests from ‘Santo vs. the King of Crime/Santo contra el rey del crimen (1962). It’s easy to tell because there’s actor Augusto Benedico as butler-confidante Matias, cheering him on from his corner.

There is a definite second-hand feel to everything here. High priestess Ruiz resurrects Velázquez at the start of the film. In turn, she invokes their satanic master, Lord of the Shadows. This is beat for beat what happens in ‘Santo and the Vampire Women/Santo vs. las mujeres vampiro’ (1962), which also starred Velázquez in what is effectively the same role. Again, other than Ruiz, her homegirls just stand around as if posing for a photo shoot rather than doing anything, leaving all the action to a trio of nameless male warlocks. One of these is played by Fernando Osés, who fulfilled the same function in the previous film and, as you may recall, was involved with writing both of them.

The more you look at it, the film seems to be an unofficial remake than anything else. After all, the witches can only be killed by daylight, fire or the symbol of the cross, which sounds a lot more like the weaknesses of vampires. There’s one scene where Velázquez uses her hypnotic powers to get San Martín to take off the crucifix she’s wearing for protection and another where Santo chases some of the witches with burning torches, and they turn into bats! San Martín’s opening voiceover even includes the line, ‘They are ready to drink my blood and transform into a creature of the darkness.’

So it’s not that far a stretch to suggest that Velázquez and her girl gang were initially written as vampires, and the change to witches came late on in the production process. The film also includes a somewhat baffling disclaimer at the start stating that ‘all the characters are imaginary and fictitious’, which is an oddly redundant thing for the filmmakers to include in a movie about supernatural witches! It’s also inaccurate because Santo is a real person, playing himself!

There’s also a generally agreed release date of 1968, placing it after the other three films Santo made for producer Vergara and seemingly four years after it was shot. Could legal action of some sort have delayed the release? Mexican fantastic cinema of the period ruthlessly recycled plots, ideas and concepts over and over again, but perhaps this instance of commonality was a little too close for comfort? It’s worth remembering that Santo had broken with his old associates to sign with Vergara.

Vergara entered the film business as a producer in the late 1940s and first enjoyed success with the three-part film story of ‘The Black Whip’ (1958), who was played by Luis Aguilar and wasn’t anything like Zorro. After signing up Santo, he also helped bring the wrestler’s main rival, Blue Demon, to the screen with ‘Blue Demon: El Demonio Azul’ (1965). Further projects with Blue followed, and the producer also recruited horror royalty John Carradine and Boris Karloff to appear in multiple productions toward the end of the decade, although sadly never together. The Karloff films were all completed after his death, and Vergara also has a script credit on the last one, the atrocious science-fiction horror ‘The Incredible Invasion’ (1971). It was the final credit for them both.

Good fun on its own terms, but probably best not to compare it to a certain earlier entry in the series.

Santo will return in ‘The Diabolical Hatchet/Santo vs. the Diabolical Hatchet/El hacha diabólica’ (1965)

Solaris/Solyaris (1972)

‘We don’t need other worlds; we need a mirror.’

After years of fruitless research and observations, the space station orbiting the planet Solaris is manned only by a skeleton crew. All attempts to communicate with the sentient ocean covering the planet’s surface have failed, but a last-ditch experiment has surprising consequences…

Philosophical science fiction courtesy of acclaimed Soviet director Andrei Tarkovsky. This famous adaptation of Polish author Stanislaw Lem’s novel stars Donatas Banionis, Natalya Bondarchuk, and Jüri Järvet.

It’s the last days on Earth for psychologist Kris Kelvin (Banionis), who is shipping out on an interplanetary mission, destination Solaris and the research station in orbit around it. An apparently sentient ocean covers the planet, but little more is known despite close study lasting many years. Now, communications from the station have become erratic, and the viability of the station’s future called into question. Banionis has been tasked with making an on-the-spot evaluation of conditions and making recommendations. Saying goodbye to his estranged father (Nikolai Grinko) is difficult, further complicated by the arrival of ex-astronaut Henri Burton (Vladislav Dvorzhetsky), who has tales of tell of his time on the station. During an emergency, he flew low over the planet and saw strange visions, including that of a four-metre-high child formed by the ocean. However, his observations were discredited when onboard camera footage showed nothing of what he described.

When Banionis arrives at the station after the necessary spaceflight, none of the three-man crew is there to welcome him, not mission commander Dr Gibarian (Sos Sargsyan), cyberneticist Dr Snaut (Jüri Järvet) or astrobiologist Dr Sartorius (Anatoly Solonitsyn). The station is also in poor repair, and when he finds someone, it’s Järvet, and he is drunk. What he says makes little sense beyond the fact that Sargsyan is dead, a likely suicide, and Solonitsyn has barricaded himself inside his laboratory and will see no one. Leaving these mysteries for the following day, Banionis goes to bed, only to wake up and find that he is not alone. Sharing his cabin is Hari (Natalya Bondarchuk), his wife who committed suicide ten years earlier. She seems to be a flesh and blood woman, although her memories of their life together are fragmentary and confused. Banionis panics and shoots her off into space in an escape capsule but discovers from Järvet that she will return the next time he sleeps.

Much has been written over the years about Tarkovsky’s work, and this film is regarded as one of the cornerstones of his artistic legacy. Although much of science-fiction literature wrestles with questions of what it means to be human and our place among the stars, these are not themes generally embraced in cinema, where more commercial considerations take precedence. Tarkovsky’s film is often inaccurately compared to Stanley Kubrick’s ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ (1968), a movie that the director reportedly disliked due to what he considered a lack of a human element. That’s something the director placed at the centre of his story, much to the disapproval of original novelist Stanislaw Lem. The Polish writer was initially involved with the project’s development but departed over creative differences and later somewhat facetiously referred to the film as ‘love in outer space.’ The fact that the film has inspired so much commentary and interpretation over the years puts paid to that opinion.

The film opens with Banionis staying at his father’s cottage in the idyllic Russian countryside. Tarkovsky’s camera lingers on the beauties of nature, but the strained father and son relationship gives the scenes a feeling of sweet melancholia. The exact family dynamics in play remain obscure, but both men are closed off emotionally and unable to articulate their feelings for each other. These scenes also establish the contrast between the warmth and vitality of our home world and the cold, alienating vastness of space, as well as one of the director’s most recurrent themes: a yearning for the lost days of the past. This part of the film lasts over 40 minutes, fleshed out by the arrival of ex-astronaut Dvorzhetsky and his tales of Solaris. Eventually, he departs, and we see him drive into the city, a long, five-minute sequence that seems pointless. This sequence was filmed on location in Tokyo, and some have argued that it’s in the film to justify the expense of sending the director and his small crew to Japan, something which would have involved the likely reluctant permission of the Soviet authorities. Others have suggested that the footage of traffic, tunnels and concrete overpasses would have looked quite futuristic to a Soviet audience of the time if not to an international one.

The drama that follows contains many ambiguities and talking points, with conclusions mainly a matter of personal interpretation. The purpose of the visitors remains unrevealed. Are they an attempt to communicate, intended as a gift or an attempt at retaliation after the crew has bombarded the planet’s surface with X-rays? It seems like a punishment to Banionis, at least at first, as his desertion back on Earth ten years earlier prompted the real Bondarchuk to commit suicide. Crucially, the audience never learns the identity of the other visitors. However, it’s clear that neither Järvet nor Solonitsyn is happy with their unearthly lodgers, suggesting more guilty secrets from the past that lie untold. These uncertainties even extend to small details, such as items appearing in the background in the crew’s quarters. Several of these mirror objects from Grinko’s cottage back on Earth, which, given the film’s ending, raises the somewhat unlikely possibility that Banionis has been on Solaris the whole time.

Despite Lem’s misgivings, the developing relationship between Banionis and Bondarchuk is essential and allows for many of Tarkovsky’s themes and questions to be brought to the table. It’s certainly not played in the way the original author may have feared; it’s firmly downbeat and underplayed, particularly well by Bondarchuk. The resulting audience investment in the couple allows more resonance to some of the film’s most breathtaking visual moments, such as the weightless sequence in the station library. It’s also a stroke of genius that the human side of the drama is accessible through Bondarchuk’s non-human character rather than the emotionally stunted Banionis or his jaded, paranoid crew mates. As time passes, she begins to learn about love, pain and regret and, finally, achieves independent action. It’s her journey that provides the necessary emotional core of the film.

The SFX are of their time, but the models and miniatures hold up surprisingly well for the most part, and the internal landscape of the station is impressively functional. It’s only on rewatching that you realise how little of these interiors are shown, but what does appear is a well-judged chaos of cluttered cabins and ageing technology, systems wearing out due to lack of attention, investment and the passage of time. The ocean was created by mixing an acetone solution, various dyes and aluminium powder. There was likely neither the budget nor the necessary expertise on hand to create the kind of oceanic formations envisioned in the novel by Lem. However, it’s still an effective representation of an alien world, aided by the sparse score of Edvard Artemyev and the repeated use of an ethereal organ prelude by German composer Johann Sebastian Bach.

In the broadest sense, Tarkovsky seems to be musing on the futility of roaming amongst the stars, suggesting that such explorations will not answer any of our fundamental questions about humanity and the universe we inhabit. First contact with an alien life form will just provide more questions rather than resolve any issues. For those, we should turn to each other. To paraphrase Shakespeare, the answers lay not in the stars but in ourselves. Of course, that’s just one interpretation of many.

Tarkovsky was born in Russia in 1932, and pursued an education in several different fields before turning to film in 1954 when he began studying at the State Institute of Cinematography. He began writing scripts in collaboration with fellow student Andrei Konchalovsky in 1959, one of which Tarkovsky directed as his graduation project, which won 1st Prize at the New York Student Film Festival in 1961. His first feature followed a year later, when he replaced Eduard Abalov in the director’s chair on the superb war drama ‘Ivan’s Childhood/Ivanovo detstvo’ (1962) after the production was initially shut down by authorities. The resulting film won awards at the Venice and San Francisco International Film Festivals. It was also submitted as the Soviet entry for Best Foreign Language Film at the 1962 Academy Awards, although it was not subsequently nominated.

Rewarded with a large budget for his next project ‘Andrei Rublev/Andrey Rublyov’ (1965), Tarkovsky began to have problems with the Soviet authorities. The director was forced to cut and re-cut the finished film several times, and despite winning a prize from the International Federation of Film Critics in 1969, the film was only released in the Soviet Union two years later in a truncated version. There were more domestic release problems around ‘Mirror/Zerkalo’ (1974), and the historical drama ‘The First Day’ was shut down mid-shoot by the Soviet authorities in 1979. He travelled to Italy to make ‘Nostalgia/Nostalghia’ (1983), and when state financing was withdrawn, he secured alternative backing to finish the project and never returned to the Soviet Union. He shot one more film, ‘The Sacrifice/Offret’ (1986), before succumbing to cancer in the final days of 1986. Given that his wife and one of the principal actors in ‘Stalker’ (1979) eventually contracted the same type of cancer, possible leaks from a chemical plant close to the shooting location have been cited as a likely cause.

A film that rewards multiple viewings and still leaves you wanting more. A captivating and fascinating work.

Calling All Police Cars/…a tutte le auto della polizia… (1975)

‘Why are you wearing that damn hat?’

When the teenage daughter of a prominent surgeon goes missing, police in Rome throw a dragnet across the city. Eventually, her dead body is found in a lake on the outskirts, and the coroner establishes that she was shot in the back…

Police procedural with a touch of the Giallo from director Mario Caiano. Antonio Sabato and Luciana Paluzzi lead the investigation under the watchful eye of police chief Enrico Maria Salerno.

It seems like just another ordinary evening for well-connected surgeon Professore Andrea Icardi (Gabriele Ferzetti) when he gets home from his private clinic. Wife Emilia (Bedy Moratti) is out playing cards with friends and daughter Fiorella (Adriana Falco) has a study date with a schoolfriend. However, he gets worried when Moratti returns, but Falco is overdue. A quick telephone call establishes that the study date was pure fiction and she is missing. Using his influence with a local Senator, Ferzetti gets the situation straight to the desk of Police Chief Carraro (Salerno), and a city-wide search begins.

Unfortunately, tracker dogs find her body in a remote lake on the outskirts of the city. She’s been murdered, and Salerno assigns chief investigators Commissario Fernando Solmi (Sabato) and Ispettrice Giovanna Nunziante (Paluzzi) to the case. The autopsy reveals that the victim was no longer a virgin and pregnant as well, providing the killer with a probable motive. The investigators turn their attention to Ferzetti’s social circle, convinced that she knew her killer. However, they also discover that some of her school friends are involved in a teenage prostitution racket whose clients include some of the most prominent men in the city. Salerno comes under pressure to close the case quickly by pinning the killing on Enrico Tummoli (Ettore Manni), a peeping tom who runs a restaurant by the lake.

After a highly successful run in the early 1970s, the popularity of the Giallo thriller was fading by the middle of the decade, increasingly eclipsed by the rising stock of Italian crime films known collectively as Poliziotteschi. The suspense and horrors of a whodunnit murder mystery were suddenly taking a back seat to heists, shootouts and car chases, which often pitted the authorities against organised crime with political connections. Such projects also proved popular on the small screen with shows such as ‘Qui squadra mobile’ which ran from 1973 to 1976. Writers on that show included Massimo Felisatti and Fabio Pittorru, who originated the screenplay for this film. They even used the two principal investigators from the TV show, although the roles were recast with Sabato and Paluzzi, presumably for their box office clout.

However, the most notable fact is that the plot bares more than a slight resemblance to the far superior ‘What Have They Done To Your Daughters?/La polizia chiede aiuto’ (1974), a film that also revolved around high political figures involved with organised schoolgirl prostitution. It’s unfortunate that Caiano’s film arrived so hot on the heels of its predecessor because it makes comparisons inevitable, and his effort comes off as a poor second-best. Clearly, he was aiming for a grounded, almost documentary feel, but the results are flat and unengaging. This also may have resulted from having writers used to working for the small screen as their combined efforts seem to have little ambition.

On the one hand, it’s refreshing that these cops are ordinary working joes, interviewing witnesses, chasing down commonplace leads, and pounding the pavements for clues rather than displaying great leaps in logic or sudden, blinding insights. The absence of any private life soap opera theatrics in their backgrounds is also very welcome. However, this leaves the cast struggling to build engaging performances when all they are required to do is react to events in their official capacities. This may have been quite the disappointment for Paluzzi, who was probably relieved to get a change of pace from the femme fatales and glamour girls she’d been playing throughout much of her career. Unfortunately, her character ultimately proves to be rather peripheral to the action and disappears almost entirely from the second half of the film.

So, what’s left to discuss if both mystery and characters lack colour? Well, Caiano is able to put across some notion of the corrupt political machine pulling strings from high places, although a lot of that is down to Salerno. He gives the film’s best performance as the conflicted police chief, under pressure to resolve the case without embarrassing the establishment. On more than one occasion, he tries to convince Sabato to accept a convenient solution but can’t quite bring himself to insist on it. The social commentary is also a strength, particularly in the opening act. Although Moratti is clearly an absent wife and mother, Ferzetti believes himself fully engaged in parenthood, boasting of a close relationship with his daughter that has full disclosure. This is quickly exposed as totally delusional when Falco’s long-running physical relationship with her likely killer comes to light. There’s no time to explore this aspect of the drama at any length as the investigation takes precedence, but it’s effective and provides Ferzetti with a couple of good dramatic moments.

The Giallo elements arrive late in the story as the killer starts trying to cover his tracks when the police get too close for comfort. In the spirit of a grounded drama, there is nothing extravagant about these subsequent murders. However, there are a couple of gory moments, particularly the death of the gynaecologist played by familiar face Franco Ressel. The reveal of the killer’s identity is resolutely undramatic, and there are no twists to the tale, but that’s only in keeping with the nature of the presentation. Crime can be predictable and strangely mundane, after all.

Caiano was the son of film producer Carlo Caiano and began his apprenticeship in the industry while simultaneously studying in college. His first recognised credits were as a second assistant director in the 1950s, where he worked for directors such as Riccardo Freda on ‘Da qui all’eredità’ (1955), Edgar G Ulmer on ‘Journey Beneath the Desert/Antinea, l’amante della città sepolta’ (1961) and many times for Sergio Grieco. He debuted as a director in his own right on the surprisingly enjoyable ‘Ulysses Against Hercules/Ulisse contro Ercole/Ulysses vs Hercules (1962), tackled horror with Barbara Steele in ‘Nightmare Castle/Amanti d’oltretomba/The Faceless Monster (1965) and the world of the Eurospy with ‘Spies Strike Silently/Le Spie Uccidono In Silenzio (1966). His other flirtation with the Giallo was the solid entry ‘Eye in the Labyrinth/L’occhio nel labirinto (1972) and he made many Spaghetti Westerns of which ‘Ride and Kill/Brandy/Cavalca e uccidi’ (1964) and ‘A Coffin for the Sheriff/Una bara per lo sceriffo/Lone and Angry Man’ (1965) are worth seeking out.

An efficient production but little to write home about.

The Twin Pawns (1919)

‘She was so sweet, but now she’s raving mad.’

A sickly young woman on the wrong side of the tracks falls into the clutches of a confidence trickster when he discovers that she is the daughter of a wealthy industrialist. Telling the tycoon that she has died, he plans to swap her with her twin sister, who is the acknowledged heir to his fortune…

A contemporary adaptation of Wilkie Collins’ Victorian melodrama, The Woman in White, by director Léonce Perret. Mae Murray plays the twins, and Warner Oland brings the villainy.

Separated at birth, twins Daisy and Violet White (Murray) have grown up at opposite ends of the food chain. Violet has been raised in privilege and wealth by her father, industrialist Harry White (J W Johnston). On the other hand, Daisy is living in poverty with her mother (Edythe Chapman), whose health is failing and has no idea of her origins. Circumstances conspire so that Chapman’s dying words are heard only by confidence man, John Bent (Oland). She confesses the identity of Daisy’s father and guides him to the documents that prove it. A lucky bet at the track gives Oland the necessary capital to launch a sinister campaign, and he puts Daisy into Franklin College, an exclusive girl’s boarding school.

Oland goes to Johnston but tells him that Daisy is dead and hands over the documents he took from her mother. Impressed by the man’s apparent honesty, Johnston offers him a management position at his factory and accepts him as a friend. Meanwhile, Violet has fallen in love with engineer Bob Anderson (Henry G Sell), which throws a wrench into Oland’s plans. Fortunately for him, Johnston is fatally injured in an accidental explosion at the factory’s laboratory. On his deathbed, the tycoon extracts a promise from Violet to marry Oland. Afterwards, she refuses, but he is persistent and eventually drugs her so he can swap the sisters around and put Violet in an asylum.

Wilkie Collins’ famous novel has been adapted for both big and small screens on multiple occasions, with four versions already released before this one. Ernest C Warde’s more traditional version, ‘The Woman In White/The Unfortunate Marriage’ (1917), being the most noteworthy. Writer-director Perrett elects to bring the story into contemporary times instead, bringing it to America and setting it in the world of big business. However, the film never bothers to explain the nature of Johnston’s business. He just has a big factory with a lab attached, where he mixes chemicals with an insufficient regard for health & safety.

Without the Victorian trappings that usually come with this story, there’s inevitably a complete absence of the gothic atmosphere that’s one of its most enjoyable aspects. However, despite the lack of opportunities for outlandish flourishes and stylish visuals, Perrett does manage some creative shot framing. There’s also some cross-cutting between events happening simultaneously, a basic filmmaking technique by today’s standards but quite sophisticated for this era. His story adaptation is also quite neat, covering the novel’s major points, although some aspects do push the audience’s suspension of disbelief somewhat.

These issues mainly concern Johnston’s immediate trust in Oland’s sneaky fraudster. For ‘Uniontown’s biggest industrialist’, he’s a surprisingly easy mark, immediately handing Oland the job of running his factory when the man he has hired writes to refuse the post. In short order, Oland’s quickfire temper has made relations with the workforce so bad that they propose to strike after he tells one man off for smoking in a prohibited area. Worse still, Johnston’s so eager for Violet to marry the crook that he extracts that promise from her on his deathbed. Elsewhere, there’s also a heavy reliance on a lot of coincidence, with one event after another generating circumstances that assist in Oland’s skullduggery. It’s almost as if fate keeps intervening on his behalf because the idea that he’s planned everything from the start is beyond ridiculous. He’s certainly not that bright, changing the company name from ‘White, Otis & Co’ to ‘Bent’ in what is probably not the greatest rebranding in business history.

Performances are solid throughout, and it’s particularly interesting to see a slim, young Oland playing a thorough rotter. After working regularly for the next dozen years, he became an unlikely star as the rotund, amiable, Confucius-quoting Chinese detective Charlie Chan. Murray also does well in her dual assignment. Neither of the twins is a very nuanced character, but as Violet, she has to go from flighty and fun-loving to grief-stricken and distraught to feisty and defiant, and she manages the transitions convincingly. Both stars also display a minimum of the exaggerated gesturing that has defined silent movie acting to the uninitiated.

Murray was born Marie Adrienne Koenig in New York in 1885 and first found fame as a dancer on Broadway. After several assignments as a chorus girl, she joined the celebrated Ziegfeld Follies, eventually becoming a headliner in 1915. Subsequent work found her dancing with future film stars Rudolph Valentino and John Gilbert. Making a move into films in 1916, she was almost an instant hit in a series of romantic comedies and dramas for producer Jesse L Lasky. More success followed at Universal with hits such as ‘Modern Love’ (1918) and ‘Big Little Person’ (1919), which co-starred Valentino. After some freelancing, she landed at MGM, where she made her most famous film, ‘The Merry Widow’ (1925), for Erich Von Stroheim. Unfortunately, the arrival of talkies derailed her career, with her first sound film ‘Peacock Alley’ (1930), failing at the box office despite being a remake of her 1922 silent hit. Her husband at the time, Prince David Mdvani, advised her to leave the studio, and the decision effectively ended her career. In later life, Murray struggled with health issues and lived in poverty after being declared bankrupt. She passed away in the Motion Picture Country Home in Woodland Hills in 1965.

Acceptable retelling of a familiar story. It’s best to avoid comparing it to the 1917 version, though.

Reflections in Black/Il vizio ha le calze nere (1975)

‘You go for a haircut, you two; you look like ape-men.’

Two women are murdered separately by a killer with a razor. The investigating police inspector discovers that the two victims knew each other and moved in the same social circles…

Undistinguished, forgettable Giallo whodunnit from Italian actor-director Tano Cimarosa. John Richardson’s quest for a killer involves Dagmar Lassander, Ninetto Davoli and Magda Konopka.

Answering the door turns out to be a terrible idea for ex-hairdresser and escort Ligari ‘Nelly’ Concetta (Daniela Giordano). Chased out into the night, she’s brutally slain in a public phone box with a straight razor. The same fate befalls Emma Giorgi (Giovanna D’Albore) a couple of nights later, and although her boyfriend survives the attack, he cannot identify the mysterious killer. Investigating the crimes are Chief Lavina (Richardson), Sgt Pantò (director Cimarosa) and young detective Jerry Manzoni (Gianni Williams). Richardson soon discovers the two victims are connected through the high-class hairdressing salon run by Mario (Giovanni Brusadori).

Tracking down their mutual friends and acquaintances, the detectives find a solid connection to Leonora (Lassander), the wife of high-flying lawyer and aspiring politician Anselmi (Giacomo Rossi Stuart). Richardson must tread carefully, though, as they are relatives of the aristocratic and highly influential Orselmo family. Another lead is provided by small-time pimp and drug dealer Sandro Lucetti (Davoli), whose clientele includes Marco (Livio Galassi), the unbalanced son of Countess Orselmo (Konopka). As the body count rises, the police find themselves under pressure to unravel the mystery and unmask the killer.

Giallo enthusiasts will find themselves on very familiar ground here, with a typical ‘who is the killer?’ plot, a fair amount of casual nudity and a gallery of likely suspects slowly diminishing as the body count escalates. By this point, it’s all a little tired, but with enough creativity and the correct handling, it’s still the solid basis for a good thriller. Sadly, there’s little evidence of such qualities here. The script throws plenty of content and incidents at the screen, but it all feels second-hand and needs more invention. It could be argued that there is some effort to provide social commentary and even a political dimension as the private lives of supposedly respectable pillars of society are exposed. However, these aspects never feel tightly woven into the story in the same way as they are in superior examples such as ‘What Have You Done To Solange?/Cosa avete fatto a Solange? (1972) or ‘What Have They Done To Your Daughters?/La polizia chiede aiuto (1974).

Richardson also has a rather thankless lead role, mainly barking out orders and reacting to circumstances. The script provides him with no character moments, and he’s also sidelined through some of the investigation. Perhaps inevitably, as he was also serving as director, Cimarosa gets the showier role as Richardson’s Sergeant. Despite expressing some unenlightened attitudes, he’s the only one of our heroes who demonstrates any significant personality. Although he’s certainly not a ‘comedy sidekick’ in any sense, he does get a few humorous lines, and there’s a fun moment when he loses a suspect that he’s following by chatting up a blonde passerby and her cute dog.

The mystery itself is also on the unremarkable side, and the five-minute wrap-up at the end to explain everything feels completely unnecessary. It’s not difficult to guess who the killer is, especially given that there are fewer and fewer suspects left standing as the story develops. The murders are a little gory but are shot without any real imagination. However, it must be noted that I could only source a poor-quality print for this review, and the picture had been cropped, likely for television or transfer to video cassette in the early days of home rental. Obviously, it’s not the best way to appreciate a film, so any comment here on the visual aspects has to be qualified.

Rossi-Stuart was a staple of Italian cinema throughout the latter half of the 20th Century and appeared in just shy of 100 films. Debuting in the early 1950s in minor roles, he even appeared briefly in David O Selznick’s ill-fated remake of Hemingway’s ‘A Farewell to Arms’ (1957). He began working for director Mario Bava with ‘The Day the Sky Exploded/La morte viene dallo spazio’ (1958) and had similar supporting roles in the director’s ‘Caltiki, the Immortal Monster/Caltiki il mostro immortale’ (1959), ‘Knives of the Avenger/I coltelli del vendicatore’ (1966) and ‘Kill, Baby… Kill!/Operazione paura’ (1966).

By that time, he was even getting the occasional lead, such as in halfway decent Spaghetti Western ‘Degueyo’ (1966) and as Cmdr Rod Jackson in two of Antonio Margheriti’s four films about Space Station Gamma One, ‘War Between the Planets/Il Planeta Errante’ (1966) and ‘Snow Devils/La morte viene dal pianeta Aytin (1967). However, by the end of the decade, he was back to supporting roles, with the occasional exception. He even turns up, very briefly, in ‘The Godfather’ (1972) but is likely to be best remembered for his key role opposite Vincent Price in ‘The Last Man on Earth’ (1964). He passed away in 1994 at the age of 69.

It’s a film so routine that it barely registers.

Maciste, the World’s Strongest Gladiator/Maciste, l’uomo più forte del mondo/Colossus of the Arena/Death on the Arena (1962)

‘Who said you could sit among my apples?’

After the accidental death of the king, his eldest daughter assumes the throne of Mersabad. However, certain factions plot to assassinate her, and their plans come to the attention of a mighty warrior…

More palace intrigue and strongman duties for the heroic Maciste, this time appearing in the person of Italian-America bodybuilder Mark Forest. Michele Lupo directs from a script by Lionello De Felice and Ernesto Guida.

The kingdom of Mersabad is about a get a new monarch with the impending coronation of Princess Thalima (Scilla Gabel). However, when she announces at court that she intends to follow her late father’s just and liberal policies, it doesn’t go down well with Prince Oniris (Erno Crisa) and the rest of the aristocracy. Meanwhile, shady fixer Vittorio Sanipoli is busy recruiting seven mercenaries at the behest of a mysterious paymaster, planning to have them replace gladiators at the celebration of Gabel’s ascension.

While awaiting orders, Sanipoli’s men trash a tavern, which happens to be the local of the warrior Maciste (Forest). He rushes to the scene but arrives too late to engage the villains. Trailing them to the city, he manages to join the gang, even saving the life of the young Menides (Maurizio Conti). He soon discovers they plan to abduct Gabel on the eve of her coronation, ensuring that her sister Rasia (José Greci) will take the throne. Unconscious after being drugged, it seems he can do nothing to prevent the plan’s success.

Well-paced and breezy addition to the Peplum genre, which fails to mesh some comedy with its more serious intent but otherwise delivers an entertaining enough package. The concept of an evil version of ‘The Magnificent Seven’ (1960) is well-handled for the most part, although inevitably, none of the members are rewarded with any significant character development. Among their ranks are several familiar faces from Peplum; Alfio Caltabiano, Claudio Scarchilli, Pietro Ceccarelli and Dan Vadis. Most were limited to supporting roles throughout the cycle, but Vadis graduated to portray both Hercules and Ursus.

This entry in the cycle is particularly notable for some energetic, well-staged swordplay and a surprisingly smart script. If the story’s events often seem like just a build-up to Forest facing off against the bad guys in the arena at the end, yes, of course, they are, but there are enough story threads and characters to keep things interesting on the way. There’s also no evil Queen for a change. Gabel may have a hard stare that can freeze a flaming torch at a hundred paces, but it’s reserved for wrong-doers and the entitled nobles of her court. Sister Greci may make some bad decisions and get to sit in the big chair, but she’s blinded with love for Crisa and has a complete change of heart by the climax.

It’s also unusual that there’s no ‘trial of strength’ for Forest, in the arena or otherwise. In fact, little is made of the character’s super strength; the action focused instead on his combat abilities, which reflects the film’s original title. He does duke it out with Vadis in a waterfall in a memorable scene, but it’s mostly about the swordplay. Judging by what’s on screen, a greater level of technical expertise was available for handling the weapons than usual. There are also a few surprisingly gory moments where Lupo’s camera lingers at the moment of death. Nothing is that graphic, but such kills tended to be mostly bloodless at the time. Some commentators have pointed out that several individual moments foreshadow events in Ridley Scott’s Oscar-winning ‘Gladiator’ (2000), and the number of them lends some credibility to this argument.

Unfortunately, some of this serious drama is undermined by an overuse of dumb comedy. Forest acquires sidekick Wambo (Jon Chevron) at the tavern, and rather inexplicably, he’s allowed to join gladiator training. Lupo then allows the actor to mug outrageously for the camera and gives him a succession of stupid moments, including a sword fight with Cleopatra, the chimp and taking part in one battle disguised as a sheep! He also attends the final scenes in the arena dressed in drag for no apparent reason. Thankfully, all this tiresome nonsense is not enough to derail things completely. There’s nothing wrong with trying to bring a lighter touch to the genre, of course, but when the rest of your film includes scenes of innocent villagers being tortured, raped and slaughtered, it could be argued that it’s a little out of place.

Forest makes an adequately personable hero, although he certainly doesn’t display the charisma of the best strongmen of the Peplum era. Vadis has a shot at being included as one of them, even if he has little acting here to do here, and his debut as Hercules in ‘Hercules The Invincible/Ercole invincible/The Sons of Hercules in the Land of Darkness (1964) was more than a little shaky. Still, he improved by leaps and bounds and was pretty effective in his later muscleman roles.

The production values are also good, allowing for a decent level of spectacle, even if the film doesn’t boast the large-scale sets of the best in the genre. Curiously the production company behind this effort is credited as ‘Leone Films’, so it would be reasonable to assume some involvement from world-famous director Sergio Leone. He was still two years away from ‘A Fistful of Dollars/Per un pugno di dollari’ (1964) but had been active in the industry for some years and had already debuted as a director with the superior historical epic ‘The Colossus of Rhodes/Il colosso di Rodi’ (1961). However, Leone was apparently less than impressed with the Peplum cycle in general and the producers who offered him the opportunity to participate. ‘I warned them that if they so much as mentioned the word ‘Maciste’ I would spit…’ he was quoted as saying in later years. So, it seems the production company’s name is likely just a coincidence.

A better example of Peplum than most.

Mexican Slayride/Coplan ouvre le feu à Mexico (1967)

‘The pigment of his colours becomes a means of transcending reality.’

Several paintings originally stolen by the Nazis suddenly resurface, prompting the interest of intelligence agencies. A top secret agent traces their origin to Mexico and a criminal organisation intent on resurrecting the Reich….

This week’s ‘Bond On A Budget’ is familiar face Lang Jeffries, taking his turn at bringing super spy Francis Coplan to the big screen. Well-regarded, veteran Italian director Riccardo Freda marshals the action and ropes in Sabine Sun and José María Caffarel for the fun.

A jeep on a mountain is blown up with a bazooka. A woman agent babbles into a phone about ‘a fantastic conspiracy’ before she dies. Fortunately, the intelligence service discovers a roll of microfilm in the heel of her shoe, which contains a photograph of an old painting last seen in Nazi hands. Agent Francis Coplan (Jeffries) is tasked with discovering what it’s all about, a mission that takes him to a high-class auction house with a similar ‘lost’ master on the block. There, he connects with the mysterious Contessa LeGrange (Sun) and finds more of the missing paintings hidden in her wine cellar.

Following Sun to Mexico, Jeffries is marked for death and forced off the road on a mountain pass. Surviving the attempted assassination, he meets the frightened Francine (Silvia Solar), whose geologist fiancé has just been murdered and is convinced it’s her turn next. Jeffries investigates and realises the cause of these deadly intentions is some infrared photographs the couple took from a helicopter. These showed a network of underground tunnels in the vicinity of a temple and not far from the hacienda of wealthy landowner Don Felipe (Robert Party).

Francis Coplan was a secret agent created by Belgian authors Gaston Van den Panhuyse and Jean Libert, who wrote together under the name Paul Kenny. He first appeared in print in 1953 and was successful enough to get his first big screen adventure before the end of the decade with ‘Action immédiate/To Catch a Spy’ (1957). But it was the advent of Bond, particularly the global phenomenon of ‘Goldfinger’ (1964), that prompted a five-film series in the 1960s, of which this was the penultimate entry. Curiously, a different actor took the role on each occasion.

Here, Jeffries slips effortlessly back into the designer suits of the international agent, displaying the familiar smarmy charm and ready fists. By this point in the loose series, Coplan was a character on the darker end of the Eurospy spectrum, an agent prepared to use deadly force without hesitation. Two enemy agents find this out to their cost when he lights his cigarette with a scrap of paper and then uses the flame to burn them alive. Elsewhere, there’s some wonderfully ridiculous action, including a sequence where Jeffries and a fellow agent jump from a crashing plane into the back of an open-top taxi that just happens to be passing in the middle of nowhere. Later on, he shoots an enemy spy through the window of a speeding car whilst parasailing one-handed.

There are also other fun moments, including bad guys firing machine guns out of the back of a hearse at a funeral and the inevitable assassination attempt between the airport and the hotel. Unfortunately, all these are just enjoyable moments, that sit inside a dull story that drifts and rambles. It’s doubly disappointing because director Freda had a track record that featured some notable films, and he’d directed the previous entry in the Coplan saga, ‘Coplan FX-18 Super Spy/Coplan FX 18 casse tout/The Exterminators (1965), which was one of the very best examples of the Eurospy genre. In this case, however, the story fails to find a compelling direction and often just seems to be an assemblage of the usual clichés.

One of the critical areas where the film desperately needs more punch is with Jeffries’ main antagonist. The script attempts to keep his identity a mystery for much of the running time, but this works against the drama. It doesn’t help that the candidates are a pretty dull bunch as well, including former agent Langis (Caffarel) who has to use a wheelchair after an accident, landowner Party and Contessa Sun. None of these characters have any exciting qualities, and the cast struggles to bring them to life. There’s also a shortage of gadgets, with the tech restricted to a pen-bomb and a walking cane that doubles as a flamethrower.

Jeffries isn’t shy with the ladies, though, and this is a talking point for a current audience. When he encounters the Contessa at the auction house, it’s not a massive surprise that the two immediately fall into bed together. However, while the usual after-sex routine of the 1960s tended to involve cigarettes, the hopelessly romantic Jeffries prefers chloroform. Later, he hits on Solar, and she’s pretty willing even though her fiancé was murdered a few days earlier. Best of all, he attends the 18th birthday celebrations for Don Felipe’s daughter Maya (Luciana Gilli), and he’s after her immediately, and they sleep together. And if you think this will have consequences for the story, then I’m sure you’ll be happy to learn that it doesn’t, and she never appears again.

One of the co-writers of the screenplay was Frenchman Bertrand Tavernier. It was only his third credit after working as a writer and director of segments featured in the portmanteau sketch comedies ‘Les baisers’ (1964) and ‘Chance at Love/La chance et l’amour’ (1964). His somewhat belated career breakthrough came with the award-winning crime drama ‘The Watchmaker of St. Paul/L’horloger de Saint-Paul’ (1974), based on a novel by Georges Simenon, creator of the famous detective Maigret. This proved the springboard for a hugely successful 30-year career, which saw him showered with awards for projects such as ‘Death Watch/La mort en direct’ (1980), ‘A Sunday in the Country/Un dimanche à la campagne’ (1985), “Round Midnight’ (1987), ‘Life and Nothing But/La vie et rien d’autre’ (1990) and ‘The French Minister/Quai d’Orsay’ (2013). He passed away in 2021.

Some good moments in search of an interesting plot.

Snapshot for a Crime/Istantanea per un delitto (1975)

‘Ready the engines and prepare the rifles!’

After his lover ends their relationship, a young man takes a trip to the coast, where he becomes involved with another woman. However, when she suddenly disappears, it seems that he may have killed her…

Obscure Giallo with a somewhat muddled production history. Started by director Mario Imperoli and finished by Ezio Alovisi, the films stars Erna Schurer, Luis La Torre and Monica Strubel.

Life seems too good to be true for young stud Luca Sivandi (La Torre), idling away his time on his boat with aristocratic blonde Mirna (Schurer). However, the romantic idyll ends when she suddenly announces their relationship is over without giving him a reason. Unable to accept the rejection, he keeps calling and following her around, much to her annoyance. Meanwhile, photographer Giancarlo (Giancarlo Annunziata) gets an assignment to stage a fashion shoot at the famous Castellana Caves on the Puglia Coast. He asks La Torre to take him and his models to the location on his boat.

When they arrive, La Torre hooks up with bubbly blonde Stefania (Lorenza Guerrieri), who is there with her friend Claudia (Strebel). One afternoon, Guerrieri suggests rough sex on a remote beach with a still camera automatically shooting photos of their romp. During the session, Guerrieri passes out when La Torre starts to choke her, and he panics and runs off to get help. When he returns after failing to find anyone, Guerrieri and the camera are both gone. At least that’s the story he relates to Strebel after Guerrieri has been missing overnight. Then he receives copies of the photographs taken on the beach, and the ugly spectre of blackmail raises its head.

In contrast to the usual urban locations of the Giallo thriller, this example heads for the great outdoors instead and the beautiful, sun-drenched coast of Southern Italy. However, we are back in the world of the idle rich as, aside from shutterbug Annunziata, this is a cast of characters who seem to have nothing better to do than hang around, look beautiful and act bored and miserable. Sulky La Torre, in particular, makes for an unsympathetic protagonist, and his single-minded pursuit of Schurer in the face of her continued indifference gives him definite sex pest/serial killer vibes.

When the action relocates to the coast, La Torre continues in the role of Mr Personality, getting it on with Guerrieri before switching to her BFF Strebel after she vanishes. Still, he has plenty of time to lounge about with his shirt off, as little else is happening. Unfortunately, that is the main issue with the film: a severe lack of action and very sparse plot development. One inconsequential, aimless scene follows another with tedious regularity. At one point, La Torre and Guerrieri get an urgent summons to meet Strebel in the caves, but when they arrive, she’s working, so they leave. They meet with her later in the local nightclub, and the girls briefly discuss how things are going between Guerrieri and La Torre. So that was the urgent reason she needed to see them? Some plot eventually arrives late, but the mystery’s final resolution is somewhat mundane and fairly predictable.

Given the unusual multi-flashback structure, you could argue that the film displays an interesting, non-linear method of storytelling. However, these flashbacks are almost entirely just repeated footage the audience has already seen rather than examples of new plot information. Some facts in La Torre’s possession are also held back until the climax, which isn’t necessarily a bad idea; only his failure to connect them in any way with Guerrieri’s disappearance and the events that follow is a little baffling.
It’s far more likely that this awkward structure resulted from production issues rather than artistic or creative choices.

Unsurprisingly, production information on an obscure, low-budget Italian feature made over half a century ago is limited. It appears that the film initially began shooting in 1970 under director Mario Imperoli before apparently running into financial difficulties. Some sources state that the film was completed in 1974 by Alovisi and released in 1975 in Italy with a running time of 90 minutes. However, others say that the film was never released theatrically, sat on a shelf for almost two decades and eventually saw the light of day in 1987 as part of the VHS home rental revolution. At this time, Alovisi assembled the available footage to complete the film, with a runtime of only 74 minutes, the only version seemingly available today.

On balance, it’s probably the latter that is true. In the heady days of the Home Video explosion, distributors went on a desperate search for anything and everything that could be transferred to tape, put in a colourful box with inaccurate artwork and shipped to your high street rental store. European genre pictures were a prime target for this process, along with double episodes from British TV shows repackaged with new titles as apparent features and obscure, no-budget independent American flicks that had probably never played outside their home state’s drive-in screens. These are only a few examples of how products were obtained to flood the market. Alovisi also has a very slim filmography, which otherwise begins on television in 1981.

Also supporting this notion are the contents of the film itself. All the footage looks like it was shot around the same time. There are no additional sets of characters in mismatched extra scenes who never interact with the principals, which was the most common device for boosting an unfinished project somewhere near to feature length. There’s also all that repeated footage, which is not all that present at first but becomes increasingly noticeable as the film spools out. Awkwardness arrives with the sudden entry of VoiceOver Man around the hour mark, whose presence helps stitch some of the plot together, and an apparent attempt to kill La Torre is conveyed via a swift series of still images that flash briefly across the screen.

Alovisi gets a co-writing credit on the film, which was likely an acknowledgement of his work piecing together the existing, unfinished material shot by Imperoli. Whether his probable salvage job took place in 1974 or 1987, it’s no great surprise that the results aren’t remotely satisfying. When forced to use every scrap of film available, it’s almost inevitable that some scenes will be inconsequential at best and won’t advance the story at all. There are more than a few of those here, but to Alovisi’s credit, the story ends up making sense, even if it’s not remotely compelling. The idea that Strebel would take up with La Torre when she thinks he might have killed her best friend is, of course, laughably ridiculous, but given that both actors perform as if on the verge of a valium overdose, it’s hard to care. At least Guerrieri brings some personality to the proceedings, and you have to applaud her efforts amid such a performance vacuum.

There are a couple of points of interest, though. The cinematographer was Luciano Tovoli, who was just starting out on a highly notable half-century career in 1970. He first came to international prominence for his work on Michelangelo Antonioni’s award-winning ‘The Passenger’ (1975) but is mostly celebrated for his creative partnership with director Dario Argento. They worked together several times, most notably on ‘Tenebrae’ (1982) and the visual masterpiece that is ‘Suspiria’ (1976). His Hollywood ventures included hit feature ‘Single White Female’ (1992), ‘Kiss of Death’ (1995) and ‘Murder by Numbers’ (2002). The musical soundtrack comes courtesy of Franco Bixio and includes songs by The Motowns, an Italian-British rock band. These are not necessarily bad in themselves but are inserted so frequently, and in scenes where they don’t belong, they soon become an active distraction.

Top-billed Schurer was born in Naples in 1942 and made her screen debut at the age of 18 in 1960. After a couple of minor roles in Spaghetti Westerns toward the end of the decade, she made her first notable appearances in Alberto Cavallone’s ‘Salamander/Le salamandre’ (1969) and as the lead in tatty horror-Giallo ‘The Doll of Satan/La bambola di Satana’ (1969). Lead roles in crime dramas, comedies, adventure films, and horror movies followed, although it’s fair to say that they are pretty obscure titles. A supporting role in ‘Strip Nude for Your Killer/Nude per l’assassino’ (1975) was her final flirtation with the Giallo, and she moved increasingly to television in the years that followed. Her final film appearance was a supporting role in obscure horror ‘Spectre/Spettri’ (1987) which starred Donald Pleasance.

A dreary thriller that was almost certainly pieced together from elements of an unfinished project.

Maciste Against the Sheik/Maciste contro lo sceicco/Samson Against the Sheik (1962)

‘The obelisk will avenge me!’

The Moors are kicked out of Spain, but seeking revenge, forces from Malaga follow them back across the sea to their home. The Spaniards are eventually defeated in battle, but they pull down a sacred obelisk in retreat. The leader of the Moors swears revenge for this desecration…

More muscleman exploits from Italy, with American Ed Fury pitting his might against the forces of greed and injustice. Domenico Paolella directs from a script co-written with Gian Paolo Callegari, Alessandro Ferraù, Alberto Manca and Sergio Sollima.

The invading Moors have been driven out of Spain, but the Duke of Malaga (Giuseppe Addobbati) leads his army in pursuit back to their holy city of Melida. The forces of the local Sheik (Erno Crisa) defeat them, and Addobbati is taken prisoner, although he manages to hide his true identity. Outraged by the attack on a scared obelisk, Crisa arranges for the kidnapping of Addobbati’s daughter, Isabella (Gisella Arden).

When she is snatched, her betrothed Antonio (Massimo Carocci) is determined to mount a rescue operation. However, he gets little encouragement from Addobbati’s brother, Ramiro (Piero Lulli), who is acting as temporary governor of Malaga. Instead, he turns for help to his old friend, Maciste (Ed Fury), and the two embark on this hazardous mission, not knowing that Addobbati is still alive in Crisa’s dungeon.

Another chapter in the heroic exploits of Italian strongman, Maciste, who had first appeared in a long-running series of silent films ending in 1927. When the Peplum craze began after the International success of ‘Hercules/Le fatiche di Ercole’ (1958), the character was revived for a largely unconnected series of new adventures that ran for only five years but comprised 25 films. As the character was largely unknown outside his native land, English-language releases found him rechristened, mostly as Hercules, but occasionally as Samson, Goliath, and even Atlas.

Although these films had a fixed story template, for the most part, occasional entries did vary the formula a little. Paolella’s film falls into this category, giving the action a specific historical setting, the 1500s, and an unusual backdrop of the conflict between the Moors and the Spaniards. For once, there is no evil Queen or usurper on the throne levying ridiculous taxes on the poor. However, that will likely be high on Lulli’s ‘to-do’ list if he gets his hands on the dukedom of Malaga on a permanent basis. Fury also refuses the usual cup of drugged wine that lay low many a Peplum hero, and it’s pleasing to think that this was intended as a sly poke at the clichés of the genre.

Also, Crisa is more of an opponent for Fury rather than an out-and-out villain, the script remaining fairly even-handed concerning the two sides in the conflict. Of course, the script offers up no deep political thinking or cultural comparisons; this is popcorn entertainment. However, it’s nice to see at least some semblance of grey underpinning the drama rather than the usual stark contrast of black and white. However, Crisa’s actions do lead to the brutal, and quite surprising, slaughter of a couple of the supporting characters, one of which is the comedy relief! If this was intended to keep the audience firmly on Fury’s side, it certainly works.

The leading men in these movies were cast more for their physique than their acting experience. However, Fury has an appealing screen presence and proves fairly adept with the scattered moments of humour as well as the physical action. Sadly, some of that is not particularly well-staged, including his interactions with a stuffed lion, who engages him in the shortest man vs big cat fight on record. Blink, and you’ll probably miss about half of it.

There are some good moments, though, such as Fury’s entry into the Sheik’s harem, unrolling out of a rug like a muscleman version of Cleopatra. His trial of strength involves being chained to a rock in public and attacked by five separate gladiators. Serious credit must go to the casting director here, who managed to find five of the biggest, meanest-looking hard men in film history. The resolution to the conflict is surprising too, and a refreshing change from the usual pitched battle when the rebels storm the villain’s stronghold. However, the final scenes featuring Lulli’s inevitable demise are a distinct letdown.

One curious thing is the designation of Crisa’s character as a Sheik. Possibly the filmmakers were uninformed, but a Sheik is generally the head of a nomadic Arabic tribe, while the Moors were Muslims, usually governed by a Caliph. One possible explanation is that the silent Maciste faced off against a Sheik in ‘Maciste vs the Sheik/Maciste contro lo secco (1925). If relying on name recognition of a property almost 40 years old seems a bit of a stretch, it is worth remembering that the silent films were hugely popular in their day.

Paolella had more than two decades of experience as a director before taking the reins for Maciste’s tussle with the Sheik. He made his name with comedies and musicals, but by the early 1960s, he was mostly delivering swashbucklers and historical adventures. This film was his first venture into Peplum, but far from his last. Further titles included ‘Ursus, the Rebel Gladiator/Ursus gladiatore ribelle’ (1962), ‘Maciste Against the Mongols/Maciste contro i Mongoli/Hercules Against the Mongols’ (1964), ‘Maciste nell’inferno di Gengis Khan/Hercules Against the Barbarians’ (1964), ‘Hercules and the Tyrants of Babylon/Ercole contro i tiranni di Babilonia’ (1964) and ‘Goliath at the Conquest of Bagdad/Golia alla conquista di Bagdad/Goliath at the Conquest of Damascus’ (1964). When the popularity of the Peplum faded, he made hopeless Eurospy ‘Agent S 03: Operation Atlantis’ (1965) and two Spaghetti Westerns, including ‘Hate for Hate/Odio per Odio’ (1967).

Nothing special, but straying from the established Peplum formula does bring some rewards.

Strip Nude for Your Killer/Nude per l’assassino (1975)

‘I feel too hot to be a corpse, baby!’

When a young photographic model dies of a heart attack, it precipitates a series of brutal slayings by a mysterious killer. Two employees at the same studio try to unmask the killer before it’s their turn…

Somewhat slight, by the numbers Giallo mystery with an emphasis on nudity and sex. Andrea Bianchi originated the story and directs a cast that includes Edwige Fenech, Nino Castelnuovo and Femi Benussi.

Pretty photographic model Eveline (Giuseppa Meschella) has a fatal cardiac arrest during a backstreet abortion being carried out by Dr. Giulio De Castelli (Gianni Airò). It’s a tragic accident, but the medico enlists the help of photographer Carlo Gunther (Nino Castelnuovo) to move the body to her house so that her death will not seem suspicious. A short time later, Airò is brutally murdered on his doorstep by someone clad in black leather whose face is hidden by a motorcycle helmet.

Meschella worked at the Albatross Photographic Agency, a studio owned by Maurizio Pozzani (Franco Diogene) and run by his wife, Gisella Mayer (Amanda). Castelnuovo, along with Mario Ferreri (Claudio Pellegrini), is one of their freelance photographers. They usually work with a team of models, including Doris (Erna Schurer), Patrizia (Solvi Stubing) and Stefano (Wainer Verri). Castelnuovo brings new face Lucia Cerezer (Femi Benussi) to the studio, which incurs the displeasure of camera assistant Magda (Fenech). Later that night, Pellegrini breaks into the studio and, the following day is found stabbed to death in his apartment.

When a film opens with a sedated woman undergoing a gynaecological procedure, it’s probably fair to say the audience isn’t likely to hold high hopes for the following 90 minutes. Unfortunately, these low expectations prove justified in this poorly developed Giallo, which follows the familiar ‘serial killer’ template established by Dario Argento’s ‘The Bird with the Crystal Plumage/L’uccello dalle piume di cristallo’ (1970) but with none of the invention, style or quality. It still manages a passable level of entertainment due to a professional presentation and cast, but the production only just about squeezes by.

However, it’s obvious that writer-director Bianchi’s main priority is showing beautiful women without their clothes on and, in that, he succeeds admirably. The presence of the gorgeous duo of Fenech and Benussi makes that a slam dunk, of course, and the audience has no reason to feel short-changed in that department. The emphasis on sex does make for some rather silly moments, though, not least when Benussi wanders around naked when she thinks there’s an intruder in Amanda’s apartment (wouldn’t she at least put a robe on!?) Later on, Fenech and Castelnuovo learn of a late-night blackmail drop that involves Amanda, but they decide to have sex rather than inform the police. In a very lengthy sequence, Diogene attempts to rape Schurer before she agrees to have sex with him, only for him to fail to perform. Is it relevant to the plot? Not really. It doesn’t even set him up as a viable suspect, as it’s clearly not a seriously overweight middle-aged man in those leathers, and he’s sliced and diced right afterwards, anyway.

All these developments have led to the film’s somewhat sleazy reputation, probably reinforced by the English dub track, which provides the quality of stilted dialogue often found in more adult cinematic ventures. But the main problem here is Castelnuovo’s character. On the rare occasions that a film has an asshole for a hero, it’s usually an intentional decision, but here it seems as if we’re really supposed to regard this creep as one of the good guys. We meet him initially at a public pool, where he abandons his friends to follow the stunning Benussi, taking photos as he goes, pestering her with his apparent connections to high fashion magazines. She’s not in the least bit interested, but he’s not to be dissuaded. Five minutes later, he’s taking off her bikini for some candid shots in the public sauna, which is followed by sex.

But it doesn’t end there. Shortly after bringing Benussi to the studio, other things besides the occasional photograph start developing in the darkroom. Fenech, previously just a work colleague, follows him in, locks the door and falls victim to a serious wardrobe malfunction. It’s the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Never mind that he’s frequently patronising and half strangles her when she dares to question him. She’s not in the least bothered about that afterwards, either, despite the fact there’s a killer on the loose connected to the studio. He’s just excellent boyfriend material, I guess! Worst of all, he never faces any consequences for helping conceal the circumstances of Meschella’s death at the start of the film, despite having sent her to Airò for the abortion in the first place. Was he the father of her baby, then? Well, who cares? We never find out, and he’s the hero, so it doesn’t matter. Responsibility is a dirty word, after all.

Leaving aside such unpleasant considerations, there are also issues with the mystery itself. When the killer is revealed, it’s not surprising, but, at the same time, it doesn’t make all that much sense. It’s not hard to guess their identity because all the other suspects are dead by then, bar those who can be safely excluded because they have been directly targeted already. However, this final reveal contradicts an early scene unless you assume that the killer was reacting specifically for the benefit of an unseen audience. There’s also the puzzling matter of the photographs that the killer wants at the beginning, which seems massively essential to the plot but ends up meaning nothing at all. The killer really likes turning on taps before going to work, apparently, with victims plagued by the sound of running water as they’re stalked through their darkened apartments. We get a hint that this means something, but, of course, it doesn’t. It’s almost as if screenwriter Massimo Felisatti knocked out the first draft of his script in a rush and never had the opportunity to get back to it again. Given the breakneck speed with which some Italian genre films of the time were written, shot and released, that’s a definite possibility!

What the production does have going for it is a decent level of production value and a professional cast. Fenech can only do little with her thankless role but has screen personality to burn and is always watchable. The cinematography by Franco Delli Colli is excellent, especially in the night scenes, and, to their credit, he and Bianchi manage some fine shot compositions and a visual quality that the material doesn’t really merit. The kills are brief but quite bloody, and there’s a nice quota of suspense, particularly in an extended scene where Fenech is menaced in the studio after the lights go out. There’s also a strong score from Berto Pisano, who favours funky baselines, a wandering trumpet and the wordless female vocalisations much loved by maestro Ennio Morricone.

After some second-unit work on the adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s ‘Treasure Island’ (1972) that starred Orson Welles, Bianchi got his first real opportunity on the controversial horror drama ‘Night Hair Child’ (1972). Allegedly brought in by producer Harry Alan Towers to up the exploitation factor, the resulting film and its themes of underage sex, incest and murder landed on the wrong side of the censor’s desk in several territories and was probably not the first item on the CV of stars Mark Lester, Britt Ekland, Harry Andrews and Lilli Palmer. Subsequently, Bianchi found his career firmly centred in Italian cinema, and he worked on a variety of projects, including comedies, horror films and crime pictures. Some of the actors he directed included Henry Silva, Carroll Baker, Adolfo Celi, and Barbara Bouchet. However, it’s notable that after the 1970s, very few of his cast members had any international name recognition. The only exception to this was ‘Maniac Killer’ (1987), a poorly-regarded B-grade horror that starred Christopher ‘Son of Robert’ Mitchum, Bo Svenson and Chuck ‘The Rifleman’ Connors.

If you’re prepared to forgive the weak plotting and the outdated attitudes, there are far worse ways of spending 90 minutes than in the company of Edwige Fenech and Femi Benussi.