Reviews

As with most filmmakers who work in themes, you should watch this to see Chase's perspective on the material, not for the story itself. Its seemingly formless structure will throw off some viewers, but it's very much in line with his body of work, being less about the music and the era and more about the effects of the passage of time, specifically the tug of the past on the present and the evolution of character (or not) as the years go by. It's an autobiographical elaboration on the themes in the dark and sad final seasons of the Sopranos, though it does have plenty of the usual witty Chase touches as well, like the kids dancing away the JFK retrospective. There's a pervasive sense of nostalgia because the setting feels realistic, neither idealistic like a Spielberg/Lucas movie nor revisionist like the progressive Pleasantville-type movies whose intention is to show us all how the past wasn't as enlightened as today. The downside is that it's such a well-covered period and milieu (for my generation The Wonder Years is the reference point) that it's hard to find something original to say. But go in with the understanding that it's more complex than it appears and it'll give you plenty to chew on afterward. At one point the lead and his girlfriend are watching Blow-Up and he comments on how strange it is there's no music to tell you when someone's going to get killed, and she replies that the sound of the wind in the trees is the music, which sums up this movie pretty well.

Although this carries a release date of 2009, it looks and sounds like it was shot earlier, a fact reflected by the early to mid-2000's slang and phraseology in the dialog. If I'm right, it may be one of the first mumblecore movies, predating all of them except FUNNY HA HA.

And yet the mumblecore rubric doesn't entirely fit. There's a callousness to the humor reminiscent of the East German "Lustigetote" (humorous deaths) musicals of the 60's made just after the erection of the Wall, indicating to me at least a sociopathy on the part of the director. Although he's assembled an impressive cast, its oppressive atmosphere of institutional insanity brings to mind MARAT/SADE, but with a subversion more cultural than political. Like Springsteen's masterful "Jack of All Trades" this movie's litany of crimes against Michael eventually threatens to overwhelm the viewer unless resolved by violence--of the spiritual kind. I credit director Connolly's no-nonsense directing for this, but I wouldn't necessarily stand in front of him on a subway platform when there's a train approaching.

In short, if the Nazis had made mumblecore movies, they would have looked like this.

This time there's one female lead choosing between two men, something pretty rare in a medium usually fueled by male fantasies. Charlotte is a young middle-class married woman having an affair with an actor. She has promised her lover she'll divorce her husband, but an unplanned pregnancy makes her question that decision. The film follows her as she attempts to decide between them.

Like other Godard films that followed it (Masculin/Feminin, 2 or 3 Things, Made in USA) one of the primary themes here is the extent to which a modern individual's life is manipulated by commercial culture, and how it influences the choices we make. Perhaps because he had yet to fully mature as a filmmaker, this theme is much less subtle here than in those later films. Charlotte is barraged with nonsensical beauty ads and Cosmo-type articles about achieving the "perfect breast size," and in one famous shot is literally dwarfed by a billboard of "the perfect woman" in a bra. The height of social control is reached in the form of an absurd device her lover gives her that hooks around her waist like a belt and sounds an alarm every time her posture slackens. The effect of this visual over-stimulation on her is pernicious. Like the magazine ads we're shown, her thoughts (heard in voice-over) are fragmented and incoherent, indecisive and ultimately meaningless.

The other recurring Godardian theme appearing here is the commodification of the female body. To her bourgeois husband, who represents the patriarchal tradition and middle-class status quo, she's more an object to be protected (like the records he brings back from Germany) and exploited (he rapes her when she won't make love) than a human being to be understood. Ironically, his unwillingness to forgive a past infidelity and his possessive jealousy only compels her more to see freedom in a lover. But unlike her husband, who treats her like a commercial object, her lover treats her as a sex object ("Is it still love when it's from behind?" she wonders early in the film) and seems interested only in her body. Her scenes with him are composed of tightly-framed shots of his hand stroking her naked body, shots resembling the photographs selling stockings and bras in her magazines. Her lover literally sees her as a whole person only once, when she goes up on the roof naked. Accordingly, he gets angry, out of possessiveness. Godard's dim view of the condition of modern woman sees her as unable to break free of her past (her husband) due to the self-sufficiency and humanity she's denied in the present. As she ages, a woman's role goes from sex object to status-based commodity, and society teaches her that to think otherwise is wrong. This is a concept still ahead of its time today, when violent, over-sexualized junk like the Tomb Raider movies are sold as female empowerment.

As with most of Godard's films, there are always several things going on at once, and this capsule review barely scratches the surface. In the context of his career, the film is best understood as an early version of 2 or 3 Things I Know About Her, which he made three years later and is unquestionably better. By that film, Godard had learned to synthesize his social, emotional, and political themes into one seamless whole, discarding the artificial narrative conventions that serve him no purpose. This one, while no classic, is essential viewing for anyone interested in Godard's progression from brilliant filmmaker to serious artist.

They tried hard. They did. But this shot-on-DV feature suffers from all the flaws low-budget horror movies always do: horrible music, uneven acting, cheap/obscure effects, and predictability. It's good to see that movies like this are still being made and getting theatrical releases, but a shame it wasn't better.

The English-language print of this movie is incoherent. It adds stupid Vietnam footage throughout and cuts out all references to the fact that it takes place in England, as well as all the sexual violence, the lesbian relationship between the killer's wife and her maid, and the killer's "masturbation" scene. In the European version there are three killers but here there are only two, and the ending is completely different. The American version adds two murders that were left on the cutting room floor of the European version, but they're unimportant to the story. The final third of this movie has sequences that are basically incomprehensible and the film ends with a tacked-on series of stills from different sex scenes from the film! This may have satisfied the grind house audience of the Seventies but nearly thirty years later it just seems tame and silly. Anchor Bay needs to find the full version of this one and get it out on dvd. As it stands now it's a disappointment.

Director Tonino Valerii is best known in the USA for the spaghetti western "My Name is Nobody," but "My Dear Killer" is no less an excellent example of the giallo genre than "Nobody" was to its own. The plot revolves around a series of murders committed by an unknown assailant intent on keeping the deaths of a small child and her father unsolved. As is the case with most gialli, there's a detective one step behind the murderer, a lush and creepy music score (this time by Morricone), a houseful of suspects, creative and illogical murders, and a downbeat and melancholy plot. What elevates this one above all the others made in that banner year for the genre (1971), though, is the detail given to the script and production. The characters are all fully formed and functional to the story, which itself is well thought-out and clever. The resolution is well-handled, and even if the killer's identity is impossible to guess beforehand, the means in which he (or she) is finally discovered will make you smile. Add to this one of the saddest musical-score main themes in movie history, featuring a woman's voice singing a haunting child's melody, and you have a giallo that fans of the genre should definitely not miss.

After a brutal and attention-grabbing opening murder, this movie settles into a predictable rut. Riccardo Freda seems content to borrow the conventions of the giallo genre--such as giving the killer a recognizable trait like a limp, and then having half the characters in the film limp in various scenes--but manages to suck the life out of them, leaving a rather slow-moving film. Freda is considered a top-notch Italian director but it's hard to see why, especially since his protege had outclassed him and positively defined the genre the year before. Still, it's done with enough care to have (apparently) taught Brian DePalma a thing or two when it came to "Dressed to Kill," and the finale has a jaw-dropping viciousness to it that has to be seen to be believed, involving a nude 16 year-old, an old woman and a completely berserk black-gloved killer. It's just a shame that the scenes between the violent ones aren't more involving and interesting.

By 1974 the giallo genre was running out of steam and the films were getting more complicated, more violent and altogether weirder in an attempt to keep viewers coming. Director Umberto Lenzi made two that year, this one and the equally absurd Eyeball, leaving one to hope that Lenzi was putting the audience on and not the stark raving lunatic the films give the impression he was. Whereas Eyeball is a more conventional giallo, with a hooded killer picking off a variety of unwitting victims, Spasmo is more of a "Gaslight"-inspired venture. Someone may be trying to drive the irrepressible Robert Hoffman mad, but he needs little help, and the last fifteen minutes contain the strangest twists I've yet seen in a giallo. Those looking for a stylish thriller will be disappointed by the plant-the-camera-and-shoot direction, and don't expect anything like a plot that's worth following or characters with any relation to human beings. What makes it worth seeing is the genuinely dream-like story, linear yet impossible to follow, and the way each sequence transition requires a twisted justification by the viewer to accept that Yes, maybe it is possible that someone would do this. Here and there a haunting Morricone score comes in, sad and lovely as the one in "My Dear Killer," and there are inexplicable scenes of an unseen man stabbing female dolls, his identity revealed only at the very end in one the finale's many left-field twists. The only giallo remotely comparable to this one is Death Laid An Egg, and at least that had the excuse of being from the 1960's and (I assume) the use of mind-altering chemicals by its creators. I can't imagine what state of mind the filmmakers of this mini-classic were in while making it, but you'd be hard-pressed to find another film like it.

De Sica's below-average score notwithstanding (and they do count a lot in these movies, don't they?) this is a satisfying giallo with all the key elements included and none of them bungled. Granted, a lot of those key elements are ripped right from other movies, and the direct influence of Psycho, Black Belly of the Tarantula, Blood and Black Lace, Lizard in a Woman's Skin and most of all Cat O'Nine Tails doesn't win it points for creativity, but it's all handled as though it were the first film ever made so you don't really mind. The plot, with its typically and gloriously dumb motive for the killings (in this case a car crash in the past, as was the case with Seven Orchids Stained in Blood) moves along at a fair pace, and making the hero blind gives him a sympathetic attraction most giallo heroes lack. It's not as good as any of the films from which it's descended but nevertheless a solid entry in the genre.

Despite some unfavorable reviews (notably Adrian Smith's), this is a classic giallo that really works. The puzzle of the half moon lockets is classic Edgar Wallace and is the tenuous thread that connects the set-piece murders and keeps the story moving. Sabato and Glass race around to solve the mystery and clear Sabato's name but, as per usual, the killer is one step ahead of them. It all ends in a hand to hand fight in a swimming pool that's a cut above the usual giallo climax, and everything is nicely resolved. In 1972 plot still mattered to the giallo genre (1973's Torso would change that) and the films were a lot better for it. This one goes high on the list of gialli and was a peak for Umberto Lenzi.

Under-rated giallo with a linear and coherent plot, rare enough in this genre, thanks to the Edgar Wallace source material. Not quite up to Solange (also based on a Wallace novel) in terms of style or impact but better than Lenzi's Eyeball and Spasmo. Weak points: bland leading man and typically unmemorable Ortolani score. Aside from a drill scene, the violence is restrained. Good dubbing and fair enough English dialogue translation in the Greek video I saw. Recommended as a second-tier giallo.

Franco Prosperi must really get off on killing animals, between this and all the shockumentaries he's done. This one's got some great sequences (shot in Frankfurt-am-Main) but never lives up to its great premise. Filmed entirely at night, the direction is clumsy and only rarely suspenseful. It's never boring or predictable but not terribly exciting or original, either. Though if you've waited all your life to see a naked woman get eaten by rats, here's your chance.

The kids-in-the-woods genre isn't a hard one to rise to the top in, yet this film succeeds on its own. A genuinely well-made horror movie with several truly original, creepy images (the man coming out the waterfall!) and an excellent hand-to-hand combat finale. Shot on a genuine shoestring, this film betters by miles any of the studio-financed atrocities that came in the wake of the first Friday. I found the acting and dialogue convincing, at least for horror movie standards. And the photography is grainy and low-fi in an ominous way, without looking unprofessional. This is one of the best horror films of the 1980's, seriously underrated.

They can...THEY CAN! Easily the most entertaining (and rewatchable) film ever made, if not quite the best. It's got more quotable lines than any other film I've ever seen, Duck Soup included. An acquired taste, how much you like it will depend on how familiar you are with the stereotypical movies it resembles...barely resembles. Those who haven't seen too many horror movies usually just think it's badly made, with bad acting, bad effects, etc., and completely miss the surrealist heights it hits. Imagine taking your run-of-the-mill late nite cheapo horror flick and stripping it of any logic or pretense of plausibility, cast a bunch of the MOST unprofessional actors you can find, and rewrite the dialogue at the end of a bad acid trip. No wannabe cult hit, it was apparently made with the best intentions, and we all know what the devil does with those! The director's called it "an unpretentious childrens' story," overlooking the obscenely cruel ending, which jars the relatively light-hearted mood of the first 92 minutes of the film. Not to be missed.

I don't know how this plays in Italian, but boy does the dubbing do a number on this one. A woman hits the door of a car with her bike and apologizes by saying, "I'm sorry, I was thinking of Boston." A man reveals why he's so smart by admitting: "I eat oodles of carrots." And the killer went mad because, in the professional words of a doctor, "it was the duck that snapped in his brain." This film alternates between revelling in sleaze and the upper limits of graphic violence, and playing out some of the funniest dialogue scenes this side of "Troll 2." My favorite was the anti-American speech one character stops the film to give about how "if you're not the best in America, you're nothing!" In reality only about 10 minutes were shot in NY, the rest in reliable old Cinecitta. And like my fellow commentators I have absolutely no idea why Fulci thought a killer who uses a Donald Duck voice would be scary, but it isn't, and in fact is one of the funniest things I've ever seen, no doubt robbing the Zucker Bros of a good idea for a future horror spoof. (Carrie 2 paid homage to it in one scene BTW.) Once upon a time in a very good film Fulci warned us not to torture ducklings, presumably because they'd end up as adult killer-ducks in hilariously awful movies like this.

A detective searches for the identity and killer of a young woman found dead on the beach, wearing only a pair of yellow pajamas; meanwhile, a friend of the dead woman sets off on the road to avoid being the next victim. That's not all there is, but the central idea behind this film's construction is so brilliant I can't say any more. The end is such a surprise that you'll either be blown away or feel ripped off. It plays with story construction in a way I've never seen done before, one that's begging to be copied by some high-profile indie here in the US. Film school buffs will dig it and find a lot to argue about, others might be confused or annoyed. Ray Milland is good but kind of decrepit-looking, here in the evening of his career; the chief culprits in this film are the pop songs that they repeat endlessly (though catchy). I'd love to see reactions to this one; I recommend it highly.

It's considered a classic in Italy, and it's not hard to see why. It's got a great locale, a creepy premise, and good acting. The mood (playing off Italians' stereotypes of their southern regions the way 2000 Maniacs and Texas Chainsaw Massacre play off Americans' ideas of the Deep South) is one of foreboding throughout, and you really start to feel something ominous coming, despite the fact that not much happens till the end. The big "surprise" at the end is pretty jaw-dropping, despite the fact that it's been ripped off by a high-profile US movie since, which takes away some of its thunder. The movie's biggest debit is a very graphic, disturbing and completely unnecessary rape/murder scene that I found despicable, destroying a lot of the faith I had in the movie up to it; it ranks with I Spit on Your Grave as the most hateful and cruel rape scene in cinema, and is beyond any justification.

Argento's best film and the best Italian horror film of the 1970's, much imitated but never equalled. It ranks along Dawn of the Dead, Halloween and The Exorcist as a high water mark in the post-NightOTLDead horror genre, and holds up much better to repeated viewings than Argento's more famous "Suspiria" does. Only here was he able to balance plot and style without losing himself in one or the other (he was too much plot, not enough style before this, and the opposite afterwards), though "Tenebrae" is a nice try. This one's overloaded with creepiness, whether it's the freaky dolls or the little girl who hates lizards. Avoid the severely cut, panned-and-scanned, faded and washed-out HBO video print at all costs. My favorite cut is the 104min. Jap laser. The full 120min. version has a lot of dumb, mood-interrupting comedy and drags a lot. In hindsight Argento seems to prefer the 104min., as he cut that one especially for the laser. And if you can't see it letterboxed, read a book instead.

Second in Dallamano's schoolgirls-getting-killed trilogy, it's not as good as Who's Next? (Solange) but not bad in its own right. The killer is someone who rides a motorino (hey, it is Italy!) and never takes off his/her riding helmet, ala Magnum Force, the 2nd Dirty Harry film. This one's more exciting than scary, as the police hunt down this maniac. He's one of the cooler villains in film history though, because unlike the traditional drag-ass killer, this guy never speaks and just RUNS at you with a machete. He really SPRINTS at top speed, which is actually very scary, especially to a jaded horror buff used to the Michael Myers/Jason/zombie method of ambling on over to their victims, who usually have to trip in order to be caught. And there's one scene involving a light switch that will make you jump out of your undies. Stelvio Cipriani's score is again top-notch (he later reused part of it for Tentacles), the dubbing tolerable.

An innocent teacher is suspected of a really sick series of murders (after this film, the verb "to solange" should have been added to the dictionary) and must clear himself, ala Hitchcock. Supposedly based on one of Edgar Wallace's books (there _is_ a hidden room), they still must have taken an awful lot of creative license. Joe D'Amato uses the 2.35 frame as only a style-uber-content DP can, though Dallamano deserves a lot of credit for making the story so engrossing. Morricone's score is truly haunting (available on CD with his score for Lenzi's "Spasmo"), adding a note of sadness to the gruesome proceedings. As with the best horror, there's nothing explicit in the murder scenes, wisely leaving the details of the truly hideous murders to the viewers' imaginations. ("Giallo in Venice" also featured a murderer solanging a victim but ruined it by showing the whole thing.) This one's definitely worth checking out, though widescreen is a must.

It inspired the slasher genre in terms of violence (cool ways to kill people, as opposed to horrifying) but its influence really stops there. A purposely twisted plot full of twisted people, all done with tongue twisted firmly in cheek (take note of the juxtaposition of insanely graphic murders immediately followed by impressionistic shots of abandoned cars, the sun setting over the bay, etc., set to nothing more than Cipriani's stark and beautiful piano theme), it's horror camp played very, very straight. Bava had too great a sense of humor to take his movies seriously, and his best later efforts (this, Danger: Diabolik!, House of Exorcism) showed him playing and commenting on the genres he was working in, rather than submitting to them. This is my favorite Bava film for those reasons, and this: it's just so much fun! Wildly stylish, it also features cinema's greatest rack focus, starting in close on a drop of rain running down a window pane, racking to the leaves on the trees outside in the yard, and finishing on a house ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BAY! At night, no less!! None of my cinematographically inclined friends have been able to figure out how he got the light needed to use a lens long enough to get that shot; he was his own DP on this one, too. A wild ride to be sure, and absolutely unique among horror films.

One of the best gialli to come out of Italy in the 1969-77 period, it's very stylish and (of course) convoluted, but always interesting and ultimately quite clever. For once the solution to the mystery actually matters (and makes sense!), and the motive behind the murders and the finale are worthy of Agatha Christie. I highly recommend it. Great soundtrack too, I just bought the CD.

Part giallo and part drama, this movie's been overlooked by both the "mainstream" critics and the Italian-horror fans alike, and that's a shame, because it's one of Italy's more serious genre efforts of the 70's. The distraught father's race to find his kidnapped daughter before the police do, is both tense and poignant. It's free of the exploitative elements most genre films have, and along with Tessari's other thriller (Bloodstained Butterfly), one of the most mature Italian thillers of the decade. The ending is painful without being gratuitous, and well above something Hollywood could handle: compare the father's obsession to find the girl in this to Cage's in 8MM and be amazed at how crassly the latter is constructed. See this one!