Review #1,264: 'The Beguiled' (1971)

As the opening titles of The Beguiled flicker by with a collection of grainy photographs from the brutal American Civil War, it would seem we're in familiar tough, manly action territory, especially when the names of Don Siegel and Clint Eastwood flash on screen. These feelings appear to be confirmed as Eastwood grizzled Union officer John McBurney comes into shot, clearly wounded and hanging on for dear life following a bloody battle with Confederate soldiers. He is discovered by Amy (Pamelyn Ferdin), a 12 year old student at the nearby Seminary for Young Ladies, who quickly takes a keen interest in the handsome but battered young man. As some bloodthirsty Confederate soldiers trot by and they are forced to hide, John plants a lingering kiss on the child's mouth, which immediately cause feelings of discomfort for the viewer. No, The Beguiled is not your typical Siegel tough-guy actioner, but something all the more fascinating and complex.

John is eventually smuggled back into the school run by Miss Martha Farnsworth (Geraldine Page), a woman with a secretive past of her own. She wants the Union soldier gone immediately, but the soldier is charming and badly wounded, so she and the fellow ladies of the school tend to his injured leg and give him a bed. He is kept under lock and key, but he is often visited by the curious ladies, including virginal teacher Edwina (Elizabeth Hartman) and precocious 17 year old student Carol (Jo Ann Harris). With Martha still insistent on turning him over to Confederate troops once he has regained his strength, John seizes the chance to seduce as many of them as he can, taking full advantage of their time away from men and natural curiosity towards the opposite sex. He becomes unnervingly comfortable with his methods of manipulation, and is soon playing the women off one another. But these ladies have seen it all before, whether it be a father, a sibling or a drunken soldier stumbling onto the school grounds with cruel intentions.

The Beguiled is a film about jealousy, sexuality and bitterness, so it's no surprise that it flopped and didn't go down well with fans of Siegel's tougher, more straight-laced output. The film also threatens to venture into horror territory, as emotions begin to spill over and John's scheming becomes apparent. There were cries of misogyny upon the film's release, but although the claim is certainly open for debate, this is not a film by a director who hates women. To label the film misogynist would be to cruelly over-simplify it, as the likes of Martha and Edwina aren't just coy women to be easily taken advantage of, but incredibly complex characters both scarred and enlightened by past experiences with men. John is clearly the most loathsome character, an evil man who uses his physicality and charm to worm his way into their lives and gain their trust, and Siegel makes little attempt to make him sympathetic. It's an incredibly claustrophobic and intense experience, with career-best performances from Page and Hartman. It is Siegel's favourite of his extensive filmography, and it isn't difficult to see why.


Directed by: Don Siegel
Starring: Clint Eastwood, Geraldine Page, Elizabeth Hartman, Jo Ann Harris, Pamelyn Ferdin
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,124: '10 Rillington Place' (1971)

Director Richard Fleischer had already documented the activities and eventual incarceration of a real-life serial killer in The Boston Strangler (1968), casting a lauded actor against type and bringing out a terrific performance in the process. Strangler is an invigorating psychological thriller, with the murders committed by Tony Curtis' Albert Salvo captured rather ingeniously using split-screen, a visual trick that died out rather quickly. With 10 Rillington Place, Fleischer's approach took a rather darker turn, with the colour palette notably muted, the actors underplaying their parts, and a tone much more akin to horror.

Richard Attenborough was mainly known to audiences for his roles as small-town gangster Pinkie Brown in Brighton Rock (1947), the unlucky Big X in The Great Escape (1963) and, much later in his career, the lovable but misguided John Hammond in Jurassic Park (1993). He was usually cast as the nice guy or the voice of reason, and, despite his diminutive stature, he nevertheless had a massive screen presence. This presence is employed to full effect in 10 Rillington Place. As the softly spoken serial killer John Christie, Attenborough turns in one of the best performances of his career. Christie wasn't intimidating or even particularly intelligent, but used his skills of manipulation to lure his victims to their death, and was incredibly lucky to get away with it for so long. The opening scene, set in 1944, sees Christie administrating common household gas cut with a disguising odor to a lady he has promised medicinal treatment to, before strangling her and raping her corpse.

5 years later, and Christie is still living at 10 Rillington Place, a squalid and decaying terraced house in London, with his wife Ethel (Pat Heywood). Married couple Timothy (John Hurt) and Beryl Evans (Judy Geeson) and their infant daughter rent the available flat upstairs, and Christie takes an immediate interest in the young, pretty Beryl. Timothy cannot read or write, and enjoys spending most nights telling outlandish stories in his local pub. When Beryl discovers she is pregnant again without any hope of financially supporting another child, Christie convinces the Evans's to allow him to carry out an abortion, claiming to be a former doctor struck off the register for helping out young girls in the past. The subsequent events lead to one of the most appalling cock-ups in British criminal history, and a very disturbing insight into the mind of a remorseless monster who placed his own sexual desires and gratification above human value.

The aesthetic is pure kitchen-sink, with grimy browns and a grainy image really bringing to life the run-down community that was suffering from the economic downfall experienced by Britain after World War II. The grimy palette matches Christie's complete disregard for human life, making for a truly disturbing atmosphere. Fleischer doesn't seem to be eager to make us sympathise with any of the characters, wisely allowing to let the story to unravel matter-of-factly, but you cannot help but sympathise with Timothy, magnificently played by Hurt, as he fumbles his way through a botched police interrogation and into the courts for a crime he did not commit. If there is a criticism to be had, it would only be that I would have liked more focus on Ethel, a woman who remained silent as she watched her husband lie and commit atrocities, as I'm sure her tale would be as equally fascinating and troubling. Like many households of horrors, 10 Rillington Place has since been knocked down, but Christie's grisly legacy remains one of the most notorious cases of mass-murder in British history.


Directed by: Richard Fleischer
Starring: Richard Attenborough, John Hurt, Judy Geeson, Pat Heywood
Country: UK

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,042: 'Death Walks on High Heels' (1971)

Luciano Ercoli's Death Walks on High Heels begins with the murder of a famed jewel thief on board a train by a balaclava-clad killer with piercing blue eyes. The police suspect the slaying may be linked to a recent heist during which millions of francs worth of goods were taken, and believe that the missing loot is in the possession of the departed's daughter, Nicole Rochard (Nieves Navarro, here billed as Susan Scott), whose life may be in imminent danger. They may just be right, as the beautiful exotic dancer starts to receive phone calls by someone speaking through a voice-changer. After discovering a pair of blue contact lenses at the home of her boyfriend Michel (Simon Andreu), she flees to England with rich admirer Dr. Robert Matthews (Frank Wolff), only to discover that her would-be assassin may still be lurking.

Regularly paired with Ercoli's fellow giallo Death Walks at Midnight, made the following year, Death Walks on High Heels may not contain the same skill for ingeniously-structured set-pieces of Dario Argento or the gore level of Lucio Fulci, but it has in spades that other key ingredient of the giallo - fun. Many of the Italian thrillers to emerge in the 1970's contain a suitably bonkers and convoluted plot, but High Heels can boast one of the best. It's a film in which anyone and everyone could be the one behind the mask, with inexplicable red herrings at every turn and more than a few moments of extensive, but required, exposition. It plays on the camp appeal of the genre, and very much succeeds in doing so.

There's also Nieves Navarro/Susan Scott, who is not only unbelievably gorgeous, but also manages to transcend the usual roles her type of character gets to play in these types of films (eye candy) and stands out as a playful presence. She also delivers a marvellously bizarre performance in the first of her exotic dance shows we get to see it, which she performs in blackface while wearing a trimmed afro wig as Wolff looks on utterly enamoured. It's weirdly endearing, and highlights the void between now and then in terms of our attitudes towards political correctness. If you try and piece the puzzle together yourself, you'll probably leave yourself in a spin. Like many of the best gialli the Italians have to offer, view it with a blind acceptance of anything the film throws at you and it'll zip by in a flash.


Directed by: Luciano Ercoli
Starring: Frank Wolff, Nieves Navarro, Simón Andreu, Carlo Gentili
Country: Italy/Spain

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #782: 'Wake in Fright' (1971)

One of the pioneering films of the Australian New Wave, Ted Kotcheff's Wake in Fright was released in 1971 to widespread critical acclaim after a number of successful festival screenings. It was then lost for nearly 40 years, found by the film's editor Anthony Buckley in a bin marked 'for destruction'. The New Wave, which eventually gave birth to Ozploitation, showed polar opposite views of Australia. The likes of Peter Weir and Nicholas Roeg portrayed the country's mystical, spiritual beauty, while movies like Mad Dog Morgan (1976) and Mad Max (1979) exploited the country's rough-and-tumble reputation.

Wake in Fright is somewhere in between - a nightmarish journey into the heart of man's primitive instincts, and into a country in which the inhabitants of back-road towns welcome you with aggressive hospitality. Yet there's something oddly alluring about the sweaty, dusty streets of Bundanyabba ('The Yabba') and it's collection of disturbingly eccentric gamblers and alcoholics. Gary Bond's mild-mannered schoolteacher, John Grant, finds himself in The Yabba on route to Sydney to see his girlfriend, but circumstance and insistence means he can't get out. It's simple-minded townsfolk and excessive beer-swilling attitudes repulse him, but the animal inside of him becomes addicted, and he ends up losing all of his money on a simple game of heads-and-tails.

God bless the persistence of Anthony Buckley, as Wake in Fright is a terrifying masterpiece. At times, it's incredibly difficult to watch. It's a relentless barrage of warm beer, unbearable heat and extreme masculinity, where the only cure to a head-pounding hangover is to gulp more warm beer. Grant meets Doc Tydon (Donald Pleasence - never better), an alcoholic doctor who left his home and job to take residence in the Yabba, a place where his drunken, often violent behaviour is not only accepted, but gives him a social standing, and his idiosyncrasies are celebrated. Doc is Grant's mirror-image, or at least an image of who he could become if he doesn't manage to leave the hell-hole. Doc doesn't need money to survive, he lives on kangaroo stew and favours.

Most of the film's controversy stems from the infamous kangaroo hunt, in which many of the creatures are blasted apart by Doc, Grant, and two other men. This scene is less stomach-churning than the scenes in Cannibal Holocaust (1980), but is a hundred times more unnerving. But there's an odd beauty to the scene, especially when one of the group decides to take one on with a knife in a thrilling encounter. And that sums Wake in Fright up, its utterly repellent, yet you can't take your eyes away. The Yabba's inhabitants celebrate everything with a drink, gulp it down like there's no tomorrow, and are completely perplexed if you refuse. It's ugly, brutal stuff about man's potential for ugliness and brutality, but also a commentary on man's natural primal urges. I now have three reasons never to visit Australia - spider, snakes, and The Yabba.


Directed by: Ted Kotcheff
Starring: Gary Bond, Donald Pleasence, Chips Rafferty, Sylvia Kay, Jack Thompson
Country: Australia/USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #747: 'The Abominable Dr. Phibes' (1971)

Dr. Phibes (Vincent Price) is quite the talented man. Not only is he a doctor, he is also a successful concert organist and, by the looks of things, some sort of mechanical engineer. He was also married to the beautiful Caroline Munro (who goes uncredited) until Phibes suffered serious facial injuries in a car crash on his way to see his seriously ill wife, who ended up dying on the operating table. Believed dead but instead in hiding and seriously pissed, Phibes begins to hunt down and imaginatively murder the nine doctors he holds responsible for failing to save his wife, building up to Dr. Versalius (Joseph Cotten), in the style of the Ten Plagues of Egypt from the Old Testament.

It would be easy and indeed lazy to label Dr. Phibes as camp. With it's wildly colourful sets and outlandish performances (Price is wonderfully over-the-top), this shares more with the kitschy futuristic feel of A Clockwork Orange, which came out the same year, than, say, the original Batman TV series. All realism is left firmly at the door, as we are introduced to Phibes, sat hunched and wildly bashing his organ (no euphemism intended), in the middle of what appears to be some kind of macabre ceremony. Left unable to speak following his accident, Phibes has also created a device which, when inserted into his neck, allows him to speak to his dead embalmed wife. It's deliciously free-spirited, never allowing something like logic to get in the way of fun, acid-trip horror.

It shares a lot in terms of narrative with the superior Theatre of Blood (1973) - which is often labelled Dr. Phibes 3 by it's fans - so the film is little more than murder after murder. But it's the inventiveness and the sheer audacity of the set-pieces that makes the movie so much fun. We have death by bats, a doctor who sits back and lets Phibes drain him entirely of his blood, skull-crushing-by-frog-mask, and a face eaten by locusts. There's something morbidly fascinating in watching the predictability of the events unfold, and the murder scenes provide buckets of black humour, in a tamer and more Carry On-style than Theatre. Price is unsurprisingly a joy to watch, while Cotten is surprisingly game. One of the wildest horror films ever made.


Directed by: Robert Fuest
Starring: Vincent Price, Joseph Cotten, Peter Jeffrey, Virginia North
Country: UK/USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #639: 'A Lizard in a Woman's Skin' (1971)

Carol Hammond (Florinda Bolkan), the daughter of a wealthy politician and lawyer, sees a psychiatrist to help deal with her increasingly bizarre and possibly prophetic dreams. In the dream, she is running down a corridor filled with naked, writhing young bodies to meet her neighbour Julia (Anita Strindberg), only to stab her to death. When Julia is found dead for real, stabbed repeatedly with a letter opener, chain-smoking Detective Corvin (Stanley Baker) is brought in, and pulls Carol's prints off Julia's bed and corpse. In what at first becomes an open and shut case, soon develops into a complex mystery where everyone is a suspect.

Italian horror maestro Lucio Fulci is better known for his splatter-fest horror and zombie films, some of which are excellent, some of which are distinctively below par. But his early giallo output is where he seemed to excel most, and A Lizard in a Woman's Skin is one of the finest of the early giallo's, showing Fulci's (and the genre's) flair for beautiful Italian women, gorgeous cinematography, paint-red gore and a mysterious killer. But here there is only one murder, which in itself sets the film aside from most other giallo's, which more often than not revel in their blood-letting. This is slow-building and driven by atmosphere and mystery above all else.

With a jazzy score by the great Ennio Morricone, the film dazzles with two beautifully realised dream sequences, which show Fulci's unrecognised eye for the visual. With the naked flesh of beautiful women combined with the bold colours of the set design and splashings of blood, evoke an LSD trip - with Fulci here dabbling in the hippy scene. But behind it all there is a gripping mystery, one that will keep you guessing until the very, very end. Red herrings pile on top of red herrings, and alibi's are proven and then disproven. It all gets a bit too much, up to the point where you wonder whether the baffled Corvin is just going to give up and arrest himself. But that is the joy of the giallo, pushing things so far to the extreme that they go beyond ridiculous and into sublime surrealism, and A Lizard in a Woman's Skin is one of the finest examples.


Directed by: Lucio Fulci
Starring: Florinda Bolkan, Stanley Baker, Jean Sorel, Silvia Monti
Country: Italy/Spain/France

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #634: 'Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory' (1971)

There have been many movie adaptations of the great Welsh children's author Roald Dahl, to various degrees of success. I used to love his books as a youth, relishing the dark twists and the playful, if somewhat dark, humour. Yet even the best adaptations didn't really capture the sinister themes behind the best of Dahl's works, but that was up until I saw this, Mel Stuart's adaptation of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, one of Dahl's most popular works. As well as being often psychedelic, it is Gene Wilder's wild yet subtle portrayal of the unpredictable and possibly quite evil Willy Wonka that truly captures Dahl's essence.

Poverty-stricken Charlie Bucket (Peter Ostrum) lives in a cramped house with his mother and the bed-ridden Grandpa Joe (Jack Albertson). The news announces that the reclusive Willy Wonka of Wonka's chocolate company is offering a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for five lucky children to come and see his world-famous factory. Five golden tickets have been placed in Wonka Bars throughout the world, and Charlie, finding the fifth and final ticket, arrives with Grandpa Joe along with fellow winners Veruca Salt (Julie Dawn Cole), Violet Beauregarde (Denise Nickerson), Mike Teevee (Paris Themmen) and Augustus Gloop (Michael Bollner) to meet the eccentric inventor.

This is one of those popular films that everyone had seemed to seen apart from me, so I was expecting a familiar family film full of catchy songs and annoying freckly kids. The songs, apart from the famous 'Pure Imagination', are somewhat forgettable, but I was surprised by the effective performance from the children, and the sheer darkness of the film. Apart from the various disappearances of the increasingly bratty, greedy and ungrateful children (who aren't actual seen again), the boat ride that Wonka takes his party on is particularly unnerving. There are bright, flashing lights, strange music, and various disturbing imagery (including a chicken being decapitated) that infest the screen, making me wonder if I was in fact watching a children's movie, or some fucked-up acid trip from the 70's.

Gene Wilder has made many films that portray his energy and comedic ability that often borders on genius, but he blew me away as Wonka. From his entrance, shuffling along on his cane only to do a somersault in front of the awe-struck crowd, to his furious outburst at the climax, makes Wonka an almost threatening presence, never allowing us to feel completely comfortable when he's on screen. He's ultimately a misanthrope, with only a glimmer of hope that one of the children he's welcomed to his home is truly worthy of inheriting his life's work, using subtle glances or whispers of poetry to merely hint at his true personality. Along with the beautiful sets and solid supporting cast, Willy Wonka was a complete surprise, and surely the best Dahl adaptation that's yet to grace the screen.


Directed by: Mel Stuart
Starring: Gene Wilder, Jack Albertson, Peter Ostrum, Roy Kinnear
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #463: 'Chain Gang Women' (1971)

In typical Grindhouse style, Chain Gang Women uses a suggestive title to mislead audiences into thinking they are in for 90 minutes of sweaty, sassy women smashing rocks and taking showers together. What we get instead, is two women, who only make their appearance 40 minutes in, and while they bare their flesh for all to see as per drive-in rules, they sadly wield no machine guns and lack anything resembling the charisma of a, say, Pam Grier. This is a Women in Prison (WiP) movie with no women in prison, and spends most of the time being a lame convicts-on-the-run story.

Harris (Robert Lott) has six months to go on his stint for possessing marijuana when he is moved to a chain gang and linked up to burly murderer Weed (Michael Stearns). When one of the other prisoners knocks out the prison guard with his pick-axe, the prisoners flee on foot. We see via montage the gang being gradually wound up/killed, while Harris and Weed reach the safety of Harris's wife Ann (Linda York). While Harris is out getting Weed some clothes, Weed rapes Ann, and the two hit the road again reaching the farm of an old farmer and his sexy young wife (Barbara Mills). Turned on by the prospect of danger, and leaving her dull life with the cruel old man, she takes off with the two criminals.

If all this sounds incredibly dull and methodical, well it's because it is. I would forgive the blatant lie of the title if the film managed to be interesting in its own right, but director Lee Frost has so few ideas as to how to progress the film, that is becomes reduced to a series of repetitive shots of prisoners working and fist fights, and then later a series of bland exchanges and car chases. A least they made a bit of an effort with Porter Jordan's score, as although I wouldn't exactly put it onto my iPod, it's not half bad by grindhouse standards (which is usually some twangy disco score played over and over throughout the movie).


Directed by: Lee Frost
Starring: Michael Stearns, Linda York, Barbara Mills
Country: USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #384: 'Minnie and Moskowitz' (1971)

Not known for his ability for comedy, pioneer of American Independent Cinema, John Cassavetes, is on romantic comedy grounds here, taking the traditional movie love-story and turning it very much on its head. Eccentric parking-lot attendant Seymour Moskowitz (Seymour Cassel) re-locates to California, working the same job and living in a small rented room. Museum curator Minnie Moore (Gena Rowlands) is an emotionally damaged yet extremely attractive 40-something woman who is in an abusive relationship with her secretive partner Jim (Cassavetes himself). A chance encounter puts Minnie and Moskowitz together, and two fume at each other for the duration. Only Seymour falls in love with Minnie, who he feels looks down on people, and Minnie becomes reluctantly curious about this strange man.

While following the long tradition of the romantic comedy, anyone expecting a squeaky-clean Rock Hudson/Doris Day Technicolor screwball comedy will be sorely disappointed. Cassavetes sticks to his game using extreme close-ups, a hand-held camera, and semi-improvised performances to tell a story that feels real, but maintains the warmness and the satisfaction that the best of the genre have provided in the past. The film is very much about how movies mid-lead you, and as Minnie states 'they set you up for disappointment'. Minnie and her friend watch Casablanca (1942), and discuss how there are no Humphrey Bogart's or Clark Cable's out there, because they don't exist. Who does exist, however, is Seymour Moskowitz.

Cassel is absolutely exceptional in the role, playing his long-moustached, pony-tailed character as quirky and warm, as well as aggressive and often plain insane. He seems to win Minnie over by yelling at her, explaining how it isn't fair how a less-attractive and relatively poor man can't be with Minnie simply because she's richer and physically desirable, but Minnie finds his frankness fresh. With show-stealing cameos by Val Avery and Timothy Carey, as two strange men who the two leads meet over the course of the film, Minnie and Moskowitz is a strange and interesting look at love through the eyes of two sometimes unlikeable, yet utterly compelling people.


Directed by: John Cassavetes
Starring: Gena Rowlands, Seymour Cassel, Val Avery, Timothy Carey, John Cassavetes
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #372: 'Two-Lane Blacktop' (1971)

Two drag-racers, named The Driver (James Taylor), and The Mechanic (Beach Boys drummer Dennis Wilson), travel across America looking for quick money racing their souped-up '55 Chevy. They pick up a hitch-hiker, The Girl (Laurie Bird), who they both form a strange attraction to. Meanwhile, a lonely and quite desperate man drives his Pontiac GTO (played by Warren Oates) and comes across the two, and they agree a race to Washington, D.C. for pink slips. While this is the overlying focus of the film, Two-Lane Blacktop is more of an existential odyssey across 1970's America following a group of misfit characters drifting through an increasingly alien landscape.

Very much a mood piece, Two-Lane Blacktop can now be viewed as a key film of 1970's American film-making, encompassing the feelings of both the young and the ageing. This is pure Americana - we see the beautiful desolation of Route 66, road-side diners, dusty gas stations, and empty, one-horse towns. There is minimal dialogue, but with frames and characters so beautifully empty, there is no need. The landscape tells the story. The open road was the focus of many films of the late 1960's and early 70's, many of them misconstrued as simply car-porn. Films such as Easy Rider (1969) and Vanishing Point (1971) channelled feelings of anger and the longing for freedom that were brought on by events such as the Kent State massacre in 1970, causing a generation gap and the isolation of youth.

Not to say there isn't car-porn on show here - the '55 Chevy is rusty and ugly, but the growl it gives out when revved is invigorating. The majority of the races and driving scenes are shot from the interior, allowing us to hear every mechanical clank and gear-change. But the main focus is on the characters. The Driver and Mechanic say little but tell their story with their eyes. They live for their car and care for little else. Although the Driver clearly has feelings for the Girl, he does little to truly act upon it, and therefore causes her to experience loneliness and the feeling of being used. But the most fascinating is GTO, played to perfection by the ever-reliable Oates. We see him at the start of the film telling the same story twice to one of the many hitch-hikers he picks up. He acts out of desperation, reaching out to anyone who will listen. It's a painful portrayal of a very human character.

Not a second is wasted in the film. Director Monte Hellman captures every single sound and feeling out of the most mundane situations, and we are therefore transported back to 1971 America. It is almost as if the film is about absolutely nothing, and maybe that's the point. These characters seem to be speeding to an unknown goal that will always be out of reach. Maybe they know it and maybe they don't, but as long as they get to drive, they're happy. An outstanding piece of 70's cinema.


Directed by: Monte Hellman
Starring: James Taylor, Warren Oates, Laurie Bird, Dennis Wilson
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #358: 'The Corpse Grinders' (1971)

The Lotus Cat Food company are facing financial ruin, until they discover that by incorporating human flesh into their product, cats go wild and sales go up. But soon, cats go a bit too wild and start murdering and drinking the blood of their owners. When Dr. Howard Glass (Sean Kenney) is attacked, and performs an autopsy on another victim, he starts an investigation into the strange goings-on. Landau (Sanford Mitchell), the big boss at the company, seems to start enjoying the butchery, and employs various heavies to do the dirty deeds. But he finds himself at odds with his co-workers, who disapprove of the murders, and local gravedigger Caleb (Warren Ball), who has yet to be paid for his exploits.

One can only go into a film called The Corpse Grinders with a certain level of expectation, that being extremely low. Yet although the film is almost profoundly terrible, it's really not as bad as I expected. Helmed by exploitation hack Ted V. Mikels (director of the also wonderfully titled and fellow Grindhouse Project members Blood Orgy of the She-Devils (1972) and The Doll Squad (1973)), he at least attempts to put some directorial skill into the film, leaving out usual Grindhouse traits such as long, static, and uneventful shots, and scenes of women dancing to repetitive music. The film is pretty well paced, shifting from Glass' investigations to Landau's increasingly murderous schemes to keep things moderately interesting.

However, I'm saying this is half-decent for a Grindhouse film. As an actual film, it is admittedly bad. The few scenes depicting the cat attacks are laughable (I mean, how can a cat overpower a human being? Just throw the fucker against a wall!), and the gore predictably ropey. The actual 'corpse grinder' machine looks made of cardboard, and poses so many questions about functionality that I'm not going to get into it. I did laugh out loud at the ridiculous made-up sign language that Landau uses (he just seems to shake his hand a lot), so at least there's some fun to be had. As hard as it is to say it, I'm actually looking forward to seeing more of Mikels' films, as he seems to be in the same vein as one of my guilty pleasures, Herschell Gordon Lewis.


Directed by: Ted V. Mikels
Starring: Sean Kenney, Monika Kelly, Sanford Mitchell
Country: USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #303: 'The Decameron' (1971)

The first of what became Pier Poalo Pasolini's Trilogy of Life, with each film adapting stories from archaic literature. In this case, Giovanni Boccaccio's book of the same name, written in 14th century Italy. The film takes nine of the 100 stories from the book and weaves them into vignettes of everyday Medieval life. We see nymphomaniac nuns, grave robbing, deceit, and cuckolding. In one segment, a boy is lured into the house of a pretty girl. She tells him that he is her brother. however, after taking his clothes and money, the boy is thrown out, where he is picked up by a couple of thieves who recruit him to climb inside of a tomb and steal the recently dead archbishop's ruby ring. The boy is left trapped in the grave.

This bawdy romp is a lot of fun. This was a surprise being Pasolini. The portmanteau style storytelling works well with this roaming tour through a debauched, ancient landscape. Many of the oddball characters were non-actors (something Pasolini had used throughout his career), and some have such incredibly rickety teeth, and are a strange and uncomfortable, yet thoroughly enjoyable watch.

The film ends with a statement by Pasolini himself (he played the painter, Giotto between, and within some of the stories), which is possibly a statement about the dream like quality the narrative has in its assemblage of the parts. He says: Why create a work of art, when you can just dream about it? Indeed, why create narrative cinema, when you can manoeuvre through scenes of life and create a patchwork of living, permeated with verisimilitude.


Directed by: Pier Paolo Pasolini
Starring: Franco Citti, Ninetto Davoli, Vincenzo Amato
Country: Italy/France/West Germany

Rating: ****

Marc Ivamy

Review #289: 'Exponerad' (1971)

This Swedish "erotica" film from the 1970's is on the Grindhouse Project as The Depraved. A run-of-the-mill erotic fantasy film (that also owes much of it's narrative charms to Bunuel's classic Belle de Jour (1969)), is elevated by the elfin-like, nubile-innocent beauty of Swedish star Christina Lindberg. Her ethereal Lena, like Catherine Deneuve's Severine, displays an ambiguity in her sense of reality. We are never really sure if her sexual experiences throughout the film are fantasies or not. Lena drifts from Jan (Bjorn Adelly), a mummy's boy, and Helge (Heinz Hopf), a seeming playboy who offers her to friends who hangout at parties at his house.

The direction and cinematography are quite loose, giving it's mis-en-scene an elemental idea of realism. But with this technique, the result has very little suspense or atmosphere. Beginning with Lena taking off from boyfriend, Jan, hitchhiking out to a country house. She is picked up by a couple who go with her, and Lena imagines an encounter with the man of the couple. From here Lena simply goes back and forth between the two men who offer their utter love to her. She seems uninterested in either. We are reminded throughout the film that Helge took some nude photographs of her, and he attempts to blackmail her - something that never really happens, and some humanity suddenly comes from the sullen-seeming Lena, as she demands that she have them and the negatives.

Whilst the film has a reputation for it's depiction of sexuality, and now relatively soft sexual violence, it is rarely shocking. Also, with a very thin plot, it plods along in quite a pedestrian fashion. However, this is not to say that the time spent with this film is certainly no waste of time. Christina Lindberg is incredibly watchable. She radiates beauty, and has an incredible presence. So, with utter beguiled fascination, the film goes from being a two star reward, to a...


Directed by: Gustav Wiklund
Starring: Christina Lindberg, Heinz Hopf, Björn Adelly
Country: Sweden

Rating: ***

Marc Ivamy

Review #246: 'The Cat o' Nine Tails' (1971)

Blind, retired journalist Franco (Karl Malden) is walking with his niece when he overhears a man in a car talking about blackmail. Pretending to tie his shoe, he gets his niece to describe the man in the car. That same night, a research facility is broken into and a security guard is knocked unconscious. Reporter Carlo (James Franciscus) begins the investigation, bumping into Franco along the way who has taken a personal interest. They learn that apparently nothing was stolen from the break-in. Dr. Calabresi (Carlo Alighiero) knows what was taken, but before he can do anything about it, he is pushed in front of a moving train. Carlo and Franco begin their own investigation, but find themselves hampered by a killer who will stop at nothing to protect the truth from being uncovered.

Argento's second feature, made in between his excellent debut The Bird With The Crystal Plumage (1970) and the bollocks-but-enjoyable Four Flies On Grey Velvet (1971), The Cat O' Nine Tails is the second in his 'animal' trilogy, and one of his personal least favourites. It wouldn't be until four years later when Argento would properly find his stride, making the phenomenal Deep Red (1975) and following it with three of his finest films, including two of the most memorable horrors ever made, Suspiria (1977) and Inferno (1980). However, Cat does include some enjoyable set-pieces, if sadly they lack Argento's usual Hitchcock-esque masterful touch.

The plot of the film, which includes something about a breakthrough in XXY chromosome research, is one of Argento's silliest, most confusing, and least interesting. It never really hits top gear until the last fifteen to twenty minutes when the plot finally comes together. The film is also disappointingly gore-light. This would of course not be a problem if the rest of the film was involving enough, but it fleshes out a rather simplistic story with no excitement or intrigue. However, Franciscus and Malden are good value, and the final death, one of Argento's most squirm-inducing, will send shivers down your spine. It's still head and shoulders above the majority of giallo's that came out around the same time, but knowing what Argento is capable of, this is a minor work.


Directed by: Dario Argento
Starring: James Franciscus, Karl Malden, Catherine Spaak
Country: Italy/France/West Germany

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #244: 'Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song' (1971)

A young black orphan is picked up by a group of women who feed him and give him a job as a towel boy in their brothel. One of the women seduces him and the two have sex. Due to his apparently large member, the woman, in a fit of ecstasy, nicknames him 'Sweetback'. When Sweetback is grown, he is employed as a male prostitute who performs for rich folk. When he witnesses police brutality on a black man, he beats up two police officers and goes on the run. The film follows his plight in a picaresque fashion, and he makes his way across a corrupt and discriminative America.

Generally regarded as the first blaxploitation film (although whether it is in fact exploitation is questionable), Sweet Sweetback influenced a whole generation of film-makers, and gave a new voice to a social minority with a lot more to say than the majority. Director Melvin van Peebles (father to Mario), who also plays the eponymous hero, funded the project himself (with a little help from Bill Cosby), and the film went onto gross $4.1 million. The film became required viewing for members of the Black Panthers, and Sweetback himself can be seen giving the Panther first sign.

As socially and historically important as this film is, it's still not very good. Apart from van Peebles' use of some innovative jump-cuts and camerawork, I found the film hard work. The terrible editing often renders scenes unwatchable, and I had trouble even following what was happening during some of the fight scenes. Often characters just babble seemingly meaningless rubbish at the camera. I must also mention the very uncomfortable first sex scene which borders on child porn, which depicts a boy (played by Mario) of around 12 having sex with a woman, the both of them being completely naked. Very weird.

Van Peebles himself appears in a few sex scenes, that are apparently unsimulated. He actually contracted gonorrhea during the shoot, and claimed workers compensation. This is a film all about black domination - Sweetback's large penis and sexual prowess standing for black superiority. As well as sexually, the black community are seen as superior mentally (the community pull together to outwit the police and protect Sweetback) and physically (Sweetback overpowers two policemen in a bar brawl). You can feel the anger and the desire to fight back in every scene.

Still, as interesting as the film is in a social context, this is extremely amateurish stuff. The last half an hour sees Sweetback running endlessly while the camera jumps around showing various landmarks to the sound of an extremely repetitive soundtrack. It goes on and on and on. But I suppose that any film that is indirectly responsible for Disco Godfather (1979) can't be all bad.


Directed by: Melvin Van Peebles
Starring: Melvin Van Peebles, Simon Chuckster, Hubert Scales
Country: USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #168: 'A Bay of Blood' (1971)

After the Countess Federica (Isa Miranda) is murdered in her mansion by her husband, the beautiful surrounding bay area is up for grabs. The Countess' husband is murdered himself straight after committing the act and the body is hidden, and family members and a real estate agent conspire with their own murderous aspirations to claim their inheritance. The Countess' daughter Renata (Claudine Auger) and her husband Albert (Luigi Pistilli) arrive at the bay and start investigating the goings-on themselves, only to discover the possibility that everyone could somehow be involved in trying to claim the bay for themselves.

As a horror fan, the work of Mario Bava has somehow alluded me through the years. This is the first horror film of his that I've seen, having only seen his comic-book masterpiece Danger: Diabolik (1968), which I consider to be the greatest comic-book film ever made alongside The Dark Knight (2008). Yet knowing he is held is such regard by horror fans, I refuse to form an opinion of him based on this film, as it is as silly and pornographic as the majority of giallo films of the time. The plot and the focus on humanity's greed is directed with such an amateur grasp of subtlety that the film loses all weight. And the segment of the film devoted to the murder of four horny teenagers seems to serve no purpose other than to fill half an hour of film and play with some gore.

Yet if there's one thing I know about Bava, it is that the man knows how to shoot a film. If Argento oozes style, Bava certainly has class. For such a low-budget movie, he makes the most of reportedly using a children's buggie as a steadicam, to build up tension and atmosphere, especially in the opening scene, where the Countess is kicked off her wheelchair and is left hanging mid-fall by a noose. The murders in the film, however, certainly lack class. Special effects artist Carlo Rambaldi (who most famously developed E.T. (1982) and Alien (1979) - which he won an Oscar for) creates some truly gruesome gore effects that come at the right time when you're just waiting, an eventually looking forward to, the demise of the four visiting youngsters. Special mention must also go to a close up of an octopus sliding across a rotting cadaver's face. The film was influential, perhaps, but relatively average in its own right.


Directed by: Mario Bava
Starring: Claudine Auger, Luigi Pistilli, Claudio Camaso, Isa Miranda
Country: Italy

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #165: 'Private Road' (1971)

Up-and-coming short story writer Peter (Bruce Robinson) meets pretty young secretary Ann (Susan Penhaligon) at the publishing house. Shunning her rather old-fashioned parents, Ann begins an intense love affair with Peter and the two seem to spend all their time together. Peter's laid back lifestyle and bohemian friends seems to appeal to Ann, who has been raised in mainly middle-class surroundings. The two head off to the country where they seem to grow bored of each other, and Ann gets pregnant. Peter doesn't really care about the novel he's been told to write but is forced to get a steady job to support the unborn child.

If my description doesn't exactly grip you with it's exciting synopsis, I don't blame you. Private Road is really as laid back as its young characters. It's the kind of film which will disappoint if you're expecting a straight-forward beginning, middle and end - but, if you allow what plays out just to wash over you, then it's profoundly moving, sweet, and funny. I don't usually take to bohemian types, but Bruce Robinson's (writer of Withnail & I (1987) and The Killing Fields (1984)) natural charm, and the lack of self-awareness that plagues the Facebook generation warmed me to the characters.

One film that Private Road really brought to mind was Harold And Maude (1971). Although it's not as blatantly comic or quite as dark, the film does have a subtle comic undertone that plays out throughout, usually in the conversations between Peter and his friend Stephen (played by the brilliant Michael Feast). It almost has a feel of Withnail & I (without being quite as clever). It also has a serious note when Stephen becomes a heroin addict, played with an amazing realism by Feast. The naturalistic wordplay and the nice soundtrack add up to make this the only BFI Flipside release that I've really enjoyed. Recommended!


Directed by: Barney Platts-Mills
Starring: Bruce Robinson, Susan Penhaligon, Michael Feast
Country: UK

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #73: 'Duel' (1971)

This made-for-TV movie about a man having a bad day, is a very well executed, wonderfully shot story of an angry truck driver, hell-bent on antagonising David Mann (Dennis Weaver), after he overtook him on a dusty, lonely stretch of road. This was the first feature of future uber-director Steven Spielberg. It is telling in the construction of the shots, and has a similar atmosphere to his mega-hit Jaws (1975).

More importantly is the screenwriter, Richard Matheson - who adapted it from one of his own stories. There is a sequence where David stops at a diner after his initial shock of the terrorism. In here, he sits at a table; an internal monologue plays. His pure thoughts of paranoia as he watches a bunch of truckers at the bar, scrutinising their boots (after he had only seen this part of the truck driver when stopped at a gas station. This is pure Matheson, straight out of his work on the TV show The Twilight Zone.

We never actually see the driver of the truck. This demonstrates the intention that the monster is not human, but is in fact the machine itself. An idea perpetuated at the end of the film when the monster truck careens off the edge of a cliff, the sound of a monster (much like the ones seen in '50's monster movies) is heard screaming. Maybe this was an intentional idea from Spielberg, who would later get to executive produce a bunch of trucks/cars etcetera, who can all transform into more recognisable monsters (i.e. have eyes and all that). Aside from the later travesty of Spielberg's inflated ego, I do still have affection for some of his earlier work, and Duel is another example of his knowing cinematic style.

Directed by: Steven Spielberg
Starring: Dennis Weaver, Eddie Firestone, Gene Dynarski
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Marc Ivamy

Review #39: 'Harold and Maude' (1971)

When Cameron Diaz's character in the Farrelly brothers' 1998 comedy There's Something About Mary describes Harold And Maude as the 'greatest love story of our time', she's not far wrong. While it may not be a conventional love story by any means, it is engaging, passionate, and oddly believable. It was a very brave step to take to make a film about a young boy who falls in love with an old woman, and to tell it in such a dreamlike manner. In a society that generally accept older men falling for younger women, to reverse that trend was extremely daring, especially back in 1971.

Harold (Bud Cort) is a 20-something who feels isolated and disconnected with his life living with his rich mother who seems to only be concerned with finding her strange son a wife. Obsessed with death, he regularly stages fake suicides in front of his unresponsive and unimpressed mother. He seems doomed to life of morbidity until he meets 80-year old Maude (Ruth Gordon) who seems to share his passion of attending funerals. Maude has a completely different outlook on life, and indulges in her passions for art and culture, and 'making the most of her time on Earth'. The two become equally infatuated with each other, as Maude shows Harold the delights of life, and begins to teach him how to play the banjo. As Harold falls deeply in love with Maude, his mother persists with quest to find Harold a wife, and after one fake suicide too many, she decides to send him into the military.

This is the kind of nihilistic and existential film that could have only be produced in the 70's, amidst the madness and folly of the Vietnam war. Harold is a child of this generation, and seems to embody the anger, loss and early loss of innocence that the children of this generation felt. Harold is born into a life lacking in meaning and direction, while Maude has lived a life full of purpose, and having been a prisoner in Auschwitz (in a moving blink-or-you'll-miss-it revelation) has endured the hardships and extremities of life. Harold, with his persistent fake suicides, seems to long for this.

All this sounds extremely heavy, but the film explores these themes with a feisty sense of humour, and an air of quirkiness found commonly these days in the films of Wes Anderson. The black comedy seems way ahead of its time. In one scene, Harold finds another potential wife at his home chatting to his mother. He greets the young lady with a very mature and pleasant manner, only to excuse himself and walk outside carrying a jug of petrol. As his mother and the young lady exchange pleasantries, Harold can be seen in the background through the window dousing himself in petrol and then seemingly set himself on wife. The young girl screams in horror as Harold's mother sits embarrassed, only for Harold to appear next to her as if nothing happened.

The relationship between Harold and Maude would probably be uncomfortable and strange in another director's hands, but with a fantastic script by Colin Higgins and a heartfelt soundtrack by Cat Stevens, the whole things is moving, profound and sweet. The film conjured up so many emotions in me as the credits rolled after the poignant final scene. Harold And Maude is in equal measures touching, intelligent, insightful, beautiful and extremely vicious.


Directed by: Hal Ashby
Starring: Ruth Gordon, Bud Cort, Vivian Pickles
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie