Review #1,452: 'Horror Express' (1972)

With a cast list boasting the names of both Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing and a claustrophobic setting aboard a high-speed train, it would be easy to assume that Horror Express is another low-budget gothic effort from Hammer, or perhaps a portmanteau effort from Amicus. It is neither, and is in fact a joint Spanish and UK production made at a time when gothic horror was falling out of favour with audiences, who were being treated to more graphic, socially-aware films such as Night of the Living Dead, and psychological horrors from the US. Helmed on a measly budget by Spanish director Eugenio Martin (so low-budget that the shadow of the camera and cameraman is clearly present in the very first shot), Horror Express actually deserves more attention. It may not be particularly original, but it's shockingly entertaining, utterly bonkers, and provides an interesting sci-fi twist to a familiar genre piece.

Stuffy British anthropologist Sir Alexander Saxton (Lee) discovers the mummified remains of what appears to be a primitive human in a Manchurian cave. With hopes of this find-of-the-century providing some insight on the missing link in human evolution, Saxton packs the body into a wooden crate and hops onto the Trans-Siberian Express from China to Moscow. Before boarding the train however, a Chinese thief attempts to pick the crate's lock, and is found dead just moments later with his eyes completely white. The discovery also catches the eye of Saxton's friendly rival Dr. Wells (Cushing), who pays a baggage handler to cut a hole in the box so he can sneak a peek. The porter is too found dead soon after, and the crate empty. With the beast now loose aboard a moving train, it isn't long until the bodies start to pile up. Saxton and Wells are on the case, but the commotion also catches the attention of Inspector Mirov (Julio Pena), Polish countess Irina (Silvia Tortosa) and crazy Orthodox monk Father Pujardov (Robert DeNiro lookalike Alberto de Mendoza).

It's a strange but enticing mixture of Agatha Christie and The Thing from Another World. The discovery that their foe is actually a body-hopping alien capable of devouring memories and knowledge with each kill allows for some whodunnit fun to be had in between the many gory moments, and gives the film a strange sci-fi kick that, while completely ridiculous, adds something different to an otherwise straight-forward monster flick. The special effects have also aged rather well. It isn't scary, but the sight of corpses frozen in shock with their eyes rolled to the back of their heads makes for a rather creepy sight, and graphic scenes of surgical procedures means that Martin's picture has a welcome nasty edge that helps it to distance itself from Hammer's campier gore. You can pick the film apart, but Horror Express is simply outrageously entertaining and never lets up. Once the horror starts, each scene seems to want to double-down on what came before, even introducing Telly Savalas late on as an intimidating, vodka-swilling Cossack officer named Captain Kazan. A must-see for any fans of European horror from the Lee/Cushing era.


Directed by: Eugenio Martín
Starring: Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, Alberto de Mendoza, Silvia Tortosa, Julio Peña, Telly Savalas
Country: UK/Spain

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,347: 'Three on a Meathook' (1972)

Like many grindhouse features from the 1970s, William Girdler's Three on a Meathook truly went for broke with its title, an eye-catching promise of blood, guts and mutilation to draw in a naive audience hoping for a terrifying time. What they got however, was two minutes of butchery thrown together with a $20,000 budget, followed by 80 minutes of melodrama with an uncomfortably drawn-out section dedicated to a naff rock band performing on stage. Three on a Meathook stays true to the grindhouse trend of failing to deliver on its enticing title, and instead treats us to a plethora of mannequin-like acting, dialogue no human has ever spoken before, and audio that sounds like it was recorded through a pillow.

Four attractive young ladies decide to go on a weekend trip to the lake, where they naturally embark on a bit of skinny-dipping and frolicking in the sun. Only little do they know, shy and handsome farmhand Billy Townsend (James Carroll Pickett) is watching them. Unfortunately for the girls, their vehicle breaks down on a country road, and it isn't too long until Billy's truck pulls up behind them to offer his services. He's no mechanic, so he instead provides a bed for the night at his farm. With his mother recently deceased, Billy lives alone his Pa (Charles Kissinger), who certainly isn't happy when he sees who his son has for company. It seems that Billy has a dark past involving women, and his Pa is quick to remind him of the dangers of having such a temptation in his very home. That night, the ladies are butchered one after the other: one is stabbed in the bath, two are shot, and the other has her head removed with an axe.

Horrified at what he doesn't remember doing, Billy takes a trip into the city to get himself together, where he meets beautiful barmaid Sherry (Sherry Steiner). Three on a Meathook blows its load way too early, focusing on the blossoming romance between the two youngsters after a violent opening twenty minutes, with Sherry proving to be one of the most unintentionally weird love interests in horror history. Not only does she bring home a drunk stranger muttering the words "I couldn't have done it," but sleeps naked beside him even after he wets the bed. The climax brings a twist that evokes the Ed Gein case, which seems to fit nicely with the creepy rural setting, but you'll be too beaten down by the tedium beforehand to care. Three on a Meathook isn't the worst example of the genre, but it will make you claw at your own face for the majority of its running time. Girdler would go on the direct the likes of Sheba, Baby and Grizzly.


Directed by: William Girdler
Starring: James Carroll Pickett, Charles Kissinger, Sherry Steiner, Madelyn Buzzard
Country: USA

Rating: *

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,339: 'Virgin Witch' (1972)

Tigon was a small British production company active between the late 1960s and late 1970s, responsible for such gems as Witchfinder General, The Blood on Satan's Claw and The Creeping Flesh. Tigon only lasted a few years, struggling to compete with the likes of Hammer and Amicus in a time when both the domestic and overseas markets were saturated with low-budget British horror flicks. They left their mark nonetheless, and there are some gems to be uncovered in their not-so-extensive back catalogue. Sadly, Virgin Witch isn't one of them, although there is a time-capsule charm to this silly and bloodless tale of virgins, witches and 70's fashion.

After a long hitch-hike, sisters Christine and Betty (played by real-life siblings Ann and Vicki Michelle) arrive in the big city hoping to make it in the modelling world. Betty is busy being courted by Johnny (Keith Buckley), but Christine responds to a magazine ad, leading to her to a photo shoot operated by predatory lesbian Sybil Waite (Patricia Haines). Impressed by the young girl's perfect measurements and pretty face, Sybil invites Christine to a remote house in the country for a weekend shoot. Taking her sister along, Christine quickly proves a hit with handsome photographer Peter (James Chase), as well as owner of the house Gerald Amberley (Neil Hallett). But the modelling job is simply a ploy to bring Christine into a coven of 'white wizards', of which the increasingly jealous Sybil is high priestess.

The early 70's is well known to have been free-spirited, but I struggle to remember a film so eager to cram as much naked flesh into the frame as possible. Starting with the image of bare breasts over the very title, Virgin Witch, as a slice of erotica, blows its wad far too early. There's full-frontal nudity at every turn, and even when the characters are fully clothed their shirts are unbuttoned to the navel. It starts out humorous but gets old very quickly, and if boobs are what you came for, you'll struggle to remain titillated for long. What we're left with is a plodding series of melodramatics and oiled-up initiation ceremonies, held together by a supporting cast a yokel stereotypes. When Christine quickly figures out the coven's plot and insists on becoming a member, it appears that the film is heading in an interesting direction, before falling back into dreary, more predictable territory. Worst of all, Virgin Witch is plain boring, and I'm a sucker for low-budget occult nonsense.


Directed by: Ray Austin
Starring: Ann Michelle, Vicki Michelle, Patricia Haines, Keith Buckley, Neil Hallett
Country: UK

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,310: 'Play It Again, Sam' (1972)

Back in 1972, before he became known as the prolific writer and director of many classic and iconic movies - and the poster-boy for Jewish neurosis - Woody Allen was still finding his feet in the world of comedy and in cinema. Based on his own 1969 Broadway play, the film adaptation was not helmed by Allen himself but by Funny Girl and Footloose director Herbert Ross. This now seems unusual for Allen, who has always been keen to bring any of his original works to the big screen himself, but Ross' somewhat unfussy approach to film-making compliments the little man's shtick, and simply lets him get on with his motor-mouth monologues and comic pratfalls without the distraction of any cinematic trickery.

Play It Again, Sam is centred around Allan Felix (Allen), a recently-divorced film critic who crumbles into self-loathing and pessimism when his wife Nancy (Susan Anspach) suddenly walks out on him. His friends Dick (Tony Roberts), a workaholic businessman, and his lovely wife Linda (Diane Keaton) talk him into dating again, setting up encounters with a string of women that Allan routinely makes a mess of. His favourite film of all time is Casablanca (he watches it on the big screen in the opening scene with his mouth agape during that famous climax), and is occasionally visited by the ghost of Humphrey Bogart (uncannily played by Jerry Lacy). Allan hates himself as he knows he will never be like Rick Blaine, Bogart's most iconic character, but the spirit of Bogie urges him to be a man and show the dames who's in charge. As more dates turn into embarrassment for both parties, Allan finds himself becoming closer and closer to Linda.

Free from the wonderfully silly satire of Bananas and less ambitious in its mockery than, say, Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex, Play It Again, Sam hints at the ingenuity to come. It doesn't reach the heights of Annie Hall or Manhattan, but there is plenty of clever work here, with Allen's seemingly improvised little stand-up routines hitting the mark just as much as his physical buffoonery. It's also the first time Allen and Keaton were on screen together, and the chemistry is just as apparent in their on-screen romance as it surely was behind the scenes. Keaton appears to love working with him, and in one scene she is doubled-up with laughter at Allen's babbling. It doesn't have much to offer the romantic comedy genre in terms of originality, nor does it succeed in reinvigorating it in the way his later works would, but Play It Again, Sam is consistently hilarious, sweet and charming, and reminds us why we loved the little New Yorker before those horrific recent allegations surfaced.


Directed by: Herbert Ross
Starring: Woody Allen, Diane Keaton, Tony Roberts, Jerry Lacy, Susan Anspach, Jennifer Salt
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,279: 'Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex* But Were Afraid to Ask' (1972)

Few anticipated the success of Dr. David Reuben's book Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex* But Were Afraid to Ask upon its publication in 1969. Nevertheless, it skyrocketed to the top of the book charts, arriving at a time when the sexual revolution was in full swing for the younger generation, and older couples were starting to feel more comfortable discussing the joys of sex and all the kinks that come with it. It seemed like a truly 'unadaptable' book, or at least one that never flirted with the idea of making it to the big screen. But that didn't stop Woody Allen, the young comedy writer and director still very much in his sillier, more slapstick stage of his career, who was fresh off the success of satirical spoof Bananas.

Structuring the film as a series of vignettes, each receiving its own opening title taken from the book's chapter headings, Allen gave himself free reign to toy with a variety of ideas and tones that were no doubt swimming around in his massive brain. As is the case with almost all portmanteau movies, some sections are great, others are forgettable, and the odd one is outright terrible. The final result is one staunchly defended by Allen die-hards, but for some of us this is one the comedy giant's weakest early movies. It opens promisingly enough with "Do Aphrodisiacs Work?", a sex farce set in medieval times with Allen as a court jester trying in earnest to get into the knickers of Lynn Redgrave's Queen. Fearing both the wrath of the King (Anthony Quayle) and having his advances spurned, he employs a potion that will make the Queen desire the first man she sees.

Not all the jokes land, but it's amusing enough, highlighting Allen's unique talent for playing the motor-mouthed neurotic and firing off double entendres. Other highlights include Gene Wilder as a doctor who falls in love a sheep belonging to an Albanian farmer, and a Fellini-inspired section in which Allen's character becomes obsessed with pleasing his wife. The worst involves John Carradine as a wacky researcher conducting a variety of outrageous sexual experiments, before he accidentally unleashes a giant milk-squirting breast into the countryside. The main problem, 45 years after its release, lies within the title. It could be down to the lasting effects of the sexual revolution or the abundance of hardcore porn now available to stream at any time, but people are no longer afraid to ask. Many of the topics covered in Everything You Always Wanted to Know... are now openly discussed on daytime TV, so the film feels more like a time capsule of a more innocent time than the boundary-pushing experiment it once was.


Directed by: Woody Allen
Starring: Woody Allen, John Carradine, Lou Jacobi, Louise Lasser, Anthony Quayle, Tony Randall, Lynn Redgrave, Burt Reynolds, Gene Wilder
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,210: 'Don't Torture a Duckling' (1972)

Despite having a loyal legion of fans and cementing his name as one of the pioneers of Italian splatter, the work of the so-called 'Godfather of Gore' (a title I reserve for Herschell Gordon Lewis and nobody else), Lucio Fulci, has never completely won me over. Arguably his most popular film, Zombie Flesh Eaters, left me struggling to stay awake, and the likes of The Black Cat, The New York Ripper and Warriors of the Year 2072 range from piss-poor to tedious at best, although it could be said that these are minor works in an extensive filmography. However, I adored The Beyond and City of the Living Dead, and there is something quite spectacular about his early gialli. A Lizard in a Woman's Skin was dazzling and truly weird, and Don't Torture a Duckling, made the following year, stands on its own as one of the strangest and most engrossing thrillers to be found in the genre.

In a remote Italian village, three young boys spy on couples about to engage in sex through a barn door and later torment the local idiot and peeping tom Giuseppe (Vito Passeri). Soon enough, the boys start turning up dead, murdered and discarded in the surrounding areas. Giuseppe is arrested, but is soon released when another boy is killed while the simpleton is in custody. A media circus descends on the town, while intrigued journalist Andrea (Tomas Milian) and police chief Captain Modesti (Ugo D'Alessio) search for clues. Tongues start to wag as the beautiful Patrizia (Barbara Bouchet) arrives in town with a shady past and skimpy outfits, as she is quickly viewed with suspicion. Yet with a town full of eccentrics and loners, it's difficult to figure out just who the killer is. Is it the old nut at the top of the hill, or are the murders the result of black magic performed by demented witch Maciara (Florinda Bolkan)?

The village of Accendura and its surroundings are a beautiful backdrop for the carnage and unspeakable horror playing out in the story. The ignorance of isolated small-town folks and the dangers of pitch-fork-waving mentality seems to be the main theme, something that Fulci explored later in his zombie movie City of the Living Dead. However, themes tend to take a back-seat in a film this bonkers, and Fulci has fun lining up the band of possible suspects and weaving in convoluted red-herring sub-plots to keep the audience guessing. There are many strange moments, including a scene in which Patrizia seems unnervingly comfortable displaying her naked body in front of a nervous young boy. Fulci can't resist dabbling in a bit of gore, and it's here that Don't Torture a Duckling stutters, climaxing with an unintentionally hilarious death featuring some diabolical special effects. Still, it's up there with the director's best work, and a must-see for fans of the more out-there gialli.


Directed by: Lucio Fulci
Starring: Florinda Bolkan, Barbara Bouchet, Tomas Milian, Irene Papas
Country: Italy

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,085: 'Aguirre, the Wrath of God' (1972)

Werner Herzog quickly establishes the gaping void between civilised man and nature in his 1972 masterpiece Aguirre, the Wrath of God, with the sight of an expedition navigating a path down the side of a mountain in the Andes. They scuttle like ants, carrying objects unsuitable for such a perilous journey through the harshest of rainforests - a sedan chair, a huge cannon - and are adorned in sweltering metal armour, complete with helmets and weapons. This is the opening scene, and the message clear - these people simply should not be there, and whatever riches or glory they seek will surely result in death. Backed by Popol Vuh's haunting score, it is one of the finest shots in the history of cinema.

The filming of The Wrath of God is possibly as well-known as the film itself, with stories of poor planning, severe injuries, and leading man Klaus Kinski's generally disruptive and psychopathic behaviour emerging from the cast and crew after the film's release. Yet while a chaotic shoot can result in disaster for the finished product, every now and then a masterpiece will be born from the rubble - just look at Apocalypse Now (1979). And Herzog's first of five collaborations with Kinski is precisely that; a glorious, brutal and completely absorbing depiction of madness and greed that benefits from the bizarre happenings behind the scenes. Set in 1560, the film tells the story of the ill-fated expedition led by Gonzalo Pizarro (Alejandro Repulles) to find the fabled land of El Dorado.

Accompanied by a band of Spanish conquerors and a hundred Indian slaves, Pizarro soon realises that his expedition will soon be cut short by a lack of food, water and supplies and orders a smaller group of approximately 40 men to carry on with the search. He puts Don Pedro de Ursua (Ruy Guerra) in charge, with the maniacal but efficient Don Lope de Aguirre (Kinski) as his second-in-command. With them they take the fat representative of the Royal House of Spain, Don Fernando de Guzman (Peter Berling), Brother Gaspar de Carvajal (Del Negro), and, against Pizarro's wishes, Ursua's mistress Inez (Helen Rojo) and Aguirre's daughter Flores (Cecilia Rivera). The quest is soon in trouble, as one of their rafts is swept away by perilous rapids and Aguirre quickly overthrows Ursua, seating de Guzman in his place.

Herzog isn't interested in peppering the film with set-pieces. The Wrath of God moves along at a slow pace with not much happening for long periods of time, while the rainforest lurks all around the screen, proving itself to be a formidable and unpredictable presence. The German auteur has said before that there is nothing peaceful about nature, and here the eerie silence is frequently interrupted by the high shrill of some unseen animal. As the group journey further into the harsh terrain, their decreasing mental state starts to reflect their surroundings. They drift along the river in a raft made by slaves (the natives made them for the film), and occasionally come across an Indian. Brother Carvajal is there to spread the word of God and offers one a Bible. When he puts to his ear and wonders why it doesn't talk, he is put to death for blasphemy.

Nature, including humanity, is madness itself, and this message is hammered home further by the wide-eyed performance of Klaus Kinski, who was clearly mad himself. His spats with Herzog are the stuff of legend, and anyone with an interest should check out Herzog's documentary on his relationship with Kinski, My Best Fiend (1999). During the filming of The Wrath of God, he shot at some extras keeping him awake, removing the tip of one of their fingers in the process, and hit a cast member so hard with his sword that he still bares the scar (the incident can be seen in the film when they attack the village). Never has a film affected me, mentally and spiritually, with such power. In the final scene, Aguirre mutters to himself on board his tattered raft as some monkeys invade the screen. Herzog transports you there, and leaves you questioning the sanity of the world around you. Unquestionably my favourite film of all time.


Directed by: Werner Herzog
Starring: Klaus Kinski, Helena Rojo, Del Negro, Ruy Guerra, Peter Berling
Country: West Germany

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,029: 'Dr. Phibes Rises Again' (1972)

At the end of the first film, The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971), the titular genius laid himself to rest in suspended animation after laying his vengeance upon the ones he blamed for the death of his wife, Victoria. Three years later, when the moon aligns itself with the planets in a way not seen for a thousand years, Phibes (Vincent Price) rises again, and this time he is in search of the elusive River of Life, which promises resurrection for Victoria and immortality for the two of them. Discovering that a sacred scroll containing the map to the River of Life has been stolen by the equally demented Darrus Biederbeck (Robert Quarry), Phibes, along with his beautiful assistant Vulnavia (Valli Kemp), heads to Egypt where the tomb is hidden, murdering anyone who dares stand in his way.

With director Robert Fuest returning for the sequel, there's a real sense of continuity to the film, especially when a few actors - their characters slain in the first - occasionally pop up as for cameos that play out like small comic vignettes. Yet while, plot-wise, the first film was a relatively straight-forward albeit utterly bonkers tale of revenge, Rises Again is almost like a heist film, as two rival men, both mad geniuses (with one clearly madder than the other), scrap it out to uncover the most rewarding of prizes. The change of approach is certainly commendable, but it also means there's less fun to be had. Watching Price gleefully butcher a group of hapless doctors in a variety of inventive and preposterous ways in the first instalment was an absolute delight, but Phibes's battle-of-wits with his nemesis here doesn't offer quite the same amount of opportunities for inventive set-pieces.

Anyone searching for a bit of tongue-in-cheek horror will certainly get a bit of relief though, as Biederback's team find themselves the poor saps to be routinely offed, this time inspired by Egyptian mythology such a scorpions and a hawk. Sadly, there just isn't quite enough of it. With the blood-letting turned down, Rises Again increases the insanity factors. Sets adorned with psychedelic decoration and Phibes's numerous outrageous costumes means the film is also beautiful to look at. Price looks he is genuinely having a ball and no matter how sadistic his character gets as he demolishes anyone who crosses his path, you'll be rooting for him all the way. At the end, it feels like the story of Dr. Phibes is not quite finished, with American International Pictures' planned sequel unfortunately never coming to fruition.


Directed by: Robert Fuest
Starring: Vincent Price, Robert Quarry, Beryl Reid, Valli Kemp, Peter Cushing
Country: UK/USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,005: 'The Red Queen Kills 7 Times' (1972)

Emilio Miraglia only directed a handful of films throughout his career (though he was more prolific as an assistant to the likes of Luciano Salce, Carlo Lizzani and Lucio Fulci), the two films he made between 1971 and 1972 - The Night Evelyn Came Out of the Grave and The Red Queen Kills 7 Times - stand out most of all. Although the two films are pretty recognisable titles to any giallo enthusiast, Miraglia's name hardly echoes throughout the annals of the genre, most likely down to his slim body work as it certainly isn't down a lack of quality.

The premise of The Red Queen is giallo at its most gleefully ludicrous. While the film is mostly a gory thriller, there are elements of gothic with its cobwebbed, desolate mansion setting during the opening scenes. A dying grandfather tells two of his granddaughters of the tale behind the gruesome painting overlooking his death-bed, of one sister ('The Red Queen') who stabbed and murdered the other sister ('The Black Queen'). This cycle repeats itself every 100 years, due again in 1972. When the dreaded year comes, the grown up Kitty (Barbara Bouchet) works as a fashion photographer and believes that her sister Evelyn died in a freak accident years ago. When people start dying, murdered by a manic woman in red, has Evelyn returned from beyond the grave as the Red Queen or is something even more sinister at play?

When the movie finished, I was left wondering how such a convoluted build-up could lead to such an easily-explained mystery, but that's the beauty of giallo and The Red Queen itself. The infusion of gothic undertones peppered throughout the film only add to the fun of the piece, although its feet lie firmly in its pulpy paperback roots. Complete with impressively staged, gory set-pieces, this adds pretty much every element of the genre into the mix - the world of high fashion photography, beautiful, big-eyed women, a gruff detective, and plenty of sexual deviancy. So, it offers little in the way of originality, but it's certainly a lot of fun (the scene with the fence spike is a cracker). See it for the bonkers plot and ghostly, Hammer-esque sets if nothing else.


Directed by: Emilio Miraglia
Starring: Barbara Bouchet, Ugo Pagliai, Marina Malfatti, Sybil Danning
Country: Italy/West Germany

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #983: 'What Have You Done to Solange?' (1972)

Massimo Dallamano is rarely mentioned in the same breath as his fellow Italian heavyweights Dario Argento, Lucio Fulci or Umberto Lenzi, yet he was responsible for two gialli that can be considered two of the best of their kind. One is What Have They Done to Your Daughters? (1974) and the other another Edgar Wallace adaptation that poses a similarly eye-catching question in its title, What Have You Done to Solange? The latter is one of the finest giallo I've seen, favouring tension and character above blood and boobs - although there's plenty of the red stuff too, and an admittedly unnecessary all-girls-school-shower scene.

Enrico Rosseni (Fabio Testi) is a suave Italian teacher at a School for Girls in London. He is stuck in an unhappy marriage with Herta (Karin Baal), who works at the same school teaching German. To escape the tedium of married life, he embarks on an affair with one of his lovely young students Elizabeth (Cristina Galbo). When on a secret date in the woods, Elizabeth witnesses a murder in which a masked man murders a girl by knifing her between the legs. Enrico dismisses her claims, but when he hears the murder reported on the news, he re-visits the scene and is captured on camera in the process. With the police and his wife breathing down his neck, Enrico tries to divert suspicion without his secret getting out.

Backed by a tremendous Ennio Morricone score (are there any movies he didn't provide the music for?) and gorgeous cinematography by Aristide Massaccesi (a.k.a. shlockmeister Joe D'Amato), Solange's great hook is its engaging plot. Working out who the mysterious killer is as much fun as watching the likeable Testi squirm out of his increasingly desperate predicament. The Solange of the title doesn't get mentioned until the final third, but when she does turn up in the form of I Spit on Your Grave's Camille Keaton, the film avoids cheap thrills and delivers carefully constructed shocks during the fittingly upsetting climax. If there's any justice in the cinematic world, Dallamano will someday receive the respect he deserves.


Directed by: Massimo Dallamano
Starring: Fabio Testi, Cristina Galbó, Karin Baal, Joachim Fuchsberger, Camille Keaton
Country: Italy/West Germany

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #923: 'Last Tango in Paris' (1972)

Now immortalised as one of cinema's all-time greatest lines, American expatriate Paul's demand for his one-off lover Jeanne to "go, get the butter," has since defined Last Tango in Paris. It's legacy is not it's quality, but in it's gratuitous sex scenes, which are shocking even by today's standards and were the cause of a huge scandal in its day. The scene in which Marlon Brando's character has rough anal sex with the young, wide-eyed Maria Schneider is all that seems to be discussed about the film, even by people who have yet to see it. It's reputation overshadows what is an occasionally tender, thought-provoking, and admittedly ridiculous film, that strives to depict a different kind of love story, and one that manifests itself through violence, animalistic desire, and sheer loneliness.

Paul and Jeanne are two wandering souls in Paris. Paul runs a flea-pit hotel following the suicide of his wife, who we come to learn was sleeping with another man, seemingly with Paul's approval. Jeanne is on the cusp of marrying an aspiring film director in the Jean-Luc Godard mould, Tom (Jeanne-Piere Leaud), who arrives in Paris to shoot an avant garde piece called Portrait of a Woman. They encounter each other by chance when they both view an apartment up for rent. Their brief meeting results in sex, and afterwards Paul insists that it become a regular meeting place, where the two meet to forget about the world outside and exist solely for each other's pleasure. They are not to even tell each other their name, let alone anything about their family, history or their life in the real world.

Originally intended by director Bernardo Bertolucci to focus on the sexual relationship between two males, Last Tango in Paris is a not a film simply about a dirty old man and his sexually curious mistress, but raises questions about morality, love and death. Paul and Jeanne are two lost souls channelling their worldly problems into sexual pleasure (or perhaps vice versa), but they find it difficult to ignore their emotions as the two begin to slowly learn more about each other. The Brando of 1972 still retained some of his handsomeness (rather than the shadow of his former self he became), and here demands your attention with every improvised line or burst of energy. It's also extremely brooding, intensified by Brando and only intermittently cheered up by the presence of Leaud, and it is long. It's just shy of being a great film, but will no doubt inspire extreme reactions from both ends of the spectrum by anyone who happens to view it.


Directed by: Bernardo Bertolucci
Starring: Marlon Brando, Maria Schneider, Jean-Pierre Léaud, Maria Michi
Country: France/Italy

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #918: 'Your Vice Is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key' (1972)

Boasting one of the most outlandish titles of the giallo genre, Sergio Martino's Your Vice is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key is yet another loose adaptation of one of Edgar Allen Poe's most famous titles, The Black Cat. Like most Poe adaptations, the film shares little with its source material, apart from the presence of the titular black cat, here named Satan. While it is chocked full of narrative stumbles and frustrating red herrings, Martino's refusal to bend to the genre rules of the giallo makes Your Vice an extremely interesting entry into the genre, avoiding being bogged down with drawn-out set pieces and mind-bending visuals, and instead focusing on the psychological - and physical - interplay between its two leads.

Bored writer Oliviero (Luigi Pistilli) spends the majority of his time throwing drug and alcohol-fuelled parties for the local hippies, and enjoys mentally and physically abusing his long-suffering wife Irina (Anita Strindberg) in front of them. When a young student is brutally murdered on the night she had arranged to meet Oliviero, the wife-beating pig naturally becomes the prime suspect and withdraws into a state of deep paranoia at his labyrinthine mansion. When their maid also shows up dead, Oliviero and Irina hide the body just before the arrival of his niece Floriana (Edwige Fenech). Floriana is a confident and wise young woman, and hatches a plan with Irina to deal with her abusive husband. But not all is as it seems, and just who is the handsome grey-haired man lurking behind every corner?

Far from your average giallo, Your Vice... doesn't subvert the genre but frequently surprises. The plot and ludicrous climax, like most gialli, seem not be taken from the yellow-covered pulp fiction they are normally adapted from, but something akin to an episode of Scooby-Doo. While that may seem like a criticism, it really isn't - it's the type of insanity that makes these movies so much fun to watch. Bolstered by a fantastic score by Bruno Nicolai and lavish cinematography by Giancarlo Ferrando, they are nonetheless overshadowed by Fenech, surely one of the most beautiful women to ever grace the screen. Floriana is a no-nonsense, well-travelled lady, and just when you think you have her worked out, the film throws in a surprising, if in no way believable, twist. It may not be remembered as Martino's best entry into the genre (1973's Torso is certainly up there), but Your Vice... throws in enough twists and turns to keep it consistently entertaining and occasionally disturbing.


Directed by: Sergio Martino
Starring: Anita Strindberg, Edwige Fenech, Luigi Pistilli, Ivan Rassimov
Country: Italy

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #907: 'Milano Calibro 9' (1972)

Fernando Di Leo was a well-respected director who near-perfected the poliziotteschi genre during the 1970's, taking a genre spear-headed by the likes of Italian film-makers Umberto Lenzi and Carlo Lizzani and delivering tough-as-nails stories about brutish men in a brutish world. Milano Calibro 9, or simply Caliber 9, is one of Di Leo's most highly-regarded works, kicking off his Milieu trilogy (followed by Manhunt and concluded by The Boss) for which he is now best remembered for. And the film is terrific - inspiring future directors such as John Woo and Quentin Tarantino, Milano Calibro 9 begins with an explosion of violence that serves as a warning of what is to come.

After a heist that saw a wad of money go missing and the criminals behind it either dead or behind bars, shadowy mafia boss The Americano (Lionel Stander) is left fuming, turning his city upside down in search for his cash. Career criminal Ugo (Gastone Moschin), one of the participants in the robbery, is released from prison and is immediately reprimanded by his psychotic former boss Rocco (Mario Adorf), who fingers Ugo as the culprit. Denying any involvement and trying to go straight, Ugo finds himself pulled back into the criminal world he thought he had left behind by the mafia and the police, the latter trying to pressure him into turning informer. Hooking up with his friend Chino (Philippe Leroy) and girlfriend Nelly (the gorgeous Barbara Bouchet), Ugo plans to turn the tables on his former gang while he still has a fraction of leverage.

The film is not without it's problems - occasionally the narrative sags when the action is away from the city's violent underworld, and the sporadic political discussions between the veteran Commissioner (Frank Wolff) and his left-wing underling seem relevant but out of place - but Milano Calibro 9's quality lies within its tone and exhilarating brutality. The opening sees the manic Rocco beat up suspects, tie them together in a cave and blow them up with dynamite. Although the film doesn't maintain the excitement of this early scene, it truly comes alive when the characters - an ensemble of odd-looking barbarians - threaten each other with words, fists, knives or guns. Moschin proves to be a stoic anti-hero, but Adorf steals the show as the arrogant loud-mouth Rocco, resembling Super Mario in a tailored suit and a neater moustache. The twists and turns keep coming right until the end, and left me wanting to see more from a film-maker who has, up to now, completely evaded me.


Directed by: Fernando Di Leo
Starring: Gastone Moschin, Barbara Bouchet, Mario Adorf, Frank Wolff
Country: Italy

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #903: 'Frogs' (1972)

Despite the poster depicting a frog with a human hand hanging out of its mouth, American International Picture's Frogs is not about giant frogs. Instead, this is a nature-gone-mad movie featuring about 500 bullfrogs, along with an assortment of other creepy critters (lizards, snakes, spiders, birds, alligators) who begin to terrorise a wealthy family and an ecologist who happens upon them. The frogs of the title are a merely an annoyance and a constant presence, driving the residents of the island mansion on which the film takes place insane with their constant croaking.

Photographer Pickett Smith (Sam Elliott) is taking pictures of the local wildlife in a swamp located near to the estate of the wealthy Crockett family. Clint Crockett (Adam Roarke), the young and drunken heir to the family inheritance, accidentally knocks Pickett off his canoe and into the water with his speed-boat, and so takes him back to the mansion for a change of clothes. There, he meets the grumpy and wheelchair-bound patriarch Jason (Ray Milland), who voices his distaste for the slimy inhabitants of the surrounding fauna. Pickett discovers the body of a man sent by Jason to spray pesticide, and soon the Crockett's and their employees find themselves under threat from a variety of murderous beasties.

Although the promise is utterly ludicrous, Frogs is played with a straight-face for the most part, and is elevated by decent performances from Milland and Elliott - the former of which was a regular on the B-movie circuit at this point in his career and the latter showing us what he looks like without his trademark moustache. But the animal attacks are few and far between, clumsily edited and failing to generate anything in the way of jumps or scares. The majority of the film consists of the family complaining about the frogs while Jason groans and disapproves at everything, ignoring both the warnings of Pickett and the blatant unnatural occurrences happening all around them. For a film about killer frogs, it's better than it has any right to be, but this is tedious stuff for the majority of its running time.


Directed by: George McCowan
Starring: Ray Milland, Sam Elliott, Joan Van Ark, Adam Roarke
Country: USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #874: 'Fear in the Night' (1972)

Peggy (Judy Geeson), a recently married young woman, plans to move with her new beau Robert (Ralph Bates) to a secluded boy's school near London where he is set to teach. The night before they travel, she is attacked from behind by a man with a prosthetic arm, who strangles her but leaves her alive. Awakening in a panic, the attack is put down to her recent mental health issues and they later arrive at the deserted school. There she meets the ghoulish headteacher Michael Carmichael (Peter Cushing), a one-armed man with a shadowy demeanour, and his bitch wife Molly (Joan Collins).

Directed and co-written by one of Hammer's driving forces, Jimmy Sangster, Fear in the Night sees Hammer at the very end of their life (before their recent resurgence), when they were struggling at the box-office and failing to bring in their young target audience. Interestingly, the film favours the slow-build, creeping atmosphere of their early thrillers, and not the blood and guts approach they adopted during their most prolific years. Sadly, Fear in the Night's ponderous narrative is not saved by it's more European approach, and the film is a pretty dull affair for the most part.

The notable lack of red-herrings means that it doesn't take long for the audience to figure it all out, and there's plenty of time to piece it together given the length of time dedicated to Peggy plodding around investigating her strange experiences. The performances are as solid as you would expect however, with Cushing managing to steal the film with a relatively small amount of screen time, and Geeson is perfectly charming as the unassuming lead, which makes it all the more tragic that the ensemble weren't handed more to run with. Notably lacking in the gothic atmosphere that audiences used to flock to experience, or any atmosphere at all really, this was one of Hammer's final whimpers before tragically folding.


Directed by: Jimmy Sangster
Starring: Judy Geeson, Ralph Bates, Peter Cushing, Joan Collins
Country: UK

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #841: 'The Offence' (1972)

Sean Connery is more a superstar than an actor. Although his talents have been recognised by the Academy (for his rather unconvincing turn as an Irish cop in The Untouchables (1987)) and remembered for his role as the first James Bond, he is high up on his own pedestal, a gift for voice actors and one of the handsomest faces ever to have graced the screen. But anyone in doubt of his ability as a proper thespian need look no further than his grim, tormented portrayal of a cop who has seen one too many dead bodies in Sidney Lumet's The Offence, a huge flop at the box office and a film now faded into memory, ripe for a re-discovery.

Playing with time Rashomon (1950)-style, the film begins in slow motion, where an unknown disturbance at a police station has a few officers panicked. It is revealed to be Detective Sergeant Johnson (Connery) standing over the bloodied body of suspect Kenneth Baxter (Ian Bannen), with fellow police officers scattered on the floor. It then goes back, and we are in a grey, miserable city gripped in panic as a child-killing paedophile roams free. The latest disappearance of a young girl has Johnson riled, and officers cruising the street pick up Baxter, who is wandering alone in the night covered in mud. The young girl is found raped but alive by Johnson himself, who insists on spending some time alone with the suspect.

Based on John Hopkins' stage play This Story of Yours, Connery fought tooth-and-nail to adapt it for the big screen, eventually reprising his role as Bond in Diamond Are Forever (1971) in return for the green-light. Although the film consists of long, talky scenes, Lumet uses stylish editing in order to avoid being stagy and to delve further into his anti-hero's head. His reputation as a no-nonsense director betrays him here, as scenes of gruesome murders, body parts, and a host of other atrocities Johnson has witnessed flash before our eyes. The use of slow motion in the flashback moments also employs a sort of circular filter at the centre of the screen, reflecting Johnson's disconnection from his actions but getting slightly tiresome in the process.

There are three long, outstanding scenes. The first is Johnson returning home to his wife (Vivien Merchant) following his interrogation of Baxter, drinking heavily and exploding at the one person who could possibly help him. The second is Johnson's own interrogation with superintendent Cartwright (the ever-excellent Trevor Howard), a man who has witnessed the same level of horror himself, but has learnt to separate his work from his life, something Johnson is unable to do. The third is the extended interrogation of Baxter, where Bannen's creepy turn surely must have been an inspiration for the Joker-Batman verbal showdown in The Dark Knight (2008). It's incredibly bleak stuff, but the raw honesty of the script and performances makes this powerful stuff.


Directed by: Sidney Lumet
Starring: Sean Connery, Trevor Howard, Ian Bannen, Vivien Merchant
Country: UK/USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #686: 'The Godfather' (1972)

Having only been born 12 years after the release of The Godfather, I don't know if audiences at the time realised just how influential the film would become in later years. It has been homaged, parodied and copied so much - Don Corleone's husky voice and prominent chin especially - that it's a miracle it's managed to hold onto its status as one of the finest pictures Hollywood has ever produced. It's also rather astonishing that the film was ever made at all, given the troubled production amidst a meddling Paramount (who pretty much held a gun to director Francis Ford Coppola's head throughout). But watching it again, 41 years after it was made, it's just as beautiful and thrilling as it was when I first saw it.

Don Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando) is the Sicilian head of the Corleone crime family. His eldest son Sonny (James Caan) is his short-tempered and hot-headed heir, the polar opposite to the youngest son Michael (Al Pacino), who is college-educated and has just returned from serving in World War II. When the Don refuses an offer to invest in the booming drugs trade by drug baron Virgil 'The Turk' Sollozzo (Al Lettieri) - who is backed by Corleone rivals the Tattaglia's - he is gunned down and almost killed. With his father in hospital and still in danger, Michael finds himself slowly being drawn into the family business he vowed to stay away from.

Head of Paramount at the time Bob Evans said he wanted to "smell the spaghetti" and hired the relatively inexperienced Coppola, who is of Sicilian heritage, to direct the film, in order to give the film authenticity. From the opening scene, it is evident that the gamble paid off. The wedding of the Don's daughter, Connie (Talia Shire), is a textbook guide on how to introduce characters to an audience. This long, gorgeous segment of the film establishes the Corleone's sense of family importance. They are all cold-blooded killers, perhaps, but they are loyal and have a code. It's also fascinating to see the hierarchy within organised crime, something that seems embedded into our conscience now after countless films involving 'made' men and capo's.

But it's a combination of many elements that makes The Godfather so great. The patient, controlled approach, Coppola and novel author Mario Puzo's celebrated, Oscar-winning screenplay, Nino Rota's powerful score, the subtle dark comedy ("leave the gun, take the cannoli") the magnificent set-pieces (Michael searching for the gun in the cafe restroom is still nerve-jangling) , and perhaps most of all, the acting talent on display. Brando, Pacino and Robert Duvall (as adopted son and consigliere Tom Hagen) can boast career-defining performances from the picture, and can celebrate film careers spanning decades and countless awards. There's little I can say about The Godfather that hasn't already been said, but this is one of the true undisputed classics of American cinema.


Directed by: Francis Ford Coppola
Starring: Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, James Caan, Richard S. Castellano, Robert Duvall, Al Lettieri, Diane Keaton, Sterling Hayden
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #647: 'Sweet Sugar' (1972)

Following in the genre-setting footsteps of Jack Hill's The Big Doll House (1971), Sweet Sugar is a formulaic Women in Prison movie from Werewolves on Wheels (1971) director Michel Levesque. Busty prostitute Sugar (Phyllis Davis) is set up for marijuana possession by a corrupt politician, and is thrown into a Costa Rican prison. She is given the opportunity to be moved to the sugar plantation in exchange for a confession, where she meets the various feisty inmates, including Simone (Ella Edwards). Amongst the male guards, there is hustler Max (Albert Cole) who is trying to get his young friend Ric (James Houghton) laid, and the tyrannical and sadistic Burgos (Cliff Osmond), all overlooked by the creepy Dr. John (Angus Duncan). The girls' hopes are raised upon the arrival of voodoo priest Mojo (Timothy Brown), who uses his powers in black magic to help set them free.

If you're a fan of WiP movies, then Sweet Sugar, if anything, ticks all the boxes. We have shower scenes, boobs (naturally), topless flogging, ketchup-red blood, rapey guards, a filming location where filming is cheap, torture, a sassy black chick, and explosions. Where it stands out is in the sheer insanity of certain scenes, namely Angus Duncan's ridiculously over-the-top Dr. John, who performs orgasm torture experiments on his subjects, and some drugged angry cats. Duncan camps it up so ludicrously that the mundanity of the rest of the film becomes redundant enough to get some enjoyment out of it. Davis has the chesty charm of a Russ Meyer lead (and also starred in Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (1970)), but she's no Pam Grier, and the film's quirkiness soon wears thin, as it plods from one familiar scene to the next. It's not quite as dull as most WiP movies, but it's still a pretty bad film that offers nothing new to the genre.


Directed by: Michel Levesque
Starring: Phyllis Davis, Ella Edwards, Timothy Brown, Angus Duncan
Country: USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie