Review #1,346: 'Sleeper' (1973)

Viewing writer and director Woody Allen's early films in chronological order provides an interesting and traceable path from motor-mouthed clown to accomplished auteur, not only in terms of tone and subject matter, but also from a purely filmmaking point of view. He had tackled satire back in 1971 with Bananas, but really knew how make it work just two years later with Sleeper, one of his most popular films, and one of his last slapstick comedies before he moved on to maturer work like Annie Hall and Interiors, his love letter to Ingmar Bergman. Revelations concerning his private life continue to concern, baffle and appal, but if you can put these uncomfortable allegations aside (which is understandably a big ask for some people), there is still plenty to admire about Allen's contribution to comedy and cinema as a whole.

Sleeper concerns Miles Monroe (Allen), a jazz musician and owner of a health-food store who goes in for a routine surgical procedure only to be cryogenically frozen without his knowledge and revived some 200 years in the future. The world he wakes up to is one governed by a mysterious dictator known as 'The Leader', who runs the country like a police state, with every citizen numbered and monitored like something straight out a George Orwell novel. The doctors who bring him out of his frozen state do so illegally, in the hope that Miles' exclusion from the government's register will allow him to fly under the radar and assist with the revolution. But the authorities are soon onto the rogue doctors, and Miles must flee into the countryside and into a society he knows little about. Improvising, he disguises himself as a robot butler and falls into the home of narcissistic bohemian Luna (Diane Keaton).

Naturally, much hilarity ensues, with Allen embracing the physical comedy of silent greats Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton and The Marx Brothers, and dialling down his neurotic monologuing shtick. Luna prefers to remain ignorant at first, but after learning more from Miles, turns into full-on revolutionary. As with most comedies, some jokes fall flat, especially when Allen leans on the sexual humour such as the 'Orgasmatron', but this is probably Allen's funniest film, with the chemistry forged with Diane Keaton on the set of Play It Again, Sam effortlessly carrying over to into this. In fact, Keaton may even outshine her co-star. Her dialogue with Allen provides many opportunities for their ideals and social attitudes to clash, and as both characters grow, Sleeper serves up some surprisingly philosophical insights. Big Brother is indeed watching, and although this is a world full of buffoons easily distracted by Miles' shenanigans and the technology proves just as unreliable as it is today, its a pretty horrific place to be.


Directed by: Woody Allen
Starring: Woody Allen, Diane Keaton, John Beck, Mary Gregory, Don Keefer
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,333: 'The Friends of Eddie Coyle' (1973)

Adapted from the novel of the same name by George V. Higgins, director Peter Yates' The Friends of Eddie Coyle takes pride in its authentic depiction of 1970s Boston, where Irish mobsters trade weapons and organise truck hijackings over a diner table. It follows low-level criminal Eddie 'Fingers' Coyle, played by Robert Mitchum, as he faces a lengthy spell in prison for a crime organised by bartender associate Dillon (Peter Boyle). His only hope of avoiding jail time is a recommendation to the District Attorney's office, which may put him good favour with the judge. ATF agent David Foley (Richard Jordan) sees the opportunity to further his own career by promising Eddie he'll put in a good word as long as the career criminal feeds him solid intelligence.

Mitchum is perfect as a man who has grown tired of risking his livelihood for his bosses, having grown old with little to show for it other than some extra knuckles gained from having his hand slammed into a drawer by a rival. Coyle is well-connected and reliable, with a keen eye for a good business deal. Yet as his superiors have grown rich, he still lives in a shabby neighbourhood, saving up any pennies he can. He purchases guns from the wild yet competent young gun-runner Jackie Brown (Steven Keats), but sees an opportunity to prove himself useful to Foley, who actually has more informants within Coyle's underworld than the old man realises. Coyle understands that this is his last chance to escape the world he has become weary of, and spend his remaining years enjoying the sunshine. Yet his information never seems to be enough for Foley, and as the rate of successful arrests rapidly increases, it isn't long until his 'friends' become suspicious.

The Friends of Eddie Coyle could have only been made in the 1970s, when studios in Hollywood were more open to taking risks and allowed writers to tell the story they wanted to tell. This is about as unsentimental and understated as crime dramas get, shot by cinematographer Victor J. Kemper in a loose style more akin to documentary than thriller. The tone is almost nihilistic at times, mirroring the mindset of the majority of the film's shifty characters. It makes for riveting viewing, with Mitchum delivering one of his finest performances in what was already a muscular career. The supporting cast is excellent too, with both Boyle and Keats utterly convincing as bottom-level scumbags, all of whom seem to exist in a state of constant paranoia and aggression. It will leave you incredibly cold, but only the very best crime sagas expose this dangerous world for what it actually is.


Directed by: Peter Yates
Starring: Robert Mitchum, Peter Boyle, Richard Jordan, Steven Keats, Alex Rocco, Joe Santos
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #963: 'Malatesta's Carnival of Blood' (1973)

Every now and then I'll come across a movie made by a director who has since vanished into cinema obscurity; a one-off of such outright lunacy that it may have just been pretty good had more money been in the pot, they employed actors who could act, or the screenplay was written by someone with the ability to string a few half-convincing scenes together. George Barry's Death Bed: The Bed That Eats (1977) comes immediately to mind. The experience is confusing and often laughable, but somewhere beyond the ropey special effects and wobbly sets, there's something interesting going on. Christopher Speeth's Malatesta's Carnival of Blood is one such movie, having recently emerged from decades in the basement.

The plot, if you can call it that, revolves around a run-down carnival operated by the creepy Mr. Blood (Jerome Dempsey). A young lady called Vena (Janine Carazo) and her family move into a trailer in town to run a shooting gallery at the carnival, and Vena quickly becomes close friends with the hunky guy who runs the tunnel of love. However, lurking beneath the fairground is the owner, another creepy guy called Malatesta (Daniel Dietrich), who looms over a family of weird zombie-cannibal types who stalk the grounds at night. As she awaits the arrival of her boyfriend, Vena and her family quickly discover that they are in danger, but will they escape Malatesta's grasp before they are devoured?

If you're a fan of acid-trip cinema, you just may enjoy Malatesta. There is a moment in the film when Vena, trying to escape the clutches of a hungry hoard, seems to experience a series of dream-like moments, caught up in weird devices and running down an abandoned road. It's a visually striking, mind-bending moment, but sadly the only aspect of the movie to be savoured. Along with the confusing plot (the father keeps talking about getting revenge for something that isn't made clear), the film also suffers from terrible dialogue, wooden acting, headache-inducing editing, shoddy make-up, and a distinct lack of action. I find carnivals a fascinating setting, especially for horror, but the park here is constantly empty and in darkness. See only for an early appearances by a near-inaudible Herve Villechaize.


Directed by: Christopher Speeth
Starring: Janine Carazo, Jerome Dempsey, Daniel Dietrich, Hervé Villechaize
Country: USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #905: 'Tenderness of the Wolves' (1973)

Surprisingly deemed too controversial a topic to direct himself, enfant terrible Rainer Werner Fassbinder handed the reins of Tenderness of the Wolves, a deeply unsettling portrayal of serial killer Fritz Haarmann, to his protege Ulli Lommel, the man later responsible for video nasty The Boogeyman (1980) and countless straight-to-video efforts that linger in the IMDb's Bottom 100 list. Despite this, the film looks and feels like a Fassbinder film. The characters inhabit the same sleazily-filmed world, many of Fassbinder's troupe of actors appear, and the great man himself has a small role as an ugly pimp.

Written by the great Kurt Raab, who also stars as Haarmann, Tenderness of the Wolves doesn't spend any time trying to understand the motivation of the man dubbed the Vampire of Hanover, but instead shows us a snippet of his debauched life. Moving the story from 1924 (when Haarmann was arrested in real-life) to post World War II, Germany is a country clearly feeling the economic strain of losing the war, where the black market is flourishing and con-man Haarmann is doing very well for himself. Along with his on-and-off lover and pimp Hans Grans (Jeff Roden), he swindles clothes from good Samaritans and sells them on for profit, as well as selling meat to bar owner Louise (Brigitte Mira) which may or may not be the bodies of his victims.

As a horror, it achieves it's disturbing atmosphere not through gratuitousness, but through the squalor of its setting, observant direction, and Raab's magnificent performance. Haartmann was a gay child molester who enjoyed throttling his victims, biting into their throats (often through the Adam's apple), before chopping them into pieces and throwing them into the Leine River. We don't see much of the murders, but when they do occur they are filmed without sensationalism, made all the more unsettling due to the full-frontal male nudity of some of the film's under-age actors, something extremely rare in horror even today.

Haartmann, shaven-headed and ghostly pale, manipulates his victims by posing as a police officer before drugging and overpowering them, often making little effort to cover his tracks or dispose of the bodies discretely. This arrogance, although it would eventually lead to his arrest, makes him even more of a monster, and Raab delivers a truly terrific performance. Without attempting to explain his actions or even offer a background of how Haarmann got into the criminal business and how he developed a taste for human blood, Tenderness of the Wolves becomes more about the world he inhabits and the creepy characters who surround him. It's hardly a film to discuss over breakfast, but it will no doubt stay with you for long after the credits have rolled.


Directed by: Ulli Lommel
Starring: Kurt Raab, Jeff Roden, Margit Carstensen, Ingrid Caven, Wolfgang Schenck, Brigitte Mira
Country: West Germany

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #897: 'Robin Hood' (1973)

Robin Hood rarely features on many people's favourite Disney movies, and there's a good reason why. Disney's original concept was an adaptation of Reynard the Fox, a collection of allegorical fables from Europe. The deceptive fox was seen as an amoral leading figure for their squeaky-clean and child-friendly output, so the plan was abolished in favour of adapting a more familiar folk-tale, Robin Hood and his Merry Men. This sudden change of plan causes Robin Hood to feel almost like an afterthought, written in such a hurry that the plot seems to shift around without focus, and characters feel like abandoned first draft's of the classic Disney heroes and villains.

With King Richard away fighting his crusade, the kingdom is left in the hands of his thumb-sucking, mommy's-boy younger brother Prince John (Peter Ustinov). Our narrator Allan-a-Dale (Roger Miller) informs us that the poor are being bled dry by the astronomical taxes set by the Sheriff of Nottingham (Pat Buttram), and rely on the exploits of local hero Robin Hood (Brian Bedford) and his companion Little John (Phil Harris), who routinely steal from the rich to give to the poor. Robin enters into an archery tournament dressed as a stork in the hope of winning the heart of old flame Maid Marian (Monica Evans), under the watchful eye of Prince John and his hypnotic sidekick Sir Hiss (Terry-Thomas), who want Robin's head.

Despite the mediocrity of the final film, Robin Hood is certainly bolstered by the impressive array of vocal talent. Bedford provides the charming twang of an English gent and Terry-Thomas is suitably and simultaneously reptilian and hilarious, but Peter Ustinov walks away with the film - his whiny rich-boy Prince John is one the greatest characters Disney have ever created. The presence of such quality British talent makes it strange that a lot of the cast sound like cowboys who have somehow wandered into a distinctly English setting. Some sequences are recycled directly from Disney classics such as Snow White and the Seven Dwarves (1937) and The Jungle Book (1967), and some characters are even borrowed and simply re-named. It's an up-and-down experience, where the plot occasionally wanders and lingers without any sense of narrative, but when Bedford, Thomas and Ustinov share a scene, that familiar Disney magic re-emerges.


Directed by: Wolfgang Reitherman
Voices: Brian Bedford, Peter Ustinov, Terry-Thomas, Phil Harris, Monica Evans
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #871: 'Westworld' (1973)

The late Michael Crichton was a busy man. As well as being a prolific novelist, he has worked in TV and film for three decades, and had more than a few of his books, to varying degrees of quality, adapted for the screen. Some have been enormously successful (Jurassic Park (1993) and its ongoing franchise), and some have been quite diabolical (I'm looking at you, Congo (1995), the film I was subjected to as a child while my older brother went into the next screen to watch Pulp Fiction). One of his most intriguing ideas was his first stint as a feature-film director, Westworld, the tale of a futuristic theme park turned bloodbath.

Company Delos have created a trio of parks based on celebrated historical periods, in which their customers are allowed to roam freely to indulge their darkest fantasies. Medieval World and Roman World are self-explanatory, as is West World, their most popular attraction. Park frequenter John Blane (James Brolin) treats his virgin friend Peter Martin (Richard Benjamin) to a fortnight of gun-slingin', whore-frequentin' and whisky-drinkin' in West World, where robots disguised uncannily as humans play out their roles as bandits, saloon owners, and various other Western stereotypes. Peter is at first reluctant to get into the spirit, until he is bad-mouthed by the mechanical 'Gunslinger' (Yul Brynner) and blows the dead-eyed cyborg away. His inner primate is awoken, until the robots start to malfunction and begin to hunt every human in the parks.

Although Westworld clearly wasn't written with any sense of grand satire in mind and the film, for the most part, is certainly entertaining, the gaping plot-holes leave much to be explained. The guns are designed not to work when pointed at humans, so they are told that anything goes. Fists-fights and bank robberies are frequent events, so what is to stop someone from being stabbed or bludgeoned to death without the ability to tell human from metal? The men tasked with repairing the damaged and glitch-y robots comment that as the machine were part-created by computers, nobody really understand how they work, and are left scratching their heads as the malfunction incidents rise and rise. It's convenient writing that almost borders on lazy, so it is pleasing that the plot moves at a brisk pace, becoming gradually creepier by the minute.

The film, ironically, truly comes alive when Brynner is on screen. The opening third focuses mainly on John, Peter and various other tourists frequenting the other parks as they arrive with bright eyes, introduce us to their holiday destinations, and set about seducing, fighting, or whatever debauchery they have planned. These scenes are most comical, so the tone shifts significantly when the Gunslinger starts shooting people dead for real. Brynner's stoic, emotion-free performance is chilling, and his climactic face-off with Peter is suitably nerve-jangling. Yet I feel an opportunity was missed somewhat, in favour of a more accessible, audience-friendly movie.. The story is full of possibilities and the ingredients were there to create a darker, weightier movie about a fantastical threat that we ponder more today than ever before, but I found it merely satisfying, greatly improved whenever Brynner shows his face.


Directed by: Michael Crichton
Starring: Yul Brynner, Richard Benjamin, James Brolin, Norman Bartold, Alan Oppenheimer
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #825: 'Sisters' (1973)

After over a decade of shorts and forgotten comedies, director Brian De Palma finally embraced his Alfred Hitchcock fixation and made Sisters, kick-starting a second decade of movies that any director would be proud of. Inspired by an article on Siamese twins in the Soviet Union, Sisters begins with a weird game show where the audience and contestants guess on the outcome of prank situation involving a slowly undressing blind woman and a potential peeping tom. The blind woman turns out to be an actress, Danielle (Margot Kidder), who isn't really blind, and she offers a nightcap to the peeper (who turned out not to peep after all), Phillip (Lisle Wilson).

They spend the night together and in the morning, discovering it's Danielle's (and her twin sister Dominique's) birthday, he heads out to a bakery to buy her a cake. On his return, he finds Danielle in a strange state, and she stabs him repeatedly with a knife. In the adjacent window, Grace (Jennifer Salt), witnesses the murder and immediately calls the police. But as she's a reporter who has recently disgruntled the police with a damaging news story, they procrastinate with questions, allowing Danielle and her ex-husband Emil (Phantom of the Paradise's (1974) William Finley) time to hide the body and clean up the murder scene. Grace, frustrated, is joined by private investigator Joseph Larch (Charles Durning), who starts the search for the elusive corpse as Grace probes into Danielle's alarming past.

Although heavy on the Hitchcockian touches - the references to Rear Window (1954) and Psycho (1960) are obvious - Sisters has a life of his own. The macabre climax especially, as distorted, implanted memories play out like an absurdist silent horror directed by the Maysles brothers, is visually stunning. Although exploitation tactics are used during the bloodier scenes, the film is heavily psychological. For most of the duration of the film, it's unclear as to what it's really about, but this uncertainty only makes the film more intriguing. It's capped off with a fine performance from Kidder (playing both twins) and a reliably creepy turn from Finley, who is possibly the strangest looking man I've ever seen.


Directed by: Brian De Palma
Starring: Margot Kidder, Jennifer Salt, William Finley, Charles Durning
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #780: 'The Holy Mountain' (1973)

A man dressed like Christ wakes up drenched in his own urine and with a face full of flies. He is awoken and nursed by a group of naked children and an amputee dwarf, the latter of whom accompanies the man into town where people are getting executed and raped while rich tourists take photographs and clap. The Spanish invasion of Mexico is played out with toads and lizards as a crowd watches. Fat men dressed like Romans sell religious paraphernalia, and, after noticing the man's resemblance to Jesus, get him drunk and use his body to make moulds of Jesus on the cross. The man awakens, surrounded by images of himself on the cross. He screams and begins to smash the figures with his bare hands. After this, things begin to get really weird.

Hot off the success of his Midnight Movie, the psychedelic, ultra-violent El Topo (1970), Alejandro Jodorowsky was given a decent budget for his follow-up. Experimenting with sleep deprivation, spiritualist meditation and, of course, LSD, the result would be one of the most visually arresting films ever made, and also one of the strangest. The target is religion, but more of man's interpretation of religion to suit his own needs. The Holy Mountain of the title is the key to immortality, but the collection of capitalists, exploiters and thugs who embark on the journey seek all the answers in order to escape the horrors of the world they're directly responsible for.

Jodorowsky has a real gift for the image. Whether it's the sublime, kitsch interiors of the Alchemist's (Jodorowsky himself) room, located at the top of a huge tower which the man dressed like Jesus, billed as the Thief (Horacio Salinas), has to ascend perched on a giant hook, or the truly grotesque sight of flayed goats paraded around a town on poles, he knows how to grab your attention. The film switches gleefully between horror, satire, farce and sometimes camp, like the machine that needs to be penetrated sexually with a huge electric phallus before it will open and allow you to operate it. This scene is part of a collection of vignettes that makes up the central section, as we meet the seven chosen to journey to The Holy Mountain.

Unseen for around 30 years, The Holy Mountain found itself in distribution purgatory, until it was recently re-released and given the sort of remastering it deserved. It is a kaleidoscope of acid-trip imagery, and Jodorowsky throws politics, sociology and history into the mix to make one enlightening experience. Embracing the free-form storytelling of Federico Fellini and, especially, Luis Bunuel, it may frustrate with it's lack of narrative structure, but artists like Jodorowsky shouldn't be shackled with such formalities. Scandalous, beautiful, horrifying and often baffling, The Holy Mountain is an experience that will no doubt remain with you for days, possibly longer, but whatever your view, it's like nothing you've seen before.


Directed by: Alejandro Jodorowsky
Starring: Alejandro Jodorowsky, Horacio Salinas, Zamira Saunders, Juan Ferrara
Country: Mexico/USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #731: 'Theatre of Blood' (1973)

Ranked as his personal favourite amongst Vincent Price's vast acting catalogue, Theatre of Blood seems to have stood the test of time thanks to a macabre mixture of tongue-in-cheek blood-letting and genuinely gruesome horror, a stellar ensemble of memorable cult British thespians, and some interesting observations about the death of theatre. Perhaps the latter is looking a little too much into it, but it gives the film an interesting angle, especially with Price delivering one of his greatest performances as a strictly Shakespeare performer, roles the actor himself expressed a desire to play, only to be repeatedly type-cast in the horror genre that was admittedly very good to him.

Price plays Edward Lionheart, a forgotten thesp who spends his time performing in full make-up in an abandoned theatre to a gang of meth-drinking vagrants. Only a few years ago, he believed he was on the cusp of winning the elusive Critic's Circle Award, only for it to be awarded to a younger actor who embraced the 'new'. Distraught, Lionheart was thought to have committed suicide in front of the critics who voted against him, but actually survived the attack and was nursed to health by the gang of drug addicts who found him. Lionheart was simply preparing for his greatest performance yet, and is hell-bent on murdering or destroying the people he thinks wronged him, all in the style of his greatest idol, William Shakespeare.

Above all else, Theatre of Blood is just bloody good fun. Narratively, it isn't much more than one murder after another, each one as gory and rather clever as the last. My personal favourite is Lionheart disguising himself as a camp hairdresser, dressing in outrageous clothes and a huge blonde wig in order to lure critic Chloe Moon (Coral Browne - Price's future wife) into a false sense of security so he can fry her with hair curlers. This is crazy stuff, and I don't care how many horror films you've seen, you've never seen one with a Tybalt/Mercutio-inspired sword-fight. On trampolines. But I'm selling the film short. The script, by Anthony Greville-Bell, is really quite clever, and with an ensemble this good (Diana Rigg plays Lionheart's daughter, and supporting roles go to Ian Hendry, Harry Andrews, Jack Hawkins, Robert Morley, Michael Hordley and Arthur Lowe), Theatre of Blood doesn't disappoint.


Directed by: Douglas Hickox
Starring: Vincent Price, Diana Rigg, Ian Hendry, Harry Andrews, Coral Browne, Jack Hawkins, Arthur Lowe, Michael Hordern
Country: UK

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #640: 'Lady Snowblood' (1973)

In 1874 Japan, a woman gives birth in a prison. Almost a year before, the woman, Sayo (Miyoko Akaza), her husband and son are attacked in a village by four criminals - Okono (Sanae Nakahara), Banzo (Noboru Nakaya), Tokuichi (Takeo Chii) and Gishiro (Eiji Okada). The husband and son are murdered in cold bold, and Sayo is taken by Tokuichi to work for him. After Sayo murders him, she is sent to prison, where she has sex with many guards in the hope of becoming pregnant, to give birth to a child that can avenge her. That child is Yuki (Meiko Kaji), who after receiving years of training from a priest, becomes Lady Snowblood, a lethal assassin whose only thirst is for revenge.

While this may sound similar to countless martial arts or samurai films to come out of Japan and China during the 1970's, there's something profoundly different to Lady Snowblood. While it certainly offers scenes of outlandish violence (the blood spurts from the body like a gushing fountain), director Toshiya Fujita, taking inspiration from the manga Shurayukihime, seems more interested in building the foundation to the sweeping story than having scene after scene of flying limbs. Separated by title-carded chapters, the film makes a point of giving us a decent story to each target, subtly interlinking the stories to make sure they flow, rather than simply jumping from one person to the next.

What also separates this from others of similar ilk on the grindhouse circuit is the cinematography by Masaki Tamura, which is nothing short of beautiful. I promised myself I would try and get through this entire review without mentioning Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill (2003-2004), but it's not hard to see why he chose to steal (sorry, it's 'homage' when its Tarantino doing it) the same setting and colour palette. Every scene is wide and lovingly crafted, and when the violence ensues, it turns out that red on white is truly stunning. It may not have the outlandish violence of, say, the Lone Wolf and Cub series (1972-1974), but this has a calm yet quick slash of a sword, rather than an extended sword fight, and the film is clinical in that aspect to say the least. While the pace may be often too slow, this is still a satisfying revenge drama featuring one of the most iconic character of its genre.


Directed by: Toshiya Fujita
Starring: Meiko Kaji, Toshio Kurosawa, Eiji Okada, Sanae Nakahara
Country: Japan

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #622: 'Amarcord' (1973)

Translated as 'I Remember', the great Italian director Federico Fellini's Amarcord is a series a comedic vignettes that look back at his childhood in a 1930's coastal town. Apart from the intertwining inhabitants, there is nothing thematically or even tonally linking the stories together, much like memory itself. The film takes places over the course of a year, with nothing signifying the passage of time apart from the subtle changes in seasons. Apart from the film's brief focus on the rise of fascism, this is Fellini at his most satirically light, with his usual mocking of the bourgeoisie making way for some amusingly childish humour and some beautifully photographed scenes.

True to Fellini's style, Amarcord is occasionally outrageous and always flamboyant. We see the majority of the film through the eyes of the closest thing there is to a protagonist, the young, rosy-cheeked Titta (Bruno Zanin), and therefore everything in the film feels exaggerated. The sexual aspects especially are often juvenile, but true to the experiences of a young, hormonal man, so when Titta shows off his strength by lifting the large, buxom tobacconist (Maria Antonietta Beluzzi) he so often fantasises about, he is rewarded by having a grope of her ridiculously large breasts in a scene that could have been called Carry on Fellini. There is also the local nymphomaniac Volpina (Josiane Tanzilli), who seems to hover around touching herself and growling hungrily at any man who glances in her direction. These are true Fellini grotesques.

The comedy aside (and special mention must go to the hilarious segment in which Titta's crazy Uncle Teo (Ciccio Ingrassia) comes to stay and escapes into a tree), there are as many touching and profound moments that display Fellini's outstanding talent. The scene in which Titta must watch his mother's final moments on a hospital bed is brutal in its simplicity, with Titta's naivety failing to grasp the seriousness of the situation while his father Aurelio (Armando Brancia) lingers in tragic silence. There's also moments of beauty, namely the arrival of a peacock in the winter snow displaying it's covert feathers, or the sight of a giant ocean liner, seemingly meaningless moments that stuck with Fellini for decades. For me, this is not Fellini's finest moment - that would lie with 8 1/2 (1963), arguably one of the finest films ever made - but this is still one of the most accurate depictions of memory and beautiful ode's to nostalgia I've seen.


Directed by: Federico Fellini
Starring: Armando Brancia, Pupella Maggio, Bruno Zanin, Magali Noël
Country: Italy/France

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #621: 'Black Mama, White Mama' (1973)

Going by the title alone, you would be forgiven if you mistook this passable exploitation flick as an entry into the blaxploitation genre. But Black Mama, White Mama combines two sub-genres from the grindhouse circuit - Women in Prison (WiP) and the Filipino action flick. No stranger to the ripe-for-exploiting and dirt-cheap Filipino wilderness, director Eddie Romero employs genre legend Pam Grier (although in 1973 she was only on the cusp of her 70's fame) as the titular black mama, Lee, and pretty, willowy blonde Margaret Markov (who would star with Grier the following year in The Arena) as the white mama, Karen.

The two have just landed in a women's prison in the Philippines. Lee has been locked up for working as a harem girl, and finds herself in debt to gangster Vic Cheng (Vic Diaz). Karen is a revolutionary, working for Che Guevara-lookalike Ernesto (Zaldy Zshornack), helping to overthrow the corrupt Filippino government. After some early problems with a sadistic lesbian warden and being locked naked (obviously) in a hot box, Lee and Karen manage to escape after their transportation is attacked by Karen's revolutionary friends. But army reinforcements headed by the desperate Captain Cruz (Eddie Garcia) intervene and Lee and Karen find themselves on foot shackled at the wrist. Cruz is forced to turn to notorious cowboy criminal Ruben (Sid Haig) for assistance in locating the convicts, but Cheng's men are never far behind.

If it sounds like there's a lot of going on here, that's because there kinda is. About half-way through, the film shifts focus to these three quarrelling groups and away from the sexy action of Grier and Markov. So it becomes a hail of paint-red blood and crappy explosions, rather than the mildly entertaining lesbian and shower scenes of the opening portion, and it's only when Sid Haig shows up that the film is given any character to get on board with (even though he's a bastard). Grier is always good value however, and although she was never the greatest actress - despite her impressive turn in Jackie Brown (1997) - she has a real charisma that led to her become the queen of blaxploitation with films such as Coffy (later the same year) and Foxy Brown (1974). Pretty dull stuff overall, but exploitation fans should certainly give it a go, if not for the opening 20 minutes alone. 

Directed by: Eddie Romero

Starring: Pam Grier, Margaret Markov, Sid Haig, Lynn Borden

Country: USA/Philippines

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #533: 'Coffy' (1973)

Since impressing writer/director Jack Hill in his two previous films (The Big Doll House (1971) and The Big Bird Cage (1972)), the buxom and beautiful Pam Grier takes centre stage in this violent anti-drug vigilante drama. Grier plays a no-holds-barred nurse, known by many as Coffy, whose younger sister has been brought into the world of drugs, and is in hospital after being sold some "bad stuff". She subsequently takes control of the situation, infiltrating the criminal world of pimps and drug pushers, using her sexuality to dupe the seemingly stupid and ridiculous criminal gangs. In the opening, she poses as a woman hooked on drugs, looking for her next fix, portraying herself as one of the many women that will do "anything" for drugs. This leads to a quite graphic scene in which Coffy blows the head off a dealer with a shotgun.

Within an exploitation industry that played very much within the confines of misogyny, this particular blaxploitation film offers a more feminist approach to the subject. At the time black films were largely masculine in their output, with lead actors such as Rudy Ray Moore, who would treat female characters with seeming disdain, and they were fundamentally in the films as sexual objects. In Coffy, Grier obliterates the ideal of the passive woman, and gleefully attacks both men and women in her mission to destroy the illegal drugs industry. This inevitably leads her to areas of society formally thought to be justified; including a local politician who Coffy has been in a relationship with.

Coffy is an interesting twist on the male dominated blaxploitation genre, and Grier is sensational in the lead - it is easy to see why she has endured where many other actresses of the decade have disappeared into obscurity. It does still have sequences of gratuitous female nudity (but that is simple symptomatic of the period), such as the party scene where Coffy attacks the harem of prostitutes under the control of the over-the-top, garishly dressed pimp, King George (Robert DoQui), whose collection of "onesy" outfits are spectacularly '70's. I find most of the charm of these low budget '70's films to be held in their outrageous iconography - the fashions and outlandish decorations are a special joy to behold. Unusually for the time, Coffy does not glorify drugs and the activities of the criminals, but does show the ubiquitous theme that authorities were implicit in pushing drugs into the black ghettos of America.


Directed by: Jack Hill
Starring: Pam Grier, Booker Bradshaw, Robert DoQui
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Marc Ivamy

Review #407: 'The Twilight People' (1973)

Successful adventurer Matt Farrell (John Ashley) is kidnapped whilst on a dive by sadistic hunter Steinman (Jan Merlin), who takes him to a mysterious island dominated by the insane Dr. Gordon (Charles Macaulay). Gordon has been doing experiments on the native locals and cross-bred them with certain animals in an attempt to create a great army, and sees Farrell as a suitable addition to his grisly bunch. After escaping with Gordon's daughter Neva (Pat Woodell) and all the human-animal hybrids, Steinman pursues them in a deadly game of cat-and-mouse.

As far as re-makes/re-imaginings of the hugely influential Island of Lost Souls (1932) go, The Twilight People certainly isn't the worst. Choked with massive budget limitations that naturally leads to terrible acting and worse make-up, this Grindhouse effort certainly has it's charms. It is, of course, fucking awful, but there is a bit of spirit amongst the cast, and plenty of laugh-at-the-shit-make-up moments. The creatures, which include an Antelope Man, an Ape Man, a Wolf Woman, and most hilariously, a Bat Man, are so ridiculous looking that I could scarcely believe that the actors behind them managed to keep a straight face throughout the film. It does, however, have Pam Grier as the Panther Woman (made famous by Kathleen Burke from the 1932 original), and seeing her rip her way through a number of Gordon's henchman is certainly worth your time.

But the on-the-run second half of the film repeatedly stalls and ultimately bores, as the film seems to be wind down the proceedings in order to sustain an acceptable running time. It is also quite tame as far as low-budget monster movies go, but I have to admit that it added to it's almost innocent charm. The ending, which doesn't really wrap anything up, ends abruptly when I was expecting and almost hoping for five minutes more. To summarise then, certainly worth a watch if you like your movies trashy, cheap, and easy to watch, but a meandering and ridiculous film overall. Though I would recommend a watch simply for the Bat Man, paper wings and all.


Directed by: Eddie Romero
Starring: John Ashley, Pat Woodell, Jan Merlin, Charles Macaulay
Country: Philippines/USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #366: 'Black Caesar' (1973)

Not one to miss on an opportunity, Larry Cohen's second feature film utilised the explosion of blaxploitation cinema after the successes of Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song (1971) and Shaft (1971), and crafted his own "black" action film, modelled on the 1931 film Little Caesar. Fred Williamson plays the titular role, a boy from the streets, witnessing and being victim of brutality from the white community, and particularly a local police officer, McKinney (Art Lund). As an adult, Caesar's goal is to become kingpin of Harlem, and he won't let anything stand in his way.

The narrative is a story told over, which focuses on a person who looses everything in the pursuit of power, including childhood friends, wives, and particularly looses sight of the person that they are. It's always great to watch a Cohen movie from this period. When filming in the streets (in this case New York - of which is his usual setting), his guerilla-style is self evident: clearly in the making of these films, Cohen does not get any kind of permission to film, he simply turns up and does it. In one scene, Williamson has been shot, the camera follows him down the busy street from a roof top, and passers by seem to want to help him. It's these elements of exploitation cinema that I embrace.

Whilst this is certainly not one of Cohen's greatest (check out his horror output for some terrifically socio-political subtexts), the film oozes charm. Not only do we have the easy-cool of Fred Williamson, the film also has the ubiquitous Gloria Hendry , although not in her usual kung-fu-influenced fighting mode. Even though this film is less well known than Shaft or Superfly (1972), who's soundtracks were composed by soul giants Isaac Hayes and Curtis Mayfield respectively, Black Caesar's soundtrack is provided by the godfather of soul himself, James Brown: Break it down! Heeyyyyaa!!


Directed by: Larry Cohen
Starring: Fred Williamson, Gloria Hendry, Art Lund, D'Urville Martin
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Marc Ivamy

Review #361: 'The Doll Squad' (1973)

The Doll Squad pre-dates the hugely successful television series Charlie's Angels (1976 - 1981), and it's intentions are similar. After a catastrophic space shuttle launch, the clandestine group of government agents, must form to conquer this criminal conspiracy. Sabrina Kincaid (Francine York) is called to gather the scattered doll squad, a group of female agents. Practically all American films and television in the 1970's that involved crime were embroiled in conspiracy, from Starsky and Hutch (1975 - 1979), Police Woman (1974 - 1978) to The Amazing Spider-Man (1977 - 1979), and this film seems to have paved the way. It's certainly true that the producer of Charlie's Angels (Aaron Spelling) did go to the premier of The Doll Squad.

The films production is obviously incredibly low budget. Ted V. Mikels was previously known for the grindhouse cheapie's The Corpse Grinders (1971) and Blood Orgy of the She-Devils (1972), but this film's production values certainly rise above the limitations, and also look a lot better than the horror films. Where the film really fails is in the pace. It struggles through several clunky dialogue scenes, and often uses a piece of funky, disco-esque soundtrack (which is used far too much throughout the film) seemingly to attempt to give a dull scene a bit of pep - such as what appears to be either a fast walk down a long corridor, or a slow walk in a short one.

However, when the action does heighten, and that same piece of music is used appropriately, the film does have its moments of fun. It's always good to see the heavily made-up, statuesque '70's women beating up the weak men, from the women in prison movies, to proto-punk Switchblade Sisters (1975) - and of course their raison-d'etre, seduction. The film also boasts an appearance by Tura Satana, who was electric in Russ Meyer's Faster Pussycat. Kill! Kill! (1965). Whilst the film has it's lagging moments, and tedious dialogue, it doesn't ever really become boring. All the limitations actually function well within the context of the ludicrous scenes, and gives the film humour. A lasting example would be, of course, the technical effects for explosions. Mikels's solution? Superimpose a flare of red over the exploded object, then cutting object out: ridiculous, cheap-as-chips, fucking hilarious!


Directed by: Ted V. Mikels
Starring: Michael Ansara, Francine York, Anthony Eisley
Country: USA

Rating: **

Marc Ivamy

Review #324: 'Raw Meat' (1973)

When an important government agent goes missing at Russell Square Tube Station in London, Inspector Calhoun (Donald Pleasence) and Detective Rogers (Norman Rossington) are assigned to the case. They discover previous disappearances in the same area, and also bring in American student Alex (David Ladd), who along with his girlfriend Patricia (Sharon Gurney), were the last people to see him alive. Lurking in a caved-in and disused tunnel near to the Tube Station is a plague-ravaged cannibal who has remained there since the cave-in years before.

Known as Death Line in the UK, this film had completely eluded me until it turned up in the Grindhouse Project. It is shocking that this is so little-known, as it is an astoundingly accomplished and wittily scripted little British horror film, complete with a genuinely unsettling atmosphere, gruesome violence, and that quintessential Britishness. The first time I realised I was watching a gem is when I witnessed the technically impressive tracking shot that occurs around twenty minutes in. It is a magnificent introduction to the monster, as we move around half-decomposed bodies, dripping taps, and rats. The set design department should be proud, as everything looks real; the dampness, the stench and the squalor.

The horror is not the only factor that makes this a very good film; the script, by Ceri Jones, is full of wit and great subtle touches. The two policemen are constantly taking the piss out of each other and have great chemistry, and it all plays out so naturally. Pleasence looks like he's having a ball, whether it be the scene in which he steals whisky from a dead man's house, or when he's getting pissed in the pub and refusing to leave. And Rossington makes for a great straight-man. Even Christopher Lee pops up in an inspired cameo as MI5 agent Stratton-Villiers. A true underrated gem, then, and here's to a mass re-discovery and a cult following.


Directed by: Gary Sherman
Starring: Donald Pleasence, Norman Rossington, David Ladd, Sharon Gurney, Christopher Lee
Country: UK

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #245: 'Executive Action' (1973)

David Miller's conspiracy-theory 're-enactment' shows the plotting by several oil-barons and intelligence officers to murder the then-President of the United States John F. Kennedy. Kennedy's pushing of the Civil Rights movement and plans to withdraw U.S. forces from Vietnam proves a threat to these emotionless rich folk, and the removal of Kennedy will benefit their business and, to them, their country. Farrington (Burt Lancaster), a black ops specialist, plans out the assassination in minute detail, with the backing of Foster (Robert Ryan), an oil baron. The action cuts between meetings between these men, the preparations of the gunmen and their target practice, and the recruitment and actions of a Lee Harvey Oswald lookalike.

While not being a fact-based and detailed account like the portrayal of Jim Garrison's investigation in Oliver Stone's excellent JFK (1991), Executive Action makes no claims to be historical fact, but instead a theory of how Kennedy's assassination could have been planned. How much is based on fact I don't know, as I had trouble finding much information about it. While it is certainly very interesting from a conspiracy-theorists point-of-view, the film works far better as a straightforward thriller, and certainly manages to build up plenty of tension regardless of the fact that we know what is going to happen, and that what is being played out in front of us is unlikely to be true.

It's a cold and emotionless film, which made me like it more. Lancaster's Farrington prepares the assassination as if he is preparing a holiday - matter-of-factly, routinely. The terrifying thing is that these men believe that what they are doing is patriotic and for the good of the country. Because of this, the film can be seen as a damning commentary of American values - the pursuit of money and desire for security is held in higher regard than doing the right thing, or equality. The film's low budget is certainly noticeable, and some of the supporting acting is often questionable, but this is a riveting thriller that contains many qualities that made the 70's the greatest era for American cinema.


Directed by: David Miller
Starring: Burt Lancaster, Robert Ryan, Will Geer
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie