Review #1,345: 'The Inglorious Bastards' (1978)

Not to be confused with Quentin Tarantino's deliberately misspelt men-on-a-mission movie Inglourious Basterds from 2009, Italian director Enzo G. Castellari's correctly spelt The Inglorious Bastards from 1978 is pure exploitation, featuring a number of familiar faces from the genre and plenty of humour, explosions and dick-measuring to appease fans. The World War II setting is almost an afterthought, merely an excuse to round up a collection of colourful characters in one setting and provide an endless roster of faceless bad guys to be blown away without the need of explanation. The Inglorious Bastards is one of the most fun B-movies around, boasting some impressively staged action in spite of its obvious budget constraints.

Taking its cue from The Dirty Dozen, our heroes are a rag-tag bunch of rebel soldiers whose crimes include everything from theft and desertion to murder and mutiny. They are transported to a camp near the Ardennes in France where they are to be executed, but their vehicle is soon attacked by German bombers and only a handful escape with their lives. These include Canfield (Fred Williamson), Tony (Peter Hooten), Nick (Michael Pergolani), Berle (Jackie Basehart), and the proud Lt. Yeager (Bo Svenson), who attempt to put aside their differences to make it through hostile territory to the safety of Switzerland. They may be roughnecks but they are still ready and willing to fight, proving themselves efficient at it when they tear through various bands of Nazis along the way. After they accidentally gun down a squad of Americans dressed as German troops, the bastards have no choice but to complete the fallen soldiers' mission to steal a weapon from an armoured train.

Barely ten minutes go by without a slice of action, making Castellari's movie one of the most fast-paced examples of the genre. Of course, its bloodless and mostly without any real consequence, with many of the actors firing their guns into the ground, but it's fun and exciting nonetheless. If you're looking for historical accuracy or realistic warfare then this isn't the movie for you, but if you appreciate over-the-top exploitation with a sense of humour and an overbearing sense of machismo, then there is plenty to enjoy here. Williamson and Svenson get most of the screen time, with Williamson clearly enjoying being the only black face in a relatively all-white war, but supporting players Hooten and Pergolani are most impressive as two of the most ethically-questionable members of this strained band of brothers. It isn't difficult to see why Tarantino swiped the name for his own project (even though the two films share little in common), as The Inglorious Bastards is just as entertaining as its title would suggest.


Directed by: Enzo G. Castellari
Starring: Bo Svenson, Peter Hooten, Fred Williamson, Michael Pergolani, Jackie Basehart
Country: Italy

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #894: 'The Boys from Brazil' (1978)

The re-birth of the Third Reich has proven to be an oddly desirable topic for many an inspiring schlock-maker. Titles such as They Saved Hitler's Brain (1968) and Gestapo's Last Orgy (1977) come to mind - movies from a bygone era when cinema-goer's would travel to like their local drive-in or tune into their TV sets late at night and expect to see something cheap, awful, but most likely hilarious. The Boys from Brazil, directed by Franklin J. Schaffner (Planet of the Apes (1968), Patton (1970)), is an event movie with a budget and an A-list cast that plots a Jewish Nazi-hunter against a tyrannical doctor hell-bent on creating a new fuhrer.

Such a mainstream movie could be labelled as insensitive for creating outlandish fiction out of such a terrible event and for profiteering from it, but The Boys from Brazil, although handsomely filmed and mostly well-performed, is pure pantomime exploitation. This is evident from the moment we meet Ezra Lieberman, an ageing Austrian Nazi hunter played by Laurence Olivier, who delivers his lines in an accent so ludicrous he could be voicing a Disney character. When a conspiracy to assassinate 94 civil servants headed by SS surgeon Josef Mengele (Gregory Peck) is brought to Lieberman's attention by young Jewish activist Kohler (Steve Guttenberg) - who quickly vanishes - the old man travels throughout Europe to investigate the potential targets.

Mengele's plot seems like random, senseless madness at first, but it doesn't take long to figure out what's going on. The goal, when revealed, is utterly preposterous but may have been scarily plausible if executed with care. But The Boys from Brazil is often camp, with Peck especially hamming it up and gobbling up the scene whenever he appears. He's the best thing in it - a moustached, maniacal lunk with the complexion of a pint of milk - and has greatest line of the film when he shouts "shut up, you ugly bitch!" to the unfortunate wife of an SS officer. It all leads to fisticuffs at the climax between the frail Lieberman and the bulky Mengele, which despite the extraordinary levels of gore and the presence of three angry Doberman, is unintentionally hilarious. Weird, absurd, but undeniably fun, this is pure nazisploitation polished by a talented director.


Directed by: Franklin J. Schaffner
Starring: Laurence Olivier, Gregory Peck, James Mason, Lilli Palmer, Steve Guttenberg, Denholm Elliott, Bruno Ganz
Country: UK/USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #595: 'Jubilee' (1978)

Queen Elizabeth I (Jenny Runacre), guided by John Dee (Richard O'Brien) and spirit guide Ariel (David Brandon), travels forward in time to the eve of the Silver Jubilee to witness Britain in a state of moral and physical decay. The Queen is dead, and the streets are now seemingly ran by groups of punks wearing outlandish clothes and face-paint. One particular group, consisting of, amongst others, Amyl Nitrate (Jordan), Mad (Toyah Willcox), Bod (Runacre in a dual role), Crabs (Nell Campbell) and Chaos (Hermine Demoriane), tend to spend their time smashing cars, having sex, participating in the odd murder, and generally giving the two-finger salute to anything resembling conformity. Crabs picks up a young punk named Kid (Adam Ant), who has aspirations to be a rock star, and finds himself being swept up by the system.

Derek Jarman certainly wasn't a punk - he was at least one generation too late and his art was generally  more focused on themes of homosexuality and homoerotica - but Jubilee seems to aspire to be a film that defines punk. As well as the many punk acts that appears in the film (Siouxsie and the Banshees, Wayne County and The Stilts all appear as well as the aforementioned Jordan, Wilcox and Adam Ant), Jubilee adopts a punk aesthetic. The Britain of the 'future' is a dystopian wasteland, filmed in the poorer areas of London that are still marked by the Blitz, visualised through a grey-blue tinted lens. The outfits are a ragged mixture of fashions and social decadence from years and centuries past, combined to make a mockery of social conformity and mass consumerism.

Yet the film is a lot more than a representation of a movement that caught the director's eye. Jarman combines themes of sci-fi, social commentary, the idea of 'Britishness', and satire, in what is ultimately a bit of a mess, but an intriguing and often fascinating mess nonetheless. In fact, this roughness works in favour of it's nihilistic outlook, and the episodic structure offers some bizarre and outlandish vignettes (my personal favourites being Jordan's rendition of Rule Britannia in an Union Jack dress and the murder of a transvestite). But the film wanders on for a bit too long, lessening its impact, and shifting focus to Kid's dull plight in the music business (although it does introduce the phenomenal Jack Birkett).

This is certainly Jarman like I've never seen him before, possibly the most complex and 'cinematic' of his filmography, but the film sometimes overreach itself. Often the film becomes confusing, shifting it's tone from dramatic to satirical, causing the message that Jarman is trying to communicate to blur to the point where I didn't know whether to laugh or to ponder. Is this a film celebrating punk and rebellion? Or is it satirising punk? I've read various writings about this film that claim both. As a film, it lacks lacks narrative and focus, but as an experience, it is certainly memorable. It also has a great cast of actors and musicians that are still remembered in cult circles from old Britain, including Ian Charleson, Karl Johnson, Claire Davenport and Lindsay Kemp, for those, like me, who enjoy looking back in time at Britain, which is ironically the opposite to what Queen Elizabeth I does in Jubilee.


Directed by: Derek Jarman
Starring: Jenny Runacre, Nell Campbell, Toyah Willcox, Jordan, Hermine Demoriane, Ian Charleson, Karl Johnson, Adam Ant
Country: UK

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #549: 'Faces of Death' (1978)

The morbid human fascination with on-screen death and all things grisly began as early as 1962, with the release of the hugely successful Mondo Cane, a 'documentary' that explored the bizarre traditions and practises of obscure sub-cultures that were, at the time, relatively unknown to Western audiences. The film was nominated for the Palme d'Or and even received an Academy Award nomination, and this success spawned a rather repulsive sub-genre known as mondo films, which generally exploited audiences ignorance and their undeniable thirst for death. Thankfully, mondo quickly became unfashionable and had all but died out by the early 1970's, with the exception of a few z-grade obscurities that passed under the radar. Yet it seemed that audiences weren't done with their lust for real cadavers, and the genre saw a resurgence in 1978 amidst an influx of midnight movies and cheap, gory horrors. This came in the form of Faces of Death, the cinematic equivalent of slowing down while passing a car accident.

We are first greeted by Dr. Francis B. Gross (Michael Carr), a surgeon who talks directly to camera and ponders the various 'faces of death' he has experiences throughout his career - that being the various ways in which a person can meet their doom. We are then taken on a journey throughout Gross's 'career', in which we meet an African tribe, a Satanic ritualistic cult, a man being eaten alive by a crocodile, slaughterhouses, a pitbull fight, and state executions, amongst others. It is presented as a genuine documentary, with the various vignettes trying to be palmed off as being genuine footage. The vast majority is fake and rather terribly done, and some is genuine, resulting in the more disturbing aspects of the film.

I've always been somewhat reluctant to watch Faces of Death, as although I was assured by Marc that the majority of the film is laughable, I have always found scenes of real violence genuinely unsettling. With the rise of the Internet occurring in my teens, I found myself unable to resist the lure and treated myself to endless photographs of gunshots, stabbings and car accidents, yet maturity seemed to have muted my curiosity. Yet after finally sitting through the (somewhat exhausting) 100 minutes of Faces of Death, I was dumbfounded by the approach of director John Alan Schwartz and his complete ineptness in the staged scenes, cancelling out the impact of the real footage, and making the entire film disappointingly laughable.

It may have convinced audiences back in 1978, but the film has badly dated. While it may still boast the tag of 'banned in 46 countries!', it is now desperately tame. Of course, there are some distressing scenes in the genuine footage (mainly in the scenes of seal clubbing and the suicide of Mary Ellen Brighton), Schwartz makes many mistakes in the staged scenes. I mean, did it not occur to him that a shot from inside an active gas chamber may just give the game away, or narrating "in the country of Africa..." may cause the film to come across as, well, plain stupid? Maybe I'm being a bit too harsh, as although the film is rather risible, it is still one of the most popular cult horror films of all time, and Dr. Gross's occasionally amusing narration does make some interesting observations, and at least attempts to form a coherent narrative. Time will tell as to where Faces of Death will remain in horror history, but for now it will remain a subject of curiosity, and nothing more.


Directed by: John Alan Schwartz
Starring: Michael Carr
Country: USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #510: 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers' (1978)

After discovering a strange flower pod and taking it home, health department agent Elizabeth Driscoll (Brooke Adams) notices her partner Geoffrey (Art Hindle) acting strangely. She follows him, watching him meet up with similarly morbid characters exchanging packages. It is only her work partner Matthew Bennell (Donald Sutherland) who seems to take her seriously. He takes her to meet intellectual psychiatrist David Kibner (Leonard Nimoy), who thinks she has convinced herself of this due to a breakdown in communication between her and Geoffrey. Only when Matthew's friend Jack (Jeff Goldblum) discovers a re-animating body of himself at his work, does the truth hit Matthew, and the group, along with Jack's wife Nancy (Veronica Cartwright), flee to escape the alien onslaught.

Anyone who has seen Don Siegel's 1956 original, which was based on Jack Finney's 1955 novel, will know that the plot serves as a metaphorical interpretation of the U.S.'s political attitudes to communism, which they felt was attacking their countries democratic idealism. Philip Kaufman's 1978 remake abandons this intriguing premise in favour of something more straight-laced and old-fashioned. Not that this is a bad thing, as although inferior to Siegel's version, Invasion... is still a highly entertaining horror, that takes its time in the early stages to establish a foundation of impending dread, and to develop the main characters. This was an aspect that was prevalent throughout 1970's horror movies, with respected directors taking on the genre, and bringing their own artistic aesthetics and embedding them on screen.

It is after the first 50 minutes or so when the film seems to abandon this approach to pursue a more relentless, panicked tone, as the film descends into a chase movie. It was this aspect that brought the film down a peg or two for me, as it seemed to almost sell-out on its atmospheric openings, and resort to more action-orientated tactics, with repetitive scenes of fleeing and hiding. Interestingly though, the camerawork shifts from calm and slow-moving, to hand-held and loose just as things get frantic, a similar approach directors Nicolas Roeg and Roman Polanski would take in their masterpieces Don't Look Now (1973) and Chinatown (1974), respectively.

But, like I said earlier, the film is undoubtedly entertaining, and has plenty of homages to the original (stars Robert Duvall and Kevin McCarthy put in cameo appearances - the latter shouting "they're here!" in the street as if wandered over from the climax of the original), and, differently from the novel, stays true to the original's depressing and unresolved ending, the final image now being somewhat iconic in the world of horror. There are plenty of better films from the era of a similar ilk, but Invasion... remains extremely watchable, and unashamedly B-movieish in its execution.


Directed by: Philip Kaufman
Starring: Donald Sutherland, Brooke Adams, Jeff Goldblum, Veronica Cartwright, Leonard Nimoy, Art Hindle
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #469: 'Patrick' (1978)

After the phenomenal success of Brian DePalma's Carrie (1976), telekinesis was used as a device for the horror genre in a number of films, including The Spell (1977), The Fury and The Medusa Touch (both 1978). Also released in 1978, this little-known Australian inclusion to the genre, Patrick, uses the titular character in a totally unique way than all others. Patrick (Robert Thompson) spends the entire film static in a hospital bed, his eyes wide open, starring consistently forward - very creepy. In the opening, we see Patrick's mother cavorting with a man she just met in her bath. Patrick walks in with an electric fire and throws it into the water. three years since this event, Patrick has been in a coma.

Set in a contemporary hospital setting, the ward for catatonic patients has its sisters and matron, Matron Cassidy (Julia Blake) hires English girl, Kathy (Susan Penhaligon), who becomes Patrick's personal nurse. As she spends more time with him, he begins to communicate, first through spitting, then, he speaks through a type-writer. As Kathy's personal life becomes intertwined with Patrick's emotions, he begins hurting the people around her that have upset her, including her ex-husband and the Matron.

It's an interesting, if slightly ludicrous idea, that has been well executed by first-time horror director, Richard Franklin, who went on to direct firstly in Hollywood, with  Psycho II (1983), and then in the United Kingdom with Link (1986). The relationship between Kathy and Patrick do also display some charming moments of pathos, but the film also has its moments of humour (some unintentional), particularly with Doctor Roget. Played by Robert Helmann (many will remember him as the horrific Child Catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (1968), he seems to be possessed at moments by the madness of Kinski, with his wild obsession with the titular patient. Worth it for Helpmann alone, but nevertheless a genuinely exciting film, raising subtly issues around euthanasia.


Directed by: Richard Franklin
Starring: Susan Penhaligon, Robert Helpmann, Rod Mullinar, Bruce Barry
Country: Australia

Rating: ***

Marc Ivamy

Review #459: 'Dr. Strange' (1978)

The current wave of live-action cinematic superheroes is nothing new to our screens. Since 'Superman' first revolutionised the comic book industry in 1939, there have been film adaptations. In the 1940's there were many serials (Batman, Superman, and Captain Marvel for example). Then in the 1950's and 1960's The Adventures of Superman (1952 - 1958) and the campy Batman (1966 - 1968) the superheroes became household names on television. Then, in the 1970's, DC comics, through the ABC television network, produced the highly successful Wonder Woman (1975 - 1979) series, with the Amazonian beauty of Linda Carter. With the prospects of DC's most famous character's big screen incarnation, in Richard Donner's Superman: The Movie (1978), Marvel, with their groundbreaking silver-age characters, needed a platform for their characters. Whilst they had success with their animated Saturday morning shows, live-action and the TV series was the place to promote them.

From 1977 to 1982, Universal television broadcast The Amazing Spider-man (1977 - 1979), The Incredible Hulk (1978 - 1982), and two TV movies, Captain America (1979) and Captain America II: Death Too Soon (also 1979). The quality was of course varied, and the Hulk was its most credible triumph. Then in 1978, writer/producer, Philip DeGuere, produced a feature length television movie of one of Marvels most "psychedelic", cerebral characters, Doctor Strange. Created by comic legend Steve Ditko, it seems like quite a huge leap of faith to create a plausible adaptation within the restrictions of television production. This leads to some of the more fantastical elements of the comic books to be altered, or left out entirely - but this is of course an understandable exclusion.

Doctor Stephen Strange (Peter Hooten), a Psychiatrist working in a New York hospital who has been chosen by Thomas Lindmer (John Mills) to take his place as the new Sorcerer Supreme of Earth. However, an evil Sorceress, Morgan LeFay (Jessica Walter), has plans to kill the Earth-bound magicians. After throwing Thomas off a bridge, Clea Lake (Eddie Benton), has been telepathically controlled by the evil witch, Morgan, and it is down to Dr. Strange to save her from the astral plain, then conquer the cosmic universe to become the sorcerer. 

It does have the limitations of 1970's television production, and falls flat very often with the dialogue - including excruciatingly annoying laughter from Strange and Clea, as they laugh at their unfunny exchanges. However, it is an admirable effort to bring a more obscure Marvel character to a live-action context. With Stan Lee as a consultant (as with all the other aforementioned shows), Lee states that this was his most enjoyable experience out of all of them. It was intended as a pilot for a series, but this was never produced - a television interview with Morgan LeFay towards the end, actually gives clues as to the way the show could have gone, and to be honest, it seems like an incredibly good concept. Morgan LeFay would have indoctrinated into her realm of magic the youth of America, through the zeitgeist idea of the self-help programme, something that was big business in the '70's. Alas, the idea was never seen through.


Directed by: Philip DeGuere
Starring: Peter Hooten, Clyde Kusatsu, Jessica Walter, Anne-Marie Martin, John Mills
Country: USA

Rating: **

Marc Ivamy

Review #457: 'I Miss You, Hugs and Kisses' (1978)

Elke Sommer (the premier German actress (sic)), plays Magdalene Kruschen, a gold digging model, whose marriage to rich Charles, loses its verve. Each of them conspires to hire killers to knock off one another. The film is structured using court room scenes, mixing this with flashbacks to the events that are discussed on the stand. Based upon the true-life murder of Christine Demeter, one of the most famous crimes in Canadian modern history, this film, with its made-for-television aesthetic, is cheep, and fundamentally flawed.

We follow as the married couple (the names were changed for legal reasons), as they conspire against each other, Charles embarking on an affair with the young Pauline Corte (Cindy Girling - Miss Canada 1977). Magdalene, simply fucks anyone with money, power, and connections with killers-for-hire. It's an incredibly dull affair, pacing through severely wretched people, and their petty affairs. And of course, what these "wonderful" characters want, is the large insurance payoff in the event of deaths.

Whilst taking much of the real-life crime, it obviously needs to change it slightly. But it is left a little ambiguous as to Charles' actual guilt. He is (as in life) convicted of hiring a murderer, we are left guessing as to whether he actually did it. Still, awful film, with very little merit - although Howard Shore composed the score (his first feature film), and we of course know his subsequent scores include David Cronenberg's output, and The Lord of the Rings trilogy.


Directed by: Murray Markowitz
Starring: Elke Sommer, Donald Pilon, Chuck Shamata
Country: Canada

Rating: *

Marc Ivamy

Review #446: 'The Toolbox Murders' (1978)

In a small apartment complex that contains an alarming amount of beautiful women living on their own, a masked killer stalks carrying a toolbox full of weapons. Women are butchered with a hammer, a nail-gun, and a power-drill in a short period of time, and Detective Jamison (Tim Donnelly) is assigned to investigate. The killer, Vance (Cameron Mitchell), also kidnaps Laurie Ballard (Pamelyn Ferdin), a 15 year-old girl who bears an uncanny resemblance to his dead teenage daughter. With the inept Jamison refusing to believe it's kidnapping, Laurie's brother Joey (Nicolas Beauvy) starts to investigate the disappearance along with Vance's nephew Kent (Wesley Eure).

Traditional gore-hounds tend to turn their noses up at this movie, as after the extremely bloody opening half an hour, the film grinds to a halt and spends time developing it's somewhat tedious plot and characters. But the opening murders are very well done, with Donnelly taking time to develop the set-pieces, and they're usually played out with crooning music in the background that works well as a contradiction to the bloodshed. The killer isn't an unseen madman that seems to have supernatural powers of movement which is usually the norm in slasher flicks, but he is clumsy and awkward, bumbling his way around the room with a lop-sided ski mask, which makes him all the more real.

Another plus point is the performance of Cameron Mitchell. Like so many veterans of 1950's and 60's Hollywood, Mitchell ventured into European horror and TV in the 70's and 80's, as his old-fashioned style of acting didn't suit mainstream Hollywood, yet added the required gravitas to many a low-budget horror. His obsession with Laurie forms the most interesting aspect about the film, but it is criminally underdeveloped, and is resigned to just one extended scene. It spends far too much time focusing on the rather crap detective skills of her brother Joey, and his homoerotic relationship with Kent. I'm all for a horror film to slow down and take time to develop its characters, but they're executed with such an alarming blandness that the film becomes simply boring. But the film is well worth a look for a strong opening and Mitchell's performance, as well as the sight of the red-headed victim, who is one of the most stunning victims I've ever seen in horror.


Directed by: Dennis Donnelly
Starring: Cameron Mitchell, Pamelyn Ferdin, Wesley Eure, Nicolas Beauvy
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #357: 'Mardi Gras Massacre' (1978)

In the build up to the world famous mardi gras held in New Orleans, several prostitutes are disappearing and turning up dead and mutilated. They have been sacrificed for an archaic Aztec ceremony. With the festival approaching it is left to Sgt. Frank Herbert (Curt Dawson) to uncover the beast before the street party. The film leaves no illusion to the audience who is committing these murders, as the first scene involves John (William Metzo) entering a bar with the intention of procuring a prostitute for "something special". In fact whenever John is on the prowl, he always speaks to someone asking who the most evil woman in the bar is. The fact that he requests someone evil never actually gets mentioned to the cops by anyone interviewed. Bizarrely, the first woman Herbert speaks to, Shirley (Laura Misch Owens), simply tells him that he worn a distinctive ring on his finger, leaving vital details alone. What transpires after this is even more baffling. After asking rudimentary questions about the suspected killer, Herbert asks Shirley out to dinner and they begin a short relationship. Unbelievable.

There are in fact so many issues with this film that it would be tedious to even mention them all. The majority of the "action" in the film - including the rather repetitive, and dull sacrifices - is shot in frustratingly bleak long shot.  Each sacrifice is practically identical to the last; well I guess this could be justified slightly by suggesting that it is a ritual sacrifice and therefore would be similar. However, the director could at least use some different camera angles, or even perhaps use a moving camera instead of the constant static shots. As for the sequences shot during the mardi gras, it seems they must have filmed a street that forgot to have a full display, as it looks about as fun as a hernia.

Well, I'm guessing that this film is fundamentally influenced by the wonderfully crass cinema of Herschell Gordon Lewis, so you could argue that it is intentionally crap. Well, if that were the case then we would need to re-evaluate the cinema of HGL. For if it was simply about the ludicrous dismemberment of girls with all the illusion of a badly painted butchers shop, then the world would probably be less aware of the Lewis effect. Yes, the likes of Blood Feast (1963), 2000 Maniacs (1964) et al, are awful examples of cinema, but the audience knows very well that his tongue is placed firmly within the cheek. Mardi Gras Massacre fails to even be humorous, and does not have the intentionally hyperbolic, histrionic acting. Simply put, this film was a waste of my time, it wasted the time of the actors, but luckily director, Jack Weis, never directed a film again. Hurray!!


Directed by: Jack Weis
Starring: Curt Dawson, Gwen Arment, William Metzo
Country: USA

Rating: *

Marc Ivamy

Review #176: 'The Fury' (1978)

Peter Sandza (Kirk Douglas) is happily holidaying with his son Robin (Andrew Stevens), when he is betrayed by his lifelong friend Ben Childress (John Cassavetes). He is attacked by missionaries with machine guns, only to kill a few himself before apparently being blown up. Ben escapes with Robin, a boy Ben believes to have a powerful telekinetic and psychic ability. As Peter begins his frantic search, fellow psychic Gillian (Amy Irving) is admitted to the Paragon Clinic under the supervision of Dr. McKeever (Charles Durning), who may be linked with Robin's disappearance. As Gillian's power becomes stronger, she feels a connection with Robin, just as Peter comes close to discovering the whereabouts of his son.

Brian De Palma's career is somewhat of a mixed bag. Highly influenced by Hitchcock, his films are packed with homages and winks to a wide range of classic movies. He was prolific with his quality output in the 70's and 80's (Blow Out (1981), Carrie (1976), Scarface (1983), Dressed To Kill (1980)), but his late 80's through to the present have been littered with the dodgy and the dire (Casualties Of War (1989), Mission To Mars (2000), The Bonfire Of The Vanities (1990), The Black Dahlia (2006)), albeit with a few decent films (Carlito's Way (1993), The Untouchables (1987), Mission: Impossible (1996)). 1978's The Fury, made just two years after the similarly-themed Carrie, lurks somewhere in between his very best and his worst.

Where Carrie announced the arrival of a potentially brilliant horror/thriller director, with its high tension, gore-drenched climax, and that jump ending that bred a thousand horror copycats, The Fury tackles the same supernatural themes, but just comes off as a bit silly. One half a badly staged action film, with an old Kirk Douglas outwitting a mass of secret agents, and one half a nicely plotted, but rather unspectacular supernatural horror. Although there are few glimpses, it certainly lacks De Palma's knowing cinematic style, best displayed in balls-out Hitchcock homage Dressed To Kill.

Although the film is sporadically entertaining, it's about twenty minutes too long, and seems to slow down to a snail's pace in the middle. It takes too long developing a story which is pretty straightforward, and characters that aren't particularly interesting. However when the climax comes, it's a lot of fun, and is just mad enough to save the film. I don't recall ever seeing a man exploding repeatedly from so many angles before, which is always a bonus. It literally happens about fifteen times. For a more defining telekinetic/exploding bodies film, seek out Scanners (1981).


Directed by: Brian De Palma
Starring: Kirk Douglas, Amy Irving, John Cassavetes, Charles Durning, Andrew Stevens
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #159: 'Pretty Baby' (1978)

Set during the final weeks of legal prostitution in Storyville, New Orleans, the whorehouse ran by the ageing Madame Nell (Frances Faye) is quietly coming to an end. This is unknown to the employees, who are going about their work and earning their money. Ernest Bellocq (Keith Carradine), a real-life photographer who took the famous Storyville prostitute portraits, arrives and takes an special interest in the beautiful Hattie (Susan Sarandon), and her 12-year old daughter Violet (Brooke Shields). Violet is a confident, bratty and adventurous girl who is groomed to be the star attraction at the brothel by Hattie and Madame Nell. As the men queue up for Violet, Bellocq also becomes enamoured with her, and the two start a strange love affair.

For such a monstrously ugly subject, Pretty Baby is a strikingly beautiful film. The idea of child prostitution is repulsive but was a very real thing back in the 1917-era (and obviously still exists today under a much more secretive veil). It takes a very brave director to even consider tackling such a subject, and then to do it with such elegance, truth and respect. The both cosy and dank whorehouse pulses with life and realism, to the point where it feels like the film was actually filmed in the time. Minor details such as the peeling paint on the window ledges and the layers of dust on the bookshelves adds an authenticity rarely seen.

The film was extremely controversial in its day (and would still be if it was released today) for its full-frontal nudity of a 12-year old Brooke Shields. It is undoubtedly uncomfortable to watch at times, but as hard as it is to say, it is necessary to truly see who she is, and what the men want her for, which makes the whole thing even more horrific and wrong. The scene where she is carried into a room and flaunted as a virgin to rich, cigar-smoking older men who start a bidding war to take her virginity, left me cold. It is a truly powerful scene, and when we later see her naked in her youth, all fragile and undeveloped, it almost made me sick.

Shields, who is clearly not the most talented actress in the world, is genuinely brilliant here. Full of natural beauty and swaggering maturity, her character is a complex mixture of the naive, the immature, and the wise-beyond-her-years. She seems more than ready, and eager to start work, and has the natural ability to wrap a man around her little finger. Years growing up in a brothel has seemingly left her unable to feel. And when she begins her relationship with Bellocq, it is unclear if she truly loves him, or she is simply acting to get the life she desires. If you can stomach the taboo subject matter, this is a fascinating film, rich with great acting, complex characters and a smart script, handled with an individuality and grace by the great Louis Malle.


Directed by: Louis Malle
Starring: Brooke Shields, Keith Carradine, Susan Sarandon, Frances Faye
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie