Having graced the gialli of such luminaries as Mario Bava, Sergio Martino and, er, Giuliano Carnimeo, the lustrous Edwige Fenech concentrated increasingly on her persona as the Queen of “Sexy Comedies” as the ’70s wore on. In 1975 she deigned to appear in one last theatrical giallo (she did collaborate with Martino on several slick TV thrillers from the ’90s onwards) though she was hardly tempted back by a prestige production. Strip Nude For Your Killer, directed by sleaze specialist Andrea Bianchi in 1975, is not the scuzziest Italian slasher ever lensed (that accolade must surely go to Giallo In Venice, directed by Bianchi associate Mario Landi in 1979), nor even the most floridly titled Italian thriller (step forward Roberto Montero’s The Slasher Is A Sex Maniac, 1972)… it’s not even its director’s wildest screen offering (gotta be Burial Ground / Nights Of Terror, the cheesy 1981 zombie movie with added incest subplot) but nobody could deny Bianchi’s willingness to go that extra mile in living up to its lowest common denominator handle, marrying schlock horror with sleazy sex to hypnotically delirious effect in a down market, glamour-modelling milieu that could never be confused with the genre haute couture slaughter of Bava’s seminal Blood And Black Lace (1964.)
Magda (Fenech) is a top photographer at Milan’s Albatross modelling agency, but would like to take up modelling herself. Studio manager Carlo (Nino Castelnuovo, which translates roughly as “Kid Newcastle”!) turns her down on the grounds that she’ll “have a more secure career behind the camera” or some such nonsense. Credibility flies out of the window at the suggestion that any self-respecting model agency would turn down Edwige Fenech… I mean, in what universe?!? Sure, she’s had most of her luscious raven locks lopped off for this one, but the unflattering crop some stylist has imposed upon her can’t detract from the rest of her legendary charms, which are amply showcased throughout in a series of costume changes that are highly contrived even by the gratuitous standards previously set by Fenech’s bootylicious body of work. Political correctness soon follows credibility out of that window as Magda attempts to change Carlo’s mind with a quick blow job (“You said a mouthful” leers Carlo, while she pleasures him.)
No Ernesto Gastaldi here, but scripter Massimo Felisatti (who allegedly insisted on Bianchi taking a fictitious co-writing credit so that he could share the blame!) keeps the mechanical plot on track as a series of murders decimates the staff of the appropriately named Agency. Who is the athletic, biker-garbed (though car-travelling) assassin that’s bumping off the agency folks and hacking off their body parts? Well, it sure ain’t Eddie Kidd!
To find out the truth the viewer must run a grungy gauntlet comprising gory murder and mutilation, incest, casual sauna sex, lesbianism, anal rape played for laughs and a fat, sweaty guy getting it on with his blow up doll… thankfully he leaves his nappy-like pants on for his killer, and there’s abundant and more pleasing exposure from such genre stalwarts as Femi Benussi and Erna Schurer. Plenty there to “get your corpsuckles going”, to paraphrase another of Carlo’s insufferable would-be witticisms.
The killer’s identity and motivation are wrapped up with a botched abortion (as in Massimo Dallamano’s 1971 effort, What Have You Done To Solange?) but award yourself a couple of bonus points if you anticipated the kinky twist by which the killer has been avenging the surgical death of her sister… who just happened to be her lover, too! (Jaded as I am, even I didn’t see that one coming…)
Strip Nude is undoubtedly, as promised in the liner notes of an earlier, Blue Underground release: “sleazy, nudity-filled gore a go-go giallo fun… that delivers wave after wave of guilty exploitation pleasure”! Berto Pisano’s cheesy score serves as the perfect accompaniment to what is undoubtedly a great trash treat, if not a great giallo. Just imagine, for example, what Dario Argento could have done with the scene in which Magda is menaced in the darkened photo studio… having said that, Argento did pinch the Strip Nude plot point by which the killer can only do their murderous stuff to the accompaniment of the sound of running water, for his misfiring 1993 stab at the American mainstream, Trauma. SNFYK’s dress code departure, kitting out the culprit in biker leathers, has also exerted a clear influence on Ken Hughes’ crypto giallo and official “video nasty”, Terror Eyes. Admirably encapsulated by another quote from the sleeve of that BU edition, Strip Nude is undoubtedly “ultra trashy fun!”… with knobs on! Indeed, I could have done without the near subliminal (but not quite subliminal enough) glimpses of Castelnuovo’s junk. Was Fenech suffering cash flow problems when she signed on for this one? The indignity of the film’s freeze frame ending (reflecting on the perils of unwanted pregnancy, so graphically spelled out in the preceding 90 minutes, Carlo announces that “it’s better not to take any risks” and, as Fenech struggles, attempts a forceful back door entry!) seems to have made her mind up and hereafter she would appear in no more cinematic gialli (unless you really stretch a point and include Ruggero Deodato’s 1988 “old age creeping up on you” horror effort, Off Balance / Phantom Of Death… but we won’t).