Monthly Archives: August 2018

Do You Like Pina Colada? LADY FRANKENSTEIN Restored on Nucleus BD.

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BD. Nucleus. Region B. 15.

Legend has it that a woman once took out a Lonely Hearts ad, seeking “a man with the brain of Leonard Cohen and the body of Iggy Pop”. An assignation was duly arranged and when she arrived at the predetermined rendezvous, who should be there waiting for her, but… Leonard Cohen and Iggy Pop! And no doubt a fun time was had by all. It’s an apocryphal story which I rather wish was true (Cohen himself attested to its veracity)… it certainly packs a better punch line than Rupert Hine’s Escape (The Pina Colada Song).

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“If you’re not into yoga / If you have half a brain…”

In Mel Welles’ Lady Frankenstein 1971, Rosalba Neri’s title character (who also answers to the name of Tania) has a similar vision of her dream man, radical ideas about how to  transform him into fleshy reality and the family know-how required to pull it off. She transplants the brilliant brain of her father’s homely looking, crippled assistant Charles (Paul Muller, from a million Jess Franco flicks) into the hunky body of the family’s retarded servant Tom (Marino Masé) to make “the kind of man (she) could really love!” Tom’s contribution to the plan is entirely involuntary (Charles smothers him with a pillow while Lady F is astride him… more on this later) but Charles himself is an all-too-willing participant (in my favourite line, he informs Tania, while she’s preparing to transplant his brain into Tom, that she “can’t change (her) mind”!) The operation proves a resounding success and scarcely hours after its completion, Charles-in-Tom is giving her Ladyship a vigorous seeing too.

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Unfortunately, they’re not left to enjoy their erotic idyll for long. Tanya’s illustrious father (Joseph Cotten, inaugurating an Italian run that would also see him starring in Mario Bava’s Baron Blood, 1972 and Umberto Lenzi’s Syndicate Sadists, 1975) has already been killed by one of his less successful creations and now that monster (Peter Whiteman in a crude Carlo Rambaldi make up job that makes his head look like a septic bell end) is on the rampage in the local countryside, offing the grave-diggers (including career Eurocreep Herbert Fux) who resurrected its various bodily parts, interrupting moments of al-fresco coitus and throwing random naked chicks into rivers… he’s kind to children, though. The ineffectual investigations of Police Chief Harris (Mickey Hargitay) leading nowhere, a crowd of firebrand and pitchfork-clutching yokels is soon besieging Castle Frankenstein, none of which stops Lady F and her toy-boy creation from fornicating away happily as the flames gather all around them, until our over sexed anti-heroine gets her just desserts in an unexpected and rather abrupt denouement.

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Ever since James Whale’s Bride Of Frankenstein (1935), various members of that cursed clan have been seeking to mate their monsters. Udo Kier’s Baron (who could also call on the services of Carlo Rambaldi) had something like this in mind for his “zarmbies” in the Morrissey / Margheriti Flesh For Frankenstein (1973) but couldn’t resist molesting them himself (with hil-arious consequences!) Rosalba Neri’s Tania Frankenstein  beat Udo to it by two years and never, er, made any bones about the ultimate amorous aim of her surgical exploits. Billed, as she was in many of her Italian productions as Sara / Sarah Bay (on the grounds that this would allegedly put more bums on domestic cinema seats… but who in their right mind wouldn’t want to watch her, under any name?), Neri proves here, as she did in Joe D’Amato / Luigi’s Full Moon Of The Virgins (1973) that she could, when given a role to get her teeth into, be so much more than “the poor man’s Edwige Fenech”.

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“Behind every great man…”

Nucleus’ Marc Morris and Jake West are themselves Frankenstein figures, in their own kind of way… men on an obsessive mission to bring you beautiful uncut restorations of films that have, since VHS / “video nasty” / fanzine days, only been available in the UK as shortened theatrical prints and crummy looking, similarly incomplete, nth generation video dubs. I recall watching Lady Frankenstein in (I think) 16mm during a memorable Manchester Fantastic Films Society all-niter entitled Terror Among The Tombs in the late ’80s (actually I don’t remember very much at all about that night, throughout which inadvisable quantities of Wild Turkey were quaffed). But here we are in 2018. Sceptics said it couldn’t be done… moralists said it shouldn’t... now here it is, Lady Frankenstein as a gorgeous looking limited edition in Nucleus’ “European Cult Cinema Collection”…

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This lush-looking 2k scan from the original negative shows exactly how much bang Welles and his DP Riccardo Pallottini got for their buck from Castello Piccolomini, Balsorano. When confined to De Paolis studio… well, Masé will have recognised that staircase set when he encountered it again, suitably redressed, in Lugi Cozzi’s Contamination (1980). Sharp-eyed viewers might also remember it from films as diverse in quality as Argento’s Inferno (also 1980) and Andrea Bianchi’s Burial Ground (1981).

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Amid the bonus materials on offer here you get the predictable selection of trailers, TV and radio spots, home video sleeves and image galleries… all well and good, but whereas some distributors would leave it at that, Nucleus pile on the goodies. New World’s theatrical cut, reduced to 84 minutes so that Roger Corman could slot it onto more double bills, has been as lovingly restored as the 99 minute Director’s Cut. There’s an audio commentary from Alan Jones and Kim Newman, a reproduction of the contemporary Photo Novel that appeared in Italy’s Bigfilm magazine and three excellent featurettes. The Truth About Lady Frankenstein is a 2007 German TV Special featuring interviews with director Welles, star Neri and Herbert Fux, who reacts to his first ever viewing of the film. We learn more about the astonishing life and career of Mel Welles from his posthumous contribution to Piecing Together Lady Frankenstein, an all new doc presented by Julian Grainger. The Lady and The Orgy is a short but revelatory investigation of Welles’ activities in Australia, where he (under the guise of “Satan’s Prime Minister”) presented Lady Frankenstein as the centre piece of a multi-media grand guignol “Spook Show” review.

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I particularly enjoyed the breakdown of the BBFC’s demands for cuts to the film’s 1972 theatrical run in the UK. The chopping off of Monster #1’s arm had to go and two scenes juxtaposing death with sexual desire were cut to the bone, namely the film’s frenzied, fiery finale and Tom’s fatal coupling with Lady F. The latter, which the BBFC have now sanctioned in all its gaudy glory, is one of the kinkiest set-ups in exploitation film history, with Tom’s death throes pushing Her Ladyship over the orgasmic edge while Charles, busy suffocating Tom, can scarcely conceal his jealous torment over the unfolding spectacle. (*) Amazing stuff in an astounding release that could have been a shoe-in for our “Top Disc Of 2018” accolade, were it not for the fact that its companion piece in that Cult Cinema Collection, Giulio Questi’s 1968 anti-giallo Death Laid An Egg (review coming to these pages imminently) is, improbably, even better!

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(*) The BBFC, often accused of applying double standards for the industry big boys and small-fry exploitation distributors, have played admirably fair in this regard. Twenty-four years after their exposure to Lady Frankenstein, The Board insisted on diluting Famke Janssen’s comparably mantis-like take on the mating game in the Bond flick Goldeneye.

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Got To Get Ourselves Back To The Garden… ASSAULT Beautifully Restored By Network.

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BD. Network. Region B. 15.

Although the upscaling from DVD to Blu-ray has produced miraculous editions of some old favourites (CultFilms’ Suspiria springs to mind) there have been at least as many (and probably more) titles which make you wonder why they bothered. We can all think of stuff that was scanned through 4k and all the rest of it, sometimes crowd-funded on its way and to great fanfare, only to emerge drowning in grain or compensated-to-shit with DNR. So why has this visually astonishing Network restoration, drawing from 35mm negative elements in the vaults of the BFI, been such a low-key affair?

Well, Assault is something of a problematic viewing experience from a 2018 perspective. While the assaults on the schoolgirls are obviously not rendered with any kind of pornographic expliciteness, the presentation of such subject matter in the guise of entertainment now seems vaguely questionable, the BBFC’s classification of it as ’15’ notwithstanding. The casting, furthermore (as a traumatised and catatonic assault victim) of Lesley-Anne Down, whose name so closely resembles that of a real life victim of Britain’s most notorious sex killers, seems rather insensitive and just to put the tin hat on it,  when Tony Beckley’s emasculated teacher tells Frank Finlay’s gruff cop that he has fantasised about raping all of his students, you ask yourself if things could get any more non-PC… only for the Detective Chief Superintendent to retort by suggesting that the guy is probably “not man enough” to rape anyone… ouch!

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In the words of Cicero: “”O tempora, o mores”…

1971 was arguably the annus mirabilis of the giallo, the year that brought us Mario Bava’s überinfluential Bay Of Blood, Fulci’s psychedelic three-ring circus Lizard In A Woman’s Skin, Sergio Martino’s masterly The Strange Vice Of Mrs Wardh and an Argento brace in the shape of The Cat O’Nine Tails and Four Flies On Grey Velvet, amid countless others. One of the most intriguing yellow shockers from this year, though, was made right here in dear old Blighty and produced, as if that weren’t already a sufficiently surprising proposition, by Peter Rogers,  the man responsible for all those jolly Carry On Romps

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The director of Assault, though, was ideally placed to handle a British attempt at the giallo (which this film so clearly is)… Sidney Hayers, having racked up a couple of routine thrillers in 1950, revealed a knack for transcendental cinematic delirium with the completely demented Circus Of Horrors (1960), a film that would give the trashiest Eurotrash competitors a run for their cheesey money. Hayers subsequently directed Peter Wyngarde in Night Of The Eagle aka Burn, Witch, Burn (1962) an effective little variant on Jacques Torneur’s Night Of The Demon (1957) but 1971 turned out to be his busiest year in terms of Freudsteinian credits. As well as the  The Firechasers (an insurance fraud thriller) and episodes of both The Persuaders and the short-lived Shirley MacLaine vehicle Shirley’s World, Hayers directed Revenge aka After Jenny Died and Inn Of The Frightened People, in which Joan Collins and family take the law into their own hands when their young daughter is raped and murdered… not a million miles removed, thematically, from the film under consideration here.

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Straight after Circus Of Horrors, Hayers began a prolific career in TV direction with episodes of The Avengers and The Edgar Wallace Mystery Theatre. Anyone whose caught even a handful of the German krimi cycle, which was so influential on the giallo, will know how often these Wallace thrillers featured schoolgirls in peril as a plot point and that’s the theme around which both Assault and Revenge (not to mention the subsequent Italian trilogy written and / or directed by Massimo Dallamano) rotate…

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… but Assault’s credentials as a giallo all’Inglese go way deeper than that. You want a plot that hinges on its protagonist half-glimpsing a crucial clue and agonising about its exact significance? You got it. You want said character to be played by giallo icon Suzy Kendall? Here she is. Lascivious subjective camera work… a hard-ass cop… a shoal of lecherous and disreputable red herrings… convoluted plotting wherein all sense of proportion is lost (a trip to pick up some sodium pentathol concludes with the pharmacy blowing up… *) … a spectacular demise for the newly unmasked culprit, so ingeniously (some would say stupidly) devised that it suggests divine retribution? All present and politically incorrect. Overblown alternative titles? Well, Assault played the US grindhouse circuit (presumably post-Exorcist) under the alias In The Devil’s Garden, a rebranding actually justified (kind of) by the fact that Kendall’s feisty Julie West spends much of the film believing she literally saw Satan himself at work when she stumbled upon a fatal sexual attack inflicted on one of her students in the woods adjacent to the posh school where she teaches. Indeed, her insistence on sticking to this lurid account leads to her being ridiculed by the prickly coroner (Allan Cuthbertson) when she gives evidence at the inquest. Det. Chief Supt. Velyan (Finlay) co-opts a sleazy tabloid reporter (Freddie Jones) to vindicate her, unmask the culprit and set up a truly electrifying climax…

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Perhaps it would be inappropriate, given Assault’s subject matter, to describe this restoration as “ravishing” but it’s an incredible step-up from Network’s previous DVD edition. Even the bonus trailer, which looked pretty knackered on that, is significantly improved here. The stills gallery remains but the 1981 Tales Of The Unexpected episode There’s One Born Every Minute, starring Finlay, is conspicuous by its absence… no great loss when weighed against the sumptuous presentation of the main feature.

My screener didn’t come with the limited edition collector’s booklet with essays by Adrian Smith and Laura Mayne, plus PDF material. Hopefully that comes with some information on this beautiful renovation job. Hell, I might even shell out £9.75 to find out. Talk about a bargain… what are you waiting for?

Trivia note: much of Assault was filmed in Black Park, Iver Heath, Bucks, subsequently the home of pre-Cert video distribution legends IFS.

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(*) … and taking with it, in his first credited screen role (as “Man in chemist shop”), David Essex. Is he more, too much more than a pretty face in Assault? I don’t think so…

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“Spirits Of The Vilest Roman Emperors”… Jess Franco’s SADIST OF NOTRE DAME and SINFONIA EROTICA On Severin BD.

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Director / star Jess Franco ponders a knotty moral issue in The Sadist Of Notre Dame…

The Sadist Of Notre Dame. BD. Severin. Region Free. Unrated.

Sinfonia Erotica. BD. Severin. Region Free. Unrated.

During the darkest days of “video nasty” witch-hunting, I was often required to debate the subject on TV chat shows (Kilroy… John Stapleton… Right To Reply… I’ve done ’em all) which pitted me, on more than one occasion, against a certain holy-rolling side-kick of the dreaded Mary Whitehouse. During one such exchange I pointed out to her that significantly more serial killers claimed inspiration for their misdeeds from The Bible (it’s usually The Book Of Revelation) than from horror films. “Oh, that old cliché!” she blustered. “That’s a mealy-mouthed way of admitting that it’s a fact!” I shouted at her, as the mic was yanked away from me and pointed at another concerned worthy.

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Jess Franco’s The Sadist Of Notre Dame (1979) follows the murderous career of precisely one such bible-bashing nutcase, in the slabbering shape of… Jess Franco! Yes, this is Franco’s A Cat In The Brain, though actually preceding that notorious cinematic car crash by 11 years. While Lucio Fulci’s flick faces few serious contenders in the “unintentional comedy” stakes, TSOND is undeniably a much better film. Stick a frame around that last sentence because I’m not going to be making a habit of comparing Lucio Fulci unfavourably to Franco. As well as starring their own directors, both titles incorporate large chunks of films each had already made, though Sadist is content to raids Franco’s Exorcism (1974) in contrast with the several films Fulci cannibalised for A Cat In The Brain, some of them not even directed by him in the first place.

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Exorcism stars JF as the disturbed Mathis Vogel, who mistakes the Grand Guignol performance of a Satanic mass for the real thing and is moved to avenge its “victims” by killing the performers. The rise of legal porno cinema rendered this kind of picture pretty much redundant at the time and Exorcism went largely unreleased. Parisian producers Eurocine tried to recoup some of their losses by enlisting Franco to shoot hard-core scenes (in which he enthusiastically participated) to be added to 25 minutes of the original footage and released as Sexorcismes. Franco’s original footage was also reworked, without the benefit of porno material, as Exorcism And Black Masses… none of this to any significant commercial success. Exorcism and Sadist (sometimes “Ripper”) Of Notre Dame have both been released as “Demoniac” (Redemption attempted to release the Sadist variant… I think… under that title on VHS in the UK during the 90’s, kicking off a real shit storm. Black House Films have now released a UK blu-ray of Demoniac, though I haven’t seen it and can’t vouch for its contents). Still with me?

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By 1979 Franco and his new muse Lina Romay had returned to Spain, after years of exile, to take advantage of the rapid liberalisation that followed the death of our hero’s namesake, the Generalissimo. Still trying to retrieve something from the Exorcism debacle, Eurocine (in co-production cahoots with Spanish company Triton) requested another reworking of its footage, which Franco saw as the ideal opportunity to vent his fury at Catholic hypocrisy, now that he was free to express himself freely on this and any other subject that took his fancy.

The Sadist Of Notre Dame begins with new footage in which the Vogel character (still played by Franco but now named Mathis Laforge) is incarcerated among a bunch of winos and deadbeats in a Swiss Sanitorium. Escaping in (appropriately enough) a garbage compactor, he arrives in Paris and naturally enough, for a defrocked cleric, he gravitates towards the eponymous cathedral, stabbing to death the first prostitute who fastens onto him (“The Court of The High Inquisition sentences you to death!”) before extending his range to the killing of women who arouse his libido by indulging in such sinful activities as… (ulp!)… disco dancing!

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Not wishing to hide his light under a bushel, Laforge pens a fictionalised account of his murderous moral crusade (entitled “The Return Of The Grand Inquisitor”) and visits the offices of Venus Editions to see if editor Pierre De Franval (Pierre Taylou) will publish it in his flagship quasi-literary bongo mag The Dagger In The Garter (“We specialise in erotic bondage drama stories…”) Having been fobbed off, Laforge is leaving the office when he overhears De Franval and his secretary Anne (Romay) mocking him… more significantly, he learns that she and her flat mate Maria (Monica Swinn) are organising a sex show and orgy at a deconsecrated church for a couple of kinky aristocrats and their swinging pals, news which stokes Laforge’s self-righteous ire and reconnects us with the original  narrative of Exorcism and its tragic conclusion.

The protagonist’s interrogation of his victims, his tormented self-interrogations and his confessional exchanges with former seminary class-mate Relmo (Antonio De Cabot), now an officiating prelate at the Cathedral, make for a more bleakly compelling experience than Fulci wandering around muttering about Nazism and sadism, although TSOND does have its moments of unintentional comedy, e.g. the aforementioned and seemingly endless disco dancing sequence and the one in which some old Count (Claude Sendron) gets his masochistic rocks off as one of Anne’s pals walks all over him. I’m sure he’s having the time of his life but such pursuits, however ardently enjoyed, invariably come across as ridiculous to non-participating observers and are consequently best kept private, a point underlined by another scene of pale, flabby individuals involved in a half-hearted daisy chain.

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Severin have done the usual stalwart job with this 4k scan of the best available elements, discovered (I always love this bit) “in the crawlspace of a Montparnasse nunnery” and the bonus materials won’t disappoint, either. There’s a short interview with the doyen of French B-movie critics Alain Petit… a mini video essay from Robert Monell, curator of the inimitably named “I’m in a Jess Franco State Of Mind” blog… and who better than Stephen Thrower (author of Murderous Passions and The Flowers Of Perversion) on familiar passionate, informative and insightful form, to talk us through the labyrinth of alternative versions and discuss whether TSOND is a variation on Exorcism or a new film in its own right? Best of all though is the eye-opening, fly-opening featurette The Gory Days Of Le Brady, covering that legendary sleaze cinema (pictured below) and its neighbours in the Parisian equivalent of New York City’s The Deuce. Sample quote: “If you slipped on some sperm and fell over, everybody would just laugh”. A word of advice, dear readers… such floor deposits will probably be frowned upon down at your local multiplex.

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Meanwhile, “transferred in 4k from an uncut 35mm print donated by The Institutuo De La Sexualidad Humana in Madrid” (sure thing, boys), Severin present Franco’s Sinfonia Erotica (1980). If Sadist Of Notre Dame was a somewhat misleading title for a film whose title character agonises over his killings rather than wallowing in them and in which the naming of another character as De Franval is nothing more than a throwaway, Sinfonia Erotica is authentically one of Franco’s many muted adaptations of “the divine Marquis” (Thrower concedes in one of the extras on this disc that any truly faithful adaptation of De Sade’s literary excesses would be unreleasable in any market), specifically an amplification of the De Bressac interlude from Justine Or The Misfortunes Of Virtue.

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Is it just me or does the bottom of that engraving resemble a VHS tape?

Martine De Bressac (Romay, hiding behind her Candice Costa alias) is driven back to her family estate by Doctor Louys (Albino Graziani) after her husband’s libertine antics have driven her to a nervous breakdown. What she discovers on her return is hardly conducive to recuperation. Her husband the Marquis (Armando Borges) is embroiled in a gay affair with a dissolute young nobleman named Flor (Mel Rodrigo). As if this wasn’t sufficient complication, on the very day she returns, the runaway nun Norma (Susan Hemingway) is discovered unconscious on their grounds, apparently having been raped.

Under threat of return to the hated convent, Norma reluctantly agrees to join the Marquis and Flor in their bed, also in a plot to drive Martine completely insane and murder her. Amid the expected soft core bonkathon (including, uniquely in Franco’s filmography, man-on-man action) sub-plots (in every sense of the term) emerge and it becomes a, er, toss-up as to who’ll do away with whom first. Perversely, the more Martine learns of the Marquis’ murderous intentions towards her, the hotter she seems to get for him (spending much of the film frantically masturbating) and when (SPOILER ALERT!) she emerges as the only survivor of the menage a quatre, it  transpires that this is the culmination of a vengeful masterplan by Doctor Louys, rather than the fulfilment of her own desires. Like Norma, she’s escaped from the frying pan only to find herself in the patriarchal fire.

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Franco delivers this perhaps unexpected feminist message with a thoroughly characteristic disregard for the rules of “well made cinema”, to the strains of Franz Liszt, to boot. My recent reviews of the prolific director’s films have increasingly featured a line to the effect that “this is one of his more watchable efforts”… but have I been lucky enough to keep getting progressively “more watchable” Franco flicks? Or is true, as is often asserted (“You can’t say you’ve really watched any Franco film until you’ve watched all of them”, in the formulation of Tim Lucas) that you more you watch, the more you get it?

Again, Severin have effected the best looking version of Sinfonia Erotica that’s currently possible. Special features include another excerpt from the long last interview session that JF ever gave (to Sev’s David Gregory), featuring his reflections on his doomed relationship with first wife Nicole Guettard, plus another audience with Stephen Thrower, who traces the development of Franco’s De Sade obsession through the course of his career. I’ve never made any secret of my long-running Franco-scepticism and he’s never going to supplant Fulci  in my heart, but Thrower’s thoughtful commentaries and a succession of excellent Severin releases are, slowly but surely, converting me to the cause.

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Oxytocin Trumps Testosterone… Cocteau’s BEAUTY AND THE BEAST on BFI Blu-Ray

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BD. BFI. Region B. PG.

One of the sustaining myths of civilisation building is that of the women dragging their men folk out of the saloon bars and into the church pews… of the latter ceasing to spread their wild oats and getting down to some serious husbandry… of love overcoming lust and oxytocin trumping testosterone. The taming of male libido and aggression has been an ongoing theme of fantasy cinema, from any amount of readings of Dr Jekyll And Mister Hyde to King Kong, Lon Chaney Jr’s Wolf Man and assorted Paul Naschy knock-offs… from films as bland as Disney pablum and the pap of the Twilight franchise to those as seditious as Borowczyk’s La Bete…

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Jean Cocteau’s La Belle Et La Bête (1946) comes as close as any of these to presenting a definitive take on the “Beauty and The Beast” theme by sticking, straight-faced, to the source whereby Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve (in 1740… subsequently abridged by Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont in 1756 and Andrew Lang, 1889) distilled this wisp of folklore into formal fairy tale.

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Josette Day is Belle, the beautiful and virtuous daughter of a penurious father (Marcel André), ridiculed and over-worked by her acquisitive sisters (shades of Cinderella). When Papa rides off in hope that his ship has finally come in, the Ugly Sisters place their orders for jewels and finery while Belle (to their haughty amusement) requests but a single rose (shades of King Lear). That ship duly fails to come in and her dad compounds their misfortune by picking the requested rose from the enchanted garden of La Bête (Jean Marais), who demands one of his daughters in recompense, as an alternative to taking the old man’s life.

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The dutiful Belle takes his place and The Beast is duly smitten with her. The balance of the picture is taken up (along with her ghastly family’s mercenary machinations) with the accommodation which the title characters come to and the revelation of Monsieur Bête’s finer features, by dint of which he ultimately wins her heart and transforms, in the process, into Prince Charming, the maskless Marais (the French Brad Pitt of his day).

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Cocteau coaches Marais in the Droopy Nipple World Championships of 1946.

So many factors contribute to making La Belle Et La Bête such an off-kilter classic… the idiosyncratic, fourth wall-breaking title sequence, the atmospheric black-and-white photography by Henri Alekan, Christian Bérard’s other worldly production design (he’s credited as “illustrator”), the costumes courtesy of Antonio Castillo and Marcel Escoffier… not to mention such surreal features as the animated furniture and fittings and oneiric moments like the one in which Belle blossoms through her bedroom wall (after donning a magic glove, obviously).

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Cocteau intended La Belle Et La Bête as a welcome and necessary injection of fantasy after the horrors of World War II (its prologue requests a mindset of “childlike simplicity” from prospective viewers), but the cachet of his Surrealist associates, who had sat out the German occupation in foreign exile, inevitably waned in comparison to that of the Existentialists, who had stayed and resisted. The reputation of Cocteau, who had stayed, fared worse still… he was later accused (though acquitted) of collaboration. Myths prevail, though and sampled at this remove, the dreamlike qualities of his furry fairy tale enchant the palate like a sparkling glass of Crémant de Loire while the contrived intellectual conceits of Godard, Robbe-Grillet, Melville et al are about as appealing as yesterday’s croissants.

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Looking suitably princely and charming in a 5K scan from 2013 (5K? Expect all your favourite titles to be re-offered to you yet again in the near future), the BFI’s La Belle Et La Bête is handsomely appointed with a predictably lavish coachload of extras. Aside from the obvious trailer, a stills gallery and an illustrated booklet of essays (which I haven’t seen), there’s a commentary track from the always compelling Sir Christopher Frayling, film and audio clips of scenes that were deleted from the film (to its benefit, it has to be said) and two short documentaries, the first of which deals with the difficulties the polymath poet / director laboured under during the production of LB&LB and also those faced by its restorers, drawing on the invaluable pages of Cocteau’s film making diary while dodging the question of the extent to which René Clément actually co-directed the proceedings. The second documentary paints an engrossing if not always endearing portrait of Christian Bérard, whose vision drew from the paintings of Vermeer and the engravings of Gustave Doré while in its turn exerting an undeniable influence over the likes of Jim Henson, Terry Gilliam and Ridley Scott (keep La Belle Et La Bête in mind next time you watch Blade Runner, in particular the scenes in J.F. Sebastian’s apartment).

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Best of all is the inclusion of René Bertrand’s 13 minute claymation epic Barbe Bleu, (1938), an appropriately beautiful and brutish rendition of the associated Blue Beard myth that’s virtually worth the price of admission on its own.

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Plastic Bertrand…

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Black Emanuelle Goes Beyond The Pail And Off The Bristol Chart… VIOLENCE IN A WOMAN’S PRISON on Severin BD

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BD. Severin. Region Free. Unrated.

In an archive micro interview among the extras on this characteristically cracking Severin release, director Bruno Mattei offers the profound observation that “Violence In A Women’s Prison is a film about the imprisonment of women”… no shit, Sherlock! Up to their old tricks, Mattei and frequent collaborator Claudio Fragasso shot this one (also known as Emanuelle Reports From A Women’s Prison / Caged Women) simultaneously with another “Gemser in jail” epic, Blade Violent aka Women’s Prison Massacre in 1982. Mattei handled most of VIAWP while, down the block, Fragasso concentrated on BV. If there was anything particularly tricky to shoot, each would help the other out and the continuity girl apparently commuted between the two on roller skates… a wonderful snapshot of how things worked at the height of the soon-to-deflate spaghetti exploitation boom.

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As you won’t have too much trouble gleaning from one of those alternative titles, the plot here involves Emanuelle Sterman (as she appears to be surnamed this time out) masquerading as one Laura Kendall (prostitute, dope peddler and pimp murderer) to go undercover for Amnesty International and report back on the human rights abuses in a high security prison, godknowswhere. There’s a local peasant dude called Miguel who turns up to deliver fruit and veg, from which I imagine we are supposed to infer that these events are unfolding somewhere in Latin America… Miguel doesn’t figure in any significant way for the rest of the picture, although it’s suggested at one point that he has a speed boat in which the good guys might be able to escape (what, was he a contestant on Bullseye or something?)

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It looks for a while as though their isn’t going to be too much in Emanuelle’s report, over and above the predictable sapphic shenanigans and some stereotypical depictions of brutish bull dykes and limp-wristed faggots, for Amnesty to get incensed about… I mean, “If you don’t get out of bed you can’t have any coffee” must rank pretty low on the scale of crimes against humanity. The outrages begin to escalate, though, when our heroine decides to up the ante by dumping a bucket of shit over the head of a guard who winds her up during slopping out. A rather messy fight scene ensues, to the obvious delight of Warden Rescaut (another mesmerisingly intense performance from the brilliant Franca Stoppi) and Emanuelle is consigned to solitary confinement in a dungeon, where she is soon (this is a Bruno Mattei flick, remember) attacked by a pack of ravenous rats.

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Chief Warden Dolores (Lorraine De Selle) invites the Governor of the men’s prison next door (Jacques Stany) over to party, their love-making spiced up by the spectacle of a couple of his (floridly overacting) inmates violating one of hers. The gay character Leander (Franco Caracciolo) is lynched by fellow prisoners, inflamed by spectacle of an unattainable floozy flaunting her charms through the window of her cell. Kindly Doctor Moran (Gabriele Tinti, Gemser’s real life spouse and frequent film partner) reassures Leander, before he gives up the ghost, that he’ll be able to look Jesus in the eye…

Under the tender care of the Doc, who’s serving time for the mercy killing of his wife, Emanuelle recovers miraculously quickly, only to be outed as the Amnesty mole that De Selle and Stany have been looking out for (perhaps stashing her draft reports under her mattress wasn’t the smartest of ideas…)

In a ringing endorsement of her accusations, Emanulle has a bell lowered over her, which the guards beat on with their truncheons until she confesses (ding dong!) She’s then put in a hospital ward to recover but this is only to lull her into a false sense of security while De Selle administers incremental doses of poison to her. How being raped by  Stany fits into their “lulling” stratagem is anybody’s guess.

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Anyway, during a general uprising in which several guards and inmates are killed off (“Who will feed my pet cockroach?” are the dying words of one old lag), The Doc and Emanuelle attempt an escape, but never do manage to find Miguel’s speed boat (“Ooh, let’s see what he could have won!”) The film seems to close with them being marched to execution but there’s a final twist which, if a bit abruptly sprung, is quite clever by the general standard of these things. Mattei was so pleased with this one that he attempted to W.I.P. audiences into another frenzy with The Jail: The Women’s Hell, a thinly disguised remake, 24 years later.

Extras comprise the aforementioned short Mattei interview, an amusing radio spot and an interview with Fragasso and Rossella Drudi that’s split about 50 / 50 between VIAWP and their broader joint career… the usual moaning (all perfectly justified, I’m sure) about “the usual swindles”.

While never quite attaining the levels of surreal and sadistic delirium that Joe D’Amato and Jess Franco always brought to W.I.P. and affiliated genres, Mattei rings enough sleazy bells (quite literally in one scene) to satisfy devotees of this stuff and with another scenery-chewing performance from Stoppi (below) and both Gemser and De Selle registering at their career foxiest, it’s another winner from the ever reliable Severin stable, scanned in 2k from a pristine inter-positive so you can wallow like never before in this fevered festival of feisty faecal fist-fight action… you lucky people!

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Making Love On The Wing… EMANUELLE AND THE LAST CANNIBALS On Severin Blu-Ray

00000EMANUELLEANDTHELASTCANNIBALSLC2ws.jpgBD/CD. Severin. Region Free. Unrated.

Emanuelle And The Last Cannibals aka Trap Them And Kill Them (1976) is generally regarded (though sketchy information on shooting schedules and subsequent retitlings confuse the issue) as Joe D’Amato’s fourth “Black Emanuelle” effort, after he’d hi-jacked the franchise from Adalberto Albertini. It’s also Joe’s maiden co-production with Fabrizio De Angelis for their company Fulvia Cinematografica, though the partnership only survived for one more film (1978’s Emanuelle And The White Slave Trade).

This improbable yarn is presented as “a true story” courtesy of one Jennifer O’Sullivan, whose investigative reporter role is taken on by Gemser’s Emanuelle, which involves her in sneaking around mental hospitals with a camera concealed in a teddy bear (?) She comes over all tabloid moralistic when a nurse is bitten while molesting a disturbed female patient (“She’ll be OK but she lost her breast… she had it coming”) but has no qualms whatsoever about pursuing a scoop by masturbating the same patient (Dirce Funari), who boasts a distinctive tribal tattoo on her pubic area. When she mentions this to hunky anthropologist Mark Lester (!) he invites her back to his place but not with the intention of showing her his etchings… oh no, he shows her anthropological footage of castration and cannibalism, which somehow convinces her to sleep with him. The Prof is played by Gemser’s husband and frequent screen partner Gabriele Tinti and I often wonder if that’s how he wooed her in real life! It would be useful to know such stuff…

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I’m told that Ruggero Deodato got really pissed off, when he watched Calum Waddell’s Eaten Alive documentary, at my suggestion that D’Amato pre-empted his Cannibal Holocaust here with the use of the film-within-a-film device and by setting the action of E&TLC in South America (even though his crew never got anywhere near there)… no disrespect intended, Ruggero but hey, facts is facts!

Anyway, Emanuelle successfully seduced, she and The Prof abscond to Tapurucuara, Amazons (actually the Fogliano Forest on the outskirts of Rome… honestly Joe, you are a one!) to hook up with Donald and Maggie McKenzie (Donal O’Brien and giallo stalwart “Susan Scott” / Nieves Navarro), who are encountering a few difficulties in their relationship (“You’re just a tramp!” he chides her. “You’re an IMPOTENT!” she spits back, cuttingly albeit ungrammatically). Annamaria Clementi (as the idealistic nun Sister Angela) and Mónica Zanchi (as the nymphomaniac Isabelle) have also packed their pith helmets for the expedition.

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These guys’ soap operatic interactions are put firmly into perspective when the cannibals turn up to dismember and eat them and various camp followers, all recorded in excruciating albeit incompetently rendered detail by D’Amato, to the accompaniment of an OST that sounds like some demented, retarded ancestor of Groovejet. Of course, various people take time out from dodging cannibals to have sex and watch each other having sex and only in a Joe D’Amato film could you ever hope to see a lesbian tryst observed by a chimpanzee who’s savouring the spectacle while puffing away contentedly on a Marlboro… you can finally cross that one off your bucket list!

The denouement is a total hoot, with Emanuele and The Prof looking on from the bushes, calmly swapping anthropological observations as their friends are done away with (O’Brien torn limb from limb, particularly unconvincingly, in a cannibal tug-o-war). Eventually Emanuelle’s moved to discard her clothes and rescue Isabelle by impersonating a water goddess, a spectacle that has to be seen to be disbelieved… likewise Gemser’s lumpen closing soliloquy, delivered as though she’s in the throes of a major stroke  (“Maggie and Donald with their…” what, now?) I guessed those who dubbed this scene must take their share of the blame, though Gemser makes for a truly statuesque (in every sense of that term) presence throughout the film’s alleged climax and indeed, everything that precedes it.

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Emanuelle And The Last Cannibals did enjoy a theatrical release in the UK (minus all the gore), playing to packed houses of old guys in dirty macs. Severin’s release is, as you would expect, uncut, though one imagines there could well be versions floating around in some territories that have been recut with hard-core inserts, standard operating procedure for D’Amato. Their 2K scan from original vault elements is the best I’ve ever seen this film to look, even though the improved picture quality does make the stroboscopic alternation of day and night shots within certain scenes even more obvious (the amount of times the characters say something along the lines of “We’ll wait until dawn” with the sun beating down on them!) 

Severin have put together a really strong slate of extras here, reflecting the kind of colourful characters that used to gravitate towards Joe D’Amato productions. Aside from the predictable trailer you get an audio interview with Gemser, from whose reminiscences it’s clear how much she misses the late director. In the video interviews, Monica Zanchi remembers her wild life and times and the fun she had on D’Amato shoots. Annamaria Clementi also seems to have had a ball but now, working as a casting director, she reflects rather ruefully on missed opportunities. Nico Fidenco (who looks like he’s just stepped off the deck of a luxury yacht) recounts the improbable career trajectory that took him from failed director, via unlikely crooning idol to OST composer. Best of all, Donal O’Brien piles on the anecdotes in an opinionated “must see” memoir. My copy included a CD of the original soundtrack, too. Great stuff!

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Where Is Thy Sting? ZOMBI 4 On Severin Blu-Ray.

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BD/CD. Severin. Region Free. Unrated.

“If you want to open the door to Hell today, these four words you must say…”

“Why are you stopping at the best part?”

The Fulci / Mattei / Fragasso Zombi 3 (1988), recently reviewed in these pages, wasn’t the only Latin living dead epic laying claim to that title… Andrea Bianchi’s astonishing Burial Ground / Zombi Terror / Nights Of Terror (1981) got there first and Jorge Grau’s even more prodigiously multi-titled Living Dead At The Manchester Morgue (1974) was at one point, via some inscrutable worm hole in the space / time continuum, deemed to be a sequel to a George Romero film made five years after it. Romero was presumably happy enough with his own “Dead” series and anyway, Dawn Of The Dead co-producer Dario Argento’s attempts to quell the flow of ersatz sequels fell at the first legal hurdle, with Lucio Fulci’s Zombi 2 (1979). Thereafter Fulci’s participation in the Guadenzi-produced Zombi 3 granted that film and its successors some kind of “official bootleg series” imprimatur, right up to Claudio Lattanzi’s Killing Birds (1987) being rechristened Zombi 5. Thankfully, we’re not concerned with the last-named clinker this time out, turning our attention instead to Fragasso’s Zombi 4, originally released (in 1989 according to IMDB, though this is disputed) as After Death (“Oltre La Morte”).

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For this one Fragasso, again masquerading as “Clyde Anderson”, was back in the Philippines with a specific brief to come up with something that might recoup the losses that producer Franco Guadenzi had sustained on Zombi 3. Already disenchanted with his experiences on that one and 1980’s Zombie Creeping Flesh / Virus (which he had conceived as a reworking of Dante’s Divine Comedy, only for it to turn out more like a feature-length, gored-up episode of The Goon Show), he was desperate to finally put his stamp on the zombie genre but inevitably came up against the usual under-resourcing (with only acrobatic Filipino extras and psychotropic banana liqueur in plentiful supply). His access to cameras (and indeed, DP Luigi Ciccarese) was restricted to night time because Bruno Mattei was using them to shoot one of his Strike Commando movies during the daylight hours. History predictably promptly repeated itself and Fragasso concluded principal photography with a Zombi 4 that was, like its predecessor, significantly short of feature length.

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The sore thumb prologue that was subsequently shot on an Elios studio soundstage is successful at bumping up the film’s running length to respectable proportions, less so at explaining WTF is going on and why. It involves a team of Western cancer specialists (naturally turned out in military fatigues and armed to the teeth) confronting a voodoo priest who has just conducted a black magic ritual that climaxed with his wife being sucked down into to Hell. The boffins are here to provide a rationalist, humanitarian alternative to such superstitious practices, so naturally their enlightened response is to blow the voodoo dude away with blazing machine guns. He’s already threatened to “persecute you after my death… I’ll come looking for you, to feed on your intestines!” and he wastes no time making good on his promise. His wife also pops back up from Hell, made up exactly like one of Lamberto Bava’s Demons and spitting green goo with great gusto… clear so far?

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If this outlandish, spastically directed introduction suggests that Fragasso had gone native, imbibing the heady influence of Philippine and Indonesian indigenous horror product (H Tjut Djali’s Mystics in Bali from 1981 springs to mind), as soon as every cemetery on the island has disgorged hordes of shrouded, bloodthirsty zombies the subsequent narrative settles into a series of more familiar tropes… “The dead will feed on the living”… “It’s not Tommy, he’s one of them, now”… all present and correct. We get the zombies warded off with a wall of fire, the crazed military man who loses it and jumps into the midst of the living dead, the little blonde girl who survives the opening massacre…with the novel twist that this one doesn’t turn up in the jungle twenty years later as the glamorous queen of the tribe that has adopted her: this one turns up (in the passable form of Candice Daly) twenty years later, returning to the jungle to discover what happened to mom and dad. Why she’s accompanied by a couple of Miami Vice refugees and a boatload of Vietnam vets-turned-mercenaries (including the immortal Nick Nicholson from Apocalypse Now and Platoon, looking like Al Cliver’s less couth kid brother) is something that larger brains than mine are going to have to figure out… ditto, why gay porn icon Jeff Stryker (billed here, marginally more believably, as Chuck Peyton) is wandering around equally aimlessly in the jungle with Massimo Vanni and some bird.

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“It’s not Tommy… he’s one of them now!

There are incidental laughs to be had from an arcane “Book of the Dead” that was clearly knocked up by the props department about two minutes before it appears on screen, and a “Third Gateway to Hell” (ulp!) which is rendered by the budget-scrimping spectacle of several while candles arranged in a circle (dunno about you, but I’m shitting myself…) The film’s pulsating AOR score (which was included in my copy as a bonus disc) is supplied by Al Festa of Fatal Frames infamy and dear old Al could himself conceivably have played a part in Zombi 4’s hysterical “climax”, in which Daly sacrifices herself (apparently by pulling out much of her hair and one of her eyeballs) to stem the rising tide of undead, while Peyton / Stryker is ravished by some voodoo dude’s fist…

Jeff's Action Figure.jpgChuck / Jeff (who apparently secured this role on account of actor-turned-casting director Werner Pochath’s infatuation with him) gets his say in the extras and comes across as a very likeable bloke, still optimistic about getting a mainstream break (“I’m still breathing, I’ve still got a shot!”) Good for him. In the meantime, he poses with his anatomically correct action figure (shown in modestly clothed mode, above) and reflects sadly on the premature death, via homicide, of his co-star Candice Daly. She’s commemorated in her own micro-interview slot and you also get some “making of” footage.

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Severin’s BD transfer looks every bit as good as we’ve come to expect and rounding out the extras, Fragasso and his work / life partner Rossella Drudi argue that screen zombies represent the growing immigrant / refugee underclass (well, maybe…) and – more compellingly – that the “fast moving zombie” furrow that has been so lucratively harvested by The Living Dead et al was originally ploughed by them and Umberto Lenzi… whom they eventually concede did it first, in 1980, with Nightmare City.

In certain markets, Nightmare City has been roped into alternatively numbered “Zombi” sequences along with the likes of Joe D’Amato’s Anthropophagous and Absurd, Marino Girolami’s Zombie Holocaust, Tonino Ricci’s piss-awful Panic, and even Jess Franco’s Virgin Among The Living Dead and Revenge In The House Of Usher….

… and still they keep on coming.

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ZOMBI 3, Death 1… Lucio Fulci Vs The Novichuckle Brothers.

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BD/CD. Severin. Region Free. Unrated.

Few sounds are more welcome, after a gruelling night assisting The Doc down in his basement laboratory, than the resounding thud which accompanies a new batch of Severin Blu-rays arriving in the HOF in-tray. The resulting reviews always proceed along similar lines, too, usually to the effect that although 88 Films have already released an HD edition of the title in question, the Severin job looks significantly better and packs more compelling extras… so it is that those who’ve read my review of 88’s Zombi 3 (all four of you) may well experience a profound sense of deja vu during the synoptical element of that which follows. Prepare once again not to laugh at the gags that fell so flat last time…

Bacteriological weaponry and international espionage supplant Richard Johnson’s perverse medical dabblings in Fulci’s Zombi 2 / Zombie Flesh Eaters (1979) as the root of this particular undead uprising, when a bungled attempt to burgal a canister of “Death 1” leads to bubonic infestation for the thief and everybody else in the hotel where he was staying. The inevitable ABC-suited SWAT Team arrives to shut down the hotel and liquidate all its residents. Another cinematic debt, to Romero’s Day Of The Dead (1985) immediately becomes evident in the ongoing squabble between scientists and the military over how to contain this outbreak. Ignoring the boffin’s advice, the soldiers cremate the first batch of victims and – before you can say Return Of The Living Dead (1985) – a busload of sex-crazed vacationing girls is being buzzed by a flock of zombie seagulls.

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Mattei (left) and Fragasso (right) prepare to baste another turkey (“To me… to you…”)

The increasingly ridiculous narrative unfolds to the Greek chorus accompaniment of “Blue Heart”, a right-on radio DJ whose infuriating, interminable eco-babble provokes one imminent zombie victim to complain: “I like smoking, I take a toke on a joint sometimes and every so often I like to piss on a bush, OK?” As the crisis escalates, Blue Heart’s bulletins are periodically punctuated by lists of emergency hospitals, read out by a guy glorifying in the name of Vince Raven… the same name given to Alice Cooper’s character in Claudio Fragasso’s Monster Dog (1984). Jeez, people rattle off learned theses every time Quentin Tarantino pulls off this kind of shit…

Anyway, “plot” is pretty soon reduced to an ever decreasing number of survivors running around in ever decreasing circles, a succession of run-ins with hyperactive zombies and “decontamination squads” blowing away anything that moves. Of course the “unexpected” shooting of a heroic male lead is duly trotted out… yep, he fell for the oldest trick in the book of the dead! Assorted other “highlights” include the moment when a character with the munchies opens a fridge, only to be attacked by an even hungrier zombie head that flies out at him, on obvious wires, from behind the McCain oven chips. The staging of this magic moment reminds us that when Zombi 3 was originally announced, several years earlier, it had been conceived as a 3-D production.

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No doubt our degenerate readers will also derive much diversion from the Caesarian birth of an undead baby that immediately sets about gnoshing on the midwife who delivered it.

The surviving human characters fly off in a Romero-esque chopper, vowing: “We’re coming back… to win! Otherwise, humanity’s done for!” But the climactic, crowning idiocy is yet to come, riffing on the unforgettable voice-over outro to Zombie Flesh Eaters as Blue Heart is revealed as a badly made up zombie, broadcasting immortal vibes: “New horizons have opened up… this is now the New World, Year Zero, so there’s lots of work to be done. I’ll dedicate the next record to all of the undead across the world…” (“Zombietastic, great mate!”) Cue Stefano Mainetti’s anthemic AOR credits music, seemingly culled from a “Now That’s What I Call Hair Rock!” compilation.

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DJs get BJs?

Desperately attempting to cling onto his fast-slipping Horror maestro laurels, original director Lucio Fulci gave Zombi 3 (1988) his best shot, only to succumb to a triple whammy of deficient pre-production, liver failure and (exacerbating that) the murderous climate of The Philippines, where it was shot. “The producers were very strange people…” he told me at Eurofest 1994: “… I had to escape from there on an aeroplane!” Strange or not, producer Franco Guadenzi panicked when he saw the stump of a movie that Fulci had managed before his abrupt departure. Second unit director Bruno Mattei (who was already directing at least one other movie, simultaneously) and co-writer Claudio Fragasso were pressed into service to shoot additional footage and bring the project up to a respectable running time (without the benefit of any of its lead actors, who had fulfilled their contractual obligations and had no intention of returning). Between the two of them, the Chuckle Brothers of Italian exploitation cinema managed to finish off Zombi 3… in every sense of that term. The first casualty was Bava / Margheriti stalwart Alan Collins (Luciano Pigozzi), who’s credited as “plant director” although all his scenes got lost somewhere in the shuffle.

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Given Fulci’s personal and career problems at this point, the track records of the other two (Mattei had already taken “credit” for their collaboration on another living dead travesty, 1980’s Zombie Creeping Flesh, though Fragasso would subsequently astonish the world with Troll 2, 190) and the woeful circumstances of its production, Zombi 3 was never going to emerge as anything other than a riotous (albeit uneven) kick-ass action / splatter fest, on which terms it is unlikely to disappoint yer average Italo-trash fiend. The more anally obsessive among us (e.g. myself), though, have spent more hours than is probably good for us trying to work out who shot what. The generous extras on this disc provide further evidence (if not clarification) on this score. In an amusing 8 minute interview, Mattei insists that “Zombi 3 is Fulci’s movie”  before laying claim to 40% of it, qualified by the observation that “I only worked on it like a doctor visiting a patient”. He now claims authorship of the Blue Heart scenes, which Fragasso has previously (e.g. on 88’s disc) attributed to Fulci. Everyone’s agreed that Fulci shot the scenes of zombies chasing people though a pond and the “speeded-up zombie with a machete” bit, also that the “SWAT guys in ABC suits” material is attributable to Mattei / Fragasso but as for how the dynamic duo divided up that 40% between them… Fragasso says he did all the action / splatter stuff, leaving anything else (presumably constituting the er, less riveting moments of the film) to Mattei. Bruno’s no longer around to argue the toss and Fulci, even before his own demise, probably didn’t give a toss.

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Everybody involved talks respectfully of Fulci (he’s described as “exquisite” more than once). Fragasso (who appears with his wife / script collaborator Rossella Drudi and their scene-stealing cat) claims that Dario Argento wanted him rather than Sergio Stivaletti to direct Wax Mask (1997) after Fulci’s untimely demise and expands in gruelling detail on the health of the ol’ goremeister during the Zombi 3 shoot… apparently he was reduced to pulling out his own teeth and even allegedly subjected himself to that Filipino specialty scam, psychic surgery, which must have involved the unfurling of more phoney guts than a busy day in Giannetto De Rossi’s workshop. GDR, of course, did not participate in Zombi 3 but his replacement Franco Di Girolamo rattles through a whistle-stop tour of splatter FX in his mini featurette. Thesps Marina Loi (“Fulci wasn’t exactly the nicest guy on Earth but in retrospect, he was very funny”) and actor / stunt men troupers Massimo Vanni and Ottaviano Dell’Acqua also get to chip in with their own reminiscences. 

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Stars Deran Sarafian and Beatrice Ring contribute a commentary track that they don’t appear to be taking particularly seriously, then again it’s probably not possible to deliver a po-faced commentary on Zombi 3… have your mates around for a few beers while you’re watching it and you’ll have a great time, guaranteed… crank up the soundtrack CD that came with my copy and bang your heads like Wayne and Garth… “It’s here… It’s here… It’s here… It’s HERE!”

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Mattei (who deems Fulci’s insistence on proper pre-production to have been quaint and kinda “old school”) cheerfully admits that all of his own films have been “bad” (and not in the way that Michael Jackson sang about), challenging his interlocutor: ”It’s not up to me to tell you about Zombi 3… you tell me what you think”. Well Bruno, how long have you got? Oh yeah… not that long, as it happened.

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