L'alcova (1985)

If La chiave (1983) is D.H. Lawrence, then L'alcova (1985) is Henry Miller. Well, not quite. Joe D'Amato's L'alcova found its commercial inspiration in Tinto Brass's film, and while the film lacks poetry, it certainly does not lack a charming vulgarity, visual beauty, and purity in an exploitative sense. L'alcova oscillates from latent offensiveness to patent offensiveness with the film being continuously offensive. Joe D'Amato's period piece begins in holy-shit territory and never leaves. For this film to exist and to be one of his most successful films (Spaghetti Nightmares, edited by Luca M. Palmerini and Gaetano Mistretta, Fantasma Books, Key West, Florida, 1996, p. 80), I am simultaneously offended and impressed. Whenever these conflicting emotions from me are elicited from art, I don't fight it. I also relish the opportunity to see my favorite Italian actress, Lilli Carati, in just about anything.L'alcova stars four titans of European Cult Cinema. Elio (Al Cliver) returns home to his indulgent wife, Alessandra (Carati), after a military campaign. Having won a victory over a tribe during his campaign, the tribal leader awarded Elio his daughter, Zerbal (Laura Gemser) as a prize. (Yes, you're reading this correctly.) Elio has brought Zerbal back to his lush villa to live. While Elio was away Alessandra kept herself busy with secretary, Velma (Annie Belle). Neither Alessandra nor Velma are happy to see Zerbal. Elio begins to produce income for the household by writing a book. He gives Zerbal to Alessandra as a servant, much to the disapproval of Velma.

D'Amato dispenses with lofty ideals for his narrative of L'alcova and employs various soap-opera trists. Someone is having sex with someone during almost the entire duration of the film, and D'Amato stayed with his strengths--handsome photography and production while delivering quite a bit of sensational material. L'alcova's singular setting, the villa, intensifies the action, so these characters are going to create their own traps and pitfalls. The notable character arc is with Gemser's Zerbal and Carati's Alessandra. Indulgent Alessandra enjoys being dominant, but as the film unfolds she becomes more seduced by Zerbal. By the end of the second act, it is Zerbal who is in command and Alessandra who is doing her bidding. L'alcova has a genuine point of no return. Elio's book plans to produce income do not come to fruition. Therefore, he embarks upon a journey to see a woman whose identity Elio learned from a man within his company. This woman is in possession of two films, what modern audiences would later call "stag" films. Elio negotiates a price and takes them. He also purchases a camera and tells Velma and Alessandra upon arrival at the villa, that they are "going into the motion picture business." With Elio's statement, D'Amato begins his third act with all the participants collecting together to watch the films, become aroused, and convinced that they can make a better one. The film becomes, unsurprisingly, more outlandish and patently offensive.

D'Amato had just finished filming Anno 2020 - I gladiatori del futuro, The Blade Master, and Endgame, and seemingly, he still had action movie mentality running through his veins. The plot of L'alcova is like an action film, building upon its action sequences, leading to bigger and better explosions. No pun intended, L'alcova works in the same way: the plot is a vehicle for a series of sexual escapades and episodes, each growing a little steamier or a little kinkier along the way. Unfortunately, all of the characters are rather repellent, so what the viewer is left with is a soft-to-hard core film. It's sensational, exploitation cinema, handsomely filmed, and filled with participants, each giving especially erotic performances. Lilli Carati gave one of my favorite performances in Fernando di Leo's Avere vent'anni (1978). In that film, she radiated energy and beauty. Her character personified the themes of the film and without her performance, it would not rank as one of di Leo’s best. Seeing her in L’alcova is quite different. Carati seems very cold and sophisticated and detached. This role almost appears as the beginning of the end for Carati’s career. When I watch her adeptly draw a line of cocaine to share with Gemser’s Zerbal, I shudder a bit. She would never replicate the energy from Avere vent’anni, again. Cliver and Gemser give perfunctory performances. Belle stands out from the others. She seems to have embraced her role of Velma. In all of her scenes, she imbues her performance with emotion and she works the dramatic range. Unsurprisingly, Belle gives the best performance. To D’Amato’s credit, L’alcova is a pretty hot film. It’s memorable for its participants and its overtly non-”politically correct” stature. D’Amato’s photography is in its top form. L’alcova would be followed by three films, all period pieces, and each features Carati. As L’alcova stands, it’s only for fans of its participants.

Amore sporco (1989)

Valentine Demy ("l'italianissima Marisa Parra") is Terry Jones, a young woman who wants to turn her passion for dancing into a career. She leaves her family and treks to Richmond, Virginia to enroll in a dancing school to learn the needed skills. Once in the big city, Terry realizes that the path towards her dream is littered with some shitty people, some decent people, quite a few erotic adventures, and tough decisions. Did I mention dancing? Lots of dancing, too. Joe D'Amato's Amore sporco (1989) seems borne from Adrian Lyne's Flashdance and the sequel to Saturday Night Fever (1977), Staying Alive, both from 1983. The script of Amore sporco is a mishmash of the narratives of the two dancing films with the softcore spice that only D'Amato could deliver. Ultimately, then, would Demy and D'Amato be able to transcend this film's Skinimax-cal roots and deliver memorable erotic sequences; or would Amore sporco languish in its dated 80s-ness, dance scene and light narrative? In other words, is Amore sporco sexy and is it worth sitting through? Let me openly be an asshole, today, and employ a risk versus benefit analysis towards Amore sporco.

There is no doubt that Ms. Demy is sexy, and D'Amato doesn't hide it. The opening sequence of Amore sporco is Terry being driven to the train station by her boyfriend. In a montage credit sequence, one can easily tell that he loves his girlfriend and wants to encourage her hopes and dreams. He is so full of happiness towards Terry's bold move towards her dancing dream that he is going to take the opportunity during the car ride to fondle her breasts and caress her inner thighs. "Don't betray me, Terry," he says as he drops her at the train station. Terry won't betray her boyfriend but she will forget that he exists (which is understandable). Terry misses her train, and the next two assholes that pick her up while she is hitchhiking also take to caressing her inner thighs. This is how D'Amato sets his exposition for his heroine: this is how the world sees her and this is her obstacle to overcome. In the hypocritical exploitative sense, this how D'Amato wants you, the viewer, to see his heroine yet he also wants you to sympathize with her, too. During her first evening in the big city and after dancing class, Terry is walking through a dark alleyway where two assholes, donning some serious heavy-metal attire, attempt to assault her. She is rescued by yuppie, Robert (Cully Holland), who takes her to his townhouse. He tends to her wounds, and despite taking a peek or two at Terry's crotch, Robert in gentlemanly fashion takes her home. After a series of assholes are introduced into Terry's life, is this yuppie going to be a saint? Probably not. Terry becomes taken with Robert and near the end of the first act, Terry and Robert consummate their attraction in the elevator in quite an erotic sequence. D'Amato employs some bold compositions in Demy-centric fashion. The actress with whom D'Amato is quite taken, especially Ms. Demy's legs and derriere, become even more focal in the subsequent two acts of Amore sporco. In two sequences where Terry is exercising and dancing alone in the studio, the compositions of the actress become the height of inappropriate. Well, inappropriate compositions in another film. These two sequences are unabashedly ogling time for the viewer, and Demy's irresistible. Interestingly, Amore sporco introduces a series of male assholes who take advantage of Terry. However, when dancing colleague, Michael (Jeff Stryker), recommends that Terry get a massage with his friend, Terry is cool when the masseuse becomes inappropriate. Why? The masseuse is portrayed by Laura Gemser, of course. I have never witnessed a massage where there is so much fondling of the buttocks. The sequence goes beyond unbelievable when Gemser's character introduces a foreign object into the proceedings. I was offended, but in hypocritical, exploitation-film-fashion, I was also amazed by this sequence. Unsurprisingly, Amore sporco does become overtly offensive with a political/sexual scenario, ending in scandal. By this point, the film could continue to unfold in this manner, but the narrative is intended to be inspiring: Terry's a dancer with hopes and dreams after all. As with most D'Amato narratives, Amore sporco suffers from a lack of focus. A couple of hallway dance sequences become tired very quickly. Way too much time is devoted a Chippendale-like dance club scene which ends, unintentionally, very funny at its attempts to be tragic. As an overall narrative, Amore sporco wants to celebrate dancing culture, in general, instead of chronicling Terry's dancing career. Then again, Terry's dancing sequences are sequences objectifying her body, so really the narrative is a vehicle for more sexy sequences. Valentine Demy is pretty hot in a leotard. Amore sporco has enough filler for the fast forward button and enough to deter most casual fans. As a Joe D'Amato experience, Amore sporco is kind of fascinating. I've always wondered what he values. A commercial impetus for most films, like Amore sporco, is certain, but there is always an overwhelming sense that there is someone with an intense love for the craft of cinema is behind the camera. With quite a bit of talent to boot. However, certain sequences, again as in Amore sporco, are sweet and then, within a moment's notice, the film takes a turn into holy-shit territory. Often I'm offended by exploitation cinema, but I'm never ready for when D'Amato pulls his shocking twists. This is an indefinable, amazing quality, and perhaps unique to D'Amato and a few choice filmmakers of his class. Joe D'Amato really excelled at softcore, erotic cinema, so see Amore sporco if a fan of the genre or a fan of D'Amato.

Sangue negli abissi (1989)

Inasmuch as I love films made in the commercial wake of Jaws (1975), Sangue negli abissi (1989) is an incredible piece of tedious cinema. It's cinema done paint-by-numbers style--a little drama here, a little action there, and a big dorsal fin sticking out of the water, here. Sangue negli abissi has no energy in its pacing nor in its impetus. Sangue is a Joe D'Amato production, and the former statement is perhaps the most offensive aspect of it. Sangue is almost wholesome--a film about fraternal loyalty in the face of adversity. Huh?Four young boys are on the beach in Florida, enjoying the sun setting. A Native American approaches the young four and warns them of a monster, steeped in legend from when he was a boy. The monster resides in the water, and if ever the day the monster returns, the four boys make a blood pact to unite and fight it. Cut to present day, and the four are recent high-school graduates--one is the mayor's son, prepped for a military career; one has a father who was once a fisherman but is now scared of the water; one has lost his mother and is living a slightly wayward life with a distant father; and the final young man is happy-go-lucky with conspicuously a lack of a back story comparable to the other three. They all have names, yet I do not remember them. Not to be disrespectful towards this production, but I believe their names are not important. The happy-go-lucky of the four gets attacked and killed by a shark while his slightly-wayward buddy looks on. Cue the small seaside town shenanigans: enter sheriff, enter collateral drama, and enter plan to stop the shark. Let's get some of these characters into the water. Transition is the primary flaw of Sangue negli abissi. The script of the film is too short and too complicated, so ordinary scenes which would be cut out for pacing are included to its detriment. Sangue needed to decide which film it wanted to be--small-town drama or adventure. Unlike Jaws, the script (and the budget) of Sangue pulls in opposite directions--the drama hurts the adventure and vice versa. Surprisingly, scenes like the sheriff visiting the shark expert get little serious treatment in the narrative, but scenes like one of the young men having a heart-to-heart with his returning-home girlfriend get included. I don't even understand why the girlfriend is in the film. She's included as if Sangue needed someone to worry about the main characters. Someone needed to be at the foot of the pier when the young men returned from the shark hunt ready to say "I'm glad to you're safe."

All the locations appear genuine. Joe D'Amato says Sangue negli abissi was filmed "[i]n Florida mostly, though we did do a small part along the Mississippi River, which proved very awkward because the water there is very dark and murky. The actual underwater scenes, though, were shot in various places: at Venotene, in a Roman swimming-pool and in a New Orleans aquarium." (Spaghetti Nightmares, edited by Luca M. Palmerini and Gaetano Mistretta, Fantasma Books, Key West, Florida, 1996, p. 79). Sangue appears recorded with direct sound with little clean-up in post-production, as voice echoes in big rooms are heard, for example. During a night beach scene, however, where the local bartender decides to take a swim into the ocean for a slo-mo shark attack scene, her voice audio seems inserted to cover for the loud sounds of the wind and crashing waves. In addition to the genuine locations, all the actors appear to be its residents. That is to say, Joe D'Amato and company showed up to shoot Sangue and asked people, "May we shoot a film in this home? And would you be willing to act in a scene here? We're making a Jaws-like film."

Raf Donato is the credited director. Joe D'Amato explains: "Raf worked with me in Giubbe rosse as dialogue coach, taking care of the actors' English diction. He's Italian-American and lives in New York. He works for Martin Scorsese as diction secretary. ¶ When I met up with him again after ten years, he revealed to me that he wanted to start up as a director, and so I went along with the idea. However, after shooting the scene where the kids gather to seal their blood pact, he realized that he didn't feel up to directing the film through to the end, and since I was on the set anyway as producer and director of photography, he agreed that I should take over." (Spaghetti Nightmares, pp.78 -79) Take over he did, and Joe D'Amato went into professional mode keeping Sangue clean with classic shots, such as close-ups, mediums, and wides. D'Amato shoots Sangue in a wholly uninteresting style, save the underwater scenes; yet he takes a flawed script and wrangles a coherent narrative. It's a palatable package in an established commercial market for buyers and distributors. "It was very successful abroad," says D'Amato, "it even sold well in Japan." (Spaghetti Nightmares, p. 79)
The best scene of Sangue negli abissi comes in the third act at an underwater wreckage, where the young men engage in the laborious, ridiculous, and complex task of killing the shark by detonating the wreckage (and hoping to kill the shark with the blast). The scenes of the wreckage are brilliant and made me wish the whole film was set down there. The dark shadows and corners of the wreckage are merely a plot device for Sangue, but the mystery that D'Amato creates with his visuals are enough to see this talented director working on something not worthy of his time. Sangue negli abissi is the very definition of tedium and is recommend for those who enjoy tedium. I presume, perhaps unwisely, that there are few who enjoy such. With a "mechanical shark's head and the rest we used [from] stock footage shots that we bought from National Geographic," (Spaghetti Nightmares, p. 79) Joe D'Amato pulls another cinematic prank at the expense of all. Including the shark. Rock on.

Anno 2020 - I gladiatori del futuro (1986)

Sometimes the stories behind the films are more interesting than the finished films. I find this shit fascinating. Let us first hear from the participants from a semi-obscure film from Italy, made in 1986, rooted firmly in the “Post Nuke” genre--Anno 2020 - I gladiatori del futuro (2020 Texas Gladiators). Ready?

Luigi Montefiori (aka George Eastman)

"I directed that film at Massaccesi's request," says Luigi Montefiori (aka George Eastman) about Anno 2020 - I gladiatori del futuro (2020 Texas Gladiators) (1986). "His production company had bought the ready-made 'package' (actors with contracts and fixed dates, script already written, cost of the film frozen) from another production company, which had backed out because they considered it impossible to make the film with such poor funding. Massaccesi thought he could manage, but then, over the next 24 hours (work was due to start on Monday and it was already Friday), he realized that the script was short...terribly short--the film would have lasted an hour at the very most. The shooting schedule had already been worked out (20 days exactly) and couldn’t be extended a single day unless somebody was prepared to put up the finances. He called me up and asked me if I would be willing to assist him with directing the film: I turned the offer down saying I’d do it alone, but not with him.” (from Spaghetti Nightmares, edited by Luca Palmerini and Gaetano Mistretta, Fantasma Books, Key West, FL: 1996, p. 108)

Montefiori continues, “To be honest, when he [Aristide Massaccesi, aka Joe D’Amato] said, ‘Let’s direct it together,’ I answered, ‘No, I’ll direct, and you can watch and learn how it’s done.’ He really got pissed off. No, I told him that the first day on the set. On the first day of the shoot, we were in the basement of the Hilton hotel, you know, where there are all the pipes, for heating and so on--in order to shoot a strange scene, like out of James Bond--Aristide and Donatella [Donati] were on the set. He stood there like this [Montefiori gestures with arms crossed], watching me. He wanted to see what I would say. Then the cameraman showed up, and I said, ‘Put the camera here, with this lens, then we’ll do a dolly shot...’ And he was totally quiet. After five minutes I was thinking he’d come up. I was saying to myself, ‘It’s impossible for him to hold his tongue.’ And in fact he come up and goes, ‘Why’d you put the camera there?’ I said ‘Aha! Aristide!’ I must say that I hadn’t asked him for a salary as director. When he’d proposed we direct together, I knew it was because he didn’t want to pay me! So I said, ‘I’ll direct.’ He started to object and I told him to pay me an assistant director’s salary. I didn’t care about the money--at the time I didn’t give a damn about money. So when he came up to me and asked me why I placed the camera there, I said, ‘Ari, you’re paying me to direct, not to teach you how to direct.’ He got really pissed and called me every name in the book and split. But I say he always let me work in peace, since of course he knew me. The thing that was fun for me was to do something that everyone said couldn’t be done. We’d just answer: ‘It can be done, don’t worry.’” (from the documentary, Joe D'Amato Totally Uncut, included as a supplement on the Shriek Show/Media Blasters Anthrophagus DVD)

Montefiori further states that, “I looked at the script and estimated that I’d need another half hour of film, which meant I’d have to improvise some scenes to shoot on the sets which had already been planned, I couldn’t have done this effectively as a co-director, as I’d have had to first discuss every idea for a new scene. He [Massaccesi] hedged a bit at first, but then, when I said I’d do it for a very low salary, he gave in. You see, I wanted to do the film at all costs and was convinced that if I could pull off such a difficult task, I could be a director for the rest of my days. Anyway, I did the shooting in exactly 20 days and everything went smoothly despite the lack of resources, and here I must say that I owe a great deal to the participation of my young and exuberant assistant-director, Michele Soavi. I never saw the finished film; once I’d supervised the editing, I left the technicians to do the postrecording and the mixing. I wasn’t particularly concerned about how it had turned out, being satisfied with the fact that I’d managed to keep to the schedule and produce a 95 minute film.” (from Spaghetti Nightmares, p. 108-09)

Pierluigi Conti (aka Al Cliver)

Question: You remember another film you did with Aristide [Massaccesi], but directed by [Luigi] Montefiori?

Answer: I vaguely remember it...

Q: Do you remember whether Montefiori directed the whole film, or was part of it directed by Aristide?

A: No, I think Montefiori directed the whole thing. Aristide was good at that sort of thing. When he’s entrusted the direction to someone, he didn’t interfere with it, unlike the usual producer. (from the Joe D'Amato Uncut documentary from source same as above)

Aristide Massaccesi (aka Joe D’Amato)

“Montefiori didn’t feel confident enough in the action scenes and so I dealt with those, leaving him to the directing of the actors. But in this case, the name recorded at the Ministry was mine.” (from Spaghetti Nightmares, p. 79)

I love Luigi Montefiori’s story. Notice the insinuation that he makes during the first paragraph with the phrase “over the next 24 hours”--it sounds as if Joe D’Amato bought a film production which was going to begin in less than a week, and he had only started to prepare for the shoot the Friday before the Monday starting of the production. So he calls in a old friend and collaborator to fix the shoot. The two had made films on the fly in short periods of time, before--Sesso nero (1980) is a prime example. Montefiori even further insinuates that the two didn’t finalize who was actually going to direct (or if the two would co-direct) Anno 2020 until the first day of shooting. Finally, although Montefiori makes it sound as if he directed the film, the statement by Massaccessi, in his typical modest and terse style, says a lot. If he directed solely the action sequences, then Joe D’Amato was a true co-director, because Anno 2020 has a lot of action sequences.

While the finished film has a few problems (as I’ll discuss below), Anno 2020 is quite an accomplishment considering its background.

Anno 2020 - I gladiatori del futuro (2020 Texas Gladiators) begins with a group of law marshals who patrol the post-apocalyptic wasteland of Texas. This group is comprised of Nisus (Al Cliver), Jab (Harrison Muller), Catch Dog (Daniel Stephen), Halakron (Peter Hooten), and Red Wolfe (Hal Yamanouchi). Like a Black-Ops team, they disrupt a band of rabid and violent raiders who attack a peaceful group of religious settlers. All of the raiders are killed, and the remaining settlers are rescued. This group has a code--they intend to restore justice in the post-apocalyptic wasteland, by any means necessary. However, Catch Dog sees a distressed settler hidden in the corner, named Maida (Sabrina Siani), and decides, with no one looking, to rape her. He is stopped by Nisus and given a beatdown. The group expels him on the spot and forces him into exile. Maida, while grateful for Nisus’s help, questions his violent methods: if he just kills the killers, isn’t he just a killer, too? This observation is astute, and Nisus cannot disagree. He agrees to accompany Maida to her settlement--a community living under the shadow of a power plant. This group has hopes of rebuilding it, just like they are rebuilding ideas like community and harmony. This is just the beginning.

I’ll be damned if the story of Anno 2020 isn’t epic in scope. It’s definitely a Western in its structural design, its archetypes, and its mythology, complete with a saloon sequence, a canyon standoff, and a fort defense by incoming raiders. Love, revenge, redemption, good versus evil, hope, despair, wagon wheels...all that shit. Eventually, Cliver’s Nisus abandons the group and settles with Maida in the community. Nisus becomes a pillar and helps the community restore power to the plant. He and Maida even have a child together and are beginning a family. Eventually fascist bastard, the Black One (Donald O’Brien) busts in on the group with his elite futuristic warriors in tow. A band of raiders also appear to be supporting the Black One, led by Nisus’s former colleague, Catch Dog. They subdue the community after a valiant defense by the settlers, and the Black One takes power, intending to kill the rest of the law marshals in the area. Part of the charm of Anno 2020 comes from the era, and those, like me, who love Italian action films from the 1980s, especially the “Post Nuke” films, will enjoy revisiting this era: the Mohawks, the makeshift battle armor, spiked armbands, the facepaint--as much as these are costumes for new tribes of the post-apocalyptic world, they are also staples of the 1980s fashion scene. Anno 2020 has a synth score by whom the credits reveal as Francis Taylor who may be Carlo Maria Cordio, as the IMdB suggests, as nearly everyone in the credits has an Anglicized pseudonym. Like most music for Italian genre cinema, the “Post Nuke” cycle of films wouldn’t be memorable without the fantastic synth scores. Anno 2020’s score is pretty cool. The inclusion of actors like Muller and Siani are memorable, solely because the bulk of their work was few and was during this decade. Both of the actors are eye candy: Muller has beautiful eyes and a pretty baby face which he hides under a beard; while Siani is voluptuous, tanned, and bleached blonde. Anno 2020 is a representative film of the era.

As the film progresses, it is evident that the haphazard planning by Montefiori and Massaccesi would have an effect. There is some shit in this film that really comes out of left field. The saloon sequence involves a bizarre game of Russian Roulette. Later in the film, the remaining group of marshals, after fleeing the raiders, wander in the woods to encounter a group of Native Americans who are rendered visually in stereotypical cinematic fashion. There is even a slavery sequence in a mine where the Black One houses his prisoners. This scene seems an opportunity to film a slave revolt.

Visually, Anno 2020 is competent and slick yet not flashy. Its design is to be a commercial action film and it delivers--it hides its low budget well with its editing while also being exciting editing in its action sequences. Montefiori’s improvisations to the script and his direction of scenes with the actors are well done. He’s a professional and seasoned (and in my opinion, underrated) screenwriter who knows scenarios and characters well. Although the story is disjointed and fragmented (and a lot of the time, weird), there is a richness and depth to the fragments.

Anno 2020 - I gladiatori del futuro is ultimately really representative of how creative Italian cinema was. Film makers, like Joe D’Amato, could pick a whole production up on the fly and were professional and sly and creative enough to craft an entertaining film. These films were designed to make quick cash and not lasting memories. The film makers can have the former any day. I’ll gladly take the latter.

Joe D'Amato's Caligola: La storia mai raccontata (1982)

"[Why did you make] your subsequent film Caligola: La storia mai raccontata?" asks an interviewer to Joe D'Amato in Spaghetti Nightmares. To this question, D'Amato tersely and succinctly responds, "That was commercial exploitation of the successful film by Tinto Brass."As such, only a cursory knowledge by the viewer of the history of Roman emperor Caligula is required, and perhaps more importantly, at least in terms of cinematic exploitation, the viewer gets treated to a depiction within Caligola: La storia mai raccontata (1982) of the traditional traits associated with the emperor's reign: egomania-cum-insanity, sexual deviancy, and indulgence. Caligola is a conduit film, leading its viewer to a long, indulgent orgy sequence in its middle from which its exposition inevitably leads. The orgy sequence buttresses the film, as D'Amato circuits Caligola's beginning and final act with a thin revenge plot line against the titular ruler.

Caligula (David Brandon) is having nightmares about his assassination. Domitius (Michele Soavi) attempts to murder him while the emperor is sleeping. Caligula's killing is thwarted by his bodyguard, Ulmar (Sasha D'Arc). While horseback-riding on the beach one day with Messala (Luciano Bartoli), Caligula sees a group of young people at the shore, one of whom is beautiful Livia (Fabiola Toledo). Livia belongs to a religious cult who do not worship the divine emperor as god. Caligula and Messala ambush Livia and her lover, and during Caligula's rape of Livia, she kills herself with a dagger. Caligula summons the senators, later, and tells them of his new architectural plans, so fitting for an emperor-cum-god. Unfortunately, Caligula does not have the funds to construct his opulent design, so an orgy is planned to raise the capital. Miriam (Laura Gemser), fellow cult member and friend of Livia, sees the orgy as an opportunity to avenge Livia's death so she decides to infiltrate. "What about the Caligula movie that you did?" asks an interviewer (from Flesh and Blood, Number Six, FAB Press, 1996). "I mean, half that movie is hardcore..." D'Amato responds [as to whether D'Amato shoots the hardcore inserts within some of his films]: "Yeah. Sure, sure, but Caligola was done like this--there are two versions, one soft version and one hardcore version...Yeah, I shot the hardcore version. In Caligola, yes. [note--The hardcore version, running at approximately one hundred and twenty five minutes is the version of the film here under review.]" While Caligola is not composed of half hardcore footage, the film certainly appears that way, as the viewer is led to its focal, middle orgy sequence by the emperor's violent and sexually deviant acts (and led out of the orgy sequence into another series of the same). Brandon's Caligula presides over D'Amato's most meticulous sequence: excessive wine-drinking and gluttonous eating are only the beginning. The sex acts begin with laughter, teasing, and fondling. A juggler walks in with fire batons. D'Amato heats the sequence up as the orgy truly begins. Two fighters enter and begin a fight to the death on the floor, donning spiked gloves. As the two punch and beat on each other, the blood sprays on the party guests. D'Amato relishes the close-up shots of the guests wiping the blood off of their faces to continue eating and drinking, as if the spraying blood was a minor party foul and totally expected. After one warrior dies at the fists of the other, after Caligula giving the thumbs-down sign, a horse and a woman are escorted in. "Watch this," says Caligula to Miriam. "It's a wonderful performance." It's an offensive scene. D'Amato finishes the sequence with his hardcore footage (Mark Shannon's inclusion is unsurprising here). A completely repellent and unerotic sequence.The commercial success of Tinto Brass's Caligola (1979) created a temporary market for films made in its wake, hoping to seduce more viewers by providing (and pushing the limits) of the sensational elements of the original. D'Amato's Caligola appears exactly that way--almost as if it's a temporary film awaiting completion, with a better narrative or more powerful compositions and visuals. To his credit, save the weaponry (which obviously look like costume props), the detail to the historic look of the film feels genuine. The costumes, the sets, and the armor, for example, all appear credible. D'Amato's own cinematography is professional and competent and sees little flare (save the middle sequence). Caligula's relationship with Soavi's Domitius is an engaging side plot and one of the more interesting touches of the film, as it really the most representative of Caligula's insane cruelty. (Soavi would cast Brandon as an ego-maniacal and somewhat cruel theatre director in his excellent directorial debut, Stage Fright (1987), a D'Amato Filmirage production). Brandon gives a very over-the-top performance as the emperor. Caligula's dream sequences contain D'Amato's best visual work. The masked, helmeted assassin is effectively haunting. D'Amato's signature hand-held camerawork is brilliant, as Brandon's Caligula wanders from the seashore of the beach, around the littered bodies of dead senators, up to a dune to encounter his killer. Carlo Maria Cordio's score is beautiful.Woefully underused are Laura Gemser and especially Gabriele Tinti, as the senator Agrippa. Tinti has a wonderfully emotive face and is an extremely talented dramatic actor. Tinti appears in few scenes (with two notably offensive scenes near the end, one involving torture). Gemser has never been an exceptional actress but is very charismatic and often brings an alluring air to her roles, adding a flare which only she can spark. She is not given much to do but to carry the thin revenge plot line, while her sex scenes with Brandon are completely unerotic (surprising from Gemser). Again, Caligola feels temporary, as if D'Amato and company wanted to shock its viewers into the theatres quickly before they forgot about Brass's original. Well, D'Amato succeeded in creating a forgettable film, himself.

Joe D'Amato's Immagini di un convento (Images in a Convent) (1979)

"Sister Consolata, wake up, the devil is here," says Sister Giulia (Maria Rosaria Riuzzi), "in the convent." Sister Consolata (Paola Maiolini) rolls over, gently slides up her dressing gown, and with the look in her eyes reveals that Sister Giulia is the last to know of the arrival. Perhaps Old Scratch had always lived within and around: the local legend tells of the sisters' convent built upon pagan land, whose presence is commemorated by a horned statue in the middle of the cloister courtyard, where numerous, nefarious deeds and events have plagued the previous years. Or, perhaps the Devil was awakened and invited by the arrival of Isabella (Paola Senatore), a young Countess whose pious and righteous father has recently died. The Cardinal asks the Mother Superior, Sister Angela (Aïché Nana) to house Isabella as her dying father's wish and to protect her from her wicked uncle, Don Ascanio. Maybe there's no Devil at all, and all the lusty goings on is just natural, as the Mother Superior tells Isabella that being a nun requires an "inhumane sacrifice" of human pleasures. "Sister Marta, is terrible," says the Mother, "we are all victims of a nightmare or God has abandoned us." Based upon Diderot's La Religieuse, Joe D'Amato released his fittingly-titled Immagini di un convento (Images in a Convent) in 1979.

"I like making horror and erotic movies," says D'Amato (during his interview in the documentary, "Joe D'Amato: Totally Uncut," included as a supplement on the Media Blasters DVD release of Images in a Convent), "because I like to shock my audience. When you go and watch a movie, you have to be involved in it. To shock the audience is the best way to involve them." As to whether shocking the audience is the best way to involve a viewing audience is debatable; yet this method can be extremely effective in creating memorable images. Images are what Images in a Convent are about, despite having a famous, controversial, and thought-provoking work as the inspiration for its narrative. D'Amato shot Images (and credits reveal D'Amato used his real name in this position), and its images are where the film excels. Save one sequence, Images perhaps lacks the ability to shock today (as to whether it was shocking in 1979, few would know: "it was a box-office bomb in its country of origin," writes Steve Fentone in his AntiCristo: The Bible of Nasty Nun Sinema & Culture.). Nonetheless, Images is a prime example of D'Amato's adeptness at creating erotic cinema, and within the film, he recites quite a litany of steamy sequences and cleverly-crafted satanic scenes, all beautifully rendered.Images is shot with soft light. The authentic hilltop location adds to its atmosphere of seclusion, beyond its natural beauty as surroundings. The horned statue, when shown, is always focal in D'Amato's compositions. Within minutes (after the exposition), the viewer gets treated to Senatore's Isabella (the actress with whom D'Amato had worked previously on The Ladies' Doctor (1977) and Emanuelle in America (1977), for example) having an intense dream as a handsome older gentleman unites with Isabella in the hallway of the cloister (the identity of this man is revealed later, and its revelation is a clever touch). These two embrace and take it slow, as does D'Amato with slower-motion photography, while Nico Fidenco's beautiful score sets the mood. With an odd silence, the music abruptly stops, and an odd audio distortion disrupts the soundtrack, followed by sounds of gushing winds. The two lovers do not let up, as the imagery continues with them. In a staggering of images, D'Amato, seemingly randomly, cuts between the two lovers with long shots of the empty hallway. The odd sequencing and non-syncing of the two lovers, the audio shifts, and the hallway quick shots are disorienting and quite effective and creepy. Isabella's dream is just the beginning of the night, as within Images and its first two acts, one sexual act inspires another. Always intimate scenes, D'Amato focuses on touches and kisses with his actresses, always pushing its intimacy by almost revealing all (in a few scenes, D'Amato breaks his style and does get graphic). The most graphic scene is a scene of violence within Images, the rape of Sister Marta (Marina Hedman) in the forest by two bandits on her way to summon the exorcist (Donald O'Brien). In subsequent viewings of Images, I've skipped through this sequence as it is quite horrifying and offensive. O'Brien's exorcist is an arrogant and egotistical man who arrives, like most cinematic exorcists, to do battle with evil. He doesn't stand a chance. The final act is reserved for D'Amato to film the sisters in their ecstasy, and it concludes quite powerfully, despite its curious elliptical and circular ending. Images is totally uninhibited. D'Amato never settles upon depicting any behavior either strictly induced by demonic possession or natural human desire. It's an odd atmospheric mix and very well-handled by D'Amato. All of the performances are quite good with Senatore, Hedman, and O'Brien standing out. The commercial inspiration for the film was Walerian Borowczyk's Interno di un convento (Behind Convent Walls) (1977) (a hit in Italy), and Images was originally to star Gloria Guida, Anna-Maria Clementi, and Gabriele Tinti (AntiCristo).

Joe D'Amato's Sesso nero (1980)

Luigi Montefiori (aka George Eastman) tells the tale of how his story and screenplay for the Santo Domingo production and Joe D'Amato film, Sesso nero (1980) had its genesis:

The first film he [Joe D'Amato] worked on as a director, as director and producer, was made in Santo Domingo. I don't know if I've already told this story. We'd gone to Santo Domingo, invited there by Aristide [Massaccesi, D'Amato's real name], to make a series of three movies. One was supposed to be a serious film, and the other two were sort of erotic, movies you don't have to do much work to make. He showed me pictures of Santo Domingo, which I liked, so I went there, really for a vacation. While we were shooting these three films, I was crazy about gambling at the time, and I lost my entire pay for these films and all the other money I had in one week. So I was penniless at the end of the first week. Not even enough to pay for the hotel room. In fact I had to share a rooom with Dirce Funari one of the actresses, despite the fact that we weren't romantically involved. I'd be sleeping at four a.m., she'd come in--we caught some sleep when we could. Since I had no money, and Aristide refused to give me and advance on other jobs, I tried to convince him to do another movie. I said, "Why don't you shoot something of your own? You have the actors, the location..." So while we were shooting the other films--we'd do a scene, change our clothes, shot the scene of another film--to use the same set--I'd be the good guy one minute and the bad guy the next--So I said, "Let's do another story. You can bring home another film that's all yours when we leave." He said, "No, I don't have a story..." and I'd say "I'll write one for you." So we agreed on my salary, and in three days I wrote "Sesso Nero." [note: in the interview collection, Spaghetti Nighmares, Eastman says, "I'd written the script and persuaded Massaccesi to do it so that I could make up the money I'd lost in one of my habitual nights out at the casino. I based the story on Max Frisch's Homo Faber and put it together over a weekend, and despite the fact it had been a lightning job, it turned out to be a real success."] When it came out it made a lot of money. He read it, liked it, and made it. I played a small part, as a nightclub manager, in a scene we shot back in Rome, however. I was paid two million lira. It cost him about twenty million to make. It ended up making hundreds of millions, a great success. That was the first film produced and directed by Aristide. Of course he'd directed others, but none that were completely his. (from the documentary, "Joe D'Amato Totally Uncut" included on the Shriek Show Anthropophagus DVD) From a story borne from desperation, Sesso nero is about Mark Lester (Mark Shannon) who receives some bad news from his doctor: he's required to have an operation which will render him impotent (in a dream sequence, he imagines himself completely incapacitated and vulnerable on the operation table, while a doctor hovers over him with a scapel and his literal manhood sitting in a tray to the side). Mark has to have the operation within fifteen days, so he decides to take the preceding time before his operation to visit Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic as a vacation, an opportunity for some final sexual escapades, and to possibly revisit some memories. One day while wandering the streets of the city, Mark sees a reflection in a store window of a young woman, Maira (Annj Goren), who he had met on the island years ago and she looks completely the same. Mark has a couple of quick flings, one with the hotel maid and another with his friend Jack's wife, Lucia (Lucia Ramirez), before running into an old friend at a nightclub (Eastman) who tells Mark that some voodoo incidents have been reported on the island. Soon after, Mark spies Maira again.Sesso nero is the spontaneous production born in Santo Domingo while presumably the three original films to which Eastman alludes in his anecdote are Hard Sensation (1980), Erotic Nights of the Living Dead (1980), and Porno Holocaust (1981). Shannon, Eastman, and Ramirez would appear in all four productions, while Funari is absent from only Sesso nero and Goren absent from only Erotic Nights. The original three productions, especially Holocaust, are notorious for the inclusion of their XXX scenes, side by side with its horror. Italian cinema had seen sex and violence (and sexual violence) at its extreme before, for example, with Pier Paolo Pasolini's Salò o le 120 giornate di Sodoma (1975). D'Amato, himself, wasn't a stranger to mixing the two elements and pushing the extreme with his Emanuelle e Françoise le sorelline (1975; also starring Eastman) and especially Emanuelle e gli ultimi cannibali (aka Trap Them and Kill Them) (1977), for example. D'Amato is asked in an interview, "Later, the series [the Black Emanuelle films with Laura Gemser] was linked to the Cannibal films (Trap Them and Kill Them). Was it a great success?" D'Amato responds, "Yes, all the Black Emanuelle films made a lot of money." The interviewer responds to his answer with the statement, "It was quite a violent film." "Yes, definitely," says D'Amato. "I had done everything with this series except mix it with splatter-type horror. (interview from European Trash Cinema, Issue #12, ed. Craig Ledbetter, Kingwood, TX, July, 1995.)" The inclusion of XXX scenes in horror films wasn't alien either, as myriad European horror films often had various versions by different distributors for specific markets, including those with hardcore inserts. The three Santo Domingo productions, however, by D'Amato were calculated hybrids of horror and pornography, especially Holocaust. In Spaghetti Nightmares, D'Amato is asked: "What can you tell us about Emanuelle e gli ultimi cannibali and Le notti erotiche dei morti viventi [Erotic Nights of the Living Dead]?" D'Amato responds, "They were both made along erotic lines, and having said that, there isn't much else to tell about them, really. The former, like the others of the series, was a reasonable commercial success (especially abroad), while Le notti erotiche dei morti viventi was a total fiasco. I had endeavored to mingle my two favorite genres, tending more towards the erotic side in this case, but the film was rejected by the public." After an interviewer comments that "When you made Porno Holocaust...There's a scene where a zombie gives a blow job to a woman. And she dies. I mean that's incredible isn't it?! (laughs)," D'Amato responds, "Yeah, we thought that when two people fuck, that's when the zombie arrives. This is what it's about. The maximum combination of horror and sex! (from an interview in Flesh and Blood, Issue #6, ed. Harvey Fenton, FAB Press, 1996)"Despite it being the only non-horror film in this grouping, Sesso nero delivers its darkest tale. Anticipating a future which lacks the joy of sex and a reduced virility, Shannon's Mark embarks on his present, temporary quest of engaging in joyless sex and humiliating situations, as a figure from the past, Maira draws him down deeper than he could imagine. The joylessness and lack of intimacy are inherent in the initial XXX scenes, as with Mark's first trist with the hotel's maid: the photography (shot by Enrico Biribicchi) has to focus on the close-up shots of penetration for credibility to the scene's unsimulated acts. Likewise, following another perfunctory explicit sex scene, this time Mark with Lucia, the viewer sees Mark writhing in pain and grabbing his goin (as he has had a flare-up of his condition), as Lucia sits coolly at the dinner table watching him, looking as indifferent when she had pleasured him. Mark has to be carried back to his hotel room by the man whose wife he "seduced." Mark's most intense emotional scenes come with the woman towards whom he has the strongest emotion, Goren's Maira, but Maira also, with perhaps Sesso nero's most erotic XXX scenes, uses her strong sexuality not to tempt and seduce Mark but to induce jealously and emotional pain, as she has sex directly in front of Mark (to his credit, Shannon's performance is better than his colder performances in the other three Santo Domingo productions). The most erotic scene comes near the end of Sesso nero and involves Ramirez's Lucia and Shannon's Mark. The photography isn't explicit and focuses on less subtle physical movements, such as two's hands on each other and Ramirez's looks into the eyes of Mark. Sesso nero's ending has its most shocking and symbolic scenes. Sesso nero is ultimately more interesting conceptually and less interesting entertainingly, despite the fact that D'Amato's direction, Biribicchi's photography, and especially the music by Nico Fidenco being quite good. Shannon and especially Goren standout above the other performances. Eastman's story and screenplay, motivated from gambling losses, creates an ironic tale for an adult film: the loss of male virility, the desire for emotional intimacy, and the depiction of a darker take on sexuality. So how did audiences take to Sesso nero (as Eastman relates that it was a big success financially)? When D'Amato is confronted with this statement in an interview, "The most surprising fact about your pornos is that they have a real storyline," D'Amato responds, "That's right. The first one I made, Sesso nero, had a story even though it dealt with hard-core sex. But most distributors didn't consider it commercial enough and so they cut out the dialogue and left in the ordinary fuck scenes. And that's the reason why this kind of film is not an art form. The audience is there just to see people fuck. As a filmmaker, it is of no real interest to me (taken from the European Trash Cinema interview as noted and cited above)." I suppose with Sesso nero, there are no safe bets.

Joe D'Amato's Devil in the Flesh (Il diavolo nella carne) (1991)

In 1986, Joe D'Amato released his Eleven Days, Eleven Nights (Undici giorni, undici notti) (1986) which became, at the time, his most successful film and his favorite of his "softcore, erotic" movies. For the director, the film also kindled a love affair with the city of New Orleans, Louisiana, the shooting location of Eleven Days, Eleven Nights, and D'Amato has this to say about why the film was successful and also his favorite: "I don't know, because it's my first movie in New Orleans. And I like New Orleans very much. New Orleans is a very cinematographic town. It's a nice place to make movies and it's the first time and I was very excited to be working there." (All previous facts and quote from D'Amato's interview included in Flesh and Blood, Issue #7, edited by Harvey Fenton, FAB Press, 1996.) D'Amato would film in the city again and in the waning days of his film production company (Filmirage) in 1991, he would film and release Fatal Obsession (Ossessione fatale), A Woman's Secret (La donna di una sera), and Door Into Silence (Le porte del silenzio). The latter film was directed by Lucio Fulci with the former two directed by D'Amato, and during the same year, Joe D'Amato would direct one other film--outside the city of New Orleans in Louisiana's hot and swampy areas, Devil in the Flesh (Il diavolo nella carne).

Sammy (Robert LaBrosse) and Klaus (Wayne Camp), although both appear as and make representations as to being American Special Forces soldiers, are mercenaries. The Louisiana location presumably substitutes for a Central or South American country where a coup d'etat has occurred with the rebels taking control. The ousted prime minister, Victorio Evans (Harold Evans) is being escorted to the border by Sammy and Klaus. Victorio has an extremely weak heart and cannot make the perilous journey on foot to the border, especially with the rebels on the trio's trail. Sammy and Klaus have to keep Victorio alive long enough to reach the border so they can receive their cash reward. On foot, the group reaches a small, International health clinic, run by its doctor, Katrin (Tracy Ray), and her three nurses, Helga (Carmen Di Pietro), Sophie (Nicole Grey), and Hellen (Jennifer Loeb). Sammy and Klaus take over the clinic and force the medical staff to attend to Victorio's health.

Devil in the Flesh is presumably a pick-up production during the shooting of one of the other Louisiana films of 1991. My best guess is that D'Amato shot Devil during the shooting (or right before or after) Fulci's Door Into Silence. I base this presumption on 1) D'Amato didn't work on Door as cinematographer (Giancarlo Ferrando shot Door); 2) Steve Morelli was a production manager on Door and wrote the screenplay for Devil; and 3) both Fulci and D'Amato allude to financial problems with the productions (Filmirage would not survive long after 1991).

D'Amato wasn't an intrusive producer (and seemingly this was his only role in Door's production) but an "apprehensive" one (revealed in his interview in Spaghetti Nightmares, conducted before the publication date of the book (1996) and presumably before 1994 (since the included filmography of D'Amato's directorial credits end there. Nonetheless, the interview was conducted not long after Filmirage's dissolution). When asked "Does this insecurity [D'Amato being apprehensive] lead you in any way to interfere with directors who work with you?" D'Amato responds: "No, not all. If I didn't respect other directors creativity, I'd make the film alone. (Spaghetti Nightmares)" No doubt D'Amato had faith in veteran Fulci's abilities (When D'Amato is asked what he thinks of Fulci's films during the documentary "Joe D'Amato Totally Uncut" included as a supplement on the Shriek Show Anthropophagus DVD, D'Amato responds, "Fulci's films were the best I produced."); and there's is also little doubt to presume while Fulci was filming, D'Amato would have time to simultaneously film another production at a singular location. Steve Morelli, the screenwriter for Devil, appears today to be an adult filmmaker. According to his IMDb credits, he appears to have been writing and directing adult films since the mid-1990s. I've never seen a Morelli adult film, so I cannot comment upon them. However, the narrative of Devil in the Flesh feels like a stereotypical story for a traditional adult film. The set-up for the film which I detailed in the second paragraph only occupies five to ten minutes of Devil, while the overwhelming majority of the film takes place at the clinic with the four actresses. The fortuitous stumbling upon the clinic rings of the traditional tale of the wanderer seeking shelter with the farmer and his daughters. It's not long after the soldiers arrive that the "erotic" (or would-be erotic) scenes begin. (There are a couple of rape scenes in the film, which aren't detailed or graphic and shot the same way as the consensual sex scenes but that doesn't change their depictions of what they are). The narrative focuses on sexual tension, especially between Ray's Katrin and LaBrosse's Sammy, voyeuristic sequences, and sex scenes with various characters coupling; and the thin plot seems sequential with a predictable ending while the non-sex scenes feel like filler.

I've been unable to learn as to why Filmirage had financial problems (and its subsequent demise). I only know that financial problems existed: D'Amato alludes to them during the "Totally Uncut" supplement from the Anthropophagus DVD, and Fulci alludes to financial problems riddling the production of Door and leading to its distribution problems (the film being withheld for release because of financial problems) during his Spaghetti Nightmares interview. Considering that Joe D'Amato had opportunity and a motive to shoot Devil in the Flesh, I have little doubt that it was a pick-up production for a quick cash in.

So what about the quality of this Joe D'Amato quickie? Devil in the Flesh feels hurried and uninspired. The sex scenes are a big indication. During his "Totally Uncut" interview, the interviewer comments to D'Amato about another softcore production, Fatal Seduction (La iena) (1997), that "One defect in 'Fatal Seduction,' I think, is that the sex scenes are shot as if they were edited porn scenes, which weighs the film down." D'Amato gives an uncomfortable-sounding laugh and responds humbly, "Yes. That's my fault. It's become a habit of mine. Because...It's just my fault. All my fault..." Likewise, the sex scenes feel the same way with no real attempt at eroticism at all (especially coming from a director quite adept at shooting erotic scenes, evidenced by his work at the earlier part of his career and at least a decade before Devil). The hurried feel is also evident by the set-ups and pacing. This is one-take cinema with static shots, mostly uninteresting compositions, with little flare. The dialogue is actually fairly credible and not bad; and in fact, the themes within Devil in the Flesh are fairly interesting: two mercenaries who love only money and their lives must keep a shaky political figure alive long enough for delivery, like a human battery as cargo with enough juice just to finish the circuit, while the two make a necessary diversion only to take it as an opportunity for indulgence and character-building. No time for depth, though, in Devil in the Flesh. The acting by all is bad. The only thing notable perhaps about Devil in the Flesh is that it marks a important period of time in the career of its truly talented director, Joe D'Amato.

Joe D'Amato's Horrible (Rosso sangue/Absurd/Monster Hunter/Anthropophagus 2) (1981)

While I've already awkwardly discussed Joe D'Amato before, I thought that I would begin by telling a story. Nearly twenty years ago, around the time when I would have been either thirteen or fourteen, I received Joe D'Amato's Horrible (aka Rosso sangue) (1981) on VHS, in a large, oversized box under the title, Monster Hunter. Here's a pic (still have it today):My old man purchased it late Christmas Eve out of the cheap bin at K-Mart. I don't know if he was lured by its over-sized box or its lurid (and misleading) cover, but I was happy to receive it the following day (along with a buncha other literally cheap and trashy flix). I remember opening the big box and watching it. My initial impression was that this was an American production and not an Italian one (all of the credits revealed mostly Anglicized names); spoken in English and out of synch with some of the characters' voices; set in America: there was a Rams/Steelers game on t.v., and the priest, who was Greek, was called a "foreigner;" and most of all, this was my bread and butter, Monster Hunter was low-budget horror (immediately apparent from the black-and-white opening credits to the opening shot of George Eastman jogging followed by the shuffling Edmond Purdom). I recently received the Mya release on DVD, under the title Horrible (although the credits title the film Rosso sangue) and gave it a spin. Joe D'Amato's Rosso sangue (aka Anthropophagus 2) is about a Greek killer (Eastman), Mikos Stenopolis, whose on the run from from a Greek priest (Purdom). At the Bennett villa, young Katia Bennett (Katya Berger) is confined to bed as a parapalegic, drawing circles with her compass. Ms. Bennett (Hanja Kochansky) sits at her side and offers Katia comforting words of hope of her getting better, while little brother and son, Willy (Kasimir Berger) hears a noise out in the yard. The door opens to reveal the noise as Eastman, who has disemboweled himself attempting to climb the rod-iron fence. Mikos passes out on the Bennett floor and is rushed to the hospital. As the doctors are stitching large Eastman up, the surgeon notes to nurse Emily (Annie Belle) that the patient has "remarkable recupertative powers." Emily exits, as Eastman recovers, to the Bennett villa to tend to young Katia. Meanwhile, Sgt. Ben Engleman (Charles Borromel) is exiting the Bennett villa after his police inquiry of the Mikos self-impalement en route to the hospital. Along the way, Engleman picks up a older man, walking alone in the evening, a "foreigner," whose car has broken down, and takes him to a mechanic. The Sargent arrives at the hospital and finds Greek coins in Eastman's large jeans and notes the coincidence that the older man whom he earlier picked up was Greek also. The older man is now at the hospital, and Eastman's Mikos wakes up, not happy to see the other Greek and in a psychotic frame of mind. Evocative of John Carpenter's classic Halloween (1978), from the music to the one-night setting to the plot line, Joe D'Amato delivers an effective low-budget slasher. However, Rosso sangue will more than likely alienate most horror fans and casual fans of the genre for its low-budget roots and familar plot, but it should be fried gold to Eurocult cinema enthusiasts and D'Amato afficionados, such as myself. To begin with, the cast of Rosso sangue is a roll call of familiar D'Amato actors and Eurocult stars (or participants linked to a Eurocult star). The Bennetts, save Papa Bennett, are real-life mother and children (Katya and Kasimir Berger are the daughter and son of Hanja Kochansky and genre stalwart, William Berger). The couple which appears on the television delivering soapy dialogue, who also light a flame of anger under young Willy, are D'Amato regulars, Mark Shannon (for example, Erotic Nights of the Living Dead (1980)) and Lucia Ramirez (for example, Orgasmo nero (1980)). Edmund Purdom appeared previously in Tonino Ricci's excellent The Big Family (1973), Massimo Dallamano's The Night Child (1975), Fernando di Leo's off-the-wall and awesome Mr. Scarface (1976), and subsequently appeared in Sergio Martino's 2019: After the Fall of New York (1983) and Di Leo favorite, Killer vs. Killers (1985), for example. Ms. Annie Belle, as Emily, is a true titan of Eurcult cinema and she clashed with other Eurocult titans, Lili Carati, Al Cliver, and Laura Gemser, in favorite D'Amato's The Alcove (1984). Belle previously appeared in Jean Rollin's Fly Me the French Way (1974) and his poetic and haunting, Lips of Blood (1975), Brunello Rondi's Black Emmanuelle, White Emmanuelle (1976), and Ruggero Deodato's House on the Edge of the Park (1980), for example. Also, look for frequent Eurocult small-role actor and future director, Michele Soavi amongst others. Last but not least is friend of and creative collaborator with director Joe D'Amato, George Eastman as Mikos Stenopolis. Tall and muscular Eastman spent the 60s and the early part of the 70s appearing primarily in Westerns before his role in Corrado Farina's excellent Baba Yaga (1973). Eastman would later, for example, appear in D'Amato's surreal Emanuelle's Revenge (1975), Alfonso Brescia's Knell, the Bloody Avenger (1976), and D'Amato's infamous Anthropophagus (1980) before Rosso sangue. Subsequent to his performance as Mikos, Eastman would appear in some seriously heavyweight Eurocult cinema: Enzo G. Castellari's The New Barbarians (1982) and 1990: The Bronx Warriors (1982), Umberto Lenzi's fantastic Ironmaster (1983), 2019: After the Fall of New York (1983), D'Amato's stellar Endgame (1983) alongside Al Cliver and Laura Gemser, Lamberto Bava's essential Blastfighter (1984), and Sergio Martino's Hands of Steel (1986), for example. Eastman is also a prolific screenwriter with numerous credits, including Rosso sangue, with my favorite being Michele's Soavi's Stagefright (1987). The script of Monster Hunter is perfunctory, like Halloween, and is a by-the-books formulaic slasher. All of the performances are good, especially Belle, Purdom, and Eastman.D'Amato's signature visuals and his strong atmosphere is spotty in Rosso Sangue. He attempts to mimic the cat-and-mouse chase of the priest and police after Mikos with a choppy, intercut story, from the Bennetts, to Eastman, to the priest and police. The final third is very good claustrophobic horror. The gore scenes are meaty and bloody, and like Anthropophagus, Eastman and D'Amato went out of their way to rack their "brains" for some creative (and if need be, unnecessary) kills. The score by Carlo Maria Cordio is fantastic and the synthy flourishes are nice. Overall, Horrible has that unique Eurocult "vibe," so familar and addictive to genre fans, such as myself. Long absent from DVD, the current Mya release is essential for the Eurocult cinema lover. Buy it here or here.

This post is dedicated to my old man. Deeply religious and politically conservative, he is also vehemently anti-authoritarian and a fierce opponent to censorship and an equally fierce proponent to artistic expression. Neither a hypocrite, the old man never censored anything which I wished to see, read, or view, and supported me, both spiritually and financially, to prevent me in my 20s from being a starving artist. Although I've long abandoned any artistic aspiration or ambition (primarily from lack of talent), blog-writing and my cinema tastes are to this day directly a result of the old man's fostering and love. It's not everyday that I get the opportunity to write about it and return it.

Joe D'Amato's Anthropophagus (1980)

On a small Greek island, one day something rises from the water. A group of friends, bound for a pleasure cruise, meet a young woman who requests to go along. Her destination is the small island. The group arrives to find the island seemingly uninhabited. They pass the night in mostly solitude until the island mystery is revealed. As members of the group begin dying, the survivors search for answers to the mystery and a way to escape.

Aristide Massaccesi (aka Joe D'Amato), prior to directing, cut his cinematic teeth on many an Italian Western, as a cinematographer. Quite talented lensing others' productions, D'Amato eventually would helm myriad productions in a vast amount of genres. Later in his career, he would become one of the most popular and successful adult-film directors in the world, only occasionally directing the low-budget genre film. His photographic talent never waned over his career. Any D'Amato film shows a brilliant eye for imagery, the use of light, framing, and movement. D'Amato was also very conscious of atmosphere--he was very adept at using film composition to create a definite sense of feeling. His excellent ability in the most cosmetic aspects of film is probably why he was so successful in adult movies.

Anthropophagus (1980) has a notorious history and reputation, which is quite merited. It was banned as a "video nasty" in the UK for its depictions of gore. One scene is infamous. Anyone with a cursory knowledge of this film is aware of the scene. The film's infamy and notoriety gave it longevity in genre fans' wish lists, and it was eventually released uncut on DVD in the US in 2005. High expectations and lukewarm reception.

Ironically, the beauty and power of Anthropophagus lies nowhere near its gore scenes. They are the weakest aspect of the film. The desire to shock the viewers into the cinema would become a serious misstep. In fact, the film's screenplay, penned by D'Amato and star, George Eastman, seems so contrived that it appears that they envisioned the shocking gore scene originally and worked backwards to create a film around it. For either commercial reasons or a lack of confidence in their ability, the script stands as it is.

I attempted to describe the film at the outset of this blog entry as I see the film. It's a wonderful atmospheric, non-supernatural horror film with some beautiful imagery. One scene, in particular, stands out. Tisa Farrow observes a large mirror covering an even larger door. She tosses a candlestick at the mirror and it breaks and falls away. Shot in slow motion, her image remains in the final piece--a haunting scene. The film's opening with the German tourists and while the credits play serves as a very quiet exposition. The town is revealed, through its cobblestone-lined streets, as filled with people. When the young group arrives at the island, the same scenes are shown, minus the life once in the street. The sense of isolation is all the more reinforced. The slow pacing of the film increases the dread, so the few "jump" scares actually work.

The notorious gore scene holds up today. At least, I find it very offensive and off-putting. The special effects ain't the greatest. The acting is pretty wooden all around, save Tisa Farrow (possibly her last film?) and George Eastman. Those two performances are only moderately better than the rest. I can understand someone thinking this one an over-hyped and slow gore film. However, I see it as an underrated old-school atmospheric horror film. An all-time favorite.