Fernando Di Leo's Slaughter Hotel (1971)

Under a beautiful purple dark night sky sits the asylum setting of Fernando di Leo's Slaughter Hotel (1971), his sole contribution to the horror/thriller genre, a genre, perhaps, for which Di Leo had little love. Its opening sequence is a signal: a dark caped figure is prowling outside the asylum grounds. The figure gains entrance into the quiet place and eyes an axe to pick up, after playing with the iron maiden which sits in its lobby (I always associate torture devices and weaponry from within the walls of medical facilities). Slowly upstairs, the caped figure ascends to spy beautiful Cheryl (Margaret Lee) in her birthday suit and in total slumber. Cheryl makes an innocuous movement with her hand and signals the nurse. The lights come on and the dark figure gasps and disappears. All sound and fury. Cue credits.

Di Leo intimates (during his interview included on the region one DVD of Shriek Show's release) that inherently the mystery or thriller genre is limited: there are only so many red herrings that one can put to the viewer with a limited number of characters to produce a satisfactory conclusion. The narrative, which Di Leo co-wrote with Nino Latino, soon fades away. Although Slaughter Hotel has numerous titles for its various world releases, perhaps a fitting one would be Sensational Hotel. Aided by his laissez-faire attitude towards the genre, a talented cinematographer with Franco Villa, a wispy and catchy score (also sometimes minimal and haunting) by Silvano Spadaccino, and Klaus Kinski and a bevvy of beautiful actresses, Slaughter Hotel is a melange of atmospheric and effective erotic sequences juxtaposed with equally atmospheric and effective violent sequences.

Di Leo doesn't hide his affection for beauty Rosalba Neri who plays patient Anne. She tells the doctors, "I just want to make love," a desire which earned her a stay at the clinic. Neri's first appearance is memorable: in a revealing black pants suit, Di Leo's camera focuses on Neri's powerful sensuality. In a playful and erotic sequence, Anne goes to the greenhouse to shag the groundskeeper. When two orderlies come hunting for Anne, Di Leo lets Neri go. She sashays out of the greenhouse to encounter the curious orderlies. She falls into the arms of the two, and with feline movements rubs her body and gropes the young men with her arms and kisses. While it would seem the two have been looking quite a while for Anne combined with Anne's lack of reluctance to go with them, the orderlies aren't moving. They'll stay frozen for a minute or two like statues until Neri gets bored with them. Look close and you'll even see a smirk on the face of one of the actors. Neri's confrontation with the killer is also memorable. After a very long voyeuristic sequence of viewing Neri dream while writhing nude upon her bed, the killer enters and Anne begins her seduction. The scene is a combination of flesh and shadows and emotions of arousal and repulsion.

Mara (Jane Garret) is a lonely patient and feels an outsider, with whom Nurse Helen (Monica Strebel) is fascinated (or perhaps fascinated with the idea of Mara). Di Leo films the two's relationship initially as sensitive caretaker bonding with sad and friendless patient, as they sit on the bench outside on the grounds. A kinship is formed, but these ladies will not become sisters. Di Leo films the two in a series of erotic sequences, escalating in sexual tension. In the first, Helen massages a nude Mara, then comes Mara's bubble-bath bathing with Helen's assistance (of course, she removes her nurse's outfit in order to facilitate a better bathing), which ends with the two dancing before inevitably making love. These sequences are all for the benefit of a male audience, and Di Leo doesn't disappoint by delivering the eye candy. As with Neri, Di Leo focuses on these characters almost exclusively in a visual fashion. Strebel has gorgeous big eyes and fiery red hair, while Garret's aloof demeanor and quiet looks provide the simmering sensuality.

Kinski, like the actresses, was chosen by Di Leo's for his "dramatic face," and like the ladies, he's eye candy. Klaus Kinski plays Dr. Francis Clay who has a burgeoning love for Margaret Lee's Cheryl. Kinski's expressionistic face with his piercing eyes and brooding demeanor hides mystery (which Di Leo plays on). Kinski walks the halls and gives some of the most uncomfortable cigarette-smoking sequences (I'm not a gambler but I would bet Kinski is not a smoker). Kinski and Lee display a light romance, straight out of any dime-store paperback.To Di Leo's credit, the compositions of the killer are well shot. In a haunting sequence, the killer is brandishing a sword, and all alone he swings it in a madman's fury before his next frenzied kill (the swings of the sword are accompanied by low-octave notes delivered by Spadaccino's minimal score). In a humorous (yet effective) scene, a nurse passing the grounds at night walks within inches of the killer and does not notice him. A scythe is in the bushes, and as soon as she passes, the killer picks up the scythe to decapitate her. The nurse turns and screams before her death. The scene comes off as the very definition of perfunctory: okay, I'll walk by you and pretend you're not there. Get the nearby weapon, which I also conveniently fail to notice, and kill me.

Despite almost a pure display of cinematic exploitation, Di Leo drops in a little of his trademark socio-political commentary. An early scene of a husband coldly dropping his wife off at the front door of the asylum is effective. A clinic which houses only women patients with seemingly the only rule being "you can't leave" pervades the claustrophobic atmosphere of the film. It is also extremely difficult to discern what actual afflictions these patients have. The doctors are often shown as incompetent and less-than-professional. The police, when they finally show, can talk. That's about it. I own both the Shriek Show (Media Blasters) and Raro releases and recommend both. Facts about the production, I took from Di Leo's interview included on the Shriek Show release.

Duccio Tessari's Tony Arzenta (1973)

Alain Delon is Tony Arzenta, who in a very well-done opening sequence, kisses his son and wishes him a happy birthday and "many, many more." Arzenta embraces his wife, Anna, and tells her that he has to leave his son's birthday party and go out for a while. At a health spa across town, a disgusting, bearded fat man is groping his lady in the sauna, smacking his henchmen at the bar, and barking orders over the phone. The fat man calls for his henchman, but before the chump can break the threshold, Arzenta has killed the man, as icy and cold as his own stare.

Delon's Arzenta is a hitman in Duccio Tessari's Tony Arzenta (1973), who quickly gets into "a vendetta kind-of mood" after his opening hit. The disgusting, bearded fat man was a crime boss, whose hit was ordered by other syndicate boss, Nick Gusto (Richard Conte). Arzenta tells Gusto that this was his last hit and he wants out of the organization. Gusto gives Arzenta the obligatory mafia answer: once you're in, you can't get out. But Gusto will see what he can do. At a meeting of the syndicate bosses, who are meeting to divvy up the bearded, fat man's territory, Gusto brings up the subject of Arzenta wanting out. The bosses are unanimous: not happening. Kill him. Anna and Arzenta's son soon want to go shopping, but Anna's car won't start. Daddy, is it all right if we take your car? Of course, says Arzenta, and from the window of his apartment, Arzenta watches his wife and young son go up in a ball of flames with the car's explosion. From the iced-over look in Arzenta's eyes, the viewer can tell that his soul went somewhere else and was replaced with the taste for vengeance.

Tony Arzenta is a bona fide, Eurocrime classic, not because of its all-too-familiar plot but for Delon's intense performance and Duccio Tessari's direction, specifically the film's well-orchestrated and exciting action sequences and kills. There are four crime bosses, including Conte's Gusto, who Arzenta is out to kill. For example, after the first boss, Carré (Roger Hanin), berates and beats his beautiful lady, Sandra (Carla Gravina), Carré decides to take a train trip to Hamburg. Delon's Arzenta gets a tip from a beautiful lady on Carré's whereabouts and boards the train. In a fantastic sequence, the daylight train enters a tunnel. Arzenta donning black gloves and a black raincoat looks like death walking down the train corridor. With little movement from his hand, Arzenta ices the bodyguard and stares down Carré, who begs a little bit. Arzenta shoots him in the face and Carré falls through the train window. Unfortunately, Carré's legs get caught in the compartment and his torso and head get bashed on trackside scenery. In the film's coldest hit, Arzenta wakes his victim up from a nice nap in a chair, so he can look Arzenta in the face before he takes a bullet to the forehead.

The most jarring aspect of Tony Arzenta is the most brutal violence is enacted upon women. Carla Gravina's Sandra gets spit on and berated by Carré, only later to have some thugs give her an extremely brutal beatdown. Eurocult titan and sexy siren, Erika Blanc, makes a brief appearance as a prostitute, who Arzenta witnesses receiving a beating in a hallway by her boyfriend. I have no evidence as to whether Tessari and company were enacting their own misogynist views or were delivering sequences for an audience which expected such violence. However, when Domenico, Arzenta's "sidekick," played by Marc Porel, is tortured by the same thugs who beat up Sandra, the violence is pretty sick but nowhere near as graphic and brutal.

My man-crush for actor Alain Delon is only rivalled by my man-crush for Steve McQueen. By the time Delon had appeared in Tony Arzenta, he had already starred in three crime classics by Jean-Pierre Melville: Le Samouraï (1967), Le Cercle Rouge (1970), and Un Flic (1972) (everyone should see these three multiple times). He would subsequently appear in two very underrated French crime films, both directed by Jacques Deray: Le Gang (1977) and super cool, Three Men to Kill (1980), alongside beautiful Dalila Di Lazzaro. Delon's performance in Tony Arzenta is up there with his French crime classics. His trademark icy stares and stoic demeanor are used perfectly by Tessari in this role.Italian genre director, Duccio Tessari, like his contemporaries, made films in multiple genres and his work, today, is perhaps underappreciated. Tessari directed two of the finest Italian Westerns ever made, both with Giuliano Gemma, A Pistol for Ringo (1965) and The Return of Ringo (1965) (both scripted, incidentally, by Fernando di Leo, perhaps the finest director of Italian crime films). Tessari made a terrific giallo in 1971, The Bloodstained Butterfly, before Tony Arzenta. Subsequent to Arzenta, Tessari made the excellent and entertaining Tough Guys (1974), with Lino Ventura, Isaac Hayes, William Berger, and Fred Williamson. Tessari's action choreography, his compositions, and his pacing are all extremely well-done in Arzenta, and arguably, this film is his finest accomplishment as a director.

Finally, Tony Arzenta has some of my all-time favorite music from an Italian genre film (to be fanboy specific, this is an Italo/French production). Gianni Ferrio is credited with the score, and it's an excellent mix of funky and jazzy sounds and used liberally throughout the film. Erika Blanc's brief appearance is welcome and lovely Eurocult legend, Rosalba Neri, appears in the film (at least in the version that I saw) for under a minute. No strangers to European cult cinema, Carla Gravina, Marc Porel, and Richard Conte give excellent supporting performances. A true favorite of European crime cinema which is also a classic. See it.

Luigi Batzella's The Devil's Wedding Night (1973)

Some things truly never die but just disappear for a while. Lately, teen-angst and romance have been fuelling the recent popular trend, but they've seemingly always been around in pop culture and, especially, cinema. Yes, that's right, vampires. In the early 70s, at least in Europe, vampire cinema was still making the rounds: England's Hammer Studios, even in its waning days, was still sticking to its guns and producing Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee in Alan Gibson's The Satanic Rites of Dracula (1973); while also producing fresher and more interesting takes on vampire lore, like Robert Young's Vampire Circus (1972) and Brian Clemens's Captain Kronos--Vampire Hunter (1974). Also in England, Spanish film maker, Jose Larraz would make his sick and sexy Vampyres (1974), while in his native country, Paul Naschy was making his own Gothic brand of horror, usually involving his reluctant werewolf character, Waldemar Daninsky, with an appearance as a vampire in Javier Aguirre's Count Dracula's Great Love (1972). Fellow Spaniard Jess Franco was releasing Dracula Against Frankenstein (1972), Daughter of Dracula (1972), and Female Vampire (1973). In France, Jean Rollin began his career with bloodsuckers, for example, directing Requiem for a Vampire and Shiver of the Vampires, both in 1971. Other vampire films were being produced around the continent; however, they were almost unheard of coming from Italy during this period. Interestingly, one that I pleasantly stumbled upon doesn't really take fangs as its focus but rather sex and Satanism in Luigi Batzella's The Devil's Wedding Night (1973). The Devil's Wedding Night opens with the camera chasing a young female through the forest at night. After taking a couple of twists and turns, she's toast for the unknown assailant. After a psychedelic credit sequence, the camera reveals bookish scholar, Karl Schiller (Mark Damon) in a Poe-esque pose behind his desk, reading about ancient lore. His twin brother, Franz (also Damon) enters his study and pours himself a drink. The rakish Franz has just lost again while gambling and he is interested in what his brother has gotten into. Karl is about to begin a journey, believing that he has learned the location of the "long lost ring of the of the Nibiloni (?)" What's that? It's a ring whose bearer holds power over all mankind and its previous holders were Alexander the Great and Genghis Khan and the like. So where's this groovy ring? "In north Transylvania, the Carpathian Mountains, specifically, Castle Dracula." Franz doesn't bat an eye and responds to his brother, "But that's vampire country. You have heard of those blood-sucking creatures, haven't you?" After Damon's delivery of this line, I'm hooked. It gets better. Vampires aren't a problem for Karl: during a previous expedition, he discovered an amulet which protects its wearer from all supernatural evils. "Vampires should be covered, then."The next sequence shows one of the Schillers on horseback, racing through the mountains. At a local inn in Transylvania, Franz arrives and requests a room. He asks about Castle Dracula and receives strange and quiet looks from the locals. The innkeeper's daughter shows Franz his room for the evening. As she is turning over his linens, she tells Franz that tomorrow night is the Night of the Virgin Moon. What's that? Every fifty years, after midsummer, five virgins are called to Castle Dracula. Franz shows the innkeeper's daughter his protective amulet and tells her not worry. Franz is such a kind fellow, he'll offer her some additional protection by taking care of her virginity for her. The following morning, Franz arrives at Castle Dracula and is greeted by the zombish Lara (Esmeralda Barros), the maidservant to Countess Dracula. Using the ruse that he is studying local architectural designs, Franz gains entry into the castle. Where's the Countess? She will be arriving, much later.


When Countess Dracula does appear in the film, the real jewel of The Devil's Wedding Night is revealed: Italian actress, Rosalba Neri. Gorgeous Neri was a staple of 60s and 70s genre cinema, and her popularity has never faded. She has developed quite a cult following for her sensuous demeanor and steamy sex scenes. Some of my favorite Neri performances are in the Fernando di Leo-scripted, Romolo Guerreri's Johnny Yuma (1966), also alongside Damon, Jess Franco's 99 Women (1969), Ottavio Alessi's The Seducers (1969), and Fernando di Leo's Slaughter Hotel (1971). Even fully-clothed and in the most innocuous scenes, charismatic Neri is always the focus and she doesn't disappoint in The Devil's Wedding Night. Neri is so elegant that she is able to credibly deliver in this exchange with Damon's Franz:


Countess Dracula: No, thank you. All this wine, I'm afraid, is making my head spin.
Franz: My head is spinning also...but not from the wine.
Countess Dracula: Oh, Schiller. You do have a way about you. I imagine women find you quite irresistible. Do they?
Franz: Do you?
Countess Dracula: Quite. But perhaps not in the same way as the others.
Franz: Oh? In what way then?
Countess Dracula: Differently.
Franz: Oh my dear Countess, all of the other women in my life are like so many ladies of the night compared to you. .


Countess Dracula: Oh...but I am in my own fashion also a lady of the night.


The sex scene that follows this exchange is one the true precious moments of Italian genre cinema. Either Damon's Franz is revealed to not be such the sophisticated ladies' man or Damon, the actor, is in awe: he has the look on his face that his world is about to get rocked by Neri, even in this simulated love-making scene. She absolutely dazzles. What was I talking about?
Oh, The Devil's Wedding Night goes on for the final two-thirds to be extremely predictable but also fun. Damon's Karl realizes that Franz has stole the amulet and comes to rescue him. Franz left the amulet at the inn, so he is totally vulnerable to the Countess's powers within the castle. The set-up with the legendary ring and the story of the five virgins on the Night of the Virgin Moon come to fruition. The Devil's Wedding Night's director, Luigi Batzella, is one of the true madmen of Italian genre cinema, alongside his cinematic brothers Rino di Silvestro (Red Light Girls (1974); Werewolf Woman (1976); and Hanna D (1984)) and Cesare Canevari (Mátalo (1970); The Nude Princess (1976); Gestapo's Last Orgy (1977); and Killing of the Flesh (1983)). Subsequent to The Devil's Wedding Night, Batzella would helm Blackmail (1974), a bizarre kidnapping tale about a hippie, played by Brigitte Skay, and, possibly his most well-known film, Nude for Satan (1974), before delivering his nasty, shower-inducing The Beast in Heat (1977). Batzella loves to fill his films with psychedelic and dream-like images, and Nude for Satan is representative and full of this type of imagery. Batzella also doesn't mind getting a little down and dirty. In The Devil's Wedding Night, Neri's the focus of a couple of dreamy sequences: in one she has the obligatory lesbian scene with Lara, who bathes her in blood, a la Bathory. In another with Karl, one sip of wine leads to uncontrollable laughter and the most bizarre audio and accompanying images. Needless to say, the Satanic finale is over the top and indulgent. Finally, Mark Damon is a wonderful old-school American actor, who went abroad to work in Italy, like many others during the period. I first saw him in Roger Corman's The House of Usher (1960), alongside Vincent Price. He would appear as the titular character in the excellent western, Johnny Yuma, and give an over-the-top performance in Carlo Lizzani's Kill and Pray (1967). Today, Damon is a very successful Hollywood producer. Damon gives a terrific and campy performance alongside Neri.The Devil's Wedding Night is the very definition of a guilty pleasure and it's a fun one to revisit every now and again. If anyone gets the chance to see it, forget it's about vampires and dive in and enjoy the mad silliness.