Here’s a quite wildly cheesy film that’s so full of early late sixties stylistic ticks and traits that you can’t help but wonder if the whole thing was actually made by people who had a somewhat shaky connection with reality. In fact, it actually feels like it could have been released a few years earlier, when LSD was the drug of choice and before the tendency towards pessimistic realism crept in with the seventies.
Four ‘chicks’ who share an apartment - Bernadette (Bernadette Lafont), Frederique (Elisabeth Wiener), Christine (Jane Birkin) and Martine (Emma Cohen) - spend their days dancing, having fun and gabbling at each other. Their life becomes a little more complicated when a new neighbour moves in next door, Dominini (Carlo Giuffrè), a mysterious Italian. After spying on him through a telescope, they become convinced that he’s a wanted bank robber and, what’s more, that he has a huge bundle of cash - the loot from one of his raids - stashed in his vulnerable looking safe. Being a little low on the readies themselves, they come to the conclusion that the solution to their financial problems would be to steal it, in turn, for themselves.
Despite carrying out some ‘intensive training’ (i.e. doing karate moves at the camera) and calling on the help of Bernadette’s dodgy dad (Henri Virlojeux), a convicted thief, they soon find out that this robbery malarkey is nothing like as easy as it looks. Not least when, after making off with the supposed stash, they discover that poor Dominini wasn’t the wanted bank robber after all; or, at any rate, that’s what the police think…
To start by throwing something of a curveball, Seduction Squad is not unlike a eurotrash equivalent to Sex and the City: it’s a comedy focusing on four young women, their sexual entanglements and the humorous situations they get into. And, like Sex and the City, it’s not nearly as funny as it would like to think it is. In fact, it’s not that hard to imagine this being remade today, albeit with an ironic, post-feminist twist (i.e. by including a couple of male characters who are so obviously imbecilic it makes the ditzy female protagonists look as though they are actually in possession of a functioning brain (and that’s a functioning brain each, not between them)). Personally, though, I’d find Sex and the City a lot more entertaining if, like this, it had frequent speeded up sequences, car chases, nudity and a cameo appearance from Victor Israel.
But, given the fact that it’s an entertaining product of its time, it’s not actually a particularly good film. The plot, of course, is complete cheesecake, and could have been made by writing a page of random words on a sheet of paper, tearing it up, throwing it in the air and reassembling it according to the way in which the assorted fragments fall to the floor. There’s almost nothing in the way of characterisation beyond making one of the girls a ‘good’ one, one a ’sassy’ one, one a ‘hippie’ and one so lacking in any kind of individual features that you forget she’s actually a separate character to the others (Elisabeth Wiener is the unfortunate actress). Furthermore, the relentless zaniness becomes a little grating, and as there’s no real sense of pacing, tension or, quite frankly, purpose, this particular viewer’s attention was beginning to waver by the halfway mark.
There were some curious people behind this mess. Quite apart from the high profile cast, it was co-written by Michel Martens, who also wrote the demented sounding Hallucinations sadiques, and there’s a (pretty awful) soundtrack from Serge Gainsbourg. Director Franco Balducci had an odd career, specialising in low grade comedies, but also making a not-at-all-bad spaghetti western, In the Dust of the Sun. Despite my reservations, I can actually imagine a lot of people enjoying this: if it had been made for five dollars, featured a bunch of non-actors and a bit of softcore porn, it could easily pass for a Jess Franco movie.
Aka Die unglaublichen Abenteuer des Herkules, Hercules, Hércules Director: Pietro Francisci
Italy
Certification number / date: 26179 del 07.02.58
First release date: 20/02/58
Production companies: O.S.C.A.R. Film (Organizzazione Sociale Cinematografica Artistica Roma), Galatea (Milan).
Story: Pietro Francisci
Screenplay: Ennio De Concini, Pietro Francisci, Carlo Fratini
Cinematography: Mario Bava
Music: Enzo Masetti
Editor: Mario Serandrei
Art direction: Flavio Mogherini
Cast: Steve Reeves (Hercules), Sylva Koscina (Iole, Pelias’s daughter), Fabrizio Mioni (Jason), Ivo Garrani (Pelias, King of Iolcus), Gianna Maria Canale (Antea, Queen of the Amazons), Arturo Dominici (Eurysteus), Mimmo Palmara (Iphitus, Pelias’s son), Lidia Alfonsi (the sybil), Gabriele Antonini (Ulysses), Aldo Fiorelli (Argos), Andrea Fantasia (Laertes), Luciana Paluzzi (Iole’s maid), Afro Poli (Chironi), Gian Paolo Rosmino (Aesculapius, Jason’s father), Willi Colombini (Pollux), Fulvio Carrara (Castor), Gino Mattera (Orpheus), Gina Rovere (an Amazon), Lily Granado (an Amazon), Aldo Pini (Tifi), Spartaco Nale
Uncredited: Paola Quattrini (young Iole)
Le fatiche di Ercole poster
When it hit the Italian cinemas in February 1958, nobody would have quite realized the huge impact that Hercules was to have. Although by no means a cheapie - the film had enough money to ensure that production values were of a high standard and to assemble a good cast of Italian character actors - there’s little to indicate that it was intended as anything more than another in the irregular line of peplums produced in Italy. Although they were known to turn a profit and were occasionally treated as prestige projects (Mario Camerini’s Ulysses, for example), peplums had been far less prolific than their close relations, the cape and sword films, which were already a stable of low budget filmmakers in Cinecitta. With the success of Hercules, though, this was all to change: the film gained huge international success in the years following its release, inspiring numerous producers to try their hands at similar projects and making a household name out of its star, Steve Reeves, a body builder with little former acting experience.
Beyond that, though, the key significance of Hercules was that it signaled a marked change in attitude for the Italian film industry as a whole. Whereas the occasional film previously had been targeted at the international markets - mostly art-house productions that could be relied upon to pick up a decent following on the festival circuit and a handful of awards - popular cinema had been almost entirely inward looking. The two most productive Italian genres prior to the late 1950s, melodramas and comedies, had been rarely distributed abroad, their content being simply too Italianesque to make them attractive to the foreign distributors. With Hercules and its descendents, though, this was to change: filmmakers became aware of the potential of making films that could be sold around the world, and as such tailored their material to that international market as much as the domestic cinemas and church halls. It was a transition of style and approach, and if Hercules didn’t exactly inspire it, it certainly accelerated the process considerably.
The plot mixes and matches elements of Greek and Roman history, throwing together the familiar Hercules and Jason and the Argonauts stories with a familiar ‘usurpers getting their just deserts’ scenario, already much-used in even the most nascent form of the genre. In this case, the usurper - or apparent usurper at any rate - is Pelias (Ivo Garroni), the King of Iolcus, who is thought by many to have murdered his own brother and forced his nephew, Jason (Fabrizio Mioni), into exile in order to gain the throne. Knowing that his position has been weakened by all these rumours, he calls in Hercules (Steve Reeves), the super-strong, super-wise son of the Zeus, to act as his counsel and advisor.
Hercules makes an immediate impact, not least on Pelias’s children: Princess Iole (Sylva Koscina) falls deeply in love with him, while the selfish Prince Iphitus (Mimmo Palmara) becomes resentful of his superior strength and intelligence. Iphitus’s repeated attempts at one-upmanship, however, end only in failure and, eventually, his own death; savaged by a rogue lion he has attempted to kill in order to prove his courage. Consumed by guilt, and accused of selfishness by the grieving Pelias, Hercules is driven to carry out a number of dangerous tasks in order to redeem his name. Furthermore, feeling increasingly constrained by his semi-deific status, he renounces his immortality, meaning that he’ll be able to love like a man, but also to die like one.
In the course of his adventures, though, he meets Jason (Fabrizio Mioni), and his plans change. Convinced of his new friend’s innocence - Jason had been accused of his own father’s murder - he decides to help him regain his rightful throne. Pelias, though, refuses to accept the truth, so they’re left with no option but to prove the truth by setting off to find the ‘golden fleece’, a legendary symbol of power that had been lost somewhere in the mysterious Colchidie Islands.
From a contemporary perspective, Hercules may seem slightly old fashioned, but it certainly feels modern when compared to contemporaries such as Pia of Ptolomy. This is primarily down to the fact that it’s made with a much more advanced sense of rhythym and movement, not to mention a good degree of visual flair. The cinematic language, in other words, seems less old-fashioned, as is exemplified by the vibrant colours and the skimpy skirts sported by Sylva Koscina’s Iole (not to mention the saucy Amazonians who, it is implied, shag their victims before disposing of them). It looks and feels, in other words, like a creation of the late fifties rather than the austere, somewhat stodgy, post-war period.
Beyond that, though, it moves along at a much faster pace than many of its contemporaries. The script, although it might occasionally be episodic and treats some events with an unseemly speed, is packed full of enough action and event to ensure that things never become boring. There are also a couple of genuine surprises - Ithicus, for instance, who is being set up as an impetuous foil to Hercules, is unceremoniously disposed of after about twenty minutes - and the characters, although briskly sketched, are interesting enough. Although it maintains some melodramatic aspects, it doesn’t feel like a melodrama played out in historical clothing, which marks it out as unusual.
Pietro Francisci was by no means an unheralded talent at the time. He’d already carved out a niche for himself in the area, having previously made a number of high profile historical adventures (not least the 1954 film Attila, featuring Anthony Quinn and Sophia Loren), but this remains his crowning achievement, in terms of commercial success at any rate. Surprisingly, he only made a handful of other peplums after this, but he’s quite rightfully considered to be - along with Vittorio Cottafavi - one of the most important directors in the field. Hercules is certainly made with considerable skill, and, despite some occasionally shakey special effects, it doesn’t compare at all badly to The 7th Voyage of Sinbad, the first of the hugely popular Ray Harryhausen adventure films, which came out later in the year.
It’s also interesting to note the prominent billing of Mario Bava as ‘lighting and special effects supervisor’, as there are many scenes which make use of the same kind of coloured filters and painted backdrops which would feature so prominently in his films. Some sequences - a nightmare suffered by the young Iole, Hercules meeting with the Sybil - have an incredibly gothic ambience, and feel more like they were shot by Bava than Francisci. Bava, however, probably wouldn’t have been so adept at handling the action sequences, which was Francisci’s area of expertise, and in fact the filmmakers’ two differing styles end up complementing rather than competing with each other. [Read Tim Lucas's huge tome about Mario Bava, All the Colours of the Dark, for more information about this!]
Although profitable enough on its initial European release, it wasn’t until Hercules hit the international markets that its success rocketed. Picked up by Joseph E. Levine for his Embassy Pictures Corporation, it proved a winner at the US box office, and it wasn’t until the sequel was already being made - reuniting most of the cast and crew - that it became clear quite how much money it would go on to make. As well as making Levine’s name, it also sealed the reputation of Italian production company Galatea, who went on to make over 40 films in the next 7 years, and Steve Reeves became the number one superstar of the peplum genre.
Exactly who chose Reeves for the role is a matter of some debate. Certain sources mention that he was originally approached by producer Federico Teti, while others tell the possibly apocryphal tale of how Francisci’s 13 year old daughter was a fan of the MGM musical Athena (54), in which he had a small part, and she persuaded her father to watch it at the time he was trying to cast his protagonist. Reeves, himself, gave some weight to the latter version:
[Pietro Francisci] wrote the script, and he had been looking for Hercules for about five years. Around Italy, he’d find somebody who was good looking and tall, but had no body. Or someone who was good looking but short, and had a great body. He just couldn’t find the right combination. One day his daughter, who was 13, went to the theater and saw Athena, which had gotten to Italy by then. And she ran home and said, ‘Daddy, I think I have your Hercules.’ He went to the theater the next day, pictured me with a goatee and moustache, and felt I would be his man. At the time I was working for American Health Studios in public relations. I’d go to Riverside and open up a fitness studio with the mayor and Miss Riverside, then wait another two weeks or so and open another one someplace else. I had a good job with them, it didn’t use too much of my time, and the owner made me promise I’d forget about show business if I worked with him. So when the Hercules offer came, I just ignored it. Then Francisci wrote me another letter and said ‘Look, this is serious. Here’s an airplane ticket.’ There was also an advance of $5000, which in those days was quite an advance. I realized the guy was serious. I started growing a moustache and goatee on my job. This way I didn’t have to have something glued on, which is terrible. My boss asked me what I was doing it for, and I said I wanted to look more distinguished. I was only paid $10,000 for Hercules and I had no percentage. The film cost a half million to make, and it earned $40 million in the United States alone. It was the box office champion of 1959. I outgrossed John Wayne, Rock Hudson, and Doris Day, who were the big money makers at the time. And I was the biggest box office star, not only in the United States, but around the world. (from Spaghetti Cinema)
In all honesty, Reeves wasn’t a great actor, but he certainly had considerable presence and was far more charismatic than some of the musclebound lunks who went on to make their name in similar films. He also looks the part, and any deficiancies in his thesping are more than made up for by the experienced performers around him. Sylva Koscina had already made her name as a young actress of talent in films such as Pietro Germi’s The Railroad Man (Il ferroviere, 56), and went on to become one of the bigger international starlets of the 1960s, while the villains, Ivo Garrani and Arturo Dominici, both later appeared in Bava’s Black Sunday (La maschera del demonio, 60). One of the lesser known participants was Fabrizio Mioni, who plays the heroic Jason more than adequately. Mioni had previously had small roles in a small number of Italian productions, but after this and the sequel, Hercules Unchained, he relocated to America and made his career in US television.
Out this week in Italy, showing on a grand total of one screen: Tre lire, primo giorno. This is a comedy directed by the novice Andrea Pellizzer and starring a bunch of people I’ve never heard of. It’s had a lot of good responses on the festival circuit, though, and the plot - a kind of road movie / coming of age type thang - sounds a bit more interesting than the normal, run-of-the-mill Italian filler.
According to the Indianapolis Film Festival notes (which look to have been translated using google translator):
In an unspecified city of the northern Italy, a ninety-year-old is admitted in a local hospital. He has no clothes, no documents; his hair is long, white as snow.There are four young guys - who still did not decide about what to do with their life - working as nurses in the same hospital.One night, the old guy awakes. He walks the corridors of the hospital and he finds the four nurses hidden in a small room, concentrated over a poker table. The old guy looks like a spirit in the night. He claims his name is Carlo. Speaking in his dialect, he explains to the four terrified guys that he has something to propose to them. In a square overlooking the sea, there is a small box hidden below one of the tiles. Inside, there is a letter. On the letter there is stamp: it is a Tuscan Tre Lire, dated January 1st 1860. It is the most precious stamp known.But he wants them to leave immediately. Carlo says he has no long time left to live. Tomorrow, he could be again in a coma. If they don’t accept to come with him, he is going to find someone else. There is no time to lose. It’s all or nothing.The small troop of nurses decides to follow the old guy. For them, in this summer night full of promises and uncertainties, starts an adventure full of obstacles and surprises; they are going to discover who they really are and where they are really heading for. Carlo is accompanying them. In his fragility, he has something to teach them: a desperate, indestructible desire of living. It is a long trip that soon changes from its course: they discovery Italy off the main roads, far from the eyes of the tourist. They discover great desert places and small villages. In the midst of the summer warm, these places look as waiting for something. Like the faces they meet: the faces that tell the silent stories, stories of victories and defeats, waiting to be told. In the journey, there is a mystery of a man. The old Carlo, who has lived an entire century, suffered hunger, lived the wars and travelled all over the country, who has known many: he lived his life. Carlo has decided again - maybe for the last time in his life - to make it in his own way, against everybody and everything.For the four protagonists, Fabrizio and his friends - the journey and all it brings will change their lives for ever and nothing will be the same as before.
Hey, this is great, an interview with Max Turilli, a very familiar Italian character actor (he specialised in playing Germans). This is taken from Stracult…
Sal Baccaro, a Eurotrash icon! A fruit and veg seller who became a star of the basis of his seriously unprepossessing looks. Anyway, a cool interview with his brother’s been posted up on YouTube!
This is one of those releases that is simply unmissable: a pristine new release of Aldo Florio’s long obscure spaghetti western Dead Men Ride, complete with a lengthy interview with the director. Get your orders in now!
Only just remembered that Koch have released Sergio Corbucci’s Navajo Joeon DVD in Germany. This has been available for a while on UK and US dvd, but as always Koch throw in some excellent extras that make this pretty essential, most particularly a featurette with Nicoletta Machiavelli and Ruggero Deodata.
Giulio Paradisi’s Stridulum, aka The Visitorn has been released by Storm in Italy. I’ve never seen this one, but it’s another Ovidio Assonitis production with a cast full of down at heels or up and coming US actors (Mel Ferrer, Lance Henriksen, Glenn Ford). Oh, and Sam Pekinpah. Here’s the link to Videociak
Mario Monicelli’s 1965 comedy Casanova 70 sneaked out onto DVD in the UK last year, and I hadn’t had the chance to check it out until now. The DVD itself is pretty rudimentary - there isn’t anything in the way of way of extras - but at least the print is sharp and you can choose to watch it with Italian audio and English subs. And as all of these 60s and 70s not-quite-exploitation-not-quite-arthouse Italian films have been so damned hard to find in recent years, it’s a welcome release.
The script - written by the heavyweight combination of Monicelli, Age & Scarpelli, Tonino Guerra and Suso Cecchi d’Amico - is pure fluff. It follows Andrea (Marcello Mastroianni), a Major in the Italian army who has serious women problems, mainly because of a destructive streak that causes him to ruin his relationships as soon as they approach consummation. A visit to a bizarre psychiatrist (Enrico Maria Salerno) reveals the root of his problems: he’s addicted to having sex in hazardous situations, and without a frisson of risk he simply can’t get interested. He’s advised that unless he abstains from all kinds of physical relationships, he will end up causing harm to both others and himself.
Despite giving it his best shot, this proves easier said than done, and he’s soon getting involved in affairs with a number of dangerous women. He steals a kiss from a lion tamer (Liana Orfei) in the middle of her routine, sleeps with his commanding officer’s slutty wife (Margaret Lee) and even allows himself to be seduced by a Sicilian nymphomaniac (Jolanda Modio) with a gang of dangerously over-protective relatives. Things come to a head when he becomes involved with an opera singer (Marisa Mell) who is married to a jealous, murderous Count (Marco Ferreri, of all people).
Marcello Mastroianni in Casanova 70
As you’d expect from a Mario Monicelli film, this is all put together with a lot of skill and a great deal of charm. It looks perfect, a colourful slice of sixties technicolor, and it has very good production values, including exterior shoots in numerous exotic locations. Some of it is very funny - there’s a hilarious sequence in which Andrea tries to eat a lunch at an extremely chaotic restaurant, ending up being pursued by a posse of angry dwarves after seducing the owners daughter - and even in its more subdued stretches it’s still a pleasure to look at. Visually, it feels very like What’s New Pussycat, and there are certain plot similarities as well… the crazy psychiatrist could easily have been played by Peter Sellers, for instance.
But good as it is - and I would highly recommend this film to any fan of Italian and / or sixties cinema - I still find it slightly hard to believe that this was nominated for a ‘best screenplay’ Oscar. Essentially, it’s a classy sex comedy (a link that’s hardly played down during a nightclub striptease act that could easily have been part of a Jesus Franco film), and there’s almost nothing in the way of social comment or depth. Monicelli’s previous Oscar nominated film, Big Deal on Madonna Street, had been similarly light-hearted, but it had also harked back to a more acceptable neo-realist tradition. Considering the establishments love of big, broad themes, often in dull-as-ditchwater films, it seems hard to believe that this found so much favour. Maybe everybody had been hitting the electric kool aid that year.
And what a cast! Marcello Mastroianni was in his pomp at this time, and turns in a hugely appealing performance. It’s hard to account for how Marco Ferreri ended up in this, and to be fair he doesn’t really act, but his performance is surprisingly effective. And then there are the girls; just about every actress in Rome in the sxties is in this. Apart from those already mentioned, there are also: Virna Lisi (Andrea’s long suffering fiancee), Michele Mercier (another long-suffering girlfriend), Seyna Seyn (time obsessed air hostess), Rosemary Dexter (hotel chambermaid), Moira Orfei (an unlucky prostitute) and so on and so on.
Aka Romarey: operazione Mazaref Director: Harald Reinl
West Germany / Italy
Certification number / date: 49021 del30.04.67
First release date: 18.12.58 - 84′ (Germany)
Production companies: Arca Filmproduktion, Berlin (Germania Occ.), Arca Cinematografica (Rome)
Story & Screenplay: Gerda Corbett
Cinematography: Hans Schneeberger
Music: Willy Mattes
Editor: Johanna Meisel
Art direction: Ernst H. Albrecht
Cast: Carola von Kayser (Romarei), Joachim Hansen (Lorenz Ophofen), Leonard Steckel (Sir Boris Olinzoff), Dominique Wilms (Birgit), Werner Peters (Papas Leonidas), Reggie Nalder (Dewitz), Kurt Meisel (Baron de Tavel), Peter Mosbacher (Falkenreid), Ilse Steppat (Prang), Lei Ilima (Rhedda), Rein hard Kolldehoff (Blessing), Saro Urzì (Peppino), Lotte Stein (Frau Daub), Wolfgang Kienbaum (Kurtchen), Walter-Maria Wulf (King), Ilse Fürstenberg, Andre Saint-Germain, Ribardo Orlando
Werner Peters harasses Carola von Kayser in Romarei
Harald Reinl’s Romarei, das madchen mit den grunen augen was an Italo-German co-production from 1958 which actually had very little input from Italy whatsoever. In fact, apart from Saro Urzì, an actor from Catania who frequently appeared in French or German co-productions, the only sign of any Italian involvement was the named production company, Arca Cinematografica, who were registered in Rome. Even this, though, would appear to be deceptive: Arca was also an established German production house, who were co-credited on both this and Liane, die weiße Sklavin (57), the only other apparent release from the Italian Arca, so it seems likely that the Roman branch was simply a front company registered solely as a way of accessing Italian funding.
Romarei (Carola von Kayser), a young girl with clairvoyant powers, is forced by her mother to use her special skills in the service of anyone who’s willing to pay a suitable amount of cash. She’s not happy about it, though, as she often foresees bad things happening to the people whose future she’s reading. Sometimes, though, this can come in useful; a vision of a collapsing elevator and a man with an eye patch allows her to forewarn her boyfriend, Lorenz (Joachim Hansen), about a terrible disaster that he would otherwise have died in.
Unfortunately, however, it also brings her to the attention of the super-rich magnate Sir Boris Olinzoff (Leonard Steckel), who may just happen to be the very same guy who was behind the ‘accident’ in the first place. He arranges to ‘buy’ Romarei from her mother, promising that he’ll provide her with a life of luxury in exchange for the occasional use of her precognitive talents to help him in pursuing his business interests.
At first, it doesn’t seem like too bad a deal. He seems like a perfect gentleman, Romarei is taken to live in his luxurious home in the Orient and, in exchange, she helps him locate some unknown oil fields in the desert. With time, though, it becomes clear that he’s far from the upstanding citizen he appears: the locals seem to have some kind of beef with him, he orders his maidservant to hypnotise her to sleep whenever she becomes a bit uppity and he has some very dodgy friends (who all seem intent on kidnapping her). The only person who can help her is Lorenzo, but he’s caught up in dealing with a glamorous blonde (Dominique Wilms) on his steamer ship.
Carola von Kayser and her nasty mummy in Romarei
This is very much an early example of the curious breed of adventure films that were being made in Germany during the turn of the decade, often with some kind of Italian participation. Antecedents of the Eurospy genre, they owe a lot to the plotting of popular novels by the likes of James Hadley Chase, and they act as a kind of lesser-known parallel genre to the Krimis, that were being made at around the same time. Because they’re not easy to classify, they tend to be rather forgotten, but the staple narrative ingredients are generally consistent: a young girl gets caught up with some kind of intrigue in an exotic location, and ends up having to be rescued by a dapper adventurer.
With Romarei, these elements are presented in a rather rudimentary form, and it feels rather more old fashioned than the likes of Hong Kong Hot Harbour (62), The Secret of the Chinese Carnation (64) and Voyage to Danger (62). The beginning section, especially, in which Romarei is forced to ply her telepathic trade by her adoptive mum, feels like the stuff of melodrama. In some ways the plot also feels like it’s aimed at children; it’s a kind of modern day update of Heidi, in which a young orphan (or near orphan) comes under the wing of a rich mentor, but has to overcome some subsequent problems before settling down into her new, improved lifestyle. There’s also a complete absence of irony and humour - traits which become more and more apparent as the sixties progressed - and a kind of disarming trust in the wealthy. Olinzoff, here, is revealed to actually be a good bloke with some unfortunate company, in later films his character would undoubtedly have become an urbane psychopath with a desire for world domination.
Spy film fans, though, will be able to take succour from several familiar elements from the genre: an ugly looking flower that opens to release a killer tarantula, exotic nightclub acts, protracted punch-ups, a gunfight in some touristy ruins. Harald Reinl directs with a little more pizzazz than many Italian filmmakers of the time, throwing in some decent - if basic - action scenes and making an attempt to keep the pace moving. It certainly feels like a lot more fun to watch than some of the swashbucklers of the time, such as Pia of Ptolomey, which had an inherent sluggishness that was becoming more untenable as the years progressed.
Regarding the performances, Carola von Keyser, who only made a couple more films, is OK if a little forgettable, which Joachim Hansen often played the upstanding hero in these kinds of films. Beyond that, there are a number of familiar supporting actors, including the excellent Werner Peters and Reggie Nalder, both of whom would later appear in Dario Argento’s The Bird with the Crystal Plumage.
I always enjoy finding ex-pat British or American actors in obscure films, and every time I think I know them all another one pops up in some production or other. Last night, for instance, I was watching La nipote Sabella, a moderately amusing Peppino De Filippo movie, and up pops an obviously American actor playing an amiable oil prospector who has found petroleum under a supposedly barren plot of land owned by Tina Pica. It’s not a big part, but a lot of fun is had with the characters limited grasp of Italian, with him frequently breaking into English whenever he can’t make himself understood. Now I’m guessing that the actor was one Remington Olmstead, who appears midway down the credits, and a cursory glimpse at IMDB would indicate that Mr Olmstead was, indead, an American actor who was active in Italy for some years.
Remington Olmsted
His first film credits are as a dancer or glorified extra in wartime US productions such as presenting Lily Mars (43), but in 1951 he suddenly turned up in Primo Zeglio’s early cape and sword film Revenge of the Pirates. Others followed: Mario Soldati’s The Stranger’s Hand (54, alongside Richard Basehart and Trevor Howard), Marc Allegret’s L’eterna femmina (54), Vittorio De Sica’s The Last Judgement (61) and uncredited roles in Ben Hur (59) and Barabbas (61). Not a huge CV, but curious nonetheless.
A bit more digging around uncovers some more information. The Internet Broadway Database has him listed as appearing in a half dozen productions between 1937 and 1945, almost always in tiny parts or as a singer and / or dancer. A clue as to his post-acting career is found in an article about jazz musician Enrico Rava:
Rava began playing the trombone in Dixieland bands when he was 15 and switched to trumpet at 18 after hearing Miles Davis perform in Turin where moved with his family in 1943. Soon he was getting asked to participate in local jam sessions and in 1963 the Argentine saxophonist Gato Barbieri, who was living in Rome, convinced Rava to join him there. The two honed their skills at a nightly gig that lasted nine months at Meo Patacca, a popular restaurant in Trastevere owned by the expatriate American character actor Remington Olmstead.
A search on Meo Patacca reveals more:
Remington Olmsted, former University of California , Los Angeles football star, dancer and student of opera, did not start his restaurant because of a longing for 18th Century rome, but rather out of nostalgia for old California. After leaving UCLA, Olmsted followed his star to New York and London, ending up Milan, Italy, as a dancer. When he arrived in Rome, it was, as it is to Californians, like coming home. Rome, and many little seaside towns to the south, had the same stone and adobe architecture that remembered ; the beaches were the same as those from Santa barbara to La Jolla, and gentle latin people were like those he had grown up among. He married an italian girl, Diana, daugheter of Daniele Varè, former ambassador and author of “The Laughing Diplomat” and settled down in Rome. Friends, Armando Fontana, Renato Renzi , Romolo Lombardo .. Trasteverini doc, encoureged him to start a restaurant Da meo patacca. His choice of the name explains much of the flavor and spirited abtivity of continuing fiesta and song that floats out on the night breezes from the Piazza mercanti. Olmsted added several troupes of troubadours in the ol Italian style who sing everything from naughty Trastevere songs to the romantic melodies of Naples and from grand opera to American songs.
So there we have it: Remington Olmsted, actor, singer, dancer, football star, restaurateur, Americna in Rome. Whether he’s still alive I don’t know, although there are mentions of him opening a bar in the early 2000s so it would appear possibly so.
Tom Betts has reported on his blog that Goffredo Unger aka Freddy Unger has died. There’s little information about this anywhere else, and it seems to have been barely reported in Italy, but it was apparently reported by his son, so it would seem to be true. Given how - quite apart from appearing in numerous films - he was an important stunt director in his prime, the fact that his death has barely even been given notice seems neglectful.
Even though the likes of Imago mortis don’t get a release with English language options, it’s good that Italian DVD firms have examined the English speaking market and decided that the ideal kind of product for them is: Superuomini superdonne superbotte, a piece of complete tosh from Alfonso Brescia, made in 1975 and starring Nick Jordan. It’s another entry in the ‘Three Fantastic Supermen’ series, which by this time was so divorced from the original that the title didn’t even include any reference to the central ‘Supermen’. Anyway, Stormovie have released it complete with an English language audio option for about €10, which isn’t a bad deal.
Gordon Bennett, this is starting to get a little beyond a joke. Why is it that Italian distributors consistently fail to have English language options on their dvd releases. They’re simply cutting off a substantial swathe of their potential audience. I can understand it in the case of films that have secured an international release, but that’s not it; the likes of Il divo and Gomorrah are released with English subs in Italy, even though they’ll be getting released internationally a few months down the line.
A case in point: Stefano Bessoni’s Imago mortis, which comes to Italian DVD this week with, you guessed it, Italian language and subtitles only. As a modern day giallo which mopped up at the audience (see my previous post about the film), you’d have thought this would have had people snapping it up. How very different to the heyday of Italian cinema, when global audiences were seen as key to even the smallest film.
Three Joe D’Amato ‘classics’ have just been released on DVD: Porno holocaust, Sesso nero and Orgasmo nero. They all come with English audio options… and it’s quite a depressing thought that while the likes of Roberto Faenza’s Il caso dell’infedele Klara are only released with Italian language options, this kind of rubbish is seen as being appealing to an international audience.
Director: Steno [Stefano Vanzina]
Italy
Certification number / date: 27685 del 05.09.58
First release date: 10/09/58
Production companies: Jonia Film
Story: Vittorio Metz, Roberto Gianviti
Screenplay: Vittorio Metz, Roberto Gianviti, Steno
Cinematography: Sergio Pesce
Music: Carlo Innocenzi
Editor: Otello Colangeli
Art direction: Ivo Battelli
Cast: Tina Pica (Tina De Cupis), Mario Riva (Mario Secchioni), Lila Rocco (Ileana), Alberto Lionello (Alberto), Diana Dei (Ileana’s sister), Loris Gizzi (Head of the clinic), Dante Maggio (Ileana’s father), Paolo Panelli (Ernesto), Luigi Pavese (the commissioner), Alberto Talegalli (Marshall Speranza), Bice Valori (Francesca), Riccardo Billi (Belletti), Ugo Tognazzi (Lucio), Raimondo Vianello (Riccardo), Silvio Bagolini (Gustavo Peretti, a busdriver), Adolfo Belletti, Anna Campori (head of the house), Gianna Cobelli, Clely Fiamma (Chiromante), Enzo Garinei (Gattinelli, the writer), Luisa Mattioli, Mario Meniconi (Il vetturino), Giuseppe Pica
Tina Pica and friend in Mia nonna poliziotta
Mia nonna poliziotto is a diverting comedy directed by Stefano Vanzina, aka Steno, who also co-wrote it with Vittorio Metz and Roberto Gianviti. Both Steno and Metz were highly respected in their field during this period, and stood as rare examples of genre filmmakers who had as much sway as the comics appearing on the screen. According to Tino Scotti: “… in films at that time the scriptwriters would hardly ever write the comic sketches. I am able to recall some writers who did manage to contribute something to these films, but it was only people like Marchesi, Metz, Steno or Monicelli, because they had their roots in avanspettacolo and knew the comic canon.” In other words, while the likes of Marino Girolami and Giorgio Simonelli were there primarily to film the comics doing their routines, Steno and Metz were more actively involved in that which was seen on screen; a model which would become much more widespread over the following years.
When Alberto (Alberto Lionello) announces that he’s planning to marry the beautiful Ileana (Lila Rocco), his grandmother, Tina (Tina Pica), is adamant that she has to attend the wedding, despite it taking place in the city, some way from her country retreat. Tina, you see, is the widow of a rich former soldier, and has been bankrolling her favourite grandson for several years, so she feels she has a vested interest in his marital plans. Not to mention the fact that she’s an interfering old battleaxe who causes chaos wherever she goes.
Unsurprisingly, dear old granny soon throws a spanner into Alberto’s plans; a medallion she owns and that’s of huge sentimental value is stolen, and she refuses to allow the marriage to take place until it is recovered. When the police prove to be of no help whatsoever, she decides to find out just who it was that stole it for herself, and begins by snooping on all the other guests at the hotel she’s staying in. This, however, only succeeds in getting her into even more trouble.
Eventually, however, she becomes convinced that it’s actually been pilfered by a gang of ruthless criminals, and sets off with Alberto to confront them in their lair. When it becomes clear that, in reality, her ‘gangsters’ are a pair of rather hopeless would-be playboys, the authorities are left with no option but to lock her up in a mental hospital. Fearing that her wedding may never actually take place, Ileana, decides that the only thing to do is clear up the whole mess herself, and starts doing some investigating.
While the plot isn’t particularly novel, mothers-in-law from hell being a staple comic ingredient, this has a nice script, with the humour coming mainly from the dialogue and comic interplay. There are some farcical situations, such as Pica’s intervention in the hapless playboys’ activities, but it thankfully never resorts to the kind of pratfalls and basic physical humour that became more and more prevalent over the following decades. There’s also a certain leftfield sensibility visible in some of the throwaway gags - a search of a magician’s room, for example, causes a mechanical Frankenstein’s monster to run amok - and that gives it an additional degree of charm.
While Steno’s direction isn’t exactly virtuoso, he was a capable filmmaker who obviously knew exactly what he was doing. Even though it occasionally has the feel of a filmed play, which wasn’t unusual for the time, it looks pretty good, with nice, crisp, black and white cinematography and good use of exteriors. There’s one great scene in which two characters have a lengthy discussion in a busy train station, which must have been very complex to set up and displays an interesting use of contrast between the action in the foreground and background.
This one of several films to come from Felice Felicioni’s Jonia Film, a lesser production company who made about 20 films between 1954 and 1965. Most of their projects were smaller scale releases, with the possible exception of the 1962 peplum Constantine and the Cross, although this looks to have had at least some budget behind it. They were obviously trying to make a star out of Tina Pica at the time, as they were also behind Roberto Montero’s La zia d’America va a sciare and Giorgio Simonelli’s Napoli, sole mio, both of which were vehicles for her made in the same year as Mia nonna poliziotto. On the face of it, Pica makes for an unlikely figure to carry a movie, but she’d spent several years perfecting her interfering Aunt / Granny / old bat persona, and seized the opportunity with both hands. She even became popular enough to even have her own name appear in the title of the 1959 film La pica sul pacifico (59).
Also in the cast are two comedians who’d go on to make their name the following decade, Ugo Tognazzi and Raimondo Vianello, who play the preposterous playboys (Tognazzi’s technique is to pretend he’s Marlon Brando, for some reason). Although their parts are minor, they manage to just about steal the whole film, and it’s not hard to see why they’d go on to greater success elsewehere. Tognazzi and Pica were actually frequent collaborators, making a good half dozen films in 1958 and 1959.
While working my way through a slew of 1958 swashbucklers, one face that keeps on popping up is that of Andrea Aureli, a moustachioed, balding performer who invariably played bad guys and traitors. Aureli was a familiar figure from all kinds of Italian exploitation films. In the sixties, after the cape and swords and peplum genres had faded, he appeared in numerous westerns, still sporting that moustache, often as a sheriff or dodgy businessman. Then in the seventies he could be found in several crime films and giallos; he still had the ‘tache, of course, but now he frequently played a bar owner or shopkeeper, and it was he who was on the receiving end of the very same kind of villainy that his characters had doled out earlier in his career.
Andrea Aureli in The Black Pirate
Aureli was actually born on the 5th March 1923 in Trevi, and studied law before enrolling on an acting course at the Centro Sperimentale di Cinematografia, for which he was awarded a scholarship of 7000 lire. He was obviously a serious-minded individual, his admission paper stated the following: “I want Italian film to be directed towards a new and true goal: the spiritual education of the masses”, and his coursework included papers on Paisà and Intolerance (although it’s kind of difficult to see quite how this squared up with his later exploitation career). His first film came with Goffredo Alessandrini’s L’ebreo errante in 1948, but it was in the mid-to-late 50s that his career really took off. He was a particular favourite of Carlo Ludovico Bragaglia, with whom he made some twenty films, but he also worked with the likes of Mario Bava (The Last of the Vikings (61)), Vittorio Cottafavi (Legions of the Nile (60)), Mario Caiano (Bullets Don’t Argue (64)), Sergio Corbucci (Ringo and his Golden Pistol (66)) and Fernando Di Leo (The Boss (73)).
Unfortunately, it’s difficult to find out any more information about Sr. Aureli. He was one of a breed of caratteristi who made a good living from the films of the Italian golden age, but received little in the way of publicity or attention.
Luigi Cecinelli’s Visions has just been released in Italy. It’s an ambitious sounding Italian thriller, and it’s opened on a reasonable 80 screens (this makes it a middle range release… less high profiles than Imago mortis, but not too obscure). According to Cineuropa, the plot goes something like this:
A Police SWAT troop is entering an abandoned factory where a sadistic serial killer named “The Spider” detained his victims. The entire squad is massacred and for Doctor leemen, psychiatrist and profiler, is the last unbearable defeat. So, he decide to leave the case and return to his ancient work in a Psychiatric clinic for teenagers. Here he treats Matthew, a sensible and introvert boy that awaked from a coma, who begins to have visions about the crimes of “The Spider”. Matt and his friend Nick contact Hope, a young journalist that investigate about Spider’s murders. Matching Hope’s knowledges and Matthew’s visions, they have the elements to resolve the case. Studying Matthew’s visions and nightmares, they follow the killer’s death’s spiral from the beginning to the unavoidable face to face that hides a terrible secret…
Curiously, it features a lot of English speaking actors - Caroline Kessler, Henry Garrett, Matthew T Reynolds - some of whom have popped up ina few Italian productions. Reviews seem to be pretty reasonable… Hopefully this will be coming to DVD soon.
Production companies: Cité Films, Paris (France) / Films Agiman, Paris (France), Monica Film (Italy).
Alternative titles (+ dates and running times): Italy - Teresa Etienne; Germany - Therese Etienne (1958 - 90′)
Cast: Françoise Arnoul, James Robertson
Another obscure Franco-Italian co-production, Thérèse Étienne sounds like a right old, ripe old slice of melodrama. A wealthy farm owner, Anton Muller, marries one of his workers, who then falls in love with his stepson and rather foolishly becomes pregnant by him. In order to avoid any kind of reprisals, they decide there’s no option but to kill Anton…
Little critical information is available about this production, which doesn’t appear to have had any kind of English language release. I’d like to imagine it as being a kind of proto-Death Laid an Egg, but suspect it’s actually nothing like it! Curiously, it’s of note because it features a rare Euro role for popular British character actor James Robertson Justice, who plays the authoritarian Anton. Italian involvement is limited to the production company Monica Film, who were involved with a handful of productions in the period.
There’s a new issue of Nocturno out… they’re up to number 82 now! Anyway, this one includes an dossier on Ovidio Assonitis, who produced a whole bunch of stuff like Chi Sei, Tentacles and Piranha 2: Flying Killers. Looks really interesting!
Production companies: Gimnasium Film di Giorgio Berlincioni (Florence).
Cast: Maria Grazia Francia, Narciso Parigi, Maria Pia Casilio, Elio Steiner, Elena Makowska, Franco Balducci
Not a lot of information is forthcoming about this obscure romantic comedy, the second authentically Italian release of the year (January being a traditionally slow period for cinema in Italy). According to Farinotti: “Two sisters arrive in Florence from America. They meet two Florentine boys, and soon their friendship becomes something more…”
As for the cast, Maria Pia Casilio – who I would guess plays one of the love struck girls – had kickstarted her career with a major role in Umberto D (she apparently was spotted by De Sica while attending the auditions with a friend). She was a busy performer in the 50s, but her career seems to have fizzled out pretty swiftly after that. Maria Grazia Francia, meanwhile, had appeared in the likes of Bitter Rice (49) and Roma ore 11 (52), but her career also didn’t really extend much into the 60s. Star Narciso Parigi, meanwhile, was a minor star as a singer and actor. Anyway, it’s curious to see how actors from the neo-realist movement were moving into more lightweight fare.
Rate Furlan, meanwhile had a curious career, directing, acting, writing and even composing the soundtracks for a handful of films over a very long period. He’s probably most familiar for appearing as the violinist in Peter Greenaway’s The Belly of an Architect (87)
There’s a new Michele Soavi films just out in Italy, causing all kinds of controversy (hey, what couldn’t cause all kinds of controversy in Italy!) According to Cineuropa
Inspired by the controversial book by Giampaolo Pansa, the film looks back at the story of a family torn apart by political divisions at the very end of the Second World War: the son joins the partisan brigades, while the daughter starts to serve in the Fascist army. Midway between an historical reconstruction and a political thriller, an extreme journey through the contradictions in Italy’s past.
Just a short note to mention that Fernando Hilbeck has died (thanks, Nzoog, for letting me know).
Sr. Hilbeck, aka Fernando José Hilbeck Galvada, was a Spanish character actor who appeared in numerous films through the 1960s and 70s. Born in Madrid on the 7th July 1933, he had an English father, which explains why he appeared in so many international co-productions (having spoken English was always an advantage for hispanic actors hoping to appear in big, Spanish shot films). He graduated from college in Lima with a doctorate in Philosophy, before moving to Rome where he appeared in the Pirandello y De Servi theatre for two years and made his film debut with Micheal Curtiz’s Francis of Assisi in 1961.
During the 60s, he popped up in numerous Spaghetti Westerns and thrillers, not to mention the likes of Orson Welles’s Chimes at Midnight (65). He was a regular performer for Sidney Pink, who shot a series of Spanish based films intended for US TV, such as Pyro (64) and Madigan’s Millions (67), starring a young Dustin Hoffman.
The seventies continued in much the same vein, and he becamse a familiar figure in culty Spanish films: he was a memorable zombie in Living Dead at the Manchester Morgue (74), a twitchy holocaust survivor stuck in an underground bunker in Refuge of Fear (74) and also turned up in the likes of A Candle for the Devil and Voodoo Black Exorcist (both 73). He continued appearing in english language features as well, such as Flesh and Blood (85), as well as TV series such as Nostromo in 1996.
It looks like his death has passed without any kind of acknowledgement whatsoever, which is a shame.
Production companies: Maxima Film - Compagnia Cinematografica / Lux Film / Aspa Films, Madrid (Spagna).
Alternative titles (+ dates and running times): Spain - Esta chica es para mi (Madrid, 22.09.58 - 90′); International - The Mine
Cast: Antonio Cifariello, Elsa Martinelli, Felix Acaso, Luis Peña, Giancarlo Zarfati, Luis Induni, Aldo Pini
Sorry - here’s one that slipped through the net… La mina was the first Italian release of 1958, coming out in the traditionally barren January, a time when very few domestic films were introduced into the cinemas. It was actually certified the month before, but the premier was delayed until after the Christmas / New Year period.
According to Hal Erickson in the All Movie Guide:
Elsa Martinelli plays a resident of a seaside village who falls in love with rootless stranger Antonio Ciffariello. The stranger soon learns that he’ll have to fight over Elsa’s affections with hotheaded villager Luis Pena. Meanwhile, a fisherman who illegally uses dynamite nearly causes tragedy to the entire community. How these two plot strands are woven together is the dramatic crux of the film’s final reel. Despite its melodramatic trappings, La Mina unfolds in a leisurely, unforced fashion. The worldwide popularity of Elsa Martinelli enabled the film to attain good bookings outside of Spain and Italy.
Having said this, there appears to be little evidence that La mina had an international release in 1958, and although Ms Martinelli was known at the time, she wasn’t yet the star she would go on to become (in fact, minor lead Antonio Cifariello is the real star). Still, sounds like an interesting late-period melodrama.
Production companies: Producciónes Benito Perojo (Madrid), P.A.R.C. Film (Italy).
Alternative titles (+ dates and running times): Italy - Gli amanti del deserto; France - Le fils du cheik (1958 - 91′); Germany - Der Sohn des Scheik (06.12.57 - 84′); UK - The Son of the Sheik (1959 - 88′); US - Desert Warrior (1961 - 87′)
Cast: Gino Cervi, Carmen Sevilla, Ricardo Montalban, José Guardiola, Franca Bettoja, Samia Gamal
Here’s a film with a complicated pedigree. Credited to five different directors (Fernando Cerchio, Gianni Vernuccio, Goffredo Alessandrini, León Klimovsky, Ricardo Muñoz Suay) and no less than seven different writers, it was actually filmed a good two years before its eventual release in 1958. Planned as an extremely high profile Spanish-Italo coproduction, it was blighted by production difficulties and it’s hardly surprising that it lacks a certain focus, despite obviously having a decent budget and its share of effective moments. It also has to be said that, despite the best creative efforts of all the many people involved, there’s very little that’s original or different about it.
Ibrahim (Gino Cervi) is a despot with ambitions: he wants to bring peace to the kingdom of Kamal, and if murdering all of his opponents is the only way of achieving this… well, then so be it. With the assistance of his not very trusty sidekick, Selim (José Guardiola), he’s soon managed to dispose of just about anyone who would dare so much as say a word against him, including the rightful ruler, Sultan Omar, and his son Prince Said (Ricardo Montalbano). Or supposedly so; in fact, Said is alive and well and already planning an uprising against the usurper.
An uprising, though, requires funding, and the only option open for Said and his men is to turn to banditry, raising money by ambushing caravans that are crossing the desert. During one of these raids, he happens to meet Princess Amina (Carmen Sevilla), Ibrahim’s daughter, although since she keeps her identity secret by pretending to be a dancing girl he isn’t aware of who she actually is. She, in turn, has fallen head over heels for him, despite his apparently rough ways and ignoble occupation. Unfortunately, she’s also busy fending off the attentions off the loathsome Selim who, unbeknownst to her, had been promised her hand in marriage by her father in exchange for his help in disposing of Omar.
Los amantes del desierto is another rather old fashioned historical adventure film, despite featuring a good deal more spectacle than is usual for similar productions of the time. The problem comes from the script, which is heavily indebted to the melodrama genre and feels rather predictable. At least Pia of Ptolomy, a less technically proficient film, revelled in its melodramatic origins; this just seems to have fallen back on them because it simply has very little else to offer. So you’re left with a film in which the bad guys are bad, the good guys are good, and you’re never in any doubt that everyone’s going to get their just deserts.
This is a shame, as there are some flashes of there being something much better lingering beneath the general blandness. There was obviously some kind of budget behind it, as is demonstrated by the use of location work and relatively substantial battle sequences, and some of the action sequences are made with a certain degree of flair. Other segments, though, are extremely stodgy, and it’s not hard to detect the hands of different directors at play. This inconsistency, which affects even the pacing and the look; three different cinematographic systems - Eastmancolor, Ferraniacolor and Gevacolor were used at various points.
In trying to work out the actual involvement of the assorted credited filmmakers, a certain amount of guesswork has to be allowed for. Klimovsky was known for being a director who’d lend his ‘name’ to Italo-Spanish co-productions in search of Spanish tax breaks, so it seems unlikely he had much to do with it all. Ricardo Muñoz Suay was similarly found mainly as a co-director, credited alongside Italian or French equivalents, although he seems to have had a little more about him than Klimovsky. Fernando Cerchio, meanwhile, was reputedly bought in to complete the film, although some sources say this was Klimovsky’s role (and Cerchio also wasn’t above lending his name to films made by other people (such as Goddess of Love (58), reputedly directed by Viktor Tourjansky)). Complicating matters further, Gianni Vernuccio was someone who seemed to specialise in location shooting, and was accredited as co-director more often than director (his association with desert set movies went back to at least 1951’s Dimaa fil Sahara, and continued through to la peccatrice del deserto (59) and Gharam fi sahraa (60, co-directed with, yes, León Klimovsky). Goffredo Alessandrini, meanwhile, was known as being one of the most prominent filmmakers of the Salo era, and as such his reputation had declined in the postwar period to the point where he was driven to go to Argentina in the early sixties in order to continue making films.
What can be stated with some certainty is that Desert Warrior definitely features some exterior shots filmed in Egypt, mainly involving Montalban and Sevilla having a discussion while the Sphinx and some pyramids are prominent in the background; this could, possibly, have been Vernuccio’s contribution. Then there’s a considerable amount of location work in Spain, somewhere that looks suspiciously like the Almeria familiar from the Spaghetti westerns of a few years later. As Mariangela Giordano recalled in an interview in Shock Express #2: “… we shot on location in Spain for four months.” Whoever shot these sequences - possibly Cerchio, possibly Alessandroni - shows some flair, especially at staging the action scenes, which are better than usual for the time. Then there are interiors, shot either in Spanish studios or Italian, some of which feel incredibly stagebound and static (with Klimovsky’s work being distinguished by its lack of fluidity, perhaps this was down to him).
A few more hints as to the background of the films making become clearer from looking at the testimony of some of those involved. During the filming of the Egyptian sequences, the Suez crisis broke out and the whole region became unstable, causing the whole shoot to pack up and wait until everything clamed down again. Carmen Sevilla, though, didn’t have the correct documentation with her, and was forced to flee the country by car across the Jordanian border, an episode she recalled as the most frightening experience of her life.
In his biography, Respetable público. Cómo hice casi cien películas, scriptwriter Mariano Ozores also mentions the film in some detail: “One day, at eight in the morning, Miguel Tudela called to say that he urgently wanted to see me at the CEA studios because they needed me to work as a scriptwriter. A car was sent to pick me up, and when I arrived at the studio I was greeted with the panorama of an enormous, beautifully designed Arabian palace, but the lights were out, the actors were dressed and sitting around and the production secretary, Carmen Pageo, was sitting in fornt of a typewriter. Tudela came to me and said: “Mariano, we need this character…” - he indicated Jose Guardiola, who was playing the villain of the piece - “… to approach the window, release a hawk into the air and smile to the camera in an evil fashion”. I said: “OK, that’s good”. And he said: “No, it’s you that must write it!” So, still in a daze, I approached Carmen and said to him: “Selim approaches the window, smiles perversely, releases the hawk and looks at the camera with satisfaction”. Tudela almost didn’t let me finish, ripping the page out of the typewriter and shouting “Let’s roll!” I found out later that the tensions between the producer and the director were such that Alessandrini had said he wouldn’t shoot anything that wasn’t in the script. I was one of the seven horrified scriptwriters of the film, and since it was now in the script the Italian had to agree to shoot this scene…”
As for the performances, Montalban and Sevilla were big marquee names at the time, again indicating that this was made with some ambitions. Unfortunately, they’re both a bit boring, with Montalban particularly failing to make much of an impression at all. Possibly the most memorable turn comes from José Guardiola - who would become a familiar character performer in later years - as the despicable Selim.
Italian character actor Enzo Monteduro has died, apparently. Monteduro was primarily associated with comedies - he was known as ‘the Italian Buster Keaton’ - appearing in the likes of Ciccio perdona… Io no! (68), La cameriera (74) and La soldatessa alle grandi manovre (78).
Production companies: Intermondia Films, Paris (France), Jolly Film (Trieste/Roma).
Alternative titles (+ dates and running times): Italy - Il commissario Maigret; UK - Maigret Sets a Trap (1959 - 119′)
Cast: Jean Gabin, Annie Girardot, Jean Desailly
Another French / Italian co-production, another film with very little Italian involvement. As with Ces dames préfèrent le mambo, Lino Ventura represents the Italian acting profession, but at least this time it came from a production company with some proper domestic pedigree: Jolly Film, who went on to make some true Italian classics (A Fistful of Dollars, Sacco and Vanzetti).
Based on the novels by Georges Simenon, the character of Maigret had previously featured in French cinema, played by both French (Maurice Manson, Albert Préjean) and American (Charles Laughton). Jean Gabin, though, made the role his own, and appeared in a couple of sequels, Maigret et l’affaire Saint-Fiacre (59) and Maigret voit rouge (63). The character then also featured in a series of Italian movies in the mid sixties, featuring Gino Cervi as the dogged detective.
Jean Gabin stars in one of his most famous roles, that of Inspector Maigret, in this atmospheric 1950s policier directed by one of France’s most talented directors, Jean Delannoy.
Of all the screen actors to have played Maigret, Gabin is by far the best, and in this film (the first of his three film appearances in the role) he brilliantly portrays the ruthless cunning and world weariness of Georges Simenon’s famous fictional detective.
The film typifies the kind of crime thriller that was popular in France in the 1950s, with its shadowy sets and exotic characters, very evocative of the American film noir of the 1940s. Paul Misraki’s haunting Maigret theme seems to hang in the air like a venomous fog, drawing the audience inescapably into a dark and dangerous twilight world. Some parts of the film are quite disturbing, particularly the murder attempts, some scenes having a chilling resonance with Hitchcock’s Psycho. However, it has to be said that the film is much closer to the conventional policier of its time than to the psychological thriller it could have been.
There are three things which make this a particularly memorable film. First, there is the atmosphere, which is relentlessly dark and heavy, conveying the sense that there is something menacing lurking just out of camera shot. Secondly, the plot is unusually sophisticated for a film of this genre, with some very pleasing twists and turns and, best of all, a totally implausible murderer. Finally, the acting is of a very high calibre, not just Jean Gabin. Rising star Annie Girardot is captivating as the elusive and mysterious Madame Maurin, whilst Jean Desailly, a stalwart of French cinema in the 1940s and 1950s, gives one of his best screen performances.
Delannoy could perhaps have been a little more daring and pushed the suspense thriller dimension rather than adhering so rigidly to the conventions of the policier genre. Nevertheless, in spite of this, Maigret tend un piège is a classic of its type, and one which has aged well. It is of course an absolute must for fans of Simenon’s celebrated detective.
Production companies: C.I.C.C., Paris (Francia) / Films Borderie, Paris (Francia) / S.N. Pathé Cinéma, Paris (Francia) / GE.S.I. Cinematografica (Gestione Studios Internazionali).
Alternative titles (+ dates and running times):Italy - Le signore preferiscono il mambo; US - Dishonorable Discharge
Cast: Eddie Constantine, Pascale Roberts, Lino Ventura, Lise Bourdin
The second release on 1958 was another primarily French production, the Eddie Constantine vehicle Ces dames préfèrent le mambo. Constantine had been a big star in France for some years, having played the protagonist in the successful Lemmy Caution series of films since 1953. And when not playing Lemmy Caution, he starred in numerous other films where he played the same character in all but name, of which this appears to have been one.
Almost all of the Constantine movies were really French films, but with the occasional Italian actor or crewmember participating (or credited as participating) in order to fulfill quotas. In this case the only Italian involvement would appear to be that of Lino Ventura - who made his career in France - and production company GES.I., who specialized in Franco-Italian co-productions.
Eddie Constantine stars in this somewhat lackluster pastiche of film noir and American-style action/adventure, a formula that was hugely popular in France in the 1950s. Having played the redoubtable FBI agent Lemmy Caution in a dozen or so similar films, Eddie Constantine became one of the biggest stars in French cinema, much loved on account of his smooth American charm with accent to match. These films are very much a product of their time, intended to serve an intense craving for all things American, and consequently now appear very dated and rather shallow.
Watching Ces dames préfèrent le mambo you’d be mistaken for thinking you had tuned into an episode of the “Eddie Constantine show” - so strong is the lead actor’s presence in the film that everything else (including the magnificent Lino Ventura) appears superfluous. Like most of the films in this series, it is best appreciated as a well-intended parody of the B-movie genre, indeed a parody of itself. The most enjoyable part of this film is its last few scenes, culminating with a wonderfully camp send-up of the Lemmy Caution series. Pigez?
Pascale Roberts and Eddie Constantine in Ces dames preferent le mambo
