DESTRUCTION FORCE

aka La Banda Del Trucido (I)
1977
Italy
Director: Stelvio Massi
Script: Elsa Briganti, Stelvio Massi, Dardano Sacchetti
Music: Bruno Canfora
Photography: Franco Delli Colli
Cast: Luc Merenda (Ghini), Tomas Milian (Sergio Maraschi), Katia Christine (Carmen), Elio Zamuto, Franco Citti (Lanza), Imma Piro (Agnese Rinaldi), Nicoletta Piersanti (Maria Ciacci), Alessandra Crdini, Corrado Solari (Alberti), Paolo Bonetti, Aldo Barberiti (the journalist), Franco Balducci (Nino), Salvatore Billa (Minone), Massimo Vanni (Osvaldo Rinaldi), Fortunato Arena, Alessandra Cardini (Laura), Mimmo Poli, Nello Pazzafini (Lanza's accomplice), Rosario Borelli, Mario Brega, Stefano Raspi, Giusepe Maschi, Quinto Gambi

In these days of increasingly bland enlightenment - crap pop telling us to "free ourselves", stars jumping on pseudo new age gaia trips or advocating watered down (i.e. read easy to practice) forms of Buddhism - it's nice to get an occasional taste of something, well, something unclean. Full of low-budget action, extreme shootouts and token gratuitous bouts of violence. And if it's a fix of this type that you want, one of the best dealers is Stelvio Massi.

Whereas other familiar crime-slime directors such as Umberto Lenzi and Alberto De Martino regularly delved into other (no less sordid) genres, Massi - like Fernando Di Leo - never really seemed happy away from the confines of the urban action thriller. His films are populated by lone detectives fed up with being shafted by the beaurocratic minions of a corrupt system seemingly designed in order to hinder the pursuit of justice. Creeping amongst the sadists and maniacs are the petty criminals - the small time thieves simply trying to survive in a hostile environment. This is a landscape characterised by distrust, paranoia and fatalism. But most of all, this is a landscape characterised by high-speed car chases, exploding blood squibs and obligatory tasteless disco scenes.

Luc Merenda is Inspector Gini, a cop who is - strike me down - frustrated with his unhelpful superiors. He takes this out on the villains he has to deal with, beating them senseless and generally not being very polite. Parallel to this, another group of unsavoury types, led by perennial nutter Elio Zamuto, is planning a diamond heist. Needing a getaway driver, they ask Trash (Tomas Milian) if he can help. Now Trash has his doubts, he suspects that these new boys may be dangerously trigger-happy. After being assured, however, that no guns are to be involved he reluctantly recommends a young friend to man the car. Bad move. This being an Italian crime thriller about 73 people are gunned down during the process of the robbery and, due to complications far too convoluted to get into, the driver is murdered by the surviving tea-leaves. Even worse move.

Now the real star of this is, unsurprisingly, Tomas Milian. Supposedly gone straight, his character now runs his own restaurant. The sight of this yeti-haired loon loping around with a crinkly fag drooping from his lips, placing bowls of the questionable looking "Spaghetti a la Trashy" in front of shell-shocked punters is simply hilarious. Ranting at his infant son, bantering with his obese wife and laconically hustling and bustling, this is Milian at his best. Once again he succeeds in maintaining his status as being the actor who has been adorned with the most bizarre coiffures in cinema history, and the "style" on show here is right up there with the infamous "afghan hound's rear" from Face to Face.

Massi stages all the assorted wreckages and beatings with a no-nonsense approach that is perfectly complemented by Franco Delli Colli's decorative photography. There's a kind of baroque colourfulness to a lot of the interior scenes that contrasts well with the grimy exteriors. The script is familiar, but packed with hard-boiled fast-talking and a surprisingly deft comic touch. On top of this, there is a seriously funky soundtrack, a satisfactory amount of gunplay and some of the most gob-smackingly outrageous dubbing I have ever experienced.

Reviewed by Matt Blake