SEVEN HOURS OF VIOLENCE

aka Sette ore di violenza per una soluzione imprevista (I), Un homme appelé Karaté (Fr), Sieben Sunden der Gewalt (WG)
1974
Italy
Vittorio Galliano & Marcello Romeo for Galassia Film, Luciano Martino for Dania Film
Director: Michele Massimo Tarantini
Story: Giorgio Capitani, Lucio Chiavarelli, Paolo Levi
Screenplay: Sauro Scavolini
Music: Alessandro Alessandroni
Cinematography: Federico Zanni {Eastmancolor}
Editor: Antonietta Zita
Set design: Giacomo Calò Carducci
Cameraman: Giampiero Servo
Filmed: Elios Film, Dear Film Studios
Release information: Registered 09.11.73. Italy (15.11.73, 89 mins), France (31.12.75, Paris, 93 mins)
Cast: George Hilton (George Anderson), Rosemarie Dexter (Helen Karlatis), Giampiero Albertini (the police commissioner), Steffen Zaccharias (Fastikopulos, a lawyer), Ernesto Colli (Tomassian), Greta Vayan (Greta Bapadopulos), Carlo Gaddi (assistant commissioner), Claudio Nicastro, Gianni Musy, Iwao Yoshioka, Renata Zamengo

Considering that director Massimo Tarantini is better known for a stream of second-rate sexy comedies such as La Liceale (76) and L'insegnante viene a casa (78), I wasn't really expecting that much from this. What a pleasant surprise, then, to find that it is in fact a rather good thriller, which maintains a good pace and manages to restrict itself to it's own confines.

George (Hilton) is a kung-fu expert and ex-assassin. He is blackmailed by his lawyer (ha, typical bloody behaviour) into conducting one final mission - the elimination of a ship foreman who works at the yard of a certain Kanathris. It all goes dreadfully wrong, not least because his heart isn't really in it. When he attempts to talk to his intended target a fight ensues in which the guy is accidentally killed. One way or another, the police manage to discover his assumed identity, and when he tries to book into his pre-arranged flight he finds them waiting. Luckily, he manages to escape with the help of a beautiful lady, Helena (Rosemarie Dexter).

As is the way with all beautiful ladies, she decides to take this suspected killer back to her place. Thinking that this was a pretty useful technique, I decided to put a similar ploy into practice. Unfortunately, no one at my local dancing emporium fell for it, except for a strange individual called Prawn. And if I'm not much mistaken she was on some form of narcotic at the time, as she couldn't stop talking about Kellogg's Nut Crunchies and dancing to the kettle.

Anyway, his problems don't stop with the law. There is also a trio of Chinese tough-cookies following him, killing everyone who would be able to help flee the country. They are evidently working for someone, and someone who knows that George knows too much.

Evidently designed to cash in on the thriving chop-socky films of the time, it is rather peculiar to see Hilton leaping around going "ayeeii-hah" at every possible opportunity. Normally the most languorous of actors, this change of pace is signalled in the very opening scenes, in which Alessandro Alessandroni's kicking theme tune is accompanied by the sight of George, well, kicking.

In fact, these hai-karate moments are the main problem with the whole thing. After a few minutes, seeing one group of actors leap into the air accompanied by sounds which belong in a bondage parlour is pretty much like seeing any other. Now, I don't claim to like kung-fu movies, so I may not be in a position to judge, but the best bits of this to me are the bits in between the action scenes.

Tarantini manages to build up an overall sense of futility (or is that destiny) that is detectable within most of the best Italian films of all genres. Despite my misgivings, the fight sequences are well staged and there are enough stylistic flourishes - in an understated fashion - to keep the eyes entertained. There's a bit of an over-reliance on slow motion. One chap in particular seems to take about five minutes to die, sprawling around in every conceivable fashion and spitting blood like it was a wine tasting evening. Then again, as virtually every film nowadays - from sci fi to historical hagiography to sodding romantic comedy - seems to have at least one slow-mo scene it could be that I'm simply suffering from over exposure.

Don't let these minor complaints put you off, though. Seven Hours of Violence is by no means a classic, but it is a well-crafted small film that keeps you engrossed from the beginning to the end. As well as Hilton's great atypical performance there are appearances from the ever jaundiced-looking Carlo Gaddi, who must have made a handy living playing deputy inspectors, and Ernesto Colli (Torso), another strong candidate for the 'scrawniest man in Italian cinema' award.

Reviewed by Matt Blake