2018 Chicago Int’l Film Festival Pt. 2

The 54th Chicago International Film Festival runs from October 10th to October 23rd. All screenings are at the AMC River East theaters at 322 E. Illinois St. in downtown Chicago.



Stepan Devonin in “Core Of The World.”

The original Russian title of Core Of The World (Russia/Lithuania, 2018) is Serdtse Mira, which could also translate to ‘Heart Of The World’ or ‘Center Of The World.’ Here it refers to a remote rural farm where our protagonist, Egor (Stepan Devonin), serves as veterinarian and caretaker to a facility for dogs being trained as hunting dogs. The farm’s been run by Dmitriy (Dmitriy Podnozov) for years, along with his wife Nina and single-mom daughter Dasha – Ivan, her son, is around 8 or 9. Egor does well for himself with the family, is seriously devoted to the work and sincerely loves the menagerie of dogs, foxes, reindeer, badgers and the seldom-seen skunk in his care. One of their favorite younger dogs has been mauled by dogs he never should have gone near – the businesslike Dmitriy wants to just put it down, but Egor takes the seemingly hopeless Belka as an ardent rehab project. The farm also starts receiving occasional visits – from animal-rights activists / vandals, from their hard-drinking neighborhood sheriff steering Dmitriy into trouble, and from Egor’s aunt, bringing news of his mother’s death. We slowly settle in to the fact that Egor is doing exactly what he wants where he wants, and has no real intention of going anywhere else, returning to his past or creating relationships that might remind him of it. Is Egor disturbed, damaged somehow, or has he made his best possible life? Will he be just fine, despite his revisiting demons?

This is director Natalya Meshchaninova’s second feature – her first, The Hope Factory (Russia, 2014) appears to explore some of the same hard-wrought psychological questions as this does. There are a few dashes of dark humor here and there, but it’s an extraordinarily serious-minded film over its 2 hours – perhaps a bit too grim. But the film is beautifully shot by Evgeniy Tsvetkov, and Dasha Danilova’s editing maintains a compelling slow urgency without ever bogging down. There are a few tough scenes of rough animal treatment, but none of it is deliberately cruel. Your own views on hunting in general may disqualify this film, and that’s OK, but, like Monte Hellman’s 1974 Cockfighter, the thoughtfully-presented human elements push the darker subject matter far to the side. The film is a superb character-study short-story, and I thought it was very good. I recommend it.

“Core Of The World” will be shown on Sunday, October 14th at 7:15 pm and Monday the 15th at 8:45 pm.


Napoli Velata

Giovanna Mezzogiorno and Luisa Ranieri in “Naples In Veils.” credit: repubblica.it

 Ferzan Özpetek is a prolific director of smart and entertaining mainstream-ish films; his comedies are grounded by a good sense of dramatic credibility, and his dramas are leavened with healthy but unobtrusive doses of humor. Turkish by descent, he lives in Italy and sets most of his films there. His latest, Naples In Veils (Napoli Velata) (Italy, 2017) is a splendid, sexy pastiche of Fellini and Hitchcock, with a dash of Shakespearean family intrigue and some 90s Cinemax late-night heavy romance. Adriana’s family is a well-off collection of artistic and theatrically-minded performers, patrons and promoters – Adriana herself (the always terrific Giovanna Mezzogiorno) somehow gravitated to becoming one of the Naples’ police medical examiners. At one of her Aunt Adele’s salon/performances, she encounters the younger, handsome Andrea (Alessandro Borghi) – one thing leads to another and there’s a lovely long evening at her place. They set a date for the next day, but he stands her up. Disturbingly, she discovers why on her next medical shift – Andrea has been murdered. The ongoing investigation, where she’s an obvious but unlikely suspect, reveals to the police Andrea’s pretty chequered criminal art-heisting past. The family has their fun with Adriana’s little sex-and-crime scandal, both affectionately and maliciously, and her fellow police investigators keep her apprised. But only Adriana has met Luca, Andrea’s twin brother separated at birth through adoption, who arrived a few days after the crime, and she’s keeping him for herself while she pieces together her own whole picture.

Ozpetek gives us clever visual clues that Adriana is popping down rabbit holes, entering a twilight zone or two and entering some pretty rigorous psychological terrain as her pursuit of the truth progresses – or does it, really? I really enjoyed this movie – it’s smart, genuinely mysterious, and filled with real love for Napoli and the surrounding characters thereof. But the milieu blends artfully with Ozpetek, Gianni Romoli and Valia Santella well-executed narrative conceits, and the surprises at the conclusion are unpredictable and well-earned. Ozpetek’s films don’t get great distribution over here (with, perhaps, the exception of Ozpetek and Mezzogiorno’s Facing Windows in 2003). You’ll be glad you caught these festival screenings – it’s another lovely European Grown-Up movie about Grown-Ups for Grown-Ups that somehow doesn’t get made very often here, or doesn’t do much business when the few attempts are made. Treat yourself.

“Naples In Veils will be shown on Friday, October 19th at 3:00 pm (an $8.00 matinee) and Sunday, October 21st at 8:15 pm.

2018 Chicago Int’l Film Festival Pt. 1

The 54th Chicago International Film Festival runs from October 10th to October 23rd. All screenings are at the AMC River East theaters at 322 E. Illinois St. in downtown Chicago.


Maxwell Wolkin - rafiki-2-CMJN

Sheila Munyiva and Samantha Mugatsia in “Rafiki.”

Trained in England and the UCLA film school, the Kenyan-born writer / director Wanuri Kahiu made a point to return home and produce work true to her origins: as a filmmaker, as co-founder of the media collective AFROBUBBLEGUM, as a TED Fellow and as a World Economic Forum cultural leader. Her second feature film, Rafiki (Kenya, 2018), is well-written, well-directed and well-performed, with a smart, vibrant visual sense courtesy of young South African cinematographer Christopher Wessels. It’s a somewhat programmatic, but engagingly presented, story of genuine young love between two soon-to-graduate schoolgirls, and the familial and cultural conflicts thereof.

Kena (Samantha Mugatsia) is the tomboyish daughter of divorced parents, aspiring to be a nurse if her final school scores are high enough. The object of her admiration, Ziki (Sheila Munyiva), is the daughter of Peter Okemi, who is running against Kena’s shopkeeper father John (Jimmy Gathu) for local political office. On their own, the girls are happy, smitten and inseparable, but their conservative community catches up to them, and things turn very nasty very quickly. The narrative may seem a bit thin and over-westernized, but, as the film itself demonstrates, the stakes of telling this kind of story in Kenya call for as pleasantly-entertaining a treatment as one can create while still treating the subject matter with a sense of real conflict, real gravity. In that context, Kahiu’s work here is admirable. The film was outrightly banned by the Kenyan government, but director Kahiu took legal action to have the ban lifted for one week so the film might qualify for Oscar consideration – and she won. One week later, the ban was back on, but, c’mon… that’s impressive. It’s no masterpiece, but it’s a smart, solid film of hope and joy that you’ll be glad you saw.

“Rafiki” will be shown on Saturday the 13th at 1:30 pm and Thursday, October 18th at Noon (an $8.00 matinee).



Paula Beer and Franz Rogowski in “Transit.”

One of our more reliable cinematic storytellers, Christian Petzold’s films each seem to top the previous for the seamless blending of compelling narrative, intelligent visual strategies and guileless performances from his actors. His latest, Transit (Germany / France, 2018) is an apparently loose adaptation of Anna Seghers’ 1942 novel about a German refugee making his way through occupied France towards escape and/or freedom.

Petzold has shifted and blended the (what would now be) period trappings of the original story to describe the same characters (refugees fleeing fascism), under the same circumstances (forming alliances, avoiding trouble, outsmarting self-interested civil-servants, surrendering or withholding emotional support), in a somewhat-subverted present-day. There’s no attempt to create a period environment – with the world leaning warily towards putting authoritarians like the Dutertes and Maduros and Erdogans and Bolsonaros in charge, many of the same questions arise, and many of the same stateless-refugee issues are with us.

Georg (Franz Rogowski, excellent here) has a few options for fleeing Paris, dangerous as that may be. If he delivers some letters to a famous writer, Franz Weider, he will make some money and earn a seat in a car bound for the port of Marseilles. When that goes miserably awry, other friends put him in a freight car on a Marseilles-bound train with another, wounded, partisan. Again, Georg emerges alone, but still alive, in possession of the writer’s documents – a manuscript, I.D. papers, an official letter for passage to Mexico, and a letter from his wife, Marie (Paula Beer), looking forward to their reunion in Marseilles. What use Georg makes of these, and the array of fellow refugees he encounters while waiting to escape, forms the sometimes hopeful, sometimes despairing body of the film. It’s being distributed by Music Box films, so look for a theatrical run there if you’ve missed it here. It’s superb.


The Delphine Seyrig Project – Last Year At Marienbad

Année dernière à Marienbad - Delphine Seyrig primer plano

credit: bachilleratocinefilo.blogspot.com

A film that launched a thousand dissertations, and one of the most visually beautiful films ever shot, Delphine Seyrig’s feature-film debut was Last Year At Marienbad (L’Année Dernière À Marienbad) (France, 1961). Directed by the great Alain Resnais from a script by Nouveau Roman novelist Alain Robbe-Grillet, the film follows an unnamed trio of characters: “A” (Delphine), an elegantly beautiful but inscrutable guest at a palatial hotel, “X” (Giorgio Albertazzi), a handsome Italian suitor who claims to have met A a year or so ago under similar circumstances, and “M” (Sacha Pitoëff), who may be A’s husband, or another suitor, or a self-appointed guardian. The film primarily explores themes and variations on this romantic triangle; X insists that he and A met last year, were intimate, and agreed to meet again in a year’s time per her wishes. A has no recollection of this arrangement, or meeting him, but is nonetheless content to spend time with him during each other’s stay now. M amuses himself with the other guests in the pistol range, playing cards in the elegant game rooms and stumping his fellow guests by consistently winning at Nim, a game where you remove objects from a simple arrangement on a table until you force your opponent to pick up the last remaining object. M hovers in the background but is never far away.

Resnais’ first film, Hiroshima, Mon Amour, presented a pretty straightforward scenario – a couple meets and falls in love, knowing that their time together is tragically but necessarily short. But screenwriter Marguerite Duras doesn’t tell their story in linear, strictly chronological fashion. We learn about them, and their feelings towards each other, through their very different experiences (he’s Japanese, and his family lived with Hiroshima and its aftermath; she’s a French actress in Japan filming an anti-war film), and the piecing together and blending of their personal details and memories, even as we come to understand how unreliable and/or inadequate they may be.


Giorgio Albertazzi and Sacha Pitoëff in “Last Year At Marienbad.” credit: toutlecine.com

Last Year At Marienbad is far more of a puzzle, a metaphysical mystery to be solved. X starts to relate examples of their courtship from the previous year – how often they ran into each other, unplanned; their conversations about statues, dreams and a possible future together. The assumption is that they met elsewhere – ‘Marienbad’ is basically his best guess, if they’re not already still there right now. Where they are now, like themselves, is unnamed, but it’s one of those immensely ornate chateau / palace resort hotels in central Europe that attracts the Crème de la Crème of elegantly indulgent travelers and businesspeople. X’s recollections with A, as he narrates them, are acted out here, where they are, in our present, which obscures our understanding of present occurrences and past memories. Are most of these flashbacks? Is all of it? None of it?

X is our narrator throughout the film, starting out with a description of the interior of the hotel – its baroque furnishings, its ornate chandeliers, plush carpeting, paintings, artworks and maps, its seemingly endless long halls of doorways. The hotel has numerous other guests, but they are relegated to almost pure background functionality – Resnais stages and positions them in a variety of contrived tableaux – motionless while the camera pans or rotates around them, or while other figures in the same shot move contrapuntally at normal speed. And their dialogue is almost purely non sequitur, with a few quite notable exceptions. Early in the film, the guests view a play in the small hotel theater. (It’s titled Rosmer, but doesn’t seem to relate to any actual known work.) At its seeming conclusion, the lead actor implores the woman to leave another man and run off with him. He clearly convinces her – as the clock strikes a particular hour, she declares “Voila… maintenant… je suis à vous.” (“There… now… I am yours.”) This is a condensed version, a foreshadowing, of what we may witness as the actual story of the film. A few minutes later, X regards another couple in one of the common rooms – she implores her partner to be discreet, to not raise his voice, while he brusquely chides her for her reticence towards him. Another couple converses with each other flirtatiously – “I’m the same as ever” – “you’re the same as ever” they tell each other, laughing. Most of these asides are witnessed or overheard by A or X, and if you pay close attention you’ll find some tricks being played by Resnais – these two quite often end up somewhere they couldn’t possibly have moved to in the course of the scene. Resnais throws us off balance often with these two-places-at-once strategies, or changing backgrounds behind characters moving in a consistent path. None of it is obvious, at first, but it definitely affects our own perceptions of what’s what.


Giorgio Albertazzi and Delphine Seyrig in “Last Year At Marienbad.” credit: mountainx.com

Sacha Vierny is a legendary French cinematographer, and this film is one of his masterworks. Shooting in black & white Dyaliscope, a wide-format French version of CinemaScope, Vierny must have both celebrated and resented the splendidly complex locations he was given to work with – three immense baroque castles in Munich (with studio work in Courbevoie, France). Delphine Seyrig’s brother Francis created the singular musical score – orchestral fanfares at the start and end bookend a pretty elaborate church organ score, veering from sinister to pastoral to romantic to circus-music, sometimes pretty abruptly. I was fine with it, but some feel it’s the film’s weakest aspect.

Back in the David Niven – Sean Connery – Steve McQueen 60’s, the film was well-regarded as an artful study of elaborate seduction; regardless of its non-linear stylization, it was easy to root for these good-looking kids to get together. X was the aspiring romantic hoping to sweep A off of her hard-to-get coquettish feet, besting her brooding erstwhile male companion. There’s also the other extreme, where the whole film can be regarded as a “Twilight Zone” episode – the play characters, the angry lover, the young flirts, X, A and M, perhaps they’re all trapped in a world of futile romantic fatalism, where everything simply cycles relentlessly. It could all be a dream of his, or perhaps he’s as trapped as everyone else. Sacha Vierny’s spectacular visuals, on my own early viewings, led me to believe the hotel itself was an omnipotent character, like the Overlook Hotel in The Shining or Edgar Allen Poe’s House Of Usher, with its eternally longing customers reliving their fates on and on again. In the #metoo present day, one can make a solid case for a predatory X striving to gaslight A, while a conflicted M passively stands on the sidelines; they may very well have been together a year ago, and there may be dark and powerful reasons for her not remembering. X makes references to “not by force,” and Robbe-Grillet’s later film and writing work explores questions of dominance and submission more explicitly as he goes. The film clearly moves towards a climactic crisis of sorts – whether it’s rapture or rape is purposefully ambiguous. Resnais wants you to decide.


Delphine Seyrig in “Last Year At Marienbad.” credit: sozealous.blogspot.com

As for Delphine, the credited costumer for the film is the veteran Bernard Evein, but all of A’s gowns were exclusive designs from Coco Chanel, and they are rightfully legendary. Resnais wanted most of his actors here to study silent films, especially Theda Bara and Louise Brooks. Seyrig’s own hair didn’t lend itself to the Pandora’s Box modified pageboy, but Delphine’s brunette hard-lined band across her forehead is arguably just as iconic in the film world as her predecessors. Every character choice Delphine makes here with A is confident and committed – physically, vocally, pragmatically and emotionally – without sacrificing Resnais’ and Robbe-Grillet’s own inclinations to keep things interpretively open. And Vierny obviously lavished rigorous visual attention towards her.

Alain Resnais would use Delphine Seyrig in his next film as well, another French Cinema classic that initially wasn’t received well, but has grown in regard as time has passed.


“Last Year At Marienbad.” credit: mountainx.com

Movies – Hiroshima, Mon Amour

I used to post foreign film reviews on the now defunct Examiner.com. I’ll start to make some of those reviews available here to preserve them online.


Alain Resnais’ gorgeous and timeless Hiroshima Mon Amour (France, 1959) is one of the landmarks of world cinema – and it was Resnais’ feature film debut. Of course, he had spent the previous 20 years doing short films and documentaries, one of the most notable being Night And Fog (Nuit Et Brouillard). The 1955 film shuffled an almost pastoral visual tour of the abandoned Auschwitz with previously unseen documentary footage of the camp in full deployment, and during its liberation, 10 years earlier. Only 32 minutes long, it presents things we might be inclined to avoid remembering while demonstrating why we mustn’t. Rather than strictly explaining what happened and why, the film’s narrative recalls things more as reminiscence, as memories already being irrevocably diluted. The screenwriter is the novelist Jean Cayrol, who himself was interred in the camps.

Resnais originally set out to do something similar with Hiroshima Mon Amour, but more expansively. The French novelist Marguerite Duras wrote Resnais’ screenplay, and successfully manufactured a 36-hour affair between strangers that not only expressed enormous amounts of swooning romantic fatalism, but also commented on our human propensities to process, or repress, pain and tragedy through the filter of memory. The first portion of the film is, indeed, a documentary on Hiroshima, filmed years after the atomic bomb blast – we tour the commemorative museum, see footage of the initial aftermath of the blast, and witness how the Japanese inhabitants themselves are still living with the results. But the voiceover, and the initial images, are provided by the couple having the affair; the French woman (the brilliant Emmanuelle Riva) asserts what she’s learned, and describes the local sights she’s seen, during her short visit, while the Japanese man (Eiji Okada) denies that she knows anything of Hiroshima. He’s an architect whose family lived through the blast – she’s an actress who has come to Hiroshima as part of the cast of an anti-war film. They are, however, immersed in love and lust with each other at the moment, despite knowing that they must leave each other, probably forever, in 36 hours.

At the onset of the French New Wave, Francois Truffaut made The 400 Blows (Les Quatre Cents Coups, 1959), and dissolved the line between objectively- presented narrative and the filmmaker’s subjective personal concerns. Jean-Luc Godard made Breathless (À bout de soufflé, 1960), and dissolved the line between real people and actors, real interaction and contrived narrative, and how the plastic qualities of film can affect all of that. Like the German playwright Bertolt Brecht, Godard always reminds you of the pretense, he always reminds you you’re watching a film, while convincing you that what’s on screen can be just as real as any other lived experience. Alain Resnais, in this film and his subsequent works, had more in common with the new wave of French writers and novelists of the time – the Nouveau Roman. Along with Resnais’ collaborators like Cayrol, Duras and Alain Robbe-Grillet (the writer of his next feature, Last Year At Marienbad, 1961), French writers like Raymond Queneau, George Perec and Robert Pinget were deconstructing literature into its component concepts – Queneau wrote interchangeable cut-and-paste poems (A Hundred Thousand Billion Poems), and Exercices De Style, which tells the same mundane story in 99 different styles, while Perec wrote a 300-page mystery novel (La Disparition / A Void) that never used the letter ‘e.’ (Neither in French nor the English translation!)

Resnais was interested in the same kind of narrative experiments as films; to tell stories of evocative people with personal histories, but to dissolve the boundaries between present and past, real-time and flashback, the lived present moment and memory, emotion and practicality, normal conversation and poetic exchange. The actress relates a tragic story of her love for a German soldier during the French occupation, and, as she relates the tale, the Japanese architect becomes a kind of transferee, a surrogate for her unresolved feelings towards her lost love. He, in turn, married with a family, begs her to remain in Hiroshima, simultaneously knowing, and denying, that it can never happen.

Hiroshima Mon Amour is not only superb as engaging storytelling and incisive character study, but also ranks as one of the most beautifully shot films of the French New Wave; French veteran Sacha Vierny and Michio Takahashi are co-credited as cinematographers. Also quite wonderful is the musical score by Georges Delerue and Giovanni Fusco, an aggressively angular small-group jazz soundtrack that isn’t afraid to pop into circus music or mournful lament as the moment calls for. And don’t underestimate the musicality of Duras’ text, either, superbly surveyed by Riva and Okada (who, while clearly understanding what he was saying, performed the French dialogue purely phonetically. You’d never know it…)

The Giallo Project – Massimo Dallamano

What Have You Done To Solange (1972) 011

Cristina Galbó in “What Have They Done To Solange?” credit: deadshed.blogspot.com

Like another giallo craftsman, Emilio Miraglia, our filmmaker today, Massimo Dallamano, was a seasoned veteran of Italian filmmaking technical departments before creating his own work. He started out as a cinematographer in the late forties, and had shot close to thirty features when Sergio Leone hired him as cinematographer for A Fistful Of Dollars and For A Few Dollars More (credited as Jack Dalmas). A few years later, he graduated to directing his own projects: the excellent spaghetti western Bandidos (1967) and his first tame-but-capable foray into giallo-style, A Black Veil For Lisa (1968). And, like many journeyman filmmakers, Dallamano treated giallo as just another genre among westerns, sex comedies and poliziotteschi. But his films, like Sergio Martino’s, are of such high consistency that even the non-giallos are worth examining here.


Venus In Furs (aka Devil In The Flesh) (Le Malizie Di Venere) (Italy, 1969) is writer Fabio Massimo’s genuinely sexy loose adaptation of the Leopold von Sacher-Masoch novella, and Dallamano delivers some genuinely classy work here. Severin (Régis Vallée, a very capable actor who only made a few films) is a writer and bon vivant staying at an Italian lake resort. When Wanda (Laura Antonelli), a stunning photographer’s model, arrives, Severin is smitten. He indulges himself voyeuristically at first – she’s in a room that Severin can peep into through holes behind a painting, and he relates a voice-over narrative to us about his youngest erotic experiences growing up. But once he finally introduces himself, her voice is added to the narrative as well, and we find her to be every bit his match in pragmatism and sexuality. And as they confide to each other more and more, Severin reveals that his fondest wish is to be her slave – to be dominated, and, on occasion, outrightly humiliated, by her. She has some misgivings about it at first, but slowly but surely warms to the sense of power she feels, the power he’s allowing her to have. They move to a small villa in the country and hire a couple of comely domestics, blond and brunette. Severin then becomes her chauffeur, joining the domestic servants, and she starts to more fervently indulge herself, and her own power, at his expense, with a local painter who does her portrait and a biker, Bruno (Loren Ewing), whom she has Severin pick up for her on the highway. Bruno moves in with them to service her, embarrass him, and even abuse the maids as well. By now she’s all about her own pleasure, and genuinely enthusiastic about belittling Severin any way she can, even as Bruno treats her just as cruelly. Severin, in shame and exasperation, seems to give up on the whole affair, packing his bags and leaving. But Wanda has one more trick up her sleeve…


Laura Antonelli in “Venus In Furs.” credit: videowatchdog.blogspot.com

A few things keep the film from being just another soft-core snoozefest; the first is Dallamano’s taste level, which is unerring. He’s acutely aware of, and makes real visual distinctions between, scenes about sex and sensuality and scenes about power and antagonism. (The cinematographer is Sergio D’Offizi, who later shot Don’t Torture A Duckling for Lucio Fulci.) The characters are established confidently, and there’s a well-structured narrative dynamic to their interactions. And while the film may not seem like much of a provocation these days, it was banned in Italy for six years, and then released in an egregiously-edited version. (It’s since been re-assembled, thank goodness.) The second asset the film has is Dallamano’s seemingly effortless rapport with his actors. Laura Antonelli soon became one of Italy’s most reliably appealing actresses throughout the seventies; 1973’s Malizia was her breakthrough role, and its success led to a deluge of sexy young man/ older woman comedies and dramas. But it can be argued that Italy’s censorship of this film postponed her inevitable stardom by four years. Vallée works with her well, generating real spark and intimacy. It feels a little dated, but not distractingly so. It’s well-crafted, and well worth checking out if you run across it.


Dallamano’s next project was Dorian Gray (Il Dio Chiamato Dorian – ‘The God Called Dorian’) (Italy, 1970), an update of the 1945 Albert Lewin adaptation of the Oscar Wilde novella “The Picture Of Dorian Gray,” produced by British hackmeister Harry Alan Towers (one of Jess Franco’s most ardent backers) and the American Samuel Z. Arkoff. This adaptation is far freer about indulgences that Wilde and Lewin could only hint at in 1890 and 1945, but, again, Dallamano brings a healthy sense of restraint to what could have been a profligately trashy movie. Helmut Berger sandwiched this role between appearing in two Italian masterworks, Visconti’s The Damned (1969) and DeSica’s The Garden Of The Finzi-Continis (1970), but he couldn’t pass up Dorian Gray, and he’s inarguably perfect for the role. The film hews pretty closely to Wilde’s narrative – Dorian is callow and self-centered, but has a sensitive side brought out by Sybil Vane (Marie Liljedahl, one of a few Jess Franco actors used here), a beautiful aspiring actress who captures his heart. The fateful portrait is painted by his friend Basil Hallward (Richard Todd), and immoderately admired by the reptilian artists’ agent and man-about-town Henry Wotton (Herbert Lom) and his willful sister Gwendolyn (Margaret Lee) – Henry befriends Dorian, and becomes an aesthetic and philosophical mentor to him. Wotton explains that the painting will be forever young while Dorian must inevitably age. “Why should I get old while this stays young?” Dorian famously exclaims. And, of course, Dorian’s evil switcheroo comes to pass (with a refreshing absence of any religious or magical context). Wotton’s in-crowd indulges Dorian, luring him towards riches, fame and wealthy patronage, while Sybil struggles in her small theater. After a bitter argument between them, Sybil departs and has a deadly accident. (This is straight-up suicide in the book, but Dallamano keeps things a little less hysteric throughout.) In total denial of his loss, Dorian spends the rest of the film on a sex-drugs-and-rock-and-roll bender featuring lots of bedwork with whomever he wishes of any sex. With his decadence escalating, he eventually kills Basil is a fit of pique, and causes the deaths of Sybil’s snoopy brother and a doctor/friend, Alan Campbell, who helped him dispose of Basil’s body. The last straw of sanity is pulled when he meets a rich doctor’s wife who is a doppelganger for Sybil. Mad as a hatter, he gazes for a last time on the hideous image the canvas now holds, and kills himself, returning the natural order back to its proper subjects.


Helmut Berger in “Dorian Gray.” credit: eldiabolik.wordpress.com

Narratively, the film is pretty racy. But after the visual candor of Venus In Furs, I was surprised that Dorian Gray was so… umm… reasonable. The seventies art-direction elements mix old-school old-money with pop art and pop furnishings admirably, and everything’s shot beautifully by Otello Spila, whom incidentally shot Pasolini’s Teorema as well – another tale of an amoral man tearing a swath through conventional ideas of wealth and family. But aside from some bashful nudity and strategic camera placement, the sex scenes suggest more than they show, a departure from a number of other Italian genre directors at the time. The deaths are also far more melodramatic than explicit – one can only imagine what grisly opportunities Lucio Fulci or Dario Argento would have made of Sybil’s, or the others’, deaths. Dallamano is really good at parsing and structuring his writers’ narratives to direct visual purposes, and eliciting the most from his actors throughout. It’s good, watchable fun, but no masterpiece. The masterpiece comes next.



Cristina Galbó and Fabio Testi in “What Have They Done To Solange?” credit: http://goodefficientbutchery.blogspot.com

What Have They Done To Solange? (Cosa Avete Fatto A Solange?) (Italy, 1971), in notable contrast to his previous work, perhaps goes a little too far. The murders are darkly sexual and disturbing, the romantic elements are always a little creepy, some of giallos’ more notorious clichés are seemingly reinforced, and the Catholic church, as usual, comes in for some derisive scrutiny. But we’ve discussed Dallamano’s touch for presenting lurid subject matter in appreciable doses, and he (and co-writer Bruno Di Geronimo) nails those boundaries here within the context of his always well-tailored narrative strategies.

The artful withholding of information is a time-honored exercise in crime mysteries; which secrets are kept, and which pieces of the puzzle are revealed in which particular order is always the trick of a good narrative. Most giallos make each murder a showpiece of sorts, and the murders are thematically intrinsic to the narrative. But here, as in Lucio Fulci’s year- later Don’t Torture A Duckling (1972), the specifics of the actual crimes, and the motivations thereof, aren’t as important as presenting the particular culture or environmental temperament that allows such subsequent nastiness to arise and flourish, and examining how our protagonists act and react under unnaturally stressful circumstances.

Enrico Rosseni (Fabio Testi) is an Italian and gymnastics teacher at St. Mary’s Catholic College for Girls in London; his wife, Erta (Karin Baal) teaches mathematics there as well. But the marriage is in poor shape these days – they’re estranged, but still living together – and Enrico is having a passionate affair with one of his students, Elizabeth (Cristina Galbó). While spending a leisurely Sunday in a rowboat floating along a woody path, Elizabeth thinks she’s glimpsed a young girl running from a dark figure. Distracted by Enrico’s canoodling, she tries to dismiss it as nothing, but then sees the flash of a large knife and what she imagines must be a violent attack. She’s pretty upset, but Enrico takes it as a ruse to reject his advances, and they leave the park in annoyed disagreement. They regrettably learn the next day that those glimpses indeed were a nasty crime, and one of Elizabeth’s classmates, Hilda, was the victim. Feeling guilty about being dismissive with Elizabeth, Enrico starts to investigate on his own; he inevitably crosses paths with the police, but is reluctant to expose Elizabeth and his affair with her.

After a second victim is discovered – Elizabeth’s schoolmate Janet – Elizabeth recalls that the man she spied chasing Hilda may have been wearing black priest’s robes. The school’s staff and faculty start eyeing each other warily, the police investigation narrows- Janet’s death is identical to Hilda’s – and another crucially important murder follows depressingly quickly.

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Claudia Butenuth and Joachim Fuchsberger in “What Have They Done To Solange?” credit: oneworldmusics.blogspot.com

Part of Dallamano’s success here is the initial, and nicely sustained, empathy he fosters for his main characters. Having fragments of the first death filtered through Elizabeth’s perspective is quite effective – she helps us to take the attack seriously and empathize with the unknown victim even as we’re temporarily spared the nastier details. Enrico sleeping with one of his students is transgressive, but they’re both so likable otherwise – he deferential and discreet, she quite mature and prepossessing – that we’re inclined to accept their couplehood as credible, not simply an indulgence. Dallamano’s confidence in our goodwill towards them is then the basis of a few hard twists, but those choices are well-earned and effective. Enrico, in true giallo form, is a suspect in the murders; nonetheless, he gets unexpected support later on from the seemingly spiteful but resilient Erta, who knows in her heart that he’s not capable of any of it. (A featurette on the most recent DVD release reveals that Karin Baal, despite her convincing work, did not like the film.) The ubiquitous police inspector (German krimi veteran Joachim Fuchsberger), almost always superfluous or unhelpful in most giallos, is actually pretty capable here, though it’s Enrico, of course, who eventually cracks the case. Elizabeth’s friends, who form the list of victims, are tied together by indulgences that, in one fateful instance, turned tragic. There’s an easy, specious argument to be made here that the girls are being punished for their promiscuity, but the overall narrative goes deeper than that. Dallamano and Di Geronimo’s film is about the failures of contemporary institutions – educational, familial and religious, and the failures of the so-called adults thereof, to protect their children from, or prepare their children for, the moral vagaries of the real world.

The film is notably well-shot by Aristide Massaccesi, but B-movie aficionados will know him better by his directing nom du cinéma Joe D’Amato, one of the more prolific erotica and gorefest sleazemeisters of the late 20th century. The man knows his photography, though, make no mistake. And Ennio Morricone provides another astonishingly good, and characteristically unique, soundtrack. This film will easily make the upper half of any top ten list of giallos, and is a must-see exemplar of the genre.


Camille Keaton in “What Have They Done To Solange?” credit: nuovocinemalocatelli.com


Dallamano’s next films evinced more evidence of his technical skills in service to his storytelling, to varying degrees of success. Mafia Junction (Si Può Essere Più Bastardi Dell’ispettore Cliff?, or Can You Be More Of A Bastard Than Inspector Cliff?) also goes by The Blue Movie Murders and, my favorite, Super Bitch (Italy, 1973). An elaborate crime caper film with equally unscrupulous cops and criminals, it features a pretty elaborate, sometimes ridiculous plot and solid performances from Italian-film veteran Ivan Rassimov and the terrific British actress Stephanie Beacham, who managed to easily outclass most of the projects she found herself performing in. Next up was Innocence and Desire (Innocenza E Turbamento) (Italy, 1974), one of seemingly hundreds of Malizia knock-offs, with this version featuring impressive giallo and sex-comedy veteran Edwige Fenech rather than Venus In Furs’ Laura Antonelli. It’s pretty generic stuff for the genre, but was certainly acceptable light entertainment at the time. It features a few typically Italian digs at the church (our young protagonist is a seminarian sent home to reconsider his convictions who falls in love with Dad’s second wife) and also features the blacklisted American actor Lionel Stander, who worked in Europe extensively throughout the sixties and seventies before gaining notoriety as Max on the TV series Hart To Hart.



Mario Adorf and Giovanna Ralli in “What Have They Done To Your Daughters?” credit: 10kbullets.com

What Have They Done To Your Daughters? started out as La Polizia Chiede Aiuto (Italy, 1974), which translates to The Police Need Your Help. But western distributors were keen on associating it with What Have They Done To Solange?, even though I suspect Dallamano just saw it as another project he could bring a similar style to. It’s far more poliziotteschi than giallo, but the idea that schools, police, doctors and parents are actually pretty helpless to protect their children from malicious harm runs through this film as well. Told from the view of an ongoing police investigation, a teenaged girl’s suicide leads to the discovery of a high-school-girls’ prostitution ring, and the criminals that run it start getting sloppy and violent when the police start closing in.

Inspector Valentini (Mario Adorf), a family man with a teen daughter of his own, draws the suicide case at first, but it’s handed off to the tenacious Inspector Silvestri (Claudio Cassinelli) and Assistant D.A. Vittoria Stori (Giovanna Ralli). Their first lead is a snooping photographer who has images of the dead girl in flagrante delicto before her death. The girl’s maid and absentee parents then lead them to a private detective and the girl’s therapist. From there the plot thickens in pretty efficient and involving fashion. Most prominent is the ubiquitous black leather-clad motorcycle -riding killer wielding a butcher’s cleaver.


“What Have They Done To Your Daughters?” credit: grindhousedatabase.com

Dallamano collaborated with Ettore Sanzò on the screenplay, and, despite a few narrative slip-ups, has constructed a very good procedural thriller. Efficiently shot by Franco Delli Colli, there’s a nice car chase and a genuinely scary parking-garage stalking scene that rise well above their standard treatments elsewhere. With a very good musical score by the reliable Stelvio Cipriani, this isn’t a film I’d urge you to seek out, but it’s certainly worth your while if you run across it.


Dallamano followed with the well-regarded supernatural horror thriller The Night Child, aka The Cursed Medallion (Il Medaglione Insanguinato) (Italy, 1975) and 1976’s Annie, aka Blue Belle an Emmanuelle-like softcore sex saga starring Euro-siren Annie Belle. Dallamano was hired in for this one, as tawdry producer Harry Alan Towers had fallen out with Jess Franco, who would have usually handled this sort of project for him.


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“Rings Of Fear” credit: giallowkadrze.blogspot.com

The third “chapter” of what others like to group as Dallamano’s “Schoolgirls-In-Peril” trilogy (…Solange, …Daughters) goes by another long list of titles – the Italian title is Enigma Rosso, and is most commonly called Rings Of Fear (Italy, 1978), but it’s also found as Red Rings Of Fear, Virgin Killer and Trauma, depending on the distributor. The film had a rocky road to production – another Dallamano directing project, he had completed his screenplay when he tragically lost his life in a car crash in Rome. The producers then hired Alberto Negrin, a TV veteran with no feature film experience, and four other writers to put the finishing touches on what they had. The results are pretty disappointing.

Another Catholic girl’s school, another secretive clique of promiscuous girls, another traumatic abortion, and another step-by-step police investigation feels like Dallamano territory, but it’s all so unoriginal and clumsily presented that I suspect there wasn’t a lot of this in the original script – those elements were grafted on in homage to Dallamano’s earlier work, and simplified to give fans more of what they expected in far less subtle doses. Fabio Testi is once again our protagonist, but this time he’s the police inspector, DiSalvo, with a sensitive streak at home with his kleptomaniac girlfriend (Christine Kaufmann, in a woefully underwritten role) and pet cats, and a hot temper when on the job, on the case. The discovery of a girl’s mutilated body wrapped in plastic in the lake starts the investigation, but DiSalvo gets unexpected help from the victim’s vengeful little sister Emily (Fausta Avelli).


Fabio Testi in “Rings Of Fear.” credit: satanicpandemonium.blogspot.com

The film, admittedly, looks great. Shot by Italian veteran Eduardo Noé, the film features an impressive central staircase in the girl’s school with a giant nun statue that’s put to excellent use, both atmospherically and practically. Credited composer Riz Ortolani is usually pretty reliable, but much of his soundtrack music here is recycled from 1973’s Super Bitch. Actor Jack Taylor, who figures as one of the villains here, later claimed the film was never finished, and that’s not hard to believe.


“Rings Of Fear.” credit: dirtypictures.pnpbb8.de

The 2018 Chicago European Union Film Festival – Part 9

The 2018 European Union Film Festival is back at the Gene Siskel Film Center, from March 9th to April 5th.


Ágnes Máhr, Arghavan Shekari and Cake-Baly Marcelo in “The Citizen.” credit: zff.com

Roland Vranik’s The Citizen (Az Állampolgár) (Hungary, 2016) presents a quite powerful, unsentimental episode in the life of Wilson Ugabe (Cake-Baly Marcelo), a middle-aged West African refugee whose family was destroyed in civil conflict there a few years past. He’s building a new life in Budapest, having learned the language, acquired a decent job (as a greeter and security man at a supermarket) and found a safe place to live. But Wilson has a complication – an old girlfriend of a former roommate arrives on his doorstep pregnant, looking for Dad. Shirin (Arghavan Shekari), a refugee herself (from Iran), has a baby due, nowhere to stay and a warrant out for her deportation. Wilson, familiar with, and supportive of, her predicament, chooses to take them in. Meanwhile, Wilson is having trouble passing his citizenship test, so his employer Éva (Tünde Szalontay) introduces him to her sister, Mari (Ágnes Máhr), who gives private lessons to both kids and adults. Wilson is not only a diligent pupil for Mari, but an ever-closer friend, then lover, and her own dead-end marriage comes to an awkward but deserving end. When Mari arrives to live with Wilson, the additional roommates are an unpleasant but (hopefully) manageable surprise.

I don’t mean to suggest the film is without humor – both Wilson and Mari are smart, friendly people, well-surveyed by these two fine actors, and watching their courtship develop is warm and fun. But the situation darkens, and all three of our characters fall victim to some of their own bad decisions. Vranik’s script, co-written with Iván Szabó, steers away from the fevered melodrama that these stories can sometimes fall into, and presents the characters as straightforward products of their own hard experiences, for better and worse. Imre Juhasz does the film justice visually as well – a regular cinematographer in Hungary, he’s been getting increasing amounts of camera crew and second-unit work here in the U.S., and he’ll work his talented way up quickly.

I liked this movie a lot – it’s no ray of sunshine, but it’s a really good, wordly-wise short-story film that rings rewardingly true.

“The Citizen” will be shown on Friday, March 30th at 8:00 pm and Tuesday, April 3rd at 6:00 pm.

The 2018 Chicago European Union Film Festival – Part 8

The 2018 European Union Film Festival is back at the Gene Siskel Film Center, from March 9th to April 5th.


Iris Bry and Nathalie Baye in “The Guardians.” credit: Music Box Films

Xavier Beauvois is clearly an extraordinarily talented French director, and I don’t want to steal his thunder – this is a great film, and my favorite of the festival so far. But casting director Karen Hottois did him immeasurable service in discovering the superb Iris Bry, and the visual narrative of his newest film, The Guardians (Les Guardiennes) (France, 2017) is so beautifully wrought that it’s tough not to sing the praises of his veteran cinematographer Caroline Champetier. She’s been a prolific cinematographer since the early eighties, shooting for Jacques Rivette, Chantal Akerman, Leos Carax and, of course, earlier Beauvois films.

I emphasize this because Beauvois’ clear intention is to praise the courage, resourcefulness and resilience of women, specifically those who stayed home while fathers and sons left home to fight World War I. The film follows the Sandrail family, caretakers of Le Pardier farm. All three of the sons of Hortense Sandrail (Nathalie Baye, superb) and her frail husband Henri (Gilbert Bonneau) have gone to war, leaving the work of the farm to herself and her daughter–in–law Solange (Laura Smet). They could use a little help, but the only available laborer turns out to be another woman, the young but hardy Francine (Iris Bry, in a solidly impressive debut). Immensely helpful, diligent and well-mannered, Francine turns out to be a godsend. But the sons get leave from time to time, American soldiers pop in here and there, and co-ed complications, sadly, inevitably,ensue.

Collaborating with Marie-Julie Maille and Frédérique Moreau to adapt Ernest Perochon’s 1924 novel, Beauvois keeps the dialogue sparse and efficient – he knows he can rely on his actors to show us, not tell us, what’s important. Long passages of the film feel like Jean-François Millet paintings come-to-life, but we feel real intimacy with the laboring figures. The performances are great, the film looks sensational, the story is movingly straightforward and there’s even an honest-to-God Michel Legrand musical score. This is a wonderful film.

“The Guardians” will be shown on Sunday, March 25th at 2:30 pm and Thursday the 29th at 6:00 pm.