(1971)
Dir - Riccardo Freda
Overall: MEH
Giallos were already a dime a dozen by the time that Riccardo Freda took a swing at one with The Iguana with the Tongue of Fire, (L'iguana dalla lingua di fuoco). As the genre always insists, the dark-gloved killer is kept secret until the final confrontational showdown between them and the main, good guy protagonist, (Luigi Pistilli's police detective in this case), and numerous tricks are played on the audience to throw them off. The blood is also tomato soup red and the kills are gruesome, which are both fine and swell elements to such movies. As typically convoluted as the story is, the final reveal is probably one of the least exciting in any giallo, yet what really disappoints is how dull it all plays out. The grisly murders are spread out too far and most of the victims are people who are barely important to the plot. This is actually a case where Freda could have afforded to go a little more overboard for entertainment's sake, something that Dario Argento for one excels almost to a fault at, if we are to compare. Freda and cinematographer Silvano Ippoliti do pull off some flashy camerawork here or there, but the director himself dismissed the final product to the point of removing his actual name from the credits, instead going with his own Alan Smithee pseudonym Willy Pareto.
Overall: MEH
Giallos were already a dime a dozen by the time that Riccardo Freda took a swing at one with The Iguana with the Tongue of Fire, (L'iguana dalla lingua di fuoco). As the genre always insists, the dark-gloved killer is kept secret until the final confrontational showdown between them and the main, good guy protagonist, (Luigi Pistilli's police detective in this case), and numerous tricks are played on the audience to throw them off. The blood is also tomato soup red and the kills are gruesome, which are both fine and swell elements to such movies. As typically convoluted as the story is, the final reveal is probably one of the least exciting in any giallo, yet what really disappoints is how dull it all plays out. The grisly murders are spread out too far and most of the victims are people who are barely important to the plot. This is actually a case where Freda could have afforded to go a little more overboard for entertainment's sake, something that Dario Argento for one excels almost to a fault at, if we are to compare. Freda and cinematographer Silvano Ippoliti do pull off some flashy camerawork here or there, but the director himself dismissed the final product to the point of removing his actual name from the credits, instead going with his own Alan Smithee pseudonym Willy Pareto.
(1972)
Dir - Silvio Amadio
Overall: MEH
His second of two giallos cranked out in 1972, Amuck!, (Alla ricerca del piacere, In Pursuit of Pleasure, Maniac Mansion, Hot Bed of Sex, Letter and Whips), finds writer/director Silvio Amadio working with Farley Granger as well as Euro-queens Rosalba Neri and Barbara Bouchet. More sexually-tinged than stylistically garish or cartoonishly plotted, (though it still busts out the convoluted details in its final moments), it bypasses the black-gloved killer/endless red herrings cliche, instead answering the central mystery at the onset of the third act. That said, there is still a rug-pull in the last few minutes, be it a foreseeable one that finds the shady, degenerate behavior of Granger and Neri's hedonistic couple to be as steadfast as it was promised. A slow motion, lesbian sex scene and characters who are privy to manipulate, harass, and fall in love with each other make this an erotic offering in lieu of copious amounts of bright-red blood-shed. Still, the sluggish pacing and anti-climactic nature of the material is likely to leave most viewers checking out of the proceedings at regular intervals. Well shot, melodramatically performed, and refreshingly against the giallo type in several respects, it also whimpers instead of dazzles along its route.
(1977)
Dir - Luigi Batzella
Overall: WOOF
Italian filmmaker Luigi Batzella's entry into the laughably stupid Naziploitation genre was the fittingly lousy La Bestia in calore, (The Beast in Heat). Mixing recycled war footage from Batzella's earlier movie Quando suona la campana with unwholesome, (Is there any other kind?), torture and rape scenes, it manages to be as redundantly boring as it is sleazy. Pornographic in nature with full genitalia and the mutilation of such genitalia being a main ingredient, the presentation is so obnoxious in its shock-value that it just becomes an embarrassing experience for all involved. Macha Magall seems to be going through the motions as the naked, despicable Nazi mad scientist/henchwoman, having none of the icky charisma of Dyanne Thorne in the also repugnant Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS series. Poor Salvatore Baccaro gets it worst of all though as the full-frontal, title mutant rapist who raves and grunts with exaggerated duck lips in his animal cage. When all of the nasty X-rated mayhem is not front and center, the plot line takes over and it is inconsequential enough to completely ignore. Something about both sides of the war trying to sabotage one side while getting information from the other, plus everyone on screen is either forgettably one-note or just an unrepentant asshole anyway. In other words, the movie is ugly trash from front to back.
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