(1965)
Dir - Roberto Mauri
Overall: WOOF
A stodgy police procedural with some bare-bones components of the more sensationalized giallos that would soon emerge in droves, Night of Violence, (Le notti della violenza, Call Girls 66), has little to offer for those who can stay awake throughout its running time. Misogynistic in all of the typical lazy ways, (women getting raped, endlessly smacked around, resorting to prostitution, defending the men who abuse them, and even getting slagged off by the police who refuse to offer one of them protection for the night), it is surprisingly low on the violence that is promised in the title. Instead, we have people talking, driving around, talking some more, driving a little more, making room for a lot more talking, getting behind the wheel again, and then cramming another tremendous amount of talking in between such excitement. Throw in some teenagers dancing to stretch things out even further, plus a final shot of the masked killer's hilariously deformed papier-mâché face that was caused by the aftermath of one of Japan's atomic bomb travesties, (as good of an excuse for a guy to go on a raping/murdering rampage as any), and the movie barely has enough arbitrary ingredients to break up all of the talking. Seriously though, so, so much talking.
(1968)
Dir - Massimo Dallamano
Overall: MEH
A West German/Italian co-production from director Massimo Dallamano, A Black Veil for Lisa, (La morte non ha sesso, Showdown, Das Geheimnis der jungen Witwe), is more in line with Edgar Wallace krimis than giallos; a dull infidelity thriller with none of the pizzazz associated with Italy's stylized slashers. John Mills plays a paranoid police inspector, the head of the narcotics department whose stool pigeons keep winding up murdered just before they are to divulge incredulous information to him. He is also convinced that his half-his-age wife Luciana Paluzzi is up to no good behind his back and each plot line gradually emerges into one, yet unfortunately they do so at a stodgy pace. The plot line fails to interject any outlandish set pieces, clever humor, or sleaze into a story that is barely worth paying attention to in the first place. Dallamano seems bored from behind the lens with a "point the camera at the actors until the scene is done" style, staging almost everything in lackluster mid-shots and complete takes that offer zero excitement at any time. There are exceptions to this of course, but a thriller with no suspense is like a comedy with no laughs, meaning that the whole thing falls flat on its face in a merely competent manner and is instantly forgettable in the process.
(1969)
Dir - Piero Schivazappa
Overall: GOOD
The theatrical debut The Laughing Woman, (Femina ridens, The Frightened Woman), from writer/director Piero Schivazappa is a wacky psychological thriller that spins Stockholm syndrome motifs on its head in a stylish Euro-camp way. Philippe Leroy and giallo regular Dagmar Lassander are virtually the only two actors on screen who embark on a deranged and sexually-charged game of captor and captee where the manipulated become the manipulator and feminist empowerment takes on an usurping agenda. While the outcome to Shivazappa's quirky story may seem predictable in hindsight, there are enough outrageous surprises early on to give it a level of suspense where anything can drastically shift at any moment and indeed does. Leroy's eccentric philanthropist-posing doctor has a ridiculous fear that women are stockpiling sperm in a grand conspiracy to do away with the male half of the species, justifying him to engage in BDSM experiments and perverse psychological torture on unsuspecting ladies who cross his path. This puts the audience right in the clutches of Lassander's journalist protagonist who starts off as the victim before gradually unveiling the insecurities of Leroy's character, leading to a satisfying climax that is full of odd set pieces and striking modernist set design. Throwing in a giant statue of a woman's spread legs whose vagina leads to a doorway of teeth with a skeleton inside of it is just another delightful addition.
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