Archive for Duccio Tessari

Break Like a Butterfly

Posted in FILM with tags , , , on April 10, 2020 by dcairns

Duccio Tessari’s BLOODSTAINED BUTTERFLY is another of his unusual gialli — it stars Helmut Berger and, I guess, fits Shadowplayer Andre Ferreira’s thesis that the director’s characters are more sympathetic than is usual in the genre. Although, I have to say, this breaks down a little here in that most of them are suspects in a nasty series of murders, so I was a little reluctant to extend the warm hand of fellowship to any one of them, lest he be the killer. Oddly, I haven’t always felt that tension in whodunnits, now that I think of it, so Tessari has done something interesting in problematizing the viewer’s relationship to the characters, or something. Of course, in most whodunnits the people are just hinged cardboard so one’s sympathy is a pretty abstract thing at best.

There’s a murder, and an arrest, and the guy they get, a TV sports presenter (hang him I say) finds a mountain of evidence stacked against him. Which should prove he didn’t do it, in this kind of mystery, but we’ve all seen things like TITLE REDACTED where the killer frames himself in order to take advantage of double jeopardy rules later or FURTHER TITLE REDACTED where his wife helps frame him for related reasons, so I still didn’t feel it was safe to feel bad for the guy who is, after all, I repeat, a TV sports presenter.

I did feel for the chief detective, who, in a running gag, can never get a decent cup of coffee.

When the stack of evidence starts to crumble, it does so via short-sighted witnesses and has a TWELVE ANGRY MEN vibe to it.

Helmut has not much to do for the first two-thirds of the film, though there is heavy hinting that he is somewhat psycho, and he behaves oddly around Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto, which doesn’t bode well. The frequent use of this music and the way it jolts into jazz make this film far more successful score-wise than my previous Tessari, A DEATH OCCURRED LAST NIGHT.

The ending is pretty clever and wholly logical, which makes it unusual for this genre, too. Admittedly, one might doubt that anyone would actually do what a character is shown to have done. But at least he COULD do it. Like ADOLN, this is about revenge, and it doesn’t make revenge look like an attractive or wise option, which I approve of.

Elsewhere in Italian genre cinema, in the westerns and poliziotteschi, killing the killer is usually all up-side, though not devoid of risk.

I ask you, is THIS the face of a killer?

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , on March 18, 2020 by dcairns

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LA MORTE RISALE A IERA SERA (DEATH OCCURRED LAST NIGHT) is a strange and unsavory crime thriller that seems midway between the genres of gialli (sex, murder, mystery) and poliziotteschi (cops, detection, procedural).

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Raf Vallone is a lower-middle-class working stiff with a bum knee whose daughter is kidnapped. She’s a very tall girl (why does the script insist on this? No idea) with a mental age of three. Because she has an innocent tendency to promiscuity, Vallone keeps her shut in the apartment while he’s at work. One day she’s gone.

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Detectives Frank Wolff and Gabriele Tinti take the case — the girl has vanished into Milan’s brothels, where her passive, childlike nature would seem to make her an object of fantasy for the clientele. This is all very, very uncomfortable stuff, and the movie is not above regarding Gillian Bray’s character with a lecherous eye.

Things are already dark and they just get darker. Shadowplayer Andre Ferreira identifies a theme in director Duccio Tessari‘s giallo-type films, where the victims are unusually sympathetic. Most gialli make the murders easier to enjoy without guilt by making the victims fairly unappealing except sexually, and the detectives/investigators are often grumpy, low-charisma types (Cameron Mitchell’s Inspector Morlacchi in BLOOD AND BLACK LACE is both prototype and paragon here).

So Vallone is treated with respect by the movie and by Wolff’s character, who gains our respect for his attitude. Then things unfold in an odd and gradual way. Wolff and Tinti plunge into the sexual underworld, visiting whorehouses undercover as johns with the state paying the bills. Lots of montages with the inexplicably jaunty pop soundtrack by Gianni Ferrio bouncing away as if this was all a big romp. Some of the cutting gets quite M-like.

Then the victim is found dead and half-burned, and then Vallone gets a clue which he keeps to himself so he can get revenge. It all bends genre norms out of shape, not always in the best of ways, but it’s interesting. I’d never seen a man killed with a washing machine, for instance.

Two things are typically poliziotteschi: (1) there’s widespread anomie with a bunch of people who know stuff about this unbelievably heinous crime who don’t share it with the cops because society is rotten and nobody cares and (2) there’s a somewhat fascistic DIRTY HARRY attitude that the cops will sometimes need to break rules and noses in order to get the job done, damnit.

As a procedural, the film is daft. We don’t see our heroes fucking their way through the sex industry, which seems to be threatened at first: they just use their undercover guises to open doors. But there’s a hilarious bit where a witness is made to draw a suspect, even though he can’t draw. He produces a smiley face with no upper head, and then this is passed on to a police artist to be transformed into a better drawing, with no contact whatsoever between witness and sketcher. The result is as you might predict, ludicrous, but all the later witnesses agree that it captures the essence of the guilty party.

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You have now.

There are some nice human touches, though: Wolff plays the whole thing with sinus trouble, sticking a decongestant stick up a nostril at inopportune moments. Donald Pleasence would surely nod his approval.

Puzzle Pieces

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , on October 20, 2012 by dcairns

A moderately good example of stealing (to contrast with CRIMES OF THE BLACK CAT, where the crimes would seem to be blatant plagiarism) — in PUZZLE (L’UOMO SENZA MEMORIA, 1974) , an unconventional amnesia-centred quasi-giallo, ginger villain Bruno Corazzari menaces the lovely Senta Berger, who’s laid up with a leg in plaster, by striking matches and dropping them on her. Just as we’re remembering that this is a swipe from CHARADE and that it happened to Audrey Hepburn first, Bruno admits that he saw the trick in a movie. This kind of takes the curse off it, ties in with the modest strain of self-reflective postmodernity in the giallo genre, and allows us to reflect that the gag actually works better with a disabled character and the figure of menace standing over her so she can’t simply huff the matches out before they’re dropped. In CHARADE, Audrey does seem a wee bit pathetic to be so terrified for so little reason.

PUZZLE is not bad — Duccio Tessari serves up some nice visuals and some stupid ones. He zooms like mad and racks focus like he was afflicted with the compulsive bolt-tightening movements of Chaplin in MODERN TIMES.

The plot suffers from a central silliness — murderous heroin-smuggler Luc Merenda has lost his memory and somehow become a nice guy. Regaining his memory by the end, he retains his niceness. How and why? It’s a little like TOTAL RECALL, only there a handy plot mechanism has been provided by the scenarists: the nice Ahnoltd is a construct, who manages to avoid being converted back to his authentic, horrid personality. An amusing conceit — most movies value free will and have heroes embarking on a voyage of self-discovery, but when Schwartzenegger’s Doug Quaid learns who he truly is, he decides to stick with his bogus nice-guy overlay.

I thought of a really stupid plot twist for PUZZLE which would have explained all this, but maybe I should keep it to myself — it might make for a whole other screenplay.

Meanwhile. PUZZLE isn’t completely satisfactory but does end with a brutal chase/fight involving the three leads, a straight razor, a chainsaw and some heroin-filled sausages in a toy train. The chic white interiors get sprayed red. People in gialli just can’t have nice things.

Fiona was very taken with Senta’s diving helmet lamp. And, by a coincidence so implausible you wouldn’t accept it in a giallo, the very next day I found an actual deep-sea diving helmet for sale in Georgian Antiques, where I was scouting props for an  upcoming shoot. Unfortunately, the figure on the price tag was not only more money than I’ve ever seen in my life, it was more money than you could get if you sold every object I’ve ever seen in my life. Still, these coincidences happen for a reason, and this time no doubt the reason was to remind me that it would be nice to be rich. I’ll see what I can do.

The whole thing is was on YouTube.