SEAGULLS FLY LOW - BLU-RAY REVIEW

One of the more elusive entries in Maurizio Merli’s extensive Italocrime filmography, Giorgio Cristallini’s SEAGULLS FLY LOW (1978) unfolds at a decidedly leisurely pace, and has more in common with film noirs than the more traditional vigilante cop shoot-’em-ups Merli usually inhabits. A long-time victim of shoddy VHS releases, Cineploit Records & Discs’ new “worldwide 2K Blu-ray premiere” is yet another first-rate disc in their ever-growing catalogue of Euro Cult releases. 

Looking disheveled, and sporting a thick handlebar moustache under a mop of matted hair, Merli stars as Jeff Jacobson, a Vietnam deserter who occasionally resorts to murder due to economic circumstance. Often referred to as “The Mechanic”, Jeff arrives in Rome after he is blackmailed to do a “job” for corrupt industrialist Roberto Micheli (Mel Ferrer, in a part originally envisioned for Ray Milland), by killing Mauro Martini, one of his business associates who “wanted to testify before the commission”. Following a long, suspense-filled drive from the airport wherein two of Micheli’s associates (including the always charismatic Franco Garofalo) keep a close eye on him, Jeff fulfills his contract quickly and efficiently, but a sudden ’Nam flashback (cheaply executed through stock footage of war atrocities tinged with a blood-red filter) exposes his vulnerability. Later that day at the airport, his jittery disposition comes to fruition when he is spooked during a routine passport check and flees. He promptly returns to Roberto who begrudgingly helps him create a new identity (he basically cuts his hair and shaves his mustache) and arranges yet another passport for him, this time under the name Albert Morgan.

 

But then Micheli’s other business partner, Giorgio Calvi (Andrea Esterhazy) becomes increasingly paranoid, and as a protective measure, orders a hit on both Jeff and Micheli. While eluding his killers, Jeff must also try and track down his new passport, which not only leads him to Umparo (Dagmar Lassander), one of of Micheli’s many influential friends, but also Isabelle Michereau (Nathalie Delon), a shopkeeper who agrees to help him… 

 

Obviously taking a cue from Jean Pierre Melville’s masterpiece LE SAMOURAÏ (1967), and even sharing that film’s co-star, much of  SEAGULLS FLY LOW mid-section concerns itself with the lead character’s psychological stress and mounting paranoia, with Merli giving a highly credible performance as the nervous hitman; a nice change of pace for the usually typecast actor. The rest of the cast also give fine performances including the always gorgeous Nathalie Delon, but as predicted in this quickie, name-brand co-stars Mel Ferrer (who at least dubs his own voice on English prints) and Eurotrash sex kitten Dagmar Lassander are rationed out rather frugally. As the self-proclaimed real brains behind the operation, the former hides behind the trappings of respectability, but makes no moral distinctions when it comes to his interests, especially in this world that seems to be constantly moving in cagey circles. 

 

Overall, everything is handled convincingly enough, but it does spend a little too much time on Merli’s and Delon’s burgeoning romance. At one point, our smitten couple observe the title scavenging shithawks (“They’re always looking for something more to eat, and this sea of garbage is their only happiness”), which is subsequently followed by one of the film’s low points: a bout of tender lovemaking in a cheap motel, which is mercifully short and hilariously intercut alongside Isabelle’s panting dog! Shrewder pacing would have been a plus, but the film’s gritty tone aptly conveys the dog-eat-dog existence of the criminal world, adding plenty of authenticity.

 

A real obscurity, SEAGULLS FLY LOW did appear on Italian and German VHS videocassettes in the eighties but for English speaking viewers, the Greek videotape from Video Alsen was the only worthwhile edition, that is, if you could find it. Like most Greek tapes, it was annoyingly cropped and the picture quality was average at best, but it was in English, and that was all that really mattered. Never issued on DVD, Cineploit’s new Region B Blu-ray is a very welcome release of this once-difficult-to-see film, which looks fantastic. Film textures look authentic with lots of shadowy detail, realistic colours and some nice depth, although a few interior scenes appear a little less crisp, which may be true of Gino Santini’s original photography. The DTS-HD 2.0 audio includes tracks in German, Italian and English, with the Italian and German ones sounding the strongest (which also includes accurately translated subtitles). The very welcome English audio is occasionally hissy and not quite as robust, but honestly, this isn’t much of a distraction at all. 

 

Given the film’s rarity, Cineploit have included several very worthwhile extras beginning with Maurizio Merli: A Lethal Hunter of Subtle Variation (29m), a terrific look at Merli’s less-talked about Eurocrime roles with tough-guy film expert Mike Malloy. He discusses Merli’s numerous attempts to “branch out” beginning with Stelvio Massi’s HIGHWAY RACER (1977) right on through to Gianni Siragusa’s VULTURES OVER THE CITY (1980), and freely admits that many of these roles are “only minor variations of the same tough-guy mold.” It’s a wonderfully produced featurette with a keen eye for detail, which not only showcases some terrific promotional material, but is a perfect primer for anyone looking to broaden their appreciation into some of the more obscure Eurocrime films that are beginning to surface on disc. Other extras include alternate German and English opening credit sequences (2m22s) sourced from VHS, a brief poster and vidart gallery (25s) and the film’s exceptional soundtrack (57m01s) as composed by Roberto Pregadio and Carlo Cristallini. As with all of Cineploit’s releases, it’s beautifully packaged in a slick mediabook (available in four different cover variations at the following links: cover A, cover B, cover C, and cover D), which also includes a nicely illustrated liner notes booklet with writing by Udo Rotenberg, and with English translations by Matt Thompson.

 

Even if the film lacks the true visceral punch and driving tabloid dynamism of Maurizio Merli’s other, more infamous Eurocrime films such as Umberto Lenzi’s THE TOUGH ONES (1976), SEAGULLS FLY LOW remains engaging nonetheless, especially via Cineploit’s superb new Blu-ray. 

THE CROSS OF THE 7 JEWELS BLU-RAY REVIEW

As an ambitious theatre actor, present director Marco Antonio Andolfi had previously appeared in a few downscale Italian films including Luigi Russo’s and Enzo Doria’s rather baffling Adam & Eve story BLUE PARADISE (1983). With THE CROSS OF THE 7 JEWELS (1987) however, his first—and only—directorial effort, he not only directs, but also acts, writes, edits, and even handles the special effects! Difficult to classify, let alone understand, Andolfi’s wannabe werewolf picture is wildly overplotted and completely inept, which no doubt helped earn the film its deserved obscurity. That said, you still have to admire Andolfi’s enthusiasm (or just marvel at his perceived self-importance!), a fact which Italy’s Tetrovideo happily praises with their recent eye-catching, extras-filled Blu-ray. 

 

Hidden away in a dingy basement, a satanic mass is underway, which is presided over by a chanting high priest (Gordon Mitchell), as he and his oversexed followers attempt to resurrect Aborym. Having seen one of his disciples unexpectedly transform into a hulking, shaggy-haired monster (who we assume must be the worshipped Aborym), the always-charismatic Mitchell begins to overact wildly. “Aborym! We are your slaves!” he cries. “Show yourself to me!” Abruptly and inexplicably, the film shifts to Naples where Marco Sartori (director Andolfi hiding behind his Eddy Endolf alias) has just arrived from Rome and meets with his cousin Carmela. As they stroll through the sunny city streets making small talk, a pair of scippatori (purse-snatching thieves) steal a special jeweled cross from around his neck. Determined to track down this vitally important piece of jewelry, Marco befriends Maria (Annie Belle) at a chintzy nightclub, and with her help, they scour the Naples underworld in search of his precious pendant, even rubbing shoulders with high-ranking Camorra bosses and Sicilian Mafiosi (one of whom is played by former leading man, Giorgio Ardisson), which allows Andolfi to introduce several unnecessary plot threads, most of which rapidly go nowhere. 

 

During the film’s first reveal of the so-called werewolf, director Andolfi confirms your conviction at the absurdity of what is unfolding before your very eyes. When Marco questions a lowlife, ornery fence about the whereabouts of his jeweled cross, he is quickly dismissed (“Calm down or you’ll give me a heart attack!”), but as the clock strikes midnight, Marco changes into something not entirely human, which consists of an overstuffed furry pelt on his head, hairy mitts with claw-like fingernails, some conveniently placed ‘fur’ covering his crotch, and nothing more. As Marco proceeds to foolishly grin and grind his teeth at the camera, he telekinetically (!?) melts the fence’s face into a big pile of goop, which makes for a fun and cheap effect, even if it is just a wax head being liquefied by an out-of-frame blowtorch.  

 

Although what it lacks in sophistication, Andolfi’s film more than makes up for in demented gusto, which also includes several poorly choreographed punch-ups with local Camorra thugs, corrupt politicians, and plenty of low-level criminality, which makes it come across like some sort of ersatz crime actioner masquerading as a horror film. In one prolonged scene, which includes a laughably out-of-date—and painfully slow—transformation scene wherein he only grows a few months’ worth of facial hair, he proceeds to wipe out an entire syndicate (“No need for an ambulance. They are all dead!” Mutters one commissario as he fatalistically shrugs his shoulders). In his haste to pursue all possible leads in the search for his cross, our decidedly unconventional hero eventually finds himself back in Rome where he visits Madame Armesia (Italian porn starlet Zaira Zoccheddu), a flamboyant fortune teller, which not only precipitates the film’s sleaziest scene, but also a rather head-scratching, anticlimactic confrontation. 

 

Adding to the film’s elusive nature, THE CROSS OF THE 7 JEWELS never saw a home video release in North America or even Italy for that matter. Andolfi’s film first appeared on Japanese VHS videocassette in 1987 courtesy of Sony Video Software, and even though it was in English and nicely letterboxed (with burned-in Japanese subtitles, of course), it also suffered from the usual digital censorship, which awkwardly obscured all below the waist nudity. Outside of the grey market, this once highly-collectible VHS tape pretty much remained the only legitimate release of the film until Tetrovideo’s 2022 Blu-ray. Featuring an all-new 4K scan taken from the film’s original camera negative, this is a massive improvement over its VHS counterparts, and while the image does appear to have a certain softness at times (a product of the original haphazard photography), it still manages to include an ample amount of finer detail with true colours and nice depth. The LPCM 2.0 Italian audio track does what it can with the source material, but it isn’t overly dynamic, and of course, the post-sync dubbing is still very noticeable. Optional English subtitles are also included, which are well-timed and fairly well-translated, save for the occasional grammatical error. Unfortunately, the film’s hilarious English audio track, which features prolific voice talent artists such as Ted Rusoff, Robert Sommer and Pat Starke, is strangely absent, so keep that Japanese tape if you own it! For those viewers that need it, optional French and German subtitles are also included. An audio commentary with filmmakers Luca Ruocco and Ivan Talarico is also offered for those viewers that can  understand Italian. 

 

Not to worry though, there are still plenty of English-friendly special features (all of which are in SD) contained on the disc beginning with Luca Ruocco’s Riassumendo Marco Antonio Andolfi (trans: Summing up Marco Antonio Andolfi, 19m18s), which gives a thorough overview of Andolfi’s humble beginnings assembling his theatre company Artisti Riuniti, his migration into securing some bit parts (and missed opportunities) in films, and eventually helming his vanity project (and its subsequent iterations), which dominated the rest of his spotty career. Next up, we get Ruocco’s short film JEKYLL/HIDE (2005, 23m53s), which includes a brief ’30s-style horror intro from Andolfi, but seeing as it’s only in Italian, most English viewers will undoubtedly just skim through it. Having established a working relationship with Ruocco, Andolfi decided to helm RIECCO ABORYM (2008, 29m42s), a VERY belated sequel of sorts to TCOT7J, which has an ageing Marco (referred to here as “Eddy”) recollecting his troubled past to his girlfriend (Margherita Di Sarno) after a clumsily executed bout of lovemaking. Even with English subtitles, interminable scenes of actors doing or saying practically nothing – even when they are saying something – fill the running time, during which Andolfi pads the film out with reconstituted scenes from TCOT7J, which only serves to further elaborate his continued narcissism and make this nigh on unwatchable. A brief making-of documentary entitled Riecco Aborym: il backstage (14m33s) is also included, and is actually more interesting than the film itself. An Italian language “Super VHS version” (80m15s) of TCOT7J also turns up, which seems wholly unnecessary, but it’s here just the same for those that enjoy such things.

 

In 1995, Andolfi released TALISMAN (87m27s), a substantially re-edited and re-scored edition of TCOT7J, which now opens in 1962 and talks of a “precious talisman that radiated well-being”, which was stolen from the “heart of Africa”, and then brought about “world famines, war and disaster.” Lazily expanded with newsreels and documentary footage as well as a few stolen scenes from Hollywood blockbusters, Andolfi further tweaks this new edition with some bizarre—and completely useless—video effects to try and give everything a grander, more up-to-date scale. Despite its disjointed and excessively reworked narrative, which makes for a confusing time, it’s an interesting inclusion just the same, if not merely for the fact of seeing how to further cheapen (i.e., ruin) an already cheap and trashy film! 

Other extras include a brief deleted scene (1m31s), part of which originally served as a sepia-toned nightmare sequence that ran for 4m10s in the aforementioned English-language export version released in Japan, and which isn’t included in any of the versions on this disc. The extensive extras conclude with two different trailers for TCOT7J (1m04s and 1m27s), an overly-long TALISMAN (6m08s) trailer, and a trio of photo galleries. Incidentally, in a rather sloppy bit of disc authoring, all of the extras play out in one continuous file, but can, at the very least, be accessed separately by returning to the special features menu. The Limited Edition Mediabook, which included a 20-page booklet and an oversized slipcover reproducing the Japanese vidart has since sold out, but the standard edition (which includes all the same extras) is still available from either Tetrovideo or DiabolikDVD.

 

Even if THE CROSS OF THE 7 JEWELS has the dubious arguable distinction of being one of the poorest Italian horror films ever made, there is no denying Tetrovideo’s excellent restoration and handsomely packaged Blu-ray, which should please most fans of grade-Z Italian cinema.

JE BRÛLE DE PARTOUT BLU-RAY REVIEW

Looking for steady employment after the end of his working relationship in 1977 with Swiss producer Erwin C. Dietrich, Jess Franco quickly accepted an offer from Robert De Nesle’s poverty-stricken distribution / production outfit Comptoir Français du Film Production (C.F.F.P.), a move which made for a rather hasty and unsatisfactory substitute. Although Franco had already worked with De Nesle earlier in the decade, his most recent three-picture deal with the veteran producer encompassed a threadbare trio of films, which included COCKTAIL SPECIAL (1978), ELLES FONT TOUT (1978), and the film in question, JE BRÛLE DE PARTOUT (1978), which made its unexpected HD debut earlier this year thanks to France’s Pulse Video and the ever-prolific Vinegar Syndrome. 

While dancing away at a Lisbon nightclub, virginal ‘nice’ girl Jenny Goldstone (Susan Hemingway) is oblivious to the fact that she is being shadowed by a pair of ruthless, smooth-talking sex-traffickers (Brigitte Lahaie and Didier Aubriot). After a night of sex (Susan saves her virginity with a request to go “the other way”), she is eventually ensnared in their net and sold like horseflesh on the white slavers’ black market. Forced into a house of ill-repute led by the sadistic, sex-hungry Madame Flora (Martine Flety) and her bisexual assistant Robert (Mel Rodrigo), Jenny spends most of her time locked away in a squalid basement with the other so-called ‘product’. Heavily drugged with an aphrodisiac gas (conveniently pumped through a pipe in the ceiling), the women become slaves to their own desires like lost, drugged-out junkies writhing amongst each other in a sea of naked flesh, which instills a nightmarishly pornographic tone, even if the film itself remains decidedly softcore. 

 

Upon discovering that Jenny is the daughter of a prominent businessman and “far more valuable than they thought”, Lorna, one of the kidnappers (who comes in the alluring – and frequently nude - shape of French porno superstar Lahaie), hatches an impromptu plan to blackmail the father, intending to collect a hefty ransom for the return of his daughter. Elsewhere, Al Pereira (Jean Ferreré), a taciturn gumshoe wearing an Andy Capp hat is hot on Lorna’s trail as he tries to discover the whereabouts of Jenny. Not unexpectedly, the film’s final indignation is an appropriately effective twist ‘revelation’, which amps up the deviant criminality even further…

 

Attesting to this film’s quickie status, most of the film unfolds in cramped hotel rooms, cargo holds, and a dingy, minimally-furnished basement, which turns out to be a memorably downbeat locale of utter hopelessness. In keeping with the film’s title (“I burn everywhere”), actresses lounge around in constant partial or total undress while cries of ecstasy (“That’s it. That’s it. Moan. Moan.”) or agony reverberate throughout the hollow room; you can almost smell their sweat as Franco’s voyeuristic camera looms precariously from above. Proceeding from a similar rudimentary premise as Franco’s earlier DIE SKLAVINNEN (1975), JE BRÛLE DE PARTOUT’s steadily mounting themes of sexual malaise (a theme also more readily explored in Franco’s essential SHINING SEX [1975]) reaches its logical crushing crescendo by film’s end, which compensates for the film’s rather hurried approach. 

 

Although oddly credited to Paul Aicrag in the opening credits (which, to save money were simply spoken over the film’s introductory nightclub sequence!), this is an archetypal Franco film, which includes recurring characters (i.e., detective Al Pereira), a pencil-thin pulpy scenario, and a wonderfully seedy jazz score from Daniel J. White, one of Franco’s most trusted collaborators. And as with most similarly-themed Franco films, it doesn’t pretend to suggest any solutions to a grim and complex sociosexual problem, even if, however furtively, it offers some comeuppance to the traffickers and procurers of the world’s oldest profession.

 

Barely released on home video outside of France (the film also turned up on edited French-Canadian VHS in a less-than-stellar transfer), Pulse Video’s new 2K restoration of this underseen film adds considerable luster to its messy, somewhat indifferent photography. Presented in its original full-screen aspect ratio, some intermittent flickering still occurs (inherent in the film’s original negative), but everything looks remarkably good for such a cheap and scrappy film, with Franco’s unorthodox shooting style creating a uniform tone of ugliness, which perfectly captures the queasy voyeurism on display herein. Pulse Video only offers a DTS-HD Master mono soundtrack in French with optional English subtitles, which sounds perfectly audible despite the film’s post-synched dialogue and limited soundscape.

 

Extras are limited, but Pulse Video includes a couple of very worthwhile on-camera interviews beginning with I Burn Over Franco (13m00s), a candid discussion with Brigitte Lahaie wherein she talks about her time working on JE BRÛLE DE PARTOUT, and how Franco “didn’t leave a good impression” on her during her time on the Portugal set. More importantly, she talks about her reconciliation years later on Franco’s DARK MISSION (1987) and her great affection for this little-known picture, her time working on Franco’s big-budget FACELESS (1988) and Franco’s constant clashes with producer René Chateau. In the second interview, Murderous Passions and Flowers of Perversion author Stephen Thrower (25m15s) goes into great detail about this period in Franco’s career with a particular emphasis on the present film (he regards it as the “best”  in this late ’Seventies trilogy he did with producer De Nesle) including the director’s dislike for it (“He almost washed his hands of these films.”), it’s downbeat tone, the “dark side of desire”, and its similarity to Franco’s BLUE RITA (1977). All in all, it’s another terrific discussion worthy of your time. Rounding out the special features is the film’s unique trailer (“A film that doesn’t need publicity!”), which further emphasizes the cheapness of this entire endeavour. Nevertheless, it’s great to have one of Jess Franco’s more elusive films finally available and looking so good.

 

The Vinegar Syndrome Blu-ray is currently sold out, but an alternate Blu-ray (which also contains DARK MISSION) is currently available from Pulse Video here. A digipack collector Blu-ray is also forthcoming from Pulse Video.

FACELESS UHD / BLU-RAY REVIEW

Clearly inspired by Georges Franju’s masterpiece EYES WITHOUT A FACE (1960), here we get another variation of the oft-filmed horror scenario, but this time comingled with ’80s gore, pathological perversions, a third-rate detective story, and plenty more besides. Based on a story co-written by French movie mogul René Château, and featuring an all-star cast, Jess Franco’s FACELESS (1988) is an ambitious and irresistibly crazed confection, which has finally made the leap to high definition thanks to those ever-reliable folks at Severin Films.

Dr. Flamand is a plastic surgeon (Helmut Berger) who runs an exclusive clinic on the outskirts of Paris. As he enjoys a night out in the city with his sister Ingrid (Christian Jean) and his assistant Nathalie (Brigitte Lahaie), he is accosted by one of his former patients whose face was disfigured following one of his procedures. Vowing revenge, she throws acid at him, but the botched attempt leaves Ingrid badly scarred, so with the help of Nathalie and their depraved servant Gordon (Gerard Zalcberg), they abduct various women in the hopes of restoring Ingrid’s face with a next-to-impossible “face transplant.” But when they kidnap Barbara Hallen (Caroline Munro), an American model working in Paris, her father (Telly Savalas) becomes suspicious when he doesn’t hear from her, so he hires Sam Morgan (Chris Mitchum), a private detective and ex-Army buddy, to try and track her down…

 

Anyone familiar with Franco’s lower-budgeted work throughout most of his career, will immediately be struck by the film’s polished veneer, which possesses a decidedly different tone compared to say, his highly individualistic Golden Films productions from the early-to-mid-eighties. Jess had not been privy to such financial splurges since his days working for Harry Alan Towers back in the ’60s, but this generous budget soon began causing problems for the veteran director as evidenced in Alain Petit’s book, Jess Franco ou le prospérités du bis. “Jess had a hard time holding on to his usual collaborators, who were indispensable in order to make a movie as close as possible to his own style”, wrote Petit. Petit also likened Jess to being “sole master of his ship” who was not used to overseeing “master ocean liners”, a set-up which Jess obviously disliked. But despite the stormy production difficulties, Franco still managed to demonstrate an astute use of a commercial genre, just like he did some 25 years previous when he helmed the similarly-themed THE AWFUL DR. ORLOF (1962). Much like any number of horror films from the period, FACELESS is also loaded with several practical gore effects,including decapitations, dismemberments, power-drill lobotomies, and of course, the requisite face transplants, one of which goes horribly wrong, but the film’s muted, far from convenient resolution (which is pure unadulterated Franco!) may have curtailed the film’s obvious commercial aspirations. 

 

Topped off by an impressive, all-star international cast led by Helmut Berger, whose rather softly-spoken demeanour hides a sinister benignity, it is Anton Diffring whose performance as an egotistical ex-Nazi plastic surgeon (“The donors’ fears and panic are the best stimulants!”) that is most memorable. In a sly nod to his earlier role in Sidney Hayers’ CIRCUS OF HORRORS (1960) as you guessed it, a plastic surgeon, Diffring commits himself with grim determination as the over-confident genius (“I’m sure your hands are still magical!” remarks Nathalie), and dominates the film whenever he’s onscreen and is rather unbefitting of his guest-star billing. Berger’s insatiably adulterous love interest comes in the beautiful shape of Euro-starlet Brigitte Lahaie, who also performs sincerely and exudes the quiet menace of a cold-blooded killer with perfection. Other than filling a vital catalytic function in the story, Caroline Munro’s character is mostly consigned to sitting in a padded cell while French screen veteran Stéphane Audran ‘sticks’ around long enough for a particularly gruesome bit of gory mayhem. Among other genuinely humourous touches, Franco-regular Howard Vernon shows up as the esteemed Dr. Orlof in a brief, but pivotal scene while Lina Romay also shows up in blink-and-you’ll-miss-her cameo as Orlof’s wife!

 

Despite its rather lofty pedigree, FACELESS was given spotty distribution in North America, first appearing on Canadian VHS courtesy of the long-defunct Malofilm, and heavily-edited in most English-speaking territories. Bypassing VHS altogether in the U.S., Franco’s ‘comeback’ film wasn’t officially released until 2004 when Shriek Show debuted the film on DVD. A fine-looking disc, this featured the uncut film with audio options in both English and French, but for some strange reason, the last line of the film was only spoken in French, which only helped validate Shriek Show’s poor QC issues at the time. However, it did include several fantastic extras including a wonderfully detailed feature-length French language audio commentary from Franco and Romay (subtitled in English), a ‘selected scenes’ audio commentary from Chris Mitchum, and video interviews with Franco, Mitchum and Munro, along with the usual photo gallery and theatrical trailer. 

 

Absent from the home video market for the better part of two decades, Severin’s UHD / Blu-ray combo features a brand new 4K transfer and looks absolutely phenomenal, and works wonders with both the film’s surprisingly vibrant palette and Maurice Fellous’ slick camerawork, rendering it quite literally picture-perfect. A long time coming, the film will surely never look better than it does here! As expected, he DTS-HD 2.0 audio options in both English and French are also free of any issues, allowing Romano Musumarra’s incessant theme song (“Destination nowhere…”) to come through as clear as ever! Optional English subtitles are also provided. 

 

Extras include the aforementioned audio commentary from Franco and Romay (once again subtitled in English), which, after all these years, still remains a must-listen for die-hard Francophiles or just casual viewers wanting to know more about this cinematic duo. French and English trailers conclude the extras on the UHD. The remainder of the extensive special features are included on the Blu-ray, and begin with The Female Predator (16m07s), an on-camera interview with Brigitte Lahaie produced by the folks at Le Chat qui Fume. In it, she discusses everything from producer René Château (who had a “desire to direct”), his falling out with Jean-Paul Belmondo, the rather remarkable cast he put together for FACELESS, the difficulties Franco had during the shoot (“I think that Jess Franco suffered a lot on this shoot!”), her thoughts on both Jean Rollin and Franco, and much more. In Facial Recognition (20m27s), author and film critic Kim Newman talks at great length about “Cinema’s Plastic Surgery Nightmares”, beginning with Lew Landers’ THE RAVEN (1935) to Franco’s FACELESS and everything in between including Franco’s earlier Dr. Orlof films. In Parisian Encounters (25m55s), Caroline Munro chats about her introduction to Franco, how she landed the role in FACELESS and why she decided to do it because it was “out there.” She also comments on her many co-stars and how “honoured” she felt to be working with many of them. Of course, being a Franco film, Murderous Passions and Flowers of Perversion author Stephen Thrower is interviewed in Predators of the Night (26m08s), which is another extremely thorough discussion about Jess’ working conditions throughout the ’80s and what led him to helming FACELESS, his many influences for the film, his dislike of working around special effects, and much more. 

 

Other, no less significant bonuses include a Faceless EPK (8m33s), which contains behind-the-scenes clips of Jess directing on-set and brief interviews with Mitchum, Savalas and Berger, as well as Therese II: The Mission (3m31s), a short film starring Brigitte Lahaie as a gun-wielding nun, which was originally included on every 35mm print of FACELESS as a “preliminary program.” Being the completists that they are, Severin Films also incorporate the Franco and Mitchum interviews, and the ‘selected scenes’ commentary from Shriek Show’s disc.  

 

Slickly constructed and featuring a wonderful cast, Jess Franco’s FACELESS is an irresistible and colourfully outrageous Euro horror, which is expertly handled by the folks at Severin Films with their flawless UHD / Blu-ray combo. As usual, their disc also includes reversible cover art and a wonderful slipcover, which fans of Brigitte Lahaie should appreciate. Order it direct from Severin Films. 

PLEASE NOTE: All screen grabs are taken directly from the Blu-ray and not the UHD. 

CONTRABAND BLU-RAY REVIEW

Translation of an Italian newspaper ad from August 1980: ‘Experience First-Hand All the Battles and the Violence of Italian Smuggling!’  

In spite of the usual hyperbole given above, nothing could possibly prepare audiences for Lucio Fulci’s CONTRABAND (1980), which turned out to be the bloodiest Italian crime movie of them all! Original Italo pressbooks inevitably compared CONTRABAND to William Friedkin’s THE FRENCH CONNECTION (1971) and that film’s prime villain, Marcel Bozzuffi, here plays “the gangster from Marseilles who unleashes a chain of violence.” While it clearly derives its inspiration from Friedkin’s groundbreaking picture, Fulci’s film is your standard tale of Camorra in-fighting and revenge, albeit liberally splattered with outrageous scenes of graphic violence that rival anything in his much-discussed/praised cannibal zombie films. Produced by Sandra Infascelli, this was her next big Italocrime production following Umberto Lenzi’s last great contribution to the genre, FROM CORLEONE TO BROOKLYN (1979), but unlike the prolific Lenzi, CONTRABAND was Fulci’s only all-out crime film, which has finally made its worldwide Blu-ray debut thanks to the dedicated folks at Cauldron Films.

 

When motoscafi blu (“blue speedboat”) bandits Luca (Fabio Testi) and his brother Mickey (Enrico Maisto) are almost apprehended by the pappagallo (local slang for “police boat”) while smuggling cigarettes into Naples, they’re convinced that a rival contrabander named Sciarrino (Ferdinando Murolo), has ratted them out. They plan on teaching Sciarrino a valuable lesson with the help of Luigi Perlante (Saverio Marconi), a hot-headed but powerful gangster. However, Mickey is gunned-down the following day by a hitman disguised as a cop and Luca soon realizes that Sciarrino wasn’t responsible for betraying them to the Guardia di Finanza after all. In actuality it was the work of François Jocois better known as “The Marseilleise” (Bozzuffi, natch’), a vicious Marseilles drug lord out to replace the prosperous cigarette trade with a far stronger addiction… heroin.

 

As discussed earlier, CONTRABAND is very similar in concept to any number of camorra pics that take place on the Neapolitan docks (i.e., the Alfonso Brescia / Mario Merola films such as THE NEW GODFATHERS [1979]), but the primary reason for the film’s continued popularity— especially among fans of Fulci’s horror films—is the excessive amount of gore spilled: heads are blown apart, bodies are messily riddled with bullets, et cetera. As one of the film’s innumerable hitmen, Italian character actor Nello Pazzafini winds up boiled alive in a bubbling sulphur pit (“Asshole deserved ta end up like this!”), while Testi goes on to skewer his brother’s killer with a 9-inch nail. When one character is shot in the Adam’s Apple, his wound gushes voluminous quantities of gore, which is comparable to anything seen in Fulci’s splatter classics ZOMBIE (1979) or his pièce de résistance, THE BEYOND (1981). Come to think of it, this is one of his splatter classics!

 

As the ruthless French connection, Bozzuffi is especially effective herein and actually tops his star-making turn in Friedkin’s influential film for general nastiness. When Ingrid (Ofelia Meyer), a member of the Frankfurt cartel, tries to sell him some heroin cut with baking soda (“You stupid cunt! …It’s half bicarbonate!”), Bozzuffi decides to torch her face with a Bunsen burner belonging to his hunchbacked chemist (Luciano Rossi, who filled a similar function in Ferdinando Baldi’s THE SICILIAN CONNECTION [1972]). In another highly exploitable scene, when Luca finds himself all on his own, his wife Adele (Ivana Monti) is brutally raped by one of the Marseilleise’s goons (the great Romano Puppo) as Luca helplessly listens on the phone. Like one of his gory, drawn-out horror set-pieces, the camera lingers on the vile act, which turns out to be one of the more unpleasant scenes in Fulci’s entire oeuvre. As Luisa, one of Perlante’s molls, transsexual actor Ajita Wilson bares her “tasty set o’ coconuts!” in a feverish strobe-light disco sequence, but also suffers further abuse at the hands of rival gangsters.

 

Efficiently handled by Fulci (who also briefly appears in front of the camera as a shotgun-wielding hitman) and his now famous accomplices including DP Sergio Salvati, editor Vincenzo Tomassi and composer Fabio Frizzi, CONTRABAND seems oddly out-of-place when compared to other poliziesco or mafia pics. The extreme gore and hyper-stylized photography imbue the entire film with a haunting, almost otherworldly feel, which is especially evident during the finale at a desolate seaside locale. Some of the slow-motion action scenes also add plenty of visual appeal and take the cinema stylings of Sam Peckinpah to almost ridiculous—but very welcome—levels, all of which is ably complimented by Frizzi’s bass-heavy rhythms and chugging percussion.

 

Originally released on U.S. home video by Mogul Communications in 1987 (“They want revenge… and the city is about to explode!”), this once collectible VHS tape was, for the most part uncut, but featured a hazy transfer, which did no favours for Salvati’s eloquently grey-and-blue drenched photography. The film eventually made its DVD debut in the U.S. in 2003 via Blue Underground (a non-anamorphic Dutch DVD was also released in 2001 courtesy of Italian Shock, but the less said about this edited DVD, the better), which was a vast improvement in terms of picture quality and also retained the proper 16x9 widescreen format. The film was subsequently released on DVD in several European countries including Germany and Denmark, however a UK DVD from Shameless also included an Italian language audio track with optional English subtitles. For the time, the jump to DVD was a considerable upgrade, but all of these releases can now be rendered obsolete with the arrival of Cauldron Films’ new Blu-ray. 

 

Licensed from the film’s Italian rights holder, Surf Film, S.r.l., CONTRABAND has been “restored from a 4K scan of the negative”, and looks absolutely magnificent. The 1080p resolution adds solid contrasts with plenty of shadowy detail and remarkable sharpness when compared to its SD counterparts. The image is, for the most part, still distinguished by Salvati’s cool grey-and-blue hue, but Cauldron’s new transfer also conveys an abundance of rich colours in several sequences (i.e., the disco club sequences), which also helps the many scenes of copious bloody violence really stand out. In a nice gesture, Cauldron has included both English and Italian audio options in LPCM 2.0 mono, which includes some slight differences in music cues, and while the Italian audio track sounds slightly more robust, the more familiar English variant also sounds perfectly fine, even if the English dubbing leaves a lot to be desired. Properly translated English subtitles are provided for the Italian audio (which again includes some minor differences) while English subtitles for the hearing impaired are included for the English version.

 

The extensive extras begin with a lively audio commentary with Cinema Arcana’s Bruce Holecheck, Mondo Digital’s Nathaniel Thompson, and author and film historian Troy Howarth all of whom have plenty to discuss about the film’s “atypical” nature and the film’s storied production history, which was partly financed by the local Camorra! They also talk about the overall “darker and somber” mood of the entire film, and how it plays out “very much like a horror film” with an “emphasis on sadism”, a point which is later expanded upon when discussing Fulci’s unfairly labelled “misogynist” tendencies. They also spend a lot of time talking about the many principal actors and their interesting careers including that “woman of mystery” Ajita Wilson and her brief but memorable time working in Italy. Of course, they discuss much, much more in what amounts to a thorough and very informative listen.

 

Further extras are provided by several revealing on-camera interviews conducted by Eugenio Ercolani, which begin with A Woman Under Fire (21m54s) wherein actress Ivana Monti discusses the early stages of her lengthy career, her move into film, and of course, the complicated and wonderful experience of working with Fulci. In From Stage to Slaughter (19m58s), theatre actor Saverio Marconi also recollects his time working in the Italian film industry in this career-spanning interview where he also chats about his “terrific rapport” with Fulci whom he recalls was “clever with a wicked sense of humour.” Sergio Salvati, one of Fulci’s most trusted DP’s is interviewed in Lucio and I (17m52s), wherein he fondly remembers their working relationship, the “tight-knit group of collaborators” Fulci assembled, and of course, he also discusses his rather gruff personality, which even bled into his private life. In The Real Lucio (13m24s), writer/director Giorgio Mariuzzo is very nostalgic about his experiences with Fulci, but he too, has nothing but positive things to say about the director and his working process, and freely admits he has an “aversion to horror.” A quartet of archival interviews featuring actors Fabrizio Jovine (5m34s) and Venantino Venantini (5m11s), Salvati (5m51s) and Fabio Frizzi (2m07s) are taken from the PAURA: LUCIO FULCI REMEMBERED VOL. 1 DVD and are a nice addition to an already over-stuffed package. Both the Italian and English language trailers, and a generous image gallery (4m22s) comprised of fotobuste, lobbycards, video artwork and other ephemera are also included. And if that weren’t enough, the first pressing includes the complete Fabio Frizzi score on a bonus CD (16 tracks, 33m23s), along with 5 mini-fotobusta/lobbycard reproductions, and a slick slipcover!

 

Enlivened by several stylish action sequences and gruesome gore, Lucio Fulci’s outrageous CONTRABAND amounts to a consistently engaging crossover of obvious appeal to both fans of Eurocrime or straight-ahead horror, and thanks to Cauldron Films, this key title in Fulci’s illustrious career finally gets the respect it deserves. Highly recommended! Order it from Cauldron Films with the Italian art cover or Graham Humphreys cover.