THE CASE OF THE BLOODY IRIS - 4K UHD REVIEW

After appearing together in Sergio Martino’s THE STRANGE VICE OF MRS. WARDH (1971) and ALL THE COLORS OF THE DARK (1972), the riveting tandem of Edwige Fenech and George Hilton returned in THE CASE OF THE BLOODY IRIS (1972), another first-rate giallo written by genre luminary Ernesto Gastaldi. Although once more produced by Sergio’s brother Luciano Martino (who was also married to Fenech at the time), the directing chores were this time handed over to “Anthony Ascott”/Giuliano Carnimeo, who had previously collaborated with George Hilton on numerous upmarket spaghetti westerns. Easily ranking with the very best of its kind, Carnimeo’s classic whodunit now makes its worldwide 4KUHD debut in a stunning new edition thanks to newcomer Celluloid Dreams. 

Following the murder of two women in quick succession at a high-rise apartment block, Andrea (George Hilton), the building’s owner and architect, rents one of the victims’ apartment to Jennifer Lansbury (Edwige Fenech), a visiting English model living in Italy (the city is never named, but the film was shot in Genoa) who promptly moves in with her friend and fellow model Marilyn (Paola Quattrini). However, their good fortune soon takes a turn for the worse as more murders continue, and they too, get caught up with the buildings’ tangle of characters including signora Moss (an uncredited Maria Tedeschi) an elderly war widow who enjoys reading “blood and gore” horror comics, a reclusive lesbian (Annabella Incontrera) living with her father (Jorge Rigaud), and Jennifer’s possessive ex-husband (Ben Carrà), who had a “mania for group sex.” And even Andrea is subsequently caught up in the investigation’s impersonal machinations as detective Enci (Giampiero Albertini) must wade through a maze of false leads, tons of red herrings and several potentially vital clues, including a bloody iris…

 

As can perhaps be deduced from the busy if slender plot synopsis given above, THE CASE OF THE BLOODY IRIS is akin to an Italian adults-only horror comic come to life whose strong audiovisual components (including a magnificent easy-listening score from maestro Bruno Nicolai) immediately draw the viewer into its decidedly intricate web. Right from the get-go, the film’s opening murder of a young woman (Evi Farinelli) in an elevator sets the appropriate tone and offers all the expected stylistic flourishes, sadistic violence, and convolutions of a typical giallo. However, Gastaldi’s witty script (which borders as a kind of self-reflexive critique of the genre), for which every character involved has got a dirty secret, keeps Albertini’s detective and onscreen aide Renzi (Franco Agostini) very busy interrogating all the potential suspects, a fact which later justifies Renzi’s exclamation elsewhere in the film, “We live in a degenerate age, commissioner!” Naturally, the film doesn’t skimp in the skin department either: a fashion shoot introduces Fenech’s character in nothing more than body paint (which causes a double-take for both Hilton’s character and the viewer), while her photographer friend (Oreste Lionello) insists on always having a “nude in there somewhere,” a sly bit of commentary on the usual stereotypes of this influential genre. Highlighted by several impressive set-pieces (including a dazzling flashback sequence involving the titular irises) and some vicious murders, the overall mood of the picture is generally playful and pleasant to watch thanks to Carnimeo’s spot-on direction, Stelvio Massi’s vigorous camerawork, and Eugenio Alabiso’s kinetic cutting, which keep the narrative barreling unstoppably along right up to the effective – yet amusing – twisteroo ending. 

 

Prior to the digital age, the only way to see this film for North American viewers - other than crummy bootlegs – was General Video Recording’s long out-of-print Italian VHS videocassette. Released under its colourful, but somewhat misleading Italian title, PERCHÉ QUELLE STRANE GOCCE DI SANGUE SUL CORPO DI JENNIFER?, this VHS tape was available at some ethnic Italian video stores, but was definitely one of the more difficult-to-find titles from GVR’s large catalogue. First released on DVD in 2002 by Anchor Bay (as part of their 4-disc Giallo Collection box set), this edition was a real godsend for fans of the film, which not only saw the worldwide home video debut of the English-language version, but also presented the film in its intended 2.35:1 aspect ratio (the Italian VHS tapes were cropped at 1.85:1). Subsequent DVDs soon followed around the world including a re-release from Blue Underground in 2008. Ten years later, a Region B Blu-ray was issued in the UK via Shameless Screen Entertainment with a new 2K restoration, which greatly improved the image, and included some much-needed colour correction that finally mellowed out all those blown-out whites from AB’s otherwise excellent DVD. As with the transfer, the LPCM 2.0 mono audio, in both English and Italian (the latter with English subtitles), was also clean without any discernible issues. Shameless also included a couple of excellent on-camera interviews beginning with actor George Hilton in Drops of Blood (20m43s) in which he talks about his start in the Italian film industry after moving from Argentina, his numerous spaghetti western roles, his life-long friendship with Edwige Fenech and Luciano Martino, and how he “wanted a change of scene”, which eventually led to Romolo Guerrieri’s THE SWEET BODY OF DEBORAH (1968), his first role in a giallo. In Marilyn (11m51s), theatre actor Paola Quattrini is very enthusiastic - and a little surprised - discussing the film, but she recalls the “joyful atmosphere” on set, yet she never felt entirely comfortable in the front of the cameras. She also goes on to talk about her many co-stars including Edwige Fenech who was “in a moment of great fame” at the time.

 

Moving forward, Celluloid Dreams’ inaugural 4KUHD/BD combo of this very enjoyable giallo (which was taken from the film’s original camera negative) is nothing short of phenomenal. Outside of one brief scene of irreparable damage around the 14m mark (which was also present on Shameless’ disc), the transfer is pristine with very pleasing grain structure, superb detail, deep blacks, and beautifully rendered colour schemes, which are ably supported by HDR on the UHD. The DTS-HD MA 1.0 mono audio tracks in English and Italian (again with optional English subtitles) both sound excellent with Nicolai’s memorable score adding plenty of flavour and tension. As always, the English audio includes many familiar voice talent actors such as Ted Rusoff, Carolyn De Fonseca, Edmund Purdom, and Tony La Penna, but purists are advised to stick to the Italian-language version, which lends the film a patina of class missing from the clunkier – but still enjoyable - English audio. 

 

Beginning with a newly-recorded audio commentary with CD’s Guido Henkel, he provides plenty of detailed info and well-researched insight into the film, which includes the production’s “spur of the moment” location shooting (it was shot in Genoa, Rome and Elios Studios in Rome), the stunning opening murder sequence and the “Brian De Palma connection”, the “show don’t tell” tenet of Gastaldi’s writing who “breathed life into a relatively straightforward story”, Carnimeo’s staging and camerawork and the “depth and shadow play” of Massi’s photography, the excellent “colour-matched” production design, the various cast members, the minimalist sound design of Italian films at the time, and some of the film’s technical aspects including the cost-effective Techniscope framing and its inherent drawbacks, and plenty more besides. It’s an engrossing listen, and a very strong audio commentary debut for Mr. Henkel, which adds a greater depth of appreciation to this already excellent film. In Drops of Giallo (29m26s), a new on-camera interview with Ernesto Gastaldi (with some added input from the late Giuliano Carnimeo), Gastaldi talks about his start in the industry as an assistant to director Giorgio Simonelli, his life-long relationship with Carnimeo (they met at film school in 1955), the many western pictures and comedies Carnimeo directed (Carnimeo's last film turned out to be the enjoyably trashy RAT MAN [1988]), his writing process, the high demands during the giallo craze of the early ’70s (“The phone was ringing off the hook with people asking me to write another, and another, and another story!”), the “element of ambiguity” in the pictures, and his thoughts on the film itself. In a nice gesture, CD have also included both the aforementioned Drops of Blood and Marilyn featurettes from Shameless’ earlier release alongside a new outtake reel consisting of “excess trims from the original 2-perf negatives” (1m43s), a thorough image gallery (5m16s), which even includes stills and posters from the film’s UK theatrical release as EROTIC BLUE, and the Italian and English trailers (both 2m54s). If ordered through the CD website, a nice slipcover is also included along with a set of six 12” x 8.25” high-quality re-productions of the Italian lobby cards.

 

An easy buy for fans and newcomers alike, Celluloid Dreams’ debut release is a real knockout which comes highly recommended!

RAT MAN - BLU-RAY REVIEW

Crawling from the trashiest depths of the Italian film industry, Giuliano Carnimeo’s RAT MAN (1988) was an attempt by producer Fabrizio De Angelis, and his prolific production company Fulvia Film, to further extend the waning popularity of the Italian horror film. As per the film’s opening narration, the Rat Man was “developed by introducing the sperm of a rat into the ovum of a monkey”, and the resulting hybrid, which even carries a “potent poison” in its teeth and under its nails, wouldn’t seem out of place if it was accompanied by a showman’s pitch or some Carny-style hyperbole. Lurking behind some unnervingly long incisors and enlarged clawed hands, Carnimeo’s film is noteworthy for the sheer lowbrow audacity of casting the late Nelson De La Rosa (1968 – 2006) as the title monster. Measuring a mere 71cm (that’s 2’4” for you yanks) in height, De La Rosa was an inexplicably tiny actor who would later gain a measure of fame when he appeared alongside Marlon Brando in the unmitigated Richard Stanley / John Frankenheimer disaster that was THE ISLAND OF DR. MOREAU (1996). Filmed entirely in the Dominican Republic from an original story by Dardano Sacchetti (using his usual nom de plume David Parker Jr.), this largely forgotten horror film was resurrected via Cauldron Films’ lavish BD (its first official North American home video release), which finally shows the film on its very best behaviour. 

Dr. Olman (Pepito Guerra), an apparently renowned molecular biologist who works in one of filthiest laboratories imaginable, is hoping to present his Rat Man hybridization (whom he refers to as ‘Mousey’) at the next genetics congress, but before he can do so, the aforementioned title creature escapes. When a mutilated body is found during a beachside photo shoot, Marilyn (Eva Grimaldi), Peggy (Luisa Menon) and their photographer Mark (Werner Pochath), who treats everyone with undisguised scorn (“The only thing that he’s got that clicks with me is a shutter!”), decide not to report it because Mark doesn’t “want to be interrogated.” Later that night, Peggy is clawed to death following a lengthy confrontation with a knife-wielding local, a sequence which has more in common with any number of gialli than your typical monster film. When Peggy’s sister Terry (Janet Agren) comes looking for her in this tropical paradise, she is quickly befriended by mystery novelist Fred Williams (David Warbeck), when they inadvertently share a taxi. Despite her initial icy aloofness towards him, the two of them eventually team up and try to find her missing sister as the Rat Man continues to scurry about sinking his teeth into the local populace…

 

Beginning with an introductory voiceover from Dr. Olman, the script attempts to make some unsubtle allusions to H.G. Wells’ classic novel The Island of Dr. Moreau, and while RAT MAN does reveal some similar themes about humanity’s curious nature, Carnimeo’s film moves several notches below Wells’ text without even a hint of the ethical and philosophical concerns depicted in the book. It’s this seeming laziness and general indifference to the material that ultimately hampers the film, which could have benefitted from a little more creative energy into the fantastical components of the story. At one point, Warbeck’s character Fred Williams casually remarks that as a writer, he is “short on inspiration”, which is perhaps Sacchetti’s own self-referential dig at his one-note script. In an interesting side note, one of the disc’s extra features has veteran director Alberto De Martino discussing his brief involvement with the film as a post-production consultant wherein he points out the “fundamental mistake” of the story’s premise and its non-threatening monster, which you could simply “squish” under your feet. So, at his insistence, it was decided to add the fatal poison to the monster’s genetic make-up, to try and help produce a more sensible scenario. Despite this much-needed tinkering, it still seems, along with the cast and crew, plot and characterization all wandered off to enjoy the pretty tropical scenery, but it’s always fun watching David Warbeck do his earnest if bored-looking best while trying to make sense of things. As the body count begins to rack-up, RAT MAN still musters enough odd touches (e.g., mousey crawling out of a filthy toilet or eerily climbing up a wall) and bursts of energy, including a well-choreographed finale between a frequently-nude Eva Grimaldi and our titular varmint, and is this respect, you can’t help but radiate a modicum of fondness for the entire endeavour. 

 

Never officially released on North American home video, RAT MAN did appear on some video store shelves in the US and Canada via Caribbeam ABC Video (titled THE RAT MAN on the vid box), a dubious Puerto Rican VHS videocassette, which was overly dark and didn’t do the film any favours whatsoever. In 2008, UK-based label Shameless Screen Entertainment unveiled the film’s first DVD release, but it was compiled from a number of sketchy source materials, which were murky, lacked depth, and bordered on unwatchable. Fortunately, it now looks better than ever thanks to Cauldron Films’ new Blu-ray, which features a brand new “4K restoration from the negative” that finally preserves the film’s colour integrity along with tons of previously-obscured details, and while it still lacks the stylish verve of Carnimeo’s earlier Sartana spaghetti westerns, this nicely-detailed HD presentation benefits the film greatly. The DTS-HD Master Audio 2.0 mono audio is likewise a massive improvement, which is freed of the hiss and VHS-sourced buzz of Shameless’ DVD; it all sounds remarkably good.

 

While the film hasn’t lost any of its morbid fascination over the last few decades, Cauldron Films have included a wealth of interesting extra features to try and put everything in perspective beginning with a lively audio commentary from Mondo Digital’s Nathaniel Thompson, and authors Troy Howarth and Eugenio Ercolani. In it, they discuss a wide variety of topics in regards to this “interesting installment of Italian horror” including De La Rosa’s “pop culture lineage” and his great screen presence, independent exploitation mogul Fabrizio De Angelis and how he created a “safe haven” for many aging directors in their twilight years, Mainetti’s “fun electronic score”, a ton of background info on director Carnimeo and DP Roberto Girometti, the simplistic nature of these latter-day genre films, the film’s striking – and very misleading – poster art, the many English voice talent actors, and a very funny quote from director Sergio Martino regarding the inordinate amount of shower scenes in Italian trash films! As usual, the three of them work very well-together discussing the film with equal parts affection and nostalgia (and occasional laughter!) in this thorough and well-researched listen. Good stuff!

 

Other, no less significant extras include a trio of featurettes from Eugenio Ercolani, which begin with Lighting the Rat Man (16m24s), an on-camera interview with Roberto Girometti wherein he discusses his early career as a camera operator, his brief working relationship with Roberto Rossellini who “embodied the magic of cinema”, and of course, his time working on RAT MAN alongside director Carnimeo and producer De Angelis who was a “bossy” personality and frequently referred to as “The Cobra.” In Framing the Rat Man (17m21s), long-time camera operator and DP Federico Del Zoppo is interviewed and talks about the technical side of his work, but he also indulges in a ton of anecdotes from his time in the Italian film industry, his work on RAT MAN, and his relationship with producer De Angelis working on other horror films such as KILLER CROCODILE (1989). Lastly, in the aforementioned Just a Fin (6m34s), an audio interview with director Alberto De Martino, he casually chats about his time working with Fulvia Film “supervising pictures” such as RAT MAN, his dislike of the horror genre, the difficulty of working with Michael Moriarty on BLOODLINK (1982), and his total dislike of MIAMI GOLEM (a.k.a. MIAMI HORROR, 1985), which he has since disowned. The film’s energetic theatrical trailer (“The body was chewed by rats!”, 2m08s) is also included. The initial 2-disc limited edition pressing also included Stefano Mainetti’s entire score on a separate CD (19 tracks, 36m24s), a double-sided poster, and a nicely-illustrated slipcase with artwork by Justin Coffee, and as of this writing, it’s still available from the Cauldron Films website. 

 

All-in-all RAT MAN falls short of being an Italian horror film classic, but despite its flaws, it’s unusual enough and remains consistently watchable, especially via Cauldron Films’ outstanding Blu-ray. Order it from Cauldron Films or DiabolikDVD.

THE CRAZY BUNCH - VHS REVIEW

Reviewed by Steve Fenton with Dennis Capicik.

Tony Norton: “I am Twinkletoes... and Twinkletoes spells ‘death!’... T as in ‘twinkle,’ W as in ‘winkle,’ I as in ‘inkle,’ N as in ‘ninkle’... and K as in ‘kaput’!”

Goldilocks, a hairless henchman: “You are an indescribably arcane, devious, pusilanimous, fashion-conscious, nefarious, iniquitous, egotistic, narcissistic Western hero!”

These dialogue excerpts sum up the low level of humour at play in this quickie Tricky Dicky sequel (from 1974) to the more consistently enjoyable ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST THERE WAS A MAN CALLED INVINCIBLE (1973); but any western comedy directed by Giuliano Carnimeo and starring George Hilton definitely demands a look-see. The same producers and screenwriter who worked on its predecessor here returned for seconds in the same functions, with DP Federico Zanni and scorer Alessandro Alessandroni assuming the positions originally taken, respectively, by Stelvio Massi and Bruno Nicolai on the originator.

Once again, here’s a token breakdown of the rudimentary plot, which is by no means completely linear and objective in getting from A to B, but here goes nothing: A gang of outlaws awaits passage of a stagecoach to rob, only to encounter clownish adventurer Tricky Dicky (Hilton again) and his less-than-gazelle-like sidekick Bambi (Huerta again). Captain Frutti-Tutti [sic] (Riccardo Garrone) heads into the city of Mad House, Texas, to make a bank ‘withdrawal,’ only to be thwarted by the manager’s in-house security cannon. A political convention is in town. Tricky and Bambi arrive searching for $100,000 that has been stolen from the Yuma Junction mail train. Posing as a schizophrenic who believes he is the Arch-Duke of Austria while Tricky poses as a preacher, Slim is admitted into the Mad House madhouse for electroshock therapy. There, Tricky seeks to coerce the secret of the loot from a patient named Frank “The High-Handed” Fairy (Enzo Maggio). Tricky fakes an outbreak of the plague at the sanitarium. He and Bambi then follow a clue to Cactus River, followed by Frutti-Tutti and his moronic henchmen. There, Drakeman, the amazing One-Man Circus (Memmo Carotenuto), holds the key to unlock the 100-Gs. When he is menaced by Frutti’s bullyboys, Tricky and Bambi thrash them soundly. Proceeding to Striker’s Ranch, Tricky and Bambi defeat the outlaw gang and presumably acquire the missing loot. After his unlucky (for Twink) thirteenth encounter with Twinkletoes the gunslinger, Tricky, accompanied by Bambi and Frank, move on…

During the credits, a waiting bushwhacker is lured away from his post by sight of a fat billfold. When his back is turned, an unseen hand steals his pan of beans as they bubble on the campfire (the gunman ‘seasons’ the cooking grub with a pinch of gunpowder!). Despite the comedic visuals, this intro stands out thanks to Zanni’s screen-filling camerawork, Alessandroni’s charismatic, Neapolitan-laced music, and appealing sunlit, snow-covered background scenery. The latter’s score also incorporates a few familiar notes from “Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head,” the hit pop song made famous by George Roy Hill’s BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID (1969).

George Hilton, Pietro Torrisi and Cris Huerta.

Hilton spends a goodly portion of the action disguised as a quack psychiatrist visiting a frontier funny farm. Expectedly, The CRAZY BUNCH (original Italian title DI TRESETTE CE N’È UNO, TUTTI GLI ALTRI SON NESSUNO / “Three-Seven is the Only One, All the Rest Are Nobodies”) stays true to Ascott’s comic œuvre – that is, Larry, Moe & Curly (and sometimes even Shemp!) by way of Trinity & Bambino. The entire opening sequence is modelled after that to TRINITY IS STILL MY NAME: George Hilton playing George Hilton to the hilt while Cris Huerta (w/ bowler hat) imitates Bud Spencer in look if not temperament. Huerta later dresses up as a Kaiser Wilhelm type, complete with eagle-topped pickelhaube helmet and spacious scarlet boxer shorts. Grinning bandit Goffredo Unger snorts like a horse and makes cuckoo clock noises when Hilton (“That son-of-a-mother in black!”) smacks him in the chops. Inevitable frypan (and chamber pot and drain plunger, etc.) violence occurs. A carpenter swallows a mouthful of coffin nails and later spits them out under duress like a Gatling gun; which would be a pretty handy talent to have if you happen to be a drywaller by trade. A Scottish pirate wears an eye-patch and a grappling-hook hand. One asylum inmate is General Custer (the head headshrinker rightly informs him that “Little Bighorn is a big lie!”; but you don’t wanna hear the dumb gag about “Standing” Bull). Four more loonies believe they are a steam locomotive (“the Colorado Express”). Another thinks he’s a dog and cocks his leg to urinate over a man’s boots. Still another believes he is the Statue of Liberty, holding high a fistful of smouldering cigars. Tricky and Twinkletoes share a homoerotic exchange concerning hu-u-uge stogies: “You put it in yer mouth and suck on it!” – “But, before you smoked cigarillos, not Havana...” – “You’re right, but these fit my mouth better!” Deep-throated Dicky’s foot-long stogie then explodes all over Twink’s face. In the interests of further subtle symbolism, the two pistol pals later reconvene in a cramped closet. Then there’s Frank the Foxy Fairy and Frutti-Tutti [sic], “with his gang of queer boys!” A bad guy refers to Hilton and Huerta as “bumholes.” Befitting this fanciful fairies’ tale, elements of “Cinderella” become evident when our heroes go in search of the man whose feet fit a certain-sized pair of cowboy boots.

Riccardo Garrone (so dead-serious as the black-hearted white slaver in his director brother Sergio Garrone’s fab NO ROOM TO DIE [1969]) here plays it for laughs as a stuttering, effeminate sea skipper with a big hairy wart on his chin. His speech impediment severely hinders his effectiveness as a bank robber, and he somehow gets a cannonball lodged up his rectum (?!). Rather than crowing at dawn, a rooster growls like a dog. Complete with Salvador Dali mustachios, Memmo Carotenuto plays a one-man circus act who pulls a white rabbit named Harvey from a tophat and keeps an invisible pet lion (“Now, there’s a pussy!”). As with Mario Adorf’s in Giulio Petroni’s A SKY FULL OF STARS FOR A ROOF (1968) and Osiride Pevarello’s in Bruno Corbucci’s THREE MUSKETEERS OF THE WEST (1973), Memmo’s fire-eating skills are here put to good use. Even more bizarre is a KKK-robed secret sect of politician-hating anarchists called “The Brothers of the Spool,” who attempt more obscure would-be political satire. Nello Pazzafini has a riot as the jocular outlaw chief, complete with hyperactive Italian hand gesticulations (“...I’ll pull his ears off, bust in his face, give him a nose-job, smash his teeth, break his head, tear his hair, and I’ll nail him to a cross with a bayonet...!”). Three of Nello’s dopey flunkies are known as “Pimplenose,” “Pinkeye” and “Marmalade.” Hilton effortlessly gets his pistol erect on cue (“...look Ma, no hands!”), while Nello’s gang – no matter how hard they try (pun intended) – just can’t get ’em up. A duel with rapiers foreshadows the swashbuckling antics of Hilton’s silly willy in Franco Lo Cascio’s masked hero spoof The MARK OF ZORRO (1975).

Certain onscreen signs herein are printed in Italian; while a notice in the nuthouse intriguingly misreads “VIOLENTLY DEPARTMENT.” Not quite the Queen’s English, although the excess of Limey slang (“blinkin’ heck!” – “bloody ear’oles!” – “buggered-up!”) leads one to suspect the movie was dubbed with the British market in mind. Other dialogue is so out-of-it (e.g., “I don’t give a pollywog about fish!”) that it’s hard to determine precisely what export market the producers had their sights on. The disorienting, pleonastic dubbed script is not as consistently laugh-inducing as the forerunning film. The ’80s-vintage English-dubbed VHS videotape reviewed here came with Greek subtitles (God only knows how the humour translated into Greek!).

Like the first film, Carnimeo piles on the gags thick (real thick) and quick, apparently going by the philosophy that if the last gag didn’t git ya, then the next one will. Unfortunately, like too many of these “crazy” parodies (as well as exhaustive reviews of them), the sheer abundance of “rib-tickling” sight and sound gags soon leave you gasping for breath. Choreography of the comedy stunts is handled with real flair, while for a big man Huerta handles himself with surprising agility. Physical comedy is the star here, helped by smooth editing and some judiciously applied fast-motion (and you could always speed it closer to the finish line with your FF button, if needs be!). The latter half-hour really picks up, with some hilarious split-second slapstick routines.

As Twinkletoes astutely observes, “You’re a funny man, Tricky... though I’m not gonna die laughing!” You may not either, but The CRAZY BUNCH is still a hoot... depending entirely on your state of mind (or lack thereof). And once again, nobody is killed, so it’s no-guilt entertainment. So kick back, fire up a Marlboro Longhorn 100 – or perhaps a foot-long, inch-thick stogie – for the occasion and let the craziness take you!

Notes:  Assistant director was seasoned stunt-hand Goffredo “Fredy” Unger. Upon its 1974 release, the film received no Canadian playdates on the ethnic Italian theatrical circuit. After popping up for a few airings on television in Italy and playing a brief run in German cinemas, it seemed to fade from sight (until eventually reemerging circa the late-’80s / early-’90s via that ninth wonder of the world, pre-DVD Greek videotape).

This Greek videotape was released by Key Video and, although unusual for most Greek tapes of the time, it was letterboxed at approximately 1.66:1.  It was in English with Greek subtitles.  Fortunately, The CRAZY BUNCH has since been released on German DVD courtesy of X-Rated Kult DVD in one of those fancy oversized hardboxes.  Presented in its original 2.35:1 widescreen ratio, it was unfortunately not enhanced for 16x9, but zooming into the picture helped alleviate this; plus it got rid of that annoying disclaimer at the bottom of the screen “Only for sale in Germany, Austria and Switzerland”, which some DVD and Blu-Ray players could remove. The disc contained German, English and Italian audio tracks, a trailer and a small photo gallery.  As a bonus, this “spezial” 2-disc edition also contained an uncut version of Maurizio Lucidi’s The GREATEST ROBBERY OF THE WEST (1967) on a separate disc, and like The CRAZY BUNCH, it also contained German, English and Italian audio tracks along with the film’s memorable English trailer and a brief photo gallery.  This past May, yet another English friendly DVD of The CRAZY BUNCH surfaced in Germany courtesy of Edel with the added bonus of a 16x9 print. 

ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST...THERE WAS A MAN CALLED INVINCIBLE - DVD REVIEW

Reviewed by Steve Fenton.

This movie is largely a plotless series of comic vignettes, but I’ll give a general plot synopsis anyway, for those who might want it; so those wishing to avoid spoilers might want to skip down to the next paragraph. In Apple Pie City, Texas, circa the 1870s, a shipment of miners’ gold must be transported from the McPiedish bank to a safe in Dallas. For a $20,000 fee, roving saddletramp Tricky Dicky (George Hilton) is just the man for the job. With the so-called “Bambi” (Cris Huerta), sheriff of Apple Pie, Tricky disguises their wagon like that of a travelling medicine show to fool potential robbers. Along the route they must foil a succession of different bandit groups, including a convent full of fake friars. Upon arrival in Dallas, authorities learn that their supposed load of gold dust is in actuality merely painted lead powder, and Tricky and Bambi are thrown in jail as suspects in the genuine article’s theft. Tricky knows Mr. McPiedish (Umberto D’Orsi) and his accomplice Councillor Apple (Dante Cleri) are responsible for stealing the gold from the former’s own bank and trying to pin the suspicion on them. Thus, Tricky and Bambi escape from jail and pose as guests at the crooked banker’s fancy dress party to find out what became of the real gold. They learn that, with the complicity of local saloonkeeper and comely confectionary owner Miss Marlene (“Evelyn Stewart” a.k.a. Ida Galli), McPiedish has been concealing the shiny yellow stuff inside baked goods and smuggling it to Mexico...

Written by Tito Carpi, produced by Luciano Martino and Mino Loy, photographed by Stelvio Massi and scored by Bruno Nicolai, this zany comedic spaghetti western was originially released in Italy in 1973 as LO CHIAMAVANO TRESETTE... GIOCAVA SEMPRE COL MORTO / “His Name is Three-Seven... He Plays a Dead Man’s Hand,” and later (circa the ’80s) turned up on Venezuelan VHS tape (label long since forgotten!), dubbed into English and with Spanish subtitles.¹ For the dubbed version, Hilton’s title character was rather foolishly renamed “Tricky Dicky,” of all things (!). The original Italian name of Hilton’s character is derived from Tressette, which, along with Scopone – which was the surname of the character played by Anthony Steffen in Juan Bosch’s “straight” SW, TEN KILLERS COME FROM AFAR (1972) – is one of Italy’s most popular national card games. The main goal of Tressette, of which there are numerous regional variations, is to acquire “three sevens” (totalling twenty-one). Hence: 21 is the winner and beats all the rest. The fourth player in the game is traditionally referred to as the “Dead Man’s Hand,” hence this the first film in the Tresette duo’s Italo title. In the opening scene of the sequel (see below), Hilton interrupts a card game and asks to sit-in as the fourth player (i.e., the dead man). When Hilton and Nello Pazzafini’s character face off in the same film, they both make jokes about clubs being used as trumpcards. These in-jokes would probably be lost on all non-Tressette enthusiasts.

George Hilton as "Tricky Dicky".

With Hilton as his droll leading man, Giuliano Carnimeo – a.k.a. “Anthony Ascott” – turned out some of the best comedic spaghetti westerns of all (e.g., THEY CALL ME HALLELUJAH [1971], which was released on N. American videotape by Academy Home Entertainment back in the day as GUNS FOR DOLLARS). Including a slapstick barroom brawl behind the opening credits, this present pair-up of the filmmaker and star betrays itself as an outright freeforall right from frame one; indeed, both of Hilton’s & Carnimeo’s “Tricky Dicky” duo – the sequel was tagged The CRAZY BUNCH on certain Anglo export prints – are far zanier than their pair of Hallelujah films, but are nonetheless most entertaining indeed (quite possibly because of the added zaniness rather than merely in spite of it). If kartoon king Tex Avery had ever made a live-action western spoof starring The Three Stooges, chances are it’d probably look something like this!

A set of false teeth are yanked from their owner’s chops while still attached to the man’s forearm they have just bitten hold of. A mousetrap snaps shut on a howling bandit’s fingers. A boxing glove KO’s a man as it boings from a jack-in-a-box. A man is smacked in the face with a frying pan and the impact leaves his features indented in its iron surface. Twin-nostrilled shotgun muzzles fill the screen in distorted fisheye closeups. Tricky Dicky (known as “Tresette” in Italian and French prints) paints the bars of his jail-cell window pale blue so that they’ll blend in with the sky and thus fool the guard into thinking he’s sawed through them and flown the coop. A wilting cactus carries flaccid phallic symbolism apropos to the emasculated plotline. To verify that the gold dust really is of a full 24 carats, Hilton snorts a sample like snuff. Fast-motion sometimes clicks in at unexpected moments. Throwaways include an Italian woman with a mustache desperately in search of hair remover; and Pietro Ceccarelli as the aptly-named “Bald Bill,” a chromedome bandit who is treated with hair-restoring tonic and sprouts a huge afro in under a minute like some giant humanoid Chia Pet (!). Gutter slang and a bona fide f-word – a relative rarity even in the tough-as-nails spaghetti realm – pepper the outrageous dialogue.

Portly Spanish player Cris Huerta plays another in his long line of big’n’bouncy Bud Spencer imitations (e.g., “Steve McCoy”/Ignacio F. Iquino’s The FAMOUS OF TRINITY [1972]), as the gazelle-like “Bambi,” whose ironic name simultaneously also evokes an abbreviation of Spencer’s much more famous Bambino characterization. Spaghetti heavy Sal Borgese steals his one hilarious scene as one Salvatore Pappallardo, a rubber-faced, hot-tempered Sicilian gangster in a bombetta (“bowler hat”) who threatens to insert his sawed-off scattergun into Tricky Dicky where the sun don’t shine (a threat to which Hilton primly responds, “I prefer not having things stuck up my little bottom”). Silly, inoffensive straight / bi / gay jokes abound, with nothing in the way of any genuine mean-spiritedness involved. For instance, Dicky’s rivals for the gold include “The Bent Gang” and “The Closet Cousins.” Then there’s “Tang Orango” (alias “Orangutan”), father of a fraternal trio calling themselves “The Three Speedy Fingers.” And we also get the late, great Nello Pazzafini as “Aureola” Joe, phony abbot to a brotherhood of phony monks (throwbacks to both of Ascott’s Hallelujah films, the first of which also included a phony nun in the form of Agata Flori, too). In keeping with the director’s proven fondness for facetious ‘anticlericalism’ – see also the aforementioned THEY CALL ME HALLELUJAH and its 1972 sequel, DEEP WEST (which the IMDb incorrectly gives as the US title for the first Hallelujah film) – mock-monks play poker using a deck of cards bearing icon-like pictures of religious personages.

Sal Borgese as hot tempered Sicilian gangster, Salvatore Pappallardo.

A recurring gag involves “Twinkle Toes,” a homosexual pistolero dressed all in fetishistic black leather who keeps popping up without notice and challenging Tricky Dicky to gunfights as a test of his manhood. Played by Tony Norton – who frequently essayed such ‘Black Bart’ types (e.g., in “E.B. Clucher”/Enzo Barboni’s TRINITY IS STILL MY NAME [1971]) – Twinkle Toes is clearly based on suave Latin rascal Gilbert Roland (with whom Hilton had co-starred in both Enzo Girolami Castellari’s ANY GUN CAN PLAY [1967] and “George Holloway”/Giorgio Capitani’s The RUTHLESS FOUR [1968]; the latter of which I reviewed in Weng’s Chop #7).

Hilton always seems to be having a whale of a time here. His good-natured performance coupled with those of his colleagues helps one forget that the rudimentary plot is merely an excuse for a non-stop stampede of gags, which thankfully provoke more guffaws – or at least chuckles – than groans from the audience. Beneath a cascade of corn-coloured ringlets, swan-necked Ida Galli is as delicate and delectable as one of the fancy puff pastries baked by her character.

Perhaps the biggest surprise – then again, maybe not, considering the relentlessly good-natured context – is that not one person gets killed throughout the runtime. Call this one the AIRPLANE! of spaghetti westerns, which soars to higher heights of both the sublime and the ridiculous than any ten lesser trivial TRINITY ripoffs. It was followed by another fun one, The CRAZY BUNCH (1974).

In 2006, this was released on DVD courtesy of Southern DVD, a small label based in South Africa, which also released numerous other rare spaghetti westerns.  Now OOP, but still available through some online retailers or Ebay, this DVD has English and Italian audio options and retains Stelvio Massi’s original 2.35:1 scope photography.  The only extra is the film’s lively theatrical trailer.

Note: Certain erroneous Spanish sources have credited Stelvio Cipriani for the score.