Behind the Scenes of Day of the Cobra (1980)

Ex-boxer Enzo G. Castellari blocks a fight scene with Franco Nero.

GREAT WHITE (1980), aka THE LAST SHARK, aka THE LAST JAWS, aka WHITE DEATH, aka L'ULTIMO SQUALO, aka...

With a seemingly unending supply of alternate titles, Enzo G. Castellari crosses the line from homage and into a lawsuit from Universal Studios.

Here he is in on the set in 1980 with a stylish director's chair, a personalized bullhorn, and a clapper that indicates their shooting title was White Death. That's cinematographer Alberto Spagnoli getting sand in his pants behind the camera.

In 2001, I asked Castellari about the trouble he got into with Universal over the U.S. theatrical release. Here was his response:

"The script idea for GREAT WHITE came from Ramón Bravo, a Mexican writer famous for his books with the sea and sharks as themes. In Mexico, many films have been made from his books. He wrote the treatment that was given to the Italian producer, who cunningly had the Italian script written by an Italian screenwriter without buying the rights from Mr. Bravo. When the film came out--only in the Los Angeles area--it made over $2,000,000 at the box office on the opening weekend! It was an extraordinary success, especially for an Italian film. 30...40...50 similar films were made in Italy and without any protests or even acknowledgement from the Americans, because their success was limited. But GREAT WHITE was different. It came out after JAWS 2 (1978) and it was a success, thus motivating lawyers and producers to stop the screening. They succeeded after a month. It's ironic though...if the Italian producer hadn't 'stolen' the idea in the first place, he would have become a multimillionaire! Bravo had written books on sharks even before the original JAWS (1975) came out, and this would have certainly made the difference. Maybe there is a lesson to be learned? A divine intervention?"

And that's probably the only time the phrase "divine intervention" was associated with the film. But I do agree that there are lessons to be learned. The movie has enough humor and silliness that he almost could have argued the case on the grounds that it was a satire of JAWS.

--MW

Behind the Scenes of KEOMA (1977)

Enzo G. Castellari behind the camera for this reverse tracking shot of Franco Nero in the magnificent Spaghetti Western KEOMA. The fearsome Shannon brothers aren't quite so intimidating sitting on boxes.

And here's the view through Castellari's lens.

--MW

UN FLIC - Film Bleu

UN FLIC (aka DIRTY MONEY, 1972)

Directed by Jean-Pierre Melville

Starring Alain Delon, Richard Crenna and Catherine Deneuve

This was Melville’s final film and perhaps the coldest, both visually and emotionally, of all his crime pictures. As with the director’s most well known film, the highly influential LE SAMOURAI (1967), UN FLIC is American film noir as seen through French eyes. Ostensibly a heist film­–with echoes of the director’s earlier and far more accessible BOB LE FLAMBEUR (1955)–UN FLIC spends most of its running time detailing the machinations of a small crew of Parisian thieves led by Richard Crenna. Initially, the film’s title character (Delon) gets only enough screen time to let the viewer see how he’s been broken and demoralized by his mind-numbing job, but gradually the balance shifts and we see that Delon is a sort of zombified doppelganger to Crenna’s untouchable criminal. The mirrored pair share a lover (Deneuve), and the three often converge in a nightclub owned by Crenna’s character, but the cop and the thief barely acknowledge one another and seem more like two sides of the same coin rather than two separate characters. One half expects a Lynchian/Fincheresque finale where the two characters are revealed to be the same person, but following the conventions of film noir, we all know that a bullet will eventually serve the same purpose.

UN FLIC has been photographed almost entirely in shades of blue with occasional, light accents of green. The appearance of any other primary color seems to be more of an accident than an intentional decision. The film’s low budget probably prohibited complete control over the visual palette, but the stark set design and meticulous attention to detail help to create a hermetic environment that is as stark and cold as in any other film I’ve seen. This level of stylization alone makes the film worth looking at, but I did have many reservations about the script.

The picture starts with a brilliantly constructed and flawlessly executed heist scene. Crenna and his accomplices stake out and gradually enter a bank in a remote seaside resort community. It is Christmas Eve and the rain beats down on the men as they make their way one by one into the bank. The entire heist plays out in real time with barely a single word of dialogue uttered and with the crashing waves providing the only musical accompaniment. This sequence is the film’s highpoint and unfortunately everything afterwards comes as something of a disappointment. Delon’s disconnected and detached cop is less interesting than the plight of the thieves and his scenes often feel very far away from the heart of the film, as cold as that heart may be.

More disappointing still is the fact that the thrills of the opening bank robbery sequence never come close to being matched at any point during the rest of the film. Crenna’s gang attempts a daring drug rip-off that involves a helicopter and a speeding train, but this time the real-time action falls flat and quickly becomes tedious. The meager budget apparently didn’t allow for a train or a helicopter, so much of the sequence is depicted using unconvincing miniatures that would barely pass muster in an Antonio Margheriti picture. The ineffectiveness of this scene is compounded by the fact that it never really pays off in any way, and in the end, seems rather arbitrary. Stylistically, it’s simply a carbon copy of the opening sequence and narratively it serves only to bring Delon’s cop a little closer to the action. It’s a bit pointless on both counts.

Michael Mann’s HEAT (1995) uses a very similar structure, with very similar characters, but manages to pull off the story arc with far more success. Mann’s opening heist is exciting and tense, but his central action sequence manages to up the ante and still remain an organic part of the screenplay. By contrast, Melville’s train robbery seems like a clumsily inserted set-piece, and it can’t all be blamed on the toy helicopter. Mann was also able to retain the existential qualities of his characters and still make them sympathetic, or at least identifiable. Melville, who along with Delon made inscrutability a conscious stylistic choice, only offers up “a cop” and “a criminal.” I’d add “a girl,” but Denueve’s character is even less recognizable as human than the others. The only face that we can even begin to see behind belongs to Crenna’s reluctant third man. This approach is fine, but when you’ve already perfected it (with LE SAMOURAI), anything less seems like a disappointment.  Somehow Walter Hill managed to pull off this trick with THE DRIVER (1978), but here Melville is eclipsed by his own shadow.

--MW

On Location, 1990: The Bronx Warriors

Here's a great shot of Enzo G. Castellari directing a scene for 1990: THE BRONX WARRIORS (1982) on location in Brooklyn's East River waterfront.

Here's the scene as it appears in the film:

And here's roughly the same spot as it looks today, via Google View. The wider angle lens doesn't make it a perfect match, but you can see the same Empire Stores brick building in the background on the left. The Empire Stores building was also used for a separate action sequence.

--MW

THE FOUR OF THE APOCALYPSE - Uneasy Riders

As with my earlier essay on DJANGO KILL...IF YOU LIVE, SHOOT!, what follows is something I wrote for a DVD release that never made it to the final product. Our first episode(s) of our upcoming podcast will focus on Fulci's horror films, so I thought I'd resurrect this write-up on one of his finest films outside his trademark genre.

Lucio Fulci is of course primarily known for his violent and atmospheric horror films, but before cementing his reputation as the “Godfather of Gore” with ZOMBIE (ZOMBI 2, 1979), the director explored a number of other genres. After launching his career with a string of comedies, Fulci attempted to capitalize on the booming Spaghetti Western market with the solid but rather conventional MASSACRE TIME (TEMPO DI MASSACRO, 1966). The film featured Franco Nero, whose star was on the rise after his iconic turn as the title character in Sergio Corbucci’s earlier release, DJANGO (1966). Although MASSACRE TIME was not a great success, Fulci would collaborate with Nero again on WHITE FANG (ZANNA BIANCA, 1973) and THE CHALLENGE TO WHITE FANG (IL RITORNO DI ZANNA BIANCO, 1974), both based on the work of author Jack London.  In 1975 a fourth film—entitled TERAPIA MORTALE—was planned for the pair but the project was put on hold (later filmed without Nero as THE PSYCHIC, 1977) and Fulci’s output during that year was confined to the quickie comedy YOUNG DRACULA (DRACULA IN BRIANZA, 1975) and the far more ambitious THE FOUR OF THE APOCALYPSE (I QUATTRO DELL’APOCALISSE, 1975).

THE FOUR OF THE APOCALYPSE is certainly one of the strangest examples of the Spaghetti Western and it is by far the best of Fulci’s work in the genre. The film takes on a sprawling, epic feel that isn’t present in most of his other, more claustrophobic work. The episodic and rambling narrative—reputedly based on the pulp novels of Brett Harte—is typical of Fulci, but here he and scriptwriter Ennio De Concini shot for something far grander in both scope and style. The loosely constructed plot, concerning a ragtag quartet of outcasts on the hellish road to the big city, is bound together by unifying themes of family and community. These humanistic undercurrents are used in sharp contrast against the bleakly pessimistic worldview viewers have come to expect from the director. Fulci’s other cinematic explorations of Good vs. Evil are far more one-sided in their outlook, but THE FOUR OF THE APOCALYPSE balances dread with hope. Even the birth of a child, a vessel for Evil in many of Fulci’s horror films, is used as a symbol of faith and redemption. These four of the apocalypse may not find the salvation that they seek, but instead of being damned for all eternity as they may have been in the director’s other films, they each find their place or their shining moment in a cruel and inhospitable world. Their fates may not be victorious, but in a world where a descent into madness can be joyfully transcendent, a peaceful death is the best one can hope for.  Optimism peeks through even in the film’s darkest moments, and these glimpses of humanity amid the violence and mayhem add a depth of emotion that audiences may not expect from Fulci. The plot dynamics and characterizations may seem routine, but when viewed in the context of the director’s entire oeuvre there appears to have been a definite effort to engage the audience on emotional levels that were rarely explored in his other films.

It was a bold move on Fulci’s part to attempt a slow-paced, melancholy epic at a time when the Italian Western had already lost the box-office battle to the action-packed poliziotteschi. Fulci himself felt that the final film failed to meet his ambitions and he placed the blame on De Concini, who had previously worked with the likes of Michelangelo Antonioni, Vittorio De Sica and Mario Bava. In an interview with journalist Luca Palmerini, Fulci stated, “Unfortunately, the film was very badly scripted by Ennio De Concini, so it didn’t make one single penny worldwide.  De Concini’s script was useless, proving that he’s only good for soap operas on RAI.” While the film is very disjointed at times, it should be noted that Fulci wasn’t always the best judge of his films and throughout his career he carried on strained and often antagonistic relationships with many of his scriptwriters.

The picture marked the first collaboration between Fulci and cinematographer Sergio Salvati, who was responsible for the look of Fulci’s most popular horror films, including ZOMBIE, CITY OF THE LIVING DEAD (PAURA NELLA CITTÀ DEI MORTI VIVENTI, 1980), THE BEYOND (L’ALDILÀ, 1981) and THE HOUSE BY THE CEMETERY (QUELLA VILLA ACCANTO AL CIMITERO, 1981). Salvati came to Fulci with a fully formed aesthetic that viewers of the director’s films have since come to associate with the best of his work. With THE FOUR OF THE APOCALYPSE he helped to realize Fulci’s unromantic view of the American West while marking it with the stark beauty and otherworldliness often found in their later collaborations. The talented cinematographer memorably depicted the elements of the fantastique found in De Concini’s screenplay, so it is no surprise that Fulci relied on Salvati’s skills for his later, more overtly horrific work.

At times, Salvati’s photography on THE FOUR OF THE APOCALYPSE recalls Laszlo Kovacs’ work on EASY RIDER (1969), and the presence of Michael J. Pollard in the cast implies that another seminal American film of the 1960s may have influenced the filmmakers.  Co-star Tomas Milian confirmed that Pollard, known for his roles in BONNIE AND CLYDE (1967) and DIRTY LITTLE BILLY (1972), affected the shaping of his character, Chaco. “Playing that character and having Michael Pollard there in front of me…What Michael Pollard represents in the American movie [BONNIE AND CLYDE] fed my character,” said Milian in an interview with journalist Eric Maché.  In another nod to ‘60s American culture, Milian claimed that Charles Manson also loomed large in his mind while playing Chaco. “This is Lucio Fulci.  Lucio Fulci is a very…you know, he loves all that violent stuff,” said Milian. “So if you have a director you know, you can flirt with his morbidity.” Milian was very familiar with Fulci’s morbidity having worked with him twice previously, on the brutal historical drama BEATRICE CENCI (1969) and the disturbing giallo DON’T TORTURE A DUCKLING (NON SI SEVIZIA UN PAPERINO, 1972).

Milian and Pollard were joined in the cast by Fabio Testi, a veteran of the Italian film scene who would later star in Fulci’s CONTRABAND (LUCA IL CONTRABBANDIERE, 1980); Harry Baird, whose other Spaghetti Western credits include COLT IN THE HAND OF THE DEVIL (UN COLT IN MANO DEL DIAVOLO, 1972) and TRINITY AND SARTANA ARE COMING (TRINITA E SARTANA FIGLI DI…, 1972), in which he starred as the title character Trinity; and Lynne Frederick, who previously appeared in the Hammer Films production VAMPIRE CIRCUS (1972) as well as Saul Bass’s strange science-fiction effort, PHASE IV (1973). Frederick later married actor Peter Sellers and retired from making films shortly before his death in 1980. She passed away in 1994.  Also in the film was Irish character actor Donal O’Brien, who appeared in many Italian Westerns but is best known for playing the title role in DR. BUTCHER, M.D. (ZOMBI HOLOCAUST, 1980). As was often the case in his Italian films, O’Brien’s first name was misspelled as “Donald” in the credits for THE FOUR OF THE APOCALYPSE.  O’Brien also worked on Fulci’s second WHITE FANG movie and later appeared in the director’s final Spaghetti Western, SILVER SADDLE (SELLA D’ARGENTO, 1978).

Although SILVER SADDLE fared better at the box office than THE FOUR OF THE APOCALYPSE, it is the least of Fulci’s three Westerns. Conceived as a children’s film along the lines of the WHITE FANG pictures, SILVER SADDLE fails to engage even on that level.  Despite the participation of Sergio Salvati, the poetically surreal atmosphere of THE FOUR OF THE APOCALYPSE was completely absent, as was the gritty violence of MASSACRE TIME, and SILVER SADDLE signaled not only the end of Fulci’s participation in the genre, but also the end of the Spaghetti Western in general. Other filmmakers attempted to revive the moribund genre, but the last gasp of quality provided by THE FOUR OF THE APOCALYPSE, Enzo G. Castellari’s KEOMA (1976) and Sergio Martino’s A MAN CALLED BLADE (MANNAJA, 1977) was not to be repeated.

Interestingly, Fulci himself offered a strange reading of his first two Westerns in various interviews. He maintained that MASSACRE TIME was a “Western that went beyond time and space,” and frequently referred to it as “oneiric,” claiming that French critics called it a “Western reve,” or “dreamed.” It's tempting to assume that Fulci simply got his own films mixed up since these descriptions bear little resemblance to MASSACRE TIME, but could easily be applied to the richly atmospheric FOUR OF THE APOCALYPSE. The more likely scenario is that Fulci’s rift with Ennio De Concini affected his opinion of the film and he chose to embellish the reputation of his first Western with the qualities achieved by his second. Regardless of his own opinions, Fulci’s THE FOUR OF THE APOCALYPSE is his finest entry in the genre, successfully bridging the gap between his earlier work and his later horror pictures by striking a rare balance of warmth and cruelty.

References

-- Palmerini, Luca M. and Mistretta, Gaetano, Spaghetti Nightmares (Fantasma, 1996), Interview with Lucio Fulci, pp. 58-66.

-- Maché, Eric, Westerns...All'Italiana, Issue #25, Spring 1990, Interview with Tomas Milian.

--MW

Another Friday...Another Enzo G. Castellari Shot

Well, we took a week off, but we're back with another behind-the-scenes Enzo G. Castellari photo. This time we've got Enzo and Bo Svenson in the trenches on set of the Inglorious Bastards (1978). That's Enzo's son Andrea peeking out from behind dad.

Click the pic for a large file.
--MW

T.G.I...Enzo! A Rare Behind-the-Scenes Enzo G. Castellari Shot Every Friday.

The third week of the blog comes to an end and we've got another rare Castellari still for you. This week it's from the set of the slapstick Western, CIPOLLA COLT (1975), which features Franco Nero treading in Terence Hill territory. Here Enzo and Martin Balsam discuss a scene, while an unnamed crew member prepares Balsam's mechanical hand prop.

Click for the large size, and as always, give us a link back if you want to use these for anything. We're keeping them high res and free from watermarks.

--MW

Two For Tuesday - Poster Art Appropriation

The original 1963 paperback edition of We Have Always Lived in the Castle features a beautiful cover painting in gouache by William Teason, an artist whose work was widely seen on book covers and movie posters throughout the '60s and '70s. The painting provides a few visual clues about the novel's plot and its teen protagonist Merricat Blackwood, who practices her own personalised form of witchcraft and may or may not have had something to do with the poisoning deaths of her family.

Two of these clues were eliminated in the unsigned bastardization of Teason's painting that appeared on the poster for Mario Bava's SHOCK (1977). Notice how the original artist's signature has also been conveniently cropped from the image. While it's still a powerful image, even with the details altered and washed out, it really doesn't bear much of a resemblance to anything seen in Bava's final feature film.

Just as blatant and inappropriate is this copying of Boris Vallejo's 1979 painting, Vampire's Kiss, which was slightly retooled for Mario Bianchi's sex and horror mash-up, SATAN'S BABY DOLL (1982). Funny how Bianchi's raunch-fest ended up the more demure image.

Below are a couple shots of Michele Soavi's own use of the Vallejo painting in his visually striking second film, THE CHURCH (1989). However, I think this definitely falls more under the category of homage than the poster examples above.

--MW

T.G.I...Enzo! Rare and Unseen Enzo G. Castellari Photos Every Friday.

We started this last Friday, and we've got enough rare Enzo G. Castellari behind-the-scenes production stills to keep this up for a couple years. These are all courtesy of Enzo and his daughter Stefania Girolami. They span his entire career and they're all terrific.

This week's pic is a beautiful shot of Enzo and Franco Nero on the set of the action packed poliziotteschi HIGH CRIME from 1973. Why is this not on DVD/Blu-ray?

Click for the full size version. Please give us a link back if you want to use this for anything, because I'm keeping all of these watermark free.

--MW

Amer

The giallo is indigenous to Italy - it somehow seems to embody the culture with its emotion, passion and flare, as well as with its conservative religious undertones of guilt and innocence. The giallo is an opera of sex and violence and Italian filmmakers created and perfected this form before it ultimately died out in the late ‘70s.

Amer is a French-Belgian co-production whose title translates to "bitter." Directors Helene Cattet and Bruno Forzani have crafted a modern-day homage to Italian gialli that is at once derivative and original. It is a visually stunning dream fugue of a film that will captivate with evocative imagery and possibly frustrate some viewers with its lack of character and narrative. Amer takes a black gloved switchblade to the giallo formula and slices out all the expository and character scenes, leaving only the stylistic excesses and psychological underpinnings. 

The film focuses on three events in the life of the protagonist, Ana, at three different life stages: child, teenager and adult. As a child, Ana lives in a seaside villa that, despite its outward beauty, exudes a darkness and menace. The viewer is shown the house and Ana’s family life through her young eyes, literally. The film tells us that we will be seeing this world through Ana’s eyes from the opening shot – a triple split-screen close-up of Ana’s eyes looking at the viewer. Watching eyes seem to be everywhere in Amer, and everywhere Ana looks she sees something sinister. The house is populated with strange, shadowy figures, mysterious noises, eyes peeping through keyholes, the corpse of her dead grandfather, and a grandmother who appears to be a witch.

In the next sequence Ana is a teenager out on a trip from the villa into a nearby town with her mother. Ana is now becoming a woman and she senses that the watching eyes are not just mysterious or sinister eyes but have now become the leering eyes of men on the streets and in the shops. The third and final sequence brings the story to a thrilling conclusion. Ana is now an adult and returning to the villa where she grew up. The dreamlike atmosphere continues – she walks from the train station through a town that is deserted in the middle of the day. The eyes looking at and menacing Anna continue to surface throughout this final sequence until it builds to a crescendo of suspense and violence.

Amer plays with extreme close-ups and enhanced ambient sound to build the surreal atmosphere throughout each sequence. The loud clicking of locks or the sound of a black glove being pulled over a hand replace dialog as the most important elements of the soundtrack. In fact, there are only about 3 sentences of dialog in the entire 90-plus minute film. The appropriation of classic giallo soundtrack music from Stelvio Cipriani, Ennio Morricone and Bruno Nicolai works surprising well and is not used gratuitously.
The story is not complex and the characters are merely ciphers for the psychological drama that unfolds. However, the visuals that Cattet and Forzani present, and the fever dream atmosphere they create through both sight and sound are enthralling by themselves. I found myself thinking that this is what a giallo would look like if it had been made by David Lynch. It is best to experience this movie as a waking dream and just sit back, leave logic behind and experience this visceral dream and the nightmarishly beautiful images with your eyes and your mind wide open.

--TF

Two For Tuesday - Lucio Fulci Edition

Aenigma (1987) and Manhattan Baby (1982)

One On Top of the Other (1969) and The Beyond (1981)

A Lizard in a Woman's Skin (1971) and The Black Cat (1981)