The very Italian giallo meets burgeoning blaxsploitation in Port-au-Prince, Haiti in the 1972 crime mystery Tropic of Cancer (sometimes also referred to as Death in Haiti or Peacock’s Palace), directed by Giampaolo Lomi and Edoardo Mulargia (both also co-write along with star Anthony Steffen). A couple on the rocks, Fred and Grace Wright (Gabriele Tinti and Anita Strindberg), make their way to the island paradise to seemingly rekindle their relationship... yet the husband also plans on meeting up with long unseen friend Doctor Williams (Anthony Steffen). Unbeknownst to them (or is it), the M.D. and veterinarian by day and scientist by night (this guy can do everything) has discovered a rather desirable aphrodisiacal hallucinogenic drug formula that everyone is out to get – some legitimately, others not so much.
A giallo that mostly forgoes the prototypical violent splatters and liberal amounts of nudity for a good old fashioned Agatha Christie style murder mystery, 1972's Knife of Ice, also sometimes known as Dagger of Ice and The Ice Pick (memo: ice does not play any part in this motion picture), is the fourth and final time Italian film maker Umberto Lenzi (Seven Blood-Stained Orchids) and American actress Carroll Baker (Baby Doll; The Game) would work together. Baker stars as Martha Caldwell, a woman who has been mute since she was thirteen (it all stems from the fact she was rescued by her parents during a horrid train crash, only to then witness them burn to death – in many ways, the occurrence has stunted her at that very age). Opening with a fantastic sequence in which she attempts to conquer her fears by waiting at the train station for her incoming cousin, Jenny Ascot (Evelyn Stewart – The Psychic), it very much sets the mood – a tense, classical style intro (somewhat reminiscent of the many works of Hitchcock) that makes us feel for our struggling main character.
Expect some lowlifes in the highlands – after all, don’t they say, ‘expect less rather than moor, and you won’t be disappointed’; also, look for some individuals who put the clan in clandestine. Another warning, when dealing with crypts, loch it up and throw away the key. . . okay, enough with all of this wacky wordplay and welcome to one of those intriguing gialli that uproots from their native Italy to a foreign destination (if you haven’t yet guessed Scotland, my kilty pleasure of quirky puns was for naught); namely, Seven Deaths in the Cat’s Eye (1973). Directed by Antonio Margheriti (though you will see his English name, Anthony M. Dawson, in the credits), we are transported into the gothic world of the Scottish countryside alongside Corringa (Jane Birkin), a young woman that is part of the ancient family of MacGrieff – though MacGuffin might be a better name with all of the trickery found in the plot. Making the trip to her clan’s ancestral home (actually a gothic castle named Dragonstone), what she doesn’t know is that a murder has been committed in the cavernous basement of the abode (a location that would make Bruce Wayne jealous).
You know you’re in for a giallo when the word is literally in the Italian title. . . La Ragazza Dal Pigiama Giallo, simplified in English by being called The Pyjama Girl Case (1978), the word giallo, if you recall, is in reference to the garish yellow used on the covers of many of the books writers pulled from to create the films’ narratives – in this case, it is referencing the distinctive colour of the pyjamas the murdered girl was wearing when found. Written and directed by Flavio Mogherini, and based on a real case (the unsolved murder of Linda Agostini in 1934), this is a very rare giallo set in Australia, Sydney to be specific. A narrative about foreignness, nearly everyone in this Down Under landscape is an immigrant searching for a better life (though, as you will see, this isn’t always the outcome).
An Americanized twist on the Agatha Christie murder mystery, Rian Johnson writes and directs Knives Out (2019), an entertaining crime-centric dramedy that earned him an Academy Award nomination for Best Original Screenplay. Centred on the suicide (or is it murder – cue the dramatic music) of famed crime writer and patriarch Harlan Thrombey (Christopher Plummer), he was the centre (and benefactor) of his entire family. Though this is the genesis event, the main player is actually his kind-hearted and thoughtful caretaker/nurse, Marta Cabrera (Ana de Armas) – someone who is constantly reminded by Harlan’s relatives that she is a part of the family (despite them claiming she is from Ecuador, Cuba, Uruguay, Paraguay and Brazil – definitely part of the family). With a really weird disorder, she vomits anytime she attempts to lie – not good in a murder mystery.
Are you in the mood for a Taste of Sin. . . perhaps with a dash of Double Jeopardy. . . and what the heck even is a Prozzie (for those of you not in the know, it is slang for a prostitute). . . or, to end with the most generic and lackluster of all, meet Olivia. Every once in a while, you’ve just got to love finding a little known, underground, low budget B movie that has stayed hidden from most of the world since its release (in this case, 1983), and Olivia (which was also released under the three other titles mentioned above) fits the bill. A film that pulls a bit from Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (you might also recognize some similarities to Marnie and Psycho), as well as from the luridly entertaining crime and thrillers coming out of Europe the decade previously (gialli and poliziotteschi), and a number of other sources, co-writer/director Ulli Lommel (who was a frequent collaborator with acclaimed Rainer Werner Fassbinder), introduces us to poor Olivia (Suzanna Love as an adult; as a five year old – Amy Robinson), a young woman who has been dealt a poor hand in life. Growing up with her prostitute mother overlooking London bridge, she witnesses her mom’s demise at the hands of a sadistic American soldier (Nicholas Love). . . flash forward fifteen years, and she has found her way into the arms of the first brute she bumps into, Richard (Jeff Winchester) – already four years married to the uncouth, violent factory worker.
Ryan Gosling’s first, and to date, only writing and directing credit, 2014's Lost River is by no means a film for everyone. . . an arthouse style dark fairytale with tinges of gialli violence and colour, the actor turned filmmaker sets in place a slow, unsettling mood that will either hold you in its oppressive grip, or might just leave you up the creek without a paddle. The title a reference to the town in which we are dropped into, it is like much of smaller town America (and some of larger city America as well – it is actually filmed in Detroit), a crumbling locale where many young folks have fled, businesses sit empty, roving gangs of hoodlums burn houses for the fun of it, and everyone lives in a dystopic-like fugue state of depressed apathy.