A Different Type of Photobomb

Like The Exorcist hopped up on a lethal combination of steroids and Viagra, 1979's Malabimba, directed by envelope pushing Andrea Bianchi (for a reminder of his more well known work, think of his playfully edgy 1975 giallo Strip Nude for Your Killer), is an Italian motion picture not for the faint of heart. . . or you, like one of the characters in the film, might find yourself stone cold. Of course, reading this, I’m sure most will think that this is some sort of poorly done, sleazy exploitation piece attempting to capitalize on the aforementioned horror classic. And though the second sentiment is wholly true, the former is most definitely not so.

It is likely that any other year, outside of 2018, would have meant that a second one of Pawel Pawlikowski’s films would have won Best Foreign Language Film at the Academy Awards (the other is 2013's Ida). Instead, Alfonso Cuarón’s Roma (in its own right, a truly visionary film) froze out Cold War. Though this Polish export did achieve a nomination in the above mentioned category, as well as receive nods for Best Achievement in Directing and Best Achievement in Cinematography, it, in many ways, got overshadowed by another black and white foreign film released the exact same year. . . which is truly a shame. Set in post-war Poland – 1949, to be exact, Wiktor (Tomasz Kot), a very bourgeoisie musician (a dynamo who can play the piano, as well as write and arrange music) – bold, confident, and gifted, tours the countryside, recruiting the most talented teens and twenty somethings for a folk music ensemble that will tour Poland and the rest of the Eastern Bloc. One of the finds, Zula (Joanna Kulig), an undaunted singer, may not be the most pure talent, though she has that certain ‘je ne sais quoi’. With a mystifying persona, she is spark plug, femme fatale (both director and actress inspired by Lauren Bacall and her sarcastic delivery), and, somehow, ingénue. Wiktor has found his muse. . . love at first sight. . . the genesis of a change that you can never return from. A love affair blossoms.

Produced towards the end of the giallo craze, director Antonio Bido’s 1977 film, which had different titles for the major markets in which it played. . . in Italy – The Cat with the Jade Eyes (good luck figuring out how this ties to the movie in any way), in the UK – The Cat’s Victims (again, loose ties at best), in the U.S. – Watch Me When I Kill (again, not very accurate), in France – Terror in the Lagoon (not sure where the Creature was. . . or the lagoon, for that matter), in Germany – The Vote of Death (finally one that may just make sense), takes the prototypical giallo themes and flips them on their head. Not psycho sexually driven or overly graphic in its violence, the story follows a guarded dancer, Mara (Paola Tedesco), who just seems to draw people in. Performing different routines on the stage of a nightclub (keep those minds out of the gutter everyone, think tango rather than striptease), Mara finds so-called filmmakers pestering her to join their project (hoping to get her into bed as well), a needy dance partner who is always keeping an eye on her, and her former fling, Lukas (Corrado Pani), coming around to rekindle their sporadic romance.

Norway is quickly becoming the master of the grounded disaster film. In 2015, The Wave received critical acclaim. . . three years later, the same creative team (including producer Are Heidenstorm and writers John Kåre Raake, Harald Rosenløw-Eeg) brought forth a sequel, The Quake, directed this time by John Andreas Andersen. If there was one complaint about the previous film, it is that there could have been a bit more depth in regard to the characters. Learning from their mistakes, The Quake takes place three years later. . . Kristian Eikjord (Kristoffer Joner) is deemed a hero by the country – though he does not feel one. Bogged down by the countless lives lost after the title wave hit the tourist town Geiranger, the now bearded man is in a fugue-like nervous state.

Coming off a bit like an Asian version of a Quentin Tarantino/Guy Richie feature, First Love (2019) finds iconic Japanese director Takashi Miike (now with over one hundred films under his belt) in his favourite playground, fusing violence, comedy, crime, and romance together in a most entertaining way. An intricate ballet of characters shot at the pace of a hockey game, Leo (Masataka Kubota) is a lonesome boxer. . . an abandoned young man whose only skill is being a pugilist. Taking a limp-wristed punch during a bout, he unexpectedly crumples to the ground like a baby who has just realized that he can walk for the very first time. Medical investigation shows a tumour on the back of his brain – a death warrant. Seeing a street fortune teller (Bengal) soon after, he is frustrated at the man’s two views: one – that he is a healthy young man; and two – that he needs to have a cause and help people.

Like a copycat killer, it is somehow unusual and rather suspicious that anytime a good film idea hits production, it seems like there is another similar project coming down the pipeline. . . sometimes referred to as ‘twin films’, countless examples exist – White House Down and Olympus Has Fallen, Hitchcock and The Girl, The Prestige and The Illusionist, Friends With Benefits and No Strings Attached, Darkest Hour and Churchill, The Descent and The Cave (anyways, you get the idea). Another intriguing example finds the horror classic Don’t Look Now having a doppelganger in the 1972 Aldo Lado directed giallo Who Saw Her Die? – though don’t jump to conclusions as to which one is the knock-off. Released a year prior to the 1973 feature, Who Saw Her Die? also finds itself set in the eerily beautiful city of Venice, where a couple is dealing with the death of their child. With numerous similarities, like a water-set funeral and an intimate sex scene, and though the set up and settings are similar, in many ways, they are separate entities.