Transporting its Italian comic book roots to the big screen, Danger: Diabolik (1968), directed by Mario Bava (Blood and Black Lace) and produced by powerhouse Dino De Laurentiis (Barbarella), plays like a vivid three dimensional escapade that fuses elements of swinging sixties spy chic, an early take on the anti-hero, a greedy twist on the Robin Hood tales of yore, and splashes of kitschy Batman (that is, the television series), all coming together for plenty of frivolous fun. The titular Diabolik (John Phillip Law) is a sort of master thief, a black spandex wearing, Jaguar E-type driving genius who thrives on stealing money from an unnamed European government – which, at best, is incompetent, at worst, corrupt users of their taxpaying base. Though, unlike Robin Hood, he keeps the oodles of cash for himself and his helpful mini-skirt wearing girlfriend Eva Kant (Marisa Mell).
A film that, upon its initial release, failed to garner much praise (in fact, most critics despised it), or earn more than the budget in which it cost but has since been reappraised by a growing cult of fans who truly appreciate it, The Replacements (2000), directed by Howard Deutch (Pretty in Pink), is a clever sports comedy that feeds off of stereotypes, giving the audience exactly what it wants – a true underdog story. Loosely based on the 1987 NFL strike, Eddie Martel (Brett Cullen) is the prototypical conceited athlete, the cocky quarterback who is the face of the franchise and the voice of why he and his teammates need more millions. Forcing Washington Sentinels owner Edward O’Neil (Jack Warden – in his last onscreen performance) to fill the void, he woos back a coach he has previously fired, Jimmy McGinty (Gene Hackman), to recruit a new team to finish the season off (they need to win three of their last four games to make the playoffs).
As light and frivolous as a wispy summer cloud meandering across a baby blue sky, 1956's The Girl Can’t Help It, written and directed by Frank Tashlin, though perhaps at first glance not as influential (or known) as its very similar cousin from the previous year, The Seven Year Itch, is an entertaining musical comedy that had a huge impact on pop culture. . . though intriguingly not on the movie industry (but more on that later). Flipping the script slightly from the Billy Wilder classic, Tom Ewell plays a similarly twitchy man, an alcoholic press agent, Tom Miller, who ironically thinks himself an adonis despite his rather frail, nervous demeanor around women. Instead of being slightly bored in a staid marriage, he has instead lost his chance at telling his former singing sensation client Julie London (as herself) that he was falling for her – she has now moved on to bigger and better things.
If you’ve delved into the world of film noir, you’ve likely seen a number of unusual ones. . . some may be set in other countries, or in a winter wonderland (a far cry from the expected asphalt jungle that is Los Angeles), even a nuclear bomb can be found in a mid 50s example. . . yet one set during the holiday season? That’s right, 1944's Christmas Holiday, directed by the great Robert Siodmak (Phantom Lady; Criss Cross), might mislead a few with its title (but more on that later). A vehicle for two very unexpected stars for this type of picture, Deanna Durbin (a name perhaps less known today), was a child actor turned girl next door who is often credited with helping save Universal Studios during the Great Depression. Close to bankruptcy, the teenage star took the world by storm, her musical numbers a massive draw in features like Three Smart Girls (at the age of only 14) and One Hundred Men and a Girl, it all leading to an Academy Juvenile Award in 1938. Her first role in which she attempted to break out of this child-like ingenue typecasting, you might be able to guess that there were many who were shocked and unimpressed by this new Durbin.
Giallo fun fact of the day: did you know that by shooting pigeons, you will help quash your primordial animalistic desire to kill? Well, this bizarre fact will most definitely be put to the test in the very film it is found within. . . 1970's A Quiet Place to Kill, directed by Umberto Lenzi and starring Carroll Baker – their third of four collaborations together. Try to follow me here, this film can often be mistaken for another, as A Quiet Place to Kill was titled Paranoia in its native Italy (a co-production between the boot, Spain, and France) – which just so happens to be the same title (at least in the United States) as Lenzi and Baker’s 1969 effort, Orgazmo (you can probably guess why American distributors chose to rename it. . . also, don’t confuse this with the 90s American sex comedy). And, just to be different, in Spain, they decided to call it A Drug Named Helen. . . talk about playing the name game. And, just to further complicate the primary title, Lenzi directed a picture the next year – called An Ideal Place to Kill. . . it seems like Lenzi was making so many gialli that he was running out of titles for them.
Sometimes you just can’t catch a break. As if fate itself is against you, the dominoes fall, one at a time, each bringing with it another problem that places you in a further bind. Increasingly more Desperate (1947), you have to measure every step appropriately, for the tagline dramatically suggests, “MURDER at any moment! SUSPENSE. . . in every step!!!”. A film noir directed by Anthony Mann (he is also co-credited for the story along with Dorothy Atlas), our unlucky man is Steve Randall (Steve Brodie), a vet who has just returned from World War 2. Though he has married and found a job (as a truck driver), the next domino falls when a wily criminal gang, led by Walt Radak (Raymond Burr – yes, Perry Mason himself), reaches out to him for his driving skills and giant vehicle (on his anniversary, no less).
A man, scorned by his ungrateful wife on their anniversary (he had front row tickets to a well reviewed live show), buries his head in alcohol at the local bar, only to stumble into a mysterious thirty-something woman in an equally sour mood (she does have quite a fabulous hat on though). Deciding to go to the show together (with the caveat that they are not to divulge their names to each other), it is a wonderful evening that buoys their spirits a bit. A seemingly serendipitous love story. . . the only problem, said man returns home to find three detectives in his living room waiting for him, as his wife has been strangled to death by some necktie wielding maniac. The introduction to the 1944 film noir crime drama Phantom Lady, directed by Robert Siodmak (and based on a Cornell Woolrich novel of the same name – under his pseudonym William Irish), Scott Henderson (Alan Curtis) is the unlucky chap mentioned above. His only alibi. . . the unknown woman, who will be so elusive that he will start to wonder if he simply imagined her (it doesn’t help that he cannot remember the woman in finer detail since learning of his wife’s murder).