Most egregiously (again, by today’s standards) is the fact women have zero power – unless you count their ability to make men literally stop in the streets to froth at the mouth, staring at their toned legs and firm breasts. crowd it does do wonders for what might have been an otherwise generic giallo. Martino ramps up the Sleaze Factor to 11, and while much of the content here won’t play favorably to the 2017 P.C. Suddenly, the decision to take a stay-cation in an isolated mansion atop a cliff doesn’t seem like it was the best idea. After Suzy breaks her ankle in a ridiculously freak fall from a staircase, she finds herself in a very vulnerable position because – shocker – this is about when the killer decides to strike. There are red herrings aplenty (duh, it is a giallo) and while the film does attempt to misdirect viewers into the identity of the killer it should be painfully evident to anyone well versed in these films who is behind all the madness. Things start off splendidly at the villa, with the girls drinking wine and sunbathing nude.
Hell, he couldn’t even take out one of the ladies if he tried. Their only constant contact comes in the form of a grocery delivery guy, who brings bread and milk every day, though he’s mentally slow and clearly would be ineffective in stopping a murderer.
Yea, sure, that isn’t a perfectly ideal place to kill four women staying alone, with no weapons or easy means of escape. Instead, they choose a remote cliffside villa overlooking the town. Because of the at-large killer and the potential for her, or any one of her nubile college-aged friends, to be killed at any moment, Suzy and the gals decide to take a vacation until all of this blows over, somewhere far, far away… Just kidding. Jane (Suzy Kendall) recognizes the murder weapon and soon after finds herself a potential victim. It isn’t among the genre’s best offerings, but it does occupy a place on the unofficial list of notorious shockers.Ī ski-masked killer sadistically murders two young college students his calling card being a red and black ascot used to strangle his victims. The experience of watching it with an audience completely blows away a solo screening on the couch, with the insanity of Martino’s unyielding sexuality and brutal murder galvanizing bloodthirsty grindhouse crowds. Torso has been hailed as a giallo masterpiece by the likes of Quentin Tarantino, and it was actually at his theater, the New Beverly in Hollywood, where I first saw it on a double-bill with Pieces (1982) back in 2008 during Eli Roth’s “The Greats of Roth” film festival. I don’t watch films by Argento or Bava or Martino to be engrossed by a strong script I want to revel in lurid lensing and super saturated scenarios filled with death and sex and abject violence. Italian horror is usually light on exposition, preferring to place more emphasis on style and sizzle than crafting a comprehensible story. Confession time: I have seen director Sergio Martino’s 1973 giallo, Torso, on at least three or four occasions and each viewing has left me wondering just what in the hell is going on half the time.
0 kommentar(er)
