Massimo Dallamano returns to his dodgy under-age schoolgirl themed Gialli with this one, which starts off with a bunch of cops led by Mario Adorf finding a corpse of a teenage girl hanging from the rafters of a rented apartment. It soon becomes apparent that the girl wasn't killed at all, was pregnant, and apparently very accommodating with men. Turns out there's this child prostitute ring andaalkght lekgajbkga zhdf
Jesus Christ! Right in the middle of typing this Jimmy Saville's rotting corpse just burst into the room and attacked me, along with several high ranking Conservative MPs, many seventies television presenters, some Rochdale based restaurant owners and taxi drivers, one Australian entertainer, and an undead Max Clifford. Luckily they thought I was a teenage girl, and now they've all gone off, disappointed, to the nearest high school.
Child prostitution rings aren't funny, when you think about it, and therefore this film is a bit on the grim and dreary side, even if it is well made and looks great. I've got to say however that it plays down the sleaze factor and concentrates on the police investigation more, which goes in the film's favour. Slightly.
Sulky, good-looking Claudio Cassanelli plays the lead detective, who joins forces the Assistant DA Giovanna Ralli in order to track down the girl's killers, which leads them to another house where the girl was actually killed. Here they also find a room totally splattered with blood, so there's another murder to solve too. Round about this time a mystery man on a motorbike starts chopping up various people, including a couple of cops, but what is he trying to cover up? Apart from his face?
It's a good film, but there's not enough poliziotesschi action for folks like me who have just watched Cry of A Prostitute, and not enough mystery for folks like me who have just watched Spasmo. Dallamano does throw in a car chase near the end, and has a couple of good stalking sequences, but by straddling both genres he doesn't quite provide enough extremes of either to make a truly great film.
It's alright though. Best thing is that when I went to Rome for the third time, I actually managed to track down Dario Argento's shop, Profondo Rosso. It's not too far from the Vatican, as it turns out, and while I went downstairs to the horror museum, my wife and kids sat outside on the pavement, playing some sort of game. Just as they were doing that a bike dressed exactly like the killer in this film mounted the pavement and almost ran them all over. It was like being in my own Giallo where Italians are trying to kill me and my family for not liking Felinni enough. Isn't that cool?
My wife didn't think so.
But I did. Don't tell her.
Jesus Christ! Right in the middle of typing this Jimmy Saville's rotting corpse just burst into the room and attacked me, along with several high ranking Conservative MPs, many seventies television presenters, some Rochdale based restaurant owners and taxi drivers, one Australian entertainer, and an undead Max Clifford. Luckily they thought I was a teenage girl, and now they've all gone off, disappointed, to the nearest high school.
Child prostitution rings aren't funny, when you think about it, and therefore this film is a bit on the grim and dreary side, even if it is well made and looks great. I've got to say however that it plays down the sleaze factor and concentrates on the police investigation more, which goes in the film's favour. Slightly.
Sulky, good-looking Claudio Cassanelli plays the lead detective, who joins forces the Assistant DA Giovanna Ralli in order to track down the girl's killers, which leads them to another house where the girl was actually killed. Here they also find a room totally splattered with blood, so there's another murder to solve too. Round about this time a mystery man on a motorbike starts chopping up various people, including a couple of cops, but what is he trying to cover up? Apart from his face?
It's a good film, but there's not enough poliziotesschi action for folks like me who have just watched Cry of A Prostitute, and not enough mystery for folks like me who have just watched Spasmo. Dallamano does throw in a car chase near the end, and has a couple of good stalking sequences, but by straddling both genres he doesn't quite provide enough extremes of either to make a truly great film.
It's alright though. Best thing is that when I went to Rome for the third time, I actually managed to track down Dario Argento's shop, Profondo Rosso. It's not too far from the Vatican, as it turns out, and while I went downstairs to the horror museum, my wife and kids sat outside on the pavement, playing some sort of game. Just as they were doing that a bike dressed exactly like the killer in this film mounted the pavement and almost ran them all over. It was like being in my own Giallo where Italians are trying to kill me and my family for not liking Felinni enough. Isn't that cool?
My wife didn't think so.
But I did. Don't tell her.