BLOOD LINK (Alberto De Martino, 1982)

Dr Craig Mannings (Michael Moriarty) has recently been troubled by visions of himself murdering lonely women, which he attributes to the experimental therapy he's been under. In one such vision, he finds a clue that leads him to Hamburg, Germany, where his heretofore presumed dead siamese twin, Keith (Moriarty again), has taken residence. It's revealed that Craig has been seeing the murders through Keith's eyes (ala The Eyes of Laura Mars), and Keith through his just as often. Naturally, Keith seizes the opportunity to continue with his killing spree, now focusing on Craig's friends and framing him in the process. I wish I had an identical twin some days.

It's fairly easy to sum up Blood Link as a promising premise that's flatly executed. The mostly American cast takes away the Eurocheese feel from the proceedings, but the dialogue is long-winded and the performances feel forced at times. Oddly enough, I found Keith to be the most interesting character in the story, because he seemed the most dynamic, evil as he may be. Craig is a harder character to identify with, as he's weak and a bit slow on the uptake at times - and he screws around on his girlfriend, who ends up saving him in the end. In how many Italian thrillers of that period is the protagonist saved by his girlfriend? Can't think of too many.

Stylewise, Blood Link stands above it's ilk. The photography is lush and inventive, and makes good use of mirrored surfaces, disorienting compositions, and the ol' watery soft-focus lens. The moody, noirish lighting and beautiful, though forgettable Ennio Morricone soundtrack almost work with the general tedium of the film. Almost. It's still a dreadfully slow affair for a thriller, but not a bad film.

THE PYJAMA GIRL CASE (Flavio Mogherini,1977)

A little girl stumbles across a woman's charred, mutilated corpse in an abandoned vehicle on an Australian beach. Because the remains have been burnt beyond recognition, the only clue as to the her identity are the yellow pyjamas in which she died. Retired Inspector Thompson (Ray Milland) is intrigued by the case and, unimpressed with the methods employed by the new generation of police, undertakes an investigation of his own. Elsewhere in the city, an ambitious waitress, Linda (Dalila Di Lazzaro), is up to her neck in complications surrounding her personal life. Dissatisfied with her marriage to poor Italian immigrant Antonio, Linda is having an affair with his best friend, Roy, and still seeing the sugar daddy professor (Mel Ferrer) she met prior to marrying, all the while trying to keep their knowledge of each other a secret. The seemingly unrelated storylines eventually intersect in a tragic and unsettling fashion.

The Pyjama Girl Case stands out as a most unique giallo in terms of plot, content, and style. Nowhere will one see razors, gloves, or fedoras, and most of the sex scenes in the film are uncomfortable rather than sexy. The grittiness of the subject matter, and the unabashed approach to it, are often unbearable at times. The film's bright, sunny look mocks Linda's predicament and her underhanded ways of trying to escape it. She's never presented as a manipulative, soulless whore, though. Instead, we see a frightened young woman who's resentful of her impoverished life, who spends much of her time crying and confused, treated as an object of amusement by Roy and her doctor friend. Her degradation, disappointment, and unfair demise are never properly compensated for, even after the capture of her killers, which only adds to the tragic beauty. Milland's cocky, oldschool detective character adds the only levity to the film, and keeps it from becoming too heavy or depressing.

From a technical standpoint, The Pyjama Girl Case is an accomplished effort. The shot compositions, editing, and camerawork are above-par, but what I found most compelling was the lighting and the music. The electronic soundtrack by Riz Ortolani is easily one of his best, and a couple of the funkier tracks have vocals by Amanda Lear, although most memorable is the pulsing, avant-garde electronic piece played during the public viewing of the corpse. As for the look, most of the film is bathed in sunlight, and the colour palette is suitably bright neutrals. The only real colour we see is the alternating red and green of a neon sign outside Linda and Antonio's apartment, which seem to parallel her own hot and cold feelings towards her husband. As a treat for the eyes, ears, and heart strings, The Pyjama Girl Case is definitely up there on my list of recommended gialli.

SHORT NIGHT OF GLASS DOLLS (Aldo Lado, 1971)

When American reporter Gregory Moore's (Jean Sorel) body is found near a park in Prague, it's taken to the morgue where he is pronounced dead. Unknown to the attendants is that Gregory is still alive, conscious but unable to speak or move, and unsure of who he is, and how he got there. From here he must piece together the sequence of events that led to his predicament, before those responsible for it return to complete the deed.

Cleverly written and stunningly filmed, Short Night of Glass Dolls is one classy giallo. It absolutely oozes style, from the moody, noirish lighting, to the hauntingly decadent Ennio Morricone soundtrack. Lado avoided taking the tawdry route that many gialli at the time followed, so even the images of sex and death are beautifully portrayed. Storywise, SNOGD (haha) is also a cut above the rest. Keen viewers will spot some clever foreshadowing at the beginning, and despite a slight lull in the second act, the story is quite intriguing and grows more bizarre and nightmarish as it reaches it's downbeat climax. Anyone who has an aversion to crappy hippies singing crappy hippie songs about butterflies (and hasn't the ability to appreciate cheese) should avoid this film. Sadly, yes, they do exist. But for everyone else, I highly recommend this giallo gem.

THE WASHING MACHINE (Ruggero Deodato, 1993)

Three deranged, morally-bankrupt sisters share a home in Budapest. First, there's Vida; dance instructor by day, call girl by night. Then there's bisexual Sissy, who works with the blind. Ludmilla, the most bizarre of the three, is a musician who carries random percussion instruments around with her. When Ludmilla discovers Vida's shady boyfriend, Yuri, dismembered in their washing machine, police inspector Alexander Stacev is called to the scene. When he arrives, there's no body to be found, so he assumes it was just a late night, alcohol-induced hallucination. However, the sisters insist that Yuri is dead, and each one brings new clues to light by seducing Alexander with increasingly depraved acts. By the time they reveal their true faces and intentions, the inspector is already ensnared in their tangled, and notably sticky web...

Deodato's updated giallo/ erotic thriller was a pleasant surprise. Sexy, sleazy, and stylish, it pushes the erotic angle to the point of softcore porn. Nothing new for the genre, but he really heaps it on here. What keeps The Washing Machine from being but early 90s Euro smut is that there's actually a story, convoluted as it may be, and unprecedented character development, a rarity in gialli. Another anomaly is the controlled use of gore. Aside from the opening scene with Yuri's corpse, the blood is kept to a minimum, thus making it's rare appearances that much more effective. And to top it off, it's all set to Claudio Simonetti's particualr sound. That's more than enough reason to track it down. Of course, it doesn't hurt that the cast are sexy as Hell either.

MY DEAR KILLER (Tonino Valerii, 1972)

George Hilton heads this 1972 giallo by director Tonino Valerii, in the role of Luca Paretti, an inspector drawn into a series of murders that begin with the decapitation of an insurance investigator who was dredging a quarry, for reasons unknown. When the hired dredger is found hanged, all evidence points to suicide, but clever Luca deduces that the man had also been murdered, likely by the same person. A previously unsolved double-homicide and a kidnapping are soon linked to the new deaths, providing Peretti with a surplus of witnesses, most of whom are knocked off just before they can reveal their secrets.

My Dear Killer is a typical giallo that leans a bit more towards cop drama than horror. It's a bit talky, and the majority of the film is spent following the police's investigation, as well as Peretti's relationship with his girlfriend Anna. I'm not implying that it's a boring film, but there is a major lack of action despite a few nifty death scenes, one of which features a power saw. Here Valerii seems more concerned with creating a film with a relaxed feel to it, occasionally punctuated by scenes of violence. Ennio Morricone's simple, chilling score, paired with the rather flat colour scheme, lend to this theory. And on a final note, I might mention that there's a bit of self-aware humour inserted into the story, and a couple of false starts involving gloves and fedoras toy with giallo conventions. I wouldn't advise one to rush out and acquire My Dear Killer immediately, but it's suitable for the more experienced viewer.