The Forbidden Photos of a Lady Above Suspicion (Luciano Ercoli, 1970)

You're an attractive redhead who's addicted to tranquilizers and has a bit of a drinking problem... You're joking, right? "A bit of a drinking problem"?!? Okay, she's got a lot of a drinking problem. And you [the attractive redhead] think you have just hit the jackpot when you decide to marry a guy who owns a company that manufactures scuba diving equipment. Well, think again, red. He didn't marry you for the shapely stems that jut out from the bottom half of your equally shapely torso. Come again? Her legs. He didn't marry her just for her legs. Why didn't you just say that in the first place? Eat my ass. It couldn't have anything to do with money, as he owns his business. Yeah, but, you'll notice that I didn't say, "successful business." Five out of ten scuba gear companies fail within the first six months of operation. Did they marry each other for love? Don't be naïve. No one married for love back in 1970. I'm confused, so who's conning who here? I don't know, but as I was watching the exceedingly Italian The Forbidden Photos of a Lady Above Suspicion, I began to wonder: does it really matter? Even though it bears several of the markings of your typical giallo, you won't find much as far as grisly murders go. In fact, I don't think anyone is stabbed in this film, unless you of course count the pulsating pussy attached to...You know what? I'm not going to finish that thought. C'mon, why not? I don't know, I'm tired of being rude, lewd, and lascivious. Okay, stop pulling my leg, I'll finish my thought. Firstly, I was nowhere near your leg. And secondly, your use of the expression, "pulling my leg," was not apt at all. Do you want me to finish my thought or not? Go ahead. In fact, I don't think anyone is stabbed in this film, unless of course you define the act of allowing a pulsating pussy to be penetrated by an erect penis as being "stabbed."

Has the groaning subsided yet? It hasn't? Dang, tough crowd. I'll wait a couple of more seconds then. In the meantime, feast your eyes on Dagmar Lassander as she soaks her dainty nooks and her sophisticated Euro-crannies in the tub in the film's opening scene.

The worst offense you'll see in this film, directed by Luciano Erocoli, besides some questionable fashion choices, is blackmail. However, on the plus side, the photos used in the film's primary blackmailing scheme are pornographic in nature.

Just kidding, by the way, about the questionable fashion choices, 'cause from where I was sitting–and, if memory serves me correctly, I was sitting pretty freaking close–there isn't a single fashion faux pas to be found in this motion picture.

Despite her determination to stop smoking, to stop drinking, and to stop taking tranquilizers, Minou (Dagmar Lassander) reneges on all three before her lavish mane of red hair has even had time to dry; she was taking a bath when she made a promise to herself to quit those particular vices. Hold on, her hair wasn't wet. Who said anything about the hair on her head? Zing! Actually, I don't think the tufts of pubic hair that surround her pinkish yet not even close to being mawkish vagina match the hair that sits atop her pretty little head. Follicle symmetry aside, Minou has Drink #1 immediately after getting dressed; tranq #1 is taken shortly after she has a drink, but I'm going to focus my attention mostly on her chronic alcoholism.

Don't focus too much, though. Why is that? You failed to mention any details when it came to Minou getting dressed. You're right, I didn't. Let's rectify that, shall we? Hopping out of the tub to the lounge-tastic strains of Ennio Morricone's "Dell'Orso," Minou puts on a robe and paints her toenails on her bed. As she combs her hair in the mirror, Minou wonders to herself if the pink mini-dress she is wearing is too conservative. With a pair of white pantyhose already pressing tightly against everything below her pristine undercarriage, Minou finishes off her ensemble by sliding on a pair of almost knee-high black boots.

I think most of you will agree, judging by her fierceness, that Minou is ready to be harassed by "The Blackmailer" (Simón Andreu), a shady sex fiend with dark hair who vexes the fashion-forward redhead throughout this stylish motion picture. And what better place to be harassed/vexed than a dark alleyway. Holding a switchblade (one with an extra long handle) to her throat, The Blackmailer, whose real name is never uttered, informs Minou that her beloved husband, the equally dark-haired Peter (Pier Paolo Capponi), is a murderer. Leaving her to absorb/contemplate this little nugget of juicy gossip, The Blackmailer drives off on his motorcycle.

Wandering in a "I wasn't just killed by a dark-haired sex fiend, but told instead that my dark-haired husband is a murderer" haze, Minou takes refuge in a nearby tavern, and orders to two small brandies. Since she ordered two drinks, does that mean Minou has two drinks? Huh? I'm keeping track of Minou's alcohol intake, and would like to know how to label each drink she has. You know what? I'm going to count the two small brandies as Drink #2. After all, she drinks them both in quick succession.

After being picked up by husband, much to the chagrin of two Carlsberg-drinking barflies, Minou is back at home with Drink #3 in her hand. Reassured that Peter wouldn't love any less because of some sex fiend, Minou puts on a blonde afro wig and heads out to a local nightclub. Sipping on Drink #4 in one of the club's booths, Minou, despite the raucous nightclub atmosphere, still looks somewhat preoccupied. If anyone can cheer Minou up, it's her best friend, the fabulous with a capital 'F' Dominique (Nieves Navarro), a chic force of nature whose arrival causes the less chic to crumble the moment they lay their not as chic eyes on her.

While taking another bath, in, get this, a different bathtub all together (the scuba gear racket has done all right by them), Minou notices that her pet turtle (oh, let's call him, Tik Tok) has inadvertently pushed one of her pink slippers underneath the shower curtain. The only reason I'm mentioning Tik Tok is because he or she actually play an important role later on in the film, and the slipper pushing incident is merely included to remind us that Tik Tok has a tendency to shove things around.

Having a drink, make that, "Drink #5," with Dominique at an outdoor cafe, Minou tells her exceedingly chichi friend all about the incident with The Blackmailer. Instead expressing sympathy, Dominique seems jealous. She even says, "I would have adored being violated," at one point. Since the table is obscuring the view of Minou's black pantyhose adorned legs, the action moves to Dominique's swanky pad, where the two friends drink booze (Drink #6) and look at pornographic photos. You gotta love a movie that features two leggy gal pals lounging in a leggy manner while looking at so-called "dirty pictures" that may or may not boast leggy models.

Just in case some of us weren't satisfied by the quality of the leggy lounging in the previous scene, Minou's pantyhose adorned legs are the focal point of the next one.

Remember when The Blackmailer told Minou that her that husband is a murderer? Well, it would seem that Minou is starting believe what The Blackmailer said was true. Growing increasingly suspicious, Minou thinks her husband might have been responsible for the death of a local businessman, one that, get this, her husband owed money to.

When The Blackmailer calls Minou in the middle of the night, she decides to have Drink #7. I wish I could tell you what kind of beverage she has every time she pours herself a drink (I'm not good at spotting booze). However, I'm guessing she's a J+B scotch whiskey kind of gal. Don't ask me why, it's just a hunch.

It's only a matter of time before Minou and The Blackmailer meet again, and they do so at his menacingly decorated apartment. Did anyone else notice that The Blackmailer didn't offer Minou a drink? I know, how rude.

Thankfully, she has plenty to drink at home. Only problem is, her husband nearly catches her in a lie. "Nearly" because a quick-thinking Dominique steps in to save the day. To celebrate a successful save, Minou enjoys Drink #8; which helps her wash down tranq #3.

Made at a time when love was a fraud, drinking was mandatory, drug abuse was tolerated, and fashion was dangerous, The Forbidden Photos of a Lady Above Suspicion might seem like a stylish morality tale about a wide-eyed redhead struggling to survive in a world filled with dark-haired sex fiends. In actuality, it's just an excuse for the director to film his girlfriend, Nieves Navarro, in various outre outfits.

Actually, the film is pretty suspenseful in places, and Dagmar Lassander gives an excellent performance as an alcoholic trendsetter who grows increasingly frazzled as the film progresses. That being said, there is some truth to what I said about Nieves Navarro, as she looks amazing in this film.

My favourite Nieves Navarro looks in this film were the black all-slit number she wears when Dominique tries to comfort Minou during a crisis (Drink #9) and the black trench coat shes dons during the action-packed climax. If you're wondering what "all-slit" means. It's when a garment has an unending slit down the side. And in the case of Dominique's slit-heavy getup, it has two unending slits on each side.

Oh, and for those keeping track at home, Minou consumes a total of 10 alcoholic beverages in this movie (the tenth one is served just before the action-packed finale). Cheers.

Werewolf Woman (Rino Di Silvestro, 1976)

Reprobates ruin everything. Whether you're a woman, a werewolf, or a werewolf woman, there always seems to be a reprobate lurking behind every door just waiting to squash your happiness. You would think that the werewolf woman at the centre of Werewolf Woman (a.k.a. La Lupa Mannara), a hit and miss piece of Italian mishegas about a statuesque blonde woman who thinks she's a statuesque blonde werewolf, killed a bunch a people, judging by the way she's treated in this movie. I don't mean to contradict you mid-spiel, but the woman in question, the statuesque blonde woman, does kill a bunch of people. And, if memory serves me correctly, she even stabs your favourite character in the neck with a pair of scissors. Oh, yeah. Well, so what? That doesn't mean she deserves to be violated every five seconds with whatever uncircumcised cocks are on hand. I wasn't implying that she deserved to be violated. I was just saying that she seemed to go out of her way to be, oh, let's say, difficult. I think we can all agree that the statuesque blonde woman who thinks she's a werewolf has issues. Some might say that her actions were totally justified; every non-stuntman she meets either wants to rape her or throw her in the loony bin. Oh, and, don't think things will be rape-free once she's locked up in a mental institution on the outskirts of a fever dream. I have twelve words for you:  Leggy hypersexualized bisexual lesbians who can't apply make-up to save their life. Others might say she went too far.
 

 

Personally, I land squarely somewhere in the middle. I thought her crushing of those two rapists with a scrapyard crane was the correct and rational course of action; and rather ingenious, if you ask me, as in, I like to see you coerce two rapists into the car your about to crush with a scrapyard crane. However, biting the neck of that "peasant girl" totally crossed the line. All she wanted to do was have regulation barnyard intercourse with her boyfriend, which you let her do. But you had to go and destroy her post-coital bliss with some impromptu neck biting. The consensual cum currently coagulating in her cunt will never be able to conceive a child now, you selfish, dream-wrecking hosebeast.
 

 

You might have noticed that I used the expression "hit and miss" to describe my overall feelings toward this Rino Di Silvestro-directed enterprise. Well, that's because some parts were awesome, while others were...not-so much. Don't hold back, spit it out. Okay, some parts were downright tedious. There, I said it. In fact, any scene that involved Tino Carraro, Frederick Stanford, and Elio Zamuto talking about Annik Borel's Daniela Neseri, a mentally unwell woman who goes insane whenever there's a full moon, was beyond dull. If think what you're trying to say is, any scene that didn't boast the lovely Annik Borel was beyond dull. Yeah, I guess that's another way of putting it.
 

 

I don't know what it is about the men in this movie, but they all seem to want to control Daniela (Annik Borel), a woman who thinks she's related to a werewolf woman from the 18th century. Her father, Count Nerseri (Tino Carraro) thinks she's mad, her doctor (Elio Zamuto) has this kooky theory that the moon is affecting her brain, and Inspector Modica (Frederick Stanford) simply wants to lock her up. Since when has it become a crime to run naked through woods? I know it was probably against the law in 1785, but this is the 1970s, baby; writhing naked underneath a tree is mandatory. 
 

 

We get a firsthand look at how important writhing naked in the vicinity of a tree is to a werewolf woman when the film opens with just that: lot's of naked dirt writhing. Starting off somewhere in 18th century Europe, Annik Borel plays a woman who isn't afraid to hurl her blonde pussy to and fro like an under-stuffed rag doll. Dancing naked in the middle of a flaming circle, the woman eventually grows hair and starts to howl at the moon. Interrupting her howling session are a group of  reactionaries in tri-cornered hats wielding torches and axes. When one of the reactionaries gets too close to where the hirsute woman is hiding, she bites him on the neck. Realizing that neck-biting is hard work, the woman finishes him off by axing him in the head; why bite when you can axe?
 

 

Ultimately caught by the mob, the werewolf woman is burnt at the stake. Just as her screams of agony were starting to pierce the night air, Daniela wakes up in a fright. Disturbed that her daughter is having nightmares about a long dead ancestor who may or may not have been a werewolf, her father consults a physician. The next morning everything things seem fine, as Daniela and her father are lounging by their pool. This scene gives us our first daytime look at Annik Borel's stunning frame, which is adorned with a skimpy black bikini. It's too bad their leggy maid had to come over and upstage her, because Annik had the audience eating out of the palm of her hand; no fooling, I felt like a goat at a petting zoo.
 

 

The reason the leggy maid, who I think was called Anna, intruded on Daniela's sunbathing was to tell them that her sister Elena (Dagmar Lassander) and her boyfriend Fabian are coming over tomorrow. And judging by the annoyed expression on her face when the news is delivered, Daniela is not looking forward to their visit. You think she's annoyed now. Wait until she finds out that her sister's boyfriend looks exactly like the guy her ancestor axed in the head back in the 18th century.
 

 

To call Daniela's demeanour around Elena, who's wearing a chic turquoise gown, cold and detached would be understatement. While Elena and Fabian have sex in the guest room, Daniela is giving herself a self-massage while wearing a diaphanous nightgown in the hallway. The cool thing about Daniela's nightgown, besides being diaphanous and junk, was the large the slit that allowed easy access to her thighs and vagina. And, of course, Daniela takes full advantage of this. Oh, and before she goes into the hallway to touch herself in an erotic manner, Daniela is visited by a ghost with bloody arms and is groped by a lizard. 
 

 

If you thought Daniela's diaphanous nightgown looked great in a hallway setting, you should see it out in the woods. Luring Fabian into the aforementioned woods with the lankiness of her naked body, Daniela bites him on the neck. Scratch that, "bites him on the neck" sounds to quaint. No, what Daniela does to Fabian was akin to a good old fashion throat ripping.

 

After dumping his body in a gully, Daniela is found unconscious in the woods. Covered with red splotches, Daniela wakes up in the hospital surrounded by doctors. Hey, doc. Maybe she wouldn't be covered with so many red splotches if you didn't insist on poking them, you glorified pervert. Actually, the doctor loses all his pervert cred when he casually dismisses the flirtatious advances of the crazed patient in the hall. It's obvious that the crazed patient in the hall has been camped out on that spot waiting for the good doctor to stroll on by. And when he does, finally stroll on by, that is, she whips out her right breast. Showing it to him with a sense of pride, the crazed patient in the hall asks the doctor, "Pretty nice, huh?" Gesturing toward her naked breast with the full force of her expressive eyebrows. As she is boasting about her realness, "I'm a real woman," the doctor tells to her to go bed.
 

 

To add insult to injury, the doctor says, "Breasts, legs, they're all the same to me. I'm a doctor." What the... I don't often use the h-word, but I fucking hate this guy. The manner in which the doctor ignored the crazed patient in the hall's advances depressed the hell out of me. I know, doctors aren't supposed to have sex with their patients. However, if you're doctor, and you happen to find yourself in a movie called "Werewolf Woman," you're totally allowed to have sex with your patients, especially if they're crazed and have a tendency to stand seductively in hospital hallways.
 

 

Growing increasingly inpatient with the whole being strapped to a hospital bed thing (her blonde pussy is aching to run free in the woods), Daniela starts to writhe and hurl insults at the staff; even her sister gets an earful when she attempts to pay a visit ("I hate you! You whore!"). 
 

 

You know what Daniela needs? She needs to feel the loving embrace that only the crazed patient in the hall can provide. Stalking the halls in a skimpy black negligee, the crazed patient, who has tried to make herself more pretty by applying make-up to her face (I'd give her impromptu make-up job four handjobs out of five), tiptoes toward Daniela's room. Entering gams first, the crazed patient can't believe her luck. Lying before her is probably the most glorious hunk of womanhood she has ever stumbled upon. Unsure where her groping focus should start, the crazed patient molests Daniela's body with a chaotic brand of impishness.
 

 

When Daniela bites the crazed patient's hand (like I said, her groping-sphere was erratic), the crazed patient begins the realize that maybe she's not the one who's crazed.
 

 

Now, I don't want to give away what happens next. But let's just say I was none too pleased. Anyway, Daniela escapes from the hospital, and hits the open road. Killing almost everyone she comes in contact with (rapists, random women), Daniela eventually settles down with a stuntman (Howard Ross), who is living in a house located on an abandoned western-themed movie set. How long will Daniela be able to resist the urge to rip out the throat of her new beau? Only time will tell. But like they say, once a werewolf woman, always a werewolf woman.
 

 

What I liked most about Werewolf Woman, besides Annik Borel's fearless and outre performance (she gives new meaning to the word gusto) and the killer soundtrack, was the fact that Daniela wasn't really a werewolf, or was she? Sure, she liked to bite people, but she managed to do so without the aide of fur or fangs. No, what Daniela represents is a new breed of woman; one that likes the outdoors and one that happens to enjoy tearing out throats. You could call the film a feminist allegory. But I won't be doing that. Why? Because I don't feel like it. If you were to edit out all the dull scenes that featured men discussing Daniela's condition, you would have a classic on your hands.
 

 

Oh, and if anyone knows the name of the actress who plays "the crazed patient in the hall," please, don't hesitate to let me know.

trailer uploaded by SuperDavidgc

The Frightened Woman (Piero Schivazappa, 1969)

Isn't it funny how some people in 1960s seemed to be living in the future, while most people today seem to be living in the past? Well, at least I thought it was funny. Of course, not in a ha-ha sort of way, but in a way that causes a shitload of self-induced neck-dependent nodding to occur. Desperate to be apart of a future they will never see, certain individuals living during the era of free love wanted to live like it was 2050. A world full of newfangled gizmos that helped make life not only more enjoyable, but easier as well, the future couldn't come soon enough for those who could afford to pretend it was already here. Only problem is, and The Frightened Woman (a.k.a Femina Ridens) shines a hip and happening light on this problem better than any film I've seen in quite some time, the majority of the people who had the money to make their vision of the future a reality, nine times out of ten, would abuse their power in order to satisfy another need all together. I know, you're thinking to yourself, what could be more important than living in the future during the 1960s?!? Like most folks who watched scorpions have sex as kids, I thought the fact that the female scorpion ate the male scorpion after they had finished exchanging fluids was pretty cool. However, there are those who view the scorpions violent mating ritual as a direct threat to their masculinity. You see, in their mind, it's only a matter of time before human females start killing human males after coitus. And instead of using his swinging pad of the future, complete with his and her walk-in body dryers and a room dedicated solely to sadomasochism, for good (orgies, acid parties, and face painting), the man at the centre of this trippy ride into the jaws of femininity wants to use it for purposes of a psychosexual nature. 
 

 

And you know what that means? Exactly. Poison-tipped daggers, unasked for Jean Seberg makeovers, BDSM, forced foot massages, and whimsical photo shoots. No, not whimsical photo shoots. Anything but that. Actually, things start to lighten up a bit when the photo shoot that may or may not be whimsical comes along.
 

 

We're a long way from seeing anything occurring that could be construed as "whimsical" when The Frightened Woman (a.k.a. The Laughing Woman) gets underway. It may not be whimsical, but the film's opening is too chic for words. Groovy music, groovy colours, groovy sets, and groovy...well, you get the idea, the films starts off by taking us on a tour of a large sculpture that features two giant, rainbow-coloured legs spread wide to reveal a toothy vagina.
 

 

Sticking with the legs theme, the film then shows a prostitute (Mirella Pamphili) applying ointment to her bruised thighs while riding in the car of an affluent trick. Which begs the question: Why don't more movies have scenes that feature prostitutes applying ointment to their bruise-laden thighs. Um, I don't think that question was being begged. Hmm, that's interesting. 'Cause I could have sworn I heard it being begged. Either way, the film is off to a cracking good start: Vagina dentata and thigh-based ointment application. Yeah, baby!
 

 

The prostitute, for those interested, has curly blonde hair, is wearing red knee-high boots and is carrying a purse that goes with her curly blonde hair. Oh, and after her affluent trick pays her (with a cheque), she gets into a white Rolls-Royce, which takes her to a house where she talks on the phone in pink pearls and tries on fur coats. I'm not sure what all this has to do with the movie, but I'm enjoying her self-absorbed antics, nonetheless.
 

 

Speaking of being not sure and junk, look at that creepy guy with the strapless eye-patch. What about him? He's creepy, man.
 

 

A redheaded woman wearing a smart grey suit walks past the creepy strapless eye-patch guy and enters the office of one Dr. Sayer (Philippe Leroy), a blonde man with brown eyes. Introducing herself as Maria Edström (Dagmar Lassander), a journalist working on an article about male sterilization in India. Asking what she thinks about male sterilization, Maria says that she's for it. This causes Dr. Sayer to go into a bit of tirade, calling male sterilization "barbarous." Anyway, she's there because she wants to look at some of Dr. Sayer's research. Unfortunately, he doesn't have it with him, so they head over to his other office, where Maria spends most of her time admiring his "charmingly decorative" wall of diseases; artwork made via microscopic images of viruses such as typhus, carbuncle, bubonic plague, leprosy, cholera, diphtheria, and, of course, rabies.
 

 

Stopping for a moment (he was flipping through an issue of Life Magazine), Dr. Sayer decides to show Maria his dagger collection. At first, I thought it was a knife collection. But since Dr. Sayer seems to go out of way to call it his "dagger collection," I'll respect his wishes. Of course, one of the daggers has been dipped in a mild sedative. Why did you say, "of course"? Haven't you heard? Everything in this movie, drinks, cutlery, wash clothes, fingernails, cigarette lighters you name it, has been drugged.
 

 

Waking up barefoot and shackled against a wall covered in metal bars, it looks like Maria is being held captive by Dr. Sayer, who has decided to bathe the room in red light; most captors want to make a good first impression, and the decision to go with the red light motif  is an all-time classic within the captor community.
 

 

As he watches her struggle, Dr. Sayer tells Maria that, "from aesthetical point of view," that her position is perfect. I don't want to sound like I agree with Dr. Saya, but he is right, Dagmar Lassander looks perfect bathed in red light. Fearing that the women of the future will simply extract sperm from men, freeze it, and then discard the man like a piece of trash. To put it another way, he fears parthenogenesis. A world where women can peruse aisle after aisle of neatly labeled vials of sperm like they were picking out a new pair of gloves.
 

 

After Maria's first escape attempt goes nowhere (she makes a run for it after blondie leaves the room), we're properly introduced to Dr. Sayer's swanky pad. An astonishing example of outre interior design, his home comes equipped with everything a single pervert/serial killer/neat freak/misogynist/sadist could possibly need. Wow, that Dr. Sayer sure likes to wear a lot of hats. Yeah, he's got issues. Speaking of which, he's got a lifesize dummy that looks exactly him. In fact, at one point he makes Maria, who's basically his slave, kiss it; "Kiss him...on the mouth," he tells her. "With more lust! More desire!"   
 

 

If you thought that was great dialogue, you should hear the stuff that comes out Dr. Sayer's mouth after he finishes hosing her down (she tried to stab him while he ate an apple). While showing her a slideshow presentation that featured photos of his previous victims posed in morbidly erotic positions, Dr. Sayer goes on this wordy tirade about how much he gets off on the sight of a "woman in the grip of fear." When Dr. Sayer tells Maria that he can only achieve orgasm by killing his partner at the moment of climax, she starts to realize that he's probably going to kill her. Since she doesn't want to die, Maria tries her best to convince him not to murder her.
 

 

When reason doesn't work, Maria tries something a little different. Wrapping certain parts of her body with gauze, Maria dances around his house to hip-sounding music. While watching Dagmar Lassander dance, in a segment that goes on for a pretty long time, I couldn't help but feel sorry for all the other filmmakers who have ever tried to be chic. I mean, I don't think anything has come close to being this chic before, as the sight of Dagmar Lassander dancing to the music of  Stelvio Cipriani in an outfit made entirely from gauze was too much for me to take. Add the stunning production design of Francesco Cuppini to the equation, and we're talking about a chicness overdose.
 

 

Kudos to Enrico Sabbatini for his equally chic costumes. His decision to put Dagmar Lassander in a white pleated skirt and a pair of white lacy knee-high socks was much appreciated, especially during the foot-job scene and the drive through the countryside; while taking a nap in Dr. Sayer's aqua-car (amphicar) the camera focuses on Dagmar's legs (the area between her lacy socks and pleated skirt) slapping together as a result of the bumping road. 

 

 

Wait, did you say, "drive through the countryside"? Yeah, the action doesn't take place exclusively inside Dr. Sayer's house of the future. Which should be relief to those who don't want to stay cooped up inside all day.
 

 

Now, I don't want to say exactly how Dr. Sayer and Maria ended up outside. But let's just say The Frightened Woman takes many unexpected turns as it reaches its chic conclusion. And, yes, the ending is chic, too. Actually, forget about Dagmar's gauze dance, the film's last five minutes are definitely more chic. If you can point me in the direction of something that more chic than the final five minutes of this particular film, please let me know, as I'm dying to see how someone could top this film's overall chic appeal. Bring it. A must-see for fans of sadomasicism, feminist cinema, late 1960s interior design, leggy Euro babes, and, of course, fans of things that are excessively chic.

uploaded by Criterion Dungeon