The Pyjama Girl Case (Flavio Mogherini, 1977)

Warning: The following fake dissertation may contain an inordinate amount of words and phrases that celebrate the innate foxiness that is Dalila Di Lazzaro. If this kind of untoward gushing rubs you wrong way, please, exit the premises immediately, 'cause it's about to get fabulous all up in this turnip patch. Looking over the cast of The Pyjama Girl Case (a.k.a. La ragazza dal pigiama giallo), an Italian giallo set in Sydney–hold on, Sydney, Australia?!? (I'll get to that in a minute)–I couldn't help but notice that the majority of the actors were male. You mean it's a total sausage festival? Yeah, you could say that. But I won't, as I don't care for that expression; male genitalia should never be reduced to a slab of ground up meat. Member semantics aside, I was genuinely alarmed by the gender inequality this film's cast was putting out there. I don't mind if the gender inequality goes the other way; in that, there are more women than men. In other words, that's a sexist double standard I can get behind. However, in the case of there being more men than women, unless the men dress in drag, I'm not going to have anything to write about. Discounting the all-girl marching band that appear at the end of the film, the con artist who dresses like an out of work fortune teller, and the film's prerequisite milfy goddess, we're looking at an eight to one ratio. I'm no math whiz. Seriously, I'm not; I can barely add and subtract. Oh, well, if that's the case. Let me break it down for you. No, wait, forget about that. There are more men in this film than there are women. End of story. Didn't you say earlier that this film is a "giallo"? Yeah, so? Um, don't giallos usually feature attractive women being slaughtered by killers wearing black gloves? You're absolutely right, they do. But this isn't your average giallo.

I know, what's the point of making, and, in turn, watching, a giallo if women aren't the one's being killed? It should be noted that men are killed in giallos as well. Yeah, assholes in lime green turtlenecks who get in the killer's way when they're trying stab an attractive woman at the end of a dark alleyway. No, what we want to see when we sit in front of a giallo are super-stylish set pieces that involve super-stylish women being murdered by faceless, not-so super-stylish psychopaths wearing black gloves.

Would it shock you to learn that Dalila Di Lazzaro (Flesh for Frankenstein) is more than enough woman? More than enough woman for what? What I mean is, you don't need anymore women when you have got Dalila Di Lazzaro in your movie. So, what you're saying she's good and junk? Good? Junk? What do you think I'm doing here? Of course, she's good and junk. She's the reason I get up in the morning. Yeah, but you get up in the middle of the afternoon. It's just an expression; stop taking everything I say so literally, dingus.

There was an idiom floating around last year that pertained to a binder that was purportedly full of women. Well, you can put that binder away, Dalila Di Lazzaro is the only woman I need. Call me deranged, but that's most romantic thing I have ever heard. Someone should slap that sucker on a greeting card.

You still haven't explained how this film can be called a giallo, yet not contain any stylish set pieces–don't you mean, "super-stylish" set pieces? yeah, those–that boast women being hacked and slashed by a maniac. Haven't you heard, The Pyjama Girl Case is a one body giallo. Who's the lucky body, you ask?

To quote the late great Brittany Murphy in the trailer for that movie I forget the title of, "I'll never tell."

Even though I could tell you now, there was a period of time when I didn't know the identity of the so-called "girl in the yellow pyjamas." And I'm not talking about the period of time before the movie started. No way, man. I didn't know who the girl in the yellow pyjamas was for most of the film's running time. Either that's a testament to the film's cleverness or my own stupidity.

In my defense, it's hard to concentrate on the plot when Dalila Di Lazzaro is wearing nothing but a white sweater. Sure, the sweater might seem a tad on the long side, but it has nagging habit of hiking up whenever the wearer is looking for their panties. I know, how many times can a person look for missing panties over the course of a ninety minute movie? It might not seem like a lot, but there are a total of three separate instances where Dalila Di Lazzaro's awol panties are integral to the plot. Okay, they might not be "integral," but they are the focus of the three scenes they're featured in.

Anyone want to guess what colour her panties are? Here's a hint... No, you know what? Instead of revealing the answer, I'll just post a picture of them somewhere down below. If you guess correctly, you have my permission to head over to the corner store to pick yourself up a lollipop.

As usual, it would seem that I was yet again sidetracked by Dalila Di Lazzaro's panties. Oh, well.

Opening to the sounds of "Your Yellow Pyjama," vocals by Amanda Lear (fuck yeah) and music by Riz Ortolani (double fuck yeah), a little girl stumbles upon the body of a woman without a face in an abandoned car on a beach in Sydney, Australia.

Despite the fact that two relatively young detectives, Inspector Ramsey (Ramiro Oliveros) and Inspector Morris (Rod Mullinar), have been assigned to the case, the supposedly retired Inspector Thompson (Ray Milland) has somehow managed to get involved with the investigation (he basically begs his former boss to be allowed to work the case). While his younger peers seem obsessed with forensics and psychological profiles, Inspector Thompson uses good old fashion police work to get things done.

Meanwhile, in a nearby apartment, Dalila Di Lazzaro, who plays a gorgeous Dutch immigrant who works as a ferry waitress, is busy searching high and low for her panties while her sugar daddy, Professor Douglas (Mel Ferrer), looks on with the kind of wide-eyed amusement one would expect from an elderly gentlemen who gets to fondle Dalila Di Lazzaro on a semi-regular basis.

To the surprise of no one, Inspector's Ramsey and Morris resent the presence of this washed up relic in a Columbo-style trench coat. Using one of his sources, Inspector Thompson learns about Quint (Giacomo Assandri), a hirsute loner who lives near where the body of the faceless woman in the yellow pyjamas was found.

He might live in a squalid hellhole, but you gotta love the view. What I mean is, Quint's neighbour, credited as "Quint's neighbour" (Vanessa Vitale), likes to do her laundry outside Quint's window in black hold-up stockings. And I don't have to tell you, but doing laundry in black hold-up stockings involves a lot of bending over, if you catch my drift. If my drift is currently out of reach to you, Quint uses the sight of his sexy neighbour's panties wedging snugly against her gloriously middle-aged ass crack as a direct result of laundry-based bending to accelerate the masturbation process.

In one of the film's more lighter moments, just as he's leaving his shack, Ray Milland instructs Quint to "Have a good time" while mimicking the jerking off motion with his right hand and then blowing him a snarky kiss.

On top of having a sugar daddy and a red toque, Dalila Di Lazzaro also has a boyfriend named Roy (Howard Ross), a macho fella who works at a steel mill. I have sneaking suspicion that Roy's the one whose been hiding Dalila Di Lazzaro's panties.

Now, this might sound like an overstatement, but "Il Corpo Di Linda" by Riz Ortolani might just be the greatest piece of music ever to be featured in a giallo thriller. And get this, it's used three times over the course of The Pyjama Girl Case. The first instance its used is when one of the younger detectives wanders aimlessly around downtown Sydney; what makes the scene work, besides the music, is the fact that the streets are deserted.

The second time its used is when the chief of police decides to display the nude body of the faceless woman for the public (the idea being that someone might be able to identify her). And whereas the scene with the young detective wandering alone downtown, this particular sequence is filled with people.

My favourite usage of "Il Corpo Di Linda" is when Dalila Di Lazzaro is left in the lurch by her sugar daddy and forced to prostitute herself at a truck stop/motel. The music kicks in just as Dalila De Lazzaro and her two unctuous clients hit the stairs that lead to their modest room overlooking the highway (their underage cousin or nephew is there as well, but he just watches). The combination of the tracks unrelenting techno beat and the sleazy nature of the sex (paunchy bellies covered sweat press against her delicate frame in a desperate attempt to attain corporeal satisfaction) are what make the scene the jewel in this film's convoluted crown.

When Roy and her Italian husband Antonio (Michele Placido) discover Dalila Di Lazzaro has runaway, they team up to find her. Wait, Dalila Di Lazzaro has a sugar daddy, a boyfriend named "Roy," and an Italian husband? What can I say? The gal likes to keep her options open.

Speaking of Italian husbands, what I found strange was the fact that no one in this film has an Australian accent. All the characters, including Quint's neighbour, seem to be immigrants. Instead of seeing this as some kind of negative, I have chosen to view as a positive, as we rarely ever see the Australian immigrant experience depicted on film; well, at least I haven't.

I'll leave you with a free tip: When watching The Pyjama Girl Case, make sure to pay close attention the girl in the yellow pyjama's ass. And, no, I'm just saying that to be lewd and lascivious. I'm serious, study her ass carefully when it's on display for public consumption, as its mild badonk is the key to unlocking this film's many secrets.

Oh, and in case you haven't figured it out yet, Dalila Di Lazzaro's panties are as black as the night sky. Funny enough, the panties attached to the well-oiled undercarriage of Quint's neighbour are black as well. I wonder if there's connection? You mean a black pantie connection? I doubt it. It's probably just a coincidence.

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