Venice, sixteenth century. Giulio, a foreign gentleman spends a memorable night in the city where he meets and beds two beautiful women. They are Angela, a widowed lady, and Valeria, whose ... See full summary »
One of the most controversial, original and loved figures of Italian cinema. The most censored director of all time. An anarchist of the film, a gifted experimenter, an inventor of dreams. A truly great artist.
Gothic and erotic mystery about a young man called Marco, who goes to stay with his strange uncle, whose wife (Marco's beautiful aunt) died some time ago. His uncle's sister-in-law is the ... See full summary »
Private eye Al Crosby is paid by millionaire Harry Feldman to take his place at a meeting with Emilio, a gangster. He is drugged and photographed in compromising positions by two hookers, ... See full summary »
Miguel Ángel Aristu,
I usually enjoy this sort of thing, and did somewhat enjoy the other two early Tinto Brass psychedelic relics recently released to DVD, "The Howl" and "Deadly Sweet." But this is just aimless and annoying.
The non-story follows a vaguely dissatisfied, big-haired young wife (the rather grim Anita Sanders) as she wanders around London for a day, followed by an handsome black admirer (Terry Carter) whom she fantasizes about shagging but never actually does. Meanwhile, her supposed stream-of-consciousness viewpoint (a concept stretched well past the breaking point) makes room for then-typical montages of contemporary news/historic atrocity footage, plenty of body-painted naked hippies, reality-vs.-illusion nonsense, empty splitscreen/editorial flashiness, et al.
The ending is kinda cool, and I liked the way in which British rock band Freedom is woven in throughout--playing their (just OK) songs wherever our heroine goes, even from tree branches when she's in a park.
But the teasing lure of then-shocking "black on white" (the original title translation) sexual relations proves a cheat; nothing of character, story or even genuine aesthetic interest emerges; and like the worst films of the era it pretends to be making a statement about turbulent times by simply name-checking hot button issues. (Quite literally, as an occasional BBC-type disembodied voice keeps saying things like "And whot about...Martin Luther King? ...Che Guevara?...Love?...Hate?...." ad nauseum.)
As previously noted, I usually love this kind of dated counterculture obscurity. But "Nerosubianco" is one of those movies best experienced on a screen you're go-go dancing in front of, not one you're actually paying attention to. I'm glad Tinto Brass had a period of faddishly wresting with the era's radical currents before turning to stylish softcore. But this movie makes it clear he never had the intellectual or even instinctual depth to grasp any theme larger than "Oooh...she's sexy." Which theme dates back to time immemorial...but usually isn't hogtied to pretentious non-statements about the Vietnam War, miscegenation, and so forth.
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