Live Like A Cop Die Like A Man (1976)

The neckerchief is fashion’s way of saying, “Sure, I put enough thought into my clothes to accent my outfit with something around my neck, but I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to learn how to tie a double Windsor knot.”  Achievers (both under and over) have sported neckerchiefs for years (but mostly in the 1970s).  The late, great Charles Nelson Reilly varied his Match Game outfits between neckerchief-centric and captain’s-hat-centric (and has even been known to chuck in the double whammy of both at once, much, I’m sure, to Gene Rayburn’s chagrin).  Fred (of Scooby Doo fame) strutted his stuff in the face of faux fiends and pseudo specters whilst engaging in the fine art of neckerchiefery (okay, I made that word up), and we all know this haute couture accessory was the real reason that Daphne was into him (hell, she even sported one of her own like they were twins or something).  It even forms the focal point and most distinguished feature (aside from the disturbingly short shorts) of the uniforms for the Boy Scouts Of America.  The inevitable question then becomes why has this always-fashionable length of cloth gone out of fashion?  Best guess?  Like so many things people thought were “far out” in the 70s, the power of hindsight and sobriety brought into clear focus just how lean its actual merits were (plus people needed more money for coke in the 1980s).  At least it would seem that way to the uneducated, but we know better, don’t we, gentle reader?  

Alfredo (Marc Porel) and Antonio (Ray Lovelock) are policemen who work in a special forces unit under the gruff but kind of unctuous superintendant (Adolfo Celi).  Their mission?  Chase criminals, murder them (rather publicly) with impunity, and stick their dongs in anything with a vagina.  After a fellow officer (Marino Masé) is brutally gunned down by the henchmen of Roberto (aka Bibi) Pasquini (Roberto Salvatori), the lads make it their sworn task to terrorize and take down the crime lord and his minions.  And stick their dongs in anything with a vagina during any lulls.

Ruggero Deodato is best known the world over for the incendiary quasi-shockumentary Cannibal Holocaust.  However, Live Like A Cop, Die Like A Man (aka Uomini Si Nasce Poliziotti Si Muore, aka The Terminators) is proof-positive that the director was equally adept at the poliziotteschi subgenre (think Dirty Harry in Italy).  My understanding is that films like this one were a reaction against the escalating violence in Italy (and certainly around the world, to be fair).  Audiences wanted a certain type of sanitized street justice to help them deal with their feelings over their perceived lack of control and security.  By that same token, however, movies focused on career criminals were (and are) equally popular, yet these were typically more about the rise and fall of a criminal than a glorification of the lifestyle.  

As much as we like to watch the bad guys get offed without the messy complications and uncertainties inherent in a trial, there is a strong sociopathic vibe coming off Alfredo and Antonio.  Their expressions when killing (and they are killing these guys; it’s not like they were chasing them, and the baddies accidentally ran into a brick wall or somesuch) are either stony-eyed or eerily satisfied.  The leads are almost bloodthirsty in their pursuit of criminals, and they are not above a bit of torture and testicular trauma to get the answers they need.  And yet, the two also seem to be in a state of arrested development.  They room together and appear to have the exact same schedule/routine every day.  They do the sort of idiotic shit kids with BB guns and dirtbikes would do, but these two use real ammo.  The dynamic duo are also two of the most brazenly horny young men ever put on screen.  They ritually harass the superintendant’s secretary (Silvia Dionisio), asking with which of them she would like to have sex.  She, of course, succeeds in making them even hornier for her by saying she would have both of them and then a couple more men.  While searching Pasquini’s sister’s (Silvia’s younger sister Sofia Dionisio) apartment, the cops (literally) tag team the woman, who is apparently the 70s interpretation of a nymphomaniac.  But it’s the earnestness with which Alfredo and Antonio act that allows the audience to forgive some of their boorishness.  They never pretend to be anything than what they are, they don’t put on airs, and they don’t make excuses.  Plus, they kill bad guys, and that goes a long way.

Like so many of this type of film, it has a vignette sensibility in its structure.  Long stretches of the runtime seem to not deal at all with the conflict between Pasquini and his cronies and our leads.  Rather random, violent crimes just happen, our demoniac doublet arrive on the scene and kill everything in their path.  That these rather long sequences are not linked to the main story in any way other than that they involve our protagonists causes the mid-sections of the film (and those like it) to sag.  Granted, there’s enough violence and action to maintain a sense of excitement and tension, but as far as pacing goes, it’s horrid.  Funny enough, this is one of the eurocrime/poliziotteschi subgenres’ more charming attributes.  It may not be quality plotting, but it does give an air of authenticity (sometimes) to these films.  After all, as Allen Saunders so famously said, “Life is what happens to us while we are making other plans.”  And this sense of verisimilitude is given a big assist in Deodato’s documentary style of filmmaking.  Handheld and dynamic camerawork combine in many of the action scenes (particularly the opening bike chase, which I found reminiscent of the acclaimed chase from William Friedkin’s The French Connection).  Filmmakers of today, please take note: Even with a wealth of handheld shots, this film never induces nausea, headaches, or both.  There’s a correct way to use cinematic techniques and there’s an incorrect way (not to say experimentation is bad, but failure is failure in any language).  This is the correct way, and the quality in the filmmaking makes for a damn good (if fairly deranged and sanguinary) buddy cop movie everyone should check out at least once.

MVT:  Deodato’s television commercial work taught him to work both quickly and with distinction, and these skills really shine through in this film.  Only a few years before making stomachs turn and audience’s feel like they needed a shower after watching his work, he put his stamp on a genre which far too often is little more than strictly generic.

Make Or Break:  The opening scene is not only a cracking good action sequence; it also sets up the stakes and levels at which the inhabitants of the film’s world are playing.  The criminals are not above dragging a woman along a sidewalk and stomping her already-dead face to get her valuables.  And the cops are not above causing thousands in property damage while pursuing them and summarily executing the criminals once the chasing is done.  

Score:  7.25/10             

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Death Knocks Twice (1969)

Edmund Kemper is, to my mind, one of the scariest serial killers in American history. Beginning with killing his grandparents in 1964 and ending with the murder of his mother in 1973, his list of victims is short, but they are all the more frightful for the dispassion Kemper displayed both during and after their committal. Compounding this was his proclivity for necrophilia, as well as the mutilations he performed on the corpses. After murdering his mother in her sleep, using her severed head for oral sex, and stuffing her vocal cords down the garbage disposal (he was quoted as saying, "That seemed appropriate, as much as she'd bitched, and screamed, and yelled at me over so many years"), he strangled his mother's best friend and then turned himself in after a brief flight from the law. This behavior is far removed from what we have been fed (mostly, but especially during the glory days of exploitation cinema) in popular narratives. There the killers are suave and charming, and when they kill, they typically do so with a bug-eyed mania. Yet the quiet force of will of someone like an Edmund Kemper makes him many times over more bloodcurdling than the majority of serial killers committed to film and certainly more so than Francisco Villaverde (Fabio Testi) in Harald Philipp's Death Knocks Twice (aka The Blonde Connection, aka Blonde Köder Für Den Mörder). 

After kibitzing in the surf with nubile blonde Lois Simmons (Femi Benussi) for a little while, Villaverde suddenly "goes nuts" and chokes the young woman. His crime is witnessed by both Riccardo (Mario Brega) and the unctuous Amato Locatelli (Riccardo Garrone), both of whom work at a beach hotel resort owned by Charlie (Werner Peters). Private dick and all-around physical specimen Bob Martin (Dean Reed) is hired by old pal and Continental Detective Agency owner Pepe(General Burkhalter himself, Leon Askin), and their first job (of course) is to find out what happened to the aforementioned Ms. Simmons and her bejeweled necklace. 

The no-bullshit private investigator is something that's been around for decades. Sam Spade, Mike Hammer, and so on all cut to the chase immediately. They don't bother with niceties and their social graces would make a caveman blush. But we love them because they do two things; One, they smack lowlifes around until they uncover the truth, and two, they get the girl (usually, though number one is definite). Unhindered by the red tape and laws that restrict most police officers from bringing swift justice to the bad guys, the PI can go where he wants, bend or even break the law, and get physical with no one to stop him from doing so. Bob fits into this category, in as much as the film allows him to do so. He is rude to his client (asking what he figures are vital questions but really just being kind of a jerk) and immediately knows what to do to catch Lois's killer (go undercover, of course, using his fiancée Ellen [Ini Assmann] as bait). And here's the first misstep that the film takes. For two people who seem so attached and devoted at the outset, neither member of this couple seems to give a second thought to making out with other people (and bear in mind, Ellen is not a PI, or at least we are not told she is) to get the job done. It would be one thing if they were forced into this position. It would be one thing if one or the other had to make a choice, knowing that their loved one is remaining faithful. But this just comes off in the film like cheap hustling, and even that could be forgiven if it weren't for the films other problems.

Investigation movies and movies about murderers will generally fall into one of two categories. They are either about uncovering the identity of an unknown villain and bringing him/her to justice, or they are about the characters of both the chaser and the chased and why and how they do what they do. Philipp's film does away with any real mystery by showing us Villaverde losing it and strangling Lois from the outset. What could have been interesting (the witnessing of said action and the consequences of it) is never explored (or at least not explored to its fullest or even in a relatively compelling way). Instead, the entirety of the film is a series of scenes which play out exactly as we expect them to, with no revelations (unless the filmmakers honestly believed that what they state about any of the characters could in any way be misconstrued as revelatory) save one at the climax, which by that point is so shrug-inducing as to make you wonder why they even bothered. Admittedly, the introduction of Sophia and the Professor (Anita Ekberg and Adolfo Celi, respectively) do give the viewer a dash of hope, but said hope is soon dashed, when these two (admittedly more menacing) characters are as mishandled as the others. The filmmakers don't just underplay the murders or the crimes and machinations, they seemingly just don't care about them. They're there, they happened, we filmed them, and then put them in order and put credits on it. The end.

Villaverde's character could have been used to make a statement (or at least be developed as more than just a movie psycho) about sex, art, and death. He gets horny, he gets kill-happy, and he paints a portrait of his victim. At an art show, we see many portraits of women, and we assume they were all painted by Villaverde (they do have a similar style). We also assume, then, that he may have killed all these women. Do the filmmakers show us anything to back this up? No. Do they even treat this aspect as if it were something with some significance? No. The paintings are just there in the background. Truthfully, I am projecting my thoughts about the artworks in some desperate bid to give this film, its characters, and story a scintilla of weight, but I'm afraid that it just doesn't fly. Like every other character and subplot in the film, Villaverde's story comes off as capricious and trivial, a character here to give us some flavor but utterly failing to do so. And by the time you get to the offhanded ending, you finally realized where you've seen this before: on some crappy, television show about some hunky PI and completely interchangeable with same, except for some nudity (which is the one thing that will pep up the audience through the runtime). So death can knock twice, it can knock a hundred times. Wait for a good film to knock, instead.

MVT: Adolfo Celi as the Professor is everything a villain can be, and the man tries. The scenes with him in them are more effective than any others (slight praise, indeed), but even his stoic performance (and he's the only character in the film who should be acting aloof) just can't raise this film past a very low bar.

Make Or Break: The Break is not any one scene. Instead it's the overall arbitrariness and general bungling of just about everything in the film with the exception of the groovy lounge score by Piero Umiliani.

Score: 5/10 

  

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Live Like a Cop, Die Like a Man (1976)

Fred (Marc Porel) and Tony (Ray Lovelock) are the type of cops that only exist in the movies. They shoot first and ask questions later. They constantly bend the rules in their favor, which gets them on the wrong side of their boss (Adolfo Celi). As he states, they’re criminals with a badge. In their defense (and words), that’s the only way to fight crime. Their methods may be unorthodox, but they get the job done.

Their job this time out is to seek out Roberto Pasquini (Renato Salvatori), who goes by the nickname of Bibi. He’s a crime lord that… well, I honestly don’t remember. What his intentions are is irrelevant. He causes damage wherever he goes and is in trouble with the law. He’s a target for Fred and Tony, which is all he needs to be. He has cronies do his bidding so our heroes have pawns to play with. And boy, do they have fun with them!

Here’s a brief rundown of the action Fred and Tony get involved in. They foil a robbery by eliminating the criminals before they get a chance to enter the bank; they set dozens of cars ablaze at a snooty club; they take out four men who are holding a woman hostage by distracting them with a helicopter; they chase two thieves on a motorcycle throughout town (granted, they weren’t working for Bibi); they put more bullets in heads than a mob boss. They do all of this with a gleeful smile on their faces.

When they’re not disposing of criminals, they’re smooth talking the ladies. They both score with Bibi’s sex-craved sister and are fed dinner by her mother at the same time (not during the act, mind you). They constantly flirt with their boss’ assistant, who shoots them down with vitriolic insults. When being yelled at by their boss, they crack jokes. They never make light of a serious situation, turning on their game faces when the time arrives.

Ruggero Deodato works at a fast pace and keeps the proceedings running smoothly. He does run into the occasional lull, but quickly picks things up with an action sequence or by letting Fred and Tony let loose verbally. He runs through the motions of the buddy cop genre (70’s era buddy cop, I should note), but does so with finesse and exhilaration that you honestly don’t care that you’ve seen this before. That and the action scenes themselves sets this film apart from others in the genre.

What he does quite work out well is the ending. The idea behind it is clever, but I felt it ended abruptly and somewhat anti-climatically. There was so much build put towards it that it didn’t come close to meeting expectations. I wasn’t expecting a grand finale, but a little more than what we got would have been appreciated. It went against the heroes’ actions throughout, though I’ll admit that’s a part of the cleverness.

Weak ending aside, “Live Like a Cop, Die Like a Man” is a wonderfully manic action comedy! The hour and a half running time breezes by at a swift pace, giving the viewer a comfortable relaxation with the film. The heroes are assholes, but they’re charming and likable (slapping women aside). The action sequences are the true highlight of the film. Without them, this film wouldn’t be nearly as fun. Thankfully, Deodato knows how to work an action sequence!

MVT: Porel and Lovelock. They may play assholes, but they’re so charismatic and charming that you can’t help but like them. In the hands of other actors, they would have been detestable, which would have tarnished the film.

Make or Break: The opening motorcycle chase. It starts with a woman’s purse being snatched, yet she’s still connected and gets dragged via a motorcycle into a pole that cracks her head wide open. Our heroes avenge her by chasing the thieves throughout town (including inside of a store), having them fly into the back of a truck. This impales one of them, while the other has his neck snapped. It’s the perfect mood setter!

Final Score: 8.5/10

Danger: Diabolik (1967)

Fetish fashion has been around for centuries (probably about as long as there's been clothing). However, it didn't become more accepted by mainstream culture before the 1960s (at least, not to my knowledge). Up until then, it was considered almost exclusively the province of homosexuals, "perverts," and "weirdos." Personally, I think its acceptance came about through music. Rock n' Roll was big and getting bigger, and the youth culture of the time (as it always does) wanted to distance itself more and more from their parents and authority figures. Leather pants became fashion shorthand for identifying rockers. So, of course, the leather catsuit wasn't far behind. Most notably worn by Diana Rigg on "The Avengers," the catsuit was the uniform for a cadre of superspies, supercriminals, and superheroes. And, then, funny enough, fetish gear fell back out of fashion and back into the realm of the socially unacceptable. But not before Diabolik rocked the shit out of it.

Danger: Diabolik opens (as it must) with a heist. The police, led by Inspector Ginko (Michel Piccoli), attempt to stay one step ahead of the titular thief. Trying to keep millions of dollars of Treasury money safe, they send an armored car loaded with fake bills out along with a car holding the real cash and several policemen in disguise. Needless to say, Diabolik (John Phillip Law) outwits Johnny Law (note: not an actual character) and makes away with the loot to his high tech hideout and sexbomb moll, Eva Kant (Marisa Mell). After the police interfere with the narcotics operations of mafia kingpin, Valmont (Adolfo Celi), the gangster decides to collude with the authorities (sort of) and get rid of the leatherclad thorn in both their sides.

By all accounts, Diabolik is not a hero in any sense of the word. He is vain, avaricious, and petty. He is not above killing (and killing police, to boot) in the course of his work. Yet we, as the audience, root for him. He is an antihero, but not in the tradition of, say, Conan or Snake Plissken, who, while certainly criminals, will still (sort of) do the right thing in the end (though often under duress). No, Diabolik is a criminal antihero in the sense of Hannibal Lecter or Tony Montana. We don't approve socially of what he does, but we want to see him accomplish his goals. It is complete wish fulfillment on the audience's part to be an outlaw in this way, to have the power, the smarts, and the drive to not only be outside society but to thumb your nose at it. It is, in fact, one of the reasons fiction exists at all. 

And this is why Diabolik, as a character, is never developed. He does not exist outside his costume. Sure, he takes it off, but that's how he is defined. We never get a real name for him nor any background. He is a cipher intended for the viewer to project himself onto. This is also why Mario Bava and company (wisely, I think) don't spend much time with him as a person. Instead, the main narrative drive of the film is on the machinations of Valmont and Ginko to capture and/or kill our protagonist. Our involvement with Diabolik and Eva is primarily either when they're at leisure (notably making love on a rotating bed/bedroom covered in stolen money, equating money and sex) or pulling a job. Yes, at one point the argument can be made that Diabolik takes on a socialist/anarchist role, essentially accomplishing what Tyler Durden would attempt decades later. But he doesn't do it for the sake of the downtrodden or the lowly taxpayer. He does it because the authorities offer a huge reward for his arrest, and he needs for that to not happen (if he values his freedom). 

Like all good heist films (Rififi, Topkapi, several of Jean-Pierre Melville's films, and so on), the heists are what interest the viewer most, and they are the most detailed and exhilarating portions of the movie. From a movie of this sort (and especially after seeing his futuristic lair setup), one would expect Diabolik to whip out all sorts of cutting edge, high tech gadgets to pull off his crimes. Even so, his jobs are performed in a decidedly low tech fashion. He uses stealth (including what I call the "Storm Shadow" suit), agility, suction cups, cranes, boats, nothing really out of the ordinary or that we would associate with that era's view of next-step technology. In fact, aside from a large, highly-reflective metal sheet and the means he uses to steal and move a massive hunk of gold, all of the tools in Diabolik's toolbox are rather ordinary. Interestingly, it is Valmont and Ginko who have the high tech gear in the field, and yet with all their resources, they cannot catch this one man.

It's also of note to look at how Bava shot Danger: Diabolik. The first establishing shot of the film gives us an idea of the scope of the film, and he employs this symmetrical style of composition often throughout when showing the world outside Diabolik's hideout. Inside the hideout, the frame is allowed to be a bit off-center, the lair's style accentuated by shooting through natural apertures created by the architecture. Bava uses a wide angle lens at many points throughout, and the deep focus that it furnishes gives the film a three-dimensional feel. The most noticeable example of Bava's more traditional filmmaking style is in the club scene. Aside from a few quick zoom-ins and zoom-outs, the camera is kept level. When the clubbers pass a doobie (I'm not sure if the kids still call them that) down the line, Bava uses a blurred out fisheye lens and his signature brilliant color lighting. However, the motion of the joint from toker to toker is captured via a very smooth, controlled tracking shot. Can we assume from this that while the filmmakers wanted to be "down with the youth," they couldn't give in to other filmmakers' tendency at the time to go sloppy and incoherent in attempts at atmospherics and psychedelics? Whichever, the film looks great, and Bava does a fantastic job keeping things visually striking but also solidly grounded. 

Constant emphasis is placed on Law's captivating eyes, in costume or out (and interestingly, he covers them most times he's out in public). This accentuation is a callback to the comic book the film is based on (created by Angela and Luciana Giussani), where oftentimes Diabolik's eyes and the area around them are the only spots of white on a panel or page. Also, as has been commented on by many others, Bava composed frames within the film frame to simulate comic book panels, but there are more self-reflexive elements included as well. As Ginko is trying to determine how to catch Diabolik, Ginko looks at a map of the city before him. The streets become highlighted in red and animation creates an emphasized section of the city to focus on. Later, a prostitute is asked to describe Eva to a mob henchman using a high tech "identikit" sort of machine. Again, there is an animated sequence (reminiscent in many ways to Saul Bass's popular and influential design work of the time) that filters through facial features until a drawing of Ms. Kant emerges. Plus, direct address is employed not only by Terry-Thomas (in a small but memorable role as Minister of Finance) but by Diabolik in a wink directly to the audience. It's this sense of fun, adventure, and ultimately escapism, then, which makes the film not only one of my favorite Bava films but also one of my favorite comic book films. 

MVT: The design style of the film, while definitely of its time, is charming and oh-so-satisfying to immerse yourself in. This is in spite of the ironic, kitschy way most folks look at this type of thing. I love it.

Make Or Break: Without giving anything away, Diabolik comes up with an absolutely brilliant way of getting away with the emeralds he's just stolen. This is the most memorable bit in the movie and exquisitely summarizes why this is such a great film (but you probably already knew that).

Score: 8.25/10

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