Free Hand for a Tough Cop (1976)

Notorious hood Brescianelli (Henry Silva) kidnaps a young girl with a kidney problem, and the eponymous tough cop, Antonio (Claudio Cassinelli), is given the titular free hand to track him down.  To that end, he busts former Brescianelli associate Sergio Marazzi (Tomas Milian), also known as Garbage Can/Monnezza, out of prison.  In turn, the duo enlists the help of three other hardened criminals, Calabrese (Biagio Pelligra), Vallelunga (Giuseppe Castellano), and Mario (Claudio Undari).  Time is running out.

Uneasy allies are nothing new in cinema, especially in the realm of Poliziotteschi.  Having them be cops and criminals is perhaps the clearest way of juxtaposing their differences and generating instant tension.  Likewise, it’s also the most expedient way of emphasizing their similarities.  Antonio is a cop in the Dirty Harry mold.  He was transferred to Sardinia because he’s so rough in performing his duties.  He’s brought back to Rome specifically for this case because he’s such a hardass.  The police can’t handle the situation playing strictly by the book.  In his first meeting with Monnezza, Antonio knocks the man out and kidnaps him.  Antonio is quick with his gun and his fists.  Procedure does not suit him.  He cajoles the trio of train robbers into helping him (he doesn’t tell them he’s a cop at first, and when he does, their commonalities make it almost a non-issue).  He allows a couple of jerks to rob a movie theater, with Vallelunga stating they’re “just kids having fun” (don’t worry, Antonio catches up to them later).  He also has no misgivings about letting Calabrese and his boys tote guns around Rome, shooting the place up and brutalizing everyone in their path.  At one point, Antonio leaves the sleazy Mario alone with a housekeeper, and the baddie is knee deep in raping her before Antonio stops him (and even this is practically accidental).  Further, he’s angrier with Mario for killing a person of interest than for attempting to rape an innocent woman.  Antonio is, in effect, the same as the crooks with whom he aligns himself.  Both sets are doing what they do, and they do it without hesitation, and what they do is basically the same (earn a living being thugs).  The only separation between guys like Antonio and worse criminals like Brescianelli is that Brescianelli is completely heartless.  Yes, all of them are willing to kill to get what they want, but only Brescianelli and his crew would stoop to endangering a child.  Everything else is fair game.

Monnezza is the outlier in the group.  He wants nothing to do with any of them, constantly complaining about the situation in which he finds himself.  Nevertheless, he’s also the hero of the piece, moreso than Antonio.  It’s Monnezza who finally finds the girl and prevents her death at Brescianelli’s hands.  Monnezza is a trickster character, a performer who lulls everyone around him into a state of ease.  His role as an actor is accentuated by his appearance or, I should say, appearances.  His hair is a massive afro, in combination with his scraggly beard, making him look like a bum.  He wears guy liner (or Milian just has incredibly dark, lush eyelashes), giving him a flamboyant air.  Monnezza also loves to appear in costume to deceive his enemies.  He dresses up like a telegram delivery boy, a priest, and a shepherd, to name just three, so he can either gain entry or information from people.  But underneath this, Monnezza is most assuredly a schemer and a man to be taken seriously.  After his brother is unsuccessfully targeted by Brescianelli, Monnezza pays a late night visit to the man who fingered him.  He plays a game with the guy, offering him two glasses of milk, one regular, one poisoned.  Yet even this is a pretense by Monnezza.  Outwardly playing the boisterous clown, he is shrewder than all the other characters in the film put together.

What I think marks Umberto Lenzi’s Free Hand for a Tough Cop (aka Il Trucido e lo Sbirro) as a superior Poliziotteschi is its self-consciousness.  People who don’t know better will think they have accidentally sat down for a Spaghetti Western, as the film opens with scenes from one (to the best of my knowledge, neither directed by Lenzi nor starring Milian, funny enough).  The film’s soundtrack even blares out a Spaghetti Western theme, and the title credits font is pure Spaghetti Western.  Only after a little over a minute of cowboys blazing hellbent for leather through Monument Valley are we shown that this is actually a film being shown to a bunch of convicts.  There is a shot of the film projector itself which holds for several seconds.  What Lenzi is saying, in other words, is that the crime story you’re about to watch is as much of a fantasy as the romantic, mythologized Old West of the cinema.  To that end, the characters and plot are generic (with the exception of Monnezza, the only one who understands that this is all a story, all bullshit, and unimportant except for his role to play in it).  By this time, audiences had seen enough Clint Eastwoods and Charles Bronsons and Maurizio Merlis to get the shoot first, ask questions later method of street justice with which this film is saturated.  This is also the reason why Silva’s Brescianelli is such a rattlesnake-mean son of a bitch.  The very act of casting Silva, having appeared in plenty of Eurocrime films by this point, is sufficient to flesh out anything and everything an audience needs to understand the character.  Free Hand for a Tough Cop is a puppet show, its genre being the stage, its characters the puppets.  But it’s Monnezza who pulls their strings, and it’s Lenzi who pulls Monnezza’s.

MVT:  The film’s self-awareness is its distinguishing factor.

Make or Break:  The full flavor of the film is captured within its opening minutes.  It is equal parts disorienting and engaging.

Score:  7.5/10

Killer Cop (1975)

Matteo (Claudio Cassinelli) is an Italian cop muddling his way through the daily routine of chasing down drug smugglers and general scofflaws.  However, his life takes a turn for the dramatic when a hotel lobby is bombed by scag fiend Franco (Bruno Zanin) and his cohorts, Rocco (Paolo Poiret) and Falena (Valeria D’Obici).  

It is difficult to discuss Luciano Ercoli’s Killer Cop (aka La Polizia Ha Le Mani Legate) without talking a little bit about the political climate in Italy at the time of its production.  I also feel it is necessary to state that I’m in no way an expert on the particulars of this point in the nation’s history except for extreme generalities, so I’ll paste together what I think is enough to give you an idea (from some admittedly hastily assembled internet research, so take it for what it is).  This is because the film doesn’t deal with the usual nefarious criminal element we’re used to seeing in many Eurocrime films (which are still reflective of the time, just not quite like this).  This one deals with domestic terrorism.  Now, the Seventies in Italy are often referred to as the Years of Lead due to the massive amount of bombings and shootings perpetrated by activists on both the right and the left.  No one was spared, be they factory workers, police officers, students, or politicians.  The culprits were just as diverse as the victims with affiliations from communist to fascist and everything in between (and probably a few outside of all of them).  Supposedly, this film’s plot was inspired by the 1969 bombing of the Banca Nazionale dell’Agricoltura headquarters (known as the Piazza Fontana Bombing), but from what I gathered the explosion is the only actual link between truth and fiction.  

In mid-Twentieth Century Italy, one almost needs a score card to keep track of the factions, their ideologies, and their activities, and one would still likely wind up with one hell of a tangle of threads to navigate.  Though one really has to wonder at what point is the line crossed between politics and bloodshed, especially in one’s own backyard?  What I mean is, when does a person go from being an activist to simply being a killer?  While this question does intrigue me, it doesn’t seem to intrigue the filmmakers, because it is taken as given that this is the atmosphere in which these characters live.  This is the Italy with which Matteo and company regularly deal.  Ergo, it requires no explanation to an audience, and for people unfamiliar with this aspect of the country’s past, it can be a bit confusing.  Even blame for the hotel bombing is nebulous, with characters on a tram blaming “the Reds,” “the fascists,” and “the anarchists,” by turns.  Since no one can pin down who did the deed, their purpose goes out the window.  It’s just another act of brutality to the common person, the actors inconsequential since there seems to be no overt discussion about the incidents after they occur (except in their narrative role).  The incidents themselves are the sum total of the perpetrators’ statements.  We assume that Franco, Rocco, and Falena are leftist militants, simply from their home.  Rocco and Falena are shown briefly watching a news report about the bombing.  Their apartment is small, their attitude casual, bohemian in some respects (as we’ve been taught to identify through film watching).  Again, we are given no introduction to the characters, and the scene doesn’t linger long enough to fill in any details.  It’s only after the very young Franco appears at this apartment that we understand that the three are in collaboration.  Meanwhile, Papaya (Sara Sperati), Matteo’s confidential informant and casual lay, is a weed-smoking college student.  She passes rumors and intelligence to him, but she is somewhat reluctant, considering herself on the side of the left-leaning students rather than the right-leaning police.  It’s an indication of the obstacles a cop like Matteo has to overcome to seek justice, as well as being indicative of the society on a whole.  

Despite their being the hands though, the bombers are not masterminds of any stripe.  At the time, there was the notion in Italy of a “strategy of tension” being played on the country.  This refers to the theory that there were nefarious forces at work behind the scenes, fomenting violence to their own ends.  Since communism was growing in popularity in Italy, naturally Western forces (read: the United States) would want this tamped down.  After all, this was at the height of the Cold War.  It makes sense, then, that agencies like the CIA and so forth would use whatever methods they needed to in order to keep Italy capitalist.  That said, while I know of no concrete evidence this was actually done in Italy, I wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if it had been, but still…  The puppet masters behind the bombing are not identified to the viewers.  Their minions are, to be sure.  But the actual power brokers pulling the strings are enigmatic.  They are shown in single shot scenes, their faces never revealed (with the exception of their assassin played by Giovanni Cianfriglia), though they also make no real effort to remain in the shadows of the frame.  

Two of the main characters wear eyeglasses, and for me this is a statement that the general populace (left and right) cannot see the truth (though one is also clearly more myopic than the other).  And still the villains’ motivations remain ambiguous.  They state that only a pylon was supposed to be blown up as a protest.  Why?  For the right?  For the left?  We’re never told, and therein lies the interesting bit.  The bosses use the leftist students to do their dirty work.  The fact that they claim no credit (even though it was a botched job to begin with) or speak at all in terms of their movement’s purpose implies that there is none outside of the anarchy created for their own ends (maybe they’re just anarchists?).  This is further reinforced by how they deal with the fallout, and it’s hinted that this was the plan either way.

Yet in the midst of all these maneuverings, there are still honest men.  Aside from the aforementioned Matteo and Luigi, there is Minty (Arthur Kennedy), the gruff but earnest judge in charge of the investigation.  He is a no-bullshit, all-business type of guy, and he doesn’t play politics or suffer fools.  Naturally, this irks those who do, and even despite Minty’s strict adherence to the law, it’s shown that he is still blocked and duped by these exterior/extraneous forces.  This is not to say that he is gullible enough to be completely hornswoggled but certainly just enough to be frustrated by his partial failures.  Still, we get the feeling that he has been here before, and he will be here again.  In a way, this mirrors Matteo and his very on-the-nose love for Herman Melville’s Moby Dick.  Nonetheless, the “white whale” he and Minty pursue is one worth chasing.  This is not merely a quest for vengeance.  This is a search for justice.  That this is ultimately confounded to some degree echoes the vexation of the country and its people, subjected to forces beyond their control, unable to conquer them, but resigned to their roles alongside them.

MVT:  The story is not what you would expect from this genre.  It is not action-packed, but it is extremely compelling from the opening to the ending.  That there are elisions of time and exposition in the narrative may cause confusion, but (at least for me) it makes sense by the end (mostly).

Make Or Break:  The hotel bombing is the standout.  It is clearly done on a small budget, but each of its cuts achieves a nice sense of verisimilitude and sustained horror.  The wide shot at its culmination sums up all that needs saying as well as providing the through line that will touch the characters’ lives for the rest of the film.

Score:  7.25/10   

The Big Alligator River (1979)

From the late 1970s to the early/mid-1980s, you would be hard-pressed to find an Italian-produced horror/science fiction film that didn't have at least one scene with a helicopter in it. From Luigi Cozzi's Contamination to Lucio Fulci's Zombie and beyond (okay, maybe not The Beyond), a helicopter is seen either carting people into the heart of a jungle or spotting some unmanned craft (in a callout to Dracula's Demeter?) floating like an open door to a spider's web. My understanding is that helicopters had been around for some time, so it's not as if they were exploiting some new technology or craze. Does Italy have a corner on the helicopter-building market? Are helicopters free to rent for Italian citizens? Much like the Easter-egg-ish bottles of J&B whisky that pop up in the better-furnished studies of Italy like Hitchcock in his own films, helicopters seem to turn up like thumb prints on many Italian films of the time.


Sergio Martino's The Big Alligator River (aka The Great Alligator, aka Il Fiume Del Grande Caimano) opens with a helicopter carting Joshua (Mel Ferrer), the owner of the new Paradise House resort, into the heart of the jungle (see?). Accompanying Joshua are photographer, Daniel (Claudio Cassinelli), and the oddly-mute model, Sheena (Geneve Hutton). At the hotel, along with being introduced to the cruel Peter (Romano Puppo) and the voluptuous Ali (Barbara Bach), we discover that Joshua has been using the local native tribe, the Kuma, to help build and staff the resort. Soon, a very large alligator (the Kuma believe it is their god, Kroona) turns up to gnaw on the defilers of his people. Not good news with the first guests arriving soon for the resort's big, grand opening. 

The first thing that leaps out at you when watching this film is its resemblance to both King Kong and Jurassic Park (and, yes, Jaws, but to a lesser degree, I think). The first is obvious. You have a giant animal worshipped as a god by natives. You have our protagonists watching a secret ceremony and being discovered. You have a woman kidnapped and splayed out as a sacrifice to appease said god. On the later film, you have a nature preserve located in a remote location. You have the guests getting picked off by the preserve's attractions. Mel Ferrer takes the Sir Richard Attenborough role, though Joshua is far more avaricious than John Hammond ever was. You have the "child in peril" angle. Of course, Michael Crichton's novel was written about eleven years after The Big Alligator River was released. Still, there are a great many similarities (and dissimilarities, to be fair).

Martino's movie does seem to have a point to make (in much the same way as Ruggero Deodato's Cannibal Holocaust), however. The natives are exploited by Joshua for his own ends. As their reward, he gives them blue jeans and Coca Cola. The natives are overjoyed, and the viewer is slightly horrified. It's this more than anything else (not the dynamiting of the landscape or deforestation) which seems to trigger the appearance of Kroona. Whenever venal, rich, white characters go into the jungle, they are invariably abusive and exploitive toward the native populace. There are almost always depictions of the despoiling and "civilizing" (or attempts at "civilizing") of these "savages." This invariably winds up biting the venal, rich, white characters in the ass, much to the audience's satisfaction. Nevertheless, sympathy toward the natives' plight does not guarantee a character's safety (especially in Italian films), and of course, the natives who align themselves with the white folks' objectives are the first to go.

Kroona as a character is firmly in the Kong-ian mold, yet he is portrayed as being truly an old, vengeful god. At no point do any characters say that he is just an enormous alligator (which we're told are non-indigenous to the area) with a taste for human flesh. And since his coming is presaged by his peoples' turning from him to American consumerism/status symbols, he becomes a representation of the wrath of the gods. Like the fickle Greek gods, who would strike down or transform in some ironic fashion their venerators as soon as look at them. Or the Catholic God of the Old Testament, who destroyed Sodom and turned Lot's wife into a pillar of salt just for watching its decimation. And yet, Kroona displays no true intelligence or supernatural power. It's hinted that he may have pulled the helicopter into the river to prevent the humans' escape, but it could just as easily have been the Kuma who did it (and this is also suggested in the narrative). He never makes it onto land to attack anyone (as if he becomes powerless out of water), and there's never even a moment where he and a human stare into each others' eyes, taking the measure of each other. The avenging deity is an interesting idea for the character, but there's no character in its execution to be found herein.

Which brings me to the most interesting twist on the film's basic premise; namely the natives turning back to their god. Once the Kuma realize Kroona is angry over their transgressions, they decide to attack the resort and everyone in it as recompense and atonement. It's a marvelous way to ratchet up the danger level, because now there are menaces on all sides. This is where my reference to Cannibal Holocaust comes in. If the" alligator god" angle was removed from the film entirely, this could have been an engaging and worthwhile siege/cannibal flick (never mind that the Kuma never show a predilection for anthropophagy). Between the natives' revenge and the vengeance of Kroona, the film hues closely to Freud's notion of "the return of the repressed." By turning away from their true nature, trying to tamp it down, and embracing Western culture, their past comes back to haunt them (and the white interlopers) in a huge way (pardon the pun).

The film's special effects are hit-and-miss. The first few times we glimpse Kroona, it's through a combination of quick closeup shots. The full-size creature is never seen at first, and the model work is of a high enough quality that it pulls off the illusion relatively well. Sadly, there is a plethora of miniature model work in the second half which not only destroys the suspension of disbelief but also the sense of scale and the very idea that Kroona is anything other than a rubber toy in a bathtub (which is exactly what it looks like in these shots). For a filmmaker as capable as Martino, that he would linger so on these shots tells me he was desperate to stretch the film's runtime out. 

With that in mind, this film's pacing is its biggest drawback, and it's enough for me to dislike the film on the whole. Scenes go on forever, dragging out conflicts that have petered out of their own momentum well before the movie moves on. Scenes seem to have been included simply to give the characters something to do for five minutes at a stretch. At the end of the film's first forty-four minutes, there has been only one, not-very-graphic Kroona attack. Granted, the third act is almost wall-to-wall carnage, but this too wears out its welcome after about ten minutes. It truly is a case of lather, rinse, and repeat. Perhaps if Martino and company had more story than film stock, The Big Alligator River wouldn't have turned out to be such a giant turkey.

MVT: The themes are the most intriguing aspects of the film. They just seem wasted on a project that feels like it's 100% filler, all additives.

Make Or Break: The "Break" is the first kill scene, which manages to go on interminably, crosscuts without building an iota of tension (or titillation, for that matter), and then (perhaps most egregiously) culminates in a staid attack.

Score: 5/10