Just don't get on her bad side. She can be a real monster.
Yesterday we talked about the cute werewolves in The Howling, and today, speaking of monsters, we have a 1985 photo of Italian model and actress Dalila Di Lazzaro. What's monstrous about her? She appeared in Mario Mancini's 1972 horror film Frankenstein ’80 and 1973's Andy Warhol's Frankenstein, and in the latter she was the female monster. That's called casting against type.
Cohjizukin creates a modern piece of poster art for two classic films.
You know how we always say we're going to get back to something? Some artist, some subject, some mid-century murder spree? And then we never do? Kind of like when you were eight and your parents kept promising to let you buy a grizzly bear but always put you off until finally telling you they weren't going to buy you one and never planned to? Well, we don't want to be like your lying ass parents, so we've decided we need to be better about actually geting back to stuff we said we'd get back to. Consider it a twelve-step program of sorts, which we already started by keeping that five-year old promise about the naked diaries.
So here's someone else we promised to revisit—Japanese illustrator Cohjizukin, whose poster for an Ed Wood triple bill we shared back in October. He painted the above poster for Federico Fellini's I vitelloni, known in some circles as The Young and the Passionate, and Giulietta degli spiriti, aka Juliet of the Spirits. We knew nothing about Cohjizukin last year, but we've learned a few things. He's actually award winning artist Koju Suzuki, who was born in 1948, has had innumerable exhibitions, live painting events, published many books, and seemingly even has delved into music, releasing four albums in the 1990s.
He also likes creepy eyes. Everybody in this poster looks like they're trying to drain your vital essence. We checked to see if either of these movies involved essence-draining, but they're both comedy/dramas. Not sure Fellini would have approved of psycho faces on a poster for his films, but the art is amazing. Cohjizukin created it for a double-bill sometime during the 1990s, probably for some film festival or other. You can learn more about him by visiting the (also a bit scary) website maintained at this link, but it's text heavy and without Japanese probably useless to you. We'll dig up more pieces from him later. That's a promise we'll keep.
Somebody up there liked him 67 times. And didn't like him 10 times.
These Italian promo posters were made for the drama Lassù qualcuno mi ama, better known as Somebody Up There Likes Me, the rags to riches biopic of boxer Rocky Graziano, who survived a violent father, street gangs and prison to become a world middleweight champion who finished his career with a 67-10 record. If somebody up there liked him, we'd love to hear why he got his ass whipped ten times, but whatever. Paul Newman played the lead in this after intended star James Dean was killed in an auto accident, and the film went on to earn acclaim and win a couple of Oscars for cinematography and art direction. The posters were painted by Renato Casaro, one of the most important mid-century film artists, a man who produced hundreds of masterpieces and was behind this gem and this racy little number. Casaro is still around at age eighty-one and maintains a website detailing his work and career. Lassù qualcuno mi ama was originally released in the U.S. in 1956 and had its premiere in Italy today in 1957
They were so delirious they forgot their own names.
Pornodelirio was originally made in France as Les grandes jouisseuses and premiered today in 1978. The title literally means “the great enjoyers,” but Pornodelirio is a lot snappier, don't you think? As usual with these Italian smut posters, the names are all pseudonyms made especially for the movie's run in Italy. We don't know why, but if if any of the stars ever needed to go there at least their hotels weren't overrun by adoring, pornodelirious fans.
In any case, Annick Fougery, Anne Sand, Michele Perelo, and Pierre Forget are actually Brigitte Lahaie, Ursula White, Jean-Louis Vattier, and Dominique Aveline. It's weird that two of the pseudonyms are Fougery like “forgery” and Forget. And it's even weirder that Annick Fougery and Pierre Forget were actual French stars. But they certainly weren't in this movie. Did they ever know their names had been borrowed? Did Europe have trademark infringement laws in 1978? When they checked into hotels were they beseiged by pornodelirious fans?
This is all a bit of a mystery, but the only name in which we're really interested is Mafé. He or she painted the promo poster you see above and it's another example of his/her great work on an x-rated promo, along with this, these, and these, one of which you'll notice is an alternate poster for Pornodelirio. We still have no idea who Mafé is/was, but as always, we'll keep up the research. Soon as our delirium subsides. You wanna watch the film? The English dubbed version (with correct credits) is online right here.
Schubert runs into trouble Nero and far.
Shot in the Dominican Republic, Il pavone nero is one of those voodoo and sex cocktails that were popular in international b-cinema during the 1970s. In fact, its English title is Voodoo Sexy, which tells you everything you need to know, just in case the promo poster doesn't. Other examples from this fertile genre discussed here on Pulp Intl. include Porno Shock, aka Voodoo Passion, and Al tropico del cancro, aka Tropic of Cancer. And of course queen b Laura Gemser had a few run-ins with santería as well.
In Il pavone nero an Italian engineer goes to Santo Domingo to help build a dam. His wife—the lovely Karin Schubert—surprises him in his hotel after he thought he'd left her in Italy. It's the first of many surprises. Rather than stay in the hotel the couple opt to inhabit an isolated beach shack on the border with Haiti, a domicile that was occupied by the previous dam engineer, who inexplicably disappeared. Uh oh. This is a classic case of thumbing one's nose at fate.
We quickly find that ethnic Haitians in the region are against the dam, and that voodoo rites are their weapon of choice to prevent its construction. But their leader Balaga, played by U.S. actor, musician, and sexploitation go-to voodoo guy Don Powell, carves out a little time from his resistance activities to pursue Schubert, possibly drawn by her astounding whitegirl afro. She in turn is drawn by the local santería rituals, which involve a bit of chicken chopping—poor chickens—and some humping of the fully explicit variety, depending on which version of the film you watch. Though Schubert would later delve into porn, her scenes here were performed by a body double.
Il pavone nero ends with the arrest of the voodoo environmentalists, which means the dam is no longer in danger. Can't stop progress, after all. There may be an environmental message buried in this film, or an anti-colonial message, or a racial harmony message, or even a spiritual message, but those are all secondary to the real point—for audiences to enjoy some vanilla Schubert getting freaky with the locals. The movie delivers ample opportunities, as you can see in the promo images below. Also, there's a cockfight. There's always a cockfight. Poor chickens. Il pavone nero premiered in Italy today in 1975.
I may live in an old town but I'm a thoroughly modern woman.
This photo has a vintage look, but it's from 1978. Well, 1978 is still vintage, but you know what we mean. That year is the arbitrary dividing line we use on Pulp Intl. between what is vintage and what is modern. So in our view this is a modern photo of Italian actress Anny Papa, who we suspect is giving the papas on this old Rome street some naughty thoughts. Papa also was a centerfold for Italian Playboy during its most explicit years, so really, these bystanders have no idea how naughty she really got. See below.
Been through the desert on a horse with no name.
It isn't the horse that has no name in the spaghetti western Ciakmull—L'uomo della vendetta, but the man. Probably that's true in the song too, though we've never given it serious thought. In any case, above you see a beautiful Rodolfo Gasparri promotional poster for the movie, which premiered in Italy today in 1970. The title means “Ciakmull—Man of Revenge,” but it was changed to The Unholy Four for the movie's English language release.
And what's unholy about the four characters referenced by the title? They're all lunatics to one degree or another, freed from a mental asylum when it was burned down by robbers as a diversion during a gold heist. The four nutjobs band together and what follows is formless Cormac McCarthyesque wandering until Ciakmull, who's amnesiac hence nameless, collides with his former life.
He learns he's actually Chuck Mool, a real bad hombre, and he has some scores to settle. You're thinking, Mool? Like from the Reno Mools? The Abilene Mools? What the hell kind of last name is that? Well, it isn't his last name. But he has one of those, and when it's revealed everything finally becomes clear. Or at least it's clear only if he's been told the truth. But what if somebody has lied to him about his identity? Well then all bets are off.
On the whole Ciakmull—L'uomo della vendetta is a pretty good spaghetti western, but maybe not a good movie. That's okay, though. Spaghetti westerns aren't supposed to be good. If they were, they'd have called them strangozzi al tartufo nero westerns. The movie slots into the genre perfectly—which is to say it's filled with gunplay, dust, horses, hard sun, five o'clock shadows, and lots of steely eyed glares. Give it a watch with cheesiness foremost in your mind and you may like it.
Does anyone here know my name? I'm hoping it's something insanely cool, like Beardy McMustache.
Ciakmull? That's horrendous. My hair is way too good for me to have a name like that.
I ain't fuckin' around here, buddy. Stop calling me that.
Wait. What? You're my sister? Holy shitballs, girl—you fine!
I know you haven't touched a woman in years, so I'm just gonna rub up on you a little. There. Isn't that nice?
This amnesia thing has its advantages, because I feel totally fine about what's happening in my Wranglers right now.
Did you see that? That was not a brother-sister type greeting. You saw that, right?
Yeah, we all saw it. Hey, Ciakmull? Buddy? Those chaps ain't doing a good job hiding that pup tent you got going.
He looks nice but he's murder on his friends.
What's plein to see here is that the promo poster for the acclaimed French crime thriller Plein soleil is top quality. It was painted by Jean Mascii, who was born in Italy, but worked in France and became one of that country's most prolific and collected poster artists. We'll get back to him later. The movie is excellent. It's based on author Patricia Highsmith's The Talented Mr. Ripley and features her homicidal hustler character Tom Ripley, star of five novels, and one of literature's greatest psychopaths. Should you be inclined to give Plein soleil a screening you won't be disappointed. It premiered in France today in 1960.
Jack the Ripper, with an Italian twist.
Above, the original Italian poster for Dario Argento's horror thriller L’uccello dale piume de cristallo, aka The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, which premiered in Rome today in 1970 and has since become an iconic example of the giallo genre. We talked about the film, and shared the Spanish posters back in 2010. You can see those here.
You're wondering how I got this thing stuck in my panties? It defies reason.
The pulpification of ancient literature takes another strange turn as Edizioni Le Lucciole presents this 1970 paperback L'antiragione, or “the anti-reason,” which, incredibly, is a collection of writings by the Greek astronomer and mathematician Aristarchus of Samos, the guy who lived from 310 to 230 B.C. and presented the first model that placed the Sun at the center of the known universe with the Earth in orbit around it. Yeah. And when you can solve a mystery that vast, the question of how a femme fatale got a hoop stuck in her undies is really nothing. The art, which conversely is really something, is by the always great Benedetto Caroselli.
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