Above is a rather nice poster for the Japanese comedy Monro no youna onna, aka A Woman Like Monroe, which was released in 1964. It was adapted from Funahashi Seiichi’s novel of the same name, directed by Minoru Shibuya, and starred Akemi Mari, Keiji Sada, and Chishû Ryû. We haven’t seen the film, but we gather it’s about a young woman who decides to become a model and deals with various conflicts related to that, including the pressure of whether to pose nude. Not much info, we know, but that’s all we got. We will say, though, that the movie is yet another indication of Marilyn Monroe’s unparalleled global fame. We often hear how popular she was, and the confirmation is everywhere in the form of her films, interviews, biographies, and thousands upon thousands of photos, yet we’re still capable of being surprised that her name was borrowed for the title of a Japanese novel, and subsequently a movie. And speaking of titles, while poking around online we found a frame of the film’s unusual main title sequence. See below. In the meantime we’ll try to locate a copy of Monro no youna onna and get back to you on it.

Above are two posters for 1961’s action adventure Rokudenashi kagyo. One of our readers Chris D. tells us: "Using the hiragana pronunciation key (the small letters that can be seen to the left of the title on the poster which has vertically-oriented type, the title says Umi no Shobu Shi, which roughly translates as "Showdown by the Sea."  However, sometimes the English titles of Japanese movies are not direct translations, so the official international English title chosen for this flick was Tiger of the Sea. For the U.S. it was called Sea Fighters. Both posters are nice but the top one is particularly good. The movie, which is about a castaway who joins a gang of pirates, starred Jo Shishido, Nobuo Kaneko, and Hideaki Nitani. And big thanks to Chris for keeping an eye on this for us.

Above, two great posters for Daiei Motion Picture Company’s Yôkai hyaku monogatari, aka 100 Monsters.  In the movie you get giants and faceless men and witches—i.e., things that are familiar to most cultures—but you also get some specifically Japanese weirdness like the rokurokubi, which can stretch its neck to extreme lengths (see below), and the karakasa oabake, which is a parasol that has come to life. Apparently, household items animating is a major part of Japanese folklore, and some of the objects that can haunt you include quilts, clocks, mirrors, gongs, sake jars, and sandals. That last one doesn’t surprise us, because we once had a roommate whose Crocs scared away any woman who saw them. Anyway, we gather this is more or less a kid’s movie, but to us it seems like one that would permanently warp anyone under the age of ten. For adults, it’s just amazing to watch so many people in rubber suits in one place at the same time. If you want to see the rokurokubi get all sassy with her sinuous neck, check here, and you can see the haunted parasol come to life here. Yôkai hyaku monogatari premiered in Japan today in 1968.

Above is a nice poster for Mekura no oichi monogatari: Makkana nagaradori, aka Crimson Bat: The Blind Swordswoman, starring Yôko Matsuyama, Chizuko Arai, and Jun Tatara. The first in a series of four Crimson Bat movies, this was in the same vein as the long running Zataochi series, and was a precursor to other movies featuring angry blind swordswomen like Black Cat’s Revenge, which we took a look at a few months back. Basically, in Japanese movies if you meet up with a sword-wielding blind woman—even one that looks as innocent as Yôko Matsuyama—either run screaming or make out your last will and testament on the spot. Plenty of reviews of this one online, so you don’t need our input. We'll just tell you that it has all the elements—betrayal, revenge, arterial bloodspray, all that good stuff. You can check out a fight scene here. Mekura no oichi monogatari: Makkana nagaradori premiered in Tokyo today in 1969.

We had no idea when we watched 1942’s White Cargo that the movie had caused such a stir, but in its day it was more than just a film—it was a cultural phenomenon. The public quoted the dialogue, comedians referenced it in their acts, and journalists used the name of Hedy Lamarr’s character Tondelayo as a descriptive. So what was the movie about? Basically it’s Americans learning that Africa will corrupt them, and Africa plus Hedy Lamarr will corrupt them absolutely. In the original novel Hell’s Playground, Tondelayo was black, but because the American censorship regime known as the Hays Code banned sexualized interaction between black and white characters, she was changed to Arab for the movie. So there’s Hedy Lamarr done up in shoe polish and a sarong she borrowed from Dorothy Lamour, driving the American colonialists batty withdesire. Most transcendent movie characters have a memorable entrance, and when Lamarr emerges from the shadows and torpidly delivers her first line—“I am Tondelayo”—as the camera lingers on her preternaturally glowing eyes, it’s certainly not something you’d easily forget. Nor would you forget her sinuous dance number or the way she slithers in and out of various scenes like an Egyptian cobra. We don’t have to get deeply into the plot. It’s boy meets girl, boy pursues girl, boy is ruined by girl as all the other boys say, “Told you so, dumbass.” It’s pretty funny stuff, but highly charged for the time. Think of it as 1942’s Fatal Attraction—a sexually themed cautionary tale that everyone saw and had an opinion about. More than seventy years later—if you can get past the shoe polish, the ridiculous dialogue, and the needless moralizing—it’s still a fun movie. Is it good? We wouldn’t go that far.

As you may have noticed, of late we’re very high on Italian illustrators. We’ve shown you some of the best here, here, and here. Today we wanted to share this Giuliano Nistri effort for Alberto Lattuada’s 1957 romantic comedy Guendalina. The poster’s inspiration is a famous scene in which star Jacqueline Sassard dances in full body tights for co-star Raf Mattioli. You may notice that Nistri seems to have expended considerable skill getting his representation of Sassard to be lifelike, but considerably less on the creepy, dead-eyed poodle next to her. That’s because the poodle isn’t real. In the film, it’s a stuffed animal, and he got it exactly right. Guendalina premiered in Italy today in 1957.

Above are three excellent posters for Dario Argento’s Il gatto a nove code, aka, Cat o’ Nine Tails. Only one bears a signature—P. Franco, who in everyday life was Franco Picchioni. We suspect he painted the others as well. With posters this great, plus Argento at the helm, we had to watch the movie, but while it’s a serviceable giallo with an interesting central murder mystery, it’s nothing to write home about. But it does have Karl Malden doing a bang-up job as a blind ex-newspaperman and James Franciscus as a solid lead. And then there’s the heavenly French creature known as Catherine Spaak. You have to work pretty hard to somehow make a love scene featuring this stunner possibly the worst ever filmed, but Argento manages to make her romp with Franciscus as erotic as watching a hardware store clerk stack two wooden planks. Want your kids to avoid premarital sex? Have them watch this scene. They won’t even have a clue what happened. The title of the movie refers to neither a cat nor a nine-tailed whip, but rather to the many leads that need to be investigated before the mystery can be unraveled. It could also describe Argento’s struggle to weave an involving narrative. In the end, even with his stylish direction framing the story, it’s Malden that carries this movie to the finish line. Plus he has a sword cane, which is always a bonus. Many Argento fans use the term “underrated” to describe this effort. That’s a euphemism for strictly average. Il gatto a nove code premiered in Italy today in 1971.

Above, five more posters from Italian master illustrator Sandro Symeoni. And if those don’t get you topped up you can get more doses here, here, here, and (our favorite) here.