Larger than life and twice as revolutionary.
The schlock factory known as American International Pictures and director Eddie Romero team up for another low budget romp with Savage Sisters, one of numerous shot-in-the-Philippines action epics they put together for the grindhouse circuit. AIP regulars Sid Haig, John Ashley, and Vic Diaz make appearances, but the stars of this one are Cheri Caffaro, Gloria Hendry, and Rosanna Ortiz, playing women caught up in a third world revolution. Violence and dumb comedy combine into an entertaining mix, but entertaining isn't the same as good. Savage Sisters is strictly for movie parties with pals, something you glance at between beers and bong hits to catch the intermittent gun battles and soft titillation. Gil Scott-Heron said the revolution would not be televised. It won't be organized either, if these plotters are any indication. It's ironic that all these AIP movies about overthrowing repressive governments were shot during Ferdinand Marcos's exploitative Philippine regime, but we guess he was just happy to have film production in the country and didn't actually care about the finished product. As long as you don't care too much about the finished product either you can put Savage Sisters in the awful-but-fun bin and enjoy. It opened this month in 1974.
The way you say that word makes me so hot. Say it again. Say... “epaulettes.”
Sorry, dude, I can't reach that knife in your pocket. But I can hold your hand. It'll comfort us both as we die of exposure.
Damn, girl. I never noticed before, but when the light hits your face just right you look a lot like Peter Frampton.
I think we all knew that Iota Kappa Ass has the most difficult initiations of all the sororities but this is just crazy.
It's a revealing outfit for a military assault, I know, but after we shoot up this munitions depot we're headed to the disco.
I think I just realized something. I don't give a fuck about the revolution. I just want to ventilate some honkies.
I'm uniquely qualified to lead this revolution because of my grand vision and infallible foresight. Take my outfit, for instance. This will never go out of style.
She's been doing as the Romans do pretty much from day one.
Italian actress Leticia Román walks across the tarmac at Fiumicino Airport in Rome today in 1962, where she had arrived to begin work on the film The Nightmare. That's what the back of the photo says, anyway. But Román never appeared in a film with that title. Since titles change mid-production occasionally, we're going to guess the film was actually the 1963 giallo La ragazza che sapeva troppo, aka Evil Eye. Furthermore, we checked the production data, and the movie has scenes at the airport, so it's possible but not certain that this isn't really a press photo but rather a production promo. In any case, nice shot.
Connie Stevens goes up against international drug dealers without a single hair slipping out of place.
This one we watched entirely because of the promo art. In Scorchy Connie Stevens stars as a Seattle undercover cop assigned to bust a Rome-based drug ring. Her name isn't Scorchy—it's actually Jackie Parker, and this Seattleite is sort of tough-cute, a flirt and an eyelash batter, someone prone to making sexual quips and comical faces. None of this seems to us as though it would be conducive to convincing international drug dealers that she's a charter pilot willing to fly shady cargoes, but whatever—it's in the script, so they buy it. Stevens maneuvers her way into flying a load of heroin and, theoretically, this will be the basis of a big drug bust. Does it work out that way? We aren't saying.
Scorchy came from low budget studios Hickmar Productions and American International, but they're serious with this effort, aiming for French Connection grit combined with a bit of b-movie cheese. But lofty aspirations aside, you know going into any American International movie that it's very likely to be bad, even if it's one they bought from another production company, as was the case here. And Scorchy delivers the badness in spades—the fight scenes and shootouts are lame, the acting is merely adequate, and the plot doesn't offer much in the way of twists and turns. What does offer some twists and turns is the centerpiece car chase. It's almost good enough to redeem the movie, and as a bonus it also shows a lot of Seattle scenery.
Scorchy also may be worth watching for another reason—the decors. Check the screenshots below. The set designers really went to town. Stevens' living room is especially noteworthy, with its flowered sofa, driftwood art, and random acoustic guitar leaning against the wall just in case she wants to get groovy. We'll throw Stevens herself in there as another of the film's assets. She looks excellent at thirty-eight, even with silver candyfloss hair and mascara that looks like it was applied with a hot glue gun. Like the movie, she's a bit ridiculous, but she's fun to watch as she makes the bad guys regret ever coming to the Emerald City. Scorchy premiered in the U.S. today in 1976.
Then when he tripled my rent so he could evict me and give my place to some Silicon Valley tech jerkwad I just snapped.
Yet another subset of pulp novels was the true crime book, and this effort called San Francisco Murders was edited by Joseph Henry Jackson, written by Allan R. Bosworth, Hildegarde Teilhet, and others, and details ten San Fran murders that took place over the course of a century. Among the killers: Jerome von Braun Selz, aka The Laughing Killer, Theodore Durrant, aka The Demon of the Belfry, and Cordelia Botkin, who had no nickname but probably should have, considering she killed rather exotically with arsenic laced chocolates. She was trying to do in her ex-lover's wife and ended up poisoning not only her target, but a hungry bystander as well. We're thinking the Accidental Chocolatier, or maybe the Bitter Chocolate Killer. Right? Yeah? San Francisco Murders was originally copyright 1947, and this Bantam paperback edition came in 1948 with cover art by Bob Doares.
All it takes is one to ruin everything.
Successful blaxploitation movies often spawned sequels which benefitted from more resources than were put into the originals. Super Fly was a surprise hit in August 1972, so the Hollywood suits bent their efforts toward riding the gravy train and Super Fly T.N.T. premiered in the U.S. today in 1973, only ten months later. This was a big deal production. Paramount Pictures financed it, future Roots author Alex Haley wrote the script, the shooting took place in Rome and Senegal, and West African/Caribbean funk superstars Osibisa provided the soundtrack. But the movie needed star Ron O'Neal in the title role. And in order to get him Paramount had to let him direct. We can just imagine the high blood pressure meetings on the Paramount lot when the suits realized a blaxploitation star was actually blaxploitating them. So how did O'Neal do? We'll come to that.
In Super Fly the character of Priest wanted out of the drug business. In Super Fly T.N.T. he's living in Rome off the proceeds of his big score, and the ghetto is just a bad memory. And the U.S. as a whole is a place he understands will never change. There's too much invested in the status quo of racism. But in Rome he has friends from all walks of life. He eats in nice restaurants and nobody throws him attitude. He rides horses. And living there has given him some perspective. His novelist pal tells him, while the two are strolling in the city center, “These people are all walking around living right here in the middle of thousands of years of history. And I mean their own history. That's what makes them different.”
But Priest is directionless. He has no idea what to do with his life. Eventually he's asked to help the struggling African nation of Umbria stockpile guns for a revolution and decides this could be his higher cause. From that point forward Super Fly T.N.T. becomes an espionage drama. And not a good one either. While O'Neal's direction isn't scintillating, the main problem is that the script was written by someone who understood history, politics, and anthropology perfectly, but didn't have a firm grasp of cinematic pace and action. Yep, we're laying this failure at literary icon Alex Haley's feet. O'Neal may not have been the best director, but there wasn't much to direct. It's a shame, because Priest was one of the best characters to come out of the blaxploitation wave. Super Fly T.N.T. wastes his cultural capital.
She was a material girl living in a material world.
Above is a 1960 National Enquirer with Barbara Nichols on the cover, and editors claiming she said “men, money, and me” make a perfect triangle. Nichols was never a top star, mainly guest starring on dozens of television shows, but she was a staple in tabloids because she dated many rich and famous men but never married, which is why we suspect Enquirer editors came up with their cover quote. Some of her escorts included Jack Carter, Steve Cochran, Cesar Romero, and Elvis Presley. Nichols died in 1976 aged forty-seven due to liver dysfunction. It had initially been torn in an auto accident a decade earlier and gave her problem the rest of her life. We have a pair of nice femme fatale photos of her and you can see those here, and well as an awesome album sleeve here.
Seven ways to die in Rome.
We mentioned a while back we were taking a closer look at vintage giallo flicks, and today you see a Renato Casaro poster for Sette orchidee macchiate di rosso, aka Seven Blood-Stained Orchids. During a train trip a serial killer who's been dispatching women in various diabolical ways tries to make a victim of Uschi Glas. Uschi's man Antonio Sabato is the police's number one suspect, and the only way he can disprove their suspicions is by finding the killer. Uschi plays sidekick for him, which is good, because he looks terribly confused most of the time. This falsely-accused-must-find-real-killer gimmick had already reached perennial status when Antonio arrived on the scene, so you'd hope for a fresh take on it—and be disappointed. This isn't a bad movie, but it's undistinguished, a giallo without the high style of the best entries in the genre. Umberto Lenzi, who had directed numerous films but was making his first giallo here, would do a bit better later. Sette orchidee macchiate di rosso premiered in Italy today in 1972.
It's a self portrait. I don't know why I painted myself bloody and mutilated. Just a weird inspiration.
These are my new strangling gloves. 100% lambskin. Nice, right?
My last victim didn't like gloves so this time I'm going bareback!
Not cutting him down.
Wait, what? That's not fair. I didn't even see him until just now.
This mystery is probably far less complicated than we think.
Can you believe my stuffy old family won't let me wear this in the palace?
Above, a nice shot of Rome born Ira von Fürstenberg, whose full name is Virginia Carolina Theresa Pancrazia Galdina Prinzessin zu Fürstenberg. Yes, a princess, as well as an actress who appeared in films such as Playgirl 70 and Giornata nera per l'ariete. This image appeared on the cover of the Belgian cinema magazine Ciné-Revue and it dates from 1971.
Uncensored turns its unique journalistic eye toward Anita Ekberg.
There's nothing quite like tabloid writing, a fact once again amply demonstrated by Uncensored. This issue is from June 1963, and check out this short paragraph from its feature on Anita Ekberg: “This is the Uncensored story of how Prince Philip bagged a rare and exotic Scandinavian pouter pigeon. Though its native habitat is Sweden, this double-breasted dove prefers the warmer climate of Italy. It also migrates as far from home as London and Hollywood.”
Double-breasted dove? They don't write like that anymore, and a good thing too. It's sexist, of course, but the tabs were generally belittling of both females and males—though in different ways. Women were derided for dating around, such as when Uncensored refers to Ekberg as “Sexberg,” whereas men were usually disparaged for not being manly enough. That typically involved either being rebuffed by women, not scoring with enough women, or sexually preferring men. You see this in the story on Marcello Mastroianni, who's called “lazy” for passing on Brigitte Bardot. And you see it in the story on the United Nations, which is referred to as the “U.N. pansy patch.”
From the perspective of 2017, the heteronormative insecurity is pretty obvious. Men are to be prowling wolves, and any failure to live up to the ideal prompts insults; women are to be readily available for action, but not to other men. The story on Ekberg treads the line of admiring her beauty, but being suspicious about the freeness of her affections. There's a photo of her dancing with a black G.I. in Rome, and while the caption is neutral, in the context of the story the meaning of the shot is clear: “Ekberg will even dance with a black man!”
We love the photo. Ekberg looks a bit baffled, as if the soldier is telling her, “We'd be in mortal danger for doing this in most of the United States, you know,” and Ekberg is saying, “What the hell are you talking about?” The photo also shows how tall Ekberg was, almost 5' 7”, probably 5' 10” in heels, which is towering for an actress who needed to star alongside all those mid-sized leading men. We think this is the first time this image has appeared online.
Other elements worth noting in this issue include French actress and Pulp Intl. femme fatale Dominque Boschero as a mermaid, Marlene Dietrich looking dapper in a tux, Jayne Mansfield and one of her famed toy poodles, and burlesque queen Blaze Starr sudsy in a bathtub. There are plenty of other great shots too, and you can see them all below in nearly forty scans. Uncensored will return.
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.
The headlines that mattered yesteryear.
1911—Mona Lisa Disappears
Leonardo da Vinci's masterpiece, the Mona Lisa, aka La Gioconda, is stolen from the Louvre. After many wild theories and false leads, it turns out the painting was snatched by museum employee Vincenzo Peruggia.
1940—Trotsky Iced in Mexico
In Mexico City exiled Russian revolutionary Leon Trotsky is fatally wounded with an ice axe
(not an ice pick) by Soviet agent Ramon Mercader. Trotsky dies the next day.
1968—Prague Spring Ends
200,000 Warsaw Pact troops backed by 5,000 tanks invade Czechoslovakia to end the Prague Spring political liberalization movement.
1986—Sherrill Goes Postal
In Edmond, Oklahoma, United States postal employee Patrick Sherrill shoots and kills fourteen of his co-workers and then commits suicide.
1953—Mohammed Mossadegh Overthrown in Iran
At the instigation of the CIA, Prime Minster of Iran Mohammed Mossadegh is overthrown and the Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi is installed as leader of the country.
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