From the man responsible for projector fodder like Blue Movie (1978) and Blow Job (1980) comes tonight's review, Alberto Cavallone's bizarre exercise in arthouse sleaze known alternately as Man Woman and Beast (1977). The director's visuals on this effort reminds me of something like a leisurely l.s.d.-soaked cruise down Jodorowsky Boulevard with the John Waters gag reflex pedal to the floor, and that's only when they succeed! For when they fail, and that's more often, o woprophiles, they're more like an Amazonian psychedelic snuff powder that transports the user's mind into a terrible Deep Web clip that continued viewing will bring spiritual damage unto their soul. But one label no one has ever labelled this movie with, as far as I can tell, is "boring". I'd also wager that I'm probably the only guy in my personal circle that has ever seen it, and I've never recommended it on a movie night, either, unless it was a crowd of people I didn't like very much, in which case, combined with Thierry Zeno's Wedding Trough as a "Wouldn't you rather go home, instead?" double bill would effectively do the trick...
L'aqua potabile wc...come frugale di te!
At the outset, we're introduced to a small rural Italian community, immersed in preparation for an upcoming feast in the name of their patron saint, and its cast of colorful characters. There's a jaded communist artist who clings to party icons like pictures of Lenin and red flags (blech!), despite an growing uncertainty as to whether any of it still holds relevance or truth in his life, spent tending to a spouse who's lost all her fucking marbles while degenerating into an increasingly violent beast, indeed, as evidenced by her propensity to drink out of the toilet and attempt to snip her nurse's nipples off with a pair of scissors. While the younger kids work the streets, pimping drawings of the saint for cash, the teens take advantage of the social atmosphere to enjoy each other's drunken carnality, there's the lonely butcher who peep tom's the young girls' budding breast and ass display until he's so horny that he wanders off and fucks a swinging slab of beef in the cooler. Oh yeah, this one's a beaut.
...fottuto un lato di carne bovina...come romantico di voi!
One of the teenage girls is dealing with an especially unwanted pregnancy, seeing as the father is her father. Then there's a mysterious adolescent outsider who's met with Christ-like adoration from nearly every one in the village, who rescues a younger lad who's gotten himself lumped up in a fight, taking him to the villa of Che' Picasso and his gonzo nympho bimbo for assistance, probably not the smartest decision the kid ever made, when it ends with a poo-face, after cuckolding the creepy collage-pasting commie with some ill-advised analingus, gone about as wrong as things of that nature can go. There's also a cow's eye masturbation scene. Keep an upchuck bucket nearby, if you sit through this one, there's a good chance you're gonna need it, and probably more than once. Wash your eyes out with liberal doses of Christina Lindberg following any potential viewings to avoid losing your mind. That's all I got. Try and behave yourselves on Mischief Night tonight.
"No, really, sweetheart, karaoke sounds much better through a pink microphone..."
I'm gonna go ahead and assume that any of the actors involved in this film would probably rather not be reminded of their participation, so I'm not gonna draw further attention to them here. I ended up giving Spell two Wops for showing me things I'd never seen in a movie up to that point in tackling three classic Italian subjects : sex, politics, and religion from new angles, unfortunately, most of those things were also on my "Never wanted to see" list, and not much makes either of those lists at this point, now that I'm sufficiently old as dirt and with a long history of cinema behind me. With those facts in mind, I can't in good faith suggest tonight's review to anyone save for the hardcore Italian genre completists out there, and even then, those individuals will most likely wretch at the sight of it. When that inevitably does come to pass, I only ask that you remember that I did, indeed, tell you so, and feel zero empathy towards your spiritual low state.
"Mom, I'd like you to meet my new girlfriend..."
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