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“Slap the Monster on Page One” * (1972, Radiance Films) Gian Maria Volonte, who serves as editor of a rabidly right-wing newspaper in Italy, finds a solution to mounting problems – angry protests against the paper’s hateful screeds and an election pitting the Communist Party against his paper’s preferred Christian Democrats – in the brutal murder of a young girl, and throws his talent for manipulation and slander into pinning the crime on an activist. Alarmingly prescient drama-thriller from Marco Bellocchio (who replaced co-writer Sergio Donati as director) details how the news can reframe not only opinion but perception of fact through a combination of clever language and constant repetition of specific talking points, even if contrary facts are in plain sight. May be too much for some viewers to take in after recent events; Radiance’s subtitled Limited Edition Blu-ray, taken from a 4K restoration, includes a new interview with critic Mario Sesti, who details both the film’s production and the political climate in Italy – the “Years of Lead,” a two-decade period of political upheaval and violence between far-left and right factions – as well as a new appreciation by “Repo Man” director Alex Cox and an archival interview with Bellocchio.
“Circus of Horrors” * (1960, Kino Lorber) Rogue medico Anton Diffring finds both a haven from the law and an outlet for his fetishes for feminine beauty and facial reconstruction in a run-down circus and its troupe of attractive performers. British horror-thriller tips into queasy exploitation territory with its sweaty-palmed attitude towards its female cast (which includes Hammer/UK horror vets Yvonne Monlaur and Yvonne Romain), who are fetishized and then rebuilt by Diffring’s fetishization, only to be dispatched in grisly fashion. The unsavory elements are blunted by cinematographer Douglas Slocombe’s candy-colored images, an overheated script and a silly pop song (by Tony Hatch), but “Circus” remains a memorably sick entry in British horror history and along with Hammer Films’ output and Michael Powell’s “Peeping Tom,” a shape of taboo-busting things to come for the genre. Kino’s UHD/Blu-ray combo, culled from a 4K restoration, including commentary by David Dell Valle, who details the state of international horror circa ’60 and the primary cast and crew’s other credits.
“A Dog Called… Vengeance” * (1977, Severin Films) Mathematician /revolutionary Jason Miller (“The Exorcist”), a prisoner of a corrupt military regime, flees the jail, but is pursued by a guard dog made relentless by Miller’s murder of his owner. Spanish action-drama by Antonio Isasi-Isasmendi makes frequent references to life under a real-life dictatorship – that of Francisco Franco, which ended two years prior to the film’s release – especially in the film’s final third, when Miller reunites with his didactic, self-serving companeros, but “Dog” works best as a pure thriller fueled by legitimately terrifying encounters between the very real dog and Miller, who is often stark naked during these face-offs. Severin’s Special Edition Blu-ray – a 2K remaster of the original negative – features interviews with Stiges Festival chief Angel Sala, who discusses the film’s popularity and influence, as well as conversations with Isasi’s daughter and Marisa Paredes, who was the film’s co-star and Isasi’s longtime companion.
“Bandits of Orgosolo” * (1960, Radiance Films) When distrustful police invade their rural Sardinian village in search of pig thieves, shepherds Michele Cossu and Peppedu Cuccu (both non-actors) know that their meager livelihoods are in jeopardy, and decide to flee across the rough, mountainous terrain, only to face even greater challenges. Assured dramatic feature debut from Vittorio De Setta, who uses elements from his work in documentaries to lend authenticity and grit to this unique mix of Police On My Back crime tropes and an examination of the inevitable clash between insular minority communities and prejudiced law enforcement (which made this a popular title with the Italian Left). Striking cinematography by Luciano Tovoli (“Suspiria”) of the almost prehistoric Sardinian landscapelends co nsiderable heft to the argument: the shepherds’ lives are swallowed up by their predicament, and must learn to either fight or die. Radiance Films’ Blu-ray set includes an interview with Tovoli, who describes the film as a sort of baptism by fire for his eventual career, and a visual essay by filmmaker Ehsan Khoshbakht, who discusses the film’s relatively anonimity in world cinema; a second disc includes ten restored documentary shorts by De Setta, including 1958’s “Orgosolo’s Shepherds,” which helped inspire “Bandits,” and an archival interview with the filmmaker.
“Invitation to a Suicide” * (2004, Lightyear Entertainment) Polish American baker Kaz (Pablo Schreiber) fouls up an attempt to fund his move to California by stealing from a Russian mobster, who vows to kill Schreiber’s father (David Marguiles) unless repayment is made. Kaz, an affable but not-very-bright guy, comes up with a unique solution: sell tickets to his own suicide. Micro-budgeted black comedy benefits from its likable leads and Katherine Moennig as Kaz’s cautious inamorata, as well as a clever soundtrack by John Zorn, but also struggles to overcome its amateurish look and absurd premise. A stronger hand might have found richer or more darkly humorous material in the fact that everyone around Kaz seems not only fine with but actively encourages him taking his own life, but writer/director Loren Marsh is mostly content to skim the surface. “Invitation” celebrates its 20th anniversary with a digitally restored re-release via various latforms on December 13.
“A Man Called Tiger” * (1973, Eureka Classics) Jimmy Wang Yu drops his virtuous Chinese Boxer/One-Armed Boxer persona in favor of a sneering thug in cool togs – not named Tiger – who punches and kicks his way to the top of the yakuza heap in Japan. Wang Yu has an honorable reason for his one-man-army routine – he’s looking for the thugs who killed his father – but that plot thread takes a back seat to a fairly ceaseless barrage of gangland politics and beatdowns; Quentin Tarantino rightly describes “Tiger” as the Hong Kong equivalent of an Italian crime movie, though I can’t think of any poliziotesschi that features a fight from moving cable cars or a blood-soaked brawl with axes. One can only wonder how “Tiger” would have played with its intended star, Bruce Lee, who left the project after falling out with director Lo Wei; the Eureka Classics Blu-ray features 2K restorations of the longest available version of the film’s Hong Kong theatrical version and a re-release, which was trimmed by over 30 minutes (what’s still missing is addressed in a short featurette), both with Mandarin and English audio options; two commentaries by four martial arts experts (Frank Djeng and Michael Worth and Mike Leeder and Arne Venema) and newly made music videos for two songs performed in the film by Maria Yi are also included.
