Like a Quentin Tarantino (or Patrick Bateman) puberty nightmare captured for posterity. Or “Adam-12 with bush,” as an earlier review aptly put it, although it’s just as easily Dragnet with ass torture. Either way, I’m permanently branded by the mistake of watching it all the way to the end.
Added to this list, where it could serve as a manifesto. In a twist, the L.A. skies are remarkably smog-free—or maybe they just seem clean compared to everything else that’s going on.
Early on, as the not-yet-nude—blink and you’ll miss it!—Femi Benussi struts past a bunch of wolf-whistling horndogs, one of them cries out, “I want my mommy!” Later, when Franco Diogene fails to launch after strong-arming Erna Schürer onto a couch, he sobs, “Mommy! Mommy!”
Is Italy OK?
The title’s practically meaningless, a lure to get inveterate horror fans to sit still for a movie that pivots on loss, lies, attachment fear, bloodthirsty patriarchal ineptitude, and a pair of fatal acts of kindness. Horror is what we do to each other, kids.
I have no problem with this approach, especially in a film that uses interior space and light so beautifully and that wields dread-for-the-sake-of-dread with such expertise. I had low expectations but high hopes going into this; all of the latter were exceeded.
Most effective as a subverted Disney princess movie: The male dreamboat turns up too late to do much good, and doesn't even take measures to keep his beloved from choking on her own spit-up; the cute animal sidekick considers said spit-up a meal; the villain can't wait to make a meal out of our heroine; she buys him lunch.
Least effective as a scary shark movie: The CGI monster is too weightless to be menacing, and it's grumpy and vindictive…
