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Plot: primeval colossus wreaks havoc upon metropolitan Toronto…

When Dino de Laurentiis released his 1976 remake of King Kong (1933) its impact was profound and immediate. England has responded to Japan’s allegory for certain nuclear annihilation Godzilla (1954) with its own amiable big monster epic in the form of Gorgo (1961) and Denmark had done the same with the Ib Melchior penned Reptilicus (1961) as had South Korea with Yongary, Monster from the Deep (1967). Usually these big monster romps acted as a metaphor (or stand-in) for the supposedly malefic influence of foreign nations or whatever the threat of the day, whether they be nuclear or anti-capitalist in nature, happened to be. Yeti, Giant of the Twentieth Century (released back at home in Italy as Yeti, il gigante del ventesimo secolo and for once accurately translated for the international market) is mostly remembered for not being remembered at all. Both an anomaly in the career of director Gianfranco Parolini and leading star Antonella Interlenghi Yeti, Giant of the Twentieth Century is Italian pulp filmed in Canada for the international market. The most memorable thing about Yeti, Giant of the Twentieth Century is that they were able to get away with using a folk rendition of ‘O Fortuna’ from Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana as the main theme.

For director Gianfranco Parolini Yeti, Giant of the Twentieth Century was something else. As a specialist of spaghetti western, peplum, krimi and Eurowar Parolini etched his name into annals of cult cinema history with the five-part Kommissar X (1966-1968) saga, 3 Supermen (1967) and the Sabata (1968-1971) trilogy. Alleged Yeti sightings and sensationalist newspaper articles had been making the rounds since the 1920s and intensified during the mid-fifties. The simian-like creature purported to inhabit the Himalayan mountain range in Asia spoke to the imagination of everyone. Spanish horror pillar Paul Naschy even had an El Hombre Lobo episode where his Waldemar Daninsky faced off against the Abominable Snowman with The Werewolf and the Yeti (1975). Also not unimportant was that the Dino de Laurentiis produced John Guillermin directed remake did big business at the Italian box office. Parolini envisioned a low budget imitation with the working title Yeti Big Foot that was meant to catapult him into the mainstream. De Laurentiis had the means to afford special effects master Carlo Rambaldi whereas producers Nicolò Pomilia and Wolfranco Coccia had to content themselves with Germano Natali, Augusto Possanza, and Fabio Traversari for Parolini’s Yeti feature. Some controversy arose when writer Giorgio Moser (who was attached, or at least in run, to write the proposed de Laurentiis Yeti feature) claimed that Parolini had stolen his idea after talking to him for months on the Yeti. As these things tend to go the case was settled in court and de Laurentiis shelved his plans for a Yeti monster romp. This is probably the only big monster movie where the Yeti looks like Barry Gibb from the Bee Gees on a peculiar rough morning. And what better excuse to suffer through this than the always ravishing Antonella Interlenghi?

When a tsunami shakes the Arctic bringing to surface the only known and living specimen of the Yeti encased in a block of ice Canadian industrialist Morgan Hunnicut (Edoardo Faieta, as Eddy Fay) sees it as an opportunity to diversify the products and services of his multi-faceted business empire. He lures away his paleontologist friend Prof. Henry Wassermann (John Stacy) from whatever retirement he had planned with promises of immeasurable fame and fortune. The frozen colossus is flown to Toronto where he’s to be thawed by Hunnicut employees and scientists. Among the spectators are Hunnicut’s orphaned nephews, nubile Jane (Antonella Interlenghi, as Phoenix Grant) and mute Herbie (Matteo Zoffoli, as jim Sullivan) as well as ambitious and cutthroat Hunnicut underling Cliff Chandler (Luciano Stella, as Tony Kendall). Once thawed Hunnicut scientists rush to study the creature as Morgan intends to bombard it to the company mascot to commodify it as product and maximize profit. The Yeti (Mimmo Crao) takes a liking to young and desirable Jane and the plight of little Herbie and an unlikely friendship between the creature and the kids is formed. Things go haywire when Chandler tries to take advantage of Jane and the Yeti wreaks havoc upon the Hunnicut conglomerate and metropolitan Toronto in retaliation.

Antonella was (and is) the daughter of Franco Interlenghi, the romantic leading man of Neopolitan cinema and one-time rival of Marcello Mastrioanni. Unlike Mastrioanni, Interlenghi never was able to build a career internationally. Around these parts Interlenghi the elder is mostly remembered for his appearance in Tinto Brass’ ode to Serena Grandi‘s formidable form (but mostly her massive ass) Miranda (1985). Interlenghi the fairer had a modest if quaint theatrical triple-decade career that spanned continents, budgets, and genres taking her across Italy, Spain, México and France and saw her working with directors such as José Bénazéraf, René Cardona, Jr, Lucio Fulci, and Carlo Vanzina. Her arrival in 1977 heralded the end of the doe-eyed, innocuous starlet made iconic by the likes of Femi Benussi, Agostina Belli, Laura Antonelli and Barbara Magnolfi as well as minor goddesses as Jenny Tamburi, Daniela Giordano, and Sonia Viviani. While la Antonella could be seen in everything from Mexican thriller Panic Dealers (1980) to lighthearted comedies as Christmas Vacation (1983) and Vacation in America (1984) (widely regarded as the first Italian chick flick) she forever etched her name into our black heart in her mostly decorative role as the doomed Emily Robbins in the Lucio Fulci gore epic City of the Living Dead (1980).

As for the rest of the cast, that isn’t too shabby either with Parolini regulars Tony Kendall, Aldo Canti, and Giuseppe Mattei as well as reliable second stringers as Donald O'Brien, Stelio Candelli, and Claudio Zucchet in prominent supporting roles. Kendall was active in Italy as well as Spain and could be seen in The Whip and the Body (1963), Siege of Terror (1972), Crucified Girls of San Ramon (1973), The Loreley's Grasp (1973), The Off-Road Girl (1973) as well as the second Blind Dead episode Attack of the Blind Dead (1973). Candelli debuted in The Nights of Lucretia Borgia (1959) and from there appeared in a number of Italian cult classics as well as not-so-classic exploits including, but not limited to, Mario Bava’s hallmark science fiction epic Planet Of the Vampires (1965), Luigi Batzella's psychotronic gothic horror masterpiece Nude For Satan (1974) and during the eighties he was in Luigi Cozzi’s equally delirious Hercules (1983) and Lamberto Bava’s Demons (1985). Zucchet was a stuntman who occasionally acted. His many credits include, among many others, Malabimba, That Malicious Whore (1978), Star Odyssey (1979), The Beast In Space (1980) and Burial Ground (1981). Donald O’Brien came out of spaghetti western and Eurowar but found steady employment in sleaze of various stripe including, but not limited to, Sex Of the Witch (1973), Images In a Convent (1979), Emanuelle and the Last Cannibals (1979), Zombie Holocaust (1980), Warriors of the Year 2072 (1984), and the The Terminator (1984) imitation Hands Of Steel (1986). The real showstoppers, however, are not so much the talent in front of the camera but the special effects by Germano Natali and Ermando Biamonte and their men of the hour Augusto Possanza and Fabio Traversari.

Over the years Yeti, Giant of the Twentieth Century has caught an incredible amount of flak for its primitive, rudimentary effects work. It’s de rigueur for critics to pile on Natali and Biamonte but considering the time, place, and budget this was made on – are they really that worthy of derision? Well, no. Sure, nobody is going to confuse Germano Natali with Carlo Rambaldi, Antonio Molina, Giannetto De Rossi or, say, Maurizio Trani but the blue screen composition, the animatronics, forced perspective as well as miniatures and models are not nearly as terrible as they are often made out to be. In truth Yeti, Giant of the Twentieth Century is far from the worst offender on that front. Which doesn’t take away from how charming the effects are in their primitiveness. Compare Natali’s work to that of Aldo Frollini in Alfonso Brescia’s infamous space opera quadrilogy following Star Wars (1977) or South Korea’s APE (1976) and witness how truly abysmal special effects can get. While nobody is going to mistake Yeti, Giant of the Twentieth Century for a Hollywood production there’s something about it that makes it surprisingly endearing, either in its naiveté or otherwise. Whatever the case Hong Kong did the whole big monster bonanza plain better with The Mighty Peking Man (1977) (which at least had the decency of putting Evelyn Kraft in a tiny fur bikini). And as beautiful as Kraft was, la bella Antonella was in a class all her own.

Let’s not mince words here. Gianfranco Parolini was a director in the twilight of his career. It speaks to his level of delusion that he convinced himself (and tried to convince others) that Yeti, Giant of the Twentieth Century would catapult him into Hollywood. Nothing could be further from the truth. His next (and final) directorial effort would only arrive a full decade later in the form of the Raiders Of the Lost Ark (1981) informed jungle adventure The Secret of the Incas' Empire (1987). It’s not the kind of end to wish upon anybody, especially not someone like Parolini who arguably had a classic or two to his name. Likewise it’s a small miracle that Antonella Interlenghi was able to get away from this unscathed and build a modest but respectable career for herself. Most surprisingly does Yeti, Giant of the Twentieth Century not only boast la Antonella but also pushes an admirable anti-capitalist, environmentalist message that’s absolutely germane to Italian productions of this decade. In the decade of garish excess, in the decade of the giallo and gothic horror revivalism here was a family movie (or at least something aimed squarely at a younger audience) offering a voice of dissent. If for nothing else (except la Antonella) Yeti, Giant of the Twentieth Century should be considered a classic. Thankfully, Antonella would go on to bigger and better things.

Plot: struggling British model is haunted by malefic spirits of the dead.

By the late 1980s the Italian exploitation industry was on the verge of extinction. What little still sold internationally was anything coasting on the dying embers of genres previously profitable, mainly daft action, soft erotic dross and horror. The latter two converged in Minaccia d'amore (or Threat Of Love, for some reason released in the Anglo-Saxon world under the semi Hitchcock-ian title Dial: Help), a self-professed erotic thriller from Tinto Brass producer Giovanni Bertolucci that’s largely in line with what was popular at the time. That means that in effect it’s more of a supernatural horror. If it’s remembered for anything, it’s for Charlotte Lewis and if it has attained any sort of longevity that was thanks to Silvio Berlusconi infamously buying it for his Mediaset where it found a second life on Italian television where it was regularly broadcast.

Deodato learned his craft under Roberto Rossellini and Sergio Corbucci. Under Corbucci he assistant directed the peplum The Slave (1962) and the spaghetti western Django (1966). From there he went on to assistant direct another peplum under Antonio Margheriti. Having accumulated the necessary experience and expertise he ventured out on his with a now long forgotten fumetti. Everything would change in 1968. That year he was chosen to direct the sequel to Gungala, Virgin of the Jungle (1967) (that had made a star out of Kitty Swan). A trio of comedies that nobody really remembers followed and soon Ruggero was heeding the call of the burgeoning television market. It was only after 1973 that Deodato returned to the big screen with the giallo Waves Of Lust (1975) and the poliziottesco Live Like a Cop, Die Like a Man (1976). Apparently somebody had taken notice of Deodato’s Gungala sequel as the German distributors offered him to direct what would become Last Cannibal World (1977), a spiritual and thematic follow-up to Man From Deep River (1972) that Lenzi had declined. Two years later Deodato would catapult himself to global infamy with Cannibal Holocaust (1980), an unsurpassed exercise in nihilism that remains just as shocking 40 years later.

That Cannibal Holocaust (1980) would cast a shadow over anything Deodato would do after was expected. The House On the Edge Of the Park (1980) was a senseless The Last House on the Left (1972) knock-off redeemed for the most part thanks to an all-star cast that included former Jean Rollin belle Annie Belle, Lorraine De Selle, and Brigitte Petronio as well as David Hess and Giovanni Lombardo Radice. For the sci-fi/post-nuke diversion Raiders Of Atlantis (1983) he dialed up the silliness to Luigi Cozzi levels and the entire thing felt almost Bruno Mattei-ish in how many different American properties it ripped off in just 90 minutes. Almost a decade later the reputation and legacy of Cannibal Holocaust (1980) was both inescapable and inarguable. Its shadow still loomed long and ominously over anything Deodato would lend his name to afterwards.

Compared to the American style slasher Body Count (1986) and the more slasher-ific giallo An Uncommon Crime (1987) (with Edwige Fenech and Michael York) from the year before Dial: Help is far more subdued and surprisingly atmospheric when it gets its ducks in a row. If comparisons must be made Lucio Fulci’s Manhattan Baby (1982) and Aenigma (1987) come close. Franco Ferrini had written a screenplay called Turno di note that he shopped around but “that no one wanted.” In 1983 Dario Argento "showed a certain interest" in it but not enough to attach himself to directing it thus landing it on Deodato’s desk. He liked the supernatural and fantasy element and set to filming it, with or without a decent budget. Ferrini would later write Phenomena (1985) and Opera (1987) for Argento as well as Demons (1985) and Demons 2 (1986) for Lamberto Bava and The Church (1989) for Michele Soavi, all of which Argento helped either writing or producing. The average moviegoer probably remembers him for co-writing Sergio Leone's nearly 4-hour crime epic Once Upon a Time in America (1984).

Jenny Cooper (Charlotte Lewis) is a British model struggling to make a living in the bustling, fast-moving city of Rome. Lovelorn and heartbroken she’s desperately trying to get a hold of an unnamed, unseen suitor. One night Jenny mistakenly dials the wrong number at a payphone reaching a closed down dating agency (“Loneliness does not exist, trust your heart to us!” screams a banner in the derelict office building). There Jenny’s desire awakens a diabolic force that has lain dormant all these years in the collected tape recordings of all the lonely hearts that called the agency. The force takes a liking to Jenny and soon starts to kill anybody and everybody that gets in its way. Nobody, especially not the police and law enforcement, puts any stock in Jenny’s stories. Not even her friend Carmen (Carola Stagnaro). Nobody believes her – except her shy, introverted, and considerate university student neighbor Riccardo (Marcello Modugno). She never noticed him until now because she was too self-absorbed and preoccupied. At a swank party Jenny is stressed out and her good musician friend Mole (Mattia Sbragia) offers to install a new phone in her apartment, check and adjust the switchboards accordingly, and locate the source of her distress by any means necessary. When people start dying mysterious and unexplained deaths her case eventually attracts the attention of Prof. Irving Klein (William Berger). Will Jenny be able to exorcise the demons before she too will fall victim to their malefic powers?

Charlotte Lewis was a British actress of Chilean-Iraqi descent who shot to superstardom virtually overnight by appearing in two widely-publicized productions, the first of which was Roman Polanski’s Academy Award-nominated swashbuckler Pirates (1986) and followed that with the Eddie Murphy fantasy comedy The Golden Child (1986). You’d imagine that a beginning like that would be a guarantee for a long and prosperous career in the A-list. Nothing could be further from the truth. Lewis too strangely got caught up in the tendrils of late-stage Italian exploitation just like Jennifer Connelly and Josie Bissett before her. Instead of following her Italian detour up with prestigious Hollywood projects instead she ended up in the Dolph Lundgren actioner Men of War (1994) and the Alyssa Milano erotic potboiler Embrace of the Vampire (1995). In truth, Lewis has far more renowned for her high-profile romantic liaisons moreso than her movies. Over the years she has been romantically linked with everybody from Eddie Murphy, Jim Carrey and Charlie Sheen to classical dancer Mikhail Baryshnikov and American rock/blues singer-songwriter Eric Clapton. She fell head over heels for Polanski but was rebuffed and almost instantly was romantically linked to famous ladies’ man Warren Beatty upon their introduction. At 21 miss Lewis was at the height of desirability and Deodato ensures everybody knows. Especially in the third act when Charlotte can be seen in skimpy lingerie and a brief bath scene. As far as 80s babes go miss Lewis bears some semblance to France’s Florence Guérin, a young Jennifer Connelly and Emmanuelle Béart circa Manon de Sources (1986).

Of all the Italian exploitation grandmasters perhaps Ruggero Deodato had the most peculiar career trajectory. Over the span of some six decades he only directed a modest twenty-something features the majority of which aren’t horror. Cannibal Holocaust (1980) is an uncontested classic and the original found footage flick. That it requires an iron stomach and that you’d like a shower afterwards is something that comes with the experience. We, personally, tend to gravitate more towards his Last Cannibal World (1977).

Lucio Fulci made gialli and zombie movies but never partook in the cannibal cycle. Ruggero Deodato was otherwise occupied in the South Asian jungles when the giallo exploded in popularity during the 1970s and neither did he contribute to the gothic horror revival during that time. He likewise sat out the domestic zombie craze in the following decade. Not that Deodato was sitting on his hands doing nothing. He continued churning out horrors of various stripe and across budgets. He wasn’t as versatile as, say, Sergio Martino or Giuseppe Vari nor did he specialize in action like Antonio Margheriti or produce late-stage domestic classics the way Lamberto Bava did. It’s no surprise then that Deodato turned to television once Italian exploitation had run its course. That he remains active to this day is to be applauded and something of a minor miracle when you think about it. Dial: Help might not look like it but it generates enough electricity to prove that old Ruggero hadn’t lost his touch.