Don't Torture a Buggling

My complicated relationship with giallo has been documented before following my disappointment with Tenebrae and The Eyes of Laura Mars. It’s a genre I just don’t love or, more importantly, really enjoy much of. In full disclosure, I’d made the unofficial decision to just stop trying, despite the undying hope invested in me by some of my loyal readers.

It’s at this point that I’ve just realized I have an awful lot in common with the NY Mets.

Enter the world’s most talented lightning bug to the rescue! In continuing our monthly film swap, my esteemed blogging colleague T.L. Bugg chose for me 1972’s Italian classic, Don’t Torture a Duckling. As Zach is doing a series on Stephen King adaptions but had the nerve to NOT cover Stephen King’s Thinner, I insisted he watch it, and watch and review it he shall. Is it a ‘good’ film? Only if you believe carrot cake is a ‘good’ source of vegetables. But to me, it’s a pile of mid-90s horror cheese that even the classiest Bugg deserves to eat.

But first, let’s start being nicer to ducklings.

Quick Plot: A group of preteen boys cause some small town trouble on an Italian coast, teasing the local simpleton and slingshot killing lizards in the sun. One by one, they begin turning up dead, all with the same MO and often, mangled dummy corpse. Following each death, a new suspect emerges only to quickly be disproved or dispatched.

Surrounding the main tale is Patrizia (‘70s babe Barbara Bouchet), a modern (code: skanky) recovering drug addict (sure) who beings a flirtation with Tomas Milan’s nosy reporter. Also on hand are the bumbling authorities, an epileptic gypsy, Chris Sarandon-ish preist, his stern-faced mother, more stern-faced townspeople, and a mute little girl with a thing for decapitated dolls.

Like most giallos, Don’t Torture a Duckling plays an awful lot as a gory whodunit. Unlike Tenebrae or The Eyes of Laura Mars, however, it actually invites the audience into the mystery by making it both solvable and thematic. I imagine most savvy viewers will spot the killer (or killers, I spoil not yet) but a lot of the false starts are actually entertaining, even if they never feel the least bit possible.

As promised (ten seconds ago) I’m about to delve into spoiler territory. Virgin ducklings can skip down to the lessons section to preserve their chastity. All others, let’s talk:

The novelty of a Catholic priest murdering young boys is fun enough, but what I really loved about Don’t Torture a Duckling’s ending (outside of the PHENOMENAL dummy) was how, in hindsight, its very essence was inherent in the film itself. Father Don Alberto Avallone justifies his murders by trying to save the boys before they can sin, something hinted at by Patrizia’s flirtation and one of the kid‘s naughty drawings. In a way, Don’t Torture a Duckling is pure misogynist ‘70s Italian cinema, playing up the idea that women truly are evil temptresses leading innocent men to their doom. Hey, sometimes that in itself is fascinating, especially when it’s executed so well.

High Points

Best Supporting Actor, 1972: The Dummy. Holy pinnochio, that dummy.

Fulci is responsible for some truly terrible titles, but his work behind the camera is genuinely interesting here, with effective shaking and spinning landscapes used quite well

Low Points

There's something a little odd-fitting about Bouchet and Milan's random civilians ultimately being the smartest people in Europe

Stray Observation

Between this and The Beyond, can we agree that Fulci’s favorite dog breed was the German Shepherd?

Lessons Learned

If you thought the word ‘retarded’ was offensive, how about classing it up by calling deaf-mutes ‘subnormal?’

So long as you only use a decapitated Donald Duck stuffed animal, Walt Disney will not sue

Never kick away evidence at a murder scene when the ominous score is so clearly telling you not to

Rent/Bury/Buy

Don’t Torture a Duckling is already considered essential genre viewing, and I would echo that with an enthusiastic recommendation. I’m not sure if there’s a better DVD out there than my barebones Netflix rental, so a purchase depends on your wallet and special features standards.

Thanks to Zach for the swap, and now I send you over his way to trim those pesky holiday pounds with Stephen King’s Thinner!