Do You Want to Buy a Duck?

Few would ever classify Lucio Fulci as a master of cinema, but the man had a certain appetite for excess that makes a lot of his work hold up as damn enjoyable entertainment today. I've never been the biggest fan of gialli, but Fulci's Don't Torture a Duckling almost justifies all of the issues I usually find with the genre. 

It's somewhat odd that it's taken me this long to tackle his other best-known giallo, especially considering its deep Manhattan roots. But to dive into an Italian slasher of the '80s generally means gearing up for watching mysteriously gloved hands murder abused women, something that requires a certain, you know, MOOD from its watcher. 

Look: it's been a rough few years, and some of the meaner horror I used to love has lost a bit of its appeal on any given day. That being said, the aspect I love most about Don't Torture a Duckling is that its reveal (which I won't spoil here) was very much ABOUT violence toward women. Fulci seemed to understand that there was a way to use this kind of violence not just for thrills, but to also throw out some ideas. 

With that in mind, let's get quacking, New York style.

Quick Plot: We open with your basic Law & Order pre-credits sequence, as a man plays fetch with his enthusiastic golden retriever only for her to ditch the stick for a decaying lady's hand hidden amongst some shrubbery on the city shore. Our lead detective Fred is on the case, slowed down a bit by heavy drinking and general scuzzy apathy. When another victim is found brutally slaughtered on the Staten Island Ferry, it becomes clear that a serial killer is on the loose.

A New York Ripper, you might even say...

We follow a few more potential victims through the city streets: Jane, the sophisticated wife of an impotent but sexually adventurous man, who encourages her to have random sexual encounters and bring back the details. There's the ill-fated star of an onstage sex show Jane watches, Kitty, Fred's regular sex worker, and last, a college student named Fay who narrowly escapes a subway assault and might be the key to solving the crime. 

The murderer continues to taunt the police, making ominous phone calls in a duck voice as his nude bodies pile up. Fred, a fairly terrible cop, inches toward answers which naturally arrive in a flashback-heavy manic conclusion.

It should come as no surprise that The New York Ripper was dubbed a video nasty: we're not 10 minutes in when we have a closeup of a female nipple being carved up. Those with an aversion to visceral violence against women will probably want to skip past this title on Shudder.

And yet, I say, as I think of how The New York Ripper compares to, say, the better-made, but (to me) less female-friendly Tenebre: there is some kind of method to the madness. While the reveal (which I won't spoil) doesn't quite click everything into place at the same level as Don't Torture a Duckling, it does hold the rest of the story up in a way that just doesn't always happen in giallo. 

All that plus an echoing saxophone-infused score, super aggressive camera zooms, and surprise doll room. 

I think I liked this movie.

High Points

I don't know that Fulci ever intended to be a sex-positive presence in genre cinema, but like Don't Torture a Duckling, The New York Ripper ends up revealing certain aspects of our attitudes towards female sexuality

Low Points
The New York Ripper is a movie floating in a sea of sleaze, and yet, AND YET, it DARES to give us TWO scenes of a crusty coroner sweating over a brutally maimed body while NOT eating a gooey sandwich. A roll of Lifesavers? Mr. Fulci, I have EXPECTATIONS

Lessons Learned
A nosy landlady is a lazy detective's best friend

Yes, watching women's body parts sliced up by a dirty knife can be upsetting, but nothing, NOTHING is more disturbing or nightmare-inducing than seeing a stranger stick his dive bar-floor toes into a woman's vagina 

If you want your coffee made, get a wife, not a prostitute 

Rent/Bury/Buy

The New York Ripper is far from the apex of this era of genre cinema, but it's a fairly fascinating artifact that probably ages differently every decade. At this particular moment in time, I could find a lot to appreciate (I'd say "enjoy," but considering this movie involves a dirty bar toe bang, I'm not sure what that would say about me). It's on Shudder, and worth your eyes so long as you're aware of what you're dipping your gross toes into.  

I'm a Manhattan Baby

There’s something about the title “Manhattan Baby” that just SCREAMS Big Broadway Musical. Once you learn that this actually applies to a typical gooey piece of slightly surreal, slightly just messy Lucio Fulci horror, it positively BEGS for the deluxe Andrew Lloyd Webber treatment.

Quick Plot: While on work vacation in Egypt, the Hacker family experiences a few unhappy events that probably won’t make the annual slideshow recap. Father George, an archaeologist, explores a pyramid only to be blinded by lasers (it’s just like when the airport loses your luggage, only you’re blinded by lasers) while daughter Susie is gifted with a sparkly, eeeeeeeeviiiiiiiiiiil amulet by a blind old woman.

Back home in New York, Susie quickly shows symptoms of demonic possession by an ancient Egyptian evil. Or, more precisely , signs that she’s in a movie helmed by Lucio Fulci.

Observe the following touchstones:

-a blind woman with no pupils

-the very hard-working electronic score

-dubbing!

-a character named Emily

-a plot that kinda makes sense, but also really doesn’t

-portals to netherworlds

Far less beloved than The Beyond or City of the Living Dead, Manhattan Baby sees Fulci coasting on his landmarks but still having some fun. Take, for whatever reason, a supporting character who just happens to insist upon playing with goofy magician props in every one of his few scenes. Perhaps it’s necessary since his disappearance gives us such lines as “He’s a frivolous guy but this is serious!”

Lucio Fulci is rarely considered a master of the genre. While I will go to my grave arguing the merits of his underrated giallo Don’t Torture a Duckling, his films are generally riddled with laziness, be it stories that don’t add up, blatantly homemade special effects, and dialogue written and spoken by a first level ESL student. That being said, there’s also a whole lot of entertainment to usually be had. Yes, crunchy pipe cleaner tarantulas are funnier than they are scary, but I’ll take them over slow dragging cinema any day. 

Seriously, THIS HAPPENS

High Points

You can never fault Fulci for featuring dull deaths. Reanimating taxidermied vultures for a true birdemic with visible wires? Yes please

Low Points

Perhaps it’s that Manhattan Baby has a more straightforward plot than something like The Beyond, but there’s something about the story that just drags in a way that screams for more shots of venomous snakes alternated with shots of an actress screaming even though it’s clear they’re never in the same room

Lessons Learned

Don’t ever forget that the scorpion is a symbol of death

If you’re an actress playing a babysitter and your name is Jamie Lee, you will be okay. If you’re a character babysitting NAMED Jamie Lee, you should find new employment or make a thorough will

When filming, even with a low budget, it’s important to notice the little things, like when a large piece of hair is stuck to the center of your camera and therefore visible in several key scenes

Rent/Bury/Buy

Manhattan Baby is a "Long Wait" on Netflix, so it's worth putting toward the top of your queue just to ensure you get it before it becomes unavailable (trust me: I've been burned before). That being said, you're far better off watching Fulci's more famous melty movies, so this one should be reserved for true enthusiasts. Yes, there are lasers and zombified birds pecking out eyeballs, but there’s also a lot of muddled exposition in between. 

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!