Did you happen to record Monty Python’s Flying Circus
when it was shown on PBS back in the 1970s?
Do you still have the tapes?
Is there a
If so, please write to me. Thank you!
THE WORKS OF TINTO BRASS
Heart in His Mouth
(Col cuore in gola, a/k/a Deadly Sweet, 1967)
THE ITALIAN VERSION IS NOW AVAILABLE ON DVD FROM CULT EPICS.
Yankee was the perfect training ground for Heart in His Mouth. In Yankee Brass wanted to tell a straightforward western story in the most abstract manner possible. The Italian dialogue was never direct, but always roundabout, as no one ever stated anything forthrightly, but danced around the topic. In order to understand what all the cryptic comments mean, we in the audience have to become quickly adept at reading between the lines. Brass further reduced the visuals to synecdoche, in which a part would represent a whole. Instead of a person approaching, he would show a pair of spurs approaching. Instead of a horse, we would see a horse’s ear. Infuriatingly, the producers were infuriated and disfigured the movie. They trashed the bizarre
Brass had just moved to swinging London, where he would make a film a year over the next four years. During his stay there, Panda Cinematografica, a poverty-row studio, hoped to gain some stature by hiring renowned filmmakers, and thus proposed that Brass make a trashy crime thriller almost guaranteed to turn a profit. The script was based on an obscure giallo (pulp-fiction) novel, Il sepolcro di carta (The Paper Tomb), by Sergio Donati, which is really not very good, no matter how you look at it. It’s just a silly little crime story. It’s clever; there’s no denying that, but it’s not particularly engaging or memorable. Do I hold that against Donati? Far from it! He was a writer earning a living. He did what he needed to do, just as we all do our boring nine-to-five jobs to earn our living, right? Yes, he had genuine talent, but this book reflected only his craftsmanship, not his talent.
The co-producer, another Donati — Ermanno — may have been related, and that may partly explain the background here. Though the story was not Brass’s style at all, he enthusiastically accepted the assignment, realizing that he could do something new and challenging with the genre. He recognized in the story a concept about emotional transformation. He started to concentrate on this aspect as he wrote his original treatment. He had been informed that respected stage actor Jean-Louis Trintignant had expressed an interest in working with him. They met and they talked and Trintignant liked what he heard and agreed to appear in the movie, but then further contributions changed the conception of the movie.
To convert a crime thriller into a dazzling work of cinema, Brass started hiring collaborators. He got famous jazz composer Armando Trovajoli (sometimes spelled Trovaioli) to do the score, a score very much of its time, but not quite what one would expect in a crime drama.
More importantly, Brass hired Guido Crepax. Comic buffs will recognize the name instantly. (As a
A recent reviewer also pointed out a comic-book-based Italian movie called Kriminal, which had been released at the end of 1966. There was also Fantomas from 1964, which I think was based on pulp novels rather than comics but which is nonetheless regarded by some as a cinema fumetto, but I can’t judge because I haven’t seen it. Heaven knows what all else there was. We could trace the form back to Charley Bowers or perhaps even earlier. I’ll leave this for the experts to hash out. Whatever people agree or disagree on, though, Heart in His Mouth is not a typical cinema fumetto, as it is not simply based on an already published comic book, but is a
Trintignant found himself most perplexed when he was sent the script, which bore no resemblance to what he and Brass had verbally agreed upon. Trintignant asked the director what on earth had happened, and then agreed to do the movie anyway. In some publication that I can’t find but that must be around here somewhere, Trintignant made mention of his delight at discovering that Tinto was different from all other directors he had worked for or knew of in that he never used a megaphone.
Tinto Brass souvenirs a moment with his lead
A few years ago I picked up the DVD of a later cinema fumetto, Baba Yaga, released by Blue Underground, since I discovered via the Web that it includes a fascinating 12-minute documentary entitled Freud a fumetti, as well as an “Easter egg”: Choose the “Extras” menu, and you will see a table of contents on the left and a photo of a mouth-watering Franke & Heidecke Rolleiflex
If you want to study this more, here are some of Crepax’s unused illustrations for this movie. (This was originally at http://www.orf.at/orfon/kultur/991116-2440/2443txt_story.html but the link is dead as a doornail — however dead that is. Fortunately, I saved a copy. If you own the copyright to that old page, or if you know who does, please write to me. Thanks!)
Brass reached a minor crisis when it came to the cinematographer. Bruno Barcarol, who had done such a wonderful job photographing In capo al mondo, La mia signora, and Il disco volante, died. (Brass would pay him a tribute almost four decades later in Senso ’45.) So now Brass set about searching for a replacement. As he told Nick Brown in the supplement to the Cult Epics DVD release of Così fan tutte, his interview consisted of a single question: How would you photograph a smoker well enough to show the burning ember on the tip of the cigarette? The candidates came up with various complicated methods of accomplishing the task, including planting a resistor in a prop cigarette. Ippoliti answered simply: “Have someone smoke a cigarette and I’ll shoot it.” He demonstrated — and he got the job. He would be Brass’s faithful cinematographer until he died in 1991. (As we can see in various behind-the-scenes documentaries, Brass exercises a great deal of control over the cinematography of his films, going so far as frequently to operate the cameras himself. That’s why the visual style of his films is so similar, no matter who the cinematographer is.)
When it came time to cast the femme fatale, though, Brass was simply open to suggestions. The suggestion that someone (who?) gave to him was to hire 17-year-old “Miss Teen Sweden 1965,” Ewa Aulin (sometimes known as Eve Aulin). He did, feeling indifferent about the choice, but luck was with them both. Aulin was as far removed from the
DATES AND LANGUAGES Filming began on 27 March 1967 and finished probably the first week of May. As you can see from the above ad, though it was an Italian/French coproduction, it was shot in London, which led to a typically European phenomenon of a multilingual cast.
A tribute by someone who loves this movie as much as I do.
ANALYSIS. So much for the background, but what about the movie itself, you ask? Well, I first saw it in 1991 or thereabouts, and I was deeply impressed by the filmic techniques, which I found dazzling. As for the story, though, I didn’t see the point of it at all. It seemed trite, trivial, insignificant, shallow, merely a lame excuse to play around with pop art and mod music and psychedelia and scene design and colors and editing. I thought that, overall, it was one of Tinto’s weakest movies. Beginning in April 2009, though, I was compelled to watch this movie a thousand times under the microscope, and now I think it’s one of his finest and most brilliant works. It’s every bit as rich and complex as La dolce vita and Performance. Yet it’s not so much like those two movies. This is a bit more like the Bogart version of The Big Sleep. Have you seen The Big Sleep? Could you follow the story? As a matter of fact, not only could you not follow it, neither could the staff writers who were brought in to polish the dialogue, and neither could the author of the original story, Raymond Chandler, when he finally saw the end result. Nonetheless, there is a story, and no amount of studio interference and no amount of rewrites erased that story. The interference and rewrites just defaced it and made it nearly impossible to follow, but it’s all there, and it can be followed. To follow it, though, you need to watch it at least a dozen times, or you have to take notes, or both. Heart in His Mouth is even more difficult to follow, because the evidence whizzes by us. The characters never say much about the evidence, at least not much that’s of any value, because they’re as confused as we are. Again, though, the story is all there, and it can be followed, but not in a single casual viewing. Why is it so difficult to follow? You asked the right question. Originally the movie contained the entire plot, explaining who the gangsters were and what they were doing and how and why, and the movie explained how Jane and Bernard unwittingly got trapped into all this drama. I’m certain — absolutely certain — that the scenes explaining this were filmed, but the only evidence I can base that conclusion on is the evidence contained in the current editions of the movie, which are all but incomprehensible. Now that I’ve watched this movie so many times, over the course of so many years, it finally occurs to me why Tinto chopped the movie to pieces prior to its world première. There were two reasons. First, in its original version, it would have been too challenging, and audiences would have been exhausted. So he cut out all the background story, all the explanations, which distracted attention away from what he found most interesting, which was the personal story of Jane and Bernard and their emotional transformations. That leads to the second reason: Tinto has no interest in crime capers, and so the plot per se was not as interesting to Tinto as the exploration of how the violent situation altered the two protagonists and affected their personal lives. Further, I’m almost certain that the unconvincing flashback of Prescott’s murder was a
The result of this tampering is that a casual viewing makes the movie look like so much silly fluff, something along the lines of a cheap
In a book entitled Italian Production 1967 (a paperback trade annual published by Unitalia Film in January 1968) is a summary surely written by Tinto Brass and translated into English. To read the summary you would think that the movie is a meditation on the effects that external events have upon private emotions:
Might that be the summary that Tinto originally showed Trintignant? Peculiarly enough, after you read Tinto’s summary, you can watch the movie again and see that he was right. Those ideas are all there, and they are the foundation of the story, but you would never have noticed otherwise, would you have?
Now it’s time to study the clues. Here is the scene of the first of the many crimes (click on any image to enlarge):
As soon as Martha and her new beau Leris enter,
Because we think that screenwriters are obliged to spell everything out for us, we never bother to make any sense of these clues either. We simply sit back and wait for a character to explain to us whodunnit. Yet if we don’t bother to make sense of these clues, we’ll completely misunderstand the narrative. Eventually someone will tell us whodunnit, but the solution will be entirely wrong. This movie is not a whodunnit. This movie is something else altogether. This movie shows us a story in which it does not matter at all whodunnit. What matters is how people respond to dramatic events, and why they respond the way they do. (If we can pay attention to the clues in this movie, we can pay attention to the clues everywhere else in life. Politicians and journalists long ago learned that we all wait for someone to tell us whodunnit, and that we never bother to figure these things out for ourselves, no matter how much evidence is right in front of our noses. That, for instance, is why politicians invariably get away with accusing others of their own faults, and that is why a large minority of prison inmates in the US are entirely innocent. We let it happen, because we refuse to think, but I digress....)
Is Bernard frightened? Does he go for help? No, he acts like a detective from a 1940s Warner Bros. movie. Jane is terrified. She just walked in for an appointment, and discovers the freshly killed corpse of the person who called her in. Before she can do anything, she hides to avoid being noticed by a stranger who also enters the room. She has no idea who or what Bernard is. Bernard takes a diary (date book), some money, and a gun from the open safe, and when they hear approaching footsteps, he escapes with Jane. Why does Jane follow him? Well, what is her choice? If she stays, she’ll have to confront the people who belong to those approaching footsteps, and that prospect is far from comforting. At least Bernard seems protective rather than threatening, and he knows how to escape from the office through a back entrance. What is Bernard, though? Is he a detective? Is he a criminal? We don’t yet know. Soon we are taken to his flat, and we begin to learn the embarrassing truth. He is a
Jane really doesn’t know what to make of it all. She is so confused and disoriented by what she has just been through that she breaks down and tells what she knows. Is she telling the truth? Right now, we can’t tell. Her story makes sense, but she does not tell it comfortably. Why? Her story reveals something: Jane’s brother Jeremy, or her stepmother Martha, or both, seem to have some sort of involvement with organized crime. Martha had only just a week earlier lost her husband. Already she has a new boyfriend, Mr Leris, who tries to pass himself off as an art dealer, though he probably earns his living by other means. After putting all these pieces together, are we supposed to suspect that maybe Jane herself has some criminal connections? Jane speaks of compromising photos. Are they photos of Martha or of Jeremy? In the French and English versions, Jane mentions incriminating photos of both Martha and Jeremy. In the Italian version, Jane mentions incriminating photos of Martha, and Bernard gets confused and thinks they are incriminating photos of Jeremy. (In the Italian, German, and Castilian versions of this movie, Jeremy is called Jerome.)
Bernard, trying to imitate Bogart’s version of Philip Marlowe, pays a visit to the late Prescott’s luxury London dwelling to see what he can discover about incriminating photos. Curiously, the doors are all open. What’s more, Bernard is hardly the first uninvited guest:
Not only were all the doors unlocked, the books were toppled and the cheap reading table was overturned, the safe was opened and raided (again, by someone who knew the combination), and files and notebooks were strewn about onto the floor. Who did this? Why? What were they looking for? There can be no doubt that the people who raided Prescott’s apartment were the same as those who had raided Prescott’s nightclub office and murdered him. Prescott’s hired hands, led by a certain
In addition to all of the above clues, we also learn that Prescott and Bernard were of like minds, for Prescott was a childish connoisseur of Stan Lee comics and Nazi memorabilia and toy soldiers and whatnot. When
Is this playfulness? Yes. Is Tinto in love with comic books? Yes. Is this pointless and gratuitous? No. These bubbles tell us precisely how Bernard interprets the situation. When the episode is over, does he report on what has happened? No. Does he feel at all nervous or shaken? No. He feels that, as in the comic books, it’s time to make love.
He returns home while Jane is in the shower. Alone in the living room, he caresses her boa which is hanging on a clothes hook. When she emerges from the shower, does he tell her about the criminal-underworld thugs he encountered? Does he tell her what he did? No. Throughout the course of this story, Jane will never know anything about what happened at Prescott’s apartment, nor will she suspect that there should be anything worth knowing. Bernard doesn’t bother her with this vital information. Instead, he seduces her with a line of poetry: “ ‘Water on a woman’s body is like dew on the petals of a rose’ — Lao Tse.” Jane has never heard of Lao Tse. Bernard follows that with a line from another poem: “Tell me about yourself, LSD.” Jane asks if that’s also Lao Tse. No, he says, it’s by Nadine. Who on earth is Nadine? Have you ever heard of a poet who is referred to simply as Nadine? Well, I just recently learned that Trintignant’s wife is named Nadine. (That was in the English and Italian versions. In the French version, there is no Nadine. Instead Bernard quotes a verse of his own: “Your mouth is like a sparrow’s nest.”)
Jane vanishes once Bernard is asleep. She had been only reluctantly accepting of Bernard’s advances, and it’s apparent that his presence is an embarrassment — as it is for us. We really do feel embarrassed for him. So is it really all that surprising that she vanishes on him? Wouldn’t you the same? But then she does something unexpected: She calls and asks to see him again. Why? Why does she prefer Bernard to the police?
Out on the streets, a whole new technique comes into play, and, as before, it’s there for a reason. We’ve learned that Bernard has no grasp of reality, that he’s hopelessly
When you watched the movie, did you read that news article when you had the chance? You won’t get another chance to learn what it said. The police are “anxious” to interview Bernard. Since Bernard believes he is a hero in a comic book, he cannot accept the report at face value. His interpretation is more dramatic: “They’re after me.” In a sense, though, he’s right. Someone had described this man of “average height” and “brown hair” and “believed to be of French nationality” going to visit Prescott’s office the night before. Who had lodged that report with the police? Why, who else? Someone in
Pay attention to the people in the crowd. Some of them notice the camera.
Let’s look more closely at the busker. He was in the movie only by stroke of luck, as he happened to be performing on the day of shooting. He was doing a sort of dance vaguely, ever so vaguely, inspired by Charlie Chaplin:
Why was this shot at a happening? The reason is simple: Tinto’s crew learned there would be a happening, and so they took their cameras along and shot some important scenes there. That’s all. There was no happening in the script, I’m sure.
Martha does not know Bernard; she never noticed him at the club. When he confronts her silently, she seems to think he wants a rendezvous, and she seems happy to oblige. This is rather odd behavior occurring just a week after her husband’s death, isn’t it? It would appear that she and Leris had arranged Mr Burroughs’s death, yes? Martha is then caught by surprise over and over and over in this short scene. Finally she collects her thoughts as best she can in her state of shock, and she gives us a piece of information we never had before: the earring found at Leris’s murder scene belongs to Jane, and she concludes that Jane must have killed him. She believes this, truly and completely, especially after hearing Bernard’s news. Martha’s story contradicts the evidence we have. (Remember: Jane had no idea at all who the kidnappers were, and she will never find out. After a lot of misleading clues, though, we eventually learned who they worked for. Put two and two and two together, and it just doesn’t add up to Martha’s story.) Besides, we were following Bernard and Jane the whole time, and they chanced upon Leris’s freshly killed corpse. It is impossible that she could have killed him. You see, though, Martha has her reasons for believing the story. Not long before, it did have some basis in fact: Leris had had a night of fun with Jane, which explains where the photos came from, and which explains how he discovered that there was a desperate
When Bernard accuses her of murder, why does Jane offer no defense? Why did she bring along a gun? Where did it come from? How accustomed is she to handling the weapon? This is never explained explicitly, but if you put a lot of thought into unravelling what you have just seen, you can understand that Jane by now has had too much excitement. Her life had been unusual, true. Her brother had gotten involved in criminal activities, and her stepmother, she believes, killed her dad with help from her new boyfriend, who is clearly a mobster. Yet the worst dramas only really started with the appearance of Bernard, one night earlier. As soon as Bernard entered her life, she became a suspect in a murder case, she was seduced, she was interrogated by the police, she was kidnapped and threatened with an automatic weapon, she was chased by underworld mobsters, and now enough is enough. Jane’s life has been in danger from the moment she met Bernard, and she has every reason to think that her life will continue to be in danger so long as Bernard is around. If she can get rid of him, she thinks, no one will suspect her; instead, all suspicion will fall on the mobsters. What she doesn’t realize is that the mobsters who had been chasing after Bernard are all either dead or imprisoned. She sees Bernard, and she hesitates. She has never before handled a gun, but when Bernard concludes that she was the murderer all along, she grows stone cold and shoots him. All evidence for several murders will now point to her.
Now that I’ve pointed out all these clues to you, clues that you probably never noticed even if you’ve seen the movie 20 times, I should confess to you that it was not Tinto’s intention that you pay attention to any of that. When all was said and done, Tinto again realized what he knew when he went in to this project: He doesn’t like crime thrillers. So he chopped the plot out, relentlessly, and left the clues in only because there was no way to get rid of them all. He wanted you to sit back and relax and go along with the erroneous conclusions that Bernard draws. He wanted you to think of this movie as a delightful brainless
Like it or hate it, you’ll almost certainly be compelled to admit that it’s a one-of-a-kind experience. I’ve now seen the Italian version at the cinema twice. At the first showing the audience were okay with the movie, but thought it no great shakes. At the second showing, nearly everybody went wild with enthusiasm. One gal was so overwhelmed that she couldn’t understand how the movie had escaped her notice. “How did I miss it? Why did I never hear about it before?” Then two guys happily emerged from the auditorium, one of whom said to me, “I never heard of Tinto Brass before but now I’m a confirmed fan!” I felt so good that night.
THE COMMENTARY TRACK. Some months ago, prior to release, I heard Tinto’s commentary track for the Cult Epics DVD. That was before I realized how complicated the movie was. I found some of his comments entertaining, though he hardly said anything I didn’t already know. It was clear to me that he simply does not enjoy doing commentary tracks. He meandered and spoke of other movies and people and events that few of his listeners would know about, and without a basic knowledge of these things, many of his comments will seem incoherent. He made no mention at all of the story construction or of the subtle clues, and in the end he said that Bernard had at last solved the crime. Of course, that’s total nonsense, but that’s what we’re supposed to conclude too. Since this was a commentary track, in which he was not only free to reminisce about all manner of background details, but was actually encouraged to do so, why did he make no mention of the narrative’s extraordinary complexity? The answer, alas, is simple. He doesn’t remember. He has seldom seen the film since he finished it, he has almost never thought about it again, and he misremembers nearly everything except the amusing little anecdotes of what happened behind the scenes. This becomes especially clear when he repeatedly misdescribes a major point of the plot as being the search for “a girl’s body” rather than the search for some photos. He even admits that he can’t remember many details of the story. He doesn’t even remember that most of the film had been shot in English, and he says that the movie followed Sergio Donati’s novel closely, though there’s almost no similarity whatsoever. We should also bear in mind that he did not write this movie by himself. His collaborators, Francesco Longo and Pierre
Heart in His Mouth, in its Italian version, received its world première on Friday, 8 September 1967, at the Venice Film Festival.
How the movie was received, I don’t know. I have found only two contemporary reviews. The American one was hardly flattering:
There was also a
And that pretty much seemed to be the end of that. Because I’m not in Europe, I can’t go through the newspapers of 1967 and 1968, but even if I were to, I doubt I’d find much of interest. Since the movie was a French coproduction, it was released in a French dub under a different title, En cinquième vitesse (In Fifth Speed). It was fascinating. Years ago I purchased a really lousy VHS from Video Search of Miami, which was a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy... of a censored telecast. (Video Search of Miami no longer sells that particular edition of the movie.) First of all, the opening credits were completely redone, and were completely better than the Italian originals. It is probably the only time a producer’s or distributor’s alteration of Tinto’s original was an improvement. More interestingly, in the French dub, when the Brits were talking among themselves, they usually spoke English (no subtitles), but when the Brits found they had to converse with Bernard (Trintignant), they spoke with English-accented French, the sort of French they were probably required to learn in school. My VHS copy is so poor that I sometimes cannot lip-read the actors, but it would not surprise me at all if they were actually speaking French some of the time. Here is the opening five and a half minutes:
Again, I’m certain — absolutely certain — that Tinto had nothing whatsoever to do with this French dub, which in many ways is better than the Italian dub. Why am I certain he had nothing to do with it? Because there is one horrible, horrible mistake. Whoever wrote the script for the French dub either couldn’t make out or couldn’t understand “What — me worry?” and changed it. What a mess!
There was also a German dub, Ich bin wie ich bin (I Am What I Am). Curiously, the poster included a subtitle: Ich bin wie ich bin: Das Mädchen aus der Carnaby-Street.
I have the above poster in my collection, and the staff of the cinema that once possessed it indexed it simply as Carnaby Street, which makes me think that was probably its original German title and that Ich bin wie ich bin was the title of a subsequent release. Incidentally, though the line “I am what I am” (“Sono come sono”) is in the Italian dub, on camera Jane never said that. What she actually said was that she thought of herself as very much like Linus in the Charlie Brown comic strips, perpetually carrying a security blanket.
Apparently the movie was also released in Belgium, and the poster gave the title as Dead Stop: le cœur aux lèvres. I have reason to suspect that the on-screen title was simply Dead Stop and that the subtitle was used only on the poster for the sake of Francophone
THE MINIATURE UK RELEASE
Heart in His Mouth was filmed entirely in London, and the original intention was to have the movie in English; hence most of the actors spoke English on camera. Yet it was filmed silent, without even a scratch track, and the dialogue, music, and sound effects were all recorded later. (Strangely, IMDb claims that Primiano Muratori was the boom operator. Why do I have my doubts?) After the Italian dub was completed, some outfit, probably in England, licensed the rights and hired voice actors to create an English version. I doubt that any of the actors in the movie dubbed in their own voices. The recording sessions happened no earlier than November 1967 and no later than early December 1968. But the release was abandoned for some reason, and the movie was never publicly screened anywhere in the UK. If you know anything at all about how the English edition came to be or why it was never released, please contact me and let me know. Many thanks! Since it was never released, imagine my surprise when I saw this listing on eBay:
(Photo courtesy of Lee’s Cameras of London)
I was flabbergasted. This was a three-reel
Note that the dialogue pretty much matches lip movements, sometimes, and that it is far superior to the dialogue in the Italian and French editions. Notice also that it is simply implausible that this English dub was created for this 53-minute Super 8 home-movie edition. It was created for a planned cinema release. When no distributor or exhibitor expressed interest in booking it, the movie was chopped down for home-movie collectors.
I wonder if this English version was ever shown on television. I wonder if a complete print still exists. I wonder if the masters still exist. I hope all the English materials still exist somewhere, for with them we could restore the movie properly. Without them, we can’t. IF YOU HAVE ANY IDEA AT ALL ABOUT THE WHEREABOUTS OF A COMPLETE ENGLISH PRINT OR THE MASTER DIALOGUE TRACK, PLEASE WRITE TO ME AT ONCE!!! THANKS SO MUCH!
THE MADDENINGLY MYSTERIOUS US RELEASE
Not too long after Heart in His Mouth, Ewa Aulin scored a bit of a sensation in a movie called Candy, which opened in the US in December 1968. At its première in Manhattan the lines went around the block. So it was time to hop onto the bandwagon. Paramount Pictures Corporation immediately sought out any other movies with this popular young actress. They found Heart in His Mouth, licensed
(NOTE: Technicolor is not identified anywhere on the film in any way, but the obvious IB process, with the soundtrack in b&w, along with the leaders and tails all containing registration-check appearances of the letters “Y” for yellow, “C” for cyan, and “M” for magenta leave no doubt as to the print being made by Technicolor. No, these letters do not refer to the YCM Laboratory, which would not be founded until 1983.)
IB Tech is brutally expensive, and a specialist in these things assures me that in order to amortize costs it would have been necessary to run off at least 100 prints. (From this we CANNOT draw the conclusion that at least 100 prints were actually made, though. Perhaps the costs were not amortized.) That Paramount would go to the length of printing in IB Tech demonstrates their confidence in this movie. They had more confidence yet. They hired voice actors to record a new English dialogue track. A producer friend who is highly knowledgeable about 1960s US releases of foreign films assures me that it was extremely common for US distributors to hire new voice actors to replace voices even in English-language movies. Often the English tracks recorded in Europe were inferior and the US distributors wanted something better. Even when the English track was perfect, it was simply company policy to do it over again, with voices and accents and delivery that the studios thought Americans would feel more at ease with, even if the result sounded hopelessly artificial and unconvincing. The company policy may well have been related to a contract with union actors, which guaranteed such work. That’s just a guess, and I really don’t know. It is true that the British track sounded phony. The problem was that the American track that replaced it sounded every bit as phony. Technically it was better, and it lip-synched better, and it had somewhat better spatial characteristics, but the voices were all wrong. The Paramount crew were thinking in terms of film noir, and overdid it. They didn’t have any conception of Tinto’s irony or naturalism or absurdism, of his goal of playing against type and against expectation. A lot of the dialogue was delivered with phony British accents, which would be convincing to most Americans’ ears but not to a British ear. I wonder who these voice actors were. I wonder who created their script. I wonder who directed them. I wonder who was on the sound and editing crews. If you know, for heaven’s sake please let me know!!!!! Thanks! I would ask Paramount directly, but they made the horrible mistake of tossing all their records into the rubbish bin decades ago. Some of the dialogue that Paramount dubbed in had been rejected and had already been revised for the older English dialogue track. Some of the dialogue they dubbed in was not supposed to be heard. Further, some of the
By the way, if you’re interested in seeing the Paramount version, please contact me. I cannot promise anything. I don’t have the funds or the rights, but if five or ten of us pool together some funds, perhaps collectively we could license some limited rights and pay for a transfer. Perhaps. No promises. But definitely worth a shot, yes?
Another interesting project would be to locate all the master materials and record the English track anew, with new actors, and do it right this time, and maybe even hire Tinto to direct it. Such a project would cost a fortune and would never earn back its costs, but I think it would be worth doing anyway, don’t you? Is anyone interested?
Paramount’s revoicing sessions must have occupied about two weeks. And then after the revoicing sessions, the tracks were mixed and the elements were sent to Technicolor, where by 20 February 1969 they had a reference print of Reel 5 ready for inspection. So if we work backwards, work must have begun no later than late January, and if we work backwards from that, Paramount’s licensing contract with Panda and Corona must have been signed in late December or early January.
What Paramount Did
The archive print I saw on a KEM flatbed on 23 April 2009 was physically altered. It was definitely not a release print, and so I don’t know if the release prints were similarly altered. In the original, there is a prologue in a morgue followed by Bernard emerging from the London underground. Then there’s a
I mentioned additional dialogue. Here’s the first example, when Bernard first bumps into
In the original there is no dialogue. The two simply stop and stare at each other. Paramount added dialogue, which went something like: “What about this one?” “He’s okay.” “All right, I’ll let him go.”
There was also a deletion. In this scene in the car, Bernard asks Jane: “Qu’est-ce que c’est ton nom? Wie heisst du? ¿Como te llamas? Come ti chiami?” and something that sounds something like “Posso nome desses?” (Please write to me if you know what he said. Thanks!). Finally he lands on “What’s your name?”
In the Paramount version, the beginning is deleted and the scene picks up with “What’s your name?”
There was a very strange deletion as well. The beginning of the scene in Hyde Park was cut out, and so we don’t hear or see the Christian fanatic preaching against chocolates, liqueurs, women, and the Beatles:
The following sequence was also augmented.
Here’s another change, which I can only quote inaccurately from memory. To get into a secured building, Bernard rings a random buzzer.
In the Paramount version the dialogue was something like this:
Interestingly, in this scene it is quite clear that Jean-Louis Trintignant was speaking English. He probably learned his lines by rote, as he had no ability to converse in English in real life.
They are looking for the Buick. They find the Buick.
In the original: no dialogue. In the Paramount version, Bernard says something like “That’s the car.”
Yes, there’s even more. In the original, Bernard and Jeremy hear the sounds of some gangsters playing dice in their room.
But in Paramount’s augmented version, we hear the gangsters having a conversation off-screen, and it goes something like this: “What’ll Leris think when he finds out we’ve got the bird?” “Who cares what he thinks? It’s ten thousand quid. We can get out of this country.” Whoever wrote that dialogue for Paramount was quite clever — but not clever enough. That dialogue was supposed to help clarify the plot. In fact, it distorts the plot.
Paramount also decided to help the audience by adding some lines to this scene:
In the Paramount version, the background of this shot is almost entirely blown out. Was it supposed to be? I don’t know.
In both the British and Paramount versions, the dialogue in this scene was augmented:
Finally, the last several changes. The final shot we see in the Paramount version is of Jane’s feet at the railing:
Paramount had it fade out here, and then they created a new credit roll. THE END fades in, in large yellow letters against a black background. The two words then retreat into the distance somewhat, and the credits, completely reset and somewhat reworded, appear under it and scroll up rather quickly. The credits are left-justified and the line breaks are where one would expect. Once the credits disappear, the song cuts off abruptly. The original credits were different. I’m pretty sure that the movie was originally prepared only with Italian credits at the beginning and end. Credits in any and all other languages were created afterwards by the local distributors. Here is what the original looked like:
How many trade screenings there were, I do not know. But we do know about this one, held on Thursday, 20 March 1969, in Kansas City, Missouri:
What was that about? I wish I knew. The story was included in the “Kansas City” page of Boxoffice magazine 94 no 22, Monday, 17 March 1969, p. 37. Apparently there was some sort of trade convention going on at the time, and Commonwealth Amusement Corporation was the name of a regional cinema chain, but where precisely its screenings were held is a bit of a mystery. Help? (I assume this was the same Commonwealth that bought out Frontier Amusement in Albuquerque???) Do you live in or near Kansas City? Could you do some research for me? Many thanks!!!
Deadly Sweet was National Screen Service (NSS) job # 690023. There was a press book, a one-sheet poster, a set of eight lobby cards, and a preview — or “trailer” as many people would still call it. (WE ARE LOOKING FOR THE DEADLY SWEET PREVIEW AND LOBBY CARDS. IF YOU KNOW WHERE THEY CAN BE FOUND, PLEASE CONTACT ME. THANKS!!!) Let’s take a look at the advertisement that Paramount’s Films Distributing Corporation created for Deadly Sweet :
As you can see, the advertising campaign capitalized on Trintignant’s A Man and a Woman, a few years old by then but scheduled for an English-dub
Here is another detail from that press book:
Why “X”? What on earth here is worth of an “X,” even by 1969 standards? What would audiences get for their money? The movie has one sex scene, two love scenes, and one striptease, in which there is essentially nothing shown that the raincoat crowd would want to see. Let’s take a look at the sex scene, less than one minute long. It does not look at all like the publicity stills included in the ad and on the poster:
There is also a love scene that is by no means a sex scene, and which lasts about half a minute:
Then towards the end are some brief flashes of Bernard’s final fantasies:
That’s hardly salacious, is it? That’s not what people who go to a “dirty” movie want to see, now is it? (And Candy was nearly as discreet as the stills above, which may have been the reason for its downturn in business.)
Once Paramount modified the movie to its liking, it was time to ready the release. The pressbook spelled out the contractual billing, and noted that this had limited application: “FOR THE FOLLOWING TERRITORIES ONLY: United States, it’s [sic] territories and possessions, Puerto Rico, Panama Canal Zone, Canada, Australia, United Kingdom, New Zealand, South Africa, South West Africa, Rhodesia, Zambe [sic], Malawi”. Did Paramount release this edition of Deadly Sweet in any of those other territories? I wish I knew. Let’s scour Boxoffice a little more. In the 28 July 1969 issue (pp. 85–86), we find this:
That calls for considerable interpretation. The capsule review may have been written by an exhibitor (i.e., a cinema owner or manager who had a subscription to Boxoffice magazine), but if so, which exhibitor? What was his/her name? Which cinema, or which cinema chain? On the other hand, a librarian in the know assures me that Boxoffice reviews were frequently submitted by stringers, and, indeed, this review seems to have the hallmarks of a stringer. Note that this supplies us with the Paramount release number. Do you happen to work at Paramount? Could you check on release # 6908 for me? And while you’re at it, why not also check Technicolor
In a vertical file at the Margaret Herrick Library at the AMPAS Fairbanks Center for Motion Picture Study is a form entitled “Data for Bulletin of Screen Achievement Records,” signed on Saturday, 24 April 1969, by Jan Hamilton, a Paramount official. That was the day after the release, as we discover. This is a form that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences requests that all US studios fill out for all movies “IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE SCREEN CREDITS ARE DETERMINED.” The completion date of the production was given as “Not known” and the “1st ASST. DIRECTOR” was given as “GERARD GUERIN.” This was quickly followed on 28 April 1969 in Boxoffice (p. 18), which gave the MPAA ratings assigned to films released over the past week (though the MPAA surely assigned the rating in March):
Why was this an X rather than a GP or at worst an R? The answer is revealed in the archival 35mm print of the Paramount version. It is not the same as what we have come to know from the Italian and French and German and Spanish releases. Two shots are ever so slightly longer. Here’s one such instance. In most versions of the movie, this less-than-one-second nude shot is discreet and reveals no “naughty bits:
In the Paramount version this shot lasts maybe four or five more frames, allowing us to see pubic hair for the tiniest fraction of a second. That’s not all. In a later scene there’s another glimpse, lasting only the smallest fraction of a second, of this forbidden imagery:
In every video I’ve seen, the above scene is perfectly discreet. In the Paramount version that I watched in 35mm, there are maybe three frames in which we get to see pubic hair unobstructed by the large sheet of paper. This shot was abridged by several seconds for some releases to delete the offending frames. This archive print may well be the only surviving copy that includes the complete shot.
That was it. In 1969 that was more than enough to qualify a movie as an X and to get it relegated to the exploitation circuit, where desperate DG’s in raincoats would dash into a decaying cinema hoping not to be recognized, scouting out the fire exits to prepare for a quick getaway in the event of a police raid. An X, of course, is boxoffice doom — but not in 1969. In 1969 all this stuff was a novelty, and people poured into cinemas to watch dirty movies. So at the time an X may have seemed like a good idea. In retrospect, we can see that it wasn’t. The X was one of the three ingredients that killed the movie. (For what it’s worth, you can click here to read my take on the ratings system.)
When we look through the publicity materials, and when we watch the Paramount version, we are struck by the complete absence of any indication that this is a Paramount release. Instead, the distributor is given as Films Distributing Corporation. Why? This was a subsidiary of Paramount. Why would Paramount release this movie under a different company name?
Let’s examine the evidence, and try to learn about Films Distributing Corporation. According to La Vanguardia Española, 28 February 1963, p. 28, the vice president of Paramount’s Films Distributing Corporation was Martin Davis. There was a passing mention of Films Distributing Corporation in “Supreme Court Upholds Viking Suit Dismissal,” Boxoffice, 22 June 1964, p. 5 , and again in “Second Viking Trust Suit Dismissed by Court” Boxoffice, 13 September 1965, p. 4, but yet it was not listed in the trade annuals. A few years later it was a litigant in Paramount Films Distributing Corporation v. State, 285 N.E.2d 695, 698 (N.Y. 1972) (which was referenced in Eileen Syms et al. v. Olin Corporation). So it had been around for a while and would remain for a while, and it had a number of credits, but the only other one I know of is the attempted US release of L’étranger (1969), which they retitled Sin with a Stranger. Maybe that should give us a little bit of insight into the company? My guess (only a guess) is that Films Distributing Corporation was Paramount’s sexploitation arm, or at least that the corporate bosses were trying at that time to turn it into a sexploitation arm. Since Candy was wrongly perceived as sexploitation, Deadly Sweet was released as a
Of course, the problem with marketing Deadly Sweet as a companion piece to Candy is that it’s nothing at all like Candy. If DG’s attended out of a desire to see displays of flesh, Deadly Sweet would only have succeeded in disappointing. (Worse, after a strong opening, Candy quickly cooled. It continued to do above-average business in the larger cities, but below-average business elsewhere.)
Now, courtesy of the Internet, a tool we did not have some years back, we can make discoveries. We can discover that Deadly Sweet opened as part of double and triple bills beginning on Friday, 23 April 1969:
Because you’re wondering: The Violent Four
We further discover that it opened in Kansas City, Missouri, and that in the original ad the cinema management neglected to mention the name of the cinema where it would be playing:
Now, as you can discern, even if you haven’t seen the movie, this is not
The 28 July 1969 capsule review was indexed in subsequent issues of Boxoffice. Specifically, I found it indexed in these issues (all formerly online, now pulled): 4 August 1969, 11 August 1969, 18 August 1969, 25 August 1969, 1 September 1969. Here’s a random sample, 4 August 1969,
According to the American Film Institute Catalog: Feature Films 1961–1970, Deadly Sweet was released in the US in Technicolor. That much is correct. This Catalog further states that Films Distributing Corporation was somehow associated with Avco Embassy. That is entirely wrong. (That mistaken reference sent me on a 30-year-long wild-goose chase.) The Catalog also wrongly states that the US première was Sunday, 7 September 1969 in Portland, Oregon, even though Sunday is usually not the day of movie premières:
That drove me crazy for 30 years, but then a librarian at the Multnomah County Public Library checked around and assured me that no movie under the title Deadly Sweet ever played in Portland. I was completely satisfied with that Portlander librarian’s research, and I had no objection to it whatsoever, except that it was wrong. At long last, thanks to World Cat, I learned that a library not too terribly far away has microfilms of Portland’s newspaper, The Oregonian. I reserved some rolls for 16 April 2009 and the librarians retrieved them from off-site storage. Of the six rolls, I needed only three. One of the three had only been viewed maybe once. The other two had never been viewed before, and I was certainly the first person to open the boxes. I checked the 7th of September though I was not sanguine about the prospects of getting a hit. Then I had a hunch that, since the 7th was a Sunday, the date may have been a typographical error. Might it be a good idea to look at a nearby Wednesday or a Friday, the normal days for movie openings in the 1960s through the
What are we to make of this? The venue was the 3,036-seat Paramount Theatre, originally opened in 1928 as the Portland Publix Theatre, designed by Rapp & Rapp, and now known as the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall.
Though it was built as part of the Publix (Paramount/Famous Players) chain, by 1969 the Paramount Theatre was no longer associated in any way with Paramount Pictures. Further, this theatre/cinema did not specialize in “adult” fare. For instance, the previous double feature was the orignal
The advertisement above solves a minor mystery. Sweden: Heaven and Hell was distributed by Avco Embassy, as we can see from the
So, it’s time to keep ploughing away through Boxoffice in search of more clues. All we find are repeats of that same index listing (though sometimes with a typo reading “2–” rather than “1–”). Many of these used to be available online, and I had hyperlinked them. Those were the good old days. No more. Gone. Sorry: 8 September 1969, 15 September 1969, 22 September 1969, 29 September 1969, 6 October 1969, 13 October 1969, 20 October 1969, 27 October 1969, 3 November 1969, 10 November 1969, 17 November 1969, 24 November 1969, 1 December 1969, 8 December 1969, 15 December 1969, 22 December 1969, 29 December 1969, 5 January 1970, 12 January 1970, 19 January 1970, 26 January 1970, 2 February 1970, 9 February 1970, 16 February 1970, 23 February 1970, 2 March 1970, 9 March 1970.
Then at long last we find some more evidence, and it’s not from Boxoffice. The evidence comes from Oakland, California — from the palatial Paramount Theatre, to be exact. As with the venue in Portland, this Paramount Theatre was NOT associated in any way with Paramount Pictures at the time. Deadly Sweet had a one-week run beginning on Wednesday, 11 March 1970, and we see the same problem all over again. Are we to think that perhaps a mad executive was issuing irrational orders while suffering from delirium tremens, or maybe that some earlier preview showings had gone over so badly that Paramount just wanted to kill the movie, write it off as a loss, and be done with it? I don’t think either of those possibilities is too plausible. Before we try to figure out what really happened, let’s look at some more evidence. Here is the very first advertisement for Deadly Sweet in the Oakland Tribune of 11 March 1970, p. 48. (I highlighted it, else you’d never be able to find it.):
Just leaps right out at you, doesn’t it? Irresistible, yes? You sure wouldn’t want to miss that one, would you? To be fair, though, the Oakland Tribune did indeed run a larger ad in the Saturday and Monday papers:
And that was it. As with the Portland showing, there were no display ads, no press releases, no reviews, nothing. Once again, it was the second on a double bill, this time with The Minx, originally produced, cowritten, and directed by freelance photographer Raymond Jacobs who was unable to find a distributor as it was so unreleasably dull. Then a year or two later an indie distributor called Cambist purchased all rights for a song and promptly shot new scenes to turn it into a sex movie, which then turned a profit as a sexploitation item. (Cambist regularly purchased rights to obscure and foreign movies and added sex scenes to them. I hear tell that it was not only Cambist that did this, but other distributors as well. If you know of any other examples, please let me know. Many thanks!) In its favor, The Minx at least received an unattractive and poorly designed display ad, in which there was no mention at all of Deadly Sweet.
As you can see, not only were both The Minx and Deadly Sweet rated X, the listing made mention of “Continuous Show!”, which implied, without stating, that these were showing in a “grind house.” “Grind house” was the term for a hole-in-the-wall tenth-run Grade Z cinema in which the projectors’ gears never ceased grinding, as there were no intermissions between the movies. “Adult” cinemas were typically “grind houses.” The 3,200-seat Paramount Theatre, designed by the staggeringly talented architect Timothy Pflueger, opened in 1931 as the most magnificent cinema/theatre in Oakland, but by 1970 it was on its last legs and ready to close down. Grind-house sexploitation was probably a last-gasp effort to keep solvent. Fortunately the building was soon rescued and thrives to this day as a performing-arts center.
So what happened? Here’s my educated guess: The original Heart in His Mouth was aimed at audiences who enjoyed offbeat movies, as well as audiences who enjoyed pop art and psychedelia. The X rating, the absence of any promotion, and the double-featuring with exploitation movies simply killed Deadly Sweet. The audiences who would have enjoyed it never knew about it. The audiences who attended in expectation of seeing more of Candy’s anatomy would have been bored witless. I ran all this by a movie scholar, who hazarded a guess that Paramount received no bids at all for the movie, and then, to recoup a few of its lost dollars, dumped it off with some local indie distribs who then shipped it out usually as an unadvertised second feature to the exploitation market. That could well be why a brand-new movie was treated as a worthless
Were all the release prints of Deadly Sweet destroyed at the end of the license term? Or were they sent to Europe upon expiration of the license? Were a few prints forgotten about and left behind to collect dust in some warehouses somewhere? Does Technicolor still have elements of this film on hand? If you know the whereabouts of any 35mm US release prints of this movie, please write to me. Thanks!
So we keep on looking through Boxoffice for more clues, and there is only one: 16 March 1970, 23 March 1970, 30 March 1970, 6 April 1970, and 13 April 1970. And that was the final listing. Deadly Sweet was officially withdrawn from release probably during the first or second week of April 1970. The single minus sign indicated that the only known review was the anonymous capsule review from the 28 July 1969 issue.
There was also a Castilian edition for Spain.
The Castilian version was also issued in a Super 8 condensation in Argentina.
Unfortunately, the original box was destroyed, and the cover was scissored out and taped to this new box.
But we still get the idea.
And here’s a scan that Marcelo made of a frame.
It was also released in México. Whether the Méxicans saw the Castilian version, I don’t know. Perhaps the Méxican version had that awful fake neutral Spanish dialect that native Spanish speakers hate so much.
Méxican lobby cards
According to a Brazilian web site, this movie was released Escalation there.
LA MORTE HA FATTO L’UOVO. Heart in His Mouth turned out to be little more than an unintentional prologue for Trintignant and Aulin’s next starring feature, La morte ha fatto l’uovo (Death Laid an Egg), which began filming just as Heart in His Mouth wrapped up. Interestingly, Brass’s old-time friend Franco “Kim” Arcalli coauthored and edited La morte ha fatto l’uovo, and Les Films Corona coproduced both movies. La morte ha fatto l’uovo soon came to be considered a cult favorite — justifiably, in my opinion — though if it had been marketed well it would surely have attracted much more than a cult audience. It’s one of those rarest of movies, one that actually has a narrative worthy of being called a narrative. What a concept! Heart in His Mouth was forgotten before it was even shown and was then completely ignored. There’s something so unfair about that. By the way, I just discovered that when La morte ha fatto l’uovo was released in the US, under the title Plucked, it too carried an X rating (“ID’s Will Be Checked”). According to the IMDb this X was not an official rating, but was
Appleton, Wisconsin, Post-Crescent, 15 August 1970, p. B8.
Speaking of integrity, I just ran across this NEA wire story from Rome, written by Tom A. Cullen, and printed in the Burlington, North Carolina, Times-News on Friday, 26 April 1968, p. 9A, which ran it under a grossly unfair title: “For Girl Watchers: Candy Is a Swedish Treat.” It was an article/interview with Ewa Aulin, who said some thoughtful things. Worried about being typecast as Candy, she said, “For my next film I would like to do something entirely different, not another comedy, but a character rôle that has real guts.” A press agent at this interview mentioned in passing that she was a star. Aulin was adamant: “I don’t want to be a star. I want to be an actress. If I thought I was going to be a star I’d run away to some island and you wouldn’t hear from me for the next 10 years.” The press agent tried to persuade her otherwise, encouraging her with the prospect of the power that stardom brings. Aulin shot back a statement that was pure Tinto, verbatim Tinto: “I don’t want to have power over anyone. To me power is immoral. I believe that people should be free to live their own lives without someone telling them what to do.” Well, she certainly got that much right. She did not want celebrity; she wanted fulfillment. I hope she found it. She would never have found it in Hollywood, that’s for sure.
FOR AN ECSTATICALLY FAVORABLE OPINION OF HEART IN HIS MOUTH, TAKE A LOOK AT “The Jet Sounds of Nicola Conti” from The Millionaire, which used to be at http://www.luxuriamusic.com/Feat_Page?featureID=5571. The site is long gone, but I just found the copy that I made more than six years ago. If you own the copyright, please write to me. Thanks! Here’s the passage I liked:
YOU CAN BALANCE THE ABOVE BY READING A ROTTEN REVIEW:
Robert Firsching, All Movie Guide
VIDEO CAREER: Heart in His Mouth was released on home video several times, but with no fanfare. Here are two Italian-dubbed PAL VHS editions that I know about, and they’re getting to be rather hard to find:
The German-dubbed PAL VHS edition was released by UFA, and if you have one to sell, I want to buy it from you — even though my favorite sequence (the flashy editing when Bernard first notices the Underground entrance) was deleted:
(I would love to acknowledge the guy who sent this scan to me, but I can’t remember his name)
There’s also this Castilian version on DVD in Spain. It’s a one-light analogue transfer (if memory serves, almost all the video editions of this movie are one-light analogue transfers) and it seems to be copied from a VHS. So the darker scenes, of which there are plenty, are so unstable and have such uneven density that they become nearly invisible:
The nude woman on the cover is not in the movie. If you’re interested in ordering this, first make sure that your DVD player can handle Region-2 PAL. If you live anywhere in North America, you’re probably out of luck. Anyway, there are some really strange cuts in this edition. Nothing seems to be censored, but every once in a while the film just skips a few seconds. That’s not because the master was damaged. That just seems to be some sort of carelessness in the video mastering/editing. Very odd.
The Cult Epics edition was released on the 28th of April 2009. It is basically complete (though missing the two split-second flashes of nudity mentioned above), but in Italian with English subtitles:
This is starting to get reviews:
Blogcatalog Cult Reviews
Then there’s the Italian DVD from December 2007. Oh heavens to Betsy. Yes, it’s worth getting for the Tinto interview in the supplement, but apart from that it’s a terrible disappointment. The transfer was considerably better than previous editions, but it was still
Un film di Tinto Brass
Heart in His Mouth / Col cuore in gola / En cinquième vitesse
Distributed by Rank
|Prodotto da (Producteurs delegues)||Ermanno Donati e Luigi Carpentieri|
|Per la co-produzione italo-francese (Une co-production)||Panda Società per l’Industria Cinematografica S.p.a., Roma; Les Films Corona, Paris|
|Soggetto di (story by)||Tinto Brass|
|Liberamente tratto dal romanzo (D’apres un roman)||Il sepolcro di carta di Sergio Donati (Edito dalla Arnoldo Mondadori Editore S.p.a.)|
|Sceneggiatura di (Adaptation cinematographique de)||Tinto Brass, Francesco Longo, |
|Suggerimenti grafici di (storyboards)||Guido Crepax|
|Hanno collaborato alla regia (assistant directors)||Carla Cipriani, Gerard Guerin|
|Alla produzione (assistant producer)||Franco Cuccu|
|Alla parte decorativa (art directors)||Carmelo Patroni [capo], Bice Brichetto e Ornetta Melaranci [assistenti]|
|Alla parte tecnica (technical assistance)||Enrico Sasso [operatore/camera operator], Giuseppe Gatti, Vittorio De Sisti (C.S.C.) [fonico/sound], Fulvia Armanni [aiuto montatrice/assistant editor], Augusto Diamanti, Sergio Spila [capo elettricista/gaffer]|
|Montaggio di (editing by)||Tinto Brass|
|Musiche di (Musique de)||Armando Trovajoli|
|La canzone “Love Girl” di||Trovajoli Nohra|
|è cantata da||Mel Ryder [sic, should be Mal Ryder, real name: Paul Couling]|
|Edizioni musicali||NazionalMusic, Milano|
|Direttore della fotografia
(Directeur de la photographie)
|Silvano Ippoliti (A.I.C.)|
|Direttore di produzione||Lucio Trentini|
|Organizzatore generali||Piero Donati|
|Stabilimento di posa studi (studio)||Dear, Roma|
|Stabilimento di sincronnizzazione (dubbing studio)||Fono Roma, Roma|
|Qualsiasi riferie realmente con fatte e persone realmente esistenti è puramente casuale|
|PERSONAGGI ED INTERPRETI|
|Bernard||Jean Louis Trintignant|
|Jane Burroughs||Ewa Aulin|
[Jerome in the Italian version]
|Veronica Yassupova||Monique Scoazec|
|Bartender||Enzo Consoli (c.s.c.)|
|Martha Burroughs||Vira Silenti|
|Jelly-Roll’s bodyguard||David Prowse|
Below is an article by Bob Polunsky from The San Antonio Light, Sunday, 12 April 1970, p. 26, and I hope I don’t get into trouble for reprinting it below. (Dear copyright holder: please contact me. I shall gladly pay to license the rights to this article.)