Now that my word processing tool is back in action, so is giallo watching. The most recent fare: Duccio Tessari’s Una Farfalla con le Ali Insanguinate (1971). It is more police procedural than gloved killer, but hey, I am just happy to watch movies again.

Our first J&B sighting.

Good ties, gentlemen.

After a long day of lying to the court, I enjoy a J&B.

That’s good squishee.

Excellent skirt to wear to court.

Dateline: Greyhawk City

In one of the decade’s more interesting empowerment programs, the Magic-User’s Guild has been working with the local rust monster community on a winning formula.

Underserved rust monster neighborhoods have been given the opportunity to work in the “cans to kilowatts” program, where deserving rust monsters are placed upon a treadmill and fed used tin cans. The rust monster’s natural digestive system produces electricity as it eats the metal, and that energy is saved in sets of enchanted batteries used to augment the city’s defenses. The eating of the cans also helps with reducing the city’s growing garbage problem.

Not all members of the Greyhawk community are excited about the program, with Githyanki merchant quoted as saying, “This program is affirmative action for rust monsters.”

Emilio Miraglia’s The Night Evelyn Came Out of the Grave (1971) is one of those movies I saw the box cover for lot at The Bootlegger, the one place in central Nevada where impressionable teens could rent slasher films. I never watched it, but I wouldn’t have gotten it anyway. I mean, the first couple kills would have been entertaining, but the rest of it would have been too slow of a burn.

Lord Cunningham [no relation to Richie] is always well dressed to murder.

And the J&B is back.

Another groovy suit.

“You know what would go well with this suit? Some J&B.”

At the seance.

A power trio, they are not.

Pandora’s Box never quite hit it big.

Another amazing jacket.

If I had a dime for every time someone asked me that . . .

Pretty groovy pad.

You may not want to drink that.

Nothing cleans a 1971 pool like a bag of sulphuric acid.

Aldo Lado [not to be confused with Aldo Nova] Short Night of Glass Dolls (1971) is fine mixture of youth rebellion and anti-communism, with a downbeat ending that prefigures much of the 1970s American cinema. It also has one of the least attractive orgy scenes.

Wait here, comrade.

Original title was Short Night of the Butterflies but that made too much sense.

Here in the Eastern Bloc, we don’t drink J&B.

I would visit, but it doesn’t exist anymore.

My dress matches the wallpaper.

She is pretty far out.

I told you she was far out.

No J&B anywhere.

No J&B in this reporter’s office.

Where all the upper-crusters go.

One of the lines talks about a rain in blood.

I told you it was a terrible orgy.

Lucio Fulci’s A Woman in a Lizard’s Skin (1971) has all the acid-eater lingo a person could want. Als, no J&B but plenty of keys to the doors of perception.

If you got a little drunk every night instead of spending all that money on Dr. Kerr, it would soon cure your insomnia.

I present to you the 1970s: White phone, brown shirt, short tunic

Trust me; the grey looks great.

“Any other drugs?”
“Hashish, LSD, cocaine, marijuana” or, as they call it in New Orleans, Tuesday.

You found me out. I’m the killer.