This Italian horror movie comes on strong. Ahead of the credits we are shown four fast suicides, all of them messy, and immediately afterwards we are sent into the city morgue to watch white-aproned actors fondling uncooked meats that are supposed to represent human innards. Before the movie is five minutes old, the heroine, A morgue medico, begins to have hallucinations of the mutilated corpses coming to life, sitting up on their slabs, leering, copulating. It comes as a sort of relief when the action settles down into a dreary mystery plot in which the heroine, who is researching a comparative study of real versus simulated suicides (a rich, rich field), happens, by a lucky coincidence, to be swept up personally in a series of murders that have been made to look like suicides. This minor atrocity, directed by Armando Crispino, should be sat through only by those few cultists who are thoroughly bewitched by the brittle charms (the clipped, breathy speech and the nervous Natalie Wood smile) of the American expatriate Mimsy Farmer, who, regardless how destitute her role, gives liberally of her modest talent and superb body. Her best line, spoken inadmiration of a photographer friend who has been waiting a month for the sunlight to be just right on a certain cathedral dome: "You're better than Cartier-Bresson." (1977) — Duncan Shepherd
This movie is not currently in theaters.