Visconti's horrendous dredging up of the Nazi nightmare begins inside a blast furnace, and for nearly three hours thereafter, his vision of human depravity rages like a fever. It's open to question whether Visconti was very interested in Naziism as a historical fact, or whether he was merely interested in finding an excuse, acceptable to everyone, for unloosing a delirious, agitated, and somewhat sweaty visual style. Dirk Bogarde, Ingrid Thulin, Helmut Berger, Charlotte Rampling, and Florinda Bolkan. (1969) — Duncan Shepherd
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