Playing "Clue" on ecstasy

Listen to this.
It is the very morriconesque theme composed by Bruno Nicolai for Perché quelle strane gocce di sangue sul corpo di Jennifer? (Such a great title, AKA The Case of the Bloody Iris).
This picturesque soundtrack is one of the good aspects of this giallo I did not like that much.

But above all, what I found interesting about this movie is its construction around the same unique place, a modern and luxury condominium which happens to be hosting a gallery of freaks: the predatory lesbian neighbour and her strange violin-teacher father, the austere old lady hiding her hideous son in her flat, Jennifer's maniac sect-guru ex-husband, Jennifer's hysterical blonde flatmate and the typical ambiguous 911-Porsche-driver-playboy architect.

The unity in location (everything in the scenario always leads back to the building), the "overstylish" photography and these baroque characters turn this film into a rather amusing, high-on-drugs game of "Clue", where everybody can be successively suspected of being the murderer.

So watch this film as if you were playing the game and use your talents of deduction: this is a psychedelic whodunnit more than a giallo.

Some reviews acknowledge the good and bad aspects of this movie: DVD Maniacs' and Monsters at Play's, which stresses the pictural dimension of the film through its 70's imagery.
Bruno Nicolai's soundtrack is obviously worth a check.

Poor Edwige

Edwige Fenech in "The Case of the Bloody Iris": the epitomy of the blonde girl concept as we know it today.

I apologise to the fans, but the certainly beautiful brunette offers quite an appalling spectacle in this rather mediocre giallo.
The Giallo genre is often criticised for showing women as objects, which is a comment I usually strongly disagree with. But in this particular case, I would be proven wrong.

Jennifer (Edwige Fenech) is all but a woman in control in this film. In fact she really goes through the story completely clueless, confused, sexy, screaming and driven by her emotions all the time. A caricature.

The film itself is alike: gross and formulaic. Highly predictable.
An embarrassing proof that sadly, sometimes, the Giallo genre was able to make a fool of itself.

Who directed it? Anthony Ascott. A fake name.

Having said that, there are good things about this film too, but I wanted to start by expressing my disappointment. Read also Michael Mackenzie's point of view in his "Giallo Collection" review.