La muerte llama a las 10

'The Killer Wore Gloves' aka 'La muerte llama a las 10' (1974) is an entertaining, though unexceptional Gialli with a genuinely likable performance from the delicious Gillian Hills; who unwittingly lets out the flat above to a somewhat nefarious character which acts as the lurid catalyst for many bloody deaths and equally gaudy red herrings that predictably ensue. Outside of the grubby London exteriors what initially galvanized my interested about 'The Killer wore Gloves' was the fiery head-noddingly beatific, groove-laden, prog sounds of Marcello Giombini, his thunderous, Goblin-esque soundtrack must surely be ripe for a remastered release at some juncture? This rich, jazzy and eclectic soundtrack really lifts the admittedly prosaic plot into something rather special, well it certainly did something 'special' to me anyway! Even today, 'La muerte llama a las 10' remains somewhat of an obscure Giallo, no doubt due to the tangible lack of cinematic flair or invention from Herr Bosch; but the lividly luminous presence of Ms. Hills and the magnificent funky, joy-inducing jazz riffs of the maestro cine-groove Giombini really should make this funkily far-out Gialli one to track down; especially if your interests lie within the giddy realms of the mid-seventies Italian slasher. Right, time to peruse my collection to see what other gorgeous Giombini can be unearthed for my edification later on tonight!

I wasn't expecting too much from this minor giallo. The Spanish director, Juan Bosch, was responsible for what was probably Paul Naschy's worst movie, "Exorcismo" (the one that ends with the Spanish horror star battling a possessed German shepherd). And the lead, English actress Gillian Hills, is most well-known for a couple of famous three-way sex scenes--with Jane Birkin and David Hemmings in "Blow Up" and with Malcolm McDowell and some other girl in "A Clockwork Orange". She had a slightly meatier role in the Hammer film "Demons of the Mind", but nothing to indicate she could carry a movie by herself.

Hills plays a young woman whose boyfriend disappears (we apparently see him killed in the opening scene). She has to rent out a room in her flat to a creepy tenant. She then gets a call from her missing boyfriend luring her to an abandoned airport hanger where she is nearly shot. She returns to find the creepy tenant has apparently committed suicide. But then she finds out he was an impostor when the real tenant shows up. And what's up with her boyfriend? Is he alive or dead? This is a pretty average giallo, but that means if you like gialli in general you'll probably like it. It seems relatively big-budgeted, being shot largely on location in London, but the visual style is not terribly interesting (with the exception of Hills' extended nude scene --it's pretty hard to make that uninteresting). I'd recommend it to gialli fans for sure (even though you really won't see anything you haven't seen before), and for everyone else, well, it's at least worth watching if you stumble across it I guess.

Not a very imaginative title for this largely Spanish take on the giallo and director, Juan Bosch does not turn out a very inspired movie. His main asset seems to be a pretty, Gillian Hills, born in Cairo but presumably of British parents. She did a fair bit including small parts in Blow Up and Clockwork Orange, presumably exploiting her looks and also the sublime, Demons of the Mind, though I don't recall how well she did in that what with the antics of Robert Hardy and Patrick Magee. Anyway, in this she is good, effortlessly batting aside stupid dialogue, idiotic assumptions and general lack of coherent plot development. Apart from the pleasure of Gillian there are the many shots, mainly night time ones, of 70s London although there is one delicious scene where we are driving out of London and find ourselves in the back streets of some Spanish village before the continuity team restore order. Its pleasant and diverting enough but not worth going out of ones way for.

The film opens with some guy getting his throat cut in an airport toilet by a mystery figure, then switches to focus on Peggy, girlfriend of Michael, a photo-journalist who has been in Vietnam for some time and isn't showing any interest in coming home. Peggy therefore lives alone in her London apartment, with the usual variety of creepy/weird neighbours/housekeepers living around her, what with this being a giallo and what not.

Peggy is an artist and just about everyone she knows is a complete areshole, from the lecherous guy whom she submits her art too (who keeps putting the moves on her), to Michael's ex-girlfriend Jackie (who is a total b**ch) to her upstairs, bass playing, cat loving neighbour upstairs (who looks like a time travelling, elderly Nick Cave). Peggy needs cash and as Michael off in the 'Nam she figures she might as well rent his apartment out, because that always works out well in this kind of film.

Her new tenant turns out to Bruno Corazzari, and he seems kind of okay as he's not putting the moves on her quite as much as any other man in her life. Then again, he's wearing creepy mirrored glasses and starts rifling around in Michael's room the moment Peggy leaves. Lo and behold, the next thing that happen is that Michael is on the phone, he's back in Blighty, and wants to meet Peggy at an abandoned hangar. Or was that bit after the bit where Corazzari takes a dive off the building, leaving a corpse with a smashed up face? I can't remember. By the way, corpses with smashed up faces aren't good news in gialli, unlike in real life.

Also, later that day, Peggy's new tenant turns up as a different guy, confusing her. What's going? What's happening? Who's that in there? This being a standard giallo, various murders start taking place, except for one character who falls in front of a subway train rather stupidly. There are many red herrings but it was easy to guess the killer. In saying that, it didn't stop me enjoying the film. You've got your usual giallo traits (boobs) and a smattering of gore (smattering not being a word you use in say, McDonalds: "I'll have a Big Mac and a smattering of chips."), and the soundtrack was nice and funky.

Considering I'm a self-acclaimed giallo film aficionado, I simply must start this review with a pointless rant about how ludicrous and goddamn obvious the international English title is. "The Killer Wore Gloves"… Is that seriously the best title they could come up with? I've seen approximately 120 gialli so far, and in more than 75% of all titles the killer – or killers - always wears gloves. The black (leather) gloves of the killer are one of the main giallo trademarks, along with the convoluted plot-twists and the misogynic violence. There's something wrong with all titles of this particular giallo, in fact. The original Spanish title "La Muerta Llama a las 10" somewhat translates as "Death Calls at 10 O'Clock", which is admittedly a much cooler title but doesn't have any link with the events in the film. And the Italian release titles goes like "The Warm Lips of the Killer". Quite awesome too, but the killer doesn't do anything with his/her lips neither.

But anyways, enough about the title issues! "The Killer Wore Gloves" is a Spanish giallo, and they are usually not as well-known or popular as their colleagues from Italy. The fact that it is still extremely obscure and hard to find also means that it's not a fantastic overlooked treasure of 70s Euro-cinema. Still, I would definitely recommend checking out "The Killer Wore Gloves" to more experienced giallo fans because it contains a handful of suspenseful sequences, an exhilarating score, an incredibly beautiful lead actress and a fairly satisfying & ingenious twist ending. The film begins with the lovely Peggy Foster (Gillian Hills) spotting her boyfriend Michael in a car in the center of London, even though his supposed to be fighting in Vietnam. Shortly after Peggy welcomes the creepy new tenant John Kirk Lawford in the apartment above hers, but when she returns from a fruitless attempt to meet up with Michael, the tenant apparently committed suicide by jumping from the apartment balcony. Then, while she's being interrogated by the police, another man rings the doorbell and claims to be the new tenant named John Kirk Lawford. Oh and meanwhile there's a killer – with gloves – slicing up Peggy's acquaintances with a nasty type of sickle. In all honesty the story really isn't that interesting or compelling, but you keep watching (or at least I did) because Peggy is such a likable female lead and you don't want her to get hurt. Gillian Hills depicts her as the ideal damsel in distress and it probably also helps that she has a couple of extended topless sequences. The rather unknown but prolific Spanish director Juan Bosch makes the most out of the scenes where Peggy wanders around her flat all petrified, with loud penetrating music, assuming there is someone there who intends to hurt her. There's some nice London scenery to admire as well as a couple of pointless but entertaining supporting characters, like a naked Orchidea de Santis and a cat-worshiping gay neighbor.