RABID
DOGS
(Cani Arrabbiati, Semaforo Rosso)
Italian with
English & German subtitles
Director: Mario Bava
LETTERBOXED
1:66 Lucertola Media
Crippled@gbc.net
Italy 1974/1996 96 mins.
On
technical par with the multi-million dollar restorations of suspense classic
Vertigo and the loving treatment given The Texas Chainsaw Massacre this
very fine presentation of the great master Mario Bava's Rabid Dogs is given
equal to if not even more precise treatment and care than the aforementioned
cinema classics. Messrs. Blumenstock and Lucas have taken it upon themselves
to present the Maestro's lost film in the best way possible. Finding themselves
with washed-out color footage, a missing opening sequence, and soundtrack
and syncing problems, they did whatever was necessary to bring this lively
document of Bava's directorial genius to the screen in an extremely powerful
fashion. Opening with the newly shot sequence of a crying woman silhouetted
behind a sheet, Rabid Dogs quickly shatters this melancholic introduction
with three ferocious hoodlums hijacking a weekly payroll from a man in
a car, knifing him to death in the process, and then escaping to a parking
garage. Closely followed by police, they grab two women and stab one in
front of her horrified friend, causing the police to back away. They jump
into a man's car and squeeze in next to a young, sick boy in the back seat.
The sweat runs from brows, heartbeats and breathing quicken, and the desperation
and pathos begin for a non-stop thrill ride that never lets up, even after
the final frame flickers out, leaving an indelible impression on the viewer.
Almost the entire film takes place inside a moving car. Rather than go
the Hollywood route by having a car that splits in half for easier camera
movement, Bava has us right in the car with the sweaty hoodlums and terrified
driver and female hostage. Close-up shots in closer quarters of the kidnappers'
dirty, sweaty face causing nervous unwanted excitement throughout, we're
so close to the action we can damn near smell the killers' sweat. Their
names evoke the fear they wish to cause: Blade and Thirtytwo, with Maurice
Poli (of Baron Blood) in the cooler mastermind role of Doc. Even here,
with Doc's incessant demands for his cohorts to cool down, further tension
is stretched into the six passenger's plightsÛthe three burglars want to
escape to the country, the driver wants to get his son to the hospital,
and the woman plain just wants OUT! Toll booth workers, a surprise acquaintance
at a food market, a woman whose car has broken down and needs a ride, bumper-to-bumper
traffic, combine with the actions and words of the two backseat killers,
with their vile crotch-grabbing at the woman hostage and ash-tapping in
the child's face, to create an increasingly hostile environment in the
confines of the vehicle. One wonders what direction Bava's career might
have gone had this film seen the release for which is was originally intended,
instead of being vaulted up due to a producer's death and financial concerns.
The assumption is that we would've seen more action- oriented films and
maybe even true international critical acclaim. Except for a slight maybe-defect
where one subtitle was onscreen for 1/2 a second (Oh, Riccardo, you aren't
jealous, are you?), this is an amazing work from a few very dedicated film
preservationists. From the newly shot opening all the way through the intensely
researched liner note extras at the end of the disc, and the brilliantly
displayed poster artwork from other Bava films, this is an intense work
of love and care. Very few films receive this sort of treatment and we're
lucky to have had Tim Lucas and Peter Blumenstock working on the video
release of this film. The subtitles deserve special mention as Mr. Lucas
performed the translation himself, providing a much more natural, and therefore
more believable, tone to the film, further enhancing this work rather than
tossing if off with cheap quickie non-sensical titles. For trivia's sake,
Mario's son Lamberto receives a film credit as ÏAuito Regista,— Italian
for Director's Aid. Curiously, and unfortunately, compared in the DVD's
liner notes to retro-pop- meister Quentin Tarantino, of which neither Mario
Bava nor Rabid Dogs bear hardly any resemblance, this picture is an absolute
must for anyone involved in tightly choreographed hard-action cinema.
VIDEO/DVD
On
technical par with the multi-million dollar restorations of suspense classic
Vertigo and the loving treatment given The Texas Chainsaw Massacre this
very fine presentation of the great master Mario Bava's Rabid Dogs is given
equal to if not even more precise treatment and care than the aforementioned
cinema classics. Messrs. Blumenstock and Lucas have taken it upon themselves
to present the Maestro's lost film in the best way possible. Finding themselves
with washed-out color footage, a missing opening sequence, and soundtrack
and syncing problems, they did whatever was necessary to bring this lively
document of Bava's directorial genius to the screen in an extremely powerful
fashion. Opening with the newly shot sequence of a crying woman silhouetted
behind a sheet, Rabid Dogs quickly shatters this melancholic introduction
with three ferocious hoodlums hijacking a weekly payroll from a man in
a car, knifing him to death in the process, and then escaping to a parking
garage. Closely followed by police, they grab two women and stab one in
front of her horrified friend, causing the police to back away. They jump
into a man's car and squeeze in next to a young, sick boy in the back seat.
The sweat runs from brows, heartbeats and breathing quicken, and the desperation
and pathos begin for a non-stop thrill ride that never lets up, even after
the final frame flickers out, leaving an indelible impression on the viewer.
Almost the entire film takes place inside a moving car. Rather than go
the Hollywood route by having a car that splits in half for easier camera
movement, Bava has us right in the car with the sweaty hoodlums and terrified
driver and female hostage. Close-up shots in closer quarters of the kidnappers'
dirty, sweaty face causing nervous unwanted excitement throughout, we're
so close to the action we can damn near smell the killers' sweat. Their
names evoke the fear they wish to cause: Blade and Thirtytwo, with Maurice
Poli (of Baron Blood) in the cooler mastermind role of Doc. Even here,
with Doc's incessant demands for his cohorts to cool down, further tension
is stretched into the six passenger's plightsÛthe three burglars want to
escape to the country, the driver wants to get his son to the hospital,
and the woman plain just wants OUT! Toll booth workers, a surprise acquaintance
at a food market, a woman whose car has broken down and needs a ride, bumper-to-bumper
traffic, combine with the actions and words of the two backseat killers,
with their vile crotch-grabbing at the woman hostage and ash-tapping in
the child's face, to create an increasingly hostile environment in the
confines of the vehicle. One wonders what direction Bava's career might
have gone had this film seen the release for which is was originally intended,
instead of being vaulted up due to a producer's death and financial concerns.
The assumption is that we would've seen more action- oriented films and
maybe even true international critical acclaim. Except for a slight maybe-defect
where one subtitle was onscreen for 1/2 a second (Oh, Riccardo, you aren't
jealous, are you?), this is an amazing work from a few very dedicated film
preservationists. From the newly shot opening all the way through the intensely
researched liner note extras at the end of the disc, and the brilliantly
displayed poster artwork from other Bava films, this is an intense work
of love and care. Very few films receive this sort of treatment and we're
lucky to have had Tim Lucas and Peter Blumenstock working on the video
release of this film. The subtitles deserve special mention as Mr. Lucas
performed the translation himself, providing a much more natural, and therefore
more believable, tone to the film, further enhancing this work rather than
tossing if off with cheap quickie non-sensical titles. For trivia's sake,
Mario's son Lamberto receives a film credit as ÏAuito Regista,— Italian
for Director's Aid. Curiously, and unfortunately, compared in the DVD's
liner notes to retro-pop- meister Quentin Tarantino, of which neither Mario
Bava nor Rabid Dogs bear hardly any resemblance, this picture is an absolute
must for anyone involved in tightly choreographed hard-action cinema.