Marco Antonio Andolfi is a man of many talents. He is an actor, a special effects craftsman, a script writer, a film editor, and probably a costume jewelry designer, since the cross mentioned in the title of this film is so prominently displayed one has to conclude that either he or his spouse created the damn thing.
Mr. Andolfi's legendary erotic werewolf horror movie CROSS OF SEVEN JEWELS concerns the woes of Mario, an Italian chap with a bizarre haircut who grew up with the curse of lycanthropy that can only be kept in check by the effects of said cross, which he must wear at all times. If he does not, under the effects of the moon -- full, half full, or even hidden behind clouds -- he reverts to his primal inner monster of a masked naked man who can kill by inflicting the kind of heat gun melting effects seen in RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK. He can also tear people limb from limb, and has a curious pastie patch that fits over his private parts to make sure the film doesn't get an X certificate.
Mario travels to Milan to meet his long-lost second cousin, who turns out to be a dishy little sex bombshell in a revealingly tight pink top that was chosen for her wardrobe specifically because it serves to display her pert, perky, permanently erect nipples. I mention this because it was the most memorable positive aspect of the film, even more memorable than the fact that she isn't actually his cousin. Mario is so distracted by her delightful pert breasts that he falls victim to an improbably elaborate street crime involving youths on motorcycles -- inspired by a similar scene from FULL METAL JACKET -- who tear the cross from his chest and promptly turn it over to the city's big crime kingpin. A fence who looks like Groucho Marx and wears a corsage that looks like a squashed tomato.
Meanwhile, Spaghetti Western and Hercules/Peplum star Gordon Mitchell is conducting blasphemous erotic satanic ceremonies down in someone's basement when not mugging for the camera from odd, upwards looking angles that highlight his somewhat sinister rough hewn facial features. Spaghetti Western and Euro Horror icon George Ardisson is dispatched by a corrupt local politician to find out wassap with that goofy cross, leading Mario to an energetic sexual encounter with a bikini clad fortune teller who is really a prostitute. This is some movie.
Marco Antonio Andolfi must have been a very wealthy playboy type schnook with a lot of free time on his hands and access to film-making facilities. As my fellow commenter has pointed out, he is obviously a fan of Spain's Paul Naschy and his tragic erotic werewolf cartoons. Mr. Andolfi wanted to pay homage to Naschy (and every other movie he had seen in his life) and this was the result. It is a remarkable little vanity project, devoid of any sense of traditional cinematic craft other than the presence of Mr. Mitchell, Mr. Ardisson, and the girl with the amazing breasts. Even the werewolf transformation scenes have a sort of blasé artlessness about them that is made more poignant by noting that when he becomes a werewolf he is nude, but when reverting back to his old self his clothes are back, except for one instance at the very end that is supposed to be a love scene.
Marco Antonio Andolfi's most visible talent lies with his haircut, which is so precise that it makes an almost perfect 90 degree angle where the sideburns meet the top of his hairline. He looks a lot like "Seinfeld"'s Kramer, though without that smoldering look of insanity just waiting to be unleashed. I almost feel bad writing some of this because it is quite obvious that Marco Antonio Andolfi poured his very heart & soul into this film, and yet it's most useful purpose is as a source of uproarious unintentional comedy. Are we supposed to take it seriously? I sincerely hope not, but something tells me otherwise and I would hate to hurt his feelings if he ever came upon my little review here.
So I'd like to take a second to say: Marco, I loved your werewolf movie, though probably for reasons other than those you intended. It is one of the most amazing little movies ever made, filled with so many little wonderful gems -- like the tie that is always perfectly in place -- that a mere 1,000 words cannot begin to communicate it's value as an entertainment. Wherever you are and whatever you are doing now, the world is richer for having your werewolf movie as a testament to your desire to having wanted to see it for yourself, which is why people should make art in the first place. I hope you show it every day in your restaurant or whatever you do with yourself just to remind the everyday people who eat there that they are in the presence of a legend.
4/10
Mr. Andolfi's legendary erotic werewolf horror movie CROSS OF SEVEN JEWELS concerns the woes of Mario, an Italian chap with a bizarre haircut who grew up with the curse of lycanthropy that can only be kept in check by the effects of said cross, which he must wear at all times. If he does not, under the effects of the moon -- full, half full, or even hidden behind clouds -- he reverts to his primal inner monster of a masked naked man who can kill by inflicting the kind of heat gun melting effects seen in RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK. He can also tear people limb from limb, and has a curious pastie patch that fits over his private parts to make sure the film doesn't get an X certificate.
Mario travels to Milan to meet his long-lost second cousin, who turns out to be a dishy little sex bombshell in a revealingly tight pink top that was chosen for her wardrobe specifically because it serves to display her pert, perky, permanently erect nipples. I mention this because it was the most memorable positive aspect of the film, even more memorable than the fact that she isn't actually his cousin. Mario is so distracted by her delightful pert breasts that he falls victim to an improbably elaborate street crime involving youths on motorcycles -- inspired by a similar scene from FULL METAL JACKET -- who tear the cross from his chest and promptly turn it over to the city's big crime kingpin. A fence who looks like Groucho Marx and wears a corsage that looks like a squashed tomato.
Meanwhile, Spaghetti Western and Hercules/Peplum star Gordon Mitchell is conducting blasphemous erotic satanic ceremonies down in someone's basement when not mugging for the camera from odd, upwards looking angles that highlight his somewhat sinister rough hewn facial features. Spaghetti Western and Euro Horror icon George Ardisson is dispatched by a corrupt local politician to find out wassap with that goofy cross, leading Mario to an energetic sexual encounter with a bikini clad fortune teller who is really a prostitute. This is some movie.
Marco Antonio Andolfi must have been a very wealthy playboy type schnook with a lot of free time on his hands and access to film-making facilities. As my fellow commenter has pointed out, he is obviously a fan of Spain's Paul Naschy and his tragic erotic werewolf cartoons. Mr. Andolfi wanted to pay homage to Naschy (and every other movie he had seen in his life) and this was the result. It is a remarkable little vanity project, devoid of any sense of traditional cinematic craft other than the presence of Mr. Mitchell, Mr. Ardisson, and the girl with the amazing breasts. Even the werewolf transformation scenes have a sort of blasé artlessness about them that is made more poignant by noting that when he becomes a werewolf he is nude, but when reverting back to his old self his clothes are back, except for one instance at the very end that is supposed to be a love scene.
Marco Antonio Andolfi's most visible talent lies with his haircut, which is so precise that it makes an almost perfect 90 degree angle where the sideburns meet the top of his hairline. He looks a lot like "Seinfeld"'s Kramer, though without that smoldering look of insanity just waiting to be unleashed. I almost feel bad writing some of this because it is quite obvious that Marco Antonio Andolfi poured his very heart & soul into this film, and yet it's most useful purpose is as a source of uproarious unintentional comedy. Are we supposed to take it seriously? I sincerely hope not, but something tells me otherwise and I would hate to hurt his feelings if he ever came upon my little review here.
So I'd like to take a second to say: Marco, I loved your werewolf movie, though probably for reasons other than those you intended. It is one of the most amazing little movies ever made, filled with so many little wonderful gems -- like the tie that is always perfectly in place -- that a mere 1,000 words cannot begin to communicate it's value as an entertainment. Wherever you are and whatever you are doing now, the world is richer for having your werewolf movie as a testament to your desire to having wanted to see it for yourself, which is why people should make art in the first place. I hope you show it every day in your restaurant or whatever you do with yourself just to remind the everyday people who eat there that they are in the presence of a legend.
4/10
