IN THE FOLDS OF THE FLESH – Often referred to as a giallo by people who know more about these things than I, but plays more like an acid-head’s mad and slightly pointless attempt to parody one of those old Hollywood family melodramas. In a weird way, that pushes it closer to Andy Milligan than Dario Argento. There is a plot, at least at first, about a homicidal daughter and her dad’s severed head, but it isn’t long before it derails into a labyrinth of shrieky incest, random crims popping by to get offed in acid baths, concentration camp flashbacks and vultures, vultures, vultures. Anyone who blinks and misses them the first time around will be treated to a close-up of a vulture in a cage virtually every other minute, which might be enough to coax a ‘huh?!’ from some, but don’t do it - save that ‘huh!?’ instead for the scene where a ridiculously contrived death is engineered by a combination of cyanide pills and cuckoo clock! To see it is to know it. Madness, but somehow less baked than the director’s epic ‘Blood Delirium’, which has the edge to my juvenile mind by adding sleaze and gore to the flagrant nonsensicality.
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