Mad Dog is probably one of the prime examples of the Italian exploitation film from the ‘70s. All the hallmarks are here: blonde-haired, blue-eyed police hero; vicious psychopathic villain; gratuitous violence; and a smattering of nudity from an actress who is barely clinging onto her status as a cinematic drawcard; and a smidge of titillation from a new actress (Marina Giordana) who may have been on her way up. In fact Giordana never really took off. IMDb only list eight film productions, and she only appeared in five after Mad Dog. Mad Dog is still a by-the-numbers crime thriller, raised a notch by the strong central performance by Helmut Berger (this guy is just a nutter), and ably supported by old stalwarts, Richard Harrison and Marisa Mell.

As the studio sought directors to tweak the formula, Kobayashi remained as a clear and dependable connection to what had been and what was coming. A little heavier, a few years older, he slipped easily out of the rebellious youth roles of his early career and into the role of a more sophisticated and imposing man of action. Films like Velvet Hustler were redefining what Nikkatsu action was, still making callbacks to film noir and the French New Wave but infusing it with something less morose, snappier, and more in keeping in touch with the evolving go-go and rock ‘n’ roll culture. Kobayashi couldn’t pull off the “Sun Tribe with a gun” mood of those movies, but he had his own more grown-up version of cool that still appealed to younger viewers. And then everyone started watching James Bond movies.

Velvet Hustler is the story of a cocky, carefree Tokyo hitman named Goro. When we first meet him, he casually steals a smart red convertible sportscar from an airport, pulls up next to a limo, and blows away the occupants before casually returning the car to the exact same parking spot at the airport and leaving town to lie low in Kobe. Goro expects to be back in Tokyo in six months, but a year later, he’s still stuck cooling his heels in Kobe, waiting for the heat to die down. He spends most of the day sitting in a rocking chair on the docks, waiting for the foreign ships to dock so his crew of touts can pick up the gaijin men and spirit them away to associated nightclubs. Goro himself seems neither disappointed or enthused by his small-time pursuits. His only regret is that he can’t yet go back to his beloved Tokyo.

Cruel Gun Story is –- like Nikkatsu’s Youth of the Beast, Detective Bureau 2-3: Go to Hell Bastards! and 3 Seconds Before Explosion before it –- based on a book by hardboiled crime novelist Haruhiko Oyabu. It tells the story of Togawa, a con who is sprung from prison early via the machinations of a mysterious underworld kingpin who communicates with him through an emissary, a former mob lawyer named Ito. Ito and his boss want Togawa to carry out a robbery that they’ve planned, involving an armored car shipment of racetrack receipts worth 120 million yen, and have hand selected a crew of four men to assist him in the task.

Farewell, My Lovely finds Chandler’s iconic Los Angeles private eye, Philip Marlowe, working on a go-nowhere case that doesn’t interest him in the least and doesn’t even go that far to paying any bills. Marlowe happens to be walking out of one joint at precisely the same moment a giant of a man is walking into another, which catches Marlowe’s attention since the giant is white and the establishment into which he’s walking is for blacks. Marlowe can’t help but let his curiosity get the better of him, and before too long he’s caught up in a case that involves a murdered black club owner, a sumo-sized ex-con, a jewel heist that leads to murder, and the usual assortment of seedy characters, dandies, dangerous women, crooked cops, and con artists.

The Big Sleep introduces us to Los Angeles private detective Phillip Marlowe. Marlowe is the prototypical world-weary private eye — somewhat morose and grim, but of course possessed of a certain streak of hope that he can’t help but pander to from time to time — the quintessential warrior with a broken heart, who fights to protect what’s left of good in the world even though the world has broken his heart. He’s hired in this story to investigate a blackmail attempt on a rich old man and ascertain whether there is anything behind the attempt, and if so whether it would be better to pay off and be done with things or bust some heads and teach the blackmailer a lesson.

It’s another old British production of an Edgar Wallace mystery novel. I sure hope you folks don’t get tired of these, because I’m not going to. This time around, the villain of the piece is a mysterious criminal mastermind known as O’Shea (on the list of “awesome super villain names,” O’Shea does not find itself near the top). O’Shea, along with two accomplices, orchestrates a fantastic gold robbery. Upon successful completion of the heist, O’Shea betrays his partners in crime, leaving them behind to slow down the police while he makes off with the gold. Understandably miffed, the two luckless criminals swear to avenge themselves when they are finally released from prison. When, some ten years later, they are finally let go, each man embarks on a plot to track down and kill the elusive and unseen O’Shea, making sure that he doesn’t die before telling them the location of the gold.

1938′s The Gaunt Stranger marks the third time Edgar Wallace’s story, The Ringer, was adapted for the screen. There has already been a silent version in 1927, and a sound picture remake in 1931. And there would be yet a fourth version made, some years later. The 1938 version is the only one readily available on the home video market, so it’s the only one I’ve seen. We’ve previously discussed the history of British thriller writer Edgar Wallace and how films based on his works became hugely popular in Germany during the 1960s. Before the German revival, however, Wallace’s stories were frequently made into films in his native England.

On the Rudy Ray Moore scale, this would be ranked one of the lowest, only a notch above Monkey Hustle, which only had Rudy in for about four minutes and was mostly about Yaphet Kotto smiling and running down the street while holding onto his hat. That’s not to say Avenging Disco Godfather is a bad movie, however. If the comedy had been played up a little more, or the drama were better done, or they cut out some of that damn dancing, Avenging Disco Godfather might have been a winner. As it stands, however, anyone wishing to familiarize themselves with the Rudy Ray Moore legacy would do better checking out Dolemite one and two, or Petey Wheatstraw first.

In the end, Underworld Beauty is perhaps not as singular a viewing experience as Suzuki’s later, more idiosyncratic masterworks like Branded to Kill, Tokyo Drifter and Gate of Flesh, but it is nonetheless noteworthy. Watching it, you are reminded of just how rare and true are the pleasures of watching a simple, well-constructed story told with wit, economy, energy and style. I would go so far as to say that it is not only a great example of Japanese noir, but a great noir film period. Perhaps it’s not on the level of more epic or metaphorically freighted examples of the genre like Out of the Past or Kiss Me Deadly, but I would definitely put it in the same category as smaller gems like The Narrow Margin – films that are essentially potboilers, but whose masterful execution elevates them to the level of classics.

Walter Matthau is excellent as Lieutenant Garber, displaying the traits that he portrays in many of his films – a sort of world-weariness, laced with resignation and sarcasm. Garber also displays a sharp intelligence as well as he tries to figure out just how the hijackers are going to get away, and what he can do to stop them without causing the loss of innocent lives. In the scenes when he talks to Blue, you can sense that he is almost enjoying matching wits with the gang, getting a chance to play Sherlock Holmes. Matthau uses his training as a Transit Cop and his brains to try to catch the gang, which is refreshing to see in this era of action stars who all seem a little too acrobatic, although I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I would have loved to see Walter Matthau charging the train with guns blazing.

The actors who play Ed and Jones are great, almost measuring up to the mental images I had of them while reading the books. Of course, to completely measure up, they would have to be about nine feet tall. Moving through Harlem like avenging angels, they have no problem busting skulls when needed, yet still showing sympathy to common people. As Ed says, “We may have broken some hands, but we never broke no promise.” Ed and Jones’ fury is not directed at the common criminal, who they usually let slide, but with the scammers, the con artists out to take what little the people of Harlem have. They know O’Malley is crooked, and are searching for a way to prove it almost as hard as they are searching for the stolen money for the citizens.