Footprints

Footprints ★★★★

Florinda Bolkan can't remember the last three days and chain smokes Dunhills while being bizarrely retraumatized by her hazy recollections of a movie-within-the-movie in which Klaus Kinski strands astronauts on the Moon. Actually even more intriguing than it sounds, a slow, inexorable descent into memory and annihilation prompted by repressed psychosexual splinters. Beautifully shot by Storaro, all golden daylight tableaux and deep blue nights, laced with rococo and stained glass, jaggedly interrupted by the dull black and white of the airless, dusty, deliberately artificial-looking lunar landscape. Weird as fuck and certainly unique among gialli.

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