In the spirit of the old-fashioned "square-up" reels of early exploitation films, most of the sexy exposés of the early 60s, from Fellini to HG Lewis, presented -- at least superficially -- a morally critical, jaundiced view of the decadence they so willingly displayed. However, the doom-laden view of the wanton lifestyle in Sweet Ecstasy so overwhelmingly permeates the movie that it becomes little more than a depressing experience. Pecas never had the style or brashness of Benazeraf or Metzger, who dealt with similar themes. Elke Sommer, boosted as a Bardot clone, looks stunning and iconic, but completely lacks the charm and freebooting personality of her rival. And the big-band jazz music by Aznavour, with a few ditties by Halliday, now seem totally "square" next to the playful cocktail stylings of Chet Baker et al during the same period. Quite disappointing; the same team's Daniella by Night holds up a lot better thanks to its kitschiness.
Review of Sweet Violence
