This is one of those films which isn't so much a giallo as it is a love letter to the filone, although the structure of the film is broadly comparable to that of the classic 70s classics.  After that enthralling opening, here we go with the synopsis:

'Videoman' Ennio ("like Ennio Morricone") ran a successful VHS store in Sweden in the 80s and 90s. Now, in the digital age, his collection is lovingly housed in a basement lockup, and he dreams of reopening a rental store. Preventing him from realising this dream (and the commercial black hole such a venture would represent) are his already-precarious financial situation, his loneliness, his alcoholism and his general inability to interact with other humans on a cordial level. When he finds a rare VHS of Lucio Fulci's Zombie Flesh Eaters ('Zombie' in Sweden), a mysterious collector called Faceless offers his ten grand for it, which will cure at least one of his ailments. A burgeoning romance with fellow alcoholic Simone offers a chance for further redemption. But when the video disappears, Faceless becomes a faceless threat to Ennio's life, forcing him to assume the role of amateur sleuth in order to recover his video, save his life and get(ish) the girl.

This is a film which is great on paper, and good on screen. It's certainly not going to appeal to everyone-characters discuss the replacement of Rosalba Neri with a body double for a masturbation scene in Slaughter Hotel (incidentally, this is also one of the scenes that doesn't really scan-there's no way Ennio wouldn't have noticed the fake Rosalba, even if he doesn't care for her [you can add insanity to that ailment list]!), and the merits of Fulci versus Argento as directors (with Luigi Bazzoni offered up as the king of all Italian directors, which probably does somewhat reflect his recent posthumous renaissance). The film doesn't take the time to try and educate the uninitiated-either you're a fan of cult cinema who's on board from the start, or you'll be left to fend for yourself. There's no definition offered as to what a giallo film is; such knowledge seems to be a requisite for those who watch the film.

Or is it? Because running alongside this story of a VHS obsessive is a love story between two broken alcoholics, which sometimes plays like something you'd see in a Lukas Moodysson film. Simone almost certainly wouldn't know a giallo from a Nero (little joke about colours there), although she does love the past (and booze). Her and Ennio bond by virtue of their shared feeling of being a fish out of water in the modern world, and they fetishise the past and its paraphernalia (VHS in his case, her hairstyle in hers). Simone does straddle the divide between worlds past and present though, with her obsession with garnering likes on Facebook and Instagram-her Fb cover photo is a bizarre ode to ancient Egypt (and, yes, Ennio does attempt to get her to watch Manhattan Baby, only to be foiled by her laughably owning a multi-region DVD player). Even though both characters sublimate their nostalgia into their specific obsessions, the general theme of two middle-aged characters feeling adrift in a modern world, and lamenting the passing of their better, more youthful days, is a surprisingly deep touch for a genre film (or, at least, a film about genre).

The search for the missing videotape does sort-of take the film into traditional giallo territory, even if the list of suspects have, for the most part, not been previously seen by us, so it's impossible to get fully involved in the investigation. There are a couple of attempts at tense stalk-and-slash scenes, but the film isn't quite up to the task-I'm not sure whether the direction or technical credits are to blame, but the only times the film really seems micro budget are during these scenes (and a love scene between Simone and Ennio). Part of the problem is definitely a use of slo-mo which comes with too much of a digital sheen, but the style of the film, which is pretty modern throughout with some interesting lens flaring going on, also changes in these moments, which are almost shot according to an 80s template. Even the score, which is generally excellent, fails to really generate any suspense when called upon to do so.

The modern day fan culture is an area which is rife for exploration and unpicking, and I'd go so far as to say that the depiction of Ennio as a misanthropic loner with no social skills isn't that overblown when you look at some of the behaviour certain people exhibit online-I think personally that a huge proportion of cult cinema fans are lovely people (certainly everyone who I've met at film festivals over the years have been unfailingly polite), but there are a not insignificant minority who obsess over minor details of films (eg the body doubling of Rosalba Neri is Slaughter Hotel), and who seem to think that DVD and Blu ray releases exist solely to please them-just go to the Fb page of any distribution company after they announce a month or season's slate of releases and see how many people feel the need to complain that none of the upcoming films appeal to them. This sense of entitlement, and selfishness, is certainly in evidence in Ennio's character, as he seems to consider his friends to be nothing more than viewing partners for his giallothons. But the shoots of redemption, as always, spring up through the love of a good (ish) woman.

Overall this isn't a brilliant film. However, it's clever, stylish and has some effective dream sequences, yet is also far more rooted in the real world than almost any other film I've covered here. The giallo elements ebb and flow, and the character of Faceless and the assistant aren't really satisfactorily integrated into the narrative (and the 'big reveal' explanation is painfully lacking), but there's plenty here to enjoy nonetheless. The acting is also top-notch, and how often can you say that about a giallo? Or a film which is kind-of a giallo?

Strip Nude for Your Killer (or, 'Strip to Your Underpants and Socks for Your Killer' if you're a bloke) is probably one of the best known of the later, sleazy gialli which sought to counteract the waning popularity of the filone by upping the sex and gore ante. This one is partly famous because of its terrific title, partly famous because it's directed by Andrea Bianchi of Burial Ground fame, and partly famous because it's quite a lot of fun. It's mostly not famous at all of course, but no matter. Oh, and it also contains one of the most evil characters in all giallo history-Nino Castelnuovo's pervy protagonist Carlo.

The Albatross Modelling agency is proving to be something of a millstone around the next of those associated with it-first, one of its models dies during a botched abortion, then a photographer and second model die. Then a whole host of other people, including the owners, also die. Will intrepid sex pest Carlo, whose seduction attempts encompass walking behind random women and taking photographs of their asses, be able to overcome the death of his new discovery Lucia, a wannabe model who's one of the first victims? Course he will, he's already moved on to his assistant Magda. And I mean moved 'on' to in every sense (ie sex).

Right from the off, this film cheerfully announces itself as a lowbrow slice of trash-the opening shot affords a gynaecological view of a woman's vagina as she undergoes a backstreet abortion, and Berto Pisano's title music, which kicks in shortly afterwards, is positively dripping in juice (and is a terrific piece of music). Just in case we hadn't got the memo, we then watch Carlo sweet talk (and sweet manhandle) his way into a woman's pants with promises of modelling riches. Yes-this is yet another giallo which revolves around a series of murders in a fashion house. And no, it's not one which attempts to develop that setting into something of a theme/text (like, for instance, Mario Bava in Hatchet for the Honeymoon, where the models' status as glorified mannequins is given some manner of interrogation). It doesn't even really use the setting as an excuse to drape unclad ladies over props-almost all of the stripping (for killers and lovers) happens behind closed doors. 

I've possibly been too harsh by insinuating that there's no real text or subtext in the film, though-there is a cursory examination of sex and love, and the commodification of both. Carlo essentially buys sex through the promise of fame and fortune, the models buy their way up the pecking order by shagging the photographers (and the secretly lesbian owner of the agency). Modelling as a job commodifies the body, and the body is a core component in the sexual act (and it can be affected by the sexual act, c.f. the poor pregnant model whose aborted procedure proves to have been the spark from which the mayhem flamed).

And what of love? Well Maurizio, the sadsack fat guy who's married to the secret lesbian, presents himself as a pussy hound, trying it on with all the new models at the agency, but really he's a frustrated virgin, only able to achieve arousal through use of a sex doll (another commodified 'body'). But there's something so plaintive, so anguished, about his attempts to have sex with model Doris that you feel he's not so much looking for physical as emotional intimacy. The fact that he twice refers to the physical act as "making love" backs this up (the fact that his initial attempt to make love involves attempted rape does not back this up). In a world where everyone seems to be getting their leg over to give their career a leg up, he stands out because his inability to have sex doesn't upset him due to the ramifications for his career; rather because it wounds his pride and his heart.

But, as I said, he is a rapist. Speaking of rapists, it's tragic the way Carlo falls in with Magda so easily, especially because as work colleagues she should be familiar with his dirrrrty ways. She seems to possess some quality which prevents the killer from being able to off her, despite having numerous opportunities (initially because she's to be proffered as a scapegoat for the killings, but then for no real reason at all). Perhaps whatever makes her immortal also obscures her judgement in men. More likely, given that she harbours ambitions to become a model, is that her affair with Carlo is one of expediency on her part, although there's no real suggestion in the film that this is the case. To be honest, I wouldn't really have mentioned Magda in this review if she wasn't played by the lovely Edwige Fenech, which basically makes her the nominal hero. And Edwige deserves better material than she's given here-and a far, far better send off-and I'd go so far as to say that the most unrealistic thing about the whole film is that she works for a modelling house and no-one seems to have considered her as a potential model. You deserve to die, you idiots!

As a giallo mystery, the film doesn't really succeed. There's a shit-ton of murders, ranging from the quick and perfunctory to the slow and stylish (the slowest and stylishest being the stalk and slash of a nude Femi Benussi), but the clue as to (and explanation for) the killer's motive is essentially tied up in a single photograph. (KINDA SPOILERS) The image is of various Albatrossians (the modelling house, you'll recall), including the model who died during the attempted abortion, and the killer seems to have decided (based on a whim) that all in the photo are equally to blame for her death, so the pic functions as a sort of death list. It's a pretty flawed approach to take, though, as many people in the photo had nothing whatsoever to do with the death (whereas the operating doctor, for example, had quite a lot to do with it, and he's not pictured-although, to be fair, he is murdered as well). Plus, some of the murder victims not only had nowt to do with the death, they aren't even in the photo! (END KINDA SPOILERS)

Even though there's no real investigative through line to follow, the police do feature in the film, although as more of a constant background presence than anything else. They never seem to make the connection between the abortion death and the rest of the murders, which isn't surprising given the general incompetence they cotinually display. And, in their defence, even those who work in the fashion house, and were directly involved in the abortion procedure, aren't especially quick to join the dots.

Even if they could join the dots, it's likely they'd struggle to nail down the killer, who is, to say the least, quite a left-field reveal. The culprit has barely feathered the needle of the Richter Scale which measures characters' visibility in films (if such a thing existed, which it doesn't), which is in many ways something to which all giallo directors should aspire, except that even when we get the Big Reveal it's quite a job to recall who they are. The sweetspot is a character who slips by almost without registering, but who invokes a reaction of "of course, why didn't I even consider them?!" when the unmasking takes place. Furthermore, there's a bit of fudging going on here, as the killer's reaction to seeing a dead body borders on being deliberately misleading.

Speaking of unmasking, the killer does have a cool get-up, clad in biker leathers and a big helmet. It lends them a certain aura of otherworldliness, or unknowableness at least, and also allows the sound editor to accompany the killer on screen with a low, menacing breathing sound which is redolent of the Jason/Michael Myers POV stalking shots. There are very few such shots in this film, but that doesn't stop the sound effect being liberally used to amp up the tension. And this film does generate some tension; the aforementioned scene in which Femi Benussi's Lucia is killed is a pretty great set piece, extremely skilfully staged and shot by Tonino delli Colli (and Andrew White, to use one of Bianchi's directing credits, who may or may not deserve some of the kudos credit). 

It's also worth mentioning the insane 'action driving scene' (as I've described it in my notes for some reason; the more I think of it the more this is a pretty apt description) which was clearly (as was standard at the time) shot without permits on busy city streets. It also seems to have been done in one take, with a single camera filming from inside the car. Bianchi must've been given a stunt driver for the day and come up with the scene on the fly, as it doesn't exactly fit with the rest of the film (if I was being generous, I could point to the fact that Maurizio is driving as suggesting that he is peacocking-trying to impress Doris with his driving prowess because he knows he could never impress her with his sexual efforts). One final noteworthy element is the running water motif which is present during most of the death scenes; it's as if the killer needs to hear the sound of taps running to get in the mood for killing. This may have been taken from the lullabies of Deep Red, which was released a few months before this film, but it's never fully developed as a story element.

There's a lot about this film that's not fully developed-the occasional hints at subtext; the photographs Magda brings to the lab before being accosted by the killer; the general maturity of the filmmakers (and Andrea Bianchi never fully grew up-he was a veritable Peter Bark off Burial Ground). This is a film that'll never be mistaken for a classic piece of cinema, but it's undeniably fun. It's extraordinarily trashy-from the opening beaver shot to the bum note finale you'll be amused, shocked and appalled. But you'll never, ever be bored. And that's not something to be taken lightly (unlike the film).