It's official: Franco Nero is the man.

My first full-blown Nero experience, the heady How To Kill a Judge (review here) couldn't have possibly prepared me for The Fifth Cord, in which he becomes a bitch-slapping demon like no other. The scene: Andrea Bild (Nero) confronts his lover's brother Walter with questions involving a rash of murders and a live sex show (I'll explain later) that Bild has become knee-deep in. Does he calmly ask the boy “Can I pick your brain for a moment?” Hell no. Nero's character comes screaming down on the kid with the most relentless storm of open handed fury I've ever had the slack-jawed pleasure of seeing. We're not talking a few taps, either. He reduces the kid to a blubbering, rosy-cheeked heap. In all fairness, the kid was a scrawny little wuss (not half as manly as the male Monsters, to be certain), but this rain of pimp-smacking justice would've reduced Clint Eastwood, Oliver Reed, and every Bond prior to Brosnan to sniveling jelly. I literally replayed the scene three times just so I could marvel at it.

But wait, there's more! Nero drives his Volkswagen Beetle (he needs no muscle car to lengthen his manhood) with a bottle of J&B scotch rammed firmly beneath his mega-moustache, beds Pamela Tiffin, the finest piece of Seventies exploitation cine-meat since Edwige Fenech, and beats the ever-loving snot out of the pipe-wielding killer after getting sliced across the guts with a straight razor. Seriously, if he and Richard Harrison ever met, their combined masculinity would sterilize every man in a 5-mile radius.

Hell, it's pretty much Nero that carries The Fifth Cord, an entertaining but paint-by-numbers giallo. Starting out at a New Year's Eve party (at which Bild is sucking single-malt like it's his job), the movie plays out a sinister confession on tape: “I have mind to commit murder,” our mysterious killer hisses, as the camera pans through the garishly decorated party, revealing none-too-subtly the players (and victims) of the film, all while Ennio Morricone's delightfully trashy score warbles away. It calls to mind Bava's Blood and Black Lace and Argento's earlier efforts. Walking home alone after the party, John Lubbock is assaulted by a lunatic with a pipe, saved only by a young couple making out under a nearby bridge. Sent out by his publisher to drum up a story, Andrea Bild begins his own investigation into the attack, which soon escalates into further violence, as guest of the New Year's party Bild attended start winding up dead. Even more mysterious, each victim had a black leather glove left near their corpse, with a finger cut off to represent each murder. All the while, Bild has to confront his own demons: his alcoholism, his current lover Lu (Pamela Tiffin), and his past lover Helen.

It certainly sounds about as formulaic as gialli come, but The Fifth Cord is rock-solid. Instead of focusing on the gross excesses of cinematic gore, the murder scenes seem to relish the chase, building the tension to an almost unbearable crescendo before mercifully ending it with a quick, clean kill. Particularly harrowing is the non-chase of the paralyzed Sophia through her home, as she desperately tries to drag herself to a phone to call for help. Minute after agonizing minute, the poor woman hauls her limp legs across the floor, trying to reach her wheelchair, her crutches, anything to get mobile again. Of course, the killer puts a stop to that, wrapping his latex-clad fingers (no black gloves worn in this one) around Sophia's throat. Interestingly, with the exception of one juicy throat-slitting, all of the victims die rather bloodless deaths, including one particularly inventive scene where one victim is simply chased to death, his pursuit ending in cardiac arrest.

Not that The Fifth Cord is by any means a tame movie. No sir! In addition to some gratuitous (although certainly appreciated) nudity on the part of Ms. Tiffin, we get a super-seedy subplot involving live sex shows, child prostitution, and other such sleaze. Hey, it wouldn't be giallo without sleaze!

Best of all of this is the way it all ties together. This is one of those rare movies where there are no loose ends at the film's conclusion, and everything else manages to work together to make this one of those flicks that manages to rise above what it is, due in no small part to the inspired direction of Luigi Bazzoni. Smart pacing, creative framing of the shots (courtesy of Vittorio Storaro), and beautiful colors make it a genuine treat for the eyes. It could've been a simple gory whodunit, but instead it turned out to be a thoroughly enjoyable, if formulaic ride.

The print used for this little gem is certainly a wonder to behold. While cheap seventies film stock leads to the expected grain, color is just as garish as one could hope. From the Technicolor streamers of the party, to the candy-apple red of the blood, everything looks tip-top. Audio is nice and clean, although the thick accents of some of the actors make deciphering some lines a little tough. Hell, for half the movie, I thought Andrea's last name was simply “Bill,” which led to me formulating plenty of “Oh noooooo!” jokes in my head. Extras include the theatrical trailer (which is a trippy experience to watch), and interviews with Vittorio Stotaro and Franco Nero.

Ahh, Franco Nero. No matter what else I can say about The Fifth Cord, it always comes back to Franco. Hard drinkin', hard lovin', hard fightin' Franco...

Whew...I need a cigarette.