As somebody who had not heard any of this before, it became a curious phenomenon to sit and watch a film and slowly have the realities begin to click into place.

A film with more than the usual spoiler issues. Talking about it in any detail feels akin to handing you a gift-wrapped present and saying, "I hope you like it -- It's a thriller about a diabolical secret experiment."

It really made me laugh, but for some moments I was tearing up because I could relate so much.

I think this is a new genre that they're all sort of working their way through it and haven't got all the kinks worked out yet but it's a genre that works for me.

VIOLENT CITY. Though I would concede that it's real name is CITTA VIOLENTA, I mean, that's how it saw the light. The DVD is partly an infuriating experience, I saw the movie (on some theatrical rerun) when I was just old enough to watch age- restricted movies, didn't even know it was an Italian movie back then and wouldn't have cared. Now I had to watch extra bits dug up from archives in undubbed Italian and that was still all right, but bits that had to, had to have been main part was also in Italian, like, at a dinner-table, English conversation is interspersed with oddly Italian sequences. I'd have settled for the original version. But then, I'm a South African, and grew up under a draconian regime which appointed retired clergymen to cut up movies they deemed unsuitable, so I doubt I ever saw the, er, full Jill Ireland experience. We're talking a lifetime ago, and everything today was new to me, I just always remembered the ending, and that scene where Jill Ireland says "Why is it that whenever I am with you, I find myself in the middle of blood and violence?" or something like that (anyway, I posted it as a quote about two hours ago)Jill Ireland scores very high with me, as does the masterful Enrico Morricone theme. Charles Bronson has a certain look, but doesn't act, he relies on being a suave cool cat, and flunks bitterly in the part. Racing cars go round and round and round and the movie went tedious far too soon. Opening car chase held wonderful promise, but bombs because the girl, a blonde princess at that, was silent. Silent! A blonde girl who looks like that is used to being treated like she's made of sugar and all things sweet and wouldn't take to being driven around like that. She'd yell and scream and moan and kick up a fuss and, as an unpublished author, I wish I could have written that dialogue, for it's really up my street. I suppose they just didn't have any real script there. Maybe this way it simply made the task of dubbing easier.A shambles, which seemed it could lift off with the Jill Ireland in the car scene where Charles drives to the docks. Alas, no such luck. But it is as The Raven always says, the real story is there where the pretty girl is in the center. The first half definitely flops. Then it gets better. But remains a shambles. The grand majestic theme music is just like a now-now-now sports chant, you think something's gonna happen, but... Well, it does, but nothing worthy of the intense build-up of that music.

Violent City (The family) is a curious introspective into the life of a paid assassin and the chain of events that unravel around him. Brilliant score by Ennio Morricone, it empowers the film ten-fold without question. Bronsons stoic nature and animalistic presence are used to their strengths perfectly here, his character counteracts Jill Ireland's soft & innocent persona wonderfully and works well. Telly Savalas is entertaining as always, brimming with charm and personality as usual. Violent City never got the exposure in the U.S. that it saw in Europe, a recent U.S. DVD release has finally brought this seemingly-lost gem back into the conversation. The film has a fast pace to it, this is the quintessential Italian crime film that others are replicated from. Car chases, shoot-outs and Charles Bronson. Worth a watch!

It opens with a smiling Charles Bronson at the helm of a modest yacht and a topless blond sunning herself on the deck. Bronson begins to undo her foolish bottom. Dissolve to Bronson and a girl, Jill Ireland, driving through the narrow streets of St. Thomas in a Ford Mustang, just like Steve McQueen in "Bullett" two years before, and the drive quickly evolving into a high speed pursuit, with cars screeching around sharp corners, taking leaps over the city's hills, and otherwise doing exactly what Steeve McQueen did in "Bullett" except for one shot of Bronson squealing from side to side on a cramped downhill street, which anticipates "Magnum Force," when Dirty Harry squeaked down Vermont Street in San Francisco.Bronson drops off Ireland and continues trying to escaped but is blocked by a Porsche driven by a friend. Bronson stop his Mustang, gets out, and with a big welcoming grin, says "Coogan!", and then Coogan shoots Bronson and drives off with a willing Jill Ireland. The other villains appear and want to be sure that Bronson has shuffled off this mortal coil but Bronson outwits them and drives them off, killing one of them with the last shot from his empty Luger. No kidding, it's empty.Bronson spends the rest of the film tracking down his betrayers -- Jill Ireland and "Coogan", who doesn't seem to be listed in the credits.Bronson in his prime was a fine specimen with a fine frame, not muscle bound but sinewy, with startling clavicles. He sports the bandido mustache that he made famous around this time. His talent was B level but not so bad he was embarrassing. Jill Ireland is fragile and likable.The movie takes them all over the place -- New Orleans and elsewhere -- so it's not a low-budget enterprise, but it's undone by the director's and writers' resolute determination to make this a brainless action movie. The gun shots sound tinny and carry a slight peep, as in a spaghetti Western. Ennio Morricone's music can be witty or sumptuous but here consists of variations on shrill electronic instruments. It's like listening to a musical saw. The cinematography is suitably done in lurid colors. And for reasons known only to the producers, some of the dialog is in Italian. In a Caribbean jail, three unrelated prisoners occupy a cell, and they speak Italian. A high performance care race in New Orleans is broadcast in Italian.It's not badly directed in terms of fundamentals like camera placement and staging. There are no editorial fireworks, thank God; no instantaneous cutting, and the camera doesn't shudder with each blow, each explosion. Nice shots of bayous and mammoth live oaks festooned with Spanish moss. Interesting if brief tour of New Orleans' enflowered courtyards.

Only the most die-hard of Charles Bronson fans would gladly sit through 1970's The Family, a grade-Z, Italian-made, oh-so-deep, hit-man story.Don't get me wrong. I always liked Bronson and I know he had to make his living in Europe in the late 60's because the big shots in America wouldn't give him a chance, but cripes, this sloppy, talky, tinny, overly-deep, incoherent, dubbed-to-death (read Roger Ebert's very funny review in the Chicago Sun-Times) piece of Euro-trash is so awful that the only three things I can say for it are as follows: 1. Bronson, God rest his soul, was what every middle-aged man would like to look like 2. The car chase at the start of the film is pretty darned entertaining 3. Jill Ireland, God rest her soul, couldn't act her way out of a wet paper bag, regardless of the killer curves The rest is for you to decide upon, if you're a glutton for Euro-punishment.