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La llamada del sexo
It is not the title that captures the attention, but a beginning with music and telenovela titles, which are flanked by a dialogue between Andrés García and the great George Hilton.
Even the rest, however, never leave the initial mood, even if, theoretically, this should be a vaguely erotic thriller, or rather a thriller with forced boobs.
In any case, it is a dull and boring b movie shot in the Dominican Republic, Miami and Rome directed by the Argentine Tulio Demicheli, director and screenwriter who has ridden different genres and also made a documentary about Eva Peron.
Demicheli, who strangely does not write the screenplay, works with a rather well-known cast in Latin America, with experiences in different genres, ranging from the "muscle man" Andrés García, to the beautiful Mexican Rossy Mendoza to the good Eduardo Fajardo.
Hilton is certainly the best known name, and the protagonist of an involuntarily sometimes enigmatic film. Involuntarily, because we can see the truly embarrassment of the direction, the improvisation of the editing and the budget poverty that afflicts this 1977 film.
George Hilton is Carlos, a photographer and owner of an advertising agency, but also a hustler and above all a man complexed by a shocking childhood. The man married to Gloria, who hires a detective to discover her husband's secrets, has a lover named Monica (Mendoza) and above all a friend, a certain Litvinof (Garcia) who is a psychic capable of predicting his future. (!).
Carlos, who would like to divorce his wife (who has female lovers), one day ends up with Monica in the house where he grew up. An abandoned villa on whose walls there are dirty drawings, of masked parties, which turned into bacchanals, parties that his parents organized, while he and his sister spied on them.
Yes, there is also a sister, with whom Carlos has developed a morbid relationship that strongly comes back to mind.
I did not understand exactly what this film wants to aim for if the morbid memories of a tormented man or the simple elimination of his wife.
In any case, between very close-ups, in the manner of westerns, vague sex scenes put at random and flashbacks that mess up life, this film does nothing but bore the viewer.
Hilton at one point mentions John Ford, the only, perhaps ironic, moment to be saved.