Who would have thought that there could be worse werewolf movies than HOWLING II: YOUR SISTER IS A WEREWOLF (1985)? Or worse Italian fantasy films than THE PUMAMAN (1981)? Or that these two unenviable crowns could be worn by the very same title?! This is not to mention that the film in question (and under review) also dabbles in the Camorra, erotica and Satanism fields and makes a shambles of them all! One of the undeniable pleasures of listening to well-researched audio commentaries is when the film historian goes into detail about the actors' careers as a whole and singles out particular titles for whatever reason; this is just how I came to learn about this terminally goofy film when Tim Lucas mentioned it while speaking about Giorgio Ardisson's career during his audio commentary for Mario Bava's ERIK THE CONQUEROR (1961); luckily, even a movie as obscure and thankless as this can be tracked down by intrepid film buffs courtesy of other enterprising fans who are generous enough to share their inexhaustible collections with unknown and far-away members of their 'community'! Even so, the film was also dealt with (albeit very briefly) in the Italian TV programme "Stracult".The film's only two familiar faces – one wonders how they were persuaded to be involved – are Gordon Mitchell (prone to the most hideous overacting as the leader of the Satanists) and the afore-mentioned Ardisson (as a Mafia big-wig who hilariously lapses into English 3 times during his meeting with the local boss whom he addresses as "Don Raffaele of my balls!" in a fit of exasperation). Eddy Endolf is the star, writer, director, editor and special effects designer!; the werewolf make-up is limited to the hands and wrists, the top half of the face and, yes, his private parts – for whatever reason, whenever the change occurs, the man loses his clothing, only to magically regain them upon resuming human form! The first time this occurs he literally does a double-take at the fact that it is that time of the night, even if he had looked at a clock in his victim's house merely seconds before!; the second time it is when he is captured and being grilled by the gangsters…except that they just happen to exit the room at this instance, which leaves us to witness his transformation via a series of dissolves for nearly 5 minutes, the odd facial hair being applied with each successive cut! The film begins with a black mass, presided over by Mitchell, and involving several masked/naked men and women engaged in sexual activity; one of them is actually getting it on with a Swamp Thing-like demon! The latter, called Aborym, has actually been invoked during the ceremony and it transpires that one of his mistresses was the hero's mother (hence his monstrous legacy). However, when she tells her master/lover she wants out, he bursts in repeated cries of "Slut!" and inflates her body so much that it cracks open, unleashing much goo (for the record, the first werewolf victim and Mitchell's own unexplained demise are similarly grisly)! Incidentally, 20 years after the fact, Endolf resurrected this particular character in a 30-minute short entitled HERE'S ABORYM AGAIN! At the core of the film is a demented (and drawn-out) dream sequence made up of random snippets from earlier scenes – including that hilarious pre-transformation look of surprise upon the hero's face! The leading man is protected by the titular talisman – incidentally, the film was also released as TALISMAN in some quarters and had sequences dealing with the war in Bosnia included for Japanese screenings! – but early on it is stolen in a daylight street robbery (the culprits being motorcycle-riding junkies whom we had just seen shooting up by the sea, with Mitchell himself doubling as the pusher!). The protagonist's many attempts to retrieve it land him in a disco (cue bad music and worse dancing) where he even gets one hell of a beating; deposited outside the establishment, he is found and nursed back to health by a young woman. During the fracas in the mobsters' lair, he learns that the priceless artifact has been donated by Don Raffaele to a lady friend (when Ardisson had made him contact her but he is unable to get through, the latter spits: "What's this bitch doing – humping the phone?"); when the hero finally locates her, she proves to be a horny fortune teller (an old woman he asked for directions tells him: "If she's a lady, I'm the Madonna!") who, not currently having what he wanted at her disposal, suggests they pass the time in bed. Endolf obliges, having no choice but, predictably, at midnight (not the rising of the moon, mind you!) he turns into a monster yet again: the ecstatic woman is oblivious to the change but, even though starting to foam at the mouth, he keeps at it! Ultimately, he is yet again saved, in the typically disorientated state after each metamorphosis, by the girl he loves and the two go to the Vatican to give thanks (I kid you not!).The music is by Paolo Rustichelli, son of esteemed composer and Bava regular Carlo. The copy I watched was culled from an Italian TV broadcast (though the channel name has been digitally erased) which suffered from audio glitches during the aftermath-of-the-robbery sequence. In the end, all one can do here is surmise that a lot of thought must have gone into concocting such a bizarrely improbable concept, and just as much to rally a conglomeration of non-talents to execute it!

This appallingly awful hodgepodge affair is a dull, confused and meandering snorefest about Marco (insipidly played by the ultra-boring Eddy Endolf, who also misdirected this putrid mess), a drab numbskull doofus whose mother practiced black magic and worshiped an evil ape creature. When dear mom renounced her unholy faith in the foul, hairy beast, ape thing got ticked off: he brutally butchered mommy and put a curse on Marco, who has to always wear a cross with seven jewels on it or otherwise he will transform into a hokey murderous werewolf-type hirsute humanoid creature. Marco has his cross swiped, a disastrous event which leads to several gory killings, seriously stupid and cheesy solarized nightmares, a bittersweet reunion with his loving cousin Carmelita (the pretty, but colorless Anne Belle), nasty run-ins with a stolen jewelry ring, corrupt government officials, bumbling cops, and a phony whore fortune teller (this later gal Marco makes love to; he transforms into his lethal hairball alter ego in mid-coitus and tears out her throat!), and creepy visions of a kinky devil cult who are not only led by famed Italian muscleman actor Gordon Mitchell (who mostly just stands around and glowers), but also like to hold sick and twisted S&M-themed orgies in a smoky, reddish-hued dungeon basement (even ape thing participates in the wicked debauchery; he copulates with a beautiful blonde babe!). Despite the wacky plot's largely unrealized potential for hardcore sleazy trash fright flick thrills, a few raunchy sex scenes, and the abundant violence and nudity, this hideously botched cinematic abomination sure ain't no gem. It's fatally undermined by flat direction, sluggish pacing, poor acting, shoddy make-up f/x, indifferently drawn characters, and, worst of all, an overly talky, rambling and ineptly structured script that awkwardly combines dumbfounding flashbacks and flashforwards, sloppily integrated subplots, dopey dream sequences and a horribly anti-climactic non-ending into one horrendously abysmal melange that doesn't possess the slightest trace of either cohesion or narrative drive. A real stinker.

Marco Antonio Andolfi is a man of many talents. He is an actor, a special effects craftsman, a script writer, a film editor, and probably a costume jewelry designer, since the cross mentioned in the title of this film is so prominently displayed one has to conclude that either he or his spouse created the damn thing.Mr. Andolfi's legendary erotic werewolf horror movie CROSS OF SEVEN JEWELS concerns the woes of Mario, an Italian chap with a bizarre haircut who grew up with the curse of lycanthropy that can only be kept in check by the effects of said cross, which he must wear at all times. If he does not, under the effects of the moon -- full, half full, or even hidden behind clouds -- he reverts to his primal inner monster of a masked naked man who can kill by inflicting the kind of heat gun melting effects seen in RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK. He can also tear people limb from limb, and has a curious pastie patch that fits over his private parts to make sure the film doesn't get an X certificate.Mario travels to Milan to meet his long-lost second cousin, who turns out to be a dishy little sex bombshell in a revealingly tight pink top that was chosen for her wardrobe specifically because it serves to display her pert, perky, permanently erect nipples. I mention this because it was the most memorable positive aspect of the film, even more memorable than the fact that she isn't actually his cousin. Mario is so distracted by her delightful pert breasts that he falls victim to an improbably elaborate street crime involving youths on motorcycles -- inspired by a similar scene from FULL METAL JACKET -- who tear the cross from his chest and promptly turn it over to the city's big crime kingpin. A fence who looks like Groucho Marx and wears a corsage that looks like a squashed tomato.Meanwhile, Spaghetti Western and Hercules/Peplum star Gordon Mitchell is conducting blasphemous erotic satanic ceremonies down in someone's basement when not mugging for the camera from odd, upwards looking angles that highlight his somewhat sinister rough hewn facial features. Spaghetti Western and Euro Horror icon George Ardisson is dispatched by a corrupt local politician to find out wassap with that goofy cross, leading Mario to an energetic sexual encounter with a bikini clad fortune teller who is really a prostitute. This is some movie.Marco Antonio Andolfi must have been a very wealthy playboy type schnook with a lot of free time on his hands and access to film-making facilities. As my fellow commenter has pointed out, he is obviously a fan of Spain's Paul Naschy and his tragic erotic werewolf cartoons. Mr. Andolfi wanted to pay homage to Naschy (and every other movie he had seen in his life) and this was the result. It is a remarkable little vanity project, devoid of any sense of traditional cinematic craft other than the presence of Mr. Mitchell, Mr. Ardisson, and the girl with the amazing breasts. Even the werewolf transformation scenes have a sort of blasé artlessness about them that is made more poignant by noting that when he becomes a werewolf he is nude, but when reverting back to his old self his clothes are back, except for one instance at the very end that is supposed to be a love scene.Marco Antonio Andolfi's most visible talent lies with his haircut, which is so precise that it makes an almost perfect 90 degree angle where the sideburns meet the top of his hairline. He looks a lot like "Seinfeld"'s Kramer, though without that smoldering look of insanity just waiting to be unleashed. I almost feel bad writing some of this because it is quite obvious that Marco Antonio Andolfi poured his very heart & soul into this film, and yet it's most useful purpose is as a source of uproarious unintentional comedy. Are we supposed to take it seriously? I sincerely hope not, but something tells me otherwise and I would hate to hurt his feelings if he ever came upon my little review here.So I'd like to take a second to say: Marco, I loved your werewolf movie, though probably for reasons other than those you intended. It is one of the most amazing little movies ever made, filled with so many little wonderful gems -- like the tie that is always perfectly in place -- that a mere 1,000 words cannot begin to communicate it's value as an entertainment. Wherever you are and whatever you are doing now, the world is richer for having your werewolf movie as a testament to your desire to having wanted to see it for yourself, which is why people should make art in the first place. I hope you show it every day in your restaurant or whatever you do with yourself just to remind the everyday people who eat there that they are in the presence of a legend.4/10

This is probably the cheapest horror film ever made in Italy, and that surely means something. It's about a hapless man who suffers under a strange werewolf-curse which is related to an even stranger occult sect (led by Cameron Mitchell!). In a way it pays homage to the Spanish werewolf-flics starring Paul Naschy as Valdemar Daninsky. But the Naschy-films look like big budget epics compared to this mess, which is so bad that one has to see it to believe it. Director Andolfi not only plays the lead role (credited as Eddy Endolf) but also handles the special effects and many other things. Sometimes one might believe he was the only one behind the camera (maybe he was, who knows?).Besides the cursed man and the sect, the incoherent plot involves the least threatening mafia killers ever banned on celluloid; with such mobsters, "The Godfather" would have been the comedy of the 20th century. All the actors seem to be amateurs, probably good friends of director/everything Andolfi. The special effects (especially the werewolf-make-up and the old fashioned transformation sequences) are less convincing than most monster scenes from, shall we say, films by Ed Wood jr. All in all, this shoddy mess is unbelievably ridiculous.Despite the fact that the film is inept from every imaginable aspect, it is good fun and highly entertaining, at least for watching once - a party tape and a master example of a film that lacks any quality. You have been warned...