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#pino donaggio
brokehorrorfan · 3 months
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Body Double's original soundtrack is available on vinyl for $40 via Waxwork Records. Shipping in February, the score is composed by Pino Donaggio (Carrie, Don’t Look Now, Blow Out).
The 2xLP album is pressed on 150-gram red and blue colored vinyl. It's housed in a gatefold jacket with film laminate gloss coating featuring art by Robert Sammelin and an 11x11 insert.
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omercifulheaves · 8 months
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Carrie (1976) original motion picture soundtrack
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suspiria76 · 1 year
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THE BLACK CAT
Italy
1981
Directed by Lucio Fulci
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mariocki · 1 year
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The Howling (1981)
"What about killing it with silver bullets?"
"Oh sure, silver bullets or fire, it's the only way to get rid of the damned things, they're worse than cockroaches. They come back from the dead if you don't kill 'em right, plus they regenerate - y'know what that is? Cut off an arm, cut off a leg, stick a knife in their heart: nothing. They may look dead, but bam, three days later they're as good as new."
"You believe in this?"
"What am I, an idiot? I'm making a buck here; you want books, I got books. I got chicken blood, I got dog embryos, I got black candles, I got wolfsbane."
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thirtytwoelvismovies · 7 months
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Two Brian De Palma flicks for Soundtrack Saturdays.
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giallofever2 · 2 years
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bkenber · 1 year
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All-Time Favorite Trailers: 'Blow Out'
I first remember watching the trailer for Brian De Palma’s “Blow Out” years ago before a double feature at New Beverly Cinema. While I don’t remember which double feature I was seeing that evening, I do remember the trailer itself and in becoming excited about checking out this underappreciated De Palma classic. Roger Ebert gave it four out of four stars and proclaimed it to be one of those…
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ivovynckier · 2 years
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Pino Donaggio's main theme for "Carrie" (Brian De Palma).
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rastronomicals · 2 years
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1:53 PM EDT July 31, 2022:
Sally & Jack - "Pino Donaggio" From the Soundtrack album Death Proof (April 3, 2007)
Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm
File under: Quentin Tarantino's Greatest Hits
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troubled-dork · 2 years
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I’m afraid ‘cause it feels too good and I want it too bad.
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guttersnarls · 1 year
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suspiria76 · 1 year
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THE BLACK CAT Score by Pino Donaggio
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jeanpascalmattei · 2 years
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http://lemiroirdesfantomes.blogspot.com/2022/04/que-cest-triste-venise.html
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brokehorrorfan · 8 months
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Don't Look Now will be released on 4K Ultra HD and Blu-ray on October 3 via The Criterion Collection. Fred Davis designed the cover art for the 1973 horror drama.
Nicolas Roeg (The Witches, The Man Who Fell to Earth) directs from a script by Allan Scott (The Witches, The Queen's Gambit) and Chris Bryant (The Awakening), based on Daphne du Maurier's 1971 short story. Julie Christie and Donald Sutherland star.
Don't Look Now has been restored in 4K, supervised by director of photography Anthony Richmond, with uncompressed monaural sound. Special features are listed below.
Special features:
Don't Look Now: Looking Back - 2002 featurette with director Nicolas Roeg, editor Graeme Clifford, and director of photography Anthony Richmond
Making-of featurette with actors Julie Christie and Donald Sutherland, director of photography Anthony Richmond, and co-writer Allan Scott
Interview with editor Graeme Clifford by film historian Bobbie O’Steen
Interview with composer Pino Donaggio
Nicolas Roeg featurette with filmmakers Danny Boyle and Steven Soderbergh
Q&A with Nicolas Roeg from 2003 at London’s Ciné Lumière
Trailer
Essay by film critic David Thompson
Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie mesmerize as a married couple on an extended trip to Venice following a family tragedy. While in that elegantly decaying city, they have a series of inexplicable, terrifying, and increasingly dangerous experiences. A masterpiece from Nicolas Roeg, Don’t Look Now, adapted from a story by Daphne du Maurier, is a brilliantly disturbing tale of the supernatural, as renowned for its innovative editing and haunting cinematography as for its naturalistic eroticism and its unforgettable climax and denouement—one of the great endings in horror history.
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mathemorphosis · 8 months
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This is a very tiny detail, but I was looking through the X-Ray Trivia section of @goodomensonprime on @primevideo and S2E2 has a typo in the title of the Italian song that inspired “You Don't Have to Say You Love Me” by Dusty Springfield. The actual title is “Io che non vivo (senza te)” (literal translation: “I, who can't live (without you)”). The song was written by Pino Donaggio and Vito Pallavicini.
Oh, and fun fact: you don't have to capitalise the first letter of each word of a title in Italian (we don't do that).
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timmymyluv · 2 years
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act seven.
of the let others wage war series
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romanov prince! timothée chalamet x princess!reader
series masterlist
main masterlist
summary: minnie begins to navigate the world of the royal court in saint petersburg, and realizes the complex social structure she will become part of.
warning(s): mentions of sex, infidelity, description of women’s bodies/archaic, ancient sexist views on sex/ women’s roles in society
word count: 2.8k
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“Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music, perhaps . . . perhaps . . . love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.”
― L.M. Montgomery
It scared you- this feeling of neediness, struggling to breathe, like your ribcage closing in yourself, head spinning, your surroundings in a dizzy blur when it came to Timothee, but you did not know how to fathom it. 
“Have I done anything to upset you, my dearest?” Timothee whispers to you against the bustling crowd of a banquet of nobility and diplomats who have gathered in the ball on your behalf. He notices your lack of appetite, restless and yearning into space as you toyed with your utensils against the coral plate. 
You slam your fist against the table accidentally, causing him to flinch away from your direction and curious, concerned eyes from the crowd already observing you. “You have not, my dear prince. I was only deep in thought about..about you, about us, about what this marriage will entail for us.” You shake your head to quell everyone’s worries. 
As Timothee gives you a hesitant glance before leaving the issue alone, you begin to familiarize yourself with the names and families that would become essential to your social circle. You had been given pamphlets and booklets of family trees, in barely translated Danish from incomprehensive Russian cyrillic, scarce of photos sans a handful of carte de visites from the immediate Imperial House of the Romanovs. 
Down the short escalade of stairs in the banquet hall that separated the engaged couple from the crowd,  a figure would not miss sat his younger brother by only a year, Grand Duke Alexander Nikolaevich, a young man of much larger, bulkier build than his slender elder brother, yet from where you sat, there were angles as he sloshed around that reminded him of Timothee. 
Having consumed several drinks early in the night already, he already lost his cotton cravat, unbuttoned the first few buttons from his neck down to his sternum, stained with the sauces and creams of the main course long forgotten. Absinthe, vodka in hand, he loosened up from his seemingly impatient, frustrated form to a loose disarray. 
Back home such an act would have embarrassed you tremendously, even second hand, yet such rowdy behaviour only influenced and encouraged the young aristocrats in the assembly hall, as forgotten plates cooled down as they gathered in the centre of the wooden ballroom, leaving the lush, bright red carpets against your feet. 
What surprised you the most was seeing Alexander, or Sasha or even Pug as only Timmy would affectionately refer him as, grab a handful of silverware into his large hands before carelessly bending and breaking them to the amusement of his cohort. 
Crowds no longer gasped in bewilderment as you did, numbed by his regular demeanor as a normal expectation from the second-in-line to the Russian throne. 
“Sasha has always done tricks like this, Your Royal Highness.” You and your fiance both look up suddenly to a blonde young woman with her curls tucked loosely on the side of her ears before descending into an elaborate braid locked with an azure satin ribbon.  
“Mashka, there is no need to shock my future bride with such information without warning. Minnie, this is my youngest sister the Grand Duchess Her Imperial Highness Maria Alexandrovna. My wife-to-be is Her Royal Highness Princess Dagmar of Denmark. ” Timmy smiles fondly with wrinkles crinkling along his eyes and his teeth baring. 
Mashka nods her head in acknowledgement with an inscrutable expression, guarded off and rather haughty for someone of her early age and petite frame. Yet what she lacked in size, she made up with her presence, an arched nose, thin lips, an oval face and slender cheekbones, it was clear she was adored by those around her, and she thrived in that attention. 
“Your only sister in fact, Timmy.  It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess Dagmar. I look forward to having you here at Saint Petersburg.” 
“As do I, Your Imperial Highness.” 
Content with your brief introduction and refer to her royal title, Mashka saunters away cheerily, holding her skirts and dragging them across the floor before she makes her way beside her father. 
Playing with the vegetables on your plate with your utensils, eavesdropping subtly on what members of the court thought of you, you broke out of your trance and could not help but eye a young, petite blonde woman with fine features and a lithe frame hovering close- too close even- around the Tsar.
Although Tsar Alexander II sat next to his wife, maintaining proper appearances, they exchanged no words sans sparse glances. Alexander would entertain any guest that came his way cordially, and would spoil his daughter with pinches of the cheek and kisses on her forehead, but what you saw- you could not ignore. 
Whenever they thought everyone was too distracted to notice, you glimpsed the brief, yet sultry, furtive glances between the young woman and the emperor, as the earlier posed strategically that would accentuate her bosom. You could not help but scoff at the sight. 
Flashes of anger reminded you of the previous King of Denmark who your father succeeded, who had no legitimate heirs and absconded organically with a former courtesan, causing so much scandal that your family refused to be in the same room as the commoner wife. 
Perhaps men were bound to the same temptations of the flesh no matter what realm they occupied. 
On the fortnight of the Ritual of the Ice near the Neva River, the chills had gotten your betrothed ill, and he was under strict instructions from his doctor to rest and sleep through the morning while on heavy doses of medication before he would return to the full swings of court season. 
It pained you for having to be paired along to dance and be entertained by his younger brother Alexander, who refused to utter a single word nor even a glance in her direction. Once asked to dance for a single waltz, you knew he was only doing it out of politeness and could not stand to even look you in the eye, frequently tripping over your own feet even if he was twice your size and made out of pure muscle. 
No guests other than Timothee’s physician, an army of nurses and servants were allowed into his chambers, yet you had snuck into the kitchen much to the horror of the sweat stained, exhausted cooks when you requested for a bowl of your favourite Danish concoction and soup that was given to those weak and under the weather. 
Dropped off by his doorstep with a handwritten note and a bunch of flowers on a vase, you made sure a servant was able to obtain it and shut the door without recognizing your presence before you gracefully glided down the stairs back to your chambers. 
Lit candle in hand as you tucked in your hooded cloak closer over your face, pushing your lace bonnet forward making your way back, wne you could not help but overhear and eavesdrop into the hushed whispers of the maids and ladies in waiting that scattered throughout the corridors.  
  Baundy, raunchy gossip and graphic descriptions of romps in the sheets, current affairs and entanglements between staffs across all departments, that Sasha was spotted leaving one of his mother’s own ladies in waiting the night prior, or that the Tsar spent nights in his bedroom with a lady named Princess Catherine Dolgorukova, a former ward entrusted to him for her education after being orphaned who was now sharing his living quarters. 
 Ignoring the tightness in your chest, you refused to leave, scooping for any information about your future husband, what he was truly like here in his homeland but nothing to your alarm. 
Stepping away to leave and return to your bedroom, your attention was piqued on the mention of his name, alongside a lady named Princess Tatiana Maximillianova of Leuchtenberg, a grand-niece of Napoleon himself and you nearly caught your breath. 
Although nothing scandalous, they discussed how a certain faction of court willed the future Tsarina be of Russian extraction, from a minor cadet branch rather than a traditional royal princess overseas or grand duchess. Ever gracious, Timothee entertained a dance not to alienate such parties, yet his rejection of a proposal or lack thereof of such left Tatiana heartbroken and devastated. 
Perhaps men are all the same. And he is no exception.  
In between your numerous lessons, you managed to sneak some time in the library in solitude for some of your own personal reading before dinner with your betrothed and his immediate family. 
Hours of protocol, language lessons, duties and responsibilities had started to blur as the day went by, but you could not take your mind off an unrelated yet more pressing matter that you felt was not addressed. 
Slipping between the books unrecognized, you ensure the coast is clear in the uninhabited aisles towards the clandestine section on the arts of physical attraction, and of love making. 
Oh you already know how red Alix would be if she found out what you were doing! And mother would pass out in shame in thinking of you surrounding such a scandalous topic. 
Purposely deceived as obscure fiction books with humdrum, worn out covers, your eyes widen at the graphic descriptions of positions between a man and a woman, or perhaps men or women with the same gender, on how to caress, feel, touch, gauge preferences and tailor it to your liking.
Would he appreciate your body? You are not tall or lithe like your maternal family, but would your full, round breasts be to his liking? The curves and bends of your imperfect body, your petite frame? 
Brushing your fingers against the rough pages as you unravel word by word for what engrosses you for hours, taking a mental note as there was no chance for you to write anything down with ink before gossip would scatter among high society.
Tucking the book back between dusty shelves in your best attempt to make it appear as if you had never picked it up or been sauntering around. You stroll around, with the lace on your hem dragging on the cold marble floor as if it were a normal thing. 
Fiddling, anxious fingers hidden behind your back, your eyes are too drawn to the floor until you collide unceremoniously with a broad, muscled chest dressed in fine silks and cotton. Glancing upwards, you face the relieved, yet bloodshot and worried eyes of your betrothed Timothee. 
   “Minnie, I have been looking all over the palace for you.” His large palms rest on your shoulders, sinking in as if he needed validation in your touch, your flesh that you existed before him. 
Stiffening in discomfort around him, you wordlessly curtsey before flashing a warm smile to brush off any suspicions. 
“My love, I apologize for having worried you. I had just picked up a book from a shelf and could not put it down.” Your eyes dart around his beautiful, gorgeous face, oh his face- the face you cannot resist. The face, the boy, the man that will hurt you so much if you let him. 
Taking your hands in his, he meets his hazel eyes with yours, and a frown blossoms. “I have barely seen you since you arrived. Have you been avoiding me on purpose?” 
“Of course, I would not. You have just been frightfully ill that it does no good for my nerves, and preparations with tutors have taken so much of my time.” 
“I apologize that my frail health had made you so agitated, when I should be the one comforting you, protecting you.” 
Leaving a gentle peck on your forehead, you feel his soft lips against your skin as you tightly embrace your arms around his back, leaning your face against his torso. Breathing in his scent, his warmth- this is the man in the strange world you are about to call your own.  
Would you be enough to fill his desires? Would you be enough before he would stray to another? 
Chatter and cachinnation fills the artfully decorated living room, painted in the faintest pastel and creams tailored to the delicate feminine touch. Only fitting for the ladies of the court of the Tsarina, her ladies in waiting and assemblage of maids. 
You had warmed up and taken a liking to the cohort easily, quickly remembering their names, their quirks, their ranks, their families, their husbands, children and started to get a sense of the invisible, yet tangible web that was woven intricately among them. 
Sitting beside the Empress and surrounded by Timothee’s sister Marie, you had begun to familiarize yourself with potential ladies in waiting who would be included in your court and be part of your closest circle. 
Grand Duke Konstantine Nikolevich’s daughters Olga and Xenia entered the room in unison, fashionably dressed and with perfect manners and etiquette. Behind them followed Princess Tatiana Maximillianova of Leuchtenburg, the Tatiana you have heard murmurs about, and you refuse to show a frown or imagine her with your future husband.  
Tatiana’s gorgeous curls, her effortless yet dainty laugh, the fit of her dress to her shapely figure and ocean blue cerulean eyes make it no contest that her beauty would make her worthy of being an Empress, and the pit of jealousy in your stomach stirs within you. This is like being second fiddle to Alix all the time, being an afterthought, a leftover choice when Alix was preoccupied or already promised to another. 
Lady Jessica patiently explains to you the customs and order of precedence required between the court ladies, the distinctions if it was only in a room of the women, the adjustments when surrounded by men in a complete court, a husband of among the women around them, and you feverishly noted everything as you were sure you were to forget certain things otherwise. 
Gallivanting around the gardens before the sun sets and preparations for dinner begin, you walk with your arms linked with the Queen, in wistful conversation before she notices how you are less upbeat and talkative than usual.
“What worries you, my child. You have been unlike yourself. What we speak between us will remain in confidence, so pray tell.” 
You sigh, tears welling in your eyes that you wipe off, bile caught in your throat. Initially refusing to speak or worry her, you reply knowing she will not leave until you have spoken the truth. 
“I am fearful that Timothee may find comfort in another when we are wed. That I am not sufficient for him when his affections for me run out, that I will face the shame of his infidelity yet I cannot do anything about. 
The Empress frowns in agitation, sitting you down to the wooden bench in front of a flourishing, carved fountain, its flowing splashes hitting your tears like a symphony. She cradles you in her arms, seeing a glimpse of her younger self in you and her chest tightens.  
“A Romanov will always have straying eyes, my darling. I did not wish to tell you this before your betrothal but to lie to you is a disservice. No matter what you do or who you are, he will find warmth in another. He is like a wild animal, always roaming around waiting for their next hunt, their prey.” 
“But Timothee, he has fancied other young princesses before but what he has for you - it is like for another. He would give his life for you, he refused to take anyone else for a bride. That if you did not accept his hand in marriage, he would not marry at all, no matter our protests. “
“He has seen what my husband, the Tsar- yes the rumours are true, he has found a paramour, whose chambers he visits more than another, like the Romanov men before him. But you and Timothee, you will change this. I promise. His entire life I have ingrained this to him, that when he finds the woman he loves, he must be completely loyal to her, and have no other.”
Sniffling as you raise your head up to meet her eyes, the same eyes she shares with her son, and you burst into further tears as she wipes your tears with her thin, fragile fingers and soothes your worries.  
Unaware to both of you, gandering between the maze of manicured gardens, was Sasha. He is overwhelmingly moved by your torment, unable to witness you so distraught, so upset, all the joy and life drained from you. He hesitates to approach you, yet he changes his mind and returns surreptitiously to his living quarters. 
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