Action (1980)

What makes Action so intriguing is how it turns a scrappy actor’s ego and a would-be tragedienne’s longing into a delirious, satirical road trip through the back alleys of cinema itself—part showbiz farce, part psychological fever dream. Tinto Brass shoots with a restless, mischievous energy, piling on visual excess, sharp irony, and provocative detours that feel like the film is daring you to keep up, even as it winks at the audience the whole way. There’s real bite beneath the carnival surface, and Adriana Asti, in particular, grounds the madness with a performance that’s sly, vivid, and unexpectedly human. It’s not for everyone—its adult edge and intentionally abrasive, art-house chaos can be a lot—but if you’re curious about a director pushing against the boundaries of taste and authorship, this is a fascinating, intoxicating ride.

Action is clearly trying to be a messy, meta satire about cinema, hero fantasies, and the thin line between performance and reality, with Tinto Brass pushing the characters into increasingly absurd detours. The problem is that the film can feel more like a loud argument than a story: its ideas are laid out in rigid, schematic chunks, and it juggles so many themes that the momentum keeps stalling. If you’re hoping for a clean drama or a coherent character journey, this will likely test your patience and feel self-important rather than insightful. That said, if you enjoy offbeat European films that are intentionally chaotic, socially pointed, and more interested in provocation than polish, there’s enough oddball energy and commitment from the cast to make it worth a try.