To paraphrase Edgar Allan Poe, a film without an idea is just a film. This – another of Margheriti’s misadventures with actor David Warbeck – is a complete waste of celluloid. Without any of the care and attention he usually lavishes on his films, Margheriti is here left with only his admittedly buoyant cast and his love of miniatures – there’s a model car chase that nearly, but not quite, succeeds at being realistic. The film is padded out with slight but comical action sequences – men are hosed down with a giant water canon, a sword fight goes on forever – and its cheap and cheery tone tries to cover-up an inherent racist streak that sees Arabs and Brits portrayed for humorous effect.

But cinema needs thought behind it, not only to give it reason and meaning to the viewer, but to exercise control over its content. More than this, cinema must be aware of itself and the perverse phenomenon that surrounds it. Films like I sopravvissuti della città morta are inconsequential and ultimately unlikeable because of their light, ignorant nature. It’s a lesson that Hollywood and (especially) its imitators should learn: film, to return to Poe, when combined with an idea, is poetry.

I sopravvissuti della città morta at the IMDB