The Italian thriller Death Walks on High Heels is not terribly noteworthy even within the tiny cinematic sub-genre of giallo. There is, however, one scene in the movie that does jump out like a breaching marlin. It is the only film that I know of that sexualizes the eating of a grilled fish dinner.
Nothing foreshadows an evening of passionate romance like a cart of dead fish.
The flames of love have erupted beneath a pile of gnarly meat and scales.
That's right, no silverware required. The best way to appreciate good food is by touch.
Next step, start ramming globs of flaky white meat into…