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Night of the Scorpion (1972)

21/8/2017

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This is one of the worst gothic mansion-set gialli. There are many such films which are far more deficient in certain aspects; here, the location is great, the acting is passable and the staging and cinematography are generally decent. However, the film is utterly devoid of anything whatsoever to make it noteworthy. Unless you count its overwhelming blandness, which I don't.

A year after the death of his wife Helen, which he believes happened after he threw her from a balcony while blackout drunk, Oliver Bromfield returns to his country mansion with his new wife, Ruth, in tow. Oliver's widowed stepmother, who is in love with him, and his loner stepsister, who was in love with Helen, offer a welcome that could be generously described as 'cool' to the lovebirds. Cracks show in the marriage almost immediately, as Oliver suffers from nightmares about his wife's death, and Ruth suspects that the official line, that Helen fell after suffering a dizzy spell, may not be true. After a loooong build up, we get a few murders towards the end, followed by the least-surprising reveal of all time. And that's your lot.

The aforementioned reveal really does take the breath away. (Prepare for spoilers.) In some ways it did surprise me, because having the most obvious suspect turn out to be the killer (seriously, if you've made a casual guess as to their identity based on the above synopsis, you're correct)  is definitely an unusual approach to a mystery film. There isn't even an ulterior or alternate motive offered, which would retroactively imbue what we've seen with some sort of depth and hitherto obscured meaning; it's all so mind-numbingly straightforward. The first dialogue scene in the film, which is between Oliver and his horny stepmom, takes place directly after his wife's funeral and contains all the material you'll need to construct the key which unlocks this mystery. (This scene was excised from the Spanish version, which would at least heighten the chances of the running time hitting double digits before the viewer knows all.) 

I did briefly consider whether this was a clever double-bluff, a la Eyeball's approach of offering up every single character as a suspect at one point or another, but I genuinely don't think that was the case. One neat touch which I did like was the roll-call of still images of the remaining suspects after each murder (we begin with 5, and end up with 3). The killer is slap bang in the middle of this list every time. A couple of characters-Oliver's new wife Ruth, and the doctor who certified Helen's death an accident-aren't included in the list of suspects, which would have made their being the guilty party/parties a neat twist, with the stylistic flourish of the stills playing an active role in the film's presentation, and obfuscation, of the mystery. But no such luck. The killer is right there, hiding in plain sight. Or rather, acting extremely suspiciously in plain sight, and being proffered as one of the main suspects by the filmmakers. 

Of course, there's a chance that we were meant to pick up on Ruth and the doctor's exclusion from the list of suspects, which would back up the theory of the solution being an attempt to bamboozle the audience into overlooking the most obvious suspect. I myself suspect, however, that I'm giving them altogether too much credit with this line of theorising.

To briefly expound on more of the film's flaws, Ruth's suspicions regarding her husband develop literally overnight, after he mumbles incoherently in his sleep while having a nightmare. (It is refreshing to have the tormented soul struggling with the boundaries of reality being a male character; most housebound horrors favour females for such roles.) She immediately decides that he's lying about his ex's death, and takes off to see the local doctor. He, showing shockingly little disregard for confidentiality, or his licence, admits to having falsified the death report, which claimed that Helen had suffered from regular dizzy spells in the run up to her death. This lazy scene, apart from a few brief conversations Ruth has with the gardener and housekeeper, account for the sum total of the investigative angle of the film. It also precludes Ruth and the doc from having being in league together (although it doesn't absolve them separately; we know the doctor's been complicit in covering up a murder-even if he thinks he's just protecting Oliver-and Ruth's 'investigation' could be designed to throw fresh suspicion on her husband, whose estate she's conveniently in prime position to inherit). 

There's occasional nudity, which is often provided by garishly-lit body doubles, and some classic lesbianism-as-imagined-by-a-man. There's some of the worst poor man's process (where actors are filmed in a stationary car which is rocked slightly to simulate movement) you've ever seen. The murders aren't anything special, nor is the soundtrack. In fact, as stated above, nothing is special. You spend most of the running time searching for hidden meaning or hidden depths, only for the end reveal to confirm that yes, the film is actually that straightforward. Maybe that's the biggest twist of all, or a satire on how we continually search for deeper meaning in life, only to ignore its nuts and bolts. 

Maybe it's not though; maybe it's just a pretty shit giallo.

PS Jose Larraz, who was responsible for some of the most atmospheric housebound horror films of the 70s, had a hand in the script. Given his films' preference for style and atmosphere over plot, it might have made sense for him to direct this, given the lack of all three in the end product. Or maybe someone who can construct plots could have written it.
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Bay of Blood (1971)

8/8/2017

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This is arguably one of the most influential films ever made. If it isn't, it's one of the most prescient, in its anticipation of cinematic trends. The film itself is fun, disposable fluff, falling far, far beneath the heights Mario Bava was capable of attaining. But, by offering up a blueprint for the body count film, and a twenty minute glimpse at what would come to be known as the slasher movie, it's secured its place in film history. Of course, given that Bay of Blood is a low budget Italian film, it's difficult to gauge its exact level of influence, as many people who ostensibly copied it may never have even heard of the film. Still, I'd be extremely surprised if no-one on the creative team behind, say, Friday the 13th Part 2 had seen it by the time of production (despite their claims to the contrary).

The film opens with a double murder, that of a wheelchair-bound countess by her husband (staged to seem like a suicide), and that of the husband by an unseen assailant. The murdered couple lived in a mansion overlooking a secluded bay, which has been the subject of a bid from a property developer. A group of four horny teens (/young adults) arrive at the mansion for some frolicking, skinny dipping, dancing and shagging, and are dispatched one by one by two. The countess' husband's daughter (stay with me) arrives with her husband. They claim to be looking for her missing father, but are really seeking to secure the wife's inheritance. She discovers that the countess had a secret illegitimate son, who lived not-so-secretly in a shed on the bay, and both sides try to murder their way to the inheritance.

That final line is and isn't a spoiler; the motive behind most of the murders is never really in question. The identity of the murderer of the countess' husband and the teens is initially concealed from us, but the reveal isn't really treated as a climactic moment, as it would be in other gialli. This is mostly because that murderer is only one of several, all of whom are working to get their grubby (and bloody) hands on the titular bay (of blood).

​Despite being set in the countryside, Bava doesn't really push the 'exotic other' angle in the same way that other gialli (eg Don't Torture a Duckling and The House with Windows that Laughed) with rustic locations often do. The residents of the bay are a mixed bag, with the earthy 'charms' of Simon, the illegitimate son, contrasting with the insect-studying Paolo. Paolo's tarot card-reading wife, Anna, does represent a form of exotic mysticism, but Bava's films often incorporate supernatural touches matter-of-factly (eg Baron Blood and Hatchet for the Honeymoon). There's no real sense of Anna's clairvoyance, if indeed it's real, being tied in to her association with, and residence within, nature.

Instead, the countryside, specifically the bay, is merely an asset to be fought over. Paolo, and to a lesser extent Anna, makes the case for its preservation on ecological grounds (indeed, one of the film's many, many titles was Ecology of Crime), a plea which falls upon the deafest of ears. You get the sense that Bava was on the side of the conservationists, and was satirising an innate greed which characterises almost all of the protagonists. Even Paolo and Anna aren't exactly sympathetic characters, constantly bickering and extraordinarily ineffectual at winning anyone over by their arguments. This is another of the film's themes-the ability to influence others with power and money.

As stated, there are several 'murderers' in the film. There are essentially two factions warring over the inheritance rights, with the  two 'puppet masters' each largely inducing others to do their murderous bidding. Thus, we see the corruptibility of man writ large on the screen, with the promise of financial reward proving far more important than ecological conservation (cf the world right now). The teens are perhaps the only characters ostensibly free from the vices of greed and selfishness (Paolo and Anna are definitely selfish), but even there we can witness the seeds of corruption being sewn (or in full bloom, depending on your mores).

The French girl, Laura, insists on both of the guys accompanying her to party in the apparently-abandoned house, refusing to allow either of them to accompany Brunhilde on her skinny dip. This is selfishness and greed in operation on a physical, rather than financial, level. And, depending on your world view, this skinny dipping, as well as the shagging Laura and Filippo engage in, represents corruption of a sort. Bava was a religious man, so I'd be curious to know whether or not he viewed the teens' murders as being a punishment for their transgressions (they did break into two properties, which also represents a transgression, although one for which death seems an over-the-top response). Either way, the sex=death cliché is definitely in evidence here in nascent form.

This slasher section also features some excellent quasi-POV shots, which recall those from the climax of Blood and Black Lace. The camera drifts towards the victims, inexorably honing in on the prey with a single-mindedness and clarity of purpose which seems otherworldly. It's possibly a representation of the murderous lust which drives the killer; their id manifested through the camera movements, rather than an accurate attempt to portray their literal point of view.

The film doesn't quite recapture the heights of this early stalk-and-slash sequence, but it's always deliciously entertaining, and it exhibits a frankly breathtaking disregard for the sanctity of human life. The mystery at the centre of the plot is perfunctory at best, with the message-greed is bad-being far more important. One detail, involving the repurposing of a despairing diary entry is ingenious, and it's a pity it's wasted in a plot that doesn't really gain any from its inclusion. Speaking of ingenious, the film is an excellent example of how to stretch a minimal budget to the absolute maximum. Bava famously used a child's red wagon as a dolly, and carefully-selected camera angles maximised the locations. Comparing the film's look and style to an earlier effort like Black Sunday shows just how versatile and skilled he was; Black Sunday's lighting effects and camera movements have been replaced here by an extreme economy of filming (and money), with zooms and pans the order of the day.




​

This was Mario Bava's final giallo, and he clearly intended to stretch the traditional greed/inheritance plot to breaking point and beyond as a way of saying goodbye (his previous two gialli definitely suggested that he was jaded with the filone). The new, Argento-influenced films which prioritised insane killers and raw sexuality weren't for him (we come back to the question of how he really felt about those horny teens), and it's fitting that the final scene is one of his most playful moments. Bava's work always had an underlying sense of humour about itself, and the scene in question seems to work as a big wink at the audience, reminding them that we've just been watching a fun movie, nothing more (reminiscent of the end of Black Sabbath). If you're a fiend for subtext, though, you could view the scene as an extension of the theme of the corruptibility of man, as the final murderers have clearly learned how to use their weapon by observing and copying others. And so, the chain reaction (another title of the film) of violence begat by greed continues on to infect another generation.
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Bloodbath in the House of Knives (2009)

3/8/2017

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Ivy, a young woman with a dubious past, is getting weird phone calls from a stalker. She goes to see a terrible hypnotist in a poorly-lit venue with her father and sister. Oh, first of all a young woman has her throat cut, her top snipped off and her vagina repeatedly stabbed, but that doesn't seem to have any relevance to anything which follows, apart from preparing us for the mood and style of the film. Anyway, a family friend gets hypnotised at this show and tries to strangle Ivy's dad, only for a mysterious assassin to shoot them both dead. The police arrest the hypnotist but release him, his acting presumably proving too much for them to bear.

Ivy and Violet, her sister, go to a bar and drink shots to mourn their father. The bar is owned by a criminal who has previously been involved with both sisters, and who's currently blackmailing Ivy. Which makes it a perfect location for their mourning. A third friend who joined them is murdered, along with her boyfriend, later that night. The friend is apparently suffocated, but then appears in a pick-up scene in which she spends a long time tied up with no top on, as the killer slowly tortures her and plays a recorded message from a CD player.

Ivy's boyfriend, who was allegedly away at the time of her dad's assassination, and is thus a prime suspect, is next to be dispatched. Before he's killed, the killer breaks into Ivy's house and knocks her unconscious, but doesn't kill her. The police detective brilliantly theorises that Ivy's not being murdered was deliberate (and not some bizarre administrative oversight) on the part of the killer. The detective then talks to three acquaintances of Ivy and Violet, each of whom reveal that the sisters had a long-running feud. One of the three, Lloyd Kaufman playing a hammy lawyer who helped Ivy cut Violet out of her father's will, also reveals that Violet was adopted. Two of the three people the detective interviews are then murdered.

Ivy then remembers that a barman who works for the blackmailing gangster once tried to rape her, leading to even more questions as to why she went to that bar after her father died. Finally, a suspect! think the police (although anyone who's read that previous paragraph may already have a suspect in mind). The police raid the barman's house and find evidence linking him to the murders. He then turns up at Ivy's house, murdering the armed policeman who's guarding her, but acts hurt and confused when she tries to run away from him and keeps stabbing him (he obviously acts physically hurt because of this, but he seems emotionally hurt too). He's shot by the detective as he looms over Ivy, who's opted for a bizarrely-timed comic pratfall by tripping over a rake. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, and Ivy is saved.

Except she's not; the real mastermind is-shock, horror-her evil adopted sister. They engage in a charmingly ineffective fight, and the detective, who decided that the barman didn't actually have enough of a motive to be behind the murders (he did though) turns up briefly, before being killed as he explains his deductive reasonings. The sisterly combat resumes, and Violet casts doubt on the adoption theory by showing that physical comedy is also in her DNA, as she trips dramatically on that same old rake and stabs herself.  Ivy finishes her off, and the torture is over.
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The film isn't really torturous, I was being unkind. It is not, however, very good. At all. This is loooow budget territory, and, unfortunately, the film showcases many of the deficiencies which sully many a digitally-shot film these days.

Everything in the film has a dead atmosphere. The acting, lighting and staging shoulders much of the responsibility for this, as does the cheapness of the digital format on which it was shot. One of the main culprits, though, is the editing. If every shot in the film was trimmed by half a second at its beginning and end, it would  play much better. Ted Moehring, in common with many low budget auteurs, seems to think that allowing a shot to drag on way past the point at which the actors have left the frame adds a kind of weight to proceedings. Doing this can, on occasion, generate some weight of meaning, which is why you'll see occasional scenes in Hollywood films linger on empty frames at their conclusion. The power achieved by such editing, though, comes from the change of rhythm, the very fact that the shot lingers whereas previous scenes have concluded quicker. When every scene, and many shots within the scene, concludes in the same manner, this impact is lost. The kill scenes also have odd pacing; whereas in most films the editing and style in general would amp up, here we're treated to extra-lengthy shots of people pushing gently against each other.

This editing deficiency also applies to the film's dialogue; almost every exchange takes place between isolated talking heads, badly-acting back and forth in close ups which always show the person who's speaking. The rhythm is way off almost every time, with a beat too long elapsing between one person finishing talking and the other replying. Again, this can be fixed in editing. The editing of big budget films tends to be invisible (unless it is expressive, as a stylistic choice) designed to facilitate the progression of the film without drawing attention to itself, or, indeed, to the fact that we're watching a film. This seems easy to achieve when you watch those films (totally unaware of the editing), but rendering something invisible is easier said than done, and there is a lot of skill involved. And editing is just one link of the filmmaking chain; the best editor in the world can only work with what he's given. If you gave him or her the rushes of this film, they'd throw the tapes back in your face and run off (taking care to watch out for errant rakes).

One final point on the editing-there are many instances of old-fashioned cutting, where a wide shot cuts to a medium or close up from the exact same angle. This is something you'll see in John Ford westerns (and early gialli like The Embalmer), but in very few modern day films.Whether it's a stylistic choice or a byproduct of ignorance, I'll decline to speculate.

Framing is another area where cheap films routinely fall down (as does this film). Professionally-shot films generally use camera angles which present the events on screen in the best, or most appropriate, light, so to speak (they also have good lighting, which low budget films do not). Low budget films, due to time, skill and location constraints, often have acres of dead space in frames, and lose eyeline matches etc. The jerky, awkward pans in Bloodbath are another black mark. It's admirable of Moehring to try to liven up proceedings with some camera movement, unfortunately the movement has all the grace of one of the sisters running through a garden.

Another recurring sin is the cropping of heads. You'll see this in some older films which have been shot in 4:3 ratio and released on DVD in widescreen without proper care and attention paid to the framing of the release (sometimes the care and attention was lacking in the initial framing, cf Andy Milligan films). In Bloodbath, characters regularly stand up out of the frame, or enter a scene with only their shoulders down on show. If the killer's preferred mode of dispatch was the guillotine you could make a case for this being as clever directorial touch. It wasn't though. The best I can offer is that the tallest actor, who's the most affected by this, is also credited as the boom operator, so he might have been multitasking.

Many of the recent gialli, including my own effort, have been shot digitally. High-end digital video can these days emulate film almost to the point of being indistinguishable. For those of us at the lower end of the spectrum, we have a choice. Do we embrace the cheap digital look for what it is, or do we try to disguise the limitations and ape the rich film look as best we can? Actually, it's not really a choice, as every single filmmaker plumps for the latter. The hyper-real quality of cheap digital video  could theoretically be used to interrogate the 'reality' of what we see on screen, and the filmmaking process itself (which is something I'll be attempting in a project next year), but viewers of a gialli don't want any meta nonsense intruding on the film (unless you're a fan of Cattet and Forzani for some reason). Thus the only real choice is to try and make the film in the classical style, hoping that the lack of resources won't be too much of a turn-off. In the case of Bloodbath, the low budget oozes from every pore of the film. The lighting, staging and set design never rises above rank-amateur (I've never seen a film so willing to use marker-on-paper in place of actual signs). 

And, finally, we come to the events of the film. It's a fairly by-the-book giallo, involving an old-school inheritance wrangle, as well as the romantic entanglements beloved of 70s entries in the canon. These entanglements happen off-screen (before the events of the film begin), with the only nudity occurring during the murder scenes. The second such scene, in particular, betrays a modern influence, with the torturing of the topless woman continuing for a long, long time. The torture in classic gialli was of a psychological nature, as the victim tried in vain to escape the ever-encroaching tendrils of the killer. Here, we just watch someone stick metal bars through wads of latex for five minutes.

The mystery element doesn't really work, especially as the end twist basically amounts to no more than 'the two most obvious suspects were, in fact, guilty'. Too much information is leaked about Violet for her involvement to be a surprise-we know that she's been cut out of Ivy's will, and that Ivy and her spent years at loggerheads, stealing each other's boyfriends. Given all this, it almost makes sense that she'd be the one trying to torment Ivy. What makes less sense is why all these other people have to die; why didn't she just kill Ivy and frame the lunk-headed barman? She does manage to frame the barman, but only then, after he's killed, does she try to kill Ivy. And if she's successful she'll unframe the barman! Back to the drawing board, Violent Violet.

The twist, whereby the barman is revealed to have been no more than a stooge, would have been more surprising  if his demise didn't occur almost twenty minutes before the film's conclusion. I'm not sure if it's actually fair to take this fact into consideration-DVD and Blu ray players allow us to access information re: running times which would be denied us in the cinemas, which arguably should not be taken into account when viewing a film. (However, it's not as if Bloodbath was likely to ever get a cinema release.) Saying all that, part of me was  hoping that the film was indeed over, and that Ted Moehring was one of those guys who like to pad out films with interminable end credits (I'm looking at you, Onettis). He certainly padded it out enough with the lackadaisical editing.

I don't want to be too harsh on him, and the film, though. It's clearly a labour of love, and I know only too well the attendant heartache which comes with low, low budget production. There is evidence of an intelligence behind the camera ('volition' and 'paramour' are not words which grace many sub-$1000 films), and the passion shines through. It's also mercifully free of homages (although a question-'Do you know Edgar Wallace'-initially seemed to me to be the most bizarre non-sequitur of all time before I copped that it was the name of a character who'd just been murdered). I first viewed it a couple of days after rewatching Rob Zombie's debut, House of 1000 Corpses. It occurrs to me that they have a lot in common: films made by extremely passionate neophytes with a deep love of the genre who, sadly, didn't have a huge grasp on what they were doing.

Cool title though.
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    Dáire McNab

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