One of the longer gialli-almost two hours-this one's more Sweet Bod than Crystal Plume, with a black-gloved killer present but (increasingly) peripheral as the story trundles leisurely towards its climax.

Chris(tine/tina) Miller lives with her stepmother Ruth in an isolated country home. Her father, Ruth's husband, left suddenly a year previously, something with which Chris-who suffers from psychiatric issues arising from a sexual assault in a shower by a weightlifter who looks like Nigel Farage-is struggling to come to terms. When handsome drifter Barney stumbles upon the broken home, sparks fly on all sides, but ultimately things just get more broken. A lot more broken.

The first hour of this film (after an odd pre-credits sequence in which a Charlie Chaplin mask-wearing male knifes a middle aged chanteuse to death in her luxurious home) reminded me of Norman J Warren's film Prey, in which an alien man happens upon two lesbians living in a secluded country house. Wikipedia has just informed me that the alien man was played by none other than Barry Stokes, who plays Barney in Chris Miller. It's thirteen-odd years since I've seen Prey, so my recollection of it isn't perfect, but I'd contend that the Wiki description of it as having been "conceived by producers Terry Marcel and David Wimbury and developed by Quinn Donoghue" should probably also contain a nod to this Spanish giallo which was shot four years before Warren's film.

The slow pace of Chris Miller allows for quite a lot of scenes of character development. Well, on paper it does, but in some ways the filmmaking is almost too economical (or else our familiarity with the set up through other films forearms us with sufficient knowledge to anticipate much of what will unfold), as we get a fairly clear sense of who all the main characters are within moments of first meeting them. And, this being a giallo, we can't delve too deeply into their backstories-at least, not initially-as the solution to the mystery inevitably has its roots in the past (as well as roots in the present; keep reading for more on that!).

The film does, as stated in the synopsis, contain a traditional killer. However, in a marked departure from the norm, the presence of the killer almost functions as a red herring to obfuscate the real reasons for certain characters' behaviour. While we do get an unmasking at the climax of the film, we discover (in the original Spanish language version) precisely nothing of the motivation lying behind the murders, nor does this motivation really matter-the murders only 'exist' to cast suspicion upon people who are innocent of those crimes, but not wholly innocent of all transgressions.

In keeping with the rich-people-plotting-against-each-other subset of gialli, pretty much every character here is guilty of something. They're not quite as nakedly greedy and evil as was standard-in fact, you could argue that only the killer and one other character who exists entirely offscreen seem to be wholly lacking in redeeming features, although Barney, and his sexy body which seems to be allergic to tops, isn't exactly Father Teresa either. Then again, that was my point really, wasn't it-none of the characters are Good.

In fact, quite a few of the characters are so Ungood that they're guilty of murder. A big baroque set piece towards the end features the extremely slo-mo knifing of a main character (providing an excellent showcase for the retractable quality of the prop kinves), and leads to an off-kilter finale which seems to be ambling towards a broadly happy ending until some peas which have been buried with a body take root and grow through a newly laid tarmac road*, alerting the authorities to the presence of said body. This, one can assume, will lead to the arrest of the murderers, who aren't even all that guilty, given they were mostly murdering in self-defence.

This self-defence comes about after a sequence which recalls Torso, with two females locked in an isolated house as a malevolent male stalks back and forth between their rooms (albeit here the male isn't masked, and the sequence is quicker, and less good, than Torso). There's also some classic storm action in play as well, with the attendant unreliable electricity sources. None of the 'tense' scenes reach the heights of the better Italian films of the time, but all the same this one is never less than competently directed (by Anton Chigurh's uncle, no less), with solid technical credits across the board. And the sequence in which the inhabitants of a farmhouse are slaughtered is a terrific set piece, which makes up for the lack of action we've endured beforehand.

The script is decent-with one conversation in which the central three characters compare themselves to the Red Riding Hood story cleverly working as a slight red herring, in that the characters don't quite assume the fairy tale roles they've self-assigned, and the house of cards Barney constructs doubles as a neat metaphor for the uneasy existence of the leading trio-sooner or later (later, in the case of this 113 minute film) their alliances are going to come tumbling down. There are a few touches which suggest an awareness of what Argento was doing at this time even if this film owes more the the late 60s Lenzis-the gender bending name of Chris is very much in keeping with Dario's sexually fluid outlook, and the dialogue about extra Y chromosomes recalls the work of the Terzi Institute in Cat o' Nine Tails. (It is worth pointing out that theories about XYY syndrome were prevalent in the late 60s and early 70s, so this may not be an Argento ref at all. Also, the English dub eshews the chromosome chat in favour of offering a tenuous motivation relating to horsies.) And, if you ever wanted evidence of how much time has passed between the making of this film and the present day, consider how reference is made to one of the XYYers being "the student who shot his classmates"-nowadays those students are, in the States anyway, ten a penny.

*The Spanish version omits the stop-motion cracking shots of the road, and ends on a more ambiguous note, cutting back and forth from the newly-laid road to the 'murderers'.

This is one of those films which isn't so much a giallo as it is a love letter to the filone, although the structure of the film is broadly comparable to that of the classic 70s classics.  After that enthralling opening, here we go with the synopsis:

'Videoman' Ennio ("like Ennio Morricone") ran a successful VHS store in Sweden in the 80s and 90s. Now, in the digital age, his collection is lovingly housed in a basement lockup, and he dreams of reopening a rental store. Preventing him from realising this dream (and the commercial black hole such a venture would represent) are his already-precarious financial situation, his loneliness, his alcoholism and his general inability to interact with other humans on a cordial level. When he finds a rare VHS of Lucio Fulci's Zombie Flesh Eaters ('Zombie' in Sweden), a mysterious collector called Faceless offers his ten grand for it, which will cure at least one of his ailments. A burgeoning romance with fellow alcoholic Simone offers a chance for further redemption. But when the video disappears, Faceless becomes a faceless threat to Ennio's life, forcing him to assume the role of amateur sleuth in order to recover his video, save his life and get(ish) the girl.

This is a film which is great on paper, and good on screen. It's certainly not going to appeal to everyone-characters discuss the replacement of Rosalba Neri with a body double for a masturbation scene in Slaughter Hotel (incidentally, this is also one of the scenes that doesn't really scan-there's no way Ennio wouldn't have noticed the fake Rosalba, even if he doesn't care for her [you can add insanity to that ailment list]!), and the merits of Fulci versus Argento as directors (with Luigi Bazzoni offered up as the king of all Italian directors, which probably does somewhat reflect his recent posthumous renaissance). The film doesn't take the time to try and educate the uninitiated-either you're a fan of cult cinema who's on board from the start, or you'll be left to fend for yourself. There's no definition offered as to what a giallo film is; such knowledge seems to be a requisite for those who watch the film.

Or is it? Because running alongside this story of a VHS obsessive is a love story between two broken alcoholics, which sometimes plays like something you'd see in a Lukas Moodysson film. Simone almost certainly wouldn't know a giallo from a Nero (little joke about colours there), although she does love the past (and booze). Her and Ennio bond by virtue of their shared feeling of being a fish out of water in the modern world, and they fetishise the past and its paraphernalia (VHS in his case, her hairstyle in hers). Simone does straddle the divide between worlds past and present though, with her obsession with garnering likes on Facebook and Instagram-her Fb cover photo is a bizarre ode to ancient Egypt (and, yes, Ennio does attempt to get her to watch Manhattan Baby, only to be foiled by her laughably owning a multi-region DVD player). Even though both characters sublimate their nostalgia into their specific obsessions, the general theme of two middle-aged characters feeling adrift in a modern world, and lamenting the passing of their better, more youthful days, is a surprisingly deep touch for a genre film (or, at least, a film about genre).

The search for the missing videotape does sort-of take the film into traditional giallo territory, even if the list of suspects have, for the most part, not been previously seen by us, so it's impossible to get fully involved in the investigation. There are a couple of attempts at tense stalk-and-slash scenes, but the film isn't quite up to the task-I'm not sure whether the direction or technical credits are to blame, but the only times the film really seems micro budget are during these scenes (and a love scene between Simone and Ennio). Part of the problem is definitely a use of slo-mo which comes with too much of a digital sheen, but the style of the film, which is pretty modern throughout with some interesting lens flaring going on, also changes in these moments, which are almost shot according to an 80s template. Even the score, which is generally excellent, fails to really generate any suspense when called upon to do so.

The modern day fan culture is an area which is rife for exploration and unpicking, and I'd go so far as to say that the depiction of Ennio as a misanthropic loner with no social skills isn't that overblown when you look at some of the behaviour certain people exhibit online-I think personally that a huge proportion of cult cinema fans are lovely people (certainly everyone who I've met at film festivals over the years have been unfailingly polite), but there are a not insignificant minority who obsess over minor details of films (eg the body doubling of Rosalba Neri is Slaughter Hotel), and who seem to think that DVD and Blu ray releases exist solely to please them-just go to the Fb page of any distribution company after they announce a month or season's slate of releases and see how many people feel the need to complain that none of the upcoming films appeal to them. This sense of entitlement, and selfishness, is certainly in evidence in Ennio's character, as he seems to consider his friends to be nothing more than viewing partners for his giallothons. But the shoots of redemption, as always, spring up through the love of a good (ish) woman.

Overall this isn't a brilliant film. However, it's clever, stylish and has some effective dream sequences, yet is also far more rooted in the real world than almost any other film I've covered here. The giallo elements ebb and flow, and the character of Faceless and the assistant aren't really satisfactorily integrated into the narrative (and the 'big reveal' explanation is painfully lacking), but there's plenty here to enjoy nonetheless. The acting is also top-notch, and how often can you say that about a giallo? Or a film which is kind-of a giallo?

Strip Nude for Your Killer (or, 'Strip to Your Underpants and Socks for Your Killer' if you're a bloke) is probably one of the best known of the later, sleazy gialli which sought to counteract the waning popularity of the filone by upping the sex and gore ante. This one is partly famous because of its terrific title, partly famous because it's directed by Andrea Bianchi of Burial Ground fame, and partly famous because it's quite a lot of fun. It's mostly not famous at all of course, but no matter. Oh, and it also contains one of the most evil characters in all giallo history-Nino Castelnuovo's pervy protagonist Carlo.

The Albatross Modelling agency is proving to be something of a millstone around the next of those associated with it-first, one of its models dies during a botched abortion, then a photographer and second model die. Then a whole host of other people, including the owners, also die. Will intrepid sex pest Carlo, whose seduction attempts encompass walking behind random women and taking photographs of their asses, be able to overcome the death of his new discovery Lucia, a wannabe model who's one of the first victims? Course he will, he's already moved on to his assistant Magda. And I mean moved 'on' to in every sense (ie sex).

Right from the off, this film cheerfully announces itself as a lowbrow slice of trash-the opening shot affords a gynaecological view of a woman's vagina as she undergoes a backstreet abortion, and Berto Pisano's title music, which kicks in shortly afterwards, is positively dripping in juice (and is a terrific piece of music). Just in case we hadn't got the memo, we then watch Carlo sweet talk (and sweet manhandle) his way into a woman's pants with promises of modelling riches. Yes-this is yet another giallo which revolves around a series of murders in a fashion house. And no, it's not one which attempts to develop that setting into something of a theme/text (like, for instance, Mario Bava in Hatchet for the Honeymoon, where the models' status as glorified mannequins is given some manner of interrogation). It doesn't even really use the setting as an excuse to drape unclad ladies over props-almost all of the stripping (for killers and lovers) happens behind closed doors. 

I've possibly been too harsh by insinuating that there's no real text or subtext in the film, though-there is a cursory examination of sex and love, and the commodification of both. Carlo essentially buys sex through the promise of fame and fortune, the models buy their way up the pecking order by shagging the photographers (and the secretly lesbian owner of the agency). Modelling as a job commodifies the body, and the body is a core component in the sexual act (and it can be affected by the sexual act, c.f. the poor pregnant model whose aborted procedure proves to have been the spark from which the mayhem flamed).

And what of love? Well Maurizio, the sadsack fat guy who's married to the secret lesbian, presents himself as a pussy hound, trying it on with all the new models at the agency, but really he's a frustrated virgin, only able to achieve arousal through use of a sex doll (another commodified 'body'). But there's something so plaintive, so anguished, about his attempts to have sex with model Doris that you feel he's not so much looking for physical as emotional intimacy. The fact that he twice refers to the physical act as "making love" backs this up (the fact that his initial attempt to make love involves attempted rape does not back this up). In a world where everyone seems to be getting their leg over to give their career a leg up, he stands out because his inability to have sex doesn't upset him due to the ramifications for his career; rather because it wounds his pride and his heart.

But, as I said, he is a rapist. Speaking of rapists, it's tragic the way Carlo falls in with Magda so easily, especially because as work colleagues she should be familiar with his dirrrrty ways. She seems to possess some quality which prevents the killer from being able to off her, despite having numerous opportunities (initially because she's to be proffered as a scapegoat for the killings, but then for no real reason at all). Perhaps whatever makes her immortal also obscures her judgement in men. More likely, given that she harbours ambitions to become a model, is that her affair with Carlo is one of expediency on her part, although there's no real suggestion in the film that this is the case. To be honest, I wouldn't really have mentioned Magda in this review if she wasn't played by the lovely Edwige Fenech, which basically makes her the nominal hero. And Edwige deserves better material than she's given here-and a far, far better send off-and I'd go so far as to say that the most unrealistic thing about the whole film is that she works for a modelling house and no-one seems to have considered her as a potential model. You deserve to die, you idiots!

As a giallo mystery, the film doesn't really succeed. There's a shit-ton of murders, ranging from the quick and perfunctory to the slow and stylish (the slowest and stylishest being the stalk and slash of a nude Femi Benussi), but the clue as to (and explanation for) the killer's motive is essentially tied up in a single photograph. (KINDA SPOILERS) The image is of various Albatrossians (the modelling house, you'll recall), including the model who died during the attempted abortion, and the killer seems to have decided (based on a whim) that all in the photo are equally to blame for her death, so the pic functions as a sort of death list. It's a pretty flawed approach to take, though, as many people in the photo had nothing whatsoever to do with the death (whereas the operating doctor, for example, had quite a lot to do with it, and he's not pictured-although, to be fair, he is murdered as well). Plus, some of the murder victims not only had nowt to do with the death, they aren't even in the photo! (END KINDA SPOILERS)

Even though there's no real investigative through line to follow, the police do feature in the film, although as more of a constant background presence than anything else. They never seem to make the connection between the abortion death and the rest of the murders, which isn't surprising given the general incompetence they cotinually display. And, in their defence, even those who work in the fashion house, and were directly involved in the abortion procedure, aren't especially quick to join the dots.

Even if they could join the dots, it's likely they'd struggle to nail down the killer, who is, to say the least, quite a left-field reveal. The culprit has barely feathered the needle of the Richter Scale which measures characters' visibility in films (if such a thing existed, which it doesn't), which is in many ways something to which all giallo directors should aspire, except that even when we get the Big Reveal it's quite a job to recall who they are. The sweetspot is a character who slips by almost without registering, but who invokes a reaction of "of course, why didn't I even consider them?!" when the unmasking takes place. Furthermore, there's a bit of fudging going on here, as the killer's reaction to seeing a dead body borders on being deliberately misleading.

Speaking of unmasking, the killer does have a cool get-up, clad in biker leathers and a big helmet. It lends them a certain aura of otherworldliness, or unknowableness at least, and also allows the sound editor to accompany the killer on screen with a low, menacing breathing sound which is redolent of the Jason/Michael Myers POV stalking shots. There are very few such shots in this film, but that doesn't stop the sound effect being liberally used to amp up the tension. And this film does generate some tension; the aforementioned scene in which Femi Benussi's Lucia is killed is a pretty great set piece, extremely skilfully staged and shot by Tonino delli Colli (and Andrew White, to use one of Bianchi's directing credits, who may or may not deserve some of the kudos credit). 

It's also worth mentioning the insane 'action driving scene' (as I've described it in my notes for some reason; the more I think of it the more this is a pretty apt description) which was clearly (as was standard at the time) shot without permits on busy city streets. It also seems to have been done in one take, with a single camera filming from inside the car. Bianchi must've been given a stunt driver for the day and come up with the scene on the fly, as it doesn't exactly fit with the rest of the film (if I was being generous, I could point to the fact that Maurizio is driving as suggesting that he is peacocking-trying to impress Doris with his driving prowess because he knows he could never impress her with his sexual efforts). One final noteworthy element is the running water motif which is present during most of the death scenes; it's as if the killer needs to hear the sound of taps running to get in the mood for killing. This may have been taken from the lullabies of Deep Red, which was released a few months before this film, but it's never fully developed as a story element.

There's a lot about this film that's not fully developed-the occasional hints at subtext; the photographs Magda brings to the lab before being accosted by the killer; the general maturity of the filmmakers (and Andrea Bianchi never fully grew up-he was a veritable Peter Bark off Burial Ground). This is a film that'll never be mistaken for a classic piece of cinema, but it's undeniably fun. It's extraordinarily trashy-from the opening beaver shot to the bum note finale you'll be amused, shocked and appalled. But you'll never, ever be bored. And that's not something to be taken lightly (unlike the film).

Definitely more of a slasher than a giallo, this film still just about falls under the yellow banner by virtue of its having been directed by Ovidio Assonitis (who, despite being mostly Greek and growing up in Egypt, was a major player in the Italian film industry). Plus, according to Assonitis, he wasn't really aware of the burgeoning slasher movement, so gialli must have played a fairly large role in the conception and development of this film. Although it's funny he should say that he wasn't into slashers, because whatever his influences were, they birthed a product which was a virtual twin of the Canadian slasher film Happy Birthday to Me, filmed and released almost simultaneously with this effort. 

Julia Sullivan is counting the days to her upcoming birthday, which coincidentally is also her insane twin sister Mary's birthday. Mary resides in a sanatorium (or a madhouse), virtually abandoned by Julia, who remains terrified of her sibling after a birthday ritual endured throughout her childhood. Her uncle, a priest who cares for Mary, reaches out to Julia to ask her to visit her twin, who has contracted a disease which disfigures her face to the point that her bone structure and even ethnicity seem to have altered. As the birthday approaches, Mary escapes from the madhouse, and, aided by a vicious rottweiler, begins dispatching people around Julia, including Sasha, a young deaf student of hers, and her friend Helen. When the big day rolls around Julia's boyfriend is conveniently/inconveniently called out of town, leaving her at the mercy of her Familia Loco...

The similarities to Happy Birthday to Me are manifold-the sibling angle, the countdown to a birthday (according to actress Edith Ivey, the shooting title was actually Happy Birthday), and even the dead dinner table(au) get a run out here. I'm not accusing anyone of plagiarism, but this seems to have been one of those occasions where there was something in the water which led to two near-identical projects being developed simultaneously (c.f. Deep Impact and Armageddon). Of course, it isn't impossible that a largely Italian crew, coming from a film industry which specialised in cheap and fast knock-offs, could have churned out a Happy Birthday to Me facsimile in double quick time, but I'm not actually suggesting that this film copied HBtM, or vice-versa (I'm genuinely not, swearsies).

There's not much of a central mystery here, with the killer-whoever or whatever they are for any given scene-always being clearly identifiable. There is a twist around the hour mark, when we discover that Mary (and the dog) aren't the only killers in town (but you'd probably guessed that [SPOILERS!] as soon as you read the word 'priest' in the synopsis). END SPOILERS! There are regular set pieces throughout the film, most of which are staged and shot very effectively, with one in particular standing out from the rest. Running around ten minutes in length, it sees Julia's landlady (the aforementioned Edith Ivey) engaged in a fascinating game of cat-and-mouse with the killer. And it really is cat-and-mouse (not literally, the cat's already been murdered and there are no visible mice in the film)-I've never seen a sequence in which the killer toys with the victim quite as much as we see here. It becomes almost like a dark piece of performance art, with the chase conducted at such a leisurely and relaxed pace that it seems that Assonitis is seeking to define and then tread (and tread leisurely) the line which separates tension from tedium. And, to be fair to the guy, he's largely successful, aided in no small part by the gleefully over-the-top acting.

The central location, which becomes a madhouse by the end of the film, had previously been used for Lucio Fulci's City of the Living Dead. It's an incredible building, in that it seems to contain about seventeen flights of stairs (and we get to see them all during the cat-and-mousing). Its windows also seem to be unopenable, and made of some unbreakable material, as none of the people who are terrorised there even consider them as an escape option-they're card-carrying aficionados of the 'go up the stairs' method of psycho evasion. Julia's friend Helen even chooses to await death when her shirt gets caught on the bannisters rather than divest herself of an item of clothing-if only she was as free and easy with her clothing as the teens populating the other slashers of the day.

Animal lovers should be forewarned that there are a couple of (staged) mammalian deaths, one of which is pretty prolonged and brutal. A rottweiler also sports a ridiculous snarl on his face which was presumably achieved through the use of some sort of mould/clamp fitted under its lips. The initial effect is fairly creepy-albeit there is a striking resemblance to Homer in that episode where he's being forced to smile through the use of hooks-but the final shot of the angry dog seemed to suggest a sadness in the eyes, (though I may be projecting). Speaking of animals in films, why is it that cats always meow loudly right as they're leaping into the frame?

And speaking of animal deaths in Italian films we come to the score, by the great Riz Ortolani. Taken on its own merits it's a very effective collection of cues; however, anyone who's familiar with the Cannibal Holocaust soundtrack won't be able to escape the undeniable similarities between the two scores, with the Madhouse one ultimately sounding like an extended homage to his best-known work. But I don't want to seem like I'm complaining-it took me out of the film, but the Cannibal Holocaust score is amazing, and I'm always happy to be reminded of it. And plenty of Ennio Morricone and Bruno Nicolai scores are self-referential also, so play on, Riz.

All in all, this isn't a top tier giallo (it's probably not an any-tier giallo, but no matter). It's solid entertainment made by solid pros, with better-than-solid acting and cinematography which raise it above many of its competitors (although Happy Birthday to Me, its closest competitor, is actually a pretty slick production too). There are some underwhelming moments-the first reveal of Mary is pretty botched, with her hair swishing over her face for most of the time she's on screen-and the bizarre approach the main killer adopts when menacing their victims means that the climax isn't quite as chilling and hysterical is it probably should have been, but it's worth a watch-if for nothing else than the batshit scene of Julia's uncle using the medium of a public church sermon to deliver a highly specific message to her about her duties as a sister. Oh, and said sister also does some of the best 'limp body' acting you'll ever see at the film's climax. And if those teases don't make you want to rush out and see this, I don't know what would.

This film, released just over a year after Blood and Black Lace, comes so early in the giallo lifespan that it likely falls within the confines of the cannon through happenstance rather than by design. It's as much an art film as it is a murder mystery, and, thankfully, it has much to recommend it on both fronts.

Bernard, a newly-successful author, breaks up with his girlfriend and returns to a small Italian village where he has holidayed frequently since childhood. This visit is motivated by one factor, though-the memory of a hotel maid named Tilde with whom he'd gotten somewhat acquainted on his previous visit. It turns out that memories are all that remain of her, after she committed suicide by poison in mysterious circumstances shortly after Bernard left. He's informed by a local hunchback that her corpse, which was pulled from the picturesque lake around which the village is built, bore evidence of a throat slitting as well, and that the allegedly virginal (according to the autopsy) Tilde was pregnant at the time of her death. As he begins to suspect the family which runs the hotel of having more than a passing involvement in the tragedy, Bernard gets pulled into a mystery which exists as much in his head as it does in reality.

This is where the arty stuff comes in. The film constantly plays with the audience, with the film cutting to a shot of Bernard entering his hotel room after almost every noteworthy scene. What we initially understand to be memories become mixed with dreams, and even hypotheses, with Bernard ultimately 'solving' the case by imagining various confessions and revelations, which turn out to have been presciently correct. Whereas Dario Argento later imbued specific memories with significant clues, here the memories are much less defined, and exist in a liminal psychological space over which Bernard ultimately has agency. He replays a sexual encounter of Tilde's he once witnessed, introducing various characters as her lover. He imagines conversations she had which he didn't witness, merging memory and imagination in an attempt to discover the true cause of her death. In many ways this depiction of memory, as a nebulous and undefined phantom of the mind, is far more accurate than Argento's rigidly formal depiction, wherein a fixed image/vision must be reexamined from a second angle to bring the truth to light. In The Possessed all is light, and all is darkness, all at once.

As befits an art film, and a loftier giallo, the investigation here is at least as much about Bernard turning his critical gaze upon himself as it is about an accumulation of external clues (especially so here, with almost no clearly-defined 'clues'). As a writer (shades of Sam Dalmas and many other giallo heroes who have artistic backgrounds), Bernard is acclaimed, although Francesco, the town's hunchback (and, crucially, photograph developer-he is perhaps the only person who can forge clear, distinct images from the murk of the past) critiques his most recent book, saying that he feels the work suffers from a fear of "not finding an answer for everything." In many ways this is the impetus for Bernard's continuing investigation-he's seeking the truth of what happened to the girl, but also in a wider sense he's seeking to lay bare the village's murky past, a past of which he's been a part since he first visited aged 10.*

Bernard seems to acknowledge Francesco as a voice to truth, when the latter appears in what turns out to be a dream sequence and tells him that with all the obsessiveness and desire to uncover the truth, Bernard is afraid to see Tilde as she really was. Bernard replies (and remember, as this is a dream he's essentially speaking to himself) by saying that he's afraid that he's losing his grasp on reality. In the English language version, Francesco closes the dream by saying that "Everything is simple to deal with, until you're faced with reality." Cue a cut to Bernard waking up in bed. Note also the early voice over passage (again in the English language version) wherein Bernard stares at a photograph of Tilde, anticipating an imminent meeting of the two, saying "I was afraid the face in the photographs only reflected my dreams instead of showing me Tilde as she really was."** This slightly-too-on-the-nose-too-early line reinforces the later dream conversation with Francesco, with the inference clear-Bernard is being driven by a desire for something, and someone, that never really existed in the first place.

This is something which has long been the downfall of man, in all his arrogance-placing women on a pedestal only to cast them aside on a whim when some impossible ideal is not met. This is what happens to Tilde, in a way (SPOILERS not that not fucking a father and son combo is an impossible ideal, but her youth*** and desirable beauty become sullied by her pregnancy and general behaviour, for which she suffers the ultimate punishment SPOILERS STOP). Bernard's desire to right the wrongs of his past (and previous novel) by investigating the past thoroughly sees his obsession with-and love for-Tilde decrease with every new revelation about her past, even as his strange attraction to the mysterious Adriana, who's newly married into the hotel-owning family, grows. This suggests that the more men learn about a woman, the more the impossible ideal is broken, but I'd argue that men are likely more enamoured with women when they can project themselves and their own obsessions onto them. The more truth they find out about the woman, the less space there is onto which one can project one's desires and fantasies. Consider even the film's Italian title-The Lady of the Lake is a lot more mysterious and, ultimately, alluring than The Murdered Maid Who (SPOILERS) Had Affairs With a Father and His Son and Got Pregnant. (SPOILERS STOP)

As a writer, Bernard is well capable of flights of imaginative fancy, initially to project upon his memories of Tilde, and later to fill in the dark gaps in the familial history of the hotel owners. Intriguingly, his hypotheses tend to be unerringly accurate; as the policeman states at the end of the film, he has a strong intuition (almost as strong as a woman's-is writing, and creativity in general, more of a feminine pursuit in the Italy depicted here?). As the film progresses and the memories, dreams and mental projection blur more and more, we're left with very little in the way of cold hard facts as regards what ultimately happened. (SPOILERS AGAIN!) We can be reasonably sure that the daughter of the family, Irma, has murdered her brother (course she has-she's played by Valentina Cortese), and one or both of them (or, along with their father, all three) are responsible for the murders of the two ladies of the lake. We're told precious little about the family's background, though, so don't really know what circumstances have led to their being so dysfunctional. One possible hint at incest comes when the father refers to Tilde (with whom he was having an affair, remember) as being "like a daughter" to him, right as his actual daughter glides into frame. Is that a subtle nod to how he behaves towards daughters?

Ultimately we're left, as is Bernard, to fill in the blanks ourselves, to project our own experiences and prejudices onto these broken characters to try and piece together a full story. It's not as frustrating as I may have made it seem here, though-it's gorgeously shot, and the pacing is strong throughout. There's also a seam of noir running through things-the voice over, for a start (which is occasionally unnecessary, e.g. the image of Bernard staring nervously at the slaughterhouse through a rain spattered window conveys his uncertainty and nerves far better than the voice over could (and does). One could even argue that the ladies of the lake function as femmes fatale in a way (even-and possibly especially-in death, particularly where Mario, the son of the family, is concerned. (Another obvious noir link comes with the final shot, which is quoting The Third Man.)  END SPOILERS AGAIN!

So, this film, while it's not going to satisfy gorehounds or fans of trashier gialli, has much to recommend it. As I said, it's not a typical giallo, but then no such thing existed at the time. What it does do is take a cue from genre trailblazers such as Bava and Freda, and meld their innovations to a framework which was influenced by the likes of Antonioni (see L'Avventura). Much like Luigi Bazzoni's later giallo Footprints, it's a delightful swirl of an investigation into childhood, identity and love, filtered through the prism of human memory which, much as the town seems to Bernard as he departs, becomes increasingly strange, inaccessible and distant.

*An excised detail from the original synopsis concerns a childhood romance Bernard had with a girl in the village, with his infatuation with Tilde being an attempt to rediscover those formative feelings. Presumably this idea was discarded because it muddied the (already quite muddy) waters too much by turning Tilde, the 'absent presence' whose memory drives the protagonist's actions, into a cypher of a different 'absent presence'.

**A later line in the Italian version, "perhaps Tilde hadn't been as I'd imagined her," expresses much the same thing.

***In the film's synopsis she was explicitly depicted as being underage.

Two years after a whirlwind romance culminated in her marrying John Alexander, heiress Helen Brown is dallying with her special friend Liz. And she's dead-an explosive device covertly placed in her car sending it careening off the road somewhere near Liverpool (which, according to the film, is a mere stone's throw from her base in London). Her shares in trading company Brown & Brown are inherited by hubby John, rather than her (step-)father, who is president of the company, and has already been passed over once by his wife's will (presumably her maiden name happened to be the same as her married name, or else her husband took her name when they got hitched). After blowing off steam with a three week jaunt to St Tropez, John returns to London and tentatively begins to pick up the various strands of his life. When he finally brings himself to return to his marital house, he's surprised to discover a young, sexy vagrant, Christine, showering in his wife's bathroom. This kickstarts a chain of events which culminate in John viewing a stag film starring Christine and a masked lady, who bears several physical hallmarks of his deceased wife. Did she really die in that car crash? And, if she did, who killed her, and why? And, if she didn't, who really died in the crash, and why? And, if she didn't and is now acting in pornos, why?

Will the film answer all these questions? Not really. Lucio Fulci, one of the originators of the scenario, hammered the film in a later interview, claiming that director Riccardo Freda made it at a stage in his career when he'd essentially given up trying. And, to be honest, he's not massively wrong; the most persuasive evidence being the film Fulci himself made from the same plot outline-Perversion Story-which was released one month after Double Face, and which spun similar ingredients into a far, far superior tale.

The slapdashery is evident right from the start, with some extremely unconvincing car model work in evidence on two separate occasions, as well as some dire blue screen effects for a skiing scene that was presumably some early work of the FX technician who did the surfing sequence in Die Another Day. Having said that, the film does also contain some classy moments from the off, with director Freda seeming especially at home in the stately country houses in which a large portion of the film is set. Having shown his aptitude for gothic filmmaking at the beginning of the decade, he could, and possibly did, design the camera's gliding movements around the hallowed halls while working on autopilot. We also get a very slick shot of a white car reflected in sunglasses in close up, a shot which could almost have been the inspiration for the entire plot of The Iguana With the Tongue of Fire.

Freda seems much less comfortable when it comes to directing the Happening sequence set in an abandoned warehouse, with random zooms and ragged handheld shots apparently deemed sufficient to tick all the directorial boxes. He's far from the only director of his generation (and he was among the very oldest of those) to struggle to fully get to grips with youth culture, but at least Fulci, Martino et al made an effort to come up with a visual style which was somewhat appropriate for depictions of the burgeoning scene (albeit typically a style which leaned heavily on use of the wide angled lens). Here, Freda seems to be almost refusing to direct, suggesting a strong animus towards the hippy movement, to the point that they weren't worth engaging with on any level. (There is a teeny tiny chance that Freda is attempting to depict John Alexander's own confusion by  rendering his thought processes via the camerawork and editing, but I think that's a very generous reading.)

The thing is, hippies and their covert sex films form an important plot point, with Klaus Kinski apparently Happening upon freshly-shot footage featuring his dead wife. I say 'important plot point', it's actually debatable whether this film has a plot at all-in some ways it's more a series of sequential events, devoid of the cause-and-effect logic by which a plot is driven. As I suggested above, the film raises a hell of a lot of questions without necessarily being able to answer them. Things happen, people act in certain ways, and the effect is no different to the standard giallo plot (at least, the standard plot for this time-it's essentially one of Lenzi's inheritance-in-the-sunshine jaunts set in London, with John's sunshine jaunt taking place off-screen). It's just that when the cards are finally laid on the table and we find out what's going on, the filmmakers have essentially been bluffing.

The hippies make a sex film (and two distinct edits of the film, with one being subbed in for the other at a certain point of the film in a manner that would have been extremely difficult to pull off [pun intended]), and Christine, the star of the film who lures John the the Happening, is clearly involved in the grand scheme at the centre of the 'plot', but how, and why? And just what is the 'grand plan' which has been concocted by the villains (which ultimately involves more than half the cast in its execution)? It places one of the plotters in extreme peril, with a significant chance of them being murdered by their mark, for no reason-they've already committed a murder, so just make sure that the mark gets framed for that one! 

There are inconsistencies and unresolved plot strands all over the place-when exactly did Christine move into her apartment? What's the significance of the ticket to Japan? We even get the resolution of a plot point that was never introduced-something about the time of Helen's death, which has either been teed up by a deleted scene, or is a victim of an on-the-fly rewriting with a resultant inattention to detail. Freda also shows a curious inability to pay off those sequences which see characters approaching, say, a chair from behind, unsure of whether or not it contains someone, or following the sound of someone's voice. Part of the problem lies in the editing-the climactic scene in which John confronts 'Helen' in a cathedral suffers from turgid editing which obfuscates his point of view for too long, but the shot selection and framing is often sloppy too.

John is played by the one and only Klaus Kinski, in one of his very few non-Herzog leading roles (his first real such role, in fact). He was apparently reluctant to take the role, turning it down according to Roberto Curti because he didn't want to play a psychopath (a curious stance to adopt, because the only properly psychopathic thing about the character as he exists on screen is the person playing him). He's no-one's idea of a dashing romantic lead, but he reins in his excesses, and avoids unnecessary gnashing of gnashers, to which he was often susceptible. He does take this too far on occasion, though-witness the scene where he's showing his (step-)father-in-law the stag film, only to discover that someone has switched his reels for a different edit. Instead of speaking up and trying to explain what's happened, he merely stands there dumbstruck, something which might be believable initially, but surely you'd find your voice at some stage. He then throws the film in the fire, even though it may prove to be a crucial clue* (fortunately, much like the movie as a whole, this particular film fails to catch fire). Kinski seems more interested in transforming into a pseudo-private eye, stalking the streets of London (occasionally) wearing a trilby and trenchcoat as he seeks... what exactly? We're not sure that he wasn't the architect behind the car crash; after all, he knew his wife was cheating on him, and he stood to gain financially from her death. So, is he trying to prove that she's dead, to settle his nerves? Is he hoping against hope that she's still alive? You could argue that in order to allow for both these possibilities, the film can't tip its hat towards one or the other of these motivations; however, Klaus could insist that he wants to prove she's still alive, say, while secretly hoping that she's dead. This is a giallo** after all! As it is, he never really says anything, and the character is horrendously underwritten. Jean Sorel, the perennial whipping boy of the giallo critics, is far more compelling in Perversion Story, aided in no small part by the script and plot making it clear that his character has much to gain, and, simultaneously, much to lose. 

The film's title, which on the face of it would seem to refer to the possibility of Helen's resurrection (and then her apparently disfigured visage), could also refer to something which threw me on first viewing (something which, as I've acknowledged before, may be more of a failing on my part than the film's): the resemblance between Lisa, Helen's lesbian lover, and Alice, John's secretary who is also his occasional lover. It's probably a deliberate choice-they're each the lover of one of the married couple, and one loves John whereas the other despises him, but it does muddy the waters somewhat unless you're really on your toes in terms of facial recognition (or hair recognition-Alice has longer hair). And John in many ways is also two-faced to Alice, largely treating her with disdain before he deigns to permit her to make love with him late on in the film. And, of course, there is one further instance of 'double-facing'-the devious plot which forms the centre of whatever plot the film has.

I've been pretty down on this film, but it's not actually as bad as I've made it out to be-after all, Klaus Kinski + Riccardo Freda can't = terrible. Neither are firing on all cylinders though, but Nora Orlandi, with both her orchestral score and the pop song that forms one of those kind-of plot points, saves the day by being at the absolute top of her game. There's also some great driving footage in London, and if nothing else, the film perfectly captures the passing of the torch from the old school gothic style to the freewheeling free love era. One final thought, which applies to Perversion Story as much as this film-if I had to discern whether or not a mysterious woman was my partner, I think I'd be able to state with certainty based on their manner, voice etc. And, as happens in both films, if I was afforded the privilege of seeing her boobies, I'd be left with no doubt whatsoever. Maybe that's just me, maybe I'm a pervert. But even if I am, my point still stands (ithankyou).   

*It may well have been, given that the police admit that they've used illegal tactics to ensnare the mastermind behind the plot, except the second-in-command then helpfully, under no pressure whatsoever, confesses everything.

**There's been a lot written about how the film is also a krimi; nonsense-if it hadn't been financed by noted Krimi producers no-one would have even given this angle a second thought.

A composer who's taken out a month-long lease on a luxury villa in order to complete his latest project-a score for an upcoming horror film-begins to suspect that the previous tenant, a mysterious woman called Linda, may still be hanging around and may be murdering neighbouring women. Or she may not be, who knows?

We know, and that's one of the main issues plaguing this film-a full hour elapses between the first on-screen murder and the discovery of the corpse (plus a bonus corpse) by one of the film's characters. Much of the film's running time is taken up by the lead character, Andrea Occhipinti's Bruno, gradually beginning to suspect what we've long known to be true-someone is butchering women in his gaff. There's very little sleuthing on the agenda-apart from one of those plot devices where a key clue can apparently be deciphered by decoding a work of art-instead, Bruno spends a lot of time walking slowly around his house (an allegedly "very large, very isolated" villa, as one character intones over a shot of the property which shows another house nearby in the background). To be fair, he's right to move with caution-the house doesn't seem to have any working locks, and women keep jumping out at him from behind doors and curtains. His girlfriend (twice) and two girls who live locally (again showing it ain't that isolated) call in on Bruno seemingly on a whim, and to give him his due he takes it in his stride-he barely raises an eyebrow when Katia, a neighbour who he's never met before, jumps out at him in a downstairs room late at night.

The film was initially conceived as a TV miniseries, and shot with that format in mind. If A Blade in the Dark had indeed been presented in the intended manner-four short episodes, each leading up to a murder/set piece-then it would likely work far better. Each episode would begin slowly, feature a fair bit of Bruno walking around to somewhat increase the tension, and culminate in a bit of the ol' deep red. The set pieces aren't bad-the second, a brutal bathroom slaughter, is particularly effective, and likely the reason why the project was deemed unsuitable for broadcast on TV.* Taken as a whole, though, the way the film essentially 'resets' post-murder for what would the beginning of the next episode means that there's very little cumulative build of tension, and the whole thing begins to drag somewhat.

Speaking of, let's drill into the killer's backstory, which also ultimately provides some hefty subtext, something not always present in Italian genre offerings. The film opens with a scene from the horror film-within-the-film in which Bob off House by the Cemetery shows that he's learned Absolutely Nothing from his experiences there. Egged on by two male friends, he descends to the darkened basement of a house in search of a lost bouncy ball. The ball is flung back up the stairs, leaving a bloody mark on the wall. Oooh, scary! At least, that's the opinion of the horror film-within-a-film's director Sandra (A WOMAN?!?!), who's decreed that no-one should see the final reel of the film until it's released because it's too damn scary. Except, she does show Bruno (who, after all, should have an idea of what his score will be accompanying) the Bob scene, which turns out to be from the infamous final reel ("Reel 12" as she calls it, or "Reel 10" as it's labelled in the lab). Such inconsistencies are to be expected, I suppose, when you let someone with a woman's brain direct a film.

But my solid, masculine mind digresses. Bob is still sporting the classic 'woman doing a child's voice' tones despite there clearly being other vocal options available-his friends, after all, are dubbed by boys (or else women who are able to do proper boy impressions). So why is he still saddled with the same old ridiculous voice? Is it because it's part of Giovanni Frezza's brand? Is it because Bob's required to do a full-on scream, which doesn't sound that odd coming from someone with the voice of an adult woman? Or is there something deeper at play? After all, Bob's taunted by his friends with a chant of "You're a female, you're a female!" And, vocally at least, he is. Wouldn't you get a bit confused if you were Bob, having the voice of a woman, and being told by your young chums that you are indeed a female?

That's what's happened here anyway, as (SPOILERS!) even though the killer is apparently someone called Linda, and wears red nail polish (as, of course, do all the female characters) and high heels (with both fashion choices being afforded a lot of emphasis in the shot selection), the big twist is that it's actually a man (the letting agent) dressed up as a woman. Bob, AKA Linda AKA Tony the Letting Agent, is a friend of the director of the horror film, who has made a film which contains scenes which happen to depict formative traumatic events from Bo-L-ony's childhood.** This despite Bo-L-ony not having actually confided in Sandra, the director-she's just happened to recreate them in her film! And, even more astoundingly, Bo-L-ony knows that they're contained in the final reel, despite said reel being famously off-limits! Someone should tell Lamberto Bava that his film sometimes displays all the internal logic of a bloody female!!!

And so the shocking twist-shocking, anyway, if you saw it back when the film was released and hadn't recently seen Dressed to Kill (or Psycho, twenty three years previously)-is that a man is dressing as a woman. Oh, and killing people, that's shocking too. But the film is clearly trying to provide a decent helping of our old aforementioned friend, subtext, possibly to make up for a lack of thrills and spills. The budget was clearly very low, with a small cast-too small, as by the time of the reveal there's literally no-one else the killer could be-and 95% of the action taking place in a single location, so an attempt has been made to throw some cerebral shit at the wall to see if it'll stick.

It's hardly revolutionary to speak of a knife as a phallus, and a stab wound as feminine-it's one of the more perfunctory slang terms for a vagina, after all. The knife used by the killer here, one of those retractable break-off-blade ones (I believe that is the technical term for them), bursts forth like an erection before each murder-its first appearance comes when Bo-L-ony is literally looking at a nudie magazine. Bo-L-ony is ultimately dispatched when Bruno flips them over causing them to stab themselves in the crotch, in a moment that is so ripe with symbolism that I don't think I need to expound upon it here. They crumple to the ground sporting their freshly created stab wound muttering about how they're not a female child (which, to be fair, no one was really suggesting) and the threat to gender norms has been allayed.

I don't think there's much worth in deciding whether a film such as this shows a progressive or regressive attitude towards woman, transvestism and childhood trauma etc-it's a piece of popular entertainment from a very Catholic country made a long time ago, so it's not going to be a trendsetter of liberal attitudes. If someone from the 1920s somehow saw this film they'd probably agree that lines such as  "As a woman, I'm a physical coward" hadn't aged well, and you're always playing with fire if you hint at any kind of correlation between transsexualism and acts of evil. There does seem to be an awareness that a less-traditional world may be just around the corner, however-witness the aforementioned woman director, and Bruno's girlfriend acts in a play about "homosexuality in females". There's the sense that the group of middle aged men responsible for this film were trying to add weight to the script by engaging with the 'modern world', they're just not comfortable enough or aware enough of what exactly that world is to do it justice.

The English dub is one of those where the dialogue seems to have been put through a prototype version of Google translate, and is frequently extremely clunky (but quotable)-Bruno's girlfriend's opening line of "It's me, Julia-your girl!" being a classic, but there is a lot of extremely ornate phrasing going on too. And you'll learn that "in the feathers" is apparently the cool, new slang for "in bed". There's also a nice throwaway line by Tony (of Bo-L-ony fame) when he says "I have to go and change" before departing, supposedly on a business trip, but actually on a murder trip.

So, all in all this isn't a great giallo. It's not bad though-it'd be impossible for someone called Bava to make one that's anything less than watchable. He'd return to the villa-set giallo with a bigger budget (and greater success) a few years later with Delirium, but don't totally discount this one. As I said, it'd likely have played much better if serialised as intended, and there's at least some sort of attempt to add in a bit of subtext. That said, subtext is all well and good, but a film like Torso, which is pretty much all text, is a damn sight more enjoyable than this one! (Though I suppose you could make a case for Torso having a 'twisted sexuality' subtext, depicting as it does a multiracial lesbian couple having it off in the feathers...)

*Check out the first set piece for one of the most egregious examples of the  manipulation of off-frame space you'll ever see-a jump scare which, when reviewed logically-requires the victim to completely ignore the killer approaching in full view until a knife is thrust into the frame from point-blank range.

**It's worth pointing out that whereas Child Bob is a boy with a woman's voice, Linda is a 'woman' with what can only be described as a man's voice-she sounds like the dubbing editor invited his campest friend into the booth and told him to moan and whisper like a girl. And speaking of whispering, if you're a killer going through a psychotic episode, don't whisper your name into a recording microphone and follow it up by saying you have a secret that no-one must know.

This is a film which is sorta-kinda linked to the 'Death Walks' series by virtue of sharing a leading lady in Susan Scott (and canes are typically used to aid perambulation as well). It's certainly not brilliant; it might be really bad, but it's hard to say for sure. And here's why.

Whilst waiting for her husband to show up to take her aunt and uncle to the airport, Kitty passes the time by using one of those public telescope things you get sometimes at viewing points. Seeking out her own house, she accidentally stumbles on a murder-in-progress, seen through the window of a residence. Just when she's about to see the killer's face as he leaves the house (the fact that we can see his face in profile throughout the murder is never mentioned, possibly because the person doubling for the murderer is not actually a character/official actor in the film) her pre-paid time at the tele ends. After initially struggling to convince the police of what she saw (see Death Walks at Midnight for more), things swiftly progress to the point where eyewitnesses who saw the killer making his escape are turning up dead, and it turns out that the killer may have previous-an Australian ballet dancer was murdered in similar circumstances a short time before. Top of the range forensics work (not really) reveals that the killer utilised a cane around the crime scenes. When a third ballet dancer, who was known to Kitty and her husband, is also murdered, it seems that the solution is to be found in a local dance academy...

Remarkably, the idea that the murder of three ballerinas may be linked to their shared profession is presented as being a piece of deduction worthy of Sherlock Holmes when Alberto, Kitty's limping husband, stumbles upon the notion. Certainly it's a line of investigation which hasn't occurred to the dimwitted police force, whose entire process seems to revolve around pressing innocent citizens into service as bait to lure the killer out into the open (indeed, the investigating inspector makes no bones about this being their tactic in a conversation with Alberto, one of his baits). The only fish who takes a bite out of this approach is the cane-using chief of police, who tries to pick up Kitty when she poses as a prostitute. The film seems to hold authority figures in disdain-something established early on when Kitty seeks help in reporting the murder she's witnessed. What she thinks is a policeman is actually an off-duty fireman, who couldn't be less moved by her claims of having witnessed a murder. This performance level is maintained by the police, who focus on the cane lead rather than the ballet lead, despite the film taking place in a world in which the majority of the population are seemingly perambulatorily challenged. Just as how in The Iguana with the Tongue of Fire everyone in rainy Ireland sports natty sunglasses, the Rome of this film would seem to be the epicentre of a thriving cane retail business.

After a fairly classic set-up-voyeurism, a black-clad knife-wielding killer (identified by the fuzz as that most gialloey of characters, the Sex Killer) and a husband for a suspect-the film goes slightly off-piste in its approach. It initially seems primed to be what Michael McKenzie would term an 'F Giallo', with Nieves Navarro's Kitty the focus of both the plot and the killer's ultimate attentions, but somewhere along the way the narrative focus shifts somewhat, and ends up completely unhinged (to the point that her character's main function towards the end is to take the piss. You'll understand when you watch the film [and it has to be said that normal service does resume at the very end, with Kitty assuming the role of victim]). Robert Hoffmann's Alberto, by virtue of his amazing brainwave linking the murder of ballet dancers to ballet, becomes the de facto chief investigator (as stated, the police ultimately prove worthless), but he is literally and figuratively scrambling around in the dark when he breaks into the ballet academy which links the victims, unsure of for what he's really searching. This turns out to be a photograph which shows (SPOILERSish) a ballet pianist accompanying a ballet dancer (one of the victims), which apparently is proof of the pianist's guilt, despite the fact that we've previously seen him accompanying another of the victims IRL without anyone batting an eye. But then, in a twist worthy of a poorly-written giallo, it turns out that there was no need to even pursue an investigation of the ballet school, as the killer's wife finds some notes, which conveniently confess his guilt, hidden among his sheet music.

So, ultimately, all the investigations and using-people-as-live-bait was for nought. But then again, the meat of a giallo really exists around the investigation, not within it, so this isn't a terminal failing of the film, but it does suggest a certain deficiency at script level. And such limp (oh!) plotting would be fine if the film was filled with great music, style, sex and all the rest of the things that giallohounds love. And here's where things get weird-the music is mostly forgettable, apart from one droning sting which effortlessly generates tension early on in the film, but is curiously absent for the climax (which plays largely sans musical accompaniment [semi-ironic, given the profession of the killer]). As for style-there's a shit-ton of handheld shots which on a purely technical level are fairly bad, but there are too many of them for it not to be somewhat of a stylistic choice-an attempt to add kinetic energy and paper over a paper-thin narrative which ultimately is about a woman finding some pieces of paper off-screen. There is sex and nudity aplenty, typically presented in a voyeuristic rather than erotic style. And there's not a huge amount of gore, but what's there is decent-aided by the use of pig carcasses rather than dummies. But overall, there's something just a bit off about the film, and it's hard to know whether this is by design on the part of Maurizio Pradeaux or just accidental by dint of amateurishness.

Narratively, the film almost starts in the wrong place, with the murder of the Australian having been committed beforehand, and only existing as something the characters reference. The past, and events which occur outside the timeframe of the film, is no stranger to gialli, of course-childhood or adulthood trauma suffered in the past accounts for a large percentage of the killers' motivations (eg here). It's just unusual for a murder that's part of the main sequence of (three) killings, thus forming part of the central narrative, not to be represented on-screen. There's further off-kilterishness when we essentially have the field of potential suspects narrowed to 2 with fully half an hour left, when an eyewitness reacts with terror upon seeing a photograph of some of the film's characters. You could charitably say that there are four suspects, given there are 4 people in the photo, but two of them are women, and the person body doubling for the killer in the opening scene could not have been less feminine if he tried. Furthermore, one of these two suspects, despite being ostensibly a main character, doesn't actually say anything in the film (something which isn't explained). And as an aside to the furthermore, the two non-suspect-but-theoretically-suspect women are sisters/twins, played by the same actress, something which is not made at all clear for quite some time in the film-Pradeaux trying to bamboozle us, or just being bad at his job?

Having said all that, I do like films where the viewer is forced to pay close attention to proceedings to figure out what's going on, in effect operating as a kind of amateur detective at the level of plot-see Sonno Profondo for an extreme example of this. As I've said, I'm not sure whether or not this was an deliberate choice by the filmmakers, but at the end of the day, who cares? It is what it is, and what it is is... what*?

PS It's worth pointing out that the German version of the film offers a different explanation to the English and Italian versions, in which the killer is pretending to suffer from limp issues (little double entendre there, which works very neatly indeed). In the German dub, the limp (walking) is real, reawoken by a kind of PTSD, and the limp (willy) is part of the general humiliation/motivation. This works better for me, although because we properly only see the killer walk once, it doesn't really matter whether or not they were pretending to need a cane. In some ways, these different explanations perfectly showcase how the giallo film diverges from the classic detective story-plot, so central to the latter, is just one of many key elements of the former, and sometimes isn't all that key at all.

*A slightly weird, yet slightly run-of-the-mill, giallo

This film, along with its predecessor Phenomena, are commonly held to represent the point where Dario Argento's work passed the peak of its parabolic curve, and began its descent back towards zero (and towards absolute zero, post 2007). While I'd argue that there have been several upward spikes on that curve (Sleepless and Do You Like Hitchcock, to name a couple of examples), it's probably correct to say that this film does represent something of a watershed for Argento, as the impressionistically heightened operatic (yes) environment in which it takes place is worlds away from the Rome which was inhabited by Sam Dalmas and Marc Daly years before; a Rome which was never to reappear in his work.

After being unexpectedly promoted from understudy to take the leading role of Lady Macbeth in Verdi's famous operatic adaptation of Shakespeare, ingenue Betty attracts the attention of a maniac who likes to tie her to poles, stick needles under her eyelids to prevent her from blinking, and murder her friends and colleagues. Could the murderer be linked to Betty's sadistic-and dead-mother? Given that she regularly appears in obtuse flashbacks, of course they are! Seemingly reluctant to place too much trust in the investigating police inspector, she seeks solace in her matronly agent and pervy opera director, both of whom prove to be of little help. Until, that is, El Directore comes up with an ingenius/ridiculous plan to identify the killer, which somehow works. That's the end of it, except it isn't, as no-one seems to be able to actually apprehend the killer, who reappears for two slasheriffic attempts on Betty's life.

If early Argento is pulpy, detective fiction-inspired fun, this film is a different sort of pulp: shapeless, formless goo, but-unlike fruity pulp-it's still rather tasty. It's full on, balls-to-the-wall Argento from start to finish, with the style completely overwhelming the narrative, which is little more than a succession of loosely-formed ideas. He's generally incapable of-or, more likely, disinterested in-filming a straightforward dialogue scene, preferring instead a plethora of oblique angles and swooping camera moves. The camera is in almost continual motion, evoking the flight of the ravens which proves such a vital, if preposterous, plot point. The ravens provide a continuity of sorts from the animal excesses of Phenomena, with the traditional CUs of the killer's eyeball replaced with shots of the birds' eyes, with their disconcerting sideways blinking.

The tracking dreamscapey shots from Phenomena are also in evidence here; indeed the film sometimes plays as if directed by a child who's just been given his first steadicam for Christmas. The camera ducks and dives through the Freudian corridors of memory for the frequent flashback scenes, which strangely seem like the most relaxed moments of the film, probably because of the low key, eerie soundscape, which is in stark contrast to the bombastic opera and rock which is liberally drenching* the rest of the film.

The film is constructed around three set pieces, the first two featuring the aforementioned 'needles under the eyes' trick, and the third being an apartment-set game of cat-and-mouse. The needle scenes, which occasionally creak from a technical standpoint (understandably so-it's unrealistic to expect Argento to be able to use real needles under real eyes, however much he may love tormenting beautiful women), are nevertheless memorably off-kilter, and in some ways represent an early stab at torture porn (my own film The Farm, which is some ways is a peripheral member of that disreputable subgenre, contains a scene that uses a similar central conceit [and which I wrote and filmed before I'd seen Opera, so shut up]), with Betty tortured by being forced to stand and watch people being more literally tortured right in front of her. (Her being an avatar for the audience has been much remarked upon, not least by Argento, so I won't get into it here.)

The lengthy apartment sequence comes close to being Argento's crowning glory as a director. The conception is brilliant, the execution frequently as impressive, as the simple set up plays out in a claustrophobic  space bathed in Bava-esque lighting. The dialogue, however, can be a little on the nose, particularly when Betty and Daria Nicolodi's character are talking, which punctures the tension somewhat, and the inclusion of the angry mother is a bridge too far in terms of realism. Obviously, the sequence as a whole is never going to be confused with a Rosselini neo-realist film, but there has to be at least a toe grounding it in reality in order for us to buy it as a genuinely dangerous situation for Betty, and the sequence's last couple of minutes see the film float off into the metaphorical clouds.

Speaking of last couple of minutes floating off into metaphorical clouds (liquid-smooth segue there), the ending of Opera has been much discussed-and much criticised-over the years. As with all of the film, it's not perfect, with the epilogue never quite seeming to be really happening in any meaningful sense-instead, it seems like someone's dream (as does the film as a whole really). The second return of the killer (after he's already popped up in Betty's changing room post-opera) owes something to the slasher movie craze and the 'undefeatable boogeyman' personified by Michael Myers and Jason Vorhees. Betty's descent into madness has come in for much ridicule, but in some ways it's actually a more realistic ending than that of the majority of gialli, which posit a return to normalcy which completely ignores the carnage which has been wrought across the preceding film. After all, if someone hacked and slashed their way through your family and friends, would you be able to walk off into the sunset once they've been dispatched? Having said that, the rapidity of Betty's descent-one minute making rational plans to trick the killer and buy her some time until the police's arrival, the next crawling around chatting to lizards-is a bit ridiculous. But, again, are we expecting Rome Open City Part 11?**

This dreamlike maelstrom of ideas and style clearly did have personal resonance for Argento, being inspired as it was by his own experiences directing an adaptation of Verdi's Macbeth. The backstage chaos is staged as only someone with direct experience could depict it-indeed, it's probably the only properly realistic aspect of the film. Ian Charleson's  charactor is clearly an avatar (that word again) for Argento himself, as he struggles to deal with diva-like behaviour from his cast, an obvious attraction for his young leading lady, and the critics who approach his work with sharpened knives. Speaking of knives (this is turning into Segue City), the one favoured by the killer is incredibly impressive-looking on screen, with a deep metallic gleam catching the light and showcasing the threatening design.*** Charleson also refers to his proclivity for having a wank before filming a scene-whether or not this is true of Argento, I'd argue that the film as a whole could be viewed as him having one big wank.

Finally, I'll briefly touch on something with which I myself wrestled when writing my own giallo, The Three Sisters-the mask of a masked killer. Specifically, does the killer wear the mask every time they're doing killer-related activities? They certainly wear it whenever they're going to appear on screen-that's just common sense, as it prevents us, the audience from knowing who done it too soon in the film. However, the scheme cooked up by Argento/Charleson to uncover the identity of the killer wouldn't work here unless he engaged in one specific activity sans mask (similarly, a sequence in my film required the killer to be recognised leaving a murder scene by a passer-by, something I achieved through a POV sequence of the mask being removed before exiting the building. I did also include flashback shots at the climax which suggested that the mask wasn't donned for all of the murders-conveniently, only for those which were depicted in full on screen).

One caveat to this is that there is a chance that ravens can recognise someone be their scent or shape, rather than their facial features (or Argento might take his lead from Phenomena and argue that they're slightly telepathic or something), but I think we're meant to take it at face value here, and allow that the killer didn't don their mask for one crucial activity. Given that as far as the characters know the killer has always been, the 'ingenious scheme' is highly flawed, albeit it succeeds against the better odds. Kind of-and stay with me here-like the film itself!

PS I'd recommend switching to Italian for the post-killer-reveal scenes (if not for the film as a whole), as the English mix is muddy in the extreme. The killer, who was re-dubbed after poor notices in the film's festival screenings, is extremely low in the mix, often drowned out by Christina Marsillach's yelps and sobs. 

*Speaking of drenching, what's Betty doing out in a rainstorm?! Surely that can't be good for the ol' vocal chords!

**The crazed voiceover is somewhat trailed earlier in the film with a one-off piece of narration from Betty. Indeed, sporadic narration is something of an Argento trademark, with Suspiria, Tenebrae and Phenomena all featuring early narrators who burn brightly and then fail to reappear.

***The only time it doesn't look that threatening is when the killer pulls it from Betty's boyfriend's mouth, at which point it seems to be missing the top half of the blade. However, given how silly the bf is-moaning about how their relationship has changed because of Betty's newfound fame literally minutes after she's stepped off-stage-the fact that the lack of a cutting edge doesn't seem to hinder the killer's exertions can only come as a relief.

One of the more out-there 80s Italian films (which is saying something), this is one of a number of gialli set in suburban villi (villas) which formed something of a subgenre at the time (think Tenebrae and A Blade in the Dark). 

Former model Gloria has inherited her dead husband's wealth, and spends her time helpfully expositing the circumstances of his death and running a nudie magazine. When models begin turning up dead, their corpses being photographed in a mysterious location in front of a giant snapshot of Gloria from her modelling days, it seems clear an obsession with her is the root cause. Is the killer trying to plant suspicion on Gloria, or are they trying to drive up sales of the magazine through publicity? Or are they doing the murders because of the most garbled, nonsensical bit of reasoning you've ever heard? (Yes.) Will Gloria escape alive, will the genre stalwarts George Eastman and Daria Nicolodi be given anything at all to do with their characters, and will Gloria's pervy peeping tom neighbour get his comeuppance for being a smarmy little sex pervert?

Well, no, he won't actually-he'll turn out to be the hero. But first things first. This film is in many ways a long, long way from the early examples of the genre (which was, of course, pretty much invented by Delirium director Lamberto Bava's father, Mario), but it could also be seen as a very 1980s updating of Blood and Black Lace. Consider the fashion house(ish) setting, the almost total absence of a logical A-B-C mystery (unlike The Girl Who Knew Too Much-excellent reference to the killer in that film's motive there), and the preponderance of pulsing colourful lights. However, Lamberto and Mario are very different directors. To be specific, Mario was an extremely skilled craftsman, capable of creating sumptuous and ingenious visuals on the skimpiest of budgets. Lamberto was not a skilled craftsman, but he could create some damn entertaining films. And this is one of the most entertaining of the lot.

One of the main 'innovations' of this film, and something which has been discussed at length before now, is the 'point-of-view' element to the early couple of murder scenes. Apart from a couple of brief instances this doesn't actually involve a POV camera, rather the general mise-en-scene morphs into a reflection of the killer's warped state of mind. The upshot is that we see the victims as a walking eyeball and bee respectively, lit by an expressionistic pulsing colour-changing light. The bee victim (played by Sabrina of 'Boys, Boys, Boys' fame) is clearly depicted as such because the killer is about to kill her with a load of bees, and the first victim-the walking eyeball-is presumably a hint at the scopophilic* subtext for anyone who's missed it.

The third murder scene (incorporating the third and fourth murders) dispenses with the subjective shenanigans, with both murders occurring offscreen. This, of course, should be an indicator to any serious giallohound that all may not be what it seems. Indeed, (SPOILERS!) the 'mystery' depends on us buying Gloria failing to notice that her brother isn't actually dead, merely made up to appear so. This is something which can work(ish) in literature (as Agatha Christie showed in one of her most famous works), but on film it's problematic. We, the audience, buy the apparent murder-after all, the makeup has been applied by the same makeup artist who's created all the other death effects in the film!-but in the world of the film it stretches credulity to breaking point to suggest that Gloria wouldn't notice that something's amiss. Saying that, there would be an undeniable shock to seeing a loved one apparently dead, so critical faculties might not necessarily be firing on all cylinders. Either way, we as the audience have no real way of telling, which makes it almost impossible to crack the case using deductive reasoning (something which this film also shared with B&BL).  (END SPOILERS)

The film does use some classic misdirection/red herring-planting techniques. George Eastman, playing a scoundrel former lover of Gloria, is shown to repeatedly lie about his whereabouts, capped by a wonderful moment where we see him telling Gloria over the phone that he'll be back in Rome next Monday, with the Colosseum in full view behind him. There are also frequent cuts to Flora, Gloria's former mentor and current business rival, acting suspiciously right after evidence of the latest murder has surfaced. This is something I actually played with in a slightly different manner in my own giallo, cutting to a certain character after almost all of the murder scenes, making sure each time that she was behaving in a normal, unsuspicious manner. The idea was that the audience might  notice and think that I was trying to sneak a link between the character and the murders past them, when in fact the character turns out to be innocent.

Lambava goes so far as to (SPOILERS) try to sneak a couple of cheeky references to the killer's guilt past the audience, with no double-bluffing involved. The killer-someone very close to Gloria who is instrumental in the day-to-day operations of her publishing empire-tells her after the latest model's death that "sales are booming," to which Gloria replies "They should-thanks to all the work you've done."  Minutes later, after viewing the corpse of Beegirl (who he'd shagged right before she died), he muses aloud that he was "probably the last one to see her alive." The police detective, understandably not picking up on the fact that the killer is planting information for the film's audience to notice on a second viewing of the film,  merely replies by saying "The last one? No. You're forgetting her killer." (END SPOILERS)

There are a few moments which suggest that the film is aware of the mild absurdity of its setting, with the struggle of a rich businesswoman to hang on to her publishing empire not exactly something to which we can all relate. A throwaway reference is made to Gloria's 'Ask Gloria' column in her mag being written by someone else, and the predatory competitor who keeps trying to buy Gloria out barks for an alcoholic loosener, to which her assistant replies: "Isn't is a little early to be drinking? It's not quite 9:30 yet." (This is 9:30am I hasten to add.) Another moment which is either knowingly filmic or showing an unthinking adherence to cliché comes when George Eastman mentions a proposition to Gloria in a bar, only for us to cut to the couple walking into her house, seamlessly picking up the conversation where they left off in the bar. This simply doesn't happen in real life, any is merely a tool used by films to expediently move characters from one location to another without disrupting the flow too much (although The Limey does experiment with this technique, to extremely interesting effect. However, that's one of the greatest films ever made; Delirium is not). 

I've gotten this far without mentioning sex or nudity too much, for which I probably deserve a round, juicy medal. Delirium seems to have been conceived by producer Luciano Martino to showcase lead actress Serena's Grandis, although her acting ability is fairly minisculo. She even manages to persuade George Eastman to dispense with his trademark sex jeans (think Joe D'Amato's Caribbean films) for a bathtub romp, although he does seem to focus most of his attentions on the outside of her thigh. Being very much a product of a pre-MeToo era, in an un-MeToo country, the film's attitude towards women is predictably iffy. The first victim responds to a warning about going home alone from a party at Gloria's house ("You never know who you might run into") with a glib reply that could (one would hope) only have been written by a middle-aged man ("Just as long as he's cute"). The film is drenched with the sexual allure of the female body, with the killer's motive (although mostly garbled nonsense) stemming from his inability to deal with same. It's not unironic that a film which ostensibly judges a killer for his sexual perversions is simultaneously salivating over voluptuous female bodies (literally simultaneously when it comes to the film's climax [which features the killer being shot in the dick and splooshing blood all over Gloria's exposed body]).

The nosey neighbour, played by Colombian cyclist Rigoberto Uran (there's a niche reference for you) is clearly a take-off of Jimmy Stewart in Vertigo. His character is also someone to whom the progress of time and societal standards have not been kind. His pervy phone shtick is tolerated to a ridiculous degree by Gloria, and the fact that he's lonely and disabled hardly excuses his behaviour. In some ways it's refreshing to see a disabled character who's not the focus of the film's sympathy (nor is his disability used as a dubious justification for his being  the murderer). However, (SPOILERS) his ultimate status as the 'hero' of the film leaves something of a sour taste, and I defy anyone to witness his shit-eating grin after vanquishing the murderer and not feel an intense urge to break his spine so the fucker really can't walk. (END SPOILERS.)  Still, even when it's making you angry, the film is hard to hate. It's not a great giallo, or even a good one. It's not a good film by most metrics. But it sure as shit is mental (delirious) and guaranteed to entertain. Classic Lambava.

*For those of you who aren't wankers who studied English Literature or Film Studies at university, scopophilia is pleasure derived from observing/looking, usually of an erotic bent. Slasher films tend to be a rich ground for discourse on the subject, due to the frequent use of POV shots and nudie ladies, and her we also have the nosey neighbour and the general theme of photographing women for good measure.