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.

Of all the films about which I say 'this isn't really a giallo, but...' this is among the most not-really-a-giallo of them all. To be honest, I'm only including it because I remembered it as having slightly more of a mystery at the centre, and thus took notes as I watched it, and I don't want those wrist exertions to go to waste. 

Lucio Fulci, playing himself (or a very similar character who has the same job, face and body as him, but with a different voice-he was dubbed by someone else in every version-and a made up title [Doctor]) is gradually unravelling. He's knee-deep in production on his latest gore epic, and having increasing trouble distinguishing reality from fantasy. As he seeks solace in the metaphorical arms and literal mind of a psychoanalyst, local prostitutes begin to turn up dead. Does the trail of destruction lead, as he himself believes, to Fulci's own door? 

No, it doesn't-the psychoanalyst is the killer. That's not overly a spoiler, as he lays bare his fiendish plan to frame Lucio for his killings at the half hour mark of the film, which I would deem to be early enough to not constitute a spoiler. If you disagree, I can only apologise. However, to approach this film as a mystery film is to miss the point (and I can speak from experience; see opening para). It's really more an exercise in self-satire/parody, with Fulci simultaneously embracing and disparaging his reputation as a gorehound director. Saying that, much of the film-certainly the bulk of the middle third-consists of gore clips recycled from other films he'd produced or directed, so the self-examination conceit is likely the result of expediency as much as a genuine wish to interrogate his career and reputation.

He's certainly not afraid to dive wholeheartedly into the role and 'character', one early sequence constructed around orgy clips from his own Ghosts of Sodom making him come across as a demented old pervert. The set-up was possibly conceived as an excuse to take another pop at one of Fulci's favourite targets (along with the church): psychoanalysis (apart from being an excuse to recycle a lot of old footage). The psychoanalyst  (/psycho analyst) is shown to be exploiting his patient for personal gain, and he salaciously gets off on watching Fulci's goriest work. Fulci himself makes reference to the cliché of horror films inspiring real-life violence, and that's exactly what does happen with the good doctor here.* 

However, the fact that the on-screen violence is shown to be inspiring the 'real' life murders of the doc suggests an ambivalence on Fucli's part towards his work and cinematic violence in general. Far from repudiating the (ridiculous) theory linking on- and off-screen violence, he himself is influenced by the power of his filmic work to such an extent that he seems unable to distinguish between the two. So, we can interpret the inclusion of the psychoanalyst as a dig at what he sees as an exploitation of patients, and possibly an over-reliance on the power of images within that profession, but there's also an unquestionable ambivalence towards the power of the images which he himself created. 

Another way of looking at it would be to simply say that his own career, and thus self, was consumed by the power of the violent image to such an extent that it left precious little else. Certainly on a professional level, by the time he made this film he was only able to secure budgets to make horror films, and barrel-scraping budgets at that. 

So, let's deal with the film itself a little bit. It does bear some structural similarities with gialli, with a killer targeting prostitutes around Roma, and a bewildered central figure struggling to prove their innocence. However, the film takes almost every possible opportunity to subvert standard giallo practice, and could thus almost be seen as an anti-giallo. To give but a few examples: the killer outs themselves before any murders have been committed, the central character has no part in proving his innocence, and the final confrontation between killer and police occurs entirely off-screen. The police, in fact, play absolutely no part, with the Chief Inspector being on holiday for the duration of the film (and presumably not viewing the newly-active serial killer as worth abandoning the holiday for).

The murder scenes, which are mainly culled from existing films, show the difference between a stalk-and-slash set piece and a gore scene. These aren't necessarily mutually exclusive, as a tense stalk-and-slash can easily be followed by a gore-heavy murder, but gialli tended to contain examples of the former. We get a couple of tense scenes here, courtesy of giallo/slasher hybrid Massacre, but the rest of the inserts are exercises in special effects, which, shorn of any context, quickly lose any inherent power to shock. As a general rule, the camera stays still for gore scenes, its placement designed to showcase the special effects, whereas for tense stalk-and-slash sequences, the camera glides around the characters, functioning as an invisible net closing in on its victims. Even the stalk-and-slash scenes from Massacre don't really work when viewed here, as there's no real tension generated by placing characters we've never met before in peril. A talented director could, of course, potentially make an amazing standalone stalk scene, but that label doesn't really apply to Andrea Bianchi, who made Massacre. However, what little he does accomplish with his forest canoodling scenes merely highlights the lack of punch and affect afflicting the rest of the insert scenes. 

The fact that the audience knows the identity of the killer leaves Fulci as the only real presence in the film who's operating in the dark. He functions as a kind of audience cipher for much of the film-particularly the  insert-heavy middle third-standing around and watching the horrific goings-on, but powerless to intervene. (This is, of course, has much to do with the impossibility of editing him into already-existing footage.) He's impotent in the face of the horrific goings on, and clueless as to the identity of the murderer, almost as if Fulci is trying to create a cut-price copy of Dario Argento's audience-culpability treatise contained in his then-recent giallo Opera. 

The film's not unwatchable-Fulci actually commits gamely to proceedings, and the interweaving of the old footage is occasionally neatly done, not least when he recruits Robert Egon to reprise his role from Ghosts of Sodom (although the remainder of the Sodom footage is terribly shoehorned in, so he giveth and taketh at the same time). If there's any serious attempt to get to grips with his legacy, we can only conclude that he's reached a kind of uneasy truce with his work, as the final scene breaks the fourth wall with the wrapping of the filming of A Cat in the Brain, and he contentedly sails off into the sunset (on a yacht called 'Perversion') accompanied by a busty brunette. The truth is likely that he was less-than-satisfied, both with his career at this point and this film in particular, but given the paucity of budget he's done OK. Even if he clearly doesn't know how to turn on a microwave.

*The doc articulates the issue quite succinctly in an early session with Fulci, telling him that he's struggling due to a "breaking down [of] the boundary between what you film and what's real." This is accompanied by a portentious zoom into his face, denoting this as an Important Moment in the film. The session begins (onscreen, at least) in slightly more prosaic fashion, the doc mentioning that the recent manifestations of Fulci's mania have involved a (very specific) fear of "hamburgers and gardeners." This leads to Fulci describing his interactions with both (which we've already seen), despite the fact that he must have already just told the doc about them, hence the doc's comment which opened the scene. This is a classic example of filmic dialogue which bears no relation to how people actually talk in real life (something not uncommon in Italian genre films). 

It's hard to know what to make of this gothic giallo from Romano Scavolini. As a murder-mystery, it fails miserably. As a gothic horror, likewise. As an examination of the lingering effects of childhood grief, or of what happens when cracks appear in the tenuous structures of civilisation to which we all subscribe, it's also a failure. But as a film, it's a qualified success.

A young girl-the titular Mariale-watches her father gun down her mother and a nude lover in a countryside idyll. The father then turns the gun on himself. Years later, Mariale lives in her family's crumbling castle in near-captivity, sedated by her husband Paolo and their creepy servant Osvaldo. She manages to break the lock on one of the castle's telephones and dictates a telegram, to be sent to several old friends, inviting them to visit the castle. Despite Osvaldo's initial efforts to repel the visitors, Paolo decides to let them come in, hoping to persuade them to leave at the earliest opportunity. After taking a tour of the castle, the group play an after-dinner game of Mariale's choosing, which revolves around ideas of submission and domination. They also appear to have a bit of drink taken, and things very quickly get messy, with the already-unlikable visitors revealing even more reasons to hate them. Then, finally, they start being offed one by one, until the not-very-shocking, not-very-grisly truth is revealed.

This is a pretty uneven film, although considering it was made by the same man who gave us Nightmares in a Damaged Brain a few years later, that's not really surprising. As stated above, it doesn't really succeed on any specific level, but it is worth a watch nonetheless. The cast is pretty top-notch, with Ivan Rassimov notable in that he plays by far the most sympathetic character. Maybe 'sympathetic' isn't quite the right word, but he's willing to call the rest of them out for being the unlikable assholes that they are, and he's the only character who seems capable of something approaching rational thought (ironic given that the rest of them refer to him as 'Poet' in a snidey manner). His slamming of attempted rapist Jo's "idiotic talk and dirty kisses" is shady as fuck, too.

SPOLIERS! Mariale, who is simultaneously the main protagonist and antagonist, reacts slightly differently to Jo's attempted rape of his girlfriend Mercedes-she walks right up to him and kisses him. She's set up initially as a victim-we witness the traumatic childhood murder-suicide of her parents, and then discover her years later, apparently held prisoner by a callous husband and creepy servant. We sympathise with her attempts to avoid sedation, and cheer at the success of her cry for help, achieved after she breaks the flimsy lock on one of the telephones. Why she didn't just call the police should be the first question asked by the discerning viewer, who before long will have arrived at the incontrovertible conclusion that she must be guilty of the series of murders, despite her status as possibly the most likely suspect. 

NO SPOILERS! I say'before long'; that's not strictly true. The murders don't actually begin until 55 minutes have elapsed (if you discount the prologue killings). To make up for this, we're treated to a quick succession of kills for the next twenty minutes of so, none of which are top of the range set-pieces, although a dog-mauling scene is imaginatively shot with some interesting point-of-view camerawork, which doesn't intercut that well with the scene's non-POV footage. The very first murder is almost casually introduced, in a sequence which cuts between it and some softcore lesbianism, all scored to some light-hearted muzak (odd, as most of the rest of the score is nice and powerful). This-along with the lack of mystery at the heart of the plot-is one of the chief giallo failings of the film, which before that point has veered variously between gothic horror (never quite crossing into fully-fledged G.H. though) and bizarro satirical/social commentary-laden drama.

The exchanges between Gustavo and his black girlfriend Semy seem to exist to criticise a what would nowadays be referred to as 'toxic masculinity' (and racism), but on the other hand Semy doesn't help herself with some of her scatty behaviour and utterances. Scavolini also can't resist including a de rigeur 'exotic dance' scene for Semy either. Rassimov's Massimo, with whom we're most closely aligned, criticises Gustavo's behaviour (and, justifiably, that of most of the guests), which does suggest that this is one of the more socially-aware and progressive gialli. The game played post-dinner seems designed to expose the truth about human nature, specifically the selfishness and immorality which lurks just beneath the surface of respectable people with their respectable behaviour. The point is somewhat laboured, though, and could have been made in a more measured manner throughout the film, which instead moves clunkily from sequence to sequence in a stilted 'gothic scene to social commentary to murder set-piece' manner. There's a great opportunity for some early killing when the guests go exploring the tunnels in the castle's cellars-the separation of characters being a pre-requisite for murders in a single-location mystery-but Scavolini curiously passes it up, no doubt because his A to B to C formula hadn't yet reached K for Killing.

The existence of a thruple (a polygamous word for a three-person couple, keep up you squares) also hints at a progressive viewpoint, although this is undercut by the already-detailed rapey behaviour of one of the thruple's males, Jo. The other male in the triangle, Sebastiano, also covers himself in unglory when he chooses to covertly observe Jo's assault rather than intervene. In fact, Gustavo (who looks confusingly like Sebastiano) behaves in much the same manner when he stands idly by as his gf Semy tries to escape a horde of scorpions in the animal room. In both instances Rassimov's Massimo comes to the rescue, with Mariale gliding in after him to emphasise the increasing control which she's exerting on proceedings. The film could probably be seen as a treatise on the arrogance and underlying cowardice of the male, and the ability of the female to thrive when she escapes the domineering influence of the male, up to a point (the point being the final ten minutes). This interrogation of gender stereotypes is present right from the beginning, with Mariale's fully-clothed mother picnicing with a fully-nude dude.

SPOILERS! As well as gender stereotypes and behaviour dynamics, the film also somewhat investigates the effects of grief. I say 'somewhat' because while it does show that traumatic events of the past can exert an influence over present-day matters, with Mariale donning her mother's death dress to literally wear the events of the past on her sleeve, the execution-specifically, Mariale's executions-isn't exactly a nuanced representation of the effects of grief. But saying that, this is a giallo, not a Dogme film, and past traumas pretty much exist solely to provide a backstory/motive for a killer, and this film does scratch the surface of the topic more than most. It kind of has to, though, given that  unlike something like, say, Bird with the Crystal Plumage, we know the identity of the trauma victim from the start, so they're never far from position numero one in terms of suspects. 

NO SPOILERS! To sum up, this is a very flawed but somewhat interesting film. It's stylishly-shot (far, far, far more so than Nightmares), with the lighting on one shot which has the characters descending a staircase by candlelight being particularly impressive (most Italian films adopted a crude 'shine a torch at the actor with the candle' approach to lighting such sequences). There are also several stylish swooping camera moves, particularly during the debauched after-dinner behaviour, with the suggestion that the film is 'looking down' on its characters in more ways than one (specifically, in two ways). The music for this sequence is a thinly-veiled facsimile of In a Gadda Da Vida, a song which inspired more than one Italian knock-off. As for Scavolini, the jury's still out on him as far as I'm concerned, especially knowing the bizarre film he'd go on to create nine years later. Nightmares is either the work of a flawed genius who's decided to lower himself to making trash, or the work of someone who thinks he's a genius and has lowered himself to making trash. Or maybe it's just the work of a not-very-talented filmmaker who's prone to occasional flashes of eccentricity/inspiration. A White Dress for Mariale brings us no closer to solving that mystery, so kudos to Scavo for at least giving us one tough-to-crack puzzle.

This is definitely more of a supernatural gothic horror than a giallo, in as much as it is a supernatural gothic horror film which happens to feature two kills early on in which we cannot see the killer's face. But, it's usually listed as part of the giallo cannon, so here we go.

A young, incredibly beautiful and apparently dead woman is found in the wreckage of a crashed carriage in 1909 somewhere in Germany or Austria or Switzerland or Luxembourg. Despite being clinically deceased (no heartbeat; doesn't react when her eyeball is stabbed) she is to all intents and purposes 'alive', but cannot remember her name or from where she has come. A clue comes in the form of a neck pendant reading 'Greta 2006', which also incorporates an old Inca design which apparently was used in reincarnation rituals. Walter von Ravensbruck and his wife Eva, who discovered Greta in the wreckage, take her in and each fall in love with her. After a servant girl and the doctor who examined Greta after the crash are murdered, Eva takes against Greta and walls her into a disused room in the basement of their large house/castle. Mere walls aren't enough to contain an undead Swede however, and Greta returns to wreak havoc on the von Ravensbrucks, including Walter's father Herbert, to whom she was previously married (and to whose wedding Walter-who's about three years younger than his dad-and Eva apparently weren't invited). Will Greta ever find peace, and will the inspector sleepwalking his way through the film finally figure out what's going on?

This is different to most gialli (in that it's not a giallo, but whatevs) because the supernatural idea of a reincarnated woman turns out not to be merely a ruse designed to scare someone to death/into signing over their claim to an estate. This is made fairly explicit early on, in that our first glimpse of Greta is of her corpse laid out and being mourned by her incestuous brother, and it's confirmed when Klaus Kinski's mad doctor (he's not really meant to be mad, but come on-it's Klaus) can't detect a heartbeat and then sticks a pin in her eye to no response. A world in which reincarnation is possible is not really suited to a giallo film, as the threat of death-the bedrock upon which the genre's sense of danger is built-carries less weight if it's not a terminal event, but, as I've said (and will stop saying now), this isn't really a giallo.

We do get a couple of 'faceless killer'-style killings, although the fact that the mystery angle is suddenly dropped after killing number two suggests that the script, which was apparently more of a traditional mystery when first conceived, was adapted somewhat on the fly. From the point where Greta returns from her walled-in tomb we see her cut a swathe through the cast, and we can only assume that she was responsible for the two early murders (although there's a chance that the creepy butler Simeon, who seems to be in on her secret, was the initial killer; not that it really matters). It is notable that the first murder is committed by a shotgun, something rarely utilised in gialli (or slasher films) due to the slightly routine nature of a gunshot killing. D'Amato certainly does his best to sex things up here though, with some inventive, if ludicrously unrealistic, facial make-up effects.

There's a clear Poe influence at play, with cats suddenly becoming prominent right about the time that Eva walls Greta into the room in the basement. Plus, Walter actually resembles Poe fairly closely (and there's a bit of incest thrown in as well, which would no doubt have pleased ol' Edgar).  Greta's role as avenging angel clad in red and black can also be seen as a personification of the Red Death, with her second resurrection being revealed to Eva at a Masque-rade ball. The story is very much a hodgepodge of various fragments of Poe stories, with some gialloey iconagraphy* sprinkled on top, and a single reel diversion into the realm of the sex film (where D'Amato would later reside permanently). The traditional giallo slo-mo flashback, replete with ethereal music and smiling, silent characters recurs throughout; in fact, as much as half of the film is comprised of dialogue-free sequences. 

As a rule, these flashbacks seemed to largely be confined to gialli set in the past (see A White Dress for Mariale and The Murder Clinic), which suggests that filmmakers knew that they were faintly ridiculous, or at least incongruous with standard 1960s/70s behaviour-people then were protesting wars and smoking ganja, not lolloping through meadows smiling like loons. Of course, what passed for 'normal' behaviour, and depictions thereof, in the films c. 1970 are now often derided and mocked by contemporary audiences, who would doubtless find the slo-mo flashback sequences to be doubly guffaw-inducing (and one wonders if audiences in 2050 will chortle away at the films that we unquestioningly lap up as entertainment-quite possible, if people cop on and realise in the interim that Marvel movies are bullshit). 

Trapped in among all the slo-mo frolicking and Poe references there is a meditation on desire and freedom struggling to (ironically) break free. The love triangle which develops could have formed the centrepiece of the film, but instead is limited to the aforementioned sexy sex reel. Greta also gives a heartfelt speech to Walter about how she identifies with his pet birds, as she too feels trapped by her 'owner' (him), to which he responds by laughingly telling her that the bird she has taught to say her name is actually a chap. Men as a whole don't really come off great here, being either leering pervs (Kinski and Luciano Rossi) or sly, shy pervs (Simeon, and Walter to some extent). The women are more forceful, driving the narrative and being responsible for pretty much all the kills (and attempted kills), although man is still in control for the sciencey reincarnation bit. So, this is a world where a male God has control but women have agency.

The film is very stylishly shot, with excellent use of wide-angled lenses, and the soundtrack is fantastic (the opening credits feature possibly my favourite giallo score of all time, with a extremely sparse soundscape punctured by occasional guitar stings). It's definitely D'Amato on top form, and he knew it-it's the only film he ever directed which bore his actual name, Aristide Massaccesi. The stalk-and-slash sequences aren't quite as tautly executed as Argento at his best, and after Greta is unequivocally revealed to be responsible for the killings they become almost choreographed dance sequences, but they're never less than visually arresting. The same goes for the make-up effects which, although frequently ridiculous, very much go for the jugular in every respect. D'Amato also finds an interesting halfway house for his presentation of violence, marrying the quick. incisive cutting of an Argento set piece with the lovingly lingering presentation of gore effects of a Fulci gore effect.

As I think I may have hinted at before, this isn't really a giallo. As with many fringe efforts, if it was made elsewhere in the world it would simply be a supernatural horror film which features two killings in which we're not immediately sure of the killer's identity. Despite the semi-regular presence of a police inspector, there's no real investigation into the murders (indeed, the two 'anonymous' early killings are never mentioned by anyone after they happen), and any mystery that is present in the film surrounds the exact provenance and intentions of Greta. But even this isn't really a mystery-we have a fair sense of what she's about from the start, and nothing that happens is exactly a shocking revelation.** Instead, possibly wisely, D'Amato plays up the incredibly ethereal beauty of Ewa Aulin as she ghosts through the film seducing and destroying. She may not be a giallo killer, but by damn she's certainly a killer gal. And, on that dud note, I'm off to watch Candy.

*AKA eyeconagraphy-witness the violence visited upon Greta's eyeball, as well as the shots of eyes silently observing characters through windows and cracks in doors. 

**There is a semi-twist in the very last shot, although it's undercut slightly with the plethora of questions it raises as to the inspector's general competence and quality of eyesight.

This giallo takes the fish-out-of-water trope to the max, being entirely set (and largely shot) in Haiti. It incorporates elements of mondo films-with one of its co-directors having a background almost exclusively in that arena-and also throws in some sexytime and spy thriller material for good measure. It's a fairly unique rum-infused Caribbean cocktail, but not one that really hits the spot (unless you're a craven alcoholic with low standard/a superfan of Anita Strindberg's baps). 

Fred and Grace Wright, who look nothing like their names, holiday in Haiti, ostensibly to try and save their crumbling marriage and check in on Fred's old college buddy Williams. Williams has a day job as a doctor, but by night works as a scientist, developing a powerful new hallucinogenic drug which is a target for several interested investors, as well as a black-gloved killer who's offing Williams' assistants and several of his suitors. As Grace becomes enamoured of the island's raw sensuality, her husband's real motivation for visiting the island becomes clear. But is he the mysterious killer, or is it someone else, someone who's a less-obvious suspect? Course it bloody is!

One of the film's failings is actually its lack of suspects; in common with many gialli it slightly over-extends itself with the number of killings, and by the time we come the the big reveal there are very, very few potential suspects. That, added to the presence of a reasonably big-name (and prominently-billed) actor in what appears to be an extremely throwaway cameo kind of tips the film's hat as to the killer's identity. But this isn't really a tightly-plotted thriller; it is, as stated above, a curious mix of influences which is content to do things on its own terms.

There's no real investigative through-line for the audience to latch onto; instead we're kept busy simply piecing together what exactly is going on, and what the characters are really after (the drug McGuffin for all apart from Grace-who wants sex-and Williams-who wants Grace, kind of). Actually, it's difficult to know what exactly Williams wants, as he stalks his way around the island seemingly trying to escape some past trauma which is never expounded. All we really know is that he doesn't need money, and is implacable in the face of death, something he repeatedly displays thanks to his unfortunate habit of finding corpses. That might be a trait he's picked up from the Haitian locals, given the police's apparent lack of interest in investigating the spate of murders, or of giving a shit when Williams reveals that he's been concealing a murder from them.

The past trauma from which Williams is seemingly hiding from is hinted at by some comments by his old college mucker, but the 'revelation' of who Williams really is, as Fred puts it snarlingly to his wife towards the climax of the film, contains no information that we didn't already know, and is surprisingly anodyne. Similarly, is the (SPOILERY) confession by Williams that he discovered his missing colleague Crotz's corpse several days previously supposed to be a shocking revelation? We've seen him (implacably) make the discovery, and it's fairly easy to deduce the identity of the corpse, the later phone calls supposedly made by Crotz notwithstanding. The lack of giallo experience of any of the main creative forces behind the film really shines through in moments such as these. (END SPOILERIES)

The casual approach to the giallo aspects of the film can also be seen by the fact that the first three kills happen offscreen; the first murder we see occurring at the halfway point. It's as if the directors suddenly realised that they needed to spice things up with a few murders, leading to a couple of fairly brutal and drawn-out murder scenes belatedly rearing their heads (this also supposes that the film was shot in order, which is unlikely in the extreme, but hey ho).  There are other failings-the plot to entrap the killer makes no sense unless his identity was already known to the architects of said plot, to give one example. And, the revelation that Williams was a dab hand at using a spear gun in his youth which comes literally seconds after we've seen a spear gun murder is so heavy-handed it beggars belief. 

The aim when foregrounding characters as suspects should ultimately be to put one over on the audience, and have them suspect the wrong character come the time of the big reveal.  To achieve this, you need them to think they're outsmarting the film, and picking up on visual or aural cues which were supposed to bypass them (but which have actually been deliberately planted by the filmmakers, in a kind of double-bluff). If Williams' prowess was hinted at through a half-seen framed photo in his house, for example, or if there was a spear gun glimpsed in the corner of his bedroom, framed in a manner which leads the viewer to suspect that their eagle eye has picked up on some vital info the film was trying to sneak past them, then Williams might have been a viable suspect (setting aside the fact that we've seen the killer spying on him earlier in the film-there could, one supposes, have been two killers working independently). But the clumsy shoehorning in of the spear gun dialogue here has the opposite effect-it's so nakedly obvious an attempt to cast suspicion on Williams , we know straight away that he's innocent.

What the directors*-at least, one of them (Giampaolo Lomi)-were good at was filming documentary footage. The native voodoo rituals are shot with energy and do seemingly capture a sense of authenticity, with Lomi himself (as well as an end credits spiel) stating that they were ceremonies which were staged for the film, but were nonetheless genuine. Given mondo films' propensity for playing fast and loose with the truth it's difficult to fully accept this assertion, but I'm no expert in voodoo, so I can't point to anything specific to debunk it. (The slaughter of the bull in the first, and main, ceremony is certainly, and lamentably, genuine.) One of the main purposes of the ceremony seems to be to showcase as many topless young women as possible-is there any giallo featuring a black woman which doesn't involve an exotic dance sequence?

The veneer of authenticity of the ceremony lends it some credibility, and it's certainly a less egregious display of female flesh than you'd see in many a giallo, but the film does inarguably position the native Haitians as an 'other', denying them any real identity apart from their voodoo rituals and street bazaars. There's nothing necessarily overtly racist in the film (although I suspect that the subtitles on the Camera Obscura DVD may have fudged over a few derogatory terms for black people), but it certainly isn't overflowing with enlightenment, to the point where no native characters are really prominent enough even to be considered suspects for the murders (scientific advancements being, after all, anathema to their earthy way of life). And, there is a certain fetishisation of the young virile black man, but at least that's a variation on the more common fetishisation of the young, sexy black woman. Although given that I'm a proponent of the futility of reading single characters as being representative of groups of people as a whole, maybe it's just that these films happen to showcase the few black people who are into dancing and sex. After all, it's not as if one in, say, seven white males are murderers, is it?

*There's some debate/confusion over who actually directed the film; Lomi claims that Mulargia treated the film as a holiday, only occasionally turning up  to supervise goings-on, whereas Mulargia, who's now dead and thus has been denied a right-to-reply to Lomi's comments on the Camera Obscura release, did say previously that Lomi was brought in to film the voodoo rituals in a documentary style, but didn't direct the rest of the film. I'd tend to believe Mulargia, given the difference in style between the 'documentary' sequences and the remainder of the film.