The House with Laughing Windows (or, as I call it, 'The House with Smiling Lips Painted on a Few of its Windows') is one of my all-time favourite gialli. It mightn't be to everyone's taste; it's quite leisurely-paced - deliberately so, to allow a certain atmosphere to pervade the film - contains very little in the way of gore, and has pretty much no nudity (technically there's a bit towards the end, but you'd want to be in a pretty desperate way to make anything of it). What it does have is the aforementioned atmosphere, which had become something of a hallmark of countryside-set gialli; a genuinely brilliant narrative; and masterful direction from Pupi Avati.
Avati, in contrast to other directors of his generation, has managed to remain active in the film industry, with only occasional forays into the world of television. He also has largely steered clear of exploitation/filone projects, the majority of his films being comedy-dramas with a bit of arthouse work thrown in. Still, this film, and Zeder, from the early 80s (a sort of zombie film companion piece to this one, which has a similar pace and setting) are his most enduring works, with each proving Avati to be a director capable of crafting images which once seen are never forgotten. In fact, one particular moment in Zeder comes damn close to the corridor scene in Exorcist III for the title of My Favourite Moment in Horror Films. Laughing Windows centres around the restoration of a crafted image - a painting - which, while possessing a relatively creepy quality, is actually quite poor on a technical level (this regularly happens in films, but understandably so, since film budgets typically wouldn't stretch to hiring great artists to create original works).
Stefano, played by James McAvoy under the pseudonym 'Lino Capolicchio', is hired by a small (in every sense) businessman/gangster called Solmi to restore a fading painting. The work, painted in a church by Buono Legnani, a semi-famous artist who self-immolated twenty years previously, forms one of the four cornerstones of Solmi's plan to regenerate his sleepy village - women, thermal waters and silence being the other 'selling points'. The restoration of the painting uncovers some unexpected details in Legnani's artwork. This process is mirrored by Stefano's delving into the artist's past, inspired by the research of his friend Antonio, who uncovered something shocking about Legnani before also apparently committing suicide. Having sought companionship in the arms of a local teacher (literally any teacher will do, apparently), Stefano pursues his investigation even as he's faced with the dawning realisation that the dark secret he's gradually uncovering isn't confined to the past; it's affecting, and infecting, the present.
The narrative of this film, while not overly complex, is pleasingly layered - the mystery of the painting is paralleled by the mystery of the past, with both intertwining to create the mystery of the present which is occupying Stefano. The suicide of Antonio (the apparent suicide) in some ways is the catalyst for the action, in that Stefano is inspired to continue his in-progress investigation into Legnani. (Curiously, despite clearly seeing a moving shadow in the bedroom from which Antonio falls, Stefano doesn't seem to twig that there was almost certainly a killer in the house until the next day.) However, the suicide-murder is swiftly forgotten as Stefano's investigations, and subsequent obsessions, gather momentum.
For all that there are several areas in which this film doesn't follow traditional giallo lines, several tropes are present and correct. The soundtrack is great, the protagonist is along the standard young-male-travelling-to-a-new-place lines, and the threatening phone calls he receives from almost the moment he arrives in town could almost come straight from an Argento film. (The voice making the calls, although speaking in a weird strained whisper, is unmistakably female; this initially feels like a potentially unintentional leaking of a future twist, but actually turns out to be a deliberate directorial choice.)
The spectre of World War 2 hangs heavy over events as well, which is not unheard of in other gialli, which interrogate Italy's past either directly (Plot of Fear, Watch Me When I Kill), or in a more allusive sense, with many examples of killers being driven by a deeply traumatic event in their past. The village, which has to import its teachers as the young residents leave at the first opportunity, is dominated by old people who seem to be collectively repressing some sort of trauma. The War is explicitly referenced several times, but the behaviour of Legnani and his sisters also hangs heavy, directly influencing the state of mind of one resident who stalks about in a daze wearing widow's clothing as she laments the death of her former lover. Coppola, the town drunk (and isn't alcohol a great way to forget?) discloses some of the crucial pieces of the puzzle to Stefano - in common with many alcoholics, his will can waver, and he's not capable of practising repression with the same rigour as some of the other townsfolk.
There's a sense that everyone has secrets, even Stefano - he openly lies to Francesca, the second teacher he beds, denying that he also romanced her predecessor. Francesca is a character on whom it's difficult to get a clear handle; you expect her to be a typical damsel-doomed-to-end-in-distress, and she almost is, but there are hints at (to be charitable) a deep quirkiness - she calmly shows Stefano her fridge infested with live snails, and she then lets herself into his house and listens to a recording of Legnani ranting for (she claims) two hours before his return. This is another example of attention to detail on the part of Avati and his co-writers - Francesca isn't a beacon of purity in a putrid swamp, rather she contains hidden (and dark) depths, as, ultimately, does everyone.
There's a sense that Stefano's story is being written for him, and not just in a literal, film-script way - he seems to be an unwitting participant in a macabre ritual which has been meticulously planned and guided by unseen hands (the last shot of the film is almost a literal evocation of this)*. Avati shows himself to be incredibly skilled at building an atmosphere of dread and unease, combining stark imagery and tight, taut framing (and occasional zooms to suggest a tightening of a metaphorical noose around Stefano). He frames the first sex scene from a distance, to emphasise the lack of real connection between Stefano and the first teacher, with the second such scene shot with a much more tender hand to suggest the possibility of a connection with Francesca. However, Stefano has lied to her about his relationship with her predecessor, and she's a snail-loving, sit-in-the-dark-listening-to-a-madman-ranting weirdo, and we can't quite escape the undercurrent of deceit and repression even when the film's at its tenderest.
And now we come to the finale (both of the review and the film). After another classic giallo trope (the crime scene which bears no trace of its former post-murder state when the protagonist returns with the authorities) things spiral into all kinds of weirdness, with the visual and aural landscape shifting to evoke a kind of waking nightmare. Legnani's sisters, who have been much discussed throughout the film, are [SPOILERS] revealed to be still alive and well, one of them being Stefano's own landlady. This is something which won't come as a shock to most viewers, given her age profile and the fact that Stefano regularly hears footsteps coming from her room despite her insistence that she's been confined to a bed for years (which does pose questions as to how she coped with the director's first name). But this, similar to the female voice making the threatening phone calls, is a kind of double-bluff, in that Avati lets us think ourselves clever and ahead of the game, before blindsiding us with a second, deeper reveal. On the off-chance that someone who hasn't yet had the pleasure of seeing the film has ignored the SPOILERS warning and is still reading this far I won't reveal the final twist, but it's one of the most brilliant moments in all gialli. A slight quibble would be that the dubbing doesn't quite work, as a certain cackling, overly-enunciating voice doesn't match some very restrained lip movements (it seems odd to be criticising dubbing in a giallo, but more attention to detail here would help sell the moment that much more). It doesn't really matter, though, as in the end sure aren't we all mendacious, lonely weirdos being unwittingly guided towards our ultimate end by the malevolent hand of Fate?**
*The Wicker Man would likely have been an influence, as would Don't Look Now (the artist coming to a strange place to restore a painting) and possibly even All the Colours of the Dark (Legnani rants about colours a lot in the recordings of his voice, but there's also a similar sense of his fate being guided/manipulated.)
**This is another review which was written at the height of the Covid pandemic
Avati, in contrast to other directors of his generation, has managed to remain active in the film industry, with only occasional forays into the world of television. He also has largely steered clear of exploitation/filone projects, the majority of his films being comedy-dramas with a bit of arthouse work thrown in. Still, this film, and Zeder, from the early 80s (a sort of zombie film companion piece to this one, which has a similar pace and setting) are his most enduring works, with each proving Avati to be a director capable of crafting images which once seen are never forgotten. In fact, one particular moment in Zeder comes damn close to the corridor scene in Exorcist III for the title of My Favourite Moment in Horror Films. Laughing Windows centres around the restoration of a crafted image - a painting - which, while possessing a relatively creepy quality, is actually quite poor on a technical level (this regularly happens in films, but understandably so, since film budgets typically wouldn't stretch to hiring great artists to create original works).
Stefano, played by James McAvoy under the pseudonym 'Lino Capolicchio', is hired by a small (in every sense) businessman/gangster called Solmi to restore a fading painting. The work, painted in a church by Buono Legnani, a semi-famous artist who self-immolated twenty years previously, forms one of the four cornerstones of Solmi's plan to regenerate his sleepy village - women, thermal waters and silence being the other 'selling points'. The restoration of the painting uncovers some unexpected details in Legnani's artwork. This process is mirrored by Stefano's delving into the artist's past, inspired by the research of his friend Antonio, who uncovered something shocking about Legnani before also apparently committing suicide. Having sought companionship in the arms of a local teacher (literally any teacher will do, apparently), Stefano pursues his investigation even as he's faced with the dawning realisation that the dark secret he's gradually uncovering isn't confined to the past; it's affecting, and infecting, the present.
The narrative of this film, while not overly complex, is pleasingly layered - the mystery of the painting is paralleled by the mystery of the past, with both intertwining to create the mystery of the present which is occupying Stefano. The suicide of Antonio (the apparent suicide) in some ways is the catalyst for the action, in that Stefano is inspired to continue his in-progress investigation into Legnani. (Curiously, despite clearly seeing a moving shadow in the bedroom from which Antonio falls, Stefano doesn't seem to twig that there was almost certainly a killer in the house until the next day.) However, the suicide-murder is swiftly forgotten as Stefano's investigations, and subsequent obsessions, gather momentum.
For all that there are several areas in which this film doesn't follow traditional giallo lines, several tropes are present and correct. The soundtrack is great, the protagonist is along the standard young-male-travelling-to-a-new-place lines, and the threatening phone calls he receives from almost the moment he arrives in town could almost come straight from an Argento film. (The voice making the calls, although speaking in a weird strained whisper, is unmistakably female; this initially feels like a potentially unintentional leaking of a future twist, but actually turns out to be a deliberate directorial choice.)
The spectre of World War 2 hangs heavy over events as well, which is not unheard of in other gialli, which interrogate Italy's past either directly (Plot of Fear, Watch Me When I Kill), or in a more allusive sense, with many examples of killers being driven by a deeply traumatic event in their past. The village, which has to import its teachers as the young residents leave at the first opportunity, is dominated by old people who seem to be collectively repressing some sort of trauma. The War is explicitly referenced several times, but the behaviour of Legnani and his sisters also hangs heavy, directly influencing the state of mind of one resident who stalks about in a daze wearing widow's clothing as she laments the death of her former lover. Coppola, the town drunk (and isn't alcohol a great way to forget?) discloses some of the crucial pieces of the puzzle to Stefano - in common with many alcoholics, his will can waver, and he's not capable of practising repression with the same rigour as some of the other townsfolk.
There's a sense that everyone has secrets, even Stefano - he openly lies to Francesca, the second teacher he beds, denying that he also romanced her predecessor. Francesca is a character on whom it's difficult to get a clear handle; you expect her to be a typical damsel-doomed-to-end-in-distress, and she almost is, but there are hints at (to be charitable) a deep quirkiness - she calmly shows Stefano her fridge infested with live snails, and she then lets herself into his house and listens to a recording of Legnani ranting for (she claims) two hours before his return. This is another example of attention to detail on the part of Avati and his co-writers - Francesca isn't a beacon of purity in a putrid swamp, rather she contains hidden (and dark) depths, as, ultimately, does everyone.
There's a sense that Stefano's story is being written for him, and not just in a literal, film-script way - he seems to be an unwitting participant in a macabre ritual which has been meticulously planned and guided by unseen hands (the last shot of the film is almost a literal evocation of this)*. Avati shows himself to be incredibly skilled at building an atmosphere of dread and unease, combining stark imagery and tight, taut framing (and occasional zooms to suggest a tightening of a metaphorical noose around Stefano). He frames the first sex scene from a distance, to emphasise the lack of real connection between Stefano and the first teacher, with the second such scene shot with a much more tender hand to suggest the possibility of a connection with Francesca. However, Stefano has lied to her about his relationship with her predecessor, and she's a snail-loving, sit-in-the-dark-listening-to-a-madman-ranting weirdo, and we can't quite escape the undercurrent of deceit and repression even when the film's at its tenderest.
And now we come to the finale (both of the review and the film). After another classic giallo trope (the crime scene which bears no trace of its former post-murder state when the protagonist returns with the authorities) things spiral into all kinds of weirdness, with the visual and aural landscape shifting to evoke a kind of waking nightmare. Legnani's sisters, who have been much discussed throughout the film, are [SPOILERS] revealed to be still alive and well, one of them being Stefano's own landlady. This is something which won't come as a shock to most viewers, given her age profile and the fact that Stefano regularly hears footsteps coming from her room despite her insistence that she's been confined to a bed for years (which does pose questions as to how she coped with the director's first name). But this, similar to the female voice making the threatening phone calls, is a kind of double-bluff, in that Avati lets us think ourselves clever and ahead of the game, before blindsiding us with a second, deeper reveal. On the off-chance that someone who hasn't yet had the pleasure of seeing the film has ignored the SPOILERS warning and is still reading this far I won't reveal the final twist, but it's one of the most brilliant moments in all gialli. A slight quibble would be that the dubbing doesn't quite work, as a certain cackling, overly-enunciating voice doesn't match some very restrained lip movements (it seems odd to be criticising dubbing in a giallo, but more attention to detail here would help sell the moment that much more). It doesn't really matter, though, as in the end sure aren't we all mendacious, lonely weirdos being unwittingly guided towards our ultimate end by the malevolent hand of Fate?**
*The Wicker Man would likely have been an influence, as would Don't Look Now (the artist coming to a strange place to restore a painting) and possibly even All the Colours of the Dark (Legnani rants about colours a lot in the recordings of his voice, but there's also a similar sense of his fate being guided/manipulated.)
**This is another review which was written at the height of the Covid pandemic
RSS Feed
