GIALLO IDENTIKIT #015 [THE SWEET BODY OF DEBORAH aka IL DOLCE CORPO DI DEBORAH (1968)]

Jean Sorel and Carroll Baker, idyllic at the opening of Romolo Guerrieri’s SWEET BODY OF DEBORAH (1968). Sorel and Baker were to 1960s’ Gialli what George Hilton and Edwige Fenech were to the 1970s’: sometimes together, sometimes apart, they populated the ’60s/early ’70s Giallo landscape like no other couple. This essay on DEBORAH will spend time covering some of those examples, and setting up some kind on context for the particular strain of Gialli they participated in, what Kim Newman calls the “pre-Argento” Giallo.

[This is the thirty-sixth post in a continuing series discussing and analyzing all the Krimis and Gialli I've seen. As with every post on this site, SPOILERS SHOULD BE EXPECTED.]

VERSION WATCHED: German X-Rated Eurocult Collection Blu-ray 
My Giallo Rating: ★★★½ (out of 5)
Subcategory (if any):
     i. Inheritance Giallo (aka, Pre-Argento Giallo)
     ii. Proto-Giallo
In My Giallo Top 50 (Y/N): No   


Kim Newman, in his commentary for Argento’s BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE, spends some time discussing the difference in Gialli that come before Argento and after. According to Newman, the bulk of the “pre-Argento” Gialli had plots, and killers, driven not by some psychosexual trauma embedded in the past, but by something more rational and mundane: greed.
 
The pre-Argento Gialli are, in general, *not* obsessed with seeing, with the nature of perception, with a dread generated by the sense that the real world is being overcome—overwritten—by dream logic and irrational urges. Etc. They are not, in short, defined by the obsessions that would come to dominate the genre in the wake of Argento’s success. 

(It’s true, of course, that part of the reason Argento’s artistic vision changed the shape of Gialli is because it made money—his imitators latched on to his patented illogic and oneiric concerns because it was the thing they needed to *at least try to* imitate, in order to cash in. But I think it could also be argued that his concerns loomed so large, possessed such a gravity to begin with, that they endured in the genre even as box office receipts trailed off.)
 
So, most of these early Gialli had plots that could be boiled down to one killer (or set of killers) committing the murders only and in order to steal someone else’s inheritance. Even lurid, pathologically violent Gialli like Bava’s BLOOD AND BLACK LACE (1964)—with their baroque and highly stylized layers of sex and gore, dream and nightmare—are, after all, down to nothing but a scheme to keep (or steal) someone else’s money. No matter how much nudity or sensuality might feature—no matter how psychotic, even supernatural, the plot *appears* to be—most often, it’s just lust for money that explains the film.

And what Newman doesn’t mention during that particular commentary—but that’s just as key to understanding this version of the genre—is that this “Inheritance Scheme” model comes, almost fully formed, out of the German Krimi. It is one of several Krimi conventions—plot mechanics, stock characters, visual tropes, thematic concerns, iconography—that were bred in the Krimi and then “spliced off” into the new root that would make the Giallo*.

So:

Romolo Guerrieri’s 1968 Giallo THE SWEET BODY OF DEBORAH—starring Jean Sorel and Carroll Baker as leads—is one such example of this pre-Argento, “Inheritance Scheme” Giallo. Despite a few irrational trappings—despite regular dollops of Baker’s naked backside and sort-of sex scenes—it is not part of the psychosexual template that so many now associate with the Giallo’s DNA. And it is not, on a thematic level, about challenging the rational order of the characters’ world—there is no anxiety (as David Sanjek put it, in discussing the worldview of the Giallo) that the resolution of the mystery will “fail fully to restore either the viewers’ or the characters’ faith in a coherent moral or perceptual universe”.

A LOT OF TIME SPENT ON THE TRAVELOGUE: After the opening credits (and lover’s embrace) on an unidentified beach, the action moves to a wintry, mountain clime, with Sorel and Baker on their honeymoon (the visuals remind me both of the opening of PHENOMENA and the killer’s painting in BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE). This travel-as-plot is a device that shows up quite a bit in the pre-Argento Giallo. 

We learn from their conversation that the pair have come here from America, to visit Sorel’s old stomping grounds in Geneva. As Baker says: “I want to go to Geneva because it’s your hometown. And I want to know all about you, you belong to me.” During this travel montage, we also get subtle but effective physical acting from the two leads, performances that betray a familiarity between them that’s believable. And that gets tested by the suspicions that arise between them as the movie goes on.

[CONTEXT, CONTEXT, CONTEXT]
The other influence on this particular strain of pre-Argento Gialli—an influence that becomes fairly obvious, once you’ve seen the film—is Henri-Georges Clouzot’s 1955 love-triangle tensioner DIABOLIQUE. And the important thing to note here:

No matter the increasing “weird” factor, the stylization and degree of theatricality applied to the set-pieces in Clouzot’s film—one thinks of the uncanny, eldritch scene of the husband’s bedraggled corpse, wet clams for eyes, rising dead from the tub—the plot is still the Krimi-familiar one, rational and sane: Money, money, money.

So, in the ’60s, this double-sourced plot—an inheritance scheme that often also contains a toxic love triangle—was what one meant when one said “Giallo”:

The examples most often cited are those films directed by Umberto Lenzi and starring Carroll Baker (alongside a revolving cast of suspicious lovers—Sorel, Jean-Louis Trintignant, Erika Blanc, Horst Frank, Marina Coffa, Anna Proclemer, Lou Castel, etc.). So ORGASMO (1969), SO SWEET... SO PERVERSE (1969), and A QUIET PLACE TO KILL (PARANOIA; 1970). These films, despite their injections of “swinging” ‘60s free love, of bed-hopping bored richies—as Jean Louis-Trintignant intones in SO SWEET SO PERVERSE: “Even more exciting, is knowing that it keeps getting harder and harder to feel excited”—still often feel stubbornly old-fashioned, dated, even juvenile when compared to the Argento-and-afterwards Gialli. 

(A perfect example of this is the interminable “Twister” game that occurs in SWEET BODY OF DEBORAH between Sorel and Baker, a scene that is supposed to be perhaps risqué or sexy—with their bodies draped across each other by the rules of the game—or, at the very least, *fun*, but instead plays as tedious: Baker’s eye-killing lime-green onesie, the voice on the record telling the “boys and girls” where to put their bodies—in fact, just its sheer, padded length ... everything works against it, moving the needle away from DIABOLIQUE and more toward BEACH BLANKET BINGO.)

And there were just as many non-Lenzi versions of this Giallo template: There’s the Italian Spanish co-production—a film which actually crept into the ’70s, completely oblivious to Argento’s influence—IN THE EYE OF THE HURRICANE. Starring Sorel, Maurizio Bonuglia (who himself often played the Sorel role, the rakish, scheming, a-holish gigolo—someone so aware of his own sex appeal that he actively used it to eff people over and steal), KOMMISSAR X’s Tony Kendall, and Analía Gadé. Gadé, whose role comes off as (mostly) nothing more than a ringer for Baker’s trademark, is the source of the money in the plot. To one degree or another she becomes entangled with all three men, her affections changing as her perception of their honesty shifts.

And the film’s staging gives us further example of this difference in type. I.e., in a Giallo like Fulci’s LIZARD IN A WOMAN’S SKIN, the inclusion of a swan is made on the strength of its feverish associations. Its menace. Its irrational connections to repressed dreams and bodily terror. The bird first exists in the film as part of a strange, symbolically unsettling painting that rests above Florinda Bolkan’s bed. In it, the swan appears to have its stomach and/or sexual organs replaced by a black triangle. It seems symbolic even though we lack the ability to interpret it. It seems menacing in the way that strange symbols in dreams menace.

Later, the swan appears in Bolkan’s dreams, descending from the sky, its now-ragged black-hole triangle seemingly aimed at swallowing Bolkan's body or head. The almost Muppet-like “angry bird” expression on its face disconcerting despite the fact that it’s obviously fake.

In HURRICANE, the swan instead serves as a kind of decadent or colorful prop, a material example of how extravagant and bored these rich heiresses and preppy gigolos are in life. They’re so bored, and have so much excess income, that they aimlessly buy swans to populate their pools. When they become bored with just watching the swans (these physical manifestations of their money), they don generic “pagan” masks (no doubt traditional masks appropriated, without the slightest respect, from other, less materially wealthy cultures) and terrorize the swans, chasing them around the pool within an inch of their poor animal lives. The swan is not an irrational intrusion from the world of sexual nightmare ... it’s a fashionable accessory that will eventually get thrown away by its owner.

(It is this craven meanness that does set the movie apart from some of the other examples in the same sub-genre. When Sorel and his previously secret lover force their way into Gadé’s home and make it clear that they are, from a mixture of greed and boredom, going to menace her like they did that swan—even as they openly eff and force themselves on her sexually—well, it’s a little startling. And nudges the movie away from Lenzi’s influence and more toward something like a ’70s Martino.)

THE BLUE MOVIE THAT NEVER QUITE GETS THERE: Though there’s some gratuitous use of skin, and Sorel and Baker are portrayed as being healthily in lust for each other, the film’s depictions—whether meant to come off as sleazy or sensual—never quite succeed. Esp. never quite succeed in canceling out the rest of the film’s persistently old-fashioned feel.

One film from the Lenzi/Baker mold that delightfully sheds all pretense to rationality—and ups the sensuality, while aiming for a kind of avant-garde madness—is Giulio Questi’s 1968 DEATH LAID AN EGG. Here we have Trintignant married to money-woman Gina Lollobrigida, and the usually scantily clothed Ewa Aulin as their “house guest” who proves the third in the triangle. Questi’s film, though going through some of the motions of the Lenzi/Baker plot, uses abrupt, elliptical editing, intoxicating sound cues, and a total disregard for “realism” (whatever that is) to plunge face-forward into avant-garde and weird territory.
 
(Note: There are at least two versions of this film, German and Italian, currently available on Blu-ray. At some point I’m going to do a comparison write-up on the differences, and post some caps to give a general idea of the picture quality.)

Other versions of this same Giallo strain include Lucio Fulci’s ONE ON TOP OF THE OTHER (aka, PERVERSION STORY), Luciano Ercoli’s FORBIDDEN PHOTOS OF A LADY ABOVE SUSPICION, the Italian-Spanish co-production DEATH HAUNTS MONICA (also starring Sorel), even the Krimi/Giallo Hybrid DOUBLE FACE (aka, LIZ AND HELEN), which takes DIABOLIQUE’s eerie dance of “is he or isn’t he dead” and transplants it onto Margaret Lee’s character, and her appearance in some blue movies that tantalizingly (also: terrifyingly) seem to show her alive and making sex films after her death ...  

There’s also something to be said for just how many of these movies involve that key DIABOLIQUE construct of the rich but neglected woman who is beset by male hangers-on, who feign a love interest but who only really want her money. I.e., the men, often, are portrayed as little better than gigolos, who have gained their position and wealth by “marrying up” to an heiress or widow, and who now have grown so weary of pretending to be her husband that they are desperate to see her dead.

...
  
Ultimately, this plot would get updated and grafted onto the psychosexual post-Argento Giallo in films like Martino’s sublime STRANGE VICE OF MRS. WARDH, which is, on the one hand, a STRANGERS ON A TRAIN-type murder scheme for money, but is really (i.e., really more effectively) a psychosexual grid of traumatic flashbacks, faceless sex maniacs, S&M dreamscapes, and the pervading sense that all men, even the ones that seem most charismatic or trustworthy, are really as wicked as you can possibly imagine.

THE LOVE TRIANGLE AND THE GHOST: Once Sorel and Baker return to his home town, we learn (through the disapproving and pleasingly grumpy performance of genre great Luigi Pistilli) that Sorel’s former flame committed suicide after he left. While he was away, in America, falling in love with rich heiress Baker, his heartbroken ex (played by Ida Galli) killed herself because of the grief he caused her. This ghostly suicide from the past then becomes the driving force for all those elements that appear supernatural—that appear to be driving Baker’s character mad—but that in the end have that same, entirely rational explanation we’ve been discussing.

So SWEET BODY OF DEBORAH is one of those non-Lenzi pairings of Baker and Sorel, and is very much the same sort of story, a twisty, pseudo-supernatural mystery that threatens the apparent happy marriage of the rich woman and the gigolo man. In this case, Sorel broke it off with his lover in Geneva (genre regular Ida Galli, aka Evelyn Stewart) before meeting and marrying Baker in the US. His happy homecoming gets derailed when he learns that Galli committed suicide out of despair for her lost love. He learns this news from a former friend and confidante, played so disdainfully by Luigi Pistilli, who calls the suicide murder and blames Sorel for the crime.

This sets the rest of the movie in motion, an increasingly menacing quest to find out just what happened to Galli, and just who might be responsible. Baker starts to receive threatening phone calls from an unknown man who promises that she will be killed for her new husband’s crimes (these calls coming presumably from Pistilli). And Baker’s attempt to escape this threat—she rents a villa in the country where the two can be alone—gets further complicated when a Groucho-eyed George Hilton shows up as the nosy, painter neighbor, who makes no secret that he wants to take Baker to bed and builds his easel on a scaffolding so he can spy on the not-so-happy couple as they cavort in their backyard.

(His character, in an exchange with Baker, calls himself, with a kind of mischievous grin, a voyeur. He says it in a way that suggests the term, or that concept, should’ve been a new one to the movie-going public in 1968. Or, if not new, then scandalous. Esp. for one of the male leads to gleefully admit to such behavior. This is another case-in-point for the kind of vibe these old-fashioned Gialli have: I.e., by 1968, after PSYCHO, after PEEPING TOM, after the deep and complicated portrayal those two films made of “bent” voyeurs, DEBORAH’s handling of the term seems quaint. Even immature.)

GHOST OF LOVERS PAST: A series of flashbacks briefly show us the arc of Sorel and Galli’s relationship—from carefree, adventurous lovers to a threatened, hopeless pair whose doomed parting is all but assured.

One’s enjoyment of the film largely depends on what you think makes for the most perfect Giallo formula—and how much variation you can take from the dominant Argento / Fulci / Martino forms ... I will say, rewatching it on the recently released Blu really caused me to re-evaluate the merits of the film, even if it trades in those modes of the Giallo that I value least. For Gialli it seems, presentation really is everything.

Leonard Jacobs

January, 2016

*TWO THINGS: 1. There are other splices, forking paths, major offshoots in the Giallo genre. For more on that, see my thoughts here. And 2. That’s not to say that the Krimi didn’t also have its own version of the psychosexual trauma plot that would come to dominate after BIRD. There are many Krimis that prefigure, sometimes uncannily, what Argento would later make his own: chief among them PHANTOM OF SOHO (1964), MONSTER OF LONDON CITY (1964), ROOM 13 (1964), as well as a slightly later example, Alfred Vohrer’s SCHOOL OF FEAR (1969).  

[SHOW NOTES]

VERSION WATCHED: German X-rated Blu-ray (cap comparisons here) | LANGUAGE: Italian soundtrack with English subs; the Blu-ray does not include the English track | DIRECTOR: Romolo Guerrieri  | WRITER(S): Ernesto Gastaldi, Luciano Martino  | MUSIC: Nora Orlandi  | CINEMATOGRAPHER: Marcello Masciocchi | CAST: Carroll Baker (Deborah); Jean Sorel (Marcel); Ida Galli (Suzanne Boileau, as Evelyn Stewart); George Hilton (Robert Simack); Luigi Pistilli (Philip); Michel Bardinet (Police Commissioner); Valentino Macchi (Garagista); Mirella Pamphili (Telephone Clerk); Domenico Ravenna (Doctor); Giuseppe Ravenna (Maitre d'Hotel); Renato Montalbano (Telephone Man)

GIALLO IDENTIKIT #008 [ALL THE COLORS OF THE DARK aka TUTTI I COLORI DEL BUIO (1972)]

The slow scroll of the opening credits, one of the key ways that the movie distinguishes itself from Martino's other work in the genre. 

[This is the twenty-fifth post in a continuing series discussing and analyzing all the Krimis and Gialli I've seen. As with every post on this site, SPOILERS SHOULD BE EXPECTED.]

NOTE: Lee Howard and Michael Mackenzie, the creators and hosts of the Movie Matters podcast, were kind of enough to invite me to contribute to their upcoming episode, which will cover Sergio Martino's ALL THE COLORS OF THE DARK and Aldo Lado's WHO SAW HER DIE? This review constitutes the "uncut" version of the notes that I prepared and recorded for them.


My Giallo Rating: ★★★★½ (out of 5)
Subcategory (if any): 
     i. Sleaze-Art-Sleaze Giallo (aka, Exploitation Giallo)
     ii. Giallo/Gothic Hybrid 
     iii. Inheritance Giallo
In My Giallo Top 50 (Y/N): Yes (Letterboxd List)


[HOW SERIOUSLY TO TAKE SERGIO MARTINO'S GIALLI?] 
Though there seems to be wide acknowledgment of Martino's place in, and overall influence on, the genre, I often see disclaimers attached to the "appreciation" or taking seriously of his Gialli. "Yes, they're ridiculously sleazy, but ..." "Yes, it's true sometimes they're about nothing more than Edwige Fenech's breasts, but ..." "Yes, Martino's Gialli feature some of *the* great iconography in the genre, but they can't be compared to Argento's ..." Etc. 

Just like SO SWEET, SO DEAD or AMUCK!, it's impossible to consider Martino's Gialli without also considering their more titillating and  baldly exploitative elements. The hand-in-hand deployment of art-house narrative techniques with excessive bloodletting, clothes-shedding, and all the elements that have come to be known as "softcore".

I.e., often Martino's calling card seems to involve not daring, narratively unexplained shots like the famous ones in OPERA or TENEBRAE, but Edwige Fenech (and others) undressing in different ways. In STRANGE VICE OF MRS. WARDH, I always think of the party scene where the two women get into a wrestling match on the floor. They're wearing dresses made out of paper (which is one of those fashion details that feels like it dates Martino's movies a bit too often) and Fenech, George Hilton, and the rest of the party cheer and laugh as they watch the two women tear the clothes off each other. Later, we follow one of these women going home, getting into the shower, and the camera spends gratuitous time on her while she soaps up her naked body. Before we watch her get slashed to death.  

There's the drugged-out orgy (with plenty of zoomed-in flesh and casual, stoned-out-of-their-minds nudity—here the unusual camera angles are used to peep the crotch of one of the college student's cutoffs) that leads to Conchita Airoldi's death in TORSO. There's the softcore stuff between Fenech and Anita Strindberg in YOUR VICE IS A LOCKED ROOM AND ONLY I HAVE THE KEY (also the opening “protest song” scene in that movie, which includes an accompanying table dance and strip). Or Fenech just casually walking around in one scene after another missing her clothes for no plot-specific reason.

Those are the sorts of scenes, I think, that are most often associated with Martino's Gialli—sleazy, unapologetic examples of thriller exploitation. As I've argued in other Sleaze-Art-Sleaze reviews, this kind of decadent, lolling eroticism is part and parcel, part of the very DNA, of the Giallo. But there are degrees when it comes to these things, varying levels of sophistication, intention, and craftsmanship that speak to how seriously they deserve to be taken. So where does ALL THE COLORS OF THE DARK fall in this sleaze-art spectrum?

Martino's Gialli did more than any other director's to establish George Hilton and Edwige Fenech as *the* Giallo power couple.

And though I'd agree that it's a disappointment to see Fenech's role reduced again to the damsel-in-distress who's missing any kind of agency, I'd also argue that it feels like Martino is for once aware of the convention and how associated Fenech is with it. It becomes almost obsessive the way that her character is constantly handed off to the next “hero” who is going to save her day. It starts with Hilton and his pills, then shifts to Nieves Navarro sending her to the psychiatrist, then the psychiatrist himself (played by familiar face George Rigaud), and then Marina Malfatti who leads her to the cult, and then the cult leader himself. Even the Italian Peter Lorre, Luciano Pigozzi, though his role as a lawyer is little more than a cameo, plays an authority figure in her life who is attempting to help her.

[FIRST THE SUMMARY]
The Letterboxd blurb puts it this way (I've added actor's names, and cleaned up the text a bit):

"They exist. They bear the mark of the devil inside them. They may be your neighbors. They may be your wife, husband, sweetheart. They may even be your children. Their time has come.

"Jane (Edwige Fenech) lives in London with her boyfriend Richard (George Hilton). Her mother was murdered when she was young, she recently lost a baby in a car crash, and she's plagued by nightmares of a knife-wielding man (Ivan Rassimov). Richard thinks that the cure is vitamins, while Jane's sister (Nieves Navarro) recommends psychiatric help. But a new neighbour (Marina Malfatti) promises that if she participates in a Black Mass, all her fears will disappear. Instead, the menacing rituals just seem to bring her nightmares to life."

[THEN TAKE IT FROM THE TOP]
The film clues us in from the start, with that atypical, atonal opening screencapped above. I've always been impressed with this opening, not only because it feels daring in how understated it is—in setting the film's mood—but also because of how controlled it all feels. There's no frenetic, stylish intercutting of scenes—stalkings, nudity, gore—to start this psycho-sexual thriller. There's no screaming 70s exploitation opening, or a breathlessly staged murder and a pulsing soundtrack. Instead we get a static, almost 2-minute-long shot of ... nature. It's an unidentified location, looks like some bank on some river, that very gradually goes dark with the setting of the sun. 

And, for the length of the shot, there's also no blaring intrusion of the usual Giallo soundtrack. Only either complete silence, or the fragmented sounds of animals (mostly birds) cawing and squawking as a signal for the slowly creeping dusk to become dark. (Only gradually do the animals begin to sound as if they're being distorted into musical instruments—I'm thinking of the change that occurs when we hear what sounds like bullfrogs croaking, but through an amplifier.)

This opening accomplishes a couple things. One is to signal the creeping, diffuse dread that infuses the rest of the film. (Whenever I watch this movie I always think of British folk-horror classics, stuff like THE PLAGUE OF ZOMBIES, CURSE OF THE CRIMSON ALTAR, and BLOOD ON SATAN'S CLAW. As well as the obvious influence of Polanski's brand of thriller.) The seemingly innocuous crawl of the light fading in the scene communicates a vague unease that (imo) only grows as the film continues. A slow-burn of unsourced menace.

Another is that it startles the Giallo viewer with how low-key it is. Well-modulated. Toned-down. Not like another Giallo prologue that I can remember. 

[AND THEN THE NIGHTMARES]
The prologue's fade into full darkness then gives way to the first dream sequence in the movie. The images of three female figures—a nude woman on a bed, a pregnant woman in medical “stirrups,” and an old woman dressed and made to look like a child's doll—cycle through. Shot through with lens effects, sudden zooms, the pitching and yawing of the camera. All the while an artificially blue-eyed man stalks the woman on the bed with a knife.

I'll admit that the dream sequences are probably what I find weakest about the film (that and the performance of the actor who plays the head of the cult***). Though the second version of the dream (capped below) is more effective than this first, the nightmare here never feels completely nightmarish. Not nearly oneiric enough. Not irrational or frightening or irreal enough. It feels likes its only a gesture toward the kind of associative wash of weird (and weirdly sexual) images that you find in, e.g., Fulci's LIZARD IN A WOMAN'S SKIN. What I want to see here is a Lynch-like bubbling up of repressed and misunderstood images, urges, memories (what the best Gialli do with their dream sequences). Instead, the sequences in this film give me a feeling of "never quite getting there". A summary of what we're supposed to be seeing, instead of the thing itself.

(The inclusion of the clock in the dream's first shot might make you think of Salvador Dali's
“time” paintings, but the imagery that follows is not as convincing [convincingly surreal].)

The one aspect of the dreams that does work for me has to do with the uncanny way that the woman on the bed resembles Fenech in some shots, but seems to be a completely different actress in others (she is a different actress, Dominique Boschero, who also pops up in the cast of WHO SAW HER DIE?). My mind keeps thinking that it somehow is Fenech, that some visual trick or editing has been used to alternate between closeups of the two actresses. This comes up again when the dream sequence gets reenacted in Fenech's apartment, where I really do believe that closeups are being used from both actresses (see the caps further down). Whatever it is, it's a strange effect, and one that should've been somehow pushed even further.

The Return of the Blue-Eyed Man: One of my favorites, Ivan Rassimov, makes another appearance in the film when Fenech tells her psychiatrist about the traumatic dream that haunts her. (And, as an aside, what was it with these fake blue contacts in Italian thriller cinema in the 70s? I'd swear the exact same pair were worn by the killer in Ercoli's DEATH WALKS ON HIGH HEELS.)

Fenech's psychiatrist, Dr. Burton, is played by another one of my favorites in the genre, George Rigaud. The fact that he plays Florinda Bolkan's psychoanalyst in LIZARD IN A WOMAN'S SKIN only amplifies my enjoyment of his role here (even if he doesn't have the same kind of hypnotic presence as in that film; there his sinister-but-soothing dubbed voice likes to rhythmically repeat words and phrases all while offering Bolkan a cigarette). Alas, his blind faith in the “science” of his talking cure manages to ward off nothing here, not even his own death (and it doesn't help Fenech's character one damn bit).

[ALL THE COLORS OF DREAD]
Martino's expression of dread, of menace, as an undercurrent in the film shows up in other, even more-effective ways:

1. His nightmare use of architectural space
2. His disquieting use of edits
3. An always-roving camera

ARCHITECTURE: Martino goes further than he did anywhere else in using the menace (and presence) of architecture. (In this way, it maybe makes it his most Argento-like film): The obvious example is the massive apartment building that houses not only Fenech and Hilton, but also the doomed Marina Malfatti. It's a space where the characters from Fenech's nightmares come to life, and a building whose tenants (not to mention their furniture) can disappear from one day to the next. 

The Anatomy of Space: Martino uses the shared space of the apartment building to create linkages between the characters. Here Hilton looks up to see if Fenech is watching him from their window, but instead sees neighbor Marina Malfatti spying on him. Even as Fenech spies on her. Martino's editing here accomplishes it all very economically, suggesting the possibility of a lustful triangle between the three; and foreshadowing Malfatti's possessive manipulating of Fenech's character later in the film.

 

Fenech's apartment itself becomes a nightmare site in that confrontation she has with Rassimov late in the film. It is full of subjective, Gothic-style lighting and more than one closeup on Fenech's screaming face that makes her look, to me, an awful lot like the actress who played her mother in the dream sequence; which this scene is clearly a restaging of … in fact I'd go so far as to argue that there's at least one closeup that isn't Fenech at all, but the actress who plays her mother in the dream. (And, as a side note, the lighting here always reminds me of those green-tinged scenes in the apartment in OPERA, just before Daria Nicolodi's character meets her fate):

Martino's playing with out-of-focus shots in this sequence was the first thing that made me think he was maybe up to other tricks. Is every closeup below a closeup on Fenech's face, or is at least one a closeup on Dominique Boschero, the actress who plays her mother in the dream sequences?

Re: use of architecture, there's also the country estate where the cult gathers. And I'm thinking especially of the "morning after" scene when Fenech wakes up and is shown Malfatti's corpse in the coffin, confirming that the ceremony she remembers taking part in wasn't a dream, but did actually happen. The coffin sits in the middle of a dusty, unfurnished room, on the floor, severe in its lack of staging. It feels to me, again, like Martino dialing in the mood by dialing down some of his more exploitation-friendly tendencies. And invoking instead the vibe of a Hammer Horror or an old Vincent Price Poe movie.

More architecture as character.

THE EDITS: Probably the best example of this comes in the scene that follows Fenech being confronted by Rassimov on the subway. She escapes from him and finds herself in a park. Martino cycles through a series of shots to build rhythm, and the feeling of menace (the feeling that Fenech is being followed still). First we get a closeup on Fenech's boots, scuffing their way along the leaf-strewn sidewalk. Then a long shot of her in the park, beginning to turn her head and look to see if someone is following her. Then a closeup on her face looking around. Then another, different long shot—this time looking down from the branches of a tree—as she continues through the park. Then back to the cropped closeup on her walking boots. Etc.

Not only is this another place where Martino feels in total control, but he manages to use his editing to reinforce the film's dreamlike atmospheres: Near the end of the sequence, he cuts from a closeup of the boots back to the long shot of the sidewalk, the shot that's just shown us Fenech in the space. Except when he does it this time, Fenech has disappeared. Even though the closeup of her boots just told us she was there, the very next cut suggests she's somehow evaporated away from the scene ... 

[AND DON'T FORGET NIEVES NAVARRO]
And I think it speaks to the many strengths of the film that I've spent this much time talking about it and still haven't mentioned the performance of my single favorite Giallo actress of all time, Nieves Navarro. Her emotionless, buttoned-up portrayal of Fenech's sister shows the impact she could have in even limited screen time. The scene with the two of them riding in the car and talking, as well as the reveal about just why her character *is* so buttoned up, are moments I always think about when I think about this movie. Likewise the scenes she gets with Hilton. They feel one part contempt for his character and life philosophy, one part dangerously erotic attraction between the two (and another opportunity for Martino to play it understated: though Navarro appears topless in their first meeting, it is only in the background of the scene, behind a door, in the reflection of her bathroom mirror):
 

[ITS QUINTESSENTIAL GIALLO-NESS]
It still adds up to a world that feels like all of its characters (most of all Fenech's) are being relentlessly assailed by forces that want to destroy them. It's a hopeless worldview, where Fenech's alternatives are either to be possessed by a devil cult who want to use up her life force, or to return to the supposed safety and love of the unsympathetic, workaholic Hilton (who basically just wants her to get over the loss of their child so they can start having relations again).

I've written before about David Sanjek's essay comparing the conventions of the Krimi to the Giallo. Sanjek writes that in the Krimi, catching and identifying the movie's killer “more often than not resolves any anxieties or ambiguities that might complicate the plot. In effect, the Krimi allows the viewer to be only temporarily mystified. Faith in the dependability of the social order which the detective figure—often a police inspector—embodies remains unquestioned.”

Gialli, he says, “often tend to center their mysteries on the fluctuating substance of the social contract—lovers or mates engaging in harassment or worse of their traumatized partners—or the undependable nature of human sense perception. The detective figure in a number of these films must uncover something he or she fails to see, hear, or understand, yet resolution of that epistemological conundrum fails fully to restore either the viewers' or the characters' faith in a coherent moral or perceptual universe.”

And that's what I experience here: It's a world that can't be fixed. With characters who are, even when they “defeat” the Giallo killer, still hopelessly lost. Still traumatized. In that way it makes me think of the mood and atmosphere of a Val Lewton movie like THE SEVENTH VICTIM (which, maybe not coincidentally, also features a devil cult trying to destroy a woman).  

That last shot on the roof, when Fenech admits that she knows Hilton killed her sister, but that she's still desperate for his help and companionship, ends not with him reassuring her, but never responding to her plea one way or the other. Before he can, the image freezes on his conflicted face. The credits roll, and Fenech's fate is left forever suspended, between a murderous lover and the only thing that Dr. Burton told her she should fear:

Loneliness.

Leonard Jacobs

February, 2015

***Something about his blood-spewing, big-eyed pantomiming (esp. in the ritual moments that are supposed to be the most intense) has just never connected with me. The fact that I also don't recognize him from any other genre films probably contributes to this overall "lack" when it comes to me connecting with his performance.

[SHOW NOTES]

VERSION WATCHED: The OOP Shriek Show DVD | LANGUAGE: Italian with English subs | DIRECTOR: Sergio Martino | WRITER(S): Ernesto Gastaldi, Santiago Moncada, Sauro Scavolini  | MUSIC: Bruno Nicolai  | CINEMATOGRAPHER: Miguel Fernández Mila, Giancarlo Ferrando   | CAST: George Hilton (Richard Steele); Edwige Fenech (Jane Harrison); Ivan Rassimov (Mark Cogan); Julián Ugarte (J.P. McBrian); George Rigaud (Dr. Burton); Maria Cumani Quasimodo (Elderly Neighbor); Nieves Navarro (Barbara Harrison);   Marina Malfatti (Mary Weil); Luciano Pigozzi (Francis Clay); Dominique Boschero (Jane's Mother)