SHORT NIGHT OF THE GLASS DOLLS aka LA CORTA NOTTE DELLE BAMBOLE DI VETRO

Aldo Lado, 1971

Starring: Jean Sorel, Barbara Bach, Mario Adorf, Ingrid Thulin

Gregory, a journalist working in Prague, is found unconscious and is presumed dead… but he’s really just paralyzed, trapped within his body, and determined to figure out how he got that way. He desperately recollects the events of the past few weeks, which include the disappearance of his lovely girlfriend, who he was planning to sneak out of Eastern Europe and to safety in the West. His boss and coworkers include a number of potential suspects and he can only hope that the doctors won’t autopsy him before he remembers the truth.

Director Aldo Lado is certainly underrated alongside better known giallo auteurs like Mario Bava and Dario Argento, but he helmed some excellent films. His first, Short Night of the Glass Dolls, is among his best. It may be the only giallo — certainly the only one that I can think of at this moment — set in Soviet Europe with overtly political themes about repression and state control. Oddly, it would make a better double feature with Polanski’s The Tenant than it would with most giallo films — except perhaps Lado’s own Who Saw Her Die? With its moody, striking blue and gray cinematography and tense, gloomy tone, Short Night of the Glass Dolls is one of the best giallo films and deserves a wider audience.

A co-production between Italy, West Germany, and Yugoslavia, the film was shot in Slovenia, Croatia, and the Czech Republic. The film begins with a compelling noir trope — the dead man investigating his own crime — that can be found in classics like Sunset Boulevard and D.O.A.  The Eastern European setting adds to the air of paranoia and surveillance. Though this is a common feature of giallo films, here it is somehow more believable. In addition to the Soviet backdrop, it seems that Gregory can’t trust any of his associates. His boss/colleague Jacques (played by the wonderful Italian-German actor Mario Adorf in everything from Fassbinder films to The Bird with the Crystal Plumage) is just smarmy enough that he seems to be obviously guilty.

As does Gregory’s past lover, Jessica (Bergman regular Ingrid Thulin), who bears a grudge against him while still desiring him. She worms her way back into his affections by claiming to help him look for Mira (Bond girl Barbara Bach, looking particularly dazzling here), his beautiful, somewhat mysterious girlfriend who has disappeared. But after a time, she tries to persuade him away from his search in the hope that he will just forget about Mira and fall back in love with her. The love triangle is far from a new theme in the noir or thriller genre, but it becomes especially sinister when Jessica turns on Gregory, because up to that point, it seemed like she was the only one he could trust.

Giallo regular Jean Sorel — from Lizard in a Woman’s Skin, A Quiet Place to Kill, One on Top of the Other — is normally a bit on the bland side, but this actually works perfectly here. Like some Hitchcock’s leading men, Gregory is something of a blank slate and he falls somewhere between the (sort of) wholesome private detectives of the pre-noir years and Hitchcock’s wrong man. Because of his love for an enigmatic woman in trouble, he’s thrust into an increasingly menacing world. SPOILERS: I was certainly not expecting the film’s ending, which leads Gregory into a group of the city’s most powerful people engaging in orgies and sacrificing young women. Lado does a surprisingly great job making this incredibly uncomfortable rather than cheesy and, despite the odds, plausible — Gregory has gone down such a tormented rabbit hole that the ending almost wouldn’t have mattered. The orgy scenes are as de-eroticizes as they could possibly be and this makes Eyes Wide Shut seem even sillier than it did to begin with.

Despite the occasionally flimsy or absurd plot elements, there is a disturbing emotional resonance. Unlike most other giallo films, there is a slow burn with little obvious gore. The film is steeped with verbal and visual references to death and these are among the most effective moments — including a scene when Gregory hallucinates a dead Mira shoved in his refrigerator, and another when his body is wheeled into an autopsy room and is shot through a series of eerie specimen jars.

Also known as Malastrana, Short Night of the Glass Dolls comes with the highest recommendation. It’s available on DVD and includes one of Ennio Morricone’s best giallo scores. Though I find the title a little silly and nonsensical, it relates back to the butterfly theme that winds its way through the film. The producers wanted the title to reflect this, but The Bloodstained Butterfly came out around the same time, so for some reason they settled on Short Night of the Glass Dolls instead. Even though this doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, you’ll forget about it alongside the film’s unforgettably bleak ending.

COLD EYES OF FEAR aka GLI OCCHI FREDDI DELLA PAURA

Enzo G. Castellari, 1971

Starring: Giovanna Ralli, Frank Wolff, Fernando Rey

After an incredible opening where a young woman is surprised and attacked by a knife wielding maniac and turns the tables on him (no spoilers here), we are introduced to Peter, a young lawyer. He steals a beautiful woman at a strip club away from her date and sneaks her to the house of his uncle, a prominent judge, who is away working late on an important case. Unfortunately before their fun can begin, they discover that the butler is dead and they have an unexpected guest who holds them at gun point. He and his accomplice have a devious plan to kill the judge, but first they have to search the house for an important, hidden file that holds the key to corruption and conspiracy.

Cold Eyes of Fear is an Italian-Spanish co-production from prolific director Enzo G. Castellari, best known for his war films Inglorious Bastards (1978) and Eagles Over London (1969), spaghetti westerns such as Keoma (1976) and Seven Winchesters for a Massacre (1967), crime films like High Crime (1973), and cult movies like 1990: The Bronx Warriors (1982) and Great White (1981), a Jaws ripoff actually sued by Universal for plagiarism. Cold Eyes of Fear is a strange blend of crime film and suspense drama, though has unfortunately been ignored over the years because it is typically marketed as a giallo.

Castellari co-wrote the film along with Leo Anchóriz (an actor from A Bullet for Sandoval) and Tito Carpi, a prolific screenwriter known for a number of Italian westerns and post-apocalyptic films like Escape from the Bronx and New Barbarians. Though the plot doesn’t offer a lot of surprises — home invasion was becoming a pretty standard plot device at this point — there are some nice twists and a lot of topical references to political corruption, which was somewhat of a snarky nod to Italian politics.

There are some giallo-like elements here, but do not be tricked into expecting something along the lines of Dario Argento or Sergio Martino. Though the film is often assumed to be a giallo and Castellari himself participates in this deception with an opening scene that could have been lifted from Lizard in a Woman’s Skin or even New York Ripper, this is really more of a low-key crime/suspense/home invasion blend that takes more than a few nods from the German krimi films that came out during the ‘60s, including its inexplicable London setting. Though interiors were shot in Rome, the London shots were filmed on location, (allegedly without permits), and are well-used in the first half an hour of the film.

Fans of subtle Eurocrime films will find plenty to enjoy here, but giallo purists are likely to be disappointed and bored. Though there are a few murders and a few fight scenes, there is a minimum of either bloodshed or nudity, and certainly no black-gloved killers. The focus is more on suspense, political corruption, and a number of subtle plot twists that are easy to miss if you aren’t playing attention. Anyone who enjoys Hitchcock’s Rope will have an idea of what to expect here, though because this is a Eurocrime film directed by Castellari, there are some way over the top elements, including a bomb assassination plot, death by J&B bottle, a failed seduction shower scene, a random biker brawl, and some outrageously fake British accents. Though the first half is compelling, the second half descends into a strange parody of Italian crime cinema.

There are some lovely visuals and excellent camera work with plenty of unsettling close ups, dizzying zoom shots, and great use of the primary set (the Judge’s home) where much of the film takes place. The restless camera and regularly changing lighting does the film a lot of favors and keeps things moving where dialogue and characterization often screech to a halt. Though this is not one of Castellari’s best films, it is worth a look for fans of the director and anyone with a penchant for Eurocrime.

None of the actors are particularly memorable here and Fernando Rey (Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie) is unfortunately wasted behind a desk for most of the movie. Giovanna Ralli (What Have They Done to Your Daughters?) is absolutely lovely and is given a sassy role as a foreign prostitute in the wrong place at the wrong time. Gianni Garko (The Psychic) is a weak lead, though his character suddenly and inexplicably becomes more interesting during the conclusion. Frank Wolff (Once Upon a Time in the West) has some very effective moments as the main antagonist, though Julian Mateos (The Possessed) is simply ridiculous as his confused accomplice with an outlandish wardrobe and terrible accent.

The cinematography from Antonio L. Ballesteros (Sergio Leone’s Colossus of Rhodes) and editing from Vincenzo Tomassi (Let Sleeping Corpses Lie, Cannibal Holocaust, and most of Fulci’s output from the early ‘80s) absolutely shine here, with some incredibly claustrophobic close-ups and great shots of London in the early ‘70s. Also recommended is Ennio Morricone’s wonderfully bizarre, jazzy score, which sounds fantastic here and is mixed loud enough that any sound flaws are easily ignored. Keep your ears peeled for the odd effects he uses in the beginning of the film that sounds like cats being murdered.

If you enjoy suspense films and home invasion movies, Cold Eyes of Fear has plenty to offer, both in terms of well-crafted surprises and tense moments, as well as some unintentionally funny scenes. The key to being entertained is to resist expecting that the film is a giallo, even though Castellari plays with genre conventions throughout the film. Though there is unlikely to be another Blu-ray edition of such an obscure entry in the Italian crime genre, Kino and Redemption’s release of Cold Eyes of Fear is an average, not exemplary addition to their cult horror catalogue thanks to lackluster special features. With that said, the cleaned up print looks better than it likely ever will.

MURDER OBSESSION aka FOLLIA OMICIDA

Riccardo Freda, 1981

Starring: Stefano Patrizi, Laura Gemser, John Richardson, Anita Strindberg

Michael, an actor with a troubled past – he killed his father when he was just a young child – decides to visit his estranged, ill mother in her foreboding country estate. He brings along his girlfriend, who he passes off as his assistant, as well as a small film crew to begin planning their latest movie. But soon, his friends begin falling prey to a mysterious killer. Is it the creepy butler, someone involved with the occult, his unstable mother, or one of his friends? Or, has the house trigged Michael’s repressed murderous impulses and encouraged him to kill again?

A cross between a giallo film, the emerging slasher movie subgenre (just two years old at that point), and the “old dark house” premise of one his previous horror films, Tragic Ceremony (1972), Murder Obsession is Freda’s last movie, but remains surprisingly enjoyable. By 1981 the giallo peak had been past for nearly a decade and Freda lovingly makes fun of its tropes with the film’s opening – a black-gloved killer strangles a woman to death until the camera reveals that it is just a film shoot. This is simply a foreshadowing of the dizzying twists and turns to come and of the violence. The death scenes here aren’t particularly stylish, in the way giallo films are, but they are blunt and surprisingly gory, more like a slasher film (the outdoor deaths add to this sense as well).

Despite a workmanlike pace that keeps things moving and a somewhat brusque attitude about the cinematography, the film is full of strange and atmospheric moments. Freda accomplishes much with flashbacks that may or may not be real, menacing dream sequences (including one that features a giant, fuzzy spider rivaling the spider effects from The Beyond or Nude for Satan), and the odd inclusion of supernatural elements. Like Tragic Ceremony, there is the suggestion that a cult is at work and séances and the possibility of psychic powers become entrenched in the plot by the midway point. Michael’s girlfriend dreams she is being sacrificed during a cult ritual and there is a scene where footprints from an invisible source trail across a dusty floor.

While many giallo films have blackmail, prostitution, or drug ring subplots meant to distract the audience away from the true identity and motivations of the killer, Fredo went a similar route with the supernatural. As in those other films, this fades away with little to no explanation and it becomes clear that the killer is all too human and generally suffers from a diseased mind, a twisted psychology. SPOILERS. In this case, Murder Obsession borrows something from The Mephisto Waltz (1971). In the latter, a man dies in a Satanic ritual and his spirit possesses the body of a young pianist. He uses the pianist’s body to have an affair with his daughter, an accomplished occultist with plenty of her own unwholesome appetites. In Murder Obsession, Michael’s mother has the mistaken belief that in killing her husband, he would reincarnate in Michael. Likely a product of her mania and not an actual supernatural plot, this explains her uncomfortable levels of affection with Michael – as well as the fact that she murdered any of his friends, girlfriends, or sex partners threatening to take his attention from her.

Murder Obsession also has an undeniable connection with Argento’s Deep Red. In the latter, it is implied that a child killed his father and has continued killing as a grown up. SPOILERS: Of course, the child has not killed at all, not even in his adult state, but his mentally unbalanced mother is to blame. Murder Obsession plays with these themes. The plot is upfront in admitting that young Michael killed his father and was sent to a home. But like Deep Red, his mother’s mentally instability is to blame for what was essentially a past misunderstanding and all crimes were committed solely by her.

The film also borrows a lot from Freda’s own work of the ‘70s. In Iguana with the Tongue of Fire, seemingly every character owns a pair of black sunglasses, a critical clue that makes a number of people appear to be suspects. In Murder Obsession, this device is improbably redirected to black leather gloves (one character even goes to bed with them on!), which can be found everywhere despite the casual setting and nice weather.

Despite its obvious budget issues and inane script, there are plenty of enjoyable things about Murder Obsession. Keep your eyes peeled for genre regulars like Laura Gemser (Black Emanuelle), who has some nude scenes like basically every other woman in this film. A somewhat aged Anita Strindberg (Who Saw Her Die?) plays Michael’s mother, while Silvia Dionisio (Live like a Cop, Die like a Man and Naked You Die) appears as his loyal but put upon girlfriend. John Richardson (Black Sunday) has perhaps the best role of all as the sinister butler. I can’t say much about lead Stefan Patrizi (Conversation Piece) who is utterly bland.

I can’t say that Murder Obsession is a must-see, but it is delightfully weird and fans of Eurohorror who like movies with dreamlike, nonsensical moments will find a lot to enjoy. Raro gave it a surprisingly great Blu-ray treatment and it’s almost worth buying just to support the release and restoration of such obscure oddities. Personally, I was sold on the giant spider.

THE IGUANA WITH THE TONGUE OF FIRE aka L’IGUANA DALLA LINGUA DI FUOCO

Riccardo Freda, 1971

Starring: Luigi Pistilli, Dagmar Lassander, Anton Diffring

A murdered young woman with an acid-burned face is found wrapped in plastic in the trunk of a car – unfortunately belonging to the Swiss Ambassador to Ireland, meaning that the police are limited in their ability to question the ambassador and his staff. Still, they believe there is a connection between the victim, a Dutch young lady, and Ambassador Sobieski’s previous assignment. When the Ambassador’s mistress – a sultry nightclub singer – winds up dead, the police unofficially hire a former inspector, John Norton, known for his violent methods. With the help of his curious teen daughter, his elderly, Miss Marple-like mother, and a relationship with the Ambassador’s daughter, Norton begins to trail the murderer…

Director Riccardo Freda helped kick off Italian cult and horror cinema in the ‘50s, but his reputation had begun to fade by the ‘70s giallo boom. Regardless, he turned his attention to the genre with 1969’s A doppia faccia aka Double Face or Liz et Helen, really more of a krimi film edging its way slowly towards giallo. By 1971, he struck a little closer to home with the absolutely dizzying The Iguana with the Tongue of Fire, an amalgamation of giallo murder and conspiracy plots – and of course he also used the popular titling conventions that could be found in everything from Lizard in a Woman’s Skin to The Bird with the Crystal Plumage and Your Vice is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key.

Freda allegedly wanted to distance himself from the film and is listed as Willy Pareto in the credits. Based on Richard Mann’s novel A Room Without a Door, I don’t quite understand Freda’s dissatisfaction with the film. It’s not a classic by any means, but it’s certainly no worse than A doppia faccia, and at least garners the distinction of being perhaps the only giallo film set (and largely shot) in Dublin. Though Freda used the locations to his advantage, star and Eurocult regular Luigi Pistilli (The Great Silence, Bay of Blood) is hilariously given an Irish brogue overdub, which was undoubtedly a mistake.

There are some solid performances from Pistilli as the tough guy ex-cop willing to find the murderer at any cost, giallo-regular Dagmar Lassander (Forbidden Photos of a Lady Above Suspicion) as his love interest, and Anton Diffring (cast as a Nazi in basically everything) as the icy Ambassador. Keep an eye out for Valentina Cortese (Thieves’ Highway, The House on Telegraph Hill) in an unexpectedly boisterous role as his aged, drunken wife. But these pleasant performances can’t really do anything to balance out the plot, which has got to be one of the most winding and convoluted in giallo history.

Overwhelmed by zoom shots, red herrings, and plot points that make little sense, this Italian-French-West German coproduction includes some unintentionally hilarious moments. One particularly shining gem is that in an attempt to secure his alibi, the Ambassador hands over a receipt from a business called Swastika Laundry (!). And the strange presence of Norton’s mother, who fancies herself a sleuth, concludes with a hysterical attack sequence in the family home that has a Dead Alive flavor of comedy in its violence. The conclusion, which is arguably the most ridiculous part of the film, rests on a pair of dark sunglasses – which all the characters in Iguana seem to wear. And last of all, like many of the early giallo films from this period, drug use and blackmail spring up as side plots but peter out into nothingness, as does the film’s overly strenuous attempt to shoe-horn the title into a bit of dialogue.

With that said, there are some successful moments. There’s an overwhelming sense of sleaziness and claustrophobia, as there are any number of questionable characters who could be committing the crimes. Though the effects are very cheaply made, the murders are grisly episodes with acid thrown in the faces of the victims, who also have their throats slashed. Despite a lack of nudity, there is plenty of sexual innuendo and quite a few liaisons, first and foremost from the Ambassador. Though his character is used a bit ridiculously here, ambassadors are (or should be) a likely candidate for crime films, as their diplomatic immunity sets up an automatic indication of guilt that they – or someone in their households – has committed a crime. But no spoilers here.

Iguana with the Tongue of Fire only comes recommended for giallo devotees, Freda fanatics, and anyone with a love of obscure Eurotrash. It’s not available on an official DVD release, but you can track it down on the internet or through Sinister Cinema. And be sure to check out the enjoyable soundtrack from Stelvio Cipriani (Bay of Blood, Nightmare City) and Nora Orlandi (Blade of the Ripper, The Sweet Body of Deborah). It also might be worth watching solely for Anton Diffring’s increasing series of meltdowns.

Riccardo Freda: The Neglected Work of an Italian Genre Pioneer

Obscured by the shadow of his more famous protégé, Mario Bava, director Riccardo Freda (1909-1999) was an innovator of Italian genre cinema. With films like I Vampiri (1957), The Horrible Dr. Hichcock (1962), and The Ghost (1963), he helped plant the seeds of Eurocult and Italian horror. Freda’s contributions to a wide variety of European cult genres are indispensable, including his role as one of the greatest directors of peplum (or sword-and-sandal) films. He was initially ignored by contemporary Italian audiences who felt that genre films could not come from within Italy. Freda and other directors of the period went so far as to adopt English/American sounding pseudonyms to fool Italian theater patrons and get wider releases in the U.K. and U.S. Even now, in a decade where everything is out on DVD, Blu-ray, or at least streaming on Netflix, many of his key films are still only available in bootleg, subpar DVDs, or out-of-print versions, with releases trickling along over the years.

Born in Egypt, educated in Milan, and professionally established in Rome, Freda got his start in the fine arts as a sculptor and art critic – beginning the trend of other artists and writers turned director like Mario Bava and Dario Argento – eventually moving to cinema in the late ‘30s. Within a few years he established himself as an innovative director who rejected the neorealist cinema popular after the war to make lush films in a wide variety of genres, including historical costume dramas, pepla (the plural of peplum), spy films, horror movies, crime, melodrama, some war-action efforts, a spaghetti western, and even a slasher film. 

The Early Years:

Freda’s first film was an action-adventure-comedy, Don Cesare di Bazan (1942), based on a comic French opera about a dueling Spaniard forced to untangle political and romantic turmoil. It was followed by a few comedies at the end of the war before Freda turned to the successful, historical costume dramas he loved to make. Namely Return of the Black Eagle (1946), an adaptation of a Pushkin story, and a well-received version of Hugo’s Les Miserables (1948), which helped establish Freda as a director with visual panache. From there he graduated to action, with such titles as The Mysterious Rider (1948) and The Iron Swordsman (1949), also turning out a few war films.

With 1953’s Spartaco aka The Sins of Rome, he showed his skill for sword-and-sandal epics and stuck with this genre for the next several years. The following year’s Theodora, Slave Empress, details the exploits of the historical Empress Theodora, who allegedly to rose from her position as a slave and courtesan to marry the Emperor Justinian; in this film his mixed peplum and costume drama. Throughout the ‘50s and early ‘60s he had a slew of these popular action-adventure films that established his name and brought him acclaim with mainstream Italian filmgoers. His Castle of the Banned Lovers (1956) is based on the same historical story that Fulci would later adapt as Beatrice Cenci (1969) (which nearly ruined Fulci’s career).

1959 brought Sheba and the Gladiator, about a Queen who leads a revolt against the Romans but falls in love with one of their officers. This effectively began his foray into Italian cult cinema, as Sergio Leone was one of the film’s writers and later giallo regular Anita Ekberg starred. This was followed in the same year by The White Warrior, about a Chechen warlord, and The Giants of Thessaly (1960), a different version of the Jason and the Argonauts story filmed a few years before the beloved Harryhausen spectacle.

Most of these films focused on a hero, usually part action star and part romantic lead, who used sword fighting, fisticuffs, and rippling muscles to head a rebellion. Genre fans will find some interest in the “Maciste” films, a series of action-fantasy films that focus on an heroic, Hercules-like character renamed Samson for English speaking audiences. Maciste alla corte del Gran Khan (1961) aka Samson and the Seven Miracles of the World was the first Freda-helmed Maciste film and combines the figure with Freda’s previous Eastern-themed peplums: Maciste has to battle raiding warriors to save a Chinese princess. Maciste all’inferno (1962) aka The Witch’s Curse is the most interesting of these early films and actually garnered a DVD release from Something Weird Video (as a double feature with 1964’s Hercules Against the Moon Men). Maciste travels to Hell to battle a witch to save a beautiful woman. Part witch-burning, inquisition tale and part peplum, this hard to classify film is on the cheesy side, but contains plenty of action, atmosphere, and imagination, even if it does borrow from Bava’s spectacular Hercules in the Haunted World (1961). It is worth seeing for Freda’s colorful imagining of the underworld. 

First Forays into Horror:

A few years before Maciste went to hell, Freda and his then cinematographer Bava took their first journey into horror with I Vampiri (1956), which was ultimately co-directed by both men after Freda stormed off the set and passed the film on to Bava. Though it is debatable how much Bava filmed, or which scenes, this film has a marked visual style that had a definite influence of future European horror. It was produced by the team of Luigi Carpentieri and Ermanno Donati, who would go on to make more films with Freda even though I Vampiri wasn’t financially successful. There is a writing credit for Piero Regnoli, who went on to pen such genre classics as Nightmare City (1980) and Burial Ground (1981). Starring Italian beauty queen (and Freda’s wife) Gianna Maria Canale, I Vampiri is one of the first European horror films in a long tradition to be loosely based on Elizabeth Bathory.

A lovely vampire, Giselle, uses a virgin-blood serum to preserve her youth. When she demands more from the crazed scientist who invented it, things begin to get messy and a trail of bodies leads back to the Countess. Also known as The Vampires, The Devil’s Commandment, and Lust of the Vampire, it is available on DVD from Image Entertainment as part of their Mario Bava collection. It gets a certain amount of historical distinction for being the first sound-era Italian horror film. It’s a must-see for its status as the pre-cursor to Eurotrash and giallo films, plus it gives an indication of what to expect stylistically from Bava’s bright future. The atmospheric, but somewhat uneven black and white cinematography is beautiful and even though the plot leaves a little to be desired, Freda was clearly hampered by a small budget, too little shooting time, and a country that didn’t yet take homegrown horror very seriously. 

Freda’s next horror film, Caltiki – The Immortal Monster (1959), aka Caltiki – il mostro immortale, is a bizarre amalgamation of The Blob (1958), British sci-fi classic The Quatermass Experiment (1955), and giant monster movies. Archaeologists at a Mayan ruin discover a blob monster. Unfortunately for them, they try to destroy it and preserve a section to study at the same time. Coincidentally, a comet heads towards earth. With lovely black and white cinematography and effects by Bava, Caltiki will enjoy anyone who loves Godmonster of the Indian Flats as much as I do. It has sadly gone the way of a lot of obscure European horror in the sense that it’s available on a number of incredibly cheap region 1 DVDs, usually split with other neglected films (like the above-linked PR bootleg disc that features Caltiki and Attack of the Monsters). Caltiki, by the way, is the name of a terrifying Mayan goddess who was regularly presented with human sacrifices.

A Gothic Masterpiece:

None of his films have reached the visual splendor or cult acclaim of The Horrible Dr. Hichcock (1962), which is a Hitchcock-influenced Gothic horror tale of necrophilia, hauntings, nuptial horror, and obsession. Horror vixen Barbara Steele stars as the new bride and unwitting victim of her husband, the titular Dr. Hichcock, who is a talented anesthesiologist by day and a necrophiliac by night. He accidentally killed his former wife during their mutually consensual sex games which involved her playing dead. After a long time away from London, he returns, marrying Cynthia (Steele) in the hope that he can use her to resurrect his beloved first wife. 

Cynthia deals with a two-fold of terror, between the Rebecca-like hauntings from Hichcock’s previous wife and the murderous, obsessive passion of her new husband. Though some of the acting seems a bit undirected, the overall powerful performances and creepy psychological subtext make this a film worth seeing for both genre fans and cinephiles. Again produced by the Carpentieri-Donati team, Hichcock was written by Ernesto Gastaldi, who single-handedly penned most of the early giallo and spaghetti western films. It stars the British actor Robert Flemyng and scream queen Barbara Steele. This Italian production features some stunning cinematography by Raffaele Masciocchi who would go on to work with Freda on his next Steele vehicle, The Ghost (1963). 

I had the fortune to see this on 35mm during a late night Italian film festival and I’ll never forget the moment I realized that this obscure, early ‘60s gem seemed more shocking than the blood and guts soaking the screen from the other films on the roster. It’s also visually stunning; Masciocchi’s cinematography perfectly captures the Gothic dread that pervades the film, operating solely on expressionistic blocks of light and dark despite the fact that this is a color film. The film is notable for its early portrayal of a necrophiliac (though it is certainly less graphic than Nekromantik). Hichcock lacks nudity or gore, relying instead on melodramatic techniques to deliver the scares and perversity, which seemed to confound censors. They wanted to cut the film, and did for the U.S. print, but nothing is directly censorship-worthy.

A word on the title: There’s a good chance you may have seen the film referred to as The Terror of Dr. Hichcock and as The Horrible Dr Hichcock, the difference being that Terrible is the longer English print, while Horrible is the U.S. version cut by almost 12 minutes. Its original Italian title is L’orribile segreto del Dr. Hichcock, which translates literally to “The Horrible Secret of Dr. Hichcock.” It was also known by its working title, Raptus. Though it was generally critically well received, particularly by Surrealists, the shocking subject matter seems to have kept it away from audiences at home and overseas. This film, more than any other in the Freda canon, has been written about by cinephiles and cult genre fans alike, namely in webzines like Images, Kino Eye, and DVD Savant.

This masterpiece was immediately followed by The Ghost, another collaboration with Steele. Also known as Lo Spettro del Dr. Hichcock, it is a loose sequel to Hichcock, though in name only. It reunites the same producers, Carpentieri and Donati, as well as cinematographer Masciocchi, and costars British stage actor Peter Baldwin. The Ghost is sort of an inversion of Hichcock’s plot, retaining similar character names and actors. Steele and her lover plan to murder her sick, occult-obsessed husband, Dr. Hichcock, but when they do, everything goes awry. Not only will they not get the bulk of his considerable fortune, but it seems that he is haunting them from beyond the grave. 

With similarly beautiful cinematography and the same rich atmosphere of Hichcock, The Ghost is not as successful as its predecessor, sticking more to genre conventions and not really treading any new ground. It’s also weighed down by an unimaginative, generic title. It does have plenty of weird elements of Gothic horror, particularly Dr. Hichcock’s way of dealing with his illness, though the script also attempts to wander into crime/murder mystery territory, and certainly borrows some elements from Clouzot’s excellent Diabolique (1955). This is worth watching for Steele’s intense performance; indeed, she seems to shine as a romantic villainess, a role she would repeat in other Italian genre films. The Ghost is available on DVD from Alpha Video, though with a poor transfer.

After these two major horror efforts, Freda returned briefly to action, then to a few costume-drama literary adaptations, including Romeo and Juliet in 1964. He made a few films in this period that might interest genre fans, including the crime/spy film Coplan FX 18 casse tout (1965) aka FX 18 Superspy and its sequel Coplan ouvre le feu a Mexico aka Mexican Slayride (1967). Coplan is essentially a French James Bond with less panache and a smaller budget, though these films are interesting for Freda’s visual flair and the entertaining stunt work. In 1967 he also filmed his only spaghetti western, Death Doesn’t Count the Dollars, which is a pretty straight forward revenge film set in Arizona.

Crime, Mystery, and Giallo:

With 1969’s Double Face aka A doppia faccia, Freda ventured into the giallo sub-genre. Based very loosely on an Edgar Wallace novel, The Face in the Night, Wallace was an English novelist whose works were frequently adapted in Germany as krimi or crime/noir films. This West German/Italian co-production is more of a giallo than a krimi, but was advertised as such for the German audience. Double Face is of note for genre fans because it stars the great Klaus Kinski in an uncharacteristic role as the innocent protagonist, and also because a writing credit is given to the Godfather of Gore, Lucio Fulci, who was just beginning to establish himself as a genre director at that time. 

Kinski stars as John Alexander, a wealthy man whose wife is unfaithful – with her best friend. She soon dies in a strange car accident that seems to be murder and Alexander discovers to his horror that his wife appeared in several porn films. While he is being investigated for her murder he begins to suspect that she may still be alive. Interestingly, the French release in 1976 has hardcore inserts with actress Alice Arno, who had a starring role in Justine de Sade (1972), an uncredited role in Jess Franco’s Virgin Among the Living Dead (1973), and was also in Franco’s Kiss Me Killer (1977). Like many gialli before and after, Double Face has more titles than necessary, including the German title Das Gesicht Im Dunkeln (the name of the Wallace book), Puzzle of Horrors, and Liz et Helen. Fortunately you can find it streaming or on DVD from Sinister Cinema as A Double Face, which is part of their very cheaply made Edgar Wallace series.

Freda followed this up with L’iguana dalla lingua di fuoco (1971) aka The Iguana with the Tongue of Fire. It is reminiscent of several other colorful, animal related giallo titles from the same period like Bird with the Crystal Plumage (1970), Lizard in a Woman’s Skin (1971), Black Belly of the Tarantula (1971), and The Case of the Scorpion’s Tale (1971). Iguana has other similar genre conventions: first-person camera angles during murder scenes, a black-gloved killer, sexual repression, and more violence than any of Freda’s previous films combined. Interestingly, the killer strikes by cutting women’s throats with a razor blade and melting their faces with acid so that they cannot be identified – a particularly gory element even for a giallo film.

A body is found in the truck of a Swiss ambassador (Anton Diffring), who cannot be investigated because of his diplomatic immunity. Soon the police inspector in charge of the case discovers a plot involving blackmail and drug smuggling. Though it is not a stand-out of the genre, Iguana will appeal to giallo fans. For some bizarre reason it is set in Dublin and, as I said earlier, contains an unusual amount of graphic violence. It also has a strange number of twists and red herrings, which will make it confusing for genre-newbies but is otherwise very entertaining. Look for a more in depth review as part of my giallo series.

Tragic Ceremony (1972) aka Estratto degli archivi segreti della polizia di una capitale europea (which literally translated to “Taken from the Secret Police Archives of a European Capital”) has a mind-bogglingly long title and an equally absurd plot, though – spoilers ahead – it is ultimately about a Satanic cult. Some vacationing hippies seek shelter from a storm when their car runs out of gas. It turns out they picked the wrong mansion, because there’s a black mass going on in the basement with a coven of Satan worshippers who happen to be looking for a human sacrifice. Like many of Freda’s earlier films, it allegedly has a British setting, but isn’t fooling anyone.

Starring Camille Keaton (I Spit on Your Grave, What Have You Done to Solange?) and Tony Isbert (Paul Naschy’s Inquisition), the two inexperienced leads soak up screen time while there are a bevy of genre notables in the background, namely Luigi Pistilli (Twitch of the Death Nerve, The Case of the Scorpion’s Tale, The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly). Part giallo and part Gothic horror, Tragic Ceremony has an interesting premise, but unfortunately plods along and gets overwhelmed by its own attempts at plot twists, including one with a cursed pearl necklace (get your mind out of the gutter). Fans of Jess Franco will likely find this a charming effort, but it lacks the atmosphere or consistency of Freda’s earlier films. Tragic Ceremony should be seen for the satanic mass sequence and an orgy of violence that quickly dissolves into ridiculousness. This Italian/Spanish co-production is one of the few Freda efforts available on DVD in a nice release from Dark Sky Films that features a trailer and an interview with Keaton.

Follia omicida (1981) aka The Murder Syndrome, is Freda’s somewhat unfortunate final film. Featuring the lovely Anita Strindberg (Lizard in a Woman’s Skin and Case of the Scorpion’s Tale) and Laura Gemser (of the Emmanuelle series), there is more nudity than any of Freda’s other work and this can only really be described as Eurotrash. Borrowing loosely from Argento’s Deep Red (1975), a successful actor has a dark secret – as a child he stabbed his father to death. When he, his girlfriend, and their film production team visit his family mansion for a few days, the killings begin again and he fears the worst. Though enjoyable for its sheer trashiness, there’s some gore, more Satanism, sleazy sexual violence, and a spider scene that makes The Beyond (1981) look like National Geographic. Also known as Murder Obsession, Fear, and The Wailing, I believe this is Freda’s first film to receive a Blu-ray release from the wonderful Raro Video.

It seems inevitable that Freda’s work will eventually find its way to DVD, hopefully with restored prints, original dialogue tracks, and plenty of special features. Though a lot of more mainstream horror fans are ignorant of his Gothic horror spectacles, some more underground genre publications have touted the director over the years, including the much loved Video Watchdog magazine, and webzines like Images and Kino Eye, as well as blogs focusing on Italian horror like Giallo Fever. Do yourself a favor and find a copy of The Horrible Dr. Hichcock. It is inconceivable that genre fans, cinephiles, and even lovers of Hitchcock are being deprived of this great example of Gothic horror.

SLAUGHTER HOTEL aka LA BESTIA UCCIDE A SANGUE FREDDO

Fernando Di Leo, 1971

Starring: Klaus Kinski, Margaret Lee, Rosalba Neri

At an old mansion in the country, mentally disturbed women are being treated for a variety of disorders. Unfortunately a killer is on the loose, using the house’s display of medieval weapons to dispatch the women one at a time. Is he a homicidal maniac? Or does he have other motives? The patients likely to be targeted include a suicidal woman who owns a successful business and is having an affair with one of the doctors, a nymphomaniac, a lesbian nurse, a violent woman recently dropped off by her fed up husband, and much more.

The Beast Kills in Cold Blood aka Slaughter Hotel is a stylish, Gothic-flavored blend of giallo and Eurocult that was – very, very loosely – attempting to cash in on serial killer Richard Speck’s massacre of eight nurses in a California hospital… though you won’t get to this unintentionally hilarious scene till the bitter end of the film. And don’t make the mistake of expecting a straightforward giallo, as Slaughter Hotel is only loosely connected to this arty subgenre.

Between the scantily clad women often begging for sex to the inexplicable array of medieval weapons and torture devices just lying around the castle, this has more in common with a Jess Franco film than it does with Dario Argento’s work – a fact I’m not sad about. There is almost a total absence of plot or character development and director Ferdinando Di Leo focuses on scenes of the half-dressed patients lounging around a Gothic castle with some moments of intrigue and seemingly random shots of a hooded, black-gloved killer sneaking into bedrooms to kill – or think about killing – the women with some of the medieval weapons at his disposal, including an axe, mace, scythe, and even a crossbow.

It takes the staff and residents of the hospital seemingly forever to figure out that there’s a killer in their midst (actually, it’s the death by crossbow) – but I would also be distracted if most of my day involved having sexual liaisons with the staff members, getting massages, playing board games, and taking baths. Those expecting a more traditional giallo will likely be shocked by the sheer amount of softcore erotica on display, including numerous close-up vaginal shots of women masturbating. There are lots of babes in this film – I read somewhere that the actresses were Di Leo’s favorite part of directing Slaughter Hotel – including familiar faces like Margaret Lee (The Bloody Judge, Venus in Furs), Rosalba Neri (Amuck, The French Sex Murders), and Jane Garret in her only role.

Obviously most cult fans will be attracted to this title because of maniacal star Klaus Kinski. He doesn’t play as big of a role as you’d think and implausibly appears as a long-haired romantic lead. Though he’s a doctor at the estate, much of his time is spent wooing a patient and chain-smoking nervously. SPOILER: His reputation is used here as a major red herring. Though he is innocent of the murders, the plot seems constantly on the verge of revealing his guilt. Kinski is unfortunately wooden here, with very little to do, but he’s always a welcome presence.

Available on DVD, Slaughter Hotel comes recommended for fans of Klaus Kinski and Eurotrash. It doesn’t quite work as a giallo – though the death scenes are obviously modeled after this style – but the unintentionally humorous, often over-the-top moments will please anyone who enjoys more obscure horror. The film’s alternate title, Asylum Erotica, pretty much hits the nail on the head in terms of what you should expect from Italian crime film master Ferdinando Di Leo’s sole attempt at a giallo.

BLACK BELLY OF THE TARANTULA aka TARANTOLA DAL VENTRE NERO

Paolo Cavara, 1971
Starring: Giancarlo Giannini, Claudine Auger, Barbara Bouchet, Barbara Bach

Someone is killing off beautiful women all associated with a blackmail scheme. The killer's M.O. is unusually horrifying: he paralyses women by stabbing them with a poisoned needle and slashes open their bellies. Because of the paralysis, they have no choice but to lay back and watch themselves die. The frustrated Inspector Tellini (Giannini) has to solve the crimes before another woman is killed or before he becomes a victim himself.

Best known for the schockumentary Mondo Cane (1962), director Paolo Cavara didn’t leave much of a mark on the giallo genre (he later made Plot of Fear in 1976), but Black Belly of the Tarantula is an effective, creepy riff on Argento’s Bird with the Crystal Plumage. Aside from a brutal killer who slaughters lovely women who are somehow all connected, the two films share an excellent score from Ennio Morricone and a subplot where the protagonist takes a trip to a doctor/scientist to unlock an important clue. In Bird with the Crystal Plumage, a naturalist helps identify the call of a mysterious bird, but in this much more lurid film, Inspector Tellini figures out that some tarantula specimens are guarding a supply of cocaine – though the drug subplot fades away in favor of a more ludicrous solution

Giancarlo Giannini (Seven Beauties, Lili Marleen) is is like a rare and beautiful flower. Here he's a bit subdued, but is still fantastic. This is also a chance to see him on the cusp of European stardom, as he followed this film with performances in The Seduction of Mimi (1972), Love and Anarchy (1973), The Beast (1974), Swept Away (1974), Seven Beauties (1975), and so on. His lackluster inspector follows on the heels of the previous year’s Death Occurred Last Night, where the police officer protagonist is beaten down by crime, exhausted, and strangely domesticated – he would rather be at home with his beautiful wife than off fighting evil-doers.

There are a lot of other familiar faces besides Giannini, namely three Bond girls: Claudine Auger (Thunderball), Barbara Bach (The Spy Who Loved Me), and Barbara Bouchet (Casino Royale), as well as giallo regular Rosella Falk (Seven Blood Stained Orchids). The ladies of the film are exceptionally beautiful, and as part of it takes place at a spa, the script builds in plenty of opportunities for them to be scantily clad. With that said, Black Belly of the Tarantula doesn’t have an overwhelming amount of sex – this is basically about a guy who just wants to lay in bed with his wife, while she’s busy buying them all new furniture – and it’s fairly light on the gore.

The film manages to be effectively disturbing without showing much actual violence, though the premise – that the killer paralyzes and disembowels his victims – is quite grisly, even for a giallo. This is also far sleazier than something like The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, and it bears some resemblance to Fulci’s nastier and more hallucinatory Lizard in a Woman’s Skin or his mean-spirited Don’t Torture a Duckling. The film’s first victim is sexually promiscuous and makes arrangements over the phone for an affair while her husband storms in and confronts her with pictures of her and a different lover.

Black Belly of the Tarantula comes recommended thanks to come disturbing, suspenseful set pieces and the ever-dazzling Giancarlo Giannini. It doesn't tread much new ground, but is well-made and entertaining. It's a solid giallo that unfortunately fell under the radar for too long. There are some reviews out there calling it the “greatest giallo made” and labelling it a masterpiece, which I disagree with, but it does boast some beautiful cinematography and great score by Ennio Morricone. Fortunately Blue Underground rescued it from obscurity with this region 1 DVD release. Pick it up and prepare yourself for some spine tingling mystery and gut spilling crime.