The Forbidden Room

This Italian-French co-production could easily be thrown into the Italian giallo genre of the time, but it is really a pretty unique film that differs from other films in that genre in several major respects. First off, it is much more of a big-budget, arty affair with big-name actors like Vittorio Gassman and Catherine Deneuve, and a director who had just come off a big international art-house success with "Profuma di Donna" (the original Italian version of "Scent of a Woman" which also featured Gassman). It's also much more obscure than most giallo and was never clumsily dubbed into English. Mostly though it has a plot that actually makes sense and it develops slowly and subtly--quite a contrast from the hysterical tone and overwrought style of most gialli.

A naive young man studying art in Venice comes to stay with distant relatives, an elderly uncle (Gassman) and a somewhat younger aunt (Deneuve). In "Jane Eyre" fashion he discovers that his uncle is apparently keeping his insane brother in a secret room in an attic. His curiosity is piqued and he begins to investigate with his new artist model/girlfriend (Alcinee Alvina), and quickly discovers that all is not as it seems with his mysterious relatives.

You have to have a little patience with this film (especially if you're expecting a typical giallo). The atmosphere builds up slowly, but ultimately quite effectively. There is no graphic violence at all and no sex (aside from a memorable nude scene from the gorgeous Alvina). The final revelations at the end though are as perverse and disturbing as anything you'll find in any other giallo, with intimations of child abuse, incest, and the dual nature of man. Without giving too much away, this movie ends up being one of the best, most faithful adaptations of a certain classic story by R.L. Stevenson that I've seen. It's very hard to find, but find it.

i had heard about this flick,as a giallo & i liked the previous collaboration of Risi/Gassman in "Profumo Di Donna", so i was curious to watch this "anima persa".

even though this movie is't a gaillo at all,(it doesn't have typical giallo's elements), but it could be classified as a decent horror film. it's impossible for the viewer to forget a major thing : Gassman' penetrating eyes! (what a good actor he is) & he definitely steals the movie.

it could be predictable after the half,that what's going on , but this movie is entertaining to watch.

Stunning cinematography, beautiful 70's aesthetic, charismatic actors and a sad/twisted Gothic story. That's enough to make any cinephile invest in this movie and watch it pleasantly. Gassman is imposing, commanding the screen. Deneuve is not just a beautiful face but a great actress, too. Of course, it's a flawed movie. If you think it through, story doesn't make much sense, plot has many holes. But it's a 70's mystery movie, they didn't care much back then for realism and verisimilitude, focusing on other aspects of film making. And they did fine because 70's cinema is among the best cinematic decades ever, if not the best.

Keep in mind though, this is more mystery than horror. You don't watch movies like this in order to get scared. Sit back and enjoy the show. Although, in the end, it's not that" "enjoyable", more like sad and heart breaking.

Not all films appeal equally to all viewers. I've watched some that are poorly regarded and loved them, and I've watched some that are highly esteemed and found them boring, or even hated them. Before sitting for this one I had no foreknowledge or expectations save for that it has seemingly been held in some measure of regard. Imagine my surprise when I pressed "play" on what has been described as a thriller, a mystery, or even a horror-drama or horror-thriller, and was greeted with page after page after page after page after page after page after page of dialogue. There's also a domineering, misogynist, thoroughly unlikable uncle in there (Vittorio Gassman!), so pointlessly high-minded in his bloviating cruelty that he constantly looks a fool; a kind but submissive and beleaguered aunt (Catherine Deneuve!), who might be the one character with real personality and who is actually sympathetic and likable; haunting bits of audio; and some lovely, tasteful, mood-setting music (thanks to composer Francis Lai). But mostly, for a preponderance of the length, we get lots and lots and lots and lots of dialogue. Any sense of mystery, or the joy of the reveal thereof, is quashed by having everything revealed to us very flatly and casually by the pages and pages of dialogue; the only thrills come from some sudden instances of that audio or, depending on how we define the word "thrills," from how we bristle at how hideously uptight and mean the uncle is; forget "horror" in any but the most wildly oblique of capacities. As the length stretched on I kept hoping for a reversal of fortunes, but first I saw the digital timer read 40 minutes, then 50, then 60, then 70, then 80, and nothing had changed. The only mystery surrounding 'The forbidden room,' if you ask me, is how anyone has ever found it watchable.

Throughout the length there are small scattered moments that seem promising, but each of these are robbed of any potential by being paired with additional pages and pages and pages of dialogue. This emphatically includes the one overarching mystery the title may have been able to claim - filling the last twenty minutes - which marked the strongest potential of the whole tale. Had any care been exercised in crafting the narrative at any other point, employing subtlety and a delicate hand instead of relying on the actors' vocal cords, then maybe that mystery might have had some power. Maybe the "horror" label could have been applied in the sense of being a tragic horror-drama or horror-thriller, as we've seen in select rare instances every now and again in cinema. Indeed, there are underhandedly dark, grim truths spelled out for us in the last minutes. Unfortunately, since that subtlety and delicate touch are thrown out the window by (a) page after page after page of dialogue, and by (b) the plainspoken "it's this" exactitude of a few seconds of a shot that presents at the start that last stretch, all hope this may have had are pretty much lost. Meanwhile, I know what greatness Deneuve and Gassman are capable of as actors, and even as they are almost completely restricted to pages and pages and pages of dialogue I believe we see glimmers of their skill here. On the other hand, between the script and Dino Risi's direction, Gassman's performance is sometimes so gauchely over the top that I'm reminded of the bizarrerie given to Christopher Walken in 2003's 'Gigli.' Moreover, while I'm not familiar with Danilo Mattei, starring as nephew Tino, I have to wonder how he managed to have any career after this (from what I gather, his second credit) since he spends nearly the whole runtime just staring blankly at whatever scene partner is reciting their pages and pages and pages of dialogue. As his character pretends at being a painter I suppose there's possibly some joke here about a "blank slate," or rather a "blank canvas," but that joke seems far too clever to assume of writing that's so thoroughly wasteful of its most useful ideas.

Venice is nice, and so is the art direction. The costume design, hair, and makeup are lovely. Since Tino is just a brick wall for other characters to talk at I can appreciate those small scenes that focus on him in other capacities, serving as a quick break from the pages and pages and pages of dialogue, and which aside from that purpose as a break are otherwise trite and meaningless. Presumably this paid the bills and put food on the table for the folks who participated in its creation, so it has that going for it. I'm a big cat lover, so brief glimpses of felines were welcome. I see what 'The forbidden room' could have been if it weren't weighed down by pages and pages and pages of dialogue, and by uncaring, offhand dispensation of what were supposed to be Major Plot Points, and I admire the results of the thought experiment of "here's how the movie could have been improved." I do, it turns out, have some modicum of praise to offer for this, and the fact that I can find a way to a embrace a spirit of generosity in any manner regarding this picture makes me feel good about myself. And yet - strangely enough, these points I've offered are not very substantial. For whatever genre labels one may wish to append to the feature by way of description, the skillful, intelligent writing that would have allowed those labels to have any weight is not to be found in these 100 minutes, and I'm ultimately a little surprised that Risi didn't try to pass it off as a film directed by Alan Smithee. I was almost prepared to say that in my opinion this doesn't sink to the absolute bottom of the barrel, yet for as confounding as the viewing experience is as the flick squanders all that it might have been, I take back that sliver of kindness.

In closing, to borrow some words from Roger Ebert and his review of Rob Reiner's 1994 comedy-drama 'North,' allow me to quote him and summarize my feelings about 'The forbidden room': "I hated this movie. Hated hated hated hated hated this movie. Hated it. Hated every simpering stupid vacant audience-insulting moment of it. Hated the sensibility that thought anyone would like it. Hated the implied insult to the audience by its belief that anyone would be entertained by it."

Goodnight.

According to my Aurum Encyclopedia of Horror, Dino Risi's Anima Persa can be read as a critique of filmic realism, as an illustration of psychoanalytic processes, or as a political argument, while the entire film is constructed in terms of a process of splitting or 'doubling, making every identity suspect and undermining any sense of emotional and intellectual security.

What is even more baffling than that load of old twaddle is why the film is in the book in the first place: it's not a horror. It's not even a giallo, as some have described it. No-one gets killed. At all. In fact, no-one suffers so much as a stubbed toe. Yes, there's a madman in an attic, but all he stabs with his carving knife is a watermelon. Which might be scary if you're a watermelon, I suppose, but I'm not, and I doubt you are either.

Set in Venice, the film sees teenager Tino (Danilo Mattei) go to stay with his Aunt Sofia (Catherine Deneuve) and Uncle Fabio (Vittorio Gassman) at their sprawling but run-down home. At night, Tino hears strange noises and suspects that someone is living in the attic, which turns out to be true: Fabio keeps his crazed brother Berto there, under lock and key, rather than commit his sibling to an asylum. After this revelation, the plot goes nowhere slowly, with Berto locked in his room, occasionally appearing at the door peephole covered in paint and waggling his tongue.

Tino becomes friendly with Lucia (Anicée Alvina), the pretty life model at his art classes, Uncle Fabio bickers with his wife, and Tino sees his uncle's wild side on a night out on the town. No-one gets killed. In the film's final act, Berto's real identity is revealed and a family secret comes to light. I repeat, no-one is killed.

N. B. Vittorio Gassman actually plays a gas man, Fabio having worked for a Venetian gas company.