MY DEAR KILLER (1972), WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO YOUR DAUGHTERS (1974)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny* 
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological, sociological*

Here are two police-thrillers that just barely make it into the domain of "the giallo" thanks to killers who sometimes employ unusual murder-methods.

KILLER's director/co-scripter Tonino Valerii had written a couple of scripts for metaphenomenal films in the 1960s, but this was his only giallo. He brings to the film decent but not outstanding visuals, and so the story seems far more concerned with the heroic policeman's mystery-solving and not with the nature of the serial killer.

KILLER certainly starts off with a bang. The first murder victim is seen standing beside a country swamp, one surrounded by excavation equipment. Some unseen person takes control of a "claw" machine and uses it to slice off the victim's head. Detective Peretti (George Hilton) is assigned to the case, and as he seeks to make sense of the peculiar killing, others begin dying as well. This leads Peretti to delve into a cold case that involved the kidnapping of the little daughter of a rich man. The kidnapper collected his ransom but killed off both the little girl and her father. 

I must confess here that for some reason I decided to read the summary on Wiki, as I usually do not, because I found it a little hard to follow who was who-- even though most of the possible suspects consisted of the rich man's family and their servants. It soon becomes evident that the unknown killer is assassinating everyone whom he thinks might possess a clue to his dastardly deed. Because I read the summary, it seemed to me like Valerii barely made an effort toward implicating the other suspects. But I can't claim this time that I pegged the killer in advance.

I liked Hilton and other members of the cast, which includes Helga Line (in a very brief role), William Berger, and Marilu Tolo (who has a brief upper-body nude scene). But even though the photography looks good the mise-en-scene is pretty slow. The killer's only other atypical weapon is a rotary saw, but in other scenes he just uses a knife or a club. No competition for Argento here.

  Massimo Dallamano's DAUGHTERS is much more effective, for all that the killer is really just a mob-enforcer (mostly seen in a motorcycle-outfit) who occasionally uses very bloody methods of rubbing out targets. He's also working to eliminate all potential witnesses to a crime that involves an older range of victims: high-school age girls who, overconfident of their own abilities to suss things out, get pulled into a sex ring. 

The story centers upon two investigators: Inspector Silvestre (Claudio Cassinelli) and female district attorney Stori (Giovanna Ralli). Though there are one or two moments where Stori's gender is raised as a dramatic problem, both characters are seen to be forthright and conscientious in the efforts to expose the conspiracy. Dallamano, who had previously contributed a decent giallo in WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO SOLANGE?, focuses almost exclusively on the "police-thriller" aspects of the story. I found Dallamano's narrative drive far more compelling that it was in SOLANGE, as well as the way the script (co-written by Dallamano) develops the insidious operations of the corrupt sex ring, run by ambitious men who get off on their ability to control their underage victims absolutely. If it weren't for the presence of the bloody-handed assassin, DAUGHTERS wouldn't be a giallo at all.         

THE BLOODSTAINED SHADOW (1978)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny* 
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological, sociological*

For what it's worth, this is the first giallo I've come across in which the setting was that of a small/mid-size town with a rural atmosphere, as opposed to being either in a big city or at some ritzy manor out in the country. Despite the less intense setting, director/co-writer Antonio Bido-- who only helmed one other horror-movie, the slightly earlier WATCH ME WHEN I KILL-- generates ample tension despite the lack of extreme gore or artsy murder-methods.

Young Stefano (Lino Capolicchio) seeks a rest-cure in a small island-town near Venice, though the viewer is not told what he's resting up from. On his way there, he shares a train-ride with a pretty if enigmatic young woman, Sandra (Stefania Casini). Stefano, reaching his destination, is welcomed by his older brother Don Paolo (Craig Hill), the Catholic priest of the community. Though everything seems like a typical low-key rural town, Paolo makes mention of some of the covert scandals to which he, as a priest, has been made privy.

In contrast to convention, it's not the visitor to the town who witnesses a violent murder that night, but the resident priest, who looks out his window and sees a killer in black gloves and a black overcoat assaulting a woman. Paolo rouses Stefano, but by the time they get outside, neither figure is present. However, the next day the cops find the woman's dead body; that of a local medium already mentioned in Paolo's gossip. Some mention is made of an unsolved murder in the village from many years back, though no connection is offered. Later, Paolo receives a note threatening him if he doesn't keep his nose out of things.

Stefano's little problem is still not explained, though the audience sees him having a few weird flashbacks to some forbidding experience. He meets Sandra again and she invites him to dinner, where Stefano meets Sandra's stepmother. Meanwhile, one of the local mothers appeals to Paolo to speak to piano teacher Pedrazzi (Massimo Serato, the only name I recognized), accused of getting handsy with underage students, even though the grey-haired eminence already lives with a twenty-something young man. In what is almost certainly meant to be a clue, Pedrazzi calls the righteous priest a "hypocrite." 

Other victims are targeted, though the only connection may be that some or all victims may have sought the services of the lady medium--with the exception of Paolo, who's almost crushed by a falling statue. Stefano eventually sleeps with Sandra, though the sex is kept at a pleasant PG level. Sandra is also briefly menaced, though the killer isn't explicitly seen. It's arguable that Bido provides a few too many red herrings, as is seen with a local female abortionist with a demented adult son, who seem to be added for shock value. Still, I liked both the atmosphere and the score by Goblin, famed for working on various Argento movies. Considering that the killer doesn't use any exotic weapons, Bido provides a fair amount of variety in terms of the killings.

            

THE RED QUEEN KILLS SEVEN TIMES (1972)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny* 
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological, sociological* 

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

Given that great title, and QUEEN's ability to spotlight the charms (albeit never naked ones) of Barbara Bouchet, I wanted this film to reach the heights of the classic giallos. But the second and last giallo-movie of director Emilio Miraglia doesn't have anything underlying all the pretty pictures-- and to understand why, I have to do my usual thing of talking about the ending. 

Part of QUEEN's problem lies in the "family curse" with which the story begins, in that said curse never seems like anything but a laundry list of plot-points. We see Bouchet's character Kitty as a child, quarreling with her similarly aged sister Evelyn. They take their quarrel to their rich grandfather, who just happens to have a grotesque painting on the wall of his study. This painting depicts two sisters from some medieval portion of the family tree, with one, the Black Queen, stabbing her nasty sister The Red Queen to death. Grandpa not only keeps this testament to sibling hatred out in the open, he tells the two girls an involved story about how the Red Queen came back to life, killed six innocents, and then murdered her sister as well. Also, the Red Queen supposedly repeats this curse in subsequent generations. Wow, it's a medieval legend that sounds just like the plot of a giallo!

Fast forward to the siblings' teen years: they quarrel again, fight by the side of a river, and when Kitty knocks Evelyn into the water, she's swept away and never seen again. To spare Kitty, her cousin Franziska (Marina Malfatti) and her husband concoct a story for the public: that Evelyn simply emigrated to the US. Kitty feels very guilty but gets on with her life, working for a fashion house that allows the writers to bring in many more hot women, not least Sybil Danning (who does have a really cool nude scene). Then Kitty's grandpa dies, and the question of inheritance comes up. And it's only then that a red-cloaked female killer starts randomly attacking the friends of Kitty and of her boyfriend Martin.

Once the motive of inheritance comes up, though, no one's going to believe that Evelyn is back, fulfilling the Red Queen curse by knocking off random innocents while building up to the main target. Of course's it's a hoax designed to put the whole inheritance in the hands of Franziska and her husband. The hoariness of the plot would be excusable if the characters had been interesting within the bounds of a hyperbolic murder mystery. But despite all the potential psychological conflicts that can arise from sibling rivalry, QUEEN comes off as just a bunch of random characters going through the motions. And though the violence quotient is high, the menace of The Red Queen doesn't come close to the visual impact of the most memoranle giallo grotesques.   

     

THE CASE OFTHE BLOODY IRIS (1972)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological*                                                                                                                                              *SPOILERS*                                                                                                                                                                                                      In one respect, I'm not really surprised IRIS isn't one of the great giallos. Director Giuliano Carnimeo uses most of the familiar visual tropes of the genre-- beautiful women getting killed, sometimes with copious nudity, a mysterious killer unseen by the audience, and a host of oddball suspects. But IRIS was Carnimeo's only such thriller, and he's better known for his westerns, like the above-average HIS NAME WAS HOLY GHOST. In another respect, I am surprised that IRIS wasn't better, because the sole credited writer on IMDB was Ernesto Gastaldi. HOWEVER (once again), IRIS is a bit of a transition for Gastaldi. Before IRIS (also going by IMDB), I found all of the author's giallos just okay: STRANGE CASE OF MRS. WARDH (which many fans like better than I do), CASE OF THE SCORPION'S TAIL, and DEATH WALKS ON HIGH HEELS. Yet after IRIS, IMDB lists three of the most myth-intensive giallos of Gastaldi or anyone: YOUR VICE IS A LOCKED ROOM, DEATH WALKS AT MIDNIGHT, and TORSO. IRIS isn't a good as the latter three, but it sports some innovative sequences, suggesting that Gastaldi was warming to his work.                                                       

 The story follows the travails of two models, Jennifer (Edwige Fenech) and Marilyn (Paola Quattrini), as they talk on new lodgings at a ritzy high-rise constructed by rising young architect Andrea (George Hilton). They're not aware when they move in that two beautiful female residents have been murdered there. After they've moved in, Andea starts cozying up to Jennifer, and in a short time she reciprocates. But Andrea has an odd, intense inversion to blood, which references the Italian title of the movie, WHAT ARE THESE STRANGE DROPS OF BLOOD ON THE BODY OF JENNIFER? So could he be the mystery maniac, or is it one of several eccentric residents of the high-rise? Of course, it could be the most high-profile suspect (yeah. right): Jennifer's ex-husband Adam, who despite having been divorced from the gorgeous model, still follows her around trying to force her to his will. Adam is the source of the American title, for he ran a small-time sex-cult and wanted Jennifer to participate in the orgies. Adam symbolized the unity of the cult with an iris, asserting that the joined petals of the flower represent the unity of the membership-- though the audience never sees any members in "movie time," suggesting that the organization may be falling apart. Adam hassles Jennifer on the street, trying to browbeat her into coming back to him, because he "owns her." Since this is a spoiler-review, I have no hesitation in stating that neither Andrea nor Adam is anything but a red herring. Perhaps that makes IRIS the first giallo with two titles, each of which references a blind alley.     

 IRIS's main problem is far too many suspects, all of whom have rather arbitrary eccentricities: a lesbian who hits on Jennifer, her violin-playing father, an old woman who reads horror novels and hides an even bigger secret. Because the police suspect that one of the tenants is the killer, the cops ask Jennifer and Marilyn to continue residing at the complex. Neither model has any reason to do so, but they agree, so that the script will work out. Marilyn dies to show the audience that, yes, it is one of the tenants. The cops are also boring eccentrics in their own way, and the killer's murder-methods are violent but not uncanny. He is crazy, though, and the revelation of his ID justifies my category of "clansgression" here, though for all the buildup we've been given, almost anyone could have been revealed as the serial psycho. IRIS is distinguished by one great scene in this so-so movie. One of the early victims is a beautiful Black woman named Mizar, and she performs for an Italian casino a unique act: challenging individual men in the audience to a wrestling-match. If Mizar can't counter a challenger's attacks with her judo, she promises to become the victor's "slave"-- by which I presume she means "sex slave." This is a fine juxtaposition of a female performer using her sexuality to entice challengers, only to embarrass them with her superior skills. Once or twice, there are remarks that highlight other examples of male chauvinism, but Gastaldi didn't organize these tropes into anything coherent, and all that results is a competent giallo with one kickass scene.             

DEATH WALKS AT MIDNIGHT (1972)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: *good*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological*                                                                                                                                              Even many of the best-regarded giallo movies are best prized not for being solid mysteries or character studies, but just for being well-crafted exercises in delirium. However, producer-director Luciano Ercoli collaborated on two noteworthy thrillers with esteemed writer Ernesto Gastaldi and starring Spanish actress Nieves Navarro (billed as "Susan Scott.") The first collaboration was the decent crime-story DEATH WALKS IN HIGH HEELS. However, the follow-up DEATH WALKS AT MIDNIGHT is not only a solid horror-mystery, but a good inquiry into the stability of the waking world.                                                               

                                                                                                                                                                                                          MIDNIGHT's main character Valentina (Navarro) is a model, but she's not one of the easily condemned stereotypes propounded by, say, TOO BEAUTIFUL TO DIE. She's reasonably well-off, but even she can be deceived even by some of the people she likes and works with, like the conniving photographer Gio (Simon Andreu). One fine day, Gio talks Valentina into doing an exploitative story for his newspaper, in which a famous (but unnamed) model is photographed while experiencing the hallucinations of a powerful experimental drug, HDS. Gio uses the photos all right, but when they appear in the newspaper her name is all over the place. Though Gio likes Valentina and would like to get naked with her, he's all about selling himself first.                                                                                           

This piddling publicity stunt takes on fatal overtones because, during her bad trip, Valentina images that she witnesses a killer in sunglasses using a spiked metal glove on his hand to murder a young woman. Gio thinks she just made up her vision, and thinks she based her hallucination on a real murder, with the same modus operandi, committed six months ago. The alleged killer was confined to an asylum-- but then why does Valentina find herself stalked by the figure from her dream?                                                                         

  An investigating detective thinks that Valentina's performing some publicity stunt as well, but other strangers dog Valentina's tracks as a result of the model's bad publicity. One is a bearded man who claims that the fellow in the asylum was his mate in a band, and that he was not the true killer. A young woman claims to be the sister of the murdered woman and talks Valentina into visiting the asylum-- but then she deserts Valentina's side, which puts the poor girl once more in the sunglasses-clad sights of the potential mystery killer. Gio still doesn't believe any of Valentina's conspiracy stories, but he takes advantage of her distracted state to talk her into bed. Yet he's not a total reprobate either, since he comes through for her when he's finally convinced of the real situation.           

I'm not going to try to cover all the twists and turns of this excellent giallo. Poor Valentina is put through so many ordeals that she comes close to being one of Sade's eternal victims. However, despite not being a heroic figure, Valentina has a will to defy the many forces arrayed against her, so that MIDNIGHT is properly more of a drama than an irony. Her brief psychic episode is also open to question, since what she envisions of the six-months-ago murder isn't the whole truth. The true architect of Valentina's troubles isn't precisely a "perilous psycho," though Sunglasses Guy doesn't seem to be entirely well-balanced. This was Ercoli's last trip to the giallo well, though Gastaldi would continue to distinguish himself in the genre.            

TOO BEAUTIFUL TO DIE (1988)

                                  

                                                                                                               PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: *poor*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological*                                   

                                                                                                               TOO BEAUTIFUL TO DIE, called a "sequel in name only" to the 1985 giallo NOTHING UNDERNEATH, picks up the earlier film's trope of "the world of modeling is empty of morals and/or intelligence."                                                                                                                                                                                                      I gave the 1985 film a rating of "fair" because I thought the writers came up with a novel way to involve an ordinary fellow (albeit one with an extraordinary talent) in seeking to find the murderer of his sister. But this time, director/co-writer Dario Piana (in his only horror movie) shows a young woman being abused by the representatives of the modeling culture and then slain. Though there is a character investigating her death (apart from the usual dogged cop assigned to the case), that civilian investigator doesn't "come out" until near the movie's end. So the main thrust of the story is that of "ten little Indians," as each of the persons who participated in the abuse gets knocked off in turn. Since the abuse is heinous-- a rich man wants to rape a particular model, and her manager and three other women facilitate the crime-- the viewer certainly won't mind seeing each of the guilty parties die-- though ironically the rich guy is murdered offstage. But then, he's not "too beautiful to die," and so Piana concentrates on the lovely ladies falling victim to the mystery killer. 

Aside from the opening rape-scene, Piana doesn't deliver any memorable cinematic murders, and there's not a lot of nudity. However, the director, formerly involved in producing music videos, delivers a lot of footage of gorgeous females, such as Giola Scola (as the victim), Randi Ingerman and Florence Guerin. The script tosses out a couple of clues about the murderer's identity and his modus operandi but then doesn't really deliver a payoff for said clues. The killer is revealed in the end and is good enough to explain all of his motivations to his intended victim, but though the rant is diverting it's never compelling. In other words, it's just another giallo with a lot of murders and pretty women, which may be all a given viewer really expects for his entertainment.                                                              

THE FISH WITH EYES OF GOLD (1974)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: *good*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological, sociological*

*SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS*

I've not seen any other cinematic works by either the director or the writer of GOLD-- Pedro L. Ramirez and Juan Gallardo Munoz, respectively-- and they don't seem to have done anything else in the subgenre of "the giallo." But so far this is the best Spanish giallo I've encountered-- which is saying something, given the many restrictions on Spanish filmmakers in the 1970s. This may be a reason why GOLD boasts no excessive sex or gore, though the creators found some equally fun ways to explore their material.

I considered not revealing the killer(s) in my analysis, but there seems no way to explicate the symbolic discourse of the movie without ripping the cover off the mystery-- which isn't perfect but shows better attention to detail than a lot of Italian productions.

Teaser scene on a beach, close to a beach town in Spain where all the action takes place: a bikini-clad woman on a beach-towel spies a scuba-diver emerge from the surf. She greets him as if she knows him, but her welcome turns to horror when he stabs her to death. (Right away, the script gets points for introducing a novel way to keep the mystery killer masked.) Close to shore is a witness in a small boat. He rows to shore and the scuba killer runs away. As the witness looks at the dead girl lying on a beach towel, for some reason he focuses on the towel's image of a fish. No golden eyes on this fish, but from the title one can guess this simple decoration going to be tied in somehow to a Big Symbolic Fish.

On a road leading to the beach-town, a good-looking Englishman named Derek (Wal Davis) is hitchhiking. He passes a house and witnesses a woman, Monica, quarreling with a man, Marco. Monica gets in her car, drives past Derek, and then beckons for him to join her. The two chat a bit, and then listen to a radio bulletin about a serial killer having claimed a new victim. Derek notices that Monica wears a pendant ending in a metal fish with golden eyes. She stops at a hotel, takes a room and invites Derek to have sex. 

Sometime later, Derek wakes up in bed with Monica--but a Monica who's been stabbed to death. After struggling with his drunkenness and his nausea at beholding a murdered corpse, Derek sneaks out of the hotel. He seeks sanctuary with another ex-pat Englishman, Zachary Kendall (Ricardo Vazquez) and his wife Virginia (Norma Kastel), both of whom seem to be professional artists who work with both painting and sculpture. It's never stated outright, but since Derek mentions being a minor artist later, presumably they met through art-circles. Zachary, incidentally, is the same fellow who witnessed the bikini-girl's murder, and he accompanies Derek to the local police to tell his story. The Inspector is duly suspicious but only requires Derek not to leave town.

At Zachary's house Derek also meets a young woman with the not-coincidental name of Marina (Ada Tauler) and learns that she knew the late Monica. Since the Englishman is afraid of getting framed for the murders of Monica and other victims, he launches his own amateur investigation. He seeks out Marina at a local aquarium-- which, despite the beach setting, is the only time the audience sees any real fish. Marina informs Derek that Monica's ex-boyfriend was a money-grubbing gigolo who slept with many women for cash. But before Derek learns anything more, Marina's protective father Pablo shows up and tells Derek to leave. It's uncertain as to whether he's more suspicious of Derek being a serial killer or simply a "foreigner."

Derek somehow finds out where Marco lives and searches his room for clues. Marco shows up and they fight, though strangely Marco doesn't call the cops on the intruder. Derek doesn't find any clues, but he does find out that Marco's sleeping with Zachary's wife Virginia.

Virginia won't explain her affair to Derek, but in her studio Derek sees a metal sculpture that looks just like Monica's fish-pendant. She tells him she got the design from a local goldsmith, and the goldsmith says that he hasn't yet distributed any of his pendants-- except one, which he gave to a young man named Marco. He gives Derek the artist's sketch he used for the pendant's design but doesn't remember who did the sketch. 

Derek goes for a drive in Zachary's car to acquaint his buddy with developments. However, the brakes fail and the car crashes. Derek is thrown clear and then manages to pull Zachary from the burning vehicle. Zachary's hands are both burned, the same hands which, moments ago, Virginia complained that he only used for his precious artworks.

Despite this bad automotive experience, Derek then goes on a drive with Marina. He believes Marco guilty but can't explain why a gigolo would cut off his own source of income. They both express their dislike of fish and implicitly make out a little. At the hospital Zachary stops mourning his precious hands long enough to canoodle a little with a young nurse he knew from a previous encounter. Virginia covertly witnesses their interaction.

Derek seeks out Marco again, but a mystery killer gets there first and knifes him dead. The killer, his face guarded by dark glasses (even though it's night), clouts Derek from behind and flees in a car. Derek tries to follow by stealing a citizen's car, but the cops pull him over and the killer gets away.

Surprisingly, the Inspector confides in Derek that he had a psychoanalyst examine the sketch, and the verdict was that it was made by someone with a severe psychotic disorder. And so we finally get a payoff on an earlier scene in which Zachary witnessed his mad father kill his mother (in the presence of a goldfish tank, no less). Zachary wasn't the original serial killer-- that was Marco, though his motive is never clear-- but Zachary's own buried psychosis was triggered by seeing the slain woman, and he killed Monica and all victims after that. Fittingly, the final face-down takes place at the aquarium.

Dario Argento's shadow looms large over GOLD. The more important trope borrowed from Argento is the idea that psychotic evil can spread from villain to victim like a disease. But I also like that, while a lot of giallos use animals in their titles just because Argento did it, Ramirez and Munoz seem to be using their fish-motif as a symbol of the unconscious life, the place that gives birth to sex and transgressive obsessions-- even though, as I said, no fish are directly involved in the narrative.

THE SCORPION WITH TWO TAILS (1982)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *metaphysical*

Several online reviews call Sergio Martino's SCORPION WITH TWO TAILS a "giallo," as if it were homologous with most of the sex-and-violence thrillers in that mold-- not least Martino's similarly titled 1971 opus, THE CASE OF THE SCORPION'S TAIL But the only thing the two movies have in common is that the scorpions in each title are eccentric pieces of jewelry. Thus, the ornaments in both movie function only as theoretical gateways to those who crafted them.

Originally the 1982 SCORPION, scripted by Ernesto Gastaldi and three other contributors, was intended to appear on Italian television as a mini-series. This is certainly the reason that too many subplots with little pay-off appear in this film of just a little over ninety minutes. But whatever final form the planned mini-series would have taken, the film that resulted is less a giallo than an occult mystery. Some giallos depend on a main character regaining some buried trauma. But SCORPION is structured like a Greek amamnesis, in that the heroine discovers that she shares a kinship with archaic Etruscan deities.

Joan Barnard (Elvire Audray) remains in America while her husband Arthur works an archeological dig in the land of the long-vanished Etruscans. Joan has two confidantes in her life, though both are somewhat opposed to her marriage with Arthur: her wealthy father (Van Johnson), who believes Arthur married Joan for her inheritance, and Mike, who never actually makes a pass but plainly has a thing for Joan. But Arthur's fortunes initially seem to be looking up, for he uncovers evidence of a buried tomb. He phones Joan to arrange getting more money to complete the dig.

Moments before Arthur's call reaches Joan, she falls asleep and experiences a peculiar dream. She beholds Arthur entering a cavern, where underground vapors rise from an abyss and a veiled woman stands near an altar. Arthur confronts the woman, but from behind him two feminine-looking arms entrap him from behind and twist his neck all the way around. Joan's awakened by the phone and speaks with Arthur for a few minutes. However, Arthur is then killed by an intruder who murders him the same way he was slain in the dream, except that the two arms twisting his head around look like those of a man.

Naturally, Joan wants answers as to the manner of Arthur's death, so with Mike in tow, she travels to Italy. She meets with various natives, particularly Contessa Volumna (Marilu Tolo), and a female colleague of Arthur's, Heather (Wandisa Guida), but none of them can throw any light upon the murder. Then she seeks out the dig-site, and meets two strangers, an old man and a young gypsy-girl, both of whom address Joan with a goddess-like monicker, "the granter of gifts." Joan has a waking vision in which she sees maggots pour out of a statue, and moments later, someone finds a dead body: that of Heather's driver, with his neck twisted around like Arthur's.

So like regular giallos, there is a mystery killer, but the script is far more concerned with portraying Joan's strange connection with the Etruscan tomb, despite her never having been in Italy before. She meets the strange old man again, and among other things he makes a recondite remark about how hard it is to know the designs of the ancient gods. The script then devotes considerable time to a crate of artifacts that Arthur was supposed to ship to America, and in time Joan learns that the crate was meant for her father, because there was heroin concealed therein. The father shows up in Italy, wanting to find the missing merchandise for his displeased customers, and it comes out that both Heather and Volumnia are mixed up in the drug-smuggling.  

The main problem with all these mundane crime-subplots is that, even though they also feel like elements of a giallo with detective elements, the smugglers and their plans are a side-issue, as is shown when competing drug-dealers attack an expedition descending into the tomb, killing Arthur's two female colleagues and Joan's father. Then Joan, who has continued to have weird visions throughout, seemingly beseeches the gods to slay the tomb's profaners-- and sure enough, the walls fall in, killing the gangsters but not Joan.

In the last thirty minutes, Joan learns that she's a dead ringer for a portrait of Kaere, an Etruscan high priestess who lived thousands of years ago. In the end, Joan is essentially taken over by the spirit of Kaere, and one of her unwitting male companions tries to help her stay grounded. But he too has profane intentions, and divine justice has the last word.

In the end, if SCORPION is judged a failure-- and indeed, Martino himself did not speak well of the project-- it's not because it has too little transgressive sex and violence, like a standard giallo. It's because Joan is a superficial character and her contact with ancient spirits doesn't represent either personal growth or devolution. While the icon of a scorpion with two tails doesn't really symbolize anything important in the story proper, SCORPION does suffer for having "two tales," one giallo and one occult mystery, that get in one another's way and keep the whole "animal" from prospering.

THE KILLER IS ONE OF 13 (1973)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological, sociological*

Paul Naschy must have got some satisfaction from his two previous collaborations with director Javier Aguirre, because he consented to appear in this Spanish film in what amounts to a glorified cameo; a butler on the estate where a bunch of killings take place-- eventually.

The star here, as in most such stories, is the mystery killer, to whom Aguirre gives one minimal "giallo" characteristic, that of wearing black gloves. But KILLER is not structured like any of the famous giallos, nor like the contributing influence of Agatha Christie's "And Then There Were None." 

Rich widow Lisa Mandel (Patty Shepard) invites twelve acquaintances of her late husband to a party at her estate. Her purpose in so doing is to reveal that she suspects all of them of having covertly arranged for the death of Lisa's husband. However, once she reveals this purpose to her confused guests, none of them decide to leave. In many comparable "house of death" movies, there's some reason for all the potential victims to stay on the premises. But since co-scripter Aguirre couldn't come up with any such motives, he simply holds off on killing anyone for the first hour of the film.

So the first hour is mostly talking heads dialogue, with a few brief sex-scenes or scenes of husbands accusing their hot wives of wanting to get sexed up at this party. One might think Aguirre would use all the conversational scenes to establish clues that will help the audience identify the mystery murderer. Instead, what the director puts out there is a lot of soap opera emotion that doesn't contribute to either plot or characterization. Only two characters establish a little tension as to what they might do next: Lisa's aunt Bertha (Trini Alonso) mentally dominates her grown son Francis (Eusebio Poncela). Bertha's dialogue states that she thinks Francis constantly chases after "low" women, and this oppressive dynamic could have Oedipal psychological connotations-- except that Bertha does want Francis to romance his cousin Lisa, because Lisa has money.

When the killings begin-- with minimal gore and no imaginative setups-- the guests still don't simply flee the mansion, as they're fully able to do. The resolution of the "mystery" is nothing special, though it does involve a perilous psycho wearing the aforementioned black gloves. The effect is so underwhelming that I barely give KILLER any credit for assembling a quantity of gorgeous women, including Shepard, Dianik Zurakowska, and Carmen Maura.

THE NIGHT OF THE SCORPION (1972)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological*

There are no scorpions in this film, even in a figurative sense. But since all of the alternative titles suggest the recrudescence of dead people-- when in fact the story never seriously suggests that possibility-- then one might as well go with the giallo-friendly cognomen.

SCORPION is also barely a giallo, even of the Spanish variety, though it manages to cram a fair amount of similar perverse sexuality into what's basically an "old dark house with mystery killer" flick. So far as I can tell director Alfonso Balcazar didn't helm any other horror-movies, confining his talents mostly to spy-stories and westerns. But it may help to know that one of the three credited script-writers was Jose Larraz, who would soon make his mark with a handful of sexually transgressive spook-shows.

Though the "star" of the movie is the mystery killer, Oliver Bromfield (Jose Antonio Amor) is the nexus around which the trouble coalesces. He's first seen about to depart the mansion where he's lived his whole life, because he had the misfortune to accidentally kill his wife Helen (Gioia Desideri). Apparently the local authorities cleared Oliver of wrongdoing, but he still feels bad and wants to get away from the scene of the tragedy. The audience later learns that only three other people occupy the mansion, but at the outset sees only Oliver's widowed stepmother Sara (Nuria Torray). Sara tries to persuade Oliver to stick around and become her lover. The English dialogue is not clear as to whether the two of them may have already done the deed, before or after the death of Oliver's father, but it doesn't matter, since the late father is never an issue. Oliver resists Sara's temptations and departs.

Some time back Oliver comes back, but with a second wife, and the audience encounters the real viewpoint character, Ruth (Daniela Giordano), the "second wife who has to get used to her husband's weird home and relations." Ruth meets Sara, who can barely conceal her feelings for her stepson, and then sort-of meets Oliver's intense sister Jenny (Teresa Gimpera). The other occupant is apparently the mansion's only servant, the maid Clara.

It doesn't take Ruth long to learn that there's a lot of controversy surrounding Helen. Both Sara and Jenny make odd comments about her, and Oliver has bad dreams about the incident of Helen's death. It seems she took a header off a high staircase, while Oliver was drunkenly berating her. The audience also gets a flashback in Oliver's memory, one to which Ruth is not privy. It seems that Helen cheated on Oliver several times, though the audience only sees one transgression: sleeping with Oliver's weird sister Jenny. But even in the flashback, Oliver doesn't remember exactly what caused Helen to take her fatal plunge.

When the killings eventually start, Oliver's never really a serious candidate for "resident psycho," any more than it's ever likely that Helen has come back from the dead. But this is probably because the film knows its audience and spends most of its time showing its three gorgeous female stars in all sorts of stunning outfits. (Only Desideri's Helen gets a sizable amount of nudity.) Ruth accidentally jump-starts the psycho when she brings in a private investigator, initially having him pretend to be her uncle. The P.I. is the first to die, and then a couple more follow-- drastically reducing the pool of suspects. 

SCORPION doesn't really have any value as a mystery, but few "old dark house" flicks do anyway. Other reviews found the movie too tame, and indeed the killings are very vanilla. But the sexploitation aspects held my attention well enough, though I'll admit that all of the characters are nothing more than simple psychological constructs.

SO SWEET, SO DEAD (1972)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological, sociological*

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

I saw this film under the title THE SLASHER IS THE SEX MANIAC. For once an exploitative and inaccurate English title is derived from an Italian title that's equally inaccurate though a little less exploitative (see above). I prefer the alternate English title for this film, the only giallo by director/co-writer Roberto Bianchi Montero.

SO SWEET SO DEAD comes damn close to rating "good mythicity" by the way the script utilizes tropes of misogyny. I'm not talking about the penchant of giallos to depict more female killings in disproportion to male ones. Due to the strength discrepancy between men and women, there's a degree of physical logic when a male serial killer-- or even a female one-- preys more on females than on males. Even the depiction of female deaths in spectacular visual terms can be defended as illustrative of a misogynistic outlook.

But in SWEET, we have a killer who incarnates a social form of misogyny, rather than killing because he's a "sex maniac." Perhaps because the murderer dresses in the standard black giallo attire with a stocking mask and uses a mundane knife all the time, the press doesn't give him a snazzy nickname. Thus I'll anticipate the film's Big Reveal by calling him "the Professor" (yes, that's why the spoilers are there). He earns that name by showing a professorial level of research ability. All of his targets are all glamorous, upper-class married women who have cheated on their husbands, and the Professor first kills the women and then leaves behind photographic evidence on their indiscretions. He also very considerately scratches out the faces of the men with whom the unfaithful women dallied, as if he were avenging the husbands who were sinned against and yet excusing the men who made the indiscretions possible. In hands more capable than those of Montero, this could have been a searing indictment of Italian double standards toward male profligacy. But one of the big flaws of SWEET is that the Professor's psychosis is never really justified. Yes, there's some last-minute BS about how he lost his beloved wife because she died in an accident while in the company of her lover. Yet the weak script makes no attempt to grapple with his reasons for protecting the male transgressors. Ironically, when the Professor in his civilian ID is trying to lead the cops down the garden path, he suggests that the killer effaces the photos because he's homosexual-- which is also BS.

The Professor's main adversary, Inspector Capuana (Farley Granger) is a little better drawn. He and his beautiful wife Barbara (Sylva Koscina) moved from a small Italian city to a bigger one for the sake of social advancement. But because the Professor targets only rich people, Capuana constantly finds himself between a rock and a hard place. Rich people constantly demand that the inspector arrest the malefactor preying on their class (even if the killer IS knocking off unfaithful wives), but at the same time the cops have to treat all the rich people with kid gloves. After three or four women die, Capuana gets a break, of sorts. Gastone is a somewhat dotty mortician (played by Luciano Rossi as if he were channeling Klaus Kinski). Gastone, though not a suspect, seems to have a fetish for making dead bodies look flawlessly preserved. Out of nowhere the mortician confesses to the killings. Capuana and his fellow cops don't believe Gastone for a moment, but they tell the press they've caught the killer, in the far-fetched belief that this will offend the killer's pride.

This stratagem shouldn't work, but it does. The Professor calls Capuana and announces that he'll make the inspector pay for insulting the killer's holy mission, for the Professor then tells Capuana that he intends to slay Barbara. Apparently the killer's annoyance allows him to deviate from focusing on the upper classes, but he stays true to his main obsession, for he also tells Capuana that Barbara's been cheating on him.

Even though Capuana never actually sees any evidence against Barbara, he implicitly believes everything the murderer tells him. (And how convincing are a bunch of photos with the male faces scratched off, anyway?) But though Capuana still has no way to track the Professor, he has a sudden realization of just who Barbara's lover could be. He rushes to Barbara's rendezvous point.

I'll omit the movie's final twist, which could have been a Hitchcockian masterpiece if Montero hadn't saddled SWEET with such cardboard characters and unbelievable motivations. Frankly, the Professor is such a weak-sauce monster that I really wish Gastone had been the culprit. His obsession with making women look beautiful in death-- and thus incapable of refusing any attentions-- could have been a nice comment on the way the better giallos use the female body to portray a union of eros and thanatos, of "the sweet" and "the dead."

THE IGUANA WITH THE TONGUE OF FIRE (1971)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological*

IGUANA WITH THE TONGUE OF FIRE is a fun name for a giallo even though its "animal title" was created to play off Dario Argento's groundbreaking THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE. To those who would say the context of the fire-tongued reptile doesn't add up to much in the narrative, I'll note that the crystal-plumed bird is something of a "false clue" in Argento as well.

A mysterious killer starts off his spree in Dublin (IGUANA was actually filmed in Waterford, Ireland) by ringing a woman's doorbell and then both splashing her with acid and cutting her throat. He then loads her body in the trunk of a car belonging to Swiss ambassador Sobiesky (Anton Diffring). The police question the arrogant Sobieski and his family, though the only one who provides the film with a solid red herring is grown daughter Helen (Dagmar Lassander). However, the Dublin cops can only do so much since their main suspect-- who apparently had relations with the slain woman as his mistress-- is protected by diplomatic immunity.

So the local constables bring in a ringer to investigate the family, former cop Norton (Luigi Pistilli). It seems counter-intuitive to choose as your undercover guy a cop fired for having abused a suspect who then committed suicide in front of Norton's eyes. However, maybe the phlegmatic commissioner-- the one who coins the iguana metaphor for the killer-- is impressed by the fact that Norton's really, really bugged by his past mistake and seems to want absolution (assuming Norton's not the killer, since the script implies as much a few times). Of course Norton's undercover operation comes with fringe benefits, for it apparently hinges on his managing to chat up Helen and sleep with her while he's investigating.

Subsequent killings-- mostly with knives and acid, though one does involve a sabotaged bobsleb-- all involve people somehow tied to the Sobieski family. Viewers get to see a POV of the killer wearing dark glasses, so of course Helen and one or two other characters are also seen wearing dark glasses. There's an aimless subplot about blackmail and we also meet Norton's elderly mother and teenaged daughter, who live with the ex-cop. (One hears no more about the daughter's mother than about what Norton was doing to put food on the table before he got this undercover gig.) 

Director/co-scripter Riccardo Freda imitated the bloodiness of other giallo but none of Argento's stylish setups. Allegedly Freda used a pseudonym because of his dissatisfaction with the film, and because he wanted Roger Moore for Norton and couldn't get him. In truth, though the Norton character is nothing special, Pistilli imbues his role with a convincing nervous intensity, which is probably more than Moore could have accomplished. The other performances are just OK (including such figures as Valentina Cortese and Dominique Broschero), and the wrap-up is largely nonsensical. It hinges on the killer being a madman who just wanted everyone he knew to be unhappy, which may be the weakest giallo motive I've ever seen. (He also wears a disguise at one point, which is I assign the film my "outre outfits" trope.)

Oh, and the iguana metaphor? The commissioner compares the mystery killer to an iguana he (the commissioner) almost stepped on in Africa because the beast was so good at concealing itself. (Isn't it the chameleon who's a good hider?) Also, the killer's use of acid reminds the old cop of the fact that iguanas can spit a sort of venom, though he admits that the iguana is harmless to humans. (I looked it up: the iguana possesses atrophied venom glands, so his venom is weak.) The film IGUANA is somewhat atrophied in its power to entertain, but at least it has Luigi Pistilli and a few decent kill-scenes. Oh, and once or twice I got a feeling of that favorite Italian-movie theme, the corruption within the ruling class.

SEVEN BLOOD STAINED ORCHIDS (1972)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological, sociological*

ORCHIDS was the next directing-and-co-writing giallo project for Umberto Lenzi after he finished the last of his four Carroll Baker thrillers. He didn't execute too many more works in this subgenre after that, and until I get a chance to rewatch one or two of these, I can't be sure that this is Lenzi's best-looking giallo. But I don't think there's likely to be much competition.

ORCHIDS displays as diverse a color palette as the best of Argento, though Lenzi's murders here downplay gore and emphasize the sculpted poses of the slain women. By 1972 I imagine the visual trope of the black-garbed killer-- particularly with regard to his black gloves-- had become so familiar that it was almost de rigeur. There's nothing startlingly original about most of the murder-methods of "the Half Moon Maniac"-- edged weapons, drowning in a bathtub, a garotte-- though he does up his game with a power drill for just one victim. Oh, and he gets his name from his habit of leaving on his victims small trinkets that look like half-moons carved from silver.

After slaying two victims, the Maniac blunders and fails to slay newlywed Giulia (Uschi Glas). The police talk Giulia and her husband Mario (Antonio Sabato) into keeping Giulia's survival a secret so that she'll be off the killer's list while the cops try to solve the case. But because Giulia has some theories about the commonality between her and the previous victims, and because she and Mario don't have much faith in the police, they undertake to find the murderer themselves. Lenzi and his co-writer choose a good variety of Italian locales-- churches, an insane asylum, a swinger's sordid digs-- and two of the victims are well-known Euro-beauties, Marisa Mell and Rosella Falk.

Possibly the most Argento-esque touch is that, even if there's little overt gore, Mario sometimes comes across consequential clues to the mystery by fateful juxtaposition rather than by logic. Given the information that the suspected killer may have been a faithful Protestant, Mario inquires at local churches. He learns nothing, but by chance one pastor recommends-- for no particular reason-- that Mario might talk to some of the "hippie" community. Sure enough, this leads Mario to a vital step in his investigation. Yet as with Argento, this convenient revelation doesn't seem arbitrary. It seems as if it's a natural result of the chaotic nature of a big city.

ORCHIDS' only failing is that Lenzi throws a few too many red herrings. It's particularly egregious when one of the suspects was responsible for giving Mario one of those important clues. But Glas and Sabato have good chemistry and the visuals are never dull, so this gets a strong recommendation from me.

YOUR VICE IS A LOCKED ROOM (1972)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: *good*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological*

VICE-- which has a much longer title that I refuse to type out-- is one of the all-time best giallos, thanks to a script that plays on all the familiar tropes of the genre while also adapts aspects of Poe's "The Black Cat." Like Edgar Ulmer's 1934 movie of that name, VICE serves Poe by taking a free-form approach to the short story. Indeed, though Poe's story doesn't utilize any of the incest-tropes seen in "Berenice" and "House of Usher," Martino and his scripters produce a ghoulish thriller in which the monstrous feline becomes the symbol for the devouring female.

Count Oliviero Ruvighny (Luigi Pistilli) resides in a run-down Italian castle with his wife Irina (Anita Strindberg) and a few servants, one being the Negress Brenda. We first see Oliviero holding a drunken revel-- one of many, we're later told-- in which he plays hosts to a motley crew of Italian hippies (who even sing an American pop song). The partygoers are there to provide the viewer with various details about their host: that's he's a failed writer and alcoholic, that he was perhaps a little too close to his late mother Esther, and that he owns a black cat, Satan, who belonged to his mother and who more or less represents her influence. 

The Count also despises his wife, scorning her as a "whore." Right away this is a good foretaste of Freudian terrain: for Oliviero only his mother was a saint, while all other women, the women whom he's willing to screw, are prostitutes. Oliviero humiliates Irina before his guests, and she gets even, sort of, by donning a courtly dress owned by Oliviero's mother. He slaps her down, but the message is clear: "if I'm a whore, so was your mother." Yet Satan carries on whatever feminine war of wills existed between Irina and Esther, attacking Irina at times or preying on her pet doves.

When not giving parties, Oliviero cruises into the neighboring town to hook up with younger women. (Oddly, since he's not touching Irina any more, one might say that he's subconsciouly placed her in the same untouchable category as Dead Esther.) The middle-aged Casanova makes a date with a former student, but someone slashes her to death. The police interview Oliviero and he fabricates an alibi. Later the maid Brenda-- whom Oliviero earlier abused at the party, talking about how great colonialism was because it meant he had a sexy Black servant-- capriciously puts one the courtly dress of the Count's mother. Someone kills her in the castle, but Oliviero persuades Irina to help conceal the body and to wash the bloodied dress.

By chance Oliviero's niece Floriana (Edwige Fenech) arrives. At first she seems to be more friendly toward Irina, but it soon develops that she's playing a game that includes seducing her uncle, who has no problem with sexing up daughter-substitutes. Irina catches the dove-killing cat and puts out one of its eyes as Poe's narrator does to his nemesis, but this just increases her mania. Without going into specifics, Floriana plays a game designed to heighten the hostilities between the couple, and this leads to a sex-reversal version of the Poe denouement, with Irina killing her husband and concealing his body behind a plaster wall. One guess what untimely clue exposes her crimes to the police. 

The giallo-killings are nicely grotesque, but they're not as interesting as the many transgressive incidents between the deteriorating aristocrat and the two voracious vixens. There's even a slight suggestion that Irina-- who's something of a schemer herself-- might have actually cared for Oliviero if he hadn't been such a bastard. I don't think the fine points of the plot hold up, but Strindberg gives a fine, multi-layered performance, while both Fenech and Pistilli distinguish themselves ably. 

A WHITE DRESS FOR MARIALE (1972)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological*

Eight years after Romano Scavolini directed MARIALE, he enjoyed some notoriety thanks to the British ban of the horror films called "video nasties," which included his 1980 film NIGHTMARE. I have not seen that film, nor any of the other films Scavolini worked on, though I have the impression that this quasi-giallo MARIALE is his only other movie to have received circulation in an English language dub.

I call the film a "quasi-giallo" because it does spotlight a half-dozen brutal murders as do real giallos. However, there's no detective work in ferreting out the killer, nor does the script give viewers any real suspects except the titular Mariale (Evelyn Stewart). The film's structure approximates that of the "old dark house" mystery, in which a bunch of people get stranded in an isolated locale while a killer knocks them off one by one. That said, MARIALE's two writers may have produced the more wildly colorful "old dark house" flick ever made, for the brightly lit "mansion of murder" is full of sumptuous furnishings and art-works.

A prologue establishes that as a child Mariale was somehow present when her cuckold father caught his wife (clad in the white dress of the title) and her young lover canoodling in the forest and shot them both. What happened next, no one knows, for the script catapults Mariale to her adulthood. She lives in the aforementioned mansion, which may or may not be her family's property, since she's married to a slightly older man, Paolo (Luigi Pistilli, about ten years older than Evelyn Stewart). Paolo, Mariale and a barely speaking servant (who keeps cages of animals in the basement) live at this country estate in isolation, partly because Paolo keeps Mariale doped up due to her past trauma. But at some point Mariale gets access to a phone and invites a half-dozen friends to drive out to the estate for a party. The partygoers descend on the mansion and Paolo can't come up with a reason to get rid of them, so they stick around for a big dinner (that winds up looking like a parody of the Last Supper).

The party animals apparently knew both Mariale and Paolo prior to their isolation, though the script never offers specifics of where any of them met. They're all raging assholes, particularly the Italian fellow who insults his Negro wife by calling her a "monkey." The black woman doesn't seem as nasty as the others, though one wonders why she married a foul-mouthed racist. The scripters couldn't care less about any relationship except that of Massimo (Ivan Rassimov), Mariale's former boyfriend, who clearly wants her to cheat on her husband with him. The guests' cavortings fill roughly twenty minutes before the killings begin.

The writers provide no red herrings to distract from Mariale, so it's no surprise that her trauma has made her a psycho-killer. Her old friends are an unsavory lot (and dumb, since after the first killing no one suggests running to the cars and driving away). But she has no particular grudge against any of them. The final sequence suggests that she has some sort of father-complex, possibly as the result of some incestuous act between her and her murderous sire. She may have been seeking a father-image in marrying the older Paolo, though the script does not say so. Does his act of drugging her translate to parental abuse? Maybe, but since the party animals are all sex-mad, and Mariale's mother died due to an act of illicit sex, maybe she invited them to her abbatoir so that she could use her old friends as symbols of the transgressions of her mother and the mother's lover.

There's only one moment where Paolo is explicitly compared to the dead dad. At the climax, Massimo catches Mariale killing her last victim, and grapples with her. Paolo comes in with a shotgun, rattles off a vague explanation about Mariale's craziness, kills both Mariale and Massimo, and then eats lead himself. In the shot where Paolo shoots Mariale-- who is clad in the same bullet-riddled dress her mother wore when slain-- director Scavolini flashes back to the opening scene showing the mother being shot by the father, so no viewer can doubt that there's some parallelism intended.

The plot is murky and the characterization illogical, but clearly the writers were shooting for some psychological myth here, perhaps one slightly akin to the previous year's HANDS OF THE RIPPER, where the Ripper's daughter begins her own career of carnage after learning her father's true nature. I'll give Scavolini and his writers a "B" for effort, even if their execution of their motifs rate only a "D."

THE STRANGE VICE OF MRS. WARDH (1971)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: *poor*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological*

Director Sergio Martino completed two of his earliest giallos back to back in the same year and with two of the same writers contributing to his scripts. Neither this one nor CASE OF THE SCORPION'S TAIL represents the best work of either Martino or his scripters, but it's arguable that they provided Martino with training for some of his better efforts in the genre later on. 

Of the two 1971 efforts, I felt that the script for SCORPION'S, while nothing extraordinary, provided a better array of victims and suspects while Martino's direction was more fluid. By contrast, I found VICE clunky and obvious in terms of both plot and characters. Admittedly, I'd seen VICE before over ten years ago, so it's possible that I retained some memories of its plot-twists, at least on the subconscious level. But visually I found it boring as well. 

A "razor killer" is on the loose in Vienna at the same time when Julie Wardh (Edwige Fenech) and her husband Neil return to the city for Neil's diplomatic business. Viewers learn that Julie's "vice" is not all that strange as vices go, for prior to her marriage she was regularly seeing a lover named Jean (Ivan Rassimov). Through flashbacks we see that Jean is a sadist, but it's not quite certain that Julie is a masochist, though she does allow Jean to inflict cuts in her flesh to satisfy his fetish.

At a party Julie's friend Carol introduces Julie to her cousin George (George Hilton), and slightly later Julie starts sleeping with George to allay the boredom she feels with her "safe" husband. But a caller threatens to reveal Julie's affair to her husband, Carol is slain by a razor-wielding murderer, and Julie almost meets the same fate. Is it a coincidence, or is Jean the Razor Killer? Or is all part of an even more devious plot, one of those beloved giallo schemes in which sane men pretend to be mad?

The film's greatest shortcoming is that Julie is not particularly sympathetic, despite getting targeted by a killer. I've only seen a couple of films made by star Edwige Fenech prior to VICE, so I can't get a sense as to her level of acting-skill at the time, though she had made over a dozen films of various kinds before 1971. All I can say is that a lot of giallos have been able to put across some basic heroine-sympathy despite the sketchiness of the main characters, and this one did not.

The film got my hopes up by starting out with a portentous quote from Freud about violence, but this turned out to be nothing but window-dressing for a murky story.