Bookshelf: So Deadly, So Perverse - 50 Years of Italian Giallo Films, Volume 1

The first of two tomes charting the giallo film from its inception to the present day, Volume 1 of Troy Howarth's SO DEADLY, SO PERVERSE: 50 YEARS OF ITALIAN GIALLO FILMS is the sort of book fans of the giallo have been crying out for. Its spiritual predecessor is arguably Adrian Luther Smith's excellent (if now surpassed) BLOOD AND BLACK LACE, and indeed structurally it owes a clear debt to that earlier book, but Howarth goes considerably further and into far more detail than that pioneering work.

Covering the first 20 years of the giallo film's lifespan, 1963 to 1973, Volume 1 begins with the expected introductions (provided by veteran giallo screenwriter Ernesto Gastaldi) and attempts to define that most ambiguous of genres, before launching into an examination of early prototypical gialli, films with giallo elements but which don't quite make the grade as "true" gialli, and the literary gialli from which the filmic movement derives its name but to which it bears only a passing resemblance. This latter chapter, written by film historian Roberto Curti, is particularly insightful and breaks genuinely new ground. It provides the book with a unique selling point, charting an aspect of the giallo's development that hasn't been adequately explored elsewhere, since English-speaking authors lack the context necessary to unpick it.

The "meat and potatoes" of the book, however, is the 190 pages' worth of film reviews, cataloguing and appraising every known giallo to have been produced between 1963 and 1973. This section is truly exhaustive, digging up a number of titles I'd personally never even heard of, and even one or two that are now believed to be lost to the ages. For each review, the structure is the same: Howarth provides the main cast and crew credits, a brief (spoiler-free) synopsis and a more detailed review, concluding with a discussion of the careers of some of the more significant players on both sides of the camera. The reviews are insightful, in-depth and well-observed. Howarth isn't afraid to make it clear when a particular film isn't up to scratch (and says one or two scathing things about some of the, shall we say, less outstanding actors and directors associated with the movement), but he's also fair, pointing out the individual moments of pleasure that can be found in even the schlockiest and most ineptly made of giallo (and, let's be honest, there are quite a few which fit that category). The films of "big beasts" like Argento, Fulci, Bava and Martino understandably get the lion's share of the praise, but little-known gems also get their moment in the spotlight, including the likes of Fernando Di Leo's NAKED VIOLENCE and Damiano Damiani's A RATHER COMPLICATED GIRL.

It's worth pointing out that Howarth omits certain titles that some readers might expect to be included since he doesn't consider them to be part of the movement. This is unavoidable, since "giallo" is a vague term and much disagreement exists as to its precise parameters. Personally, I would have included Aldo Lado's SHORT NIGHT OF THE GLASS DOLLS (omitted here) and left out the likes of the western/giallo hybrid RINGO, IT'S MASSACRE TIME, but such is the beauty of a movement that, like film noir, is easier to recognise than to define (the "I know it when I see it" principle).

Any flaws are minor and don't impact substantially on the overwhelmingly positive qualities of the book; however, I feel that they should be acknowledged for completeness' sake. These are largely structural, stemming from the decision to separate the films by year of release and order them alphabetically within each year. This results in some slightly odd moments in that individual reviews often "refer forward" to another film that was actually released before the one currently being discussed -- for instance, we read about Sergio Martino's second giallo, THE CASE OF THE SCORPION'S TAIL, before his first, THE STRANGE VICE OF MRS. WARDH (both 1971), which is slightly confusing given the extent to which the latter set the template for Martino's subsequent gialli. That's perhaps the downside of attempting to read a reference tome like this from cover to cover. However, the lack of any page references in the index of titles at the end, and the fact that production dates aren't provided in the reviews themselves (the year is listed only once, at the start of each "section"), makes it difficult to dip in and out.

But these are minor organisational quibbles. In his foreword, Howarth acknowledges that he didn't set out to write the be-all-and-end-all book about the giallo, and while it doesn't replace the likes of Mikel Koven's excellent LA DOLCE MORTE (which addresses a different audience and serves a different purpose), SO DEADLY, SO PERVERSE feels entirely at home among such lofty company. Experienced giallo aficionados and those new to the genre alike will want to pick this up without delay, and get their pre-orders in for Volume 2, which promises to explore the rather more sporadic output of the last 40 years.

Finding fame... or infamy

"It's arrived, it's arrived! In the name of God, it's arrived!"

This is the brand new Blu-ray release of Mario Bava's seminal giallo BLOOD AND BLACK LACE, for which I provided a 38-minute visual essay, essentially a condensed version of the first half of my PhD thesis on gender in the giallo. Much credit must go to Michael Brooke, who succeeded in giving my ramblings some semblance of structure with his excellent editing and choice of clips.

This has been a totally new but incredibly rewarding experience for me, and I can't deny that seeing my name in lights, as it were, is an incredibly gratifying experience... and more than makes up for my embarrassment at having to listen to my own voice being played back to me.

And my goodness, does the film look incredible.

PS. I appreciate that I've allowed this blog to fester over the past several weeks. While I realise I have a readership of about 2, that doesn't stop me feeling guilty about the fact. Once I'm a bit less busy, I plan on getting back to a semi-regular update schedule.

Expanding my web of influence

I recently took on some paid work designing a web site for a client. The site, The Buzzin Bee -- made for a writer friend of my mum's -- is now feature-complete and has been handed over. The process involved designing the look of the site from scratch in Photoshop, hand-coding it using HTML and CSS, and setting up a Movable Type database to drive the entire site under the hood. I also have another paid design gig in the pipeline, which I hope to be able to tell you more about soon.

In the meantime, I've taken some steps towards establishing a profile for myself on the web as a designer and general jack-of-all-trades. I registered the domain michaelmackenzie.me a couple of years ago, but it has lain dormant since then, simply redirecting to my other site, Land of Whimsy. I've now put up a holding page of sorts, with a view to it ultimately becoming my professional presence online (whereas Land of Whimsy is more of a personal blog, albeit with an emphasis on reviewing Blu-ray releases). In addition to web design projects, that would also include the likes of my PhD thesis, my work for Arrow on the upcoming BLOOD AND BLACK LACE release, and samples of my reviews and screenplays.

Obviously, it goes without saying that, if you're in the market for having a web site built, or know someone who is, don't hesitate to get in touch! My rates are very reasonable and I've been told I'm a delight to work with. (Honest!)

Top 10 Giallo Films for the Beginner

It's been four years since I last wrote for DVD Times, the site now known as The Digital Fix. I had a few reasons for stepping down, including a degree of uncertainty surrounding the site's future. Thankfully, it survived and has continued to prosper, although I felt it was time for me to make a clean break. After writing more than 300 reviews, I'd burned myself out and was getting to the stage of no longer being able to remember what I'd written. (Or seen. I remember vehemently insisting that I'd never seen David Koepp's SECRET WINDOW, only for it to be pointed out to me that I'd written a review of it.)

Today marks the first time I've had an article on film published on a web site other than my own since 2010. Dan Stephens, one of my former DVD Times colleagues, contacted me asking if I'd be willing to put together an article for his web site, Top Ten Films, with the brief "an introduction to the giallo in 10 films." I said yes, and you can find the finished piece here:

Top 10 Giallo Films for the Beginner

Have a look and tell me what you think of my choice of films. As I mention in the article, I deliberately went for ten films that I felt would be most appropriate for someone new to the genre rather than my ten absolute favourite gialli (though if I did produce such a list, a number of the same films would also appear on it). I doubt I'll go back to writing regular reviews any time soon, but I enjoyed the process of putting this piece together and was surprised by how quickly I was able to "get back on the wagon", so to speak.

Film review: Opera

There is broad agreement on the notion that OPERA constitutes the end of Dario Argento's decade-long golden age. While he would subsequently go on to make a number of good and even great films -- 1996's THE STENDHAL SYNDROME being the standout -- this 1987 giallo is clearly the end of an era in many regards. It was the final time he would work with a number of his key collaborators and the last time his camerawork truly featured the vibrant, sweeping, Grand Guignol qualities for which he is justly celebrated. It would be six years before Argento directed another feature length project, and it's tempting to lay at least some of the blame for his subsequent decline on that self-imposed hiatus, bowing out at the height of his creativity.

With its sordid sexuality, allusions to the AIDS virus (it's no accident that the killer wears latex "protection" over his traditional black leather gloves) and a distinctly cruel streak running through its proceedings, OPERA feels very much like the giallo, which grew out of the sociocultural climate of the early 70s, responding to the mood and anxieties of the 80s, and provides a tantalising glimpse at where the movement might have gone had it continued to flourish. Even the camerawork, courtesy of the Oscar-winning English cinematographer Ronnie Taylor, feels aggressive, constantly moving, alternating between sweeping overhead shots and claustrophobic close-ups of the actors' faces. The latter are used to particularly powerful effect in the numerous shots of the protagonist, opera ingenue Betty, with rows of needles taped under her eyes to prevent her from closing them -- surely one of the most uncomfortable and arresting visual images Argento has ever created.

Like much of Argento's output, it's not really an actors' film, but the best performance by far is courtesy of Scottish stage actor Ian Charleson who, a few short years before his untimely death, delivers a nuanced and oddly sympathetic portrayal of a horror movie director helming an experimental production of MACBETH -- a thinly veiled stand-in for Argento himself. As Betty, Cristina Marsillach is a good deal more drippy than both previous and subsequent Argento female leads, serving as far more of a damsel in distress than the likes of Jessica Harper in SUSPIRIA or Jennifer Connelly in PHENOMENA, but she does what the role asks of her and acquits herself perfectly adequately. As far as the stable of Argento regulars is concerned, this is the last appearance of Daria Nicolodi (prior to MOTHER OF TEARS in 2007) and the first of three appearances by the wonderfully over-the-top Coralina Cataldi-Tassoni, who a year earlier made her debut in the Argento-produced DEMONS 2.

Its flaws -- awkward dialogue, the ill-placed use of heavy metal and a plot that doesn't stand up to scrutiny -- are par for the course with Argento's output during this period, but are part and parcel of what gives these films such a distinct identity. Indeed, the sheer audacity of its set-pieces -- of which the infamous "bullet through the peephole" is but one of many -- thoroughly overshadows any narrative shortcomings. It may not hit the dizzy heights of SUSPIRIA, DEEP RED or THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE, each of which constituted a perfect alchemy in which every single element worked in tandem to deliver a film that was more than the sum of its parts, but OPERA remains one of the greats and serves as a fitting swansong to the most productive and creatively satisfying period in its director's career.

Bookshelf: Dario Argento by L. Andrew Cooper

An entry in the James Naremore-edited Contemporary Film Directors series, L. Andrew Cooper's book on giallo king Dario Argento was released in October 2012, but until recently I was unaware of it. I picked it up earlier this month, taking advantage of the (at the time) incredibly low price of the Kindle version on Amazon.co.uk -- a mere £1.85. It's now back up to a rather steeper £11.15, but even at that price there's still a lot to recommend in it, even for those who've already read the established Argento tomes like Maitland McDonagh's Broken Mirrors/Broken Minds and Chris Gallant's Art of Darkness.

An Assistant Professor in Film and Digital Media at the University of Louisville, Cooper understandably adopts the approach of an academic rather than a fan, meaning that his book has more in common with the two titles mentioned above than, say, Alan Jones's various writings. That in itself is no bad thing, particularly given that Cooper uses this approach to shed new light on Argento's filmography, offering up a variety of new theories that in some respects directly contradict prevailing interpretations of these films. Rather than being divided into chapters, the book takes the form of a single essay, Doing Violence on Film, which jumps back and forth through Argento's filmography in a manner which initially seems somewhat scattershot, but in fact allows Cooper to develop a coherent argument in a way that would have been less easy had he gone for the traditional chronological approach.

Beginning with a chapter on OPERA (1987) and THE STENDHAL SYNDROME (1996), Cooper argues that these films work primarily as a response to critics who have attacked Argento and his work, casting them as sadistic voyeurs themselves who force the films and their fans to conform to their own warped viewpoint. He then jumps back to the beginning of Argento's directorial career, examining the "Animal Trilogy" of THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE (1970), THE CAT O'NINE TAILS (1971) and FOUR FLIES ON GREY VELVET (1971), arguing against the prevailing notion that these films (and the giallo in general) are steeped in Freudian psychoanalysis and instead suggesting that, far from embracing this largely discredited theory, the films in fact expressly REJECT it. I found this section to be the most interesting part of the book, offering as it does a genuinely fresh reading of the films that challenges received wisdom on them.

From the Animal Trilogy, Cooper continues down the giallo path with analyses of DEEP RED (1975) and TENEBRAE (1982), before doubling back to examine the "Three Mothers" trilogy of SUSPIRIA (1977), INFERNO (1980) and MOTHER OF TEARS (2007) and the giallo/horror hybrid PHENOMENA (1985) as anti-narrative films which privilege aesthetics above all else -- the prevailing view among many of Argento's work as a whole. Except, Cooper suggests, such an assumption would be incorrect, going on to argue that Argento's post-OPERA output has been characterised by an increasing emphasis on logic and narrative at the expense of the visual thrills that once defined his films. I must admit I found this part of the essay less convincing: while it's true that, since the mid-90s onwards, Argento's films have become less visually spellbinding, I'm not convinced that this has been accompanied by any great increase in narrative coherence. Indeed, I'd argue that the only post-OPERA film that is LESS opaque than his 70s output is SLEEPLESS (2001), which no doubt benefited from the input of acclaimed giallo novelist Carlo Lucarelli.

I was also disappointed by the failure to provide any analysis of Argento's non-giallo output post-INFERNO (which the exception of MOTHER OF TEARS), passed over without any explanation other than a statement that the remit of the remainder of the essay is the "tensions" that exist between his earlier and more recent gialli. This is regrettable since, while I don't regard THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA (1998) or his two MASTERS OF HORROR episodes highly at all, I would have welcomed a reading that subjected them to the same incisive analysis found elsewhere in the essay. More broadly, I also wonder at what sort of audience the book is targeted. Those already familiar with Argento could probably do without the extended narrative description, which is redundant if you already know the films, while those who don't know the films will probably want to avoid the book altogether on account of spoilers (all of the killers are identified, destroying the whodunit element that is so crucial to the enjoyment of most of these films).

The essay is bookended by translations of a couple of brief interviews with Argento originally conducted in French; I'm not sure why these were included other than to pad out the book's length.

Overall I found this an enjoyable read which at times challenged my own long-held opinions about these films, even if I wasn't convinced by every idea floated. There are some notable oversights, namely Argento's later horror output and the atypical political comedy LE CINQUE GIORNATE (1973), but it's an admirable attempt to challenge the prevailing orthodoxy relating to Argento's cinema.