Cults erect out of myth. Myth gives rise to cults. Their members become so enamored in myth that they become grossly detached from reality. Yet, they’ll maintain a strong conviction and belief that they are the ones who are really in tune with reality, above all others. And when this happens, people get hurt.

For fans of ‘60s/70s Italian thrillers, it’s the prospect of a deadly hippie cult that gives a film like Shadow of Illusion its primary appeal to genre explorers, and while that promising aspect might bring us here, we end up finding even more to like about it. One of the film’s strong points is that it does integrate Egyptian mythology, particularly The Osiris Myth, into its plot rather nicely, even to the point of provoking further viewer interest.  

Shadow of Illusion is directed by Mario Caiano (Nightmare Castle (1965) and Eye in the Labyrinth (1972)) and is quite the excavation for the Eurocult archeologist. It is indeed an enjoyable but unusual watch that kind of feels at home alongside other paranoid Italian occult thrillers like All the Colors of the Dark (1972), The Cat in Heat (1972), or even The Perfume of the Lady in Black (1974).

It is a delight to follow Daniela Giordano, dubbed by the great and familiar voice of Carolyn De Fonseca, on her vacation/business-trip to Egypt that does take romantic and dark turns. Giordano plays fashion model Gail Bland, who’s been summoned to Cairo to model, in an all-expenses paid trip by an enigmatic and unreachable company called Isis Cosmetics, on account of her apparent resemblance to the Egyptian Goddess Isis. Her colleague mentions it was her fiery red hair that seduced the designer, who she’s never even met. 

Gail’s plane ride to Egypt makes up the bulk of the intro credits. It’s set to a grooving theme by Carlo Savina that is appropriate for the era but sounds more like the film is setting up a witty ‘60s Eurospy travelogue rather than a dark descent into a cult of Egyptian god worshipers. I’m not complaining, though, because these kind of dated ‘70s flavored plane rides are fun and addicting and remind me a little of Emmanuelle.

When Gail arrives at the airport in Cairo, Isis Cosmetics continues to elude her. Her taxi takes her on a strange route through the hustle and bustle of the cultural focal point of the bazaar. Shit gets rowdy, in the middle of the crowded streets, when a merchant cart gets knocked over, and during the ensuing chaos, folks, including joyful looking hippies, break out into a vibrant and possessed kind of dancing (it’s interesting to see that the youth hippie counterculture was very strong in this part of Cairo). Gail is accosted by pushy merchants and mysterious individuals through the open window in the back of her taxi, including (a first look at) the sorceress Naomi (Carol Lobravico) and a stranger who insists she takes a holder of cigarettes, which she confusedly accepts. This is one of two visits to the bazaar where shit always seems to go down.

Later that night, at her hotel, Gail wastes no time in hitting the obligatory nightclub scene where the lead doesn’t disappoint by ordering a scotch and lighting a cigarette before her ring (her inherited ring of Isis) manages to attract her mysterious love interest Caleb (William Berger). Caleb claims to be a man whose primary interest in life is pleasure, although I get more mysticism vibes from him than libertinism. He’s kindly on hand to accompany Gail around the more mysterious and dangerous parts of the town as they try to get to the bottom of Isis Cosmetics. Even though Caleb smoothly lights her cigarette for her like a gentleman, he still passively reprimands her for smoking, by stating, “I don’t need those things to help me spread my wings.” To this, Gail proudly declares, “excuse me, I want to dance,” as she takes herself and her cigarette to the dance floor while Caleb sits this one out, eventually disappearing on her, as he tends to do.

Daniela Giordano fortunately can be counted on to get down like the best of them during the movie’s dance floor scene, where she meets the strange siblings and their entourage for the first time (even though they’ve been watching her). The outwardly friendly but enigmatic, and probably bad news, brother and sister, who just so happen to go by Seth (the late Antonio Cantafora) and Sekhmet (Krista Nell), know who Gail is, but she has no idea who they are. Their friendliness is suitably uncomfortable. At least for me. I'm not sure if Gail quite senses it yet.

 

Maybe it was one of those sketchy cigarettes, but a fanciful trip filled with ‘70s arthouse visions awaits her, in what is likely the most memorable sequence of the film. Gail has a delirious dream that seems to have evolved from the influence of the nightclub from earlier that night. The dream includes many menacing and strange disembodied faces (sometimes involving a trippy scanning freeze frame effect) from a few characters that have intrigued her up to this point. She also dreams of an erotic encounter with the one who calls herself Sekhmet (Krista Nell). In the dream, Sekhmet gives an all-welcoming seductive expression towards Gail, whose face flits from blank confusion to repulsion (or is it lust?) at Sekhmet’s embrace. Does Gail usually desire other women, or is this the first time she’s dreamed of being with another woman? It isn’t made clear, but I like to think she’s drawn to the allure of the cult and the kind of hypnotic hold they are starting to hold over her. Even in shoddy pan and scan, this part is still intriguing and beautiful and probably the best-looking part of the film.

The next day, after failing to learn more about Isis Cosmetics, Caleb convinces Gail to enjoy the rest of her time in Egypt, a great opportunity for him to show her around and impress her. The two obviously seem to have an awkward chemistry, but that works to the movie’s advantage here since he is supposed to be a strange enigma who may or may not be an incarnation of Osiris, drawn to Gail’s ring and red hair, causing him to recall the “mistress of his soul.” (Why is it that the lord of the underworld during this era of gothic fiction seems to be such an intriguing and harrowing love interest to the heroine?) He has a protective warmness towards her, but of course he is also suspicious and tends to disappear when the movie wants him to so that Gail can have moments where she is temporarily alone and vulnerable. He also has the tendency to show up at the right time to give Gail a sense of relief, as Caleb seems to be the only one that she can trust, but even this is uncertain.

Their love story is accompanied by a nice legend, based on The Osiris Myth, giving it a bit more meaning and context. He beguiles her with the legend of Osiris and Isis in a museum among Egyptian artifacts, reminding her of her resemblance to Isis. If they really are incarnations of Osiris and Isis, then I’m guessing any future child they have will also be a kind of incarnation of Horus. 

After having her arm twisted by a rando on the street, Gail manages to find herself back at the bazaar, where the hippie cult again eventually causes trouble and chaos to break out, a likely excuse for Seth and Sekhmet to “rescue” her and tell her about their cult of worship, at the temple of Osiris.

They convince her to come to their altar of worship, despite all that’s been happening, by sending her a gift of assorted chocolates, a pleasurable solution to all hazardous prospects it seems. It’s not like they’ll try to sacrifice her to their ancient god or anything like that. 

The set for the temple of Osiris is the grand spectacle for most of the climactic action, not to mention depictions of drug use and veil belly dancing. It really captures the spirit of the era and melds it with Egyptian motifs. It’s actually pretty awesome. To prove to Gail that Osiris sits under the temple, Seth throws a boulder onto the ground that results in flames bursting forth from the impact.

The cult is kind of all over the place, coming off as peace-loving one moment and dangerous the next. They’ll go from a tender moment of music, singing, peace, pleasure, and love, before they go on to torture and rape a couple of individuals who they catch spying on them. 

I would’ve liked to know more about the strange sorceress Naomi (played by Carol Lobravico), but perhaps the mystery behind her is what makes her so memorable. I found her quite an intriguing addition to the cast of characters, but I was saddened to learn of the actress’s tragic death shortly after being in this film.

Shadow of Illusion builds to a rather expected culmination with no shocks or twists, but I did like the idea of fooling the cult at the climax of their psychosis. A good mystery movie doesn’t always have to have a big twist. Some of it is kept ambiguous like the images of Caleb disappearing and later reappearing in the vacation photos of him and Gail by the Sphinx. Despite being a kind of ethereal figure himself, I did like the way Caleb would dispel myth at times for Gail through rational explanation, such as explaining that the natural pockets of gas beneath the temple cause the flames to burst forth and not the actual presence of an ancient god.

Shadow of Illusion’s Egyptian setting is put to good use and in a sense becomes a novelty to kind of distract from the fact that we’ve sort of seen a lot of this before, especially if you’ve seen enough of these films. 

Despite the beauty of the setting, the ordeal is especially nightmarish for the lead. A couple slightly extended scenes of Gail in a panicked flight (running through the woods or through the city) hold a certain aesthetic appeal. 

If you can’t seem to get enough endless takes on gothic Italian and occult horror, this one should easily please. There’s a couple of harsh ritual sacrifice scenes, but the film has a fairly low body-count: Caleb's butler Sade and possibly one of the followers in a ritual sacrifice (I guess we are supposed to assume that the child played by Debra Berger succumbed to her sacrifice ritual involving a voodoo doll, but it wasn’t made quite clear - if so, then it represents one of the truly supernatural scenes in the film that can't be explained). The coordinated dance number that precedes the final sacrifice involving Gail is a hoot.

It's interesting to note that the opening credits attribute makeup to Italian makeup legend Giannetto De Rossi (with hair-stylist Mirella Sforza). Assuming he was responsible for her makeup, I really loved the eye shadow glitter and sparkles on Sekhmet’s brow. Kudos to Naomi’s strange and bewitching sorceress look as well.

So, despite the rough look and familiar plot devices, Shadow of Illusion has some staying power as far as I’m concerned. The whole thing is rather strangely compelling.

Hopefully, there’s a print laying around somewhere and someone is interested in restoring it. I would jump at a Blu-ray pre-order. I have a feeling that this one has the potential to look incredible.

© At the Mansion of Madness

 

Even with its familiar look (that darkly romantic title and poster art baiting me in), I could still sense La lunga notte de Veronique was going to be a little bit different than the ‘60s/’70s Italian gothic horrors I’m accustomed to (and still a big fan of). No obvious Poe, Le Fanu, Stoker, Lovecraft, Shelley, or Sade influences. No witches, black masses, zombies, blood countesses, demons, masked killers, sadistic crimson executioners, or satanic love interests, just an effective, tragic ghost romance, without much in the way of ambiguity. 

Currently, it doesn’t seem to have much of a fanbase, but the film is lowkey intriguing. I only just came across it recently, and it is somewhat of a pleasant surprise and a nice addition to the ever-growing collection of underseen Eurocult that will hopefully see a restored release someday. 

 

It might not be the most terribly exciting film, as most of it feels like a tragic gothic romance novel, with a deliberately slow pace, but it does reserve more of the horror elements for later. Even then, it is still in a subtle and beautiful way. It kind of flows a little like Sauro Scavolini’sLove and Death in the Garden of the Gods (1972), with its different timelines and a tragic past that perilously catches up with the present. 

Italian filmmaker Gianni Vernuccio was usually involved in multiple tasks for the films he worked on. He directed, produced, co-wrote, shot, and edited La lunga notte de Veronique, so it’s probably safe to believe that the film is a passion project with a high level of sincerity to it, and, technical shortcomings aside, it really does feel like it in the end (I love that closeout visual in the family crypt, a fine blend of beauty and the macabre).

I wasn’t expecting it going in, but there are four different time periods in this film, featuring (and here’s where I start to sound like a movie trailer) romance wrecked by war, a love story that spans three generations, and a beautiful ghost claiming her due for a broken oath. It’s rather ambitious given the low production scale, but I think it ends up working, with a solid story and flashbacks that feel real and have an interesting mix of warmness and melancholy to them. 

I didn’t have trouble tracking the four different time periods (with the majority of the film taking place in the story’s present day of 1966), but I did manage to miss that the same actor who played Giovanni (Sandro Pizzochero) also played his father Alberto and his Grandfather Count Marco Anselmi (played by Walter Pozzi in the present period) during some of the flashback scenes. I do recognize the actor in the different roles now after knowing this, but Pizzochero does a fine acting job and convincingly comes off as completely different men (it’s also amazing how much of a difference that mustache makes during the World War 1 period).

 

I’m not sure what’s up with the saturated blue bus ride scene during the intro credits. It’s kind of abysmal and hard to look at. Aside from the lovely tune (“La ballata di Veronique” performed by Paki & Paki), it’s not a winner for an opener. Maybe this will hopefully look better if the film ever has an upgrade. 

The story begins with the lead Giovanni travelling to a hospital after learning of his parents’ deaths from a car accident. At the hospital, he finds out from a nurse that his mother, Maria (played in a flashback scene by Cristina Gaioni) had made a dying confession that Giovanni, unbeknownst to him until this point, has a wealthy grandfather, Count Marco Anselmi, who he is urged to visit with at his mansion. It turns out that Giovanni’s mother was the daughter of the gardener at the mansion. During World War 2, Giovanni’s mother fled her family after her father, a fascist sympathizer, had betrayed her lover Alberto, who was a rebel soldier and Count Marco’s son. Alberto was captured and killed, leaving Maria alone, with child, and understandably cursing and wanting nothing to do with her father anymore.

Shortly before Alberto was captured, a mysterious white gowned woman with a candelabrum appeared before him, revealing that he had been betrayed and that it was too late for him. The overall story does go deeper, and it directly revolves around this mysterious woman.

With Giovanni taken in by the Count, he is given free rein to study philosophy and take his grandfather’s fancy wheels out for a spin whenever he wishes. It isn’t long before he meets an alluring young woman named Veronica (Alba Rigazzi), who appears and disappears at odd intervals and random places, on the mansion grounds, on the side of the road, in the woods, or in the middle of the night. Giovanni takes a strong liking to her. She also seems to bear uncanny similarities to the Count’s cousin Veronique, who died back in 1916 when she was only nineteen.

The Count’s live-in caretaker Denise (Anna Maria Aveta) provides a slight amount (like a dropper full) of erotic attraction to the film. Sadly, she ultimately ends up not appealing to Giovanni even when she generously offers herself to him at night. The allure of the strange and beautiful Veronica keeps him from finding any meaningful pleasure from Denise. Her attempts to satisfy him are met with indifference and ennui. A woman of living flesh and blood doesn’t do it for him. Without knowing it, Giovanni prefers one from beyond.

There are so many obvious hints at what could possibly be going on; it’s surprising the movie doesn’t spring for a more twisty ending, but it doesn’t really need it in this case. Through poignant transitions between flash backs, we ultimately get clarity on the history of this bloodline and how the Count developed a meaningful but tragic relationship with his cousin when they were young. Since Veronique died young, her ghost remains eternally youthful. With the Count now an old man, Veronique has come for the young Giovanni. Is the lovely Veronique/Veronica friend or foe? A little bit of both, I’d say.

I have to mention, Alba Rigazzi really does bring something ethereal and alluring, but not intentionally scary, with her screen presence as the enchanting wrath, Veronique. That leitmotif (courtesy of Giorgio Gaslini (Deep Red)) heard at certain times when she manifests is beautifully haunting. I didn’t even realize until after a couple of rewatches, but Rigazzi also plays the nurse from the beginning of the movie. When Giovanni arrives at the hospital, as he’s sitting in the waiting room, the hallway behind him strangely lights up, as an almost heavenly female voice calls to him. I first thought this was just a weird peculiarity, but it’s actually Veronique, already setting things in motion for Giovanni.

La lunga notte di Veronique has style and substance. It’s well written, elegant and moving as well as depressing and unnerving, and viewers won’t be left scratching their heads at the end (not that that’s always a bad thing). I wouldn’t call it entirely a fun time since it is sad and gloomy for the most part. Even the flirty Denise can’t seem to cheer Giovanni up. It’s beauty still shines through the low fuzzy picture quality (I’m not sure if there’s a better version, but the screen caps I took are from the only version I could find). The impatient viewer might check out early, but I say that’s their loss. 

© At the Mansion of Madness

 

 

The name Letizia means “joy,” and one can’t help but feel joy when a name like Letizia rolls off the tongue. So, there’s a bitter irony to the title character of Salvatore Bugnatelli’sDiabolicamente… Letizia baring the sweetness of joyful pleasure only to turn out to be quite the devilish killjoy.

Diabolicamente… Letizia (also known as Sex, Demons and Death) is another peculiar erotic Italian horror that kind of stuck with me after only seeing it once about six years ago. There is something off-kilter and ominous about it, with a repressive, isolated autumnal villa setting involving a capricious young woman, Letizia (Franca Gonella- Zelda 1974), moving in and sexually perturbing the idle and seemingly peaceful lifestyles of her Aunt Micaela (Magda Konopka) and Uncle Marcello (Gabriele Tinti). The resulting erotic situations are intentionally built up only to push back and break the spell with some sort of unease, be it emotional confliction, humiliation, mockery, or even a jump scare, brought about by the sexually manipulative Letizia. Is she really some kind of sexual she-wolf demoness or do these characters have some serious hangups?

 

Marcello is an architect who lives in a sweet Italian villa, with a live-in French maid Giselle (Karin Fiedler) and a groundskeeper/butler Giovanni (Gianni Dei), not to mention an absolutely gorgeous wife Micaela (Konopka just pours her soul into this performance of a housewife pushed to hysteria). Micaela is unable to have children, so one day she decides to give up trying and instead adopt her adult niece Letizia, pulling Letizia out of boarding school in the process. For the household, Letizia fills a kind of void, which, if the title didn’t give it away, ends up being a woeful course of action for all involved.

Director and co-writer Salvatore Bugnatelli did not seem to be a lucrative filmmaker, with only a handful of films credited to him as director, all of which he did have writing credits for. Diabolicamente… Letizia looks to be the only horror/thriller film he made, and it’s kind of a hard one to love. 

It’s not the most beautiful film, with dull colors (except for Micaela’s psychedelic caftan dress) and a somewhat depressive setting. The story isn’t the most streamlined and does seem to meander at times, and the isolated countryside mansion in this case feels a little more claustrophobic than cozy. Despite this, I still have a weird attraction to it. 

The synth/harpsicord/organ laden main theme by Giuliano Sorgini is a melodic mood builder that I like to think of as Letizia’s theme, as the mood feels quite curious and entrancing but also potentially fatal.

Letizia is kind of the movie’s monster, but she is also a catalyst for a lot of unease and drama. In her own way, with her advances, and apparent magic spells, towards everyone in the household, revving up some serious sexual tension, she’s essentially turning several characters against one another, making the women hysterical and the men confused (and terrified at one point). She’s here to unsettle. She is shameless, but it’s not necessarily because she is taking charge of her sexual freedom or demonstrating what sexual liberation looks like; it’s more for a vague and insidious agenda. Older men and women seem to lose themselves around her. It isn’t always their fault since she does sinfully tempt them before rebuffing them, laughing as she rudely humiliates them for daring to receive her advances. (Watch for an amusing moment when Letizia briefly transforms into a werewolf to scare off the butler. It worked as an effective jump-scare for me more than once.)

 

Letizia can also remotely cast some kind of spell, usually by channeling energy into photographs, that puts Micaela into an entranced state of hyperarousal, so that she offers herself at different times to the butler Giovanni, her husband, or even the maid Giselle. It’s a trance, so that when the spell is broken and Micaela comes to, she ends up indignant regarding her own sexual behavior, getting hysterically mean to the other person she came on to, blaming them for taking advantage of her and a host of additional problems. Someone is also off-screen snapping photos every time Micaela or Marcello commit sexual transgressions.

The only person Letizia seduces to fully make love, without rebuffing them, is her aunt’s husband Marcello. This occurs after she comes home late one night following some kind of highly suggestive off-camera initiation ritual that her mob of new hippie friends push and drag her off to. She comes home in a non-responsive state, possibly traumatized or maybe on drugs, but she ends up pulling Marcello in when he shows concern, placing his hand over her breasts. It’s like a kind of horny spell she’s under that also rubs off on Marcello leading to their affair that the hidden photographer also captures, assumedly for scandalous reasons.

After sleeping with her, Marcello maintains a fondness for Letizia, but he also feels awkward, which is most apparent when she pulls him to the dance floor with a much younger crowd in one of the film’s night club scenes. He tends to regard himself as too busy and professional to be hanging around Letizia and her younger crowd of friends. She compliments him and assures him she enjoyed their affair and was not high when she took him. He seems mildly flattered but also uneasy. She’s trying to awaken him and to help him understand the youth culture of the era better by sleeping with him and convincing him to buy a motorcycle. Since she’s diabolical, it should be obvious that this isn’t the generous and altruistic midlife crises support we might think it is.

Her true intensions come down to a kind of “revenge” by her dead mother that is not really explained, so that the end revelation ends up being no surprise while also confusing without much in the way of a payoff. Unless I’m missing something (possibly something unjust about Letizia’s mother’s death), the nature of this revenge is hard to grasp, since Micaela is taking care of Letizia with love and care, fulfilling an apparent promise she made to her sister on her deathbed, so all that comes to pass seems harshly undeserved. (Unless the “revenge” was simply for putting Letizia in boarding school where she ended up into the hands of an occultist.)

Even though I’ve mostly been talking about the title character, here, I also really like the sexually assertive French maid, Giselle, who seems legitimately interested in making love, with sincerity and confidence. Unfortunately, Giselle is also caught in Letizia’s web. A brief but memorable side character, the professor’s wife Eva (Ada Pometti), tries to console Micaela about her previous physical interaction with Giselle, assuring her that there can be love between women without shame.

Xiro Papas’s mysterious occultist character is a bit of a wild card here. He’s in the background, usually strolling the grounds of the villa with mysterious motives and obviously up to no good. No one seems to notice the sizeable, alarming mustachioed man in a dark hat and trench coat in the background. He reminds me of a bad guy in a western. Seen in a cheap skull mask at times, he sometimes comes off as death, as he does accompany several demises.

 

Diabolicamente… Letizia does work as an interesting erotic horror film, despite being a bit of a slog at times. It manages to make its erotic situations dark and depressing, courtesy of a convincing young sexual antagonist. It’s not always the most exciting, and boy is there some serious drama on hand, but it does have a nice atmospheric, dark erotic ‘70s mood to it that makes it a certain kind of attractive to me. This film stayed on the backburner for review for some time, but I can say that it is worth revisiting, especially if erotic Italian horror is your thing. 

Like I said, it does deliver on the erotic level, but the characters are usually conflicted since they find themselves crossing lines they usually wouldn’t cross if not for Letizia. She is able to take advantage of this neuroticism everyone seems to have towards erotic freedom and turn them against each other. I can’t help thinking if the characters would’ve embraced this breakdown of their inhibitions, without jealousy and shame, then Letizia would’ve been powerless against them. When everyone has forgotten how to love, the evil seductive love witch wins. 

© At the Mansion of Madness

 

How many of you like to think you can change her? or that she might make a special exception in your case? and maybe you just might survive your romantic but likely deadly sojourn with her, with your fortune and life still intact? It’s a fun idea that I usually have when watching this movie, but it’s not very realistic considering it doesn’t go well for her partners in crime. Joking aside, this one also does get pretty dark. 

It shouldn’t be surprising that Diary of an Erotic Murderess is a treat for fans of Marisa Mell and her Italian and Spanish swindler thrillers like Perversion Story (1969), Marta (1971), The Great Swindle (1971), and Death Will Have Your Eyes (1974). She’s great in it, and it’s just as good as another of my favorites Marta, which has a similar concept but is told quite differently. 

 

This one’s less heavy on mystery or violence and has more emphasis on playing out the drama in its peculiar scenario with a buildup to a handful of murders. It isn’t badly written, and I like the overall direction. It feels obvious where the story is going, but it’s more in how things play out as well as the ‘70s Eurocult look and feel of the movie that make it worthwhile. There’s also a couple of surprises I like towards the end (as well as a subtle twist involving the titular diary) that gives the last quarter and closeout of the film more of a punch.

 

Our leading lady is put to good use; she is virtually present the whole time from when she enters the movie up until its crazy closeout. Those shots of Marisa driving in her topless convertible (not to mention that exquisite music by Carlo Savina) when she is introduced towards the beginning of the movie are a mood setter that really hits the spot and will pull you in.

 

After the last one quits, oil tycoon Alexander (Richard Conte) desperately needs a new governess to take care of his mute and emotionally unstable son Mark (Juan Ribó) (a young man with a hyper-erratic childishness who’s prone to fits of violent outbursts) at his home, an isolated old, historical mansion on a promontory in Galicia. An astounding looking woman Gina (Marisa Mell), who Alexander regards as much too young and pretty for the job, answers the call. Assertively, with her credentials in hand, she convinces Alexander to take her to his home to meet his son and see for herself whether she can handle him or not. On the way to the mansion, from the way he looks at her when they are in the backseat together, it is obvious that Alexander, a man accustomed to getting everything he wants in life, is starting to immediately fall for Gina.

 

When they first arrive, Mark is nowhere to be found, but Alexander and Gina become more acquainted and eventually have dinner together, which is when Mark suddenly arrives. The way he approaches Gina is awkward and tense, as, instead of shaking her hand, he stares at her funny before rudely ripping the flowers away from her dress that used to belong to his recently deceased mother. Gina takes this rather well. She seems to know exactly how to handle Mark, especially in private, as her tendency to redirect his negative energy and calm him down is not rooted in her supposed background as an expert psychologist, but rather because she is an expert manipulator. It shouldn’t be spoiling too much to mention that she’s not who she seems.

 

Mark wasn’t born mute but became nonverbal when he found his mother after she killed herself. Alexander explains to Gina that his son Mark idolized his mother when she was alive, and it is suggested had a deep incestuous love for her. It isn’t clear if Gina physically resembles his mother, but Mark does start to eventually see his mother in her, thanks to some clever manipulation by Gina.

 

For Mark, Gina is his Goddess returned. Armed with what she knows about him; Gina goes to work on Mark psychologically. She quickly picks up on how to exploit him where he is most vulnerable. 

The moments when Mark is creeping around overlooking what goes on between Alexander and Gina suggest some kind of antagonistic agenda as well. Juan Ribó is actually pretty good as Mark, able to convey complex emotion without dialogue. He’s obviously going through some shit internally, but he’s probably not one you would want to underestimate. He’s not all that sympathetic either; there’s just something strange or untrustworthy about him. He gets shouted at like a pet/animal by the servants when misbehaving and locked up in a dungeon-like punishment cell. He kind of feels like the monster of the mansion in a way when he plays his elegant musical theme on the piano like a kind of phantom opera ghost. Gina views Mark’s theme on the piano as a kind of prayer and honor to the memory of his mother.

 

Alexander is foolish and even quite dumb at times, which is surprising considering his success in life. The dumbest thing he does is tell Gina that his son will inherit everything when he dies. Perhaps that’s just the point, as a woman like Gina would cause anyone of us to lose our heads. 

While Gina snoops around at night, the dissonance in the music signifies that she is (obviously) no saint. She ultimately comes across the titular diary that once belonged to Mark’s mother, and from it she finds inspiration to concoct her great swindle. She believes the author of the diary is her predecessor who inspires Gina to do what she couldn’t.

 

It is revealed that Gina has an estranged scumbag husband (Anthony Steffen), who she doesn’t seem happy to hear from when he calls her over the phone calling her Elizabeth. Her secret meetings with her husband, her past partner in crime as well, reveal more about who she really is.

 

I’ve got to say that not only does Diary of an Erotic Murderess hit the sweet spot for fans of the erotic Eurocult thriller, with its isolated mansion setting, themes around the desires and obsessions of the rich and decadent (and those envious of them), and seductive killer beauty, but the story does take a number of interesting turns; and the characters have a surprising amount of depth to them, although no one is really a “good guy” here, except for maybe the servants. The movie does have several phases, and I kind of like that because each phase is a game changer. I love a few of the brief moments of Marisa Mell walking the grounds of the mansion literally looking like a Greek goddess. There’s also a medieval sixteenth century monastery built by the Templars on the grounds that’s run by a convent of nuns that gets some play in the story.

 

I couldn’t help indulging in the plentiful shots of Marisa Mell lounging and reading in the film, which are the main images I ended up mentally associating this film with. Despite the turmoil that’s actually going on in the story, there’s always something so relaxing and cozy to movies like this, something almost meditative at times. Obviously, there’s a lot to choose from, but the time spent in this movie with this lovely killer lady is a true pleasure. 

© At the Mansion of Madness

 

If magic is real, then it isn’t obvious. It will probably never lend itself to definitive proof but rather reserve itself more for personal interpretation that depends on the hopes, beliefs, and dreams of the individual. Be it paranormal or psychological, magic spells can provide a lot of symbolic meaning, clarity, and guidance for the caster. 

Giulio Questi’s inventive, esoteric, enchanted sorcery of a film, Arcana, is an unforgettable experience that I like to think is a magic spell itself. The effects of that spell really start to hit at about the one hour and fourteen-minute mark (when that hypnotic violin theme kicks in) and we get a peculiar standout segment in the film that is unlike anything else. The film also does a good job at capturing the appeal and mystique of tarot in both the divination reading scenes and in the unfolding of its mystifying plot.

 

Somewhere in Milan, dull and ordinary looking adults are converging on flat 26 in Building C. When asked, the feral children inhabiting the building passageways offer disinterested guidance to the room these strangers seek, the apartment of the Tarantino family, where these individuals believe they will find the answers/therapy they seek with the help of the arcane.

In the apartment, we are introduced to a widowed mother and medium (Lucia Bosè) and her son (Maurizio Degli Esposti) (Aside from their surname, they are nameless characters.) during a mundane but still peculiar group hypnotherapy session. Whether this mother and son pair are charlatans or not isn’t quite clear at this point, but during the session, the clients all seem to be locked into their respective hypnoses. The session does seem to have an obvious psychological effect on the clients, so much so that some of them apparently piss themselves on occasion.

After the customers leave, it becomes apparent that this mother and son aren’t sincere with their work. The mother talks about their customers as if they are fools who keep coming back to pay money. The son really seems to despise the whole affair the most, with disgust and disdain for the people that come by (He steals personal items and photographs off their IDs while they are busy with their readings.), but the business is steady, and it provides the extra money they still need beyond his deceased father’s meager retirement pay they collect. 

The son is obviously a strange, troubled boy and an odd choice for a protagonist. I can’t tell if I like him as a character or not. I feel a tendency to want to relate to him, but I just can’t. He does have a way of getting under your skin. Is he messed up from the death of his father from an accident while working in the underground subway, or is he just weary of all the pitiful clients his mother constantly brings in? He claims to despise them because they are insincere and disguise themselves (despite being secretive and insincere himself). While his mother seems to be using magic for profit, he uses it for his own preoccupation that is rather vague. One of his predictions he casually makes to his mother about a client during a dinner scene earlier in the movie (something I didn’t catch until the third or fourth time I watched it) comes true much later just before a pivotal scene. Some of the scenes involving him and several objects (a lot of them suspended) are some of the most esoteric in the film.

 

After an uncomfortable, violent encounter where the son ties his mother to the bed to get her to confess to him the secret of magic, he sets out on a few fetch quests to find the ingredients to make a talisman and make some real magic happen (or as his mother puts it, “unleash Hell!”). It is amusing that he can find the ingredients in such common places as from a weed growing out of a pavement crack in a crowded city or some fungus in the underground construction area.

Lucia Bose is great in this and deserves a lot of praise. That scene where she legitimately ejects/spits/vomits real live frogs from her mouth is on another level (frogs coming out of the mouth are a symbol of unclean spirits). She is just an all-around stunning presence too as I’ve mentioned in the past with her role in Something Creeping in the Dark (1971).

 

Tina Aumont lends a personal magical presence to the film as Marisa. Her role in the story is a little difficult to pin down, as she’s not a main player like the mother and son character, but she still leaves an enchanting impression. She attends the intro group hypnotherapy (Peculiarly, she’s the only one who opens her eyes during this session.) as well as tarot readings from Mrs. Tarantino.

Despite his dislike for his mother’s clients, the son seems to be drawn towards Marisa. Although she is engaged to be married to someone else, it’s still understandable to assume that she might even be a potential love interest to the boy. He spots her on the train and looks at her weirdly a few times. They really have no chemistry, which is on purpose since their interaction is rather ill fated, leading to a kind of strange ritual climax scene in the apartment involving a small child-like woman (who I’m assuming is a kind of otherworldly oracle) and a lot of people crammed into that tiny apartment.

 

The underground railway is creepy, but to me, the kitchen is the most haunting place in the film: magic coffee, floating plates, frogs, and a musical segment with people in a ritualistic, slightly off-synchronized, shuffle that’s too languid looking to be a dance. I feel a lot of strange emotions every time I see that ritual kitchen scene and the violinists. The magic energy just comes off the screen here. Lucia Bosè’s character claims at one point that her mother was a real witch who “knew how to make donkeys fly.” Perhaps Bosè is channeling the grandmother witch during the kitchen scene that seems to exist separately from the narrative where she spits out the frogs. This could further be hinted at from the accompanying scene of a tied-up donkey being lifted up a building by a rope pulley (suggestive of a flying donkey), which is otherwise quite head scratching.

Beyond the entertainment, there’s a lot to take in and explore if the viewer chooses to. The film itself seems to be looking at magic and tarot from both a skeptical and real, but complex, angle.  

Arcana has an odd dissonance to it, yet all these strange elements just seem to come together in a way that works. Even the weird stuff going on outside of the apartment (consisting of a few nods to Georges Bataille) with the rogue and bestial kids is kind of baffling and yet it somehow fits, especially considering the way they seem to conjure around the place with a strange connection to the son. Is it useless rubbish, or do the different strange ingredients combine to make for some fine movie magic? 

Arcana won’t be for everyone, but if you manage to connect with it, it’s a divination that will stay with you forever. 

© At the Mansion of Madness