Deep Red (1975)

          Complaining about the excesses and shortcomings of Dario Argento’s celebrated giallo thriller Deep Red serves little purpose, because the folks who dig this sort of movie expect little more than stylish violence, and the people for whom the film’s rough edges would be problematic are unlikely to ever watch Deep Red. A visually dynamic shocker with absurdly detailed gore, indulgently long suspense sequences, and a murky storyline that exists mostly as a means of stringing sensationalistic set pieces together, the film has inarguable cinematic merits. Furthermore, it’s a safe bet that Deep Red and other ’70s Argento pictures influenced the work of such American horror/thriller auteurs as John Carpenter and Brian De Palma. Nonetheless, there’s no avoiding the fact that Deep Red was designed to be unpleasant. Except during sequences that get bogged down in turgid plotting, the picture largely achieves its goal of making viewers uncomfortable, sometimes through crude means (onscreen bloodshed) and sometimes through subtler methods (the generation of legitimate suspense). And even though the script by Argento and frequent Fellini collaborator Bernardino Zapponi actually devotes quite a bit of time to character development, the value of the picture ultimately resides in its ability to provoke revulsion. Therefore, despite being made with considerable artistry, Deep Red is not high art. If anything, it’s the exact opposite of that.

          Set in Turin, Italy, the meandering movie begins with atmospheric scenes culminating in the murder of a psychic. The killing, which occurs in a high window of an apartment building, is witnessed by an English musician named Marcus Daly (David Hemmings), who lives and works in Italy. Marcus soon becomes obsessed with determining the murderer’s identity. Helping him investigate are friends of the deceased psychic as well as a reporter named Gianna Brezzi (Darla Nicoldoi). The plot grows more complicated with each passing scene, eventually becoming almost incomprehensible as Argento adds in myths and rumors and whatnot, hence the picture’s bloated original running time of 126 minutes. (During its initial American release, Deep Red earned an “X” rating for its violence, only to get trimmed down for mainstream US exhibition.) As with many of Argento’s pictures, the style is ultimately more important than the substance. Argento’s probing camerawork is exciting to watch, with cameras floating and soaring through spaces whenever the director isn’t composing striking static shots. Pushing these images along is an undulating original rock score by Italian band Goblin, whose spooky grooves have a hypnotic appeal. As for leading man Hemmings, his work is chilly and intense, though in his defense, Hemmings’ character exists to drive the story, rather than the other way around.

Deep Red: FUNKY

Black Belly of the Tarantula (1971)

          A sleek thriller from the bloodier end of the giallo spectrum, Black Belly of the Tarantula is very similar in style and tone to the many Hitchcock-inspired thrillers that Brian De Palma made—it’s a highly sexualized and nearly operatic melodrama about a psycho who mutilates and kills beautiful women. Accordingly, the same question that one can ask about De Palma’s ugliest movies can be asked about this Italian production. Does Black Belly of the Tarantula justify its own existence? Not really. Although noteworthy for certain elements, including a parade of gorgeous starlets and a truly eerie score by the great Ennio Morricone, Black Belly of the Tarantula is vile for the way it eroticizes the degradation of women. Some psycho-killer movies are worthwhile because they provide insights into the human condition, and it’s true that the people behind Black Belly of the Tarantula follow a fairly true moral compass. Nonetheless, how many images of lovely ladies being sliced open does the world really need?

          Set in Rome, the picture tracks an investigation by Inspector Tellini (Giancarlo Giannini) into a series of strange murders. As depicted in loving detail, each murder involves an unknown assailant stabbing a woman in the back of the neck with an acupuncture needle, thereby paralyzing the women so the murderer can disembowel her while she’s still conscious. Tellini learns that this method of killing is inspired by the way a black wasp kills its natural enemy, the tarantula. In between murder vignettes and scenes of Tellini examining grisly crime scenes, the picture shows Tellini interrogating suspects and also shows Tellini’s home life. The most interesting thread in the movie is a subplot about Tellini questioning whether he’s cut out to be a homicide investigator, not only because seeing savagery wounds his soul, but also because the killer makes sport of Tellini by surreptitiously filming a sexual encounter between the inspector and his wife.

          Despite its formulaic story and sadistic extremes, Black Belly of the Tarantula is interesting to watch for the way it stimulates the senses. Director Paolo Cavara contrives many dynamic images and even a few somewhat erotic ones (for example, the shots of a nude woman viewed through jellied glass while she receives a massage). And even though Cavara’s chase scenes are perfunctory, he exhibits real glee when filming murders, contriving dramatic camera angles and translating peril into something like choreography. European beauties passing before Cavara’s camera include three women associated with the James Bond franchise—Claudine Auger, Barbara Bach, and Barbara Bouchet—while Morricone’s inventive melodies are like aural candy with bitter undertones. Furthermore, Giannini gives a strong performance in the leading role, blending desperation, ennui, fear, and rage into a sympathetic characterization.

Black Belly of the Tarantula: FUNKY