La lunga notte di Veronique / But You Were Dead (1966)

“There are two kinds of taste, the taste for emotions of surprise and the taste for emotions of recognition.” – Henry James 

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’s Love 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

 

 

Shadow of Illusion / Ombre roventi (1970)

“I understand those who want to live against this century, but I fear those who believe they can live outside of it.” – Emmanuelle Arsan – Mon Emmanuelle, leur pape et mon Eros  

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).

The Unnaturals / Schreie in der Nacht (1969)

When poring over the impressively diverse range of genre films from Antonio Margheriti, I realize there’s still a lot more I need to see. I have more blind spots here than I care to admit. I plan on eventually rectifying this issue in good time, maybe starting with some of the derivative sounding ‘80s action/adventure stuff like The Last Blood (1983) or The Ark of the Sun God (1984). I do have a soft spot for retro space movies, so something like Assignment: Outer Space (1960), Margheriti’s first full film as director, would probably make my day. I have been a big fan of Margheriti’s exquisite gothic horror films for quite some time (no surprise there), and I’ve been itching to review one of his least talked about (as far as I can tell) gothic horrors, The Unnaturals / Contronatura. 

I thought this German / Italian co-production kind of had a classic comic book feel to it (something kind of in the vein of EC’s Crime SuspenStories). It’s also been compared to the krimi thriller, with all the fixings of a crime fueled storyline, only instead of a detective or Scotland Yard, the criminal foil and justice comes in the form of the supernatural beyond. There’s also no denying that the 1920s setting, primarily in a gloomy haunted mansion during a long meditative séance, hosted by none other than Luciano Pigozzi, with a bunch of stranded shady characters seeking shelter on a dark and stormy night is gothic horror as fuck. This is the kind of gathering that I consider a good time.

Night of the Damned / La notte dei dannati (1971)

“Thank Heaven! The crisis / The danger is past, and the lingering illness, is over at last /, and the fever called “Living” is conquered at last.” Edgar Allan Poe 

Horror films are more traditionally associated with anxiety and sleepless nights. Funny, then, how we tend to look towards horror sometimes to wind down after the day. Now, I love to be scared and shocked just as much as any horror fan, but what about a horror film that can have the opposite effect, one that puts you to sleep through relaxation and comfort? Thanks to the usual languid pace and soothing dark ambiance, a lot of older gothic horror films can serve as a pretty good example of this, such as the gothic literary mashup Night of the Damned. 

Directed by Filippo Walter Ratti and written by Aldo Marcovecchio, Night of the Damned is a quaint little ‘70s Italian gothic horror that hits a lot of the right notes when it comes to style, mood, and atmosphere. Sure, there is better to pick from, but something about this film made me want to revisit and connect with it on a deeper level. The Poe-inspired world is worth getting lost in, and it appeals to my love for the supernatural femme fatales who reign from their remote dark castles, with the occult and hedonistic rituals that usually accompany them.

Death Falls Lightly / La morte scende leggera (1972)

“When analyzed with any degree of honesty, jealous behavior appears, in reality, neither as a duty nor a right, but as a shabby dross of our obsession with possessing.” – Emmanuelle Arsan – L’hypothese d’Eros 

A weekend getaway at a resort hotel with your significant other is most people’s idea of a relaxing holiday, but having to hide out in a creepy, possibly haunted hotel with your mistress for the weekend, because your wife turned up murdered, sounds like a more interesting time to me. 

Death Falls Lightly is one of two thrillers directed and co-written by Leopoldo Savona (the other being Byleth – The Demon of Incest (1972)) that I commend for its unusual and multidirectional approach. You’re not really sure what they’re going for, but you kind of like it anyways. Like Byleth, it’s a little hard to compare to other films of its ilk, since it’s kind of an oddball example. It reaches for different ideas, perhaps one too many, while maintaining that appealing ’70s Euro-genre ascetic, so you’re getting something both different and familiar at the same time. Whether or not it’s actually any good is somewhat difficult to tell by the film’s end. 

I personally find this one delightful, as it is a bit of a jack-of-all-trades genre movie that borrows from crime, mystery, giallo, erotic, fantastical, psychological, and occult horror, so it’s like there’s a little bit of something for everyone. It is mostly centered around a claustrophobic and somewhat dark and depressing hotel. Interestingly, this movie predicts The Shining during a few moments, and my mind even thought a little of Silent Hill at times.

The Witches Mountain / El monte de las brujas (1973)

Cover art by Justin Coffee

 “A woman will sometimes forgive the man who tries to seduce her, but never the man who misses an opportunity when offered.” – Charles Maurice de Talleyrand

I’m hoping that in the coming months and years, more and more people discover, and hopefully enjoy, the unfairly banned and relatively forgotten Spanish horror Raúl Artigot’s The Witches Mountain thanks to Mondo Macabro’s recent release of the film. Lured by its title and because Patty Shepard was in it, I first saw the film as a VHS rip on YouTube back around 2013 and was really floored by how atmospheric and beautifully haunting it was despite the low picture quality. I’m usually easy to please in this area, but every DVD-R and download of this film I came across was quite soft looking and really showed the film’s age. Anytime I thought to review it, I was discouraged, and mildly depressed, by how much the poor-quality screengrabs undersold the film, so I kept holding out for a decent release someday. Years went by, and I personally started to give up hope, so it was miraculous news for me when the HD upgrade of The Witches Mountain was finally announced. There was a significant delay after the Halloween presale, but I thought it was worth the wait.

Zelda (1974)

“You came to watch this movie just to see two naked women… You have a colonialist mentality.” – Alberto Cavallone on the ending to Le salamandre*  

“I would like, as I said, for the lover’s place to be in the middle of the couple.” – Emmanuelle Arsan**    

Alberto Cavallone’s films are not fun. I can’t think of one I’ve seen that does not have a depressing ending. Whether or not they are entertaining might depend on the viewer’s mindset, but they are almost always enthralling in a way. You might think you’re being lured in for an erotically fun time, with films like Le salamandre (1969) and Blow Job (1980), or a film with a notorious reputation that precedes it like Blue Movie (1978), but that’s just to get you in front of the screen so the film can put a mirror in front of you, whether or not you realize it, and call you a colonizer or a degenerate (who Cavallone referred to as the “raincoat crowd”), crudely interrupting your titillation. Basically, if the film upsets or antagonizes you, then it was made for you. What’s fascinating is that the films nevertheless did well with the audiences Cavallone was hoping to annoy.  

Cavallone dismissed his own erotic thriller Zelda as a commercial effort, lacking the sociopolitical content of his previous films. On the surface, the movie does have an erotic pull to it, with the promise of interracial lesbian scenes, in a manner similar to Le salamandre. Like Le salamandre, the erotic pull ends up not being the main point of the movie, and with Zelda, Cavallone is critical, or at least dreadfully pessimistic, of the loose sex lives of married couples and the en vogue erotic film of the era while also making his film look very much like one.

Bloody Pit of Horror / Il boia scarlatto (1965)

Fun is only partially the name of the game with a film like Bloody Pit of Horror. With its comic book style influence, there’s lots of fun to be had, but it’s got a mean side too, as sadism is also the name of the game. The mix of fun and dark in the film is an influence from a style of Italian adult-oriented superhero, crime, and erotic comics known as Fumetti Neri, which consists, among many others, of flamboyant masked super heroes/villains: Diabolik, Kriminal, Mister-X, and Satanik. The antagonist in Bloody Pit of Horror could’ve easily come out of this subgenre, but he’s no fantastic masked superman. He’s a fantastically cruel masked super-sadistic-madman, the Crimson Executioner, played with love, enthusiasm, and high energy by a chiseled Mickey Hargitay.