A DRAGONFLY FOR EACH CORPSE (1973/released 1975)

Director: León Klimovsky

Writer: Jacinto Molina (Paul Naschy), Ricardo Muñoz Suay

Producers: Jose A. Perez Giner, Ricardo Sanz

Cast: Paul Naschy, Erika Blanc, Maria Kosti, Ãngel Aranda, Susana Mayo, Ricardo Merino, Eduardo Calvo, Ramón Centenero, Mariano Vidal Molina, Anne Marie, José Canalejas, Beni Deus, Cesar De Barona, Maria Vidal, Ingrid Rabel, Frances O’Flynn, Javier de Rivera, Juan Madrigal, Rafael Albaicin, Luis Alonso, Antonio Mayans, Ernesto Vañes, Juan Cazalilla

In Milan, Italy, a serial killer is murdering people that the killer considers unclean and sinful. A plastic dragonfly is left on each of the killer’s victims. Police Inspector Paolo Scaporella (Paul Naschy) is on the case, which becomes personal as the killer taunts Scaporella with notes and as some of the detective’s friends also become victims.

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Spain’s genre film Renaissance man and horror film champion, Paul Naschy, wrote and starred in this film with the perfect giallo-styled title of A Dragonfly for Each Corpse. He teamed with his frequent horror film director León Klimovsky to make a movie almost as offbeat as Naschy’s earlier giallo-inspired effort, The Blue Eyes of the Broken Doll (1974). I suppose the fact that this movie is a Spanish-Italian co-production and that it is set in Italy ought to qualify it as a giallo. However, the purists would argue that to be a true giallo the movie must be a purely Italian production. I think the real reason that A Dragonfly for Each Corpse is hard to classify as a true giallo is that it doesn’t show even a single bottle of J&B Scotch.

Besides a great animal-themed title (à la Italian director Dario Argento’s first three gialli), this film has many giallo trademarks. These include the mystery being set in Italy, a black-gloved killer, flashy fashions, successful and decadent professionals with secrets, infidelity, sexual perversity, and a high body count.

Although this movie has a very high body count, the kills are often pretty perfunctory. They are occasionally bloody, but usually not teased out to more suspenseful lengths like a lot of giallo movie murders. The plot is not too convoluted and plays fair with the audience, but there are a couple of illogical instances of characters not communicating what they know in the most direct fashion. Of course, that only serves to prolong the mystery.

One great asset this movie has is the main couple of Naschy, as Inspector Paolo Scaporella, and the radiant redhead Erika Blanc, as his wife Silvana. They are seemingly mismatched but compliment each other perfectly. Paolo is blunt and intense, while Silvana is a bright beauty that can soften some of his hard edges. It is refreshing to see a happily married couple as the protagonists in a giallo or near-giallo.

The other greatest asset that this or any other film could hope for is the magnificent presence of Anne Marie. She gives new meaning to the term showstopper as a stripper that gets pimped out to perform private perversions after hours. No other coffin ever had it so good (except Erika Blanc’s in 1971’s The Night Evelyn Came out of the Grave, but that is another kink from another film for another review by this obsessive reprobate).

A major difference here from most giallo films is that the police are neither incompetent nor inconsequential to the story and its outcome. The hero here is a police inspector. This story may also be influenced by poliziotteschi, the Italian police thriller film genre that was also very popular at this time. Yet, like many gialli, it is a creative or artistic person who intuits the killer’s identity.

As in many giallo films, there are sexual norms crossed by several characters, which attracts the puritanical wrath of the killer. Here we also have the mucho macho Inspector Scaporella accompanied on some inquiries by his gay, fashion designer friend, Vittorio (Ramón Centenaro). There is never a single remark, snide or otherwise, concerning Vittorio’s homosexuality. This seems like a very progressive bit of nonchalance for a film of this time.

A Dragonfly for Each Corpse is a pleasant surprise for longtime Paul Naschy film fans. There are many differences for Naschy’s character in this film from what he usually wrote for himself. He often treats himself to couplings with more than one woman in his films, yet here he is faithful to his devoted wife. Considering that the enchanting Erika Blanc portrays this wife, it is a wise choice, though the blonde prostitute Ornella (played by a dazzling and unknown actress) who offers her services to him would probably be indulged in by Naschy’s character in any other film. It is just one more reason we still respect this violence-prone, cigar-chewing cop who wears very loud ties. Naschy’s Inspector Scaporella is so honest and genuine that he does not even wear a toupee.

A Dragonfly for Each Corpse is a Paul Naschy film with a change-of-pace characterization for him, great theme music, a mystery killer that tallies up a high body count, and three of the most magnificent Euro-film beauties ever. That’s all that this sleazy sleuth craves in his Euro-horror film investigations. I just wish I could solve the mystery of who played Ornella.

THE BLUE EYES OF THE BROKEN DOLL (1974), aka HOUSE OF PSYCHOTIC WOMEN

Director: Carlos Aured

Writers: Jacinto Molina (Paul Naschy), Carlos Aured

Producer: José Antonio Pérez Giner

Cast: Paul Naschy, Diana Lorys, Maria Perschy, Eva León, Eduardo Calvo, Antonio Pica, Inés Morales, Pilar Bardem, Luis Ciges, Sandra Mozarowski

Gilles (Paul Naschy) is a drifter hitchhiking in rural France when he is picked up by Claude (Diana Lorys). She is a bitter woman with a disfigured right hand covered in a prosthetic glove. She offers Gilles handyman work and lodging at her remote country villa. Claude’s two sisters also live there with her, the wheelchair-bound Ivette (Maria Perschy) and nymphomaniac Nicole (Eva León). Gilles performs his chores while having a dalliance with Nicole and imposing upon Claude’s cold and remote demeanor. Despite his confident manner, Gilles is haunted by visions of him strangling a mocking woman. Meanwhile in the nearby village, a black-gloved killer is murdering blonde women and removing their blue eyes.

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Multitalented Spanish horror film player Paul Naschy toyed with the giallo genre when he wrote and starred in The Blue Eyes of the Broken Doll. Movie fan Naschy always paid homage to a lot of the genre films he loved by incorporating many tropes from them into his scripts. When adding his own attitudes and fixations, Naschy could create lively and often loopy storylines for his films. Naschy showed a bit of restraint here, yet he still provided a twisted, tricky plot with plenty of odd characters that should satisfy the expectations of giallo fans. That uniquely Italian genre seemed to suit Naschy well for this Spanish production.

We are introduced to Naschy’s character of Gilles in an interesting way. The film opens with Gilles amid the sprawling countryside as he walks along a road trying to thumb a ride. This places us on his side, if for no other reason than we can empathize with the plight of someone alone in the middle of nowhere needing a lift. We also can’t help but wonder why he is in this destitute situation and where he is headed. But our comfort with this character is soon disturbed; as he stops for a bite to eat, we see Gilles being eyed with suspicion by the village café patrons, including local police Inspector Pierre (Antonio Pica). Gilles quickly moves on.

As night falls our hitchhiking protagonist is picked up by Claude, an austere, beautiful woman who is self-conscious of her maimed right hand. Gilles seems unperturbed by Claude’s affliction and perhaps appreciates that this makes her feel as much of an outcast as he himself appears to be. Claude is played by Diana Lorys, who had appeared in many genre films. Lorys is perhaps best known for starring in the first Spanish horror film, Jesús Franco’s The Awful Dr. Orlof (1962).

Rather oddly for a giallo film, the kills do not begin until nearly halfway through the running time. Until that point, it is the strange characters of the three afflicted sisters in their remote country villa interacting with the mysterious drifter now staying with them that intrigues us. However, we are teased with some possible violence in Gilles’ past as he has recurring dreams or memories of strangling a beautiful woman laughing at him.

True heroes may be hard to come by in giallo flicks, but you can’t fault Gilles’ work ethic. He is certainly diligent in his chores of chopping wood, raking, milking cows, and laying plenty of pipe. After all, this is a Paul Naschy-written role.

Fortunately, sexy women are always plentiful in the giallo genre, which helps maintain interest until the bloodshed begins. Therefore, our lucky loner and live-in handyman Gilles is testing the boundaries of Claude, the apparent head of the household, appreciating the beauty of the paralyzed Ivette (Maria Perschy), and wallowing in the carnal comfort of nymphomaniacal Nicole (Eva León).

Once a black-clad killer starts murdering women in the nearby village, we are playing the whodunit guessing game. Naturally, Gilles is under audience suspicion due to his violent flashbacks and shady past. The three afflicted women he is living with all have their issues. Ivette’s new nurse named Michelle (Inés Morales) arrives instead of another nurse who was murdered, and she is making secretive phone calls. Jean, the previously fired handyman, attacks Gilles with a knife. René (Luis Siges), the odd character hanging out at the village café, ogles young girls and eavesdrops on discussions of the murders between Inspector Pierre and the local physician treating Ivette, Dr. Phillipe (Eduardo Calvo).

Paul Naschy’s script gives us climaxes that are red herrings just as much as many of the characters themselves. The film ends with a very morbid scene full of sick pathos. This conclusion is supposed to be loosely inspired by an actual 1865 case in Madrid, Spain. While Naschy’s scripts borrowed elements from many previous genre films, his main intent here seems to be emulating the giallo films as popularized in the 1970s by Italian director Dario Argento. Yet this film’s final scene reminds me a lot of Argento’s much later Trauma (1993).

Carlos Aured directed only four of Paul Naschy’s films and this ranks as one of Naschy’s best. Along with cinematographer Francisco Sánchez and editor Javier Moran, Aured has made this a visually nimble and occasionally striking looking film. There is cutting on action to new camera angles during often simple actions of characters, some lighting that ratchets up the mood and suspense, and shots that take advantage of interesting locations and scenery.

Giallo films are often graced with weird and catchy music scores. The Blue Eyes of the Broken Doll does not disappoint with some nice themes by Juan Carlos Calderón. Others have commented on the musical misstep that an almost jaunty theme used to introduce us to Naschy’s Gilles is also used during his final scene, which is totally inappropriate for the mood there. Composer Calderón is probably not to blame for the repeat of that piece of music. Perhaps someone thought that the music used to introduce the character of Gilles would be ironic for his last scene. It was Naschy who had the inspired idea to use the traditional French folk tune “Frère Jacques” as the leitmotif used for the killer. That song had always creeped out Naschy as a child.

The Blue Eyes of the Broken Doll is one of my favorite Paul Naschy films. As a giallo fan, I can appreciate that Naschy is giving us a fine example of the genre that is hardly typical. It has the giallo ingredients of sex, violence, and a mystery killer, while distinguished by its rural setting and damaged characters.

BLOOD AND BLACK LACE (1964)

Director: Mario Bava

Writers: Marcello Fondato, Mario Bava, Giuseppe Barillà, Mary Arden (adapting dialogue into English)

Producers: Massimo Patrizi, Alfredo Mirabile

Cast: Cameron Mitchell, Eva Bartok, Thomas Reiner, Mary Arden, Arianna Gorini, Lea Lander (as Lea Krugher), Claude Dantes, Dante DiPaolo, Massimo Righi, Franco Ressel, Luciano Pigozzi, Francesca Ungaro, Harriette White Medin, Giuliano Raffaelli, Heidi Stroh, Enzo Cerusico, Nadia Anty, Mary Carmen (as Mara Carmosino), Goffredo Unger (uncredited), Calisto Calisti (uncredited), Romano Moraschini (uncredited)

A masked man in black brutally murders Isabella (Francesca Ungaro), a model at the Rome fashion house Christian Haute Couture. Many of the models and staff at the fashion house have secrets to hide. While Police Inspector Silvestri (Thomas Reiner) investigates, the killer claims more victims. Silvestri suspects one of the men who work at the fashion house or are having relationships with the models.

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The now-revered Italian director Mario Bava worked in many genres, but his horror films are what have received the most acclaim. He is also celebrated for originating the giallo film, that Italian subgenre of horror and suspense. Bava’s 1963 The Girl Who Knew Too Much is usually considered the first giallo film. However, it is his Blood and Black Lace, made the following year, which established the iconic stylistic template most associated with the genre. All of the traditional giallo elements are there: a black-gloved mystery killer; beautiful victims; prolonged stalk-and-kill set pieces; plenty of suspects and scandal in a posh environment; and the use of music, lighting, and editing that stylize the violence and terror.

Blood and Black Lace is must-see viewing for Mario Bava fans that showcases the director’s visual aesthetic. It was the signpost pointing the way for the giallo genre that would become increasingly popular in its native Italy and abroad by the 1970s. Bava and the film genre he initiated would inspire and influence Italian directors such as Dario Argento and Sergio Martino as well as Americans like Brian De Palma and John Carpenter.

It seems almost unthinkable that this pioneering film in this distinctive Italian genre was not successful in Italy at the time of its release. Despite some of its influences, such as the then-popular German krimi films (usually based on the crime thriller novels of British author Edgar Wallace), Blood and Black Lace may have been just a bit ahead of its time. The mystery aspect of the story is little more than a guessing game rather than a clue-laden plot. This is clearly an exercise in style over substance. Just as much as any Gothic horror film, the best giallo films are meant to disturb and excite with their atmosphere and menace.

One distinction that probably made the giallo an acquired taste was the lack of the sort of moral triumph concluding most typical horror and crime films at that time. Giallo films reveled in a world of glamorous sleaze, amoral ambitions, and sadistic violence. Representatives of law and order meant to solve the mystery and apprehend the culprit were not the main protagonists and were often ineffectual.

Another reason that Blood and Black Lace may have been off-putting was that there are no characters we can really bond with. They are all rather remote or secretive and conniving. This just confirms the cold and corrupt environment that makes the ongoing murders seem inevitable.

It is not surprising that Mario Bava would initiate this stylish and cynical genre. Bava had a strong streak of pessimism regarding the capitalistic, modern world. His later Bay of Blood (1971) is not only his most violent production and a direct influence on the American slasher film; it also seemed to vent his disdain for society’s amoral greed that consumes almost the entire cast. That pervasive pessimism seems to have its roots in Blood and Black Lace. Most of its main characters are corrupt or shamed and may be capable of anything. Their conflicts and secrets seem to be the catalyst for ongoing homicide, despite the best efforts of those enforcers of the social order, the police.

The reason that any of this engages the audience is its technique of presentation. Mario Bava had always been a great cinematographer, and his colorful and moody lighting here is every bit as striking as his earlier black-and-white classics. His visuals and shot choices tease us as much as the identity of the killer. It is Bava’s artistry that makes this grim tale of murder amid a cast of one-dimensional characters into a visceral experience for the viewers.

The biggest name in the cast is American star Cameron Mitchell as the fashion house co-director Massimo Morlacchi. He exudes a cold reserve that makes him seem just as suspect as anyone else. Mitchell made plenty of films in Europe, and this was the second of his three Bava-directed pictures. Mitchell and Bava seemed to really hit it off, and Mitchell considered Bava probably the greatest director he had ever worked work with. Mitchell admired Bava’s creativity and ingenuity in making good and interesting films despite budgetary limitations.

Eva Bartok also tops the cast list as the widowed Countess Cristiana Cuomo, the fashion house owner and business partner with Massimo Morlacchi. She appears to be all business and seems as remote a personality as just about every other character. Her performance becomes much more interesting as the film progresses and the plot develops. Blood and Black Lace would be the penultimate film in Bartok’s 20-year career of film acting in both the US and Europe.

If ever an actress went above and beyond the call of duty for a film, it was Mary Arden. Her character of model Peggy Peyton was subjected to probably more prolonged physical abuse than any other woman in film up to that time. While we take such physicality in movies for granted, this is all being performed in take after bruising take by Arden without a stunt double. I hope all of the pain and terror she expressed was just good acting. Arden was also nearly killed by the sharp latch of an automobile trunk lid that slammed down on her while filming a scene. The multilingual Mary Arden even pitched in to do the translation of the screenplay’s dialogue into English. After all of that injury and effort, Mary Arden never got paid!

Another lady in the cast deserving kudos for efforts way beyond her job description is Lea Lander. Billed as Lea Krugher in Blood and Black Lace, she plays the model Greta. A decade later Lander would act in Mario Bava’s Rabid Dogs (1974). That film’s post-production was not completed due to the bankruptcy proceedings resulting when one of the film’s financial backers died. Rabid Dogs went unfinished and unseen for almost a quarter century until Lea Lander took the initiative to help finance its DVD release. This would be worked on further by Mario Bava’s son Lamberto and grandson Roy along with producer Alfredo Leone to be released in 2002 as Kidnapped. Bravo to black-laced beauty Lea Lander! She not only graced a classic giallo, but she also resurrected Mario Bava’s most atypical and cynical film.

A key accessory to any giallo film hoping to make a stylish impression is the soundtrack. Carlo Rustichelli’s Blood and Black Lace score sets the pace for the musical flourishes that adorn the genre’s best. His main theme is sinister lounge music that is reprised throughout the film, often building up to horrific intensity. Rustichelli also scored two of director Bava’s Gothic horror classics: The Whip and the Body (1963) and Kill, Baby… Kill! (1966).

For the giallo curious, Blood and Black Lace is the perfect introduction. It is the trendsetting model of the genre designed to knock ‘em dead by that morbid maestro Mario Bava. So, what are you waiting for, an engraved invitation? You can ditch the tuxes and gowns and just barge on into this sanguinary salon for a bloody good time.

YOUR VICE IS A LOCKED ROOM AND ONLY I HAVE THE KEY (1972)

Director: Sergio Martino

Writers: Luciano Martino, Sauro Scavolini, Ernesto Gastaldi, Adriano Bolzoni, based on Edgar Allan Poe’s short story, “The Black Cat”

Producer: Luciano Martino

Cast: Anita Strindberg, Luigi Pistilli, Edwige Fenech, Riccardo Salvino, Angela La Vorgna, Ivan Rassimov, Daniela Giordano, Enrica Bonaccorti, Franco Nebbia, Bruno Boschetti, Marco Mariani, Nerina Montagnani, Carla Mancini, Ermelinda De Felice, Dalila Di Lazzaro (uncredited) 

At his rundown villa in the Italian countryside, author Oliviero Rouvigny (Luigi Pistilli) hosts decadent parties. Oliviero is a bitter alcoholic that has not written anything for over a year. He abuses his wife Irina (Anita Strindberg), is obsessed with his late mother Countess Esther, and only has affection for his mother’s black cat named Satan. After a past student and lover of the author is murdered, Oliviero is questioned by the police. As more victims are found, Irina is afraid that her cruel, unstable husband is responsible for the killings. 

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Mixing 1970s amoral decadence of the idle rich with Edgar Allan Poe’s 1843 story “The Black Cat” and adding a bit of the French film Diabolique (1955) for a garnish, director Sergio Martino serves up a heady giallo concoction with the timeless title Your Vice is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key. Martino directed Italian films of many genres, but he seems to be most appreciated for his giallo films. At the time of its release, this film was not as successful as hoped and Martino did not hold it in very high regard. However, the French critics seemed to groove on it and it has become a must-see title for giallo fans. In more recent years, Martino himself has warmed up to it and feels it holds up well. 

Between the acts of sex and violence, most giallo films keep the audience guessing about who is guilty and what their motives are. This is a film where nearly everyone is presented as shallow, irrational, listless, or unsympathetic. As a result we never really get a handle on these characters and they often prove capable of anything. There is probably no giallo film more decadent than this one. 

The ringmaster for this circus of sin is Oliviero Rouvigny. It is this character’s nihilism that seems to seep into all those around him. He holds everyone in contempt. They are there for his convenience to pass judgment on or to use and abuse. His failed-writer’s ego must still need to maintain some air of intellectual superiority. Perhaps he justifies his lack of creativity by decreeing that all others are worthless and the world is hopeless. We have no qualms about Oliviero becoming a murder suspect once the killings begin. 

I suppose we could cut Oliviero a little slack, as his mother the Countess Esther was a successful actress who was very promiscuous, may have been mad, and slept with her son; that’s bound to mess a kid up. That also seems to have saddled Oliviero with an incestuous fixation lasting beyond his mother's death. Yup, the guy has some issues. 

Then again, Oliviero inherited a large estate and the family jewels so he should have it made. But he has become so bitter and despondent that he no longer works, he allows his huge villa to fall into disrepair, he assaults and humiliates his beautiful wife, he treats his maid (Angela Le Vorgna) like a slave, his ongoing affair with a girl (Daniela Giordano) began when he taught her in high school, and he is putting the moves on his sexy niece (Edwige Fenech). 

Well, maybe he’s not all bad. After all, Oliviero does love his black cat Satan. That’s the cat that used to belong to his mother. That’s the cat he lovingly strokes as he gets plastered on J&B Scotch while staring longingly at that huge painting of his dead mother. Ah hell, forget it. There are no redeeming features at all in this guy and Luigi Pistilli plays him to a tee. 

As the long-suffering Olviero’s wife Irina, Anita Strindberg earns our sympathies immediately. However, we wonder just how she wound up in this miserable situation and why she continues to put up with it. Is she a masochist or so unstable that she can’t fend for herself? Strindberg’s beauty graced many giallo films, and her performance here is one of her best. 

Another giallo queen, Edwige Fenech, appears here as Oliviero’s unpredictable and uninhibited niece Floriana. Fenech found even greater fame in sex comedies, but her creamy, curvy form was always a highlight in her giallo films.

There is another character that I just have to mention: Dario (Riccardo Salvino), the horny milkman and motocross racer. Not only is he upfront about his lechery with any hot chick, as if he is the proverbial God’s gift to women, but he acts as if his attitude is perfectly wholesome. Was this some sort of typically Italian machismo in the ’70s, and were women actually amenable to such cocksure conceit? Maybe that’s how a creep like Oliviero scored with Irina. Sure, plenty of women who can have their pick of the horndog pack choose assholes, but this wolf Dario seems like the closest thing to a pleasant character in this story and I still kept hoping he would get wasted. 

By now you should be getting the picture here: If any giallo exemplifies the depiction of the lack of a moral center and character integrity typical in the genre, it is this one. Your Vice is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key is of interest to those of us that like to see the evil twists and turns of obsession and deceit among members of the amoral upper crust who have done nothing of merit to deserve their prosperity. The satisfaction provided by many giallo films is that the well-to-do sociopaths usually get what they deserve, unlike many of their real-life counterparts.

THE NIGHT EVELYN CAME OUT OF THE GRAVE (1971)

Director: Emilio P. Miraglia

Writers: Fabio Pittorru, Massimo Felisatti, Emilio P. Miraglia

Producer: Antonio Sarno

Cast: Anthony Steffen, Marina Malfatti, Enzo Tarascio, Erika Blanc, Maria Teresa Toffano, Giacomo Rossi Stuart, Joan C. Davis, Roberto Maldera, Umberto Raho, Paola Natale, Ettore Bevilacqua, Brizio Montinaro 

Widower Lord Alan Cunningham (Anthony Steffen) is obsessed by the memory of his late wife Evelyn (Paola Natale). She had been unfaithful to him before she died during childbirth trying to give him an heir. A mix of grief, guilt, and anger over Evelyn caused Alan to have a mental breakdown. Once released from the psychiatric ward, Alan picks up redheaded prostitutes that remind him of Evelyn. He brings them back to his rundown country estate to abuse and kill them. Alan’s deadly Evelyn obsession seems to be brought under control once he meets and impulsively marries Gladys (Marina Malfatti). However, strange manifestations of Evelyn continue to torment Alan and threaten his sanity again. 

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Lord Alan Cunningham isn’t the only one with a redhead obsession. I’ve been hopelessly infatuated with Euro-film goddess Erika Blanc ever since I first beheld her sexy playfulness as a stripper that pops out of a coffin in The Night Evelyn Came out of the Grave.

Undoubtedly her routine has been an influence on the fine art of exotic dancing the world over. Decades later in a favorite strip club of mine, I thrilled to a voluptuous Amazon named Debbie. Her Halloween performance began with the same ritual of the dancer inside of a black coffin being carried out onto the dance floor from which she would emerge and begin to strut her stuff. Erika Blanc has continued to make the world a better place with just one striptease.

Believe it or not, The Night Evelyn Came out of the Grave is about other stuff than Erika Blanc’s dancing. It's hard to believe that any director would be brave enough to even attempt to carry on with the rest of the film after showcasing such a spectacle that is bound to outshine all cinema achievements past, present, and future. However, Emilio P. Miraglia, being the professional that he is, does carry on and direct over an hour and a half of other scenes and situations, some of which don’t even involve Erika Blanc. I will now toast the man’s fortitude with a J&B Scotch cocktail before moving on… 

Like most giallo films, this one features characters of the upper class living posh lives full of parties and easy sex. They dress in flamboyant fashions, drive luxury automobiles, and live in swanky and comfortable quarters. However, the reason I can’t really root for any of the characters here is not due to wealth-envy; it is because we know next to nothing about anyone except Alan. This is the guy that is the closest thing to a sympathetic character in this flick, and he’s a psychotic sadist and murderer! 

This movie confounds expectations and keeps one wondering what are its genre goals. Madness and murder are introduced early on. The “hero” Lord Alan Cunningham tries to move on from his obsession that has institutionalized him once and now led to his current crimes. Just when he seems to be on the path to normalcy and happiness, things get even stranger when his dead wife Evelyn starts haunting him. 

All of the main characters in this movie are corrupt or ineffectual, and many of them are also victimized. Ultimately, this is a very pessimistic film that seems to be criticizing the morality of well-to-do people while showing how some of them never pay for their sins. 

Offbeat even by giallo standards, The Night Evelyn Came out of the Grave keeps you guessing as only Euro-horror can. Its mix of the kinky, psychotic, murderous, gothic, and supernatural is made even more outré by the slippery morality at work here. Once the story is over, you will probably think that you must have missed something, but you haven’t; it simply refuses to give us the comfort of justice dealt to all the perpetrators of nastiness. That omission is almost as remarkable a distinction for this movie as Erika Blanc’s out-of-the-coffin striptease routine.