Left in the Dark

Expect some lowlifes in the highlands – after all, don’t they say, ‘expect less rather than moor, and you won’t be disappointed’; also, look for some individuals who put the clan in clandestine. Another warning, when dealing with crypts, loch it up and throw away the key. . . okay, enough with all of this wacky wordplay and welcome to one of those intriguing gialli that uproots from their native Italy to a foreign destination (if you haven’t yet guessed Scotland, my kilty pleasure of quirky puns was for naught); namely, Seven Deaths in the Cat’s Eye (1973). Directed by Antonio Margheriti (though you will see his English name, Anthony M. Dawson, in the credits), we are transported into the gothic world of the Scottish countryside alongside Corringa (Jane Birkin), a young woman that is part of the ancient family of MacGrieff – though MacGuffin might be a better name with all of the trickery found in the plot. Making the trip to her clan’s ancestral home (actually a gothic castle named Dragonstone), what she doesn’t know is that a murder has been committed in the cavernous basement of the abode (a location that would make Bruce Wayne jealous).

A fascinating combination of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Cask of Amontillado” and “The Tell-Tale Heart” infused with the daunting question of ‘can you change your own fate?’, Lucio Fulci’s The Psychic (1977) – at least in the US (in its native Italy: Seven Notes in Black. . . other title iterations include Murder to the Tune of the Seven Black Notes and Death Tolls Seven Times), is a parapsychology tinged giallo nonpareil. Virginia Ducci (Jennifer O’Neill) is haunted by the second sight. . . something she horrifically learned when she could sense her mother committing suicide when she was just a young girl. Having moved on from that traumatizing early childhood experience, the English woman has married a wealthy, frequently traveling Italian businessman, Francesco Ducci (Gianni Garko), moving from her native UK to picturesque Italy.

A Spanish film inspired by the Italian giallo craze, 1978's Trauma (in Spanish: Violación fatal), directed by León Klimovsky, opens in a rather fascinating way – a writer, Daniel (Heinrich Starhemberg), dressed in an overly flamboyant outfit, including an ascot (think of a pudgy, slightly nerdier middle-aged version of Fred from Scooby-Doo), drives to a secluded bed and breakfast. . . wait a minute, he’s also wearing a pair of black gloves like the killers always do in these types of movies. . . could solving the mystery be this easy, or does the ascot negate said gloves? Finding his way down a dirt road to a most picturesque historic home (that sits beside a serenely calm lake), inside he meets Veronica (Ágata Lys), the frustrated young woman who runs the establishment. Burdened with the management of the place while also caring for her crippled husband in the attic (a man who we mysteriously never see, but can be heard when he gets into fits of rage), she finds little solace in the peaceful calm and tranquility of the locale. . . though she does enjoy spending time with her new guest (and making antique-looking figurines that she is very possessive of).

You know you’re in for a giallo when the word is literally in the Italian title. . . La Ragazza Dal Pigiama Giallo, simplified in English by being called The Pyjama Girl Case (1978), the word giallo, if you recall, is in reference to the garish yellow used on the covers of many of the books writers pulled from to create the films’ narratives – in this case, it is referencing the distinctive colour of the pyjamas the murdered girl was wearing when found. Written and directed by Flavio Mogherini, and based on a real case (the unsolved murder of Linda Agostini in 1934), this is a very rare giallo set in Australia, Sydney to be specific. A narrative about foreignness, nearly everyone in this Down Under landscape is an immigrant searching for a better life (though, as you will see, this isn’t always the outcome).

Like The Exorcist hopped up on a lethal combination of steroids and Viagra, 1979's Malabimba, directed by envelope pushing Andrea Bianchi (for a reminder of his more well known work, think of his playfully edgy 1975 giallo Strip Nude for Your Killer), is an Italian motion picture not for the faint of heart. . . or you, like one of the characters in the film, might find yourself stone cold. Of course, reading this, I’m sure most will think that this is some sort of poorly done, sleazy exploitation piece attempting to capitalize on the aforementioned horror classic. And though the second sentiment is wholly true, the former is most definitely not so.

It is likely that any other year, outside of 2018, would have meant that a second one of Pawel Pawlikowski’s films would have won Best Foreign Language Film at the Academy Awards (the other is 2013's Ida). Instead, Alfonso Cuarón’s Roma (in its own right, a truly visionary film) froze out Cold War. Though this Polish export did achieve a nomination in the above mentioned category, as well as receive nods for Best Achievement in Directing and Best Achievement in Cinematography, it, in many ways, got overshadowed by another black and white foreign film released the exact same year. . . which is truly a shame. Set in post-war Poland – 1949, to be exact, Wiktor (Tomasz Kot), a very bourgeoisie musician (a dynamo who can play the piano, as well as write and arrange music) – bold, confident, and gifted, tours the countryside, recruiting the most talented teens and twenty somethings for a folk music ensemble that will tour Poland and the rest of the Eastern Bloc. One of the finds, Zula (Joanna Kulig), an undaunted singer, may not be the most pure talent, though she has that certain ‘je ne sais quoi’. With a mystifying persona, she is spark plug, femme fatale (both director and actress inspired by Lauren Bacall and her sarcastic delivery), and, somehow, ingénue. Wiktor has found his muse. . . love at first sight. . . the genesis of a change that you can never return from. A love affair blossoms.