Damiano Damiani’s La strega in amore (The Witch) is a strange and beguiling entry in 1960s Italian cinema, blending horror with lush, dreamy visuals that linger in the mind. The film, based on Carlos Fuentes’s novel Aura, creates a surreal experience that echoes the atmosphere of magic realism—at once a haunting journey into obsession and a metaphor for Italy’s evolving cinematic landscape in the late ‘60s.

In La strega in amore, magic realism is the key to the film’s allure. Damiani doesn’t rely on traditional horror but instead fills each frame with subtle, supernatural touches. At its heart is a compelling story of identity, where young historian Sergio (played by Richard Johnson) is drawn into a strange affair with two enigmatic women: the sensual Aura (Rosanna Schiaffino) and her eerie mother, Consuelo (Sarah Ferrati). The mansion they inhabit seems to breathe with ancient secrets, and as Sergio delves deeper into their world, the film’s reality blurs, suggesting that the house itself might be alive with occult powers.

The cinematography is a triumph in establishing a dreamlike experience that feels detached from conventional time and space. The dark, shadowed corridors and surreal mise-en-scène are crafted to mirror Sergio’s disorientation, drawing viewers into a trance-like state that echoes the protagonist’s growing obsession. There’s a slow, sensual quality to the pacing, with lingering shots and moody lighting that bring the viewer deeper into the labyrinth of desire and deception.

One of the film’s core fascinations is its exploration of double identities. Aura and Consuelo seem like mirror images of each other, reflecting youth and age, beauty and decay, reality and illusion. As Sergio’s obsession deepens, he begins to lose himself, questioning not only the identities of the women but his own purpose and sanity. This psychological complexity places La strega in amore among other 1960s films that delve into the fragility of identity—challenging viewers to untangle the film’s mysteries or, perhaps, accept that some secrets are meant to remain hidden.

With its understated horror, La strega in amore might not appeal to all, but its power lies in the mesmerising spell it casts—a meditative tale of supernatural obsession where magic realism meets the horror of self-doubt. Though it remains a niche classic, this film is worth watching for its atmosphere and haunting beauty, revealing a side of Italian horror that’s less about fear and more about surrendering to the unknown. In this, Damiani created something remarkable: a film that blurs the line between the real and the surreal, lingering with viewers like a dream from which they’ve yet to awaken.

• Saul Muerte