Tag Archives: Italian Cinema

Autopsy at 50: The Feverish Giallo That Cuts to the Bone

18 Saturday Jan 2025

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“It’ll take you… apart!”

Few films embody the essence of the 1970s Italian giallo scene quite like Armando Crispino’s Autopsy (Macchie Solari). This macabre gem not only weaves a gripping murder mystery but also drenches it in the feverish, sun-scorched paranoia of its Roman setting. Half a century later, Autopsy remains a haunting exploration of obsession, trauma, and the sinister intersection of science and faith.

Set during an oppressive heatwave, the film follows Simona Sanna (played with icy brilliance by Mimsy Farmer), a young pathologist obsessed with distinguishing suicides from murders for her thesis. Simona’s world is thrown into disarray when a young woman connected to her philandering father is found dead in an apparent suicide. Teaming up with Father Paul Lenox (Barry Primus), the victim’s priestly brother, she embarks on a labyrinthine quest to uncover the truth.

What begins as a clinical investigation quickly spirals into a hallucinatory descent. Crispino blurs the lines between logic and madness, crafting an atmosphere that’s as suffocating as the Roman sun baking its characters alive.

The film’s unsettling tone is amplified by Ennio Morricone’s score, which combines eerie whispers, discordant strings, and unnerving vocalisations. Morricone’s work here is a masterclass in auditory unease, immersing viewers in Simona’s fractured psyche.

Crispino’s direction leverages the giallo’s visual trademarks—lurid colour palettes, striking cinematography, and gruesome set pieces. The morgue scenes are particularly effective, juxtaposing clinical sterility with grotesque detail.

Autopsy delves deeper than the standard giallo fare, exploring themes of mortality, guilt, and the fragility of human connection. Simona’s profession as a pathologist isn’t just a plot device; it’s a metaphor for her attempt to dissect the inexplicable chaos of life and death. Her growing bond with Father Lenox adds a layer of spiritual tension, as the priest’s faith collides with her scientific detachment.

The film’s use of solar flares as a narrative device is both inspired and unnerving. Crispino ties the sun’s erratic behavior to the characters’ unraveling sanity, making the heatwave feel like an omnipresent antagonist.

While Autopsy didn’t achieve the same level of fame as some of its contemporaries, it has earned a devoted following among giallo enthusiasts. Its fusion of psychological horror and murder mystery sets it apart, offering a chilling alternative to the more stylised works of Dario Argento or Mario Bava.

Fifty years on, Autopsy still holds its power to disturb and intrigue. It’s a film that invites repeated viewings, each time revealing new layers of meaning and menace. For fans of the genre, it’s a must-watch; for newcomers, it’s an unsettling introduction to the giallo’s darker, more cerebral side.

  • Saul Muerte

La strega in amore (1966): A Dreamlike Descent into Obsession and Magic Realism

01 Friday Nov 2024

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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

Kill, Baby, Kill (1966): Bava’s Gothic Nightmare Still Haunts the Genre

26 Saturday Oct 2024

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In the mid-1960s, Italian horror was coming into its own, with Mario Bava leading the charge as one of its most innovative and visually distinctive directors. Kill, Baby, Kill, released in 1966, is a quintessential example of Bava’s flair for atmosphere and his deep influence on the gothic horror genre. While not as internationally famous as some of his other films, such as Black Sunday (1960) or Blood and Black Lace (1964), Kill, Baby, Kill is nevertheless a vital part of Bava’s filmography, embodying his mastery of gothic aesthetics and surreal terror.

Set in a remote Eastern European village, the film follows a doctor investigating a series of mysterious deaths, all of which seem linked to the vengeful spirit of a little girl. The setting is pure gothic, with crumbling mansions, foggy streets, and a populace gripped by superstition. This is where Bava shines: he brings the village to life with his signature style, crafting a space that feels both ancient and dreamlike. His use of colour, especially the eerie greens and blues that envelop the ghostly apparitions, is a hallmark of his visual style, and Kill, Baby, Kill is often remembered more for its atmosphere than for its story.

The film is one of Bava’s more surreal works, and while the plot may feel thin at times, it’s the atmosphere that captivates. Bava’s camera movements are fluid, often creating a sense of entrapment and disorientation. The haunted imagery, particularly of the ghostly little girl at the center of the story, would go on to influence other horror films, with echoes seen in The Shining (1980) and The Ring (1998). Bava had a way of making the supernatural feel palpable, turning the simplest elements—staircases, mirrors, and windows—into portals of terror.

However, Kill, Baby, Kill suffers from some of the weaknesses that occasionally plagued Bava’s films. The characters are somewhat underdeveloped, and the narrative structure, while serviceable, can feel a little disjointed. The story takes a backseat to the visuals and atmosphere, which works for those who enjoy mood-driven horror but might frustrate viewers looking for a more cohesive plot. That said, the film’s story of cursed towns and retribution from beyond the grave taps into age-old gothic tropes with an eerie effectiveness that lingers long after viewing.

In terms of legacy, Kill, Baby, Kill is a key film in the evolution of supernatural horror. It bridges the gap between gothic horror of the early 20th century and the more modern, psychological horror that would dominate later decades. While it may not be the most famous of Bava’s works, it continues to influence filmmakers who appreciate its slow-burn tension and immersive world-building.

For fans of gothic horror and Italian cinema, Kill, Baby, Kill remains a must-watch. It may not have the star power or narrative complexity of other films in the genre, but its contribution to the atmosphere-driven horror subgenre is undeniable. As Bava’s dreamlike, haunting vision continues to inspire new generations of filmmakers, Kill, Baby, Kill stands as a ghostly reminder of the power of mood in cinema.

  • Saul Muerte

An Angel for Satan (1966): Barbara Steele’s Gothic Allure Fades but Still Flickers

19 Saturday Oct 2024

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In the grand tradition of Italian horror cinema, An Angel for Satan (1966) marks one of the final films that harnessed the enigmatic presence of Barbara Steele, the British actress who became the face of Italian Gothic horror. Directed by Camillo Mastrocinque, this atmospheric piece takes its place as a late entry in the wave of eerie Italian cinema that made Steele a genre icon, but by this point, the formula that worked so well for her earlier roles begins to lose its potency.

Set in a small Italian village, An Angel for Satan tells the story of a cursed statue of a woman, believed to bring death and misfortune to those around her. Steele plays the dual roles of Harriet, a tormented woman who bears a striking resemblance to the statue, and Belinda, the mysterious figure carved in stone. The film delves into the psychological and supernatural consequences of Harriet’s strange connection to the sculpture, bringing the villagers to the brink of madness. The narrative unfolds with the traditional eerie ambiance found in Italian Gothic horror, with heavy doses of intrigue, paranoia, and unsettling sexuality.

As with most of her performances, Steele excels in evoking an eerie, almost hypnotic presence, playing the duality of her character with sophistication. Her signature intensity radiates through Harriet, who teeters on the edge of sanity, and her portrayal of the statue’s spirit, which teems with malice, is mesmerising. However, while Steele’s magnetic presence is undeniable, it can’t quite elevate the film above its derivative structure. By 1966, Italian horror had begun to lean too heavily on the tried-and-true formula of brooding castles, fog-drenched lakes, and tragic female leads. An Angel for Satan, though stylish in moments, feels like a fading echo of Steele’s earlier, more impactful films like Black Sunday (1960).

Visually, Mastrocinque does deliver the kind of atmospheric setting one would expect from Italian horror of the period, with a haunting score and meticulously crafted gothic backdrops. However, there is a sense that the creative energy that fueled Italian horror in the early 1960s was waning. The plot, while containing some interesting twists, lacks the bite and urgency needed to make it truly memorable. The pacing drags in places, and despite its supernatural elements, it feels too familiar—relying on themes and tropes that had been done with greater finesse earlier in the decade.

Barbara Steele’s star power undoubtedly shines through, but in An Angel for Satan, it’s a flicker rather than a flame. By the mid-60s, Steele had become synonymous with Italian horror, and while she continued to be cast in leading roles, the material she was given often struggled to match her talent. Her allure here, though still present, feels tethered to a genre in transition—no longer fresh, but not yet ready to fully evolve into something new, as the giallo era was just around the corner.

An Angel for Satan is a curio for fans of Italian Gothic horror and essential viewing for devotees of Barbara Steele, but it’s also a sign of the inevitable decline of the Gothic style that had made her a star. While not without its moments of eerie brilliance, the film is more of a swan song for a fading era in Italian horror—a period where Steele’s reign was still potent but undeniably starting to wane.

While An Angel for Satan is not without merit, it ultimately serves as a reminder that the Gothic Italian horror genre was ready for a change, and so, too, was its leading lady.

  • Saul Muerte

Nightmare Castle (1965) – A Gothic Tale Drenched in Atmosphere but Lacking in Bite

19 Thursday Sep 2024

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Nightmare Castle (Amanti d’oltretomba), released in 1965, is a curious entry in the Italian Gothic horror canon. Directed by Mario Caiano, the film is best remembered for its haunting atmosphere and the hypnotic performance of Barbara Steele, a cult horror icon. However, despite these strengths, the film struggles to rise above its predictable narrative and uneven pacing, leaving it as a middling affair that teeters between camp and genuine menace.

At its heart, Nightmare Castle is a classic tale of revenge from beyond the grave, a trope that was well-worn even by the mid-1960s. The story centers on the sadistic Dr. Stephen Arrowsmith (Paul Muller), who, upon discovering his wife Muriel (Barbara Steele) is having an affair with the gardener, exacts a brutal form of vengeance by torturing them both to death. But as is tradition in Gothic horror, death is only the beginning. Muriel’s ghost returns to torment the living, while her heartless husband schemes to inherit her fortune by marrying her look-alike stepsister, Jenny (also played by Steele).

What Nightmare Castle excels at is atmosphere. The film is drenched in Gothic style, with its gloomy castle setting, cobwebbed corridors, and macabre experiments that feel right at home in the genre. Caiano’s direction is deliberate, crafting a slow-burn tension through shadowy cinematography and eerie set pieces. The film’s black-and-white visuals are striking, often elevating otherwise flat moments into something more sinister. Combined with Ennio Morricone’s haunting score, these elements create a mood of dread that permeates throughout the film, even when the plot falters.

The real standout of Nightmare Castle is Barbara Steele, whose dual role as Muriel and Jenny showcases her range. Steele, known for her piercing gaze and ethereal presence, is magnetic on screen, embodying both the vengeful ghost and the innocent victim with equal conviction. Her performance is the film’s emotional core, and without her, the movie would likely have faded into obscurity. There’s something captivating about Steele’s ability to straddle the line between fragility and fury, making her a perfect fit for the Gothic horror aesthetic.

Unfortunately, the rest of the film doesn’t quite live up to Steele’s performance. The plot is predictable, following well-worn Gothic horror beats with little innovation. Dr. Arrowsmith’s evil deeds are cartoonish at times, and while Muller gives a decent performance as the unhinged scientist, his character lacks depth or nuance. The pacing is also uneven, with stretches of the film dragging as it rehashes familiar tropes, particularly in the second act, where it loses momentum before gearing up for the supernatural climax.

What prevents Nightmare Castle from being more than a middling affair is its reliance on Gothic clichés without adding much substance to them. The narrative is thin, and while the film is visually engaging, it rarely delves into the psychological terror that could have elevated it. The film borrows heavily from earlier, more successful Gothic horrors, such as Mario Bava’s Black Sunday (1960), which also starred Steele. However, Nightmare Castle lacks the same level of narrative intricacy or directorial flair that made Black Sunday a classic.

Despite these flaws, Nightmare Castle has gained a certain charm over time, largely due to its Gothic visuals and Steele’s performance. It embodies many of the hallmarks of mid-century Italian horror, with its moody, dreamlike atmosphere and grotesque elements. The film’s themes of betrayal, madness, and revenge are all here, though they’re presented in a somewhat surface-level way. Still, there’s a nostalgic appeal to the film for fans of the genre, who may appreciate its visual style and the presence of Steele, even if the story itself feels formulaic.

The Prognosis:

Nightmare Castle is a film that Gothic horror enthusiasts will likely enjoy for its atmosphere and Steele’s hypnotic presence. However, its predictable plot, uneven pacing, and reliance on familiar tropes prevent it from achieving greatness. While it’s not a bad film, it’s also not a particularly memorable one, leaving it as a middling entry in the annals of 1960s Italian horror cinema. For those who love the genre, it’s worth a watch—but don’t expect it to haunt your nightmares.

  • Saul Muerte

Gothic Gloom with a Glimmer: Barbara Steele Shines in the Shadowy Terror Creatures From the Grave (1965)

06 Friday Sep 2024

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In the annals of 1960s Italian horror, Terror Creatures From the Grave (1965) stands as a lesser-known but intriguing entry that showcases the genre’s atmospheric strengths while grappling with its narrative shortcomings. Directed by Massimo Pupillo (under the pseudonym Ralph Zucker), the film leans heavily on the eerie charm of its leading lady, Barbara Steele, whose presence alone elevates what might otherwise be a forgettable B-movie into something more memorable.

The film’s plot revolves around a lawyer, played by Walter Brandi, who is summoned to a decaying estate to settle the affairs of a recently deceased man. However, the story quickly descends into a gothic nightmare as the restless spirits of plague victims are unleashed, seeking vengeance on those who wronged them. While the setup is ripe with potential for terror, the execution falls short, hampered by a convoluted script and pacing that drags in key moments.

What Terror Creatures From the Grave lacks in coherent storytelling, it attempts to make up for with its unsettling atmosphere. The film is awash in the gloomy aesthetics that Italian horror was becoming known for—fog-shrouded cemeteries, crumbling mansions, and an omnipresent sense of doom. Yet, these elements feel more like a collage of genre staples rather than a cohesive vision, leaving the viewer with the impression that the film is more style than substance.

Barbara Steele, by this point already a recognized face in the horror genre, carries the film with her haunting beauty and enigmatic screen presence. Her role as the mysterious Cleo Hauff is one of the film’s saving graces, as she effortlessly embodies the duality of allure and menace that Italian horror so often explores. Despite the film’s shortcomings, Steele’s performance adds a layer of intrigue that keeps the audience engaged, even as the plot meanders.

By the mid-1960s, Italian horror was beginning to carve out a niche for itself, with directors like Mario Bava leading the charge. Terror Creatures From the Grave is a testament to the growing influence of Italian cinema on the horror genre, even if it doesn’t reach the heights of its contemporaries. The film’s reliance on gothic horror tropes, combined with the increasing prominence of supernatural elements, reflects the genre’s evolution during this period.

The Prognosis:

Terror Creatures From the Grave is a film that will likely appeal more to die-hard fans of Barbara Steele and Italian horror completists than to the casual viewer. Its atmosphere and Steele’s performance are worth noting, but the film’s overall mediocrity prevents it from being a standout in the genre. As Italian horror continued to rise throughout the 1960s, this film serves as a reminder that not every entry can be a classic, but even the lesser-known titles contribute to the rich tapestry of the genre.

  • Saul Muerte

Blood and Black Lace: A Masterpiece of Giallo and Mario Bava’s Vision

02 Friday Aug 2024

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In the realm of horror cinema, few films have left an indelible mark as profound as Mario Bava’s Blood and Black Lace (1964). This cinematic gem is often hailed as a quintessential piece in the Giallo genre, a subgenre of Italian horror that melds mystery, thriller, and often, lurid crime. With Blood and Black Lace, Bava not only solidified his legacy as a master of horror but also elevated the Giallo genre to new artistic heights.

From the opening sequence, Bava’s signature style is unmistakable. The film begins with a hauntingly beautiful scene, drenched in vivid colors and set against the backdrop of a chic fashion house. This juxtaposition of high fashion and brutal murder sets the tone for what is to come—a visual feast where beauty and horror coexist in a disturbingly harmonious dance.

Bava’s genius lies in his ability to marry striking visual artistry with macabre storytelling. His use of color is nothing short of revolutionary. In Blood and Black Lace, the director employs a rich palette of reds, blues, and greens, creating a surreal, almost dreamlike atmosphere. Each frame is meticulously composed, making the film as much a visual experience as a narrative one. This approach not only enhances the suspense but also establishes a vivid, immersive world that is uniquely Bava’s.

The narrative itself is a gripping whodunit, revolving around a series of gruesome murders in a high-end fashion salon. The plot, while engaging, serves as a canvas for Bava’s true focus: the exploration of human depravity and the fragility of beauty. The killer, masked and enigmatic, moves with a chilling grace, embodying the very essence of the Giallo villain—a figure of both allure and terror.

What truly sets Blood and Black Lace apart is Bava’s masterful use of suspense and pacing. The director’s camera glides through the opulent sets, capturing moments of stillness before exploding into violence. This rhythmic tension keeps viewers on edge, never allowing them to settle. Each murder is depicted with a level of brutality that was unprecedented at the time, yet Bava’s elegant direction ensures that the film never veers into gratuitousness.

The influence of Blood and Black Lace on the Giallo genre—and on horror cinema as a whole—cannot be overstated. Bava’s film laid the groundwork for future Giallo masterpieces by directors like Dario Argento and Lucio Fulci. The film’s aesthetic, characterized by its bold use of color, intricate set designs, and stylish violence, became a template for the genre. Additionally, the iconic image of the masked killer would go on to inspire countless slasher films in the decades that followed.

Moreover, Bava’s work in Blood and Black Lace transcends the boundaries of genre filmmaking. The film is a testament to the director’s vision and his ability to elevate horror to an art form. It is a perfect marriage of style and substance, where every element—from the lush cinematography to the eerie score—works in concert to create an unforgettable experience.

The Legacy:

Blood and Black Lace remains a cornerstone of horror cinema, celebrated for its innovation and enduring impact. Mario Bava’s vision, combined with the distinct elements of the Italian Giallo, resulted in a film that is both timeless and influential. It is a masterpiece that continues to captivate and inspire, a shining example of what can be achieved when a director’s artistic vision aligns perfectly with the genre’s potential.

In Blood and Black Lace, Mario Bava did not just create a film; he crafted a visual symphony of horror, beauty, and suspense that stands as a crowning achievement in both his career and the annals of cinema.

  • Saul Muerte

Useful Links:

Black Sunday

Black Sabbath

The Whip and the Body

The Whip and the Body (1963): A Sumptuous Visual Feast from Mario Bava

21 Sunday Jul 2024

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Mario Bava’s The Whip and the Body (1963) is a gothic horror masterpiece that exemplifies the director’s unparalleled visual style and meticulous attention to cinematographic detail. This film, a haunting tale of forbidden love and supernatural vengeance, is elevated by Bava’s ability to create a richly atmospheric and visually sumptuous experience, earning it a well-deserved four-star rating.

From the opening frames of The Whip and the Body, Bava’s command of visual storytelling is evident. The film is bathed in a palette of deep, evocative colors, with Bava’s signature use of vibrant reds, blues, and purples creating an otherworldly ambiance. This deliberate color scheme enhances the film’s gothic tone, enveloping the audience in a world where every shadow and flicker of light contributes to the sense of impending doom.

The cinematography, handled by Ubaldo Terzano under Bava’s close supervision, is nothing short of breathtaking. Each shot is composed with an artist’s eye, with careful attention paid to lighting, framing, and camera movement. The interiors of the castle, where much of the film takes place, are rendered in exquisite detail, with the play of light and shadow creating a sense of depth and texture that heightens the film’s eerie atmosphere.

Bava’s ability to create a mood of sustained tension and unease is on full display in The Whip and the Body. The film’s setting—a crumbling, seaside castle—becomes a character in its own right, its dark corridors and candlelit chambers providing the perfect backdrop for the unfolding drama. Bava’s use of mise-en-scène is masterful, with every element within the frame contributing to the overall sense of dread and foreboding.

One of the standout aspects of the film is Bava’s use of close-ups and extreme close-ups to convey the characters’ psychological states. The camera lingers on faces, capturing the subtleties of fear, desire, and madness. This technique not only draws the audience deeper into the characters’ experiences but also heightens the film’s emotional impact.

The film’s sumptuous appeal extends beyond its visual style to its production design and costume work. The opulent costumes, particularly those worn by Daliah Lavi’s character Nevenka, are richly detailed and contribute to the film’s period authenticity. The lavish interiors of the castle, with their ornate furnishings and décor, further enhance the film’s visual splendor.

The Whip and the Body also benefits from a haunting musical score by Carlo Rustichelli, whose compositions underscore the film’s gothic themes and heighten its emotional intensity. The music, combined with Bava’s visual flourishes, creates a cohesive and immersive experience that lingers in the mind long after the credits roll.

The Prognosis:

In The Whip and the Body, Mario Bava delivers a film that is as visually stunning as it is haunting. His meticulous attention to detail, combined with his innovative use of color and light, results in a cinematic experience that is both sumptuous and unsettling. The film stands as a testament to Bava’s genius as a visual storyteller and his ability to craft atmospheres that are rich in texture and emotion.

While The Whip and the Body may not be as widely recognized as some of Bava’s other works, it remains a shining example of his mastery of the horror genre and his unique visual style. For fans of gothic horror and aficionados of classic cinema, this film is a must-see, offering a visual feast that showcases Bava’s unparalleled artistry.

  • Saul Muerte

Mysteries Unveiled: Mill of the Stone Women (1960)

11 Saturday May 2024

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Rating: ★★★☆☆

Transport yourself back to the enchanting era of 1960s horror with “Mill of the Stone Women,” a Gothic gem that stands as a historical milestone in Italian cinema. Shot in vibrant color, this film immerses viewers in the lush landscapes of the Holland countryside, expertly captured by cinematographer Pier Ludovico Pavoni. Drawing inspiration from Flemish and Dutch painters, the visuals alone are worth the price of admission. Also, on a worthy note, the opening credits claim that the film is based on the book Flemish Tales by Pieter van Weigen. This is a fictionalised statement as no such book exists and sparks the imagination and inspiration of similar concepts adopted by future filmmakers who claim their features are ‘based on a true story’.

The story revolves around journalist Hans von Arnim (Pierre Brice), who embarks on an investigation into the fabled Mill of the Stone Women. Designed by the enigmatic Professor Gregorious Wahl (Herbert A.E. Böhme), the mill features a carousel adorned with female statues. As Hans delves deeper into the mysteries surrounding the mill, he becomes entangled in a web of secrets, madness, and macabre occurrences.

While the initial setup may feel somewhat pedestrian, the film gains momentum as it hurtles towards its climactic finale. Director Giorgio Ferroni deftly infuses the narrative with Grand Guignol flair, delivering a theatrical and melodramatic conclusion that grips viewers until the very end. Though it may not reach the dizzying heights of Mario Bava’s “Black Sunday,” released in the same year, “Mill of the Stone Women” still offers plenty to sink your teeth into, from its captivating storyline to its haunting visual charm.

The Prognosis:

“Mill of the Stone Women” is a captivating journey into the heart of Gothic horror, filled with intrigue, suspense, and visual splendor. While it may stumble at times, it ultimately delivers a satisfying cinematic experience that will linger in the minds of viewers long after the credits roll.

  • Saul Muerte