BY TIM GREAVES
Two
early 1970s Italian Gothic chillers from director Emilio Miraglia have been released
in the UK in a dual Blu-ray/DVD box set. Bearing the tantalising umbrella title
"Killer Dames", it could equally be looked upon as a Marina Malfatti
set, since the actress occupies a prominent role in both of the films contained
therein.
A
prolific assistant director throughout the first half of the 60s, Emilio Miraglia's
fourth spin in the director's chair following a trio of crime thrillers was
also his first foray into terror terrain. 1971's The Night Evelyn Came Out of Her Grave (o.t. La Notte Che Evelyn Usci Della Tomba) concerns English aristocrat Lord
Cunningham (Anthony Steffan), a man devastated by the passing of his titian-haired
wife Evelyn, who he suspected was being unfaithful. Struggling to overcome his
grief over her death and rage at her perceived infidelity, Cunningham lures attractive
redheaded women to his castle residence on the outskirts of London where he
first seduces then tortures them in a dungeon kitted out with S&M gear. Cunningham's
doctor (Giacomo Rossi Stuart) convinces him that remarriage is the only way to stem
his unravelling sanity, whereafter he meets and falls for the beautiful Gladys (Marina
Malfatti). They wed and at first it appears that the doctor's advice was sound.
But then the slayings begin...
The
screenplay, which Miraglia co-wrote with Fabio Pittorru and Massimo Felsatti, is
an intoxicating blend of Gothic mystery and stylish giallo, top-heavy with the
staple ingredients of the latter – copious nudity and sadistic killing. In one
particularly nasty sequence a victim is thrown into an animal enclosure where
the canidae residents rip out her intestines. Director of photography Gastone
di Giovanni brings plenty of visual lustre to the show and Bruno Nicolai
provides a dreamy cocktail lounge score. Although the pace slackens a tad here
and there and the sadomasochistic facet affords it an unnecessarily sleazy vibe,
in summation it’s a compelling enough little number which keeps one engaged and
guessing up until the last reel – bristling with unpredictable double and
triple crosses – and its slightly abrupt conclusion. Steffan makes for a solid
leading man, slipping back and forth between cultured sophistication and sweaty
paranoia, whilst Malfatti is delightful as the beleaguered heroine.
Miraglia's
next film (and Evelyn's bedmate in
this set, surely not coincidentally also featuring a key character by that
name) was the following year's The Red
Queen Kills Seven Times (1972, o.t. La
Dama Uccide Sette Volte, a.k.a. The
Lady in Red Kills Seven Times - its onscreen title here).
In
the wake of their grandfather's murder by a masked figure cloaked in crimson, two
sisters (Barbara Bouchet and Marina Malfatti) inherit his castle abode. But the
murders continue, believed by some to be perpetrated by the mythical ‘Red Queen’
who, family legend has it, returns every 100 years to claim seven lives. Could that
possibly be the case? Or is there something more insidious going on?
It
has to be said that some aspects of Red
Queen are a little clichéd (it's one of those films where, when a character
utters those guaranteed-death-sentence words "I know who the killer
is" you just know they’ll get bumped off five minutes later without having
had time to spill the beans) and the otherwise creepy titular killer is
slightly undermined by a cartoonish burst of manic laughter accompanying each murder.
Nevertheless, in this writer's opinion it's the better film of the pair, slicker
paced with a superior narrative that builds to a more satisfying climax, and boasts
more imaginative death sequences than its predecessor (one memorably grisly impaling
is staged atop a spiked fence). Oh, and it also showcases an early Sybil
Danning performance, the Miraglia/Pittorru script ensuring the actress has
barely a single scene in which she isn't required to shed her clothing. The
director maintains a fine level of ‘who's-doin'-it?’ intrigue that, as with Evelyn, keeps the audience in suspense
until the final reveal (though seasoned giallo buffs will have little
difficulty seeing through the veritable shoal of red herrings), and there are
plenty of standout moments; a stylish nightmare sequence which culminates with
Barbara Bouchet strapped to a torture rack will certainly pique the prurient
proclivities of her fans. Bruno Nicolai serves up an infectiously chirrupy
score (you'll be humming it long after the end credits have rolled) and Alberto
Spagnoli's beautiful cinematography ensures that there’s always something on
screen to admire, whether it be the atmospheric Gothicism of the castle
interiors or the striking décor in the (then) modern apartments.