Plot: A mystery writer in Rome inspires a seriel killer to kill a bunch of people.
I was going to have a Dario Argento mini-fest around Halloween, but I only managed to watch this one before becoming depressed. This is a weird little movie, but it's not weird because there's anything happening that you wouldn't expect to see in a murderous and mysterious thriller. It's just got a vibe. And a film over it, like all giallo films, the sort of thing that makes me feel a little dirty for watching it. Argento indulges, treats 70's-era cinema violence like it's artistic expression, and shows some flare with one lengthy unbroken shot voyeuristically scanning the withins and withouts of a house. And there are boobs. Clearly, Argento doesn't care much about the characters as real people, and I think we're supposed to be apathetic as well.
The story is intriguing, and I had trouble guessing its twists and turns. In fact, I had trouble even figuring out what happened or how it happened after everything was supposedly revealed. That didn't really bother me much because the plot, like the characters, was just there to open some wounds and help the blood spill all over the place.
I'm still not sure what I think of Argento or any other artist who's come from Italy. I'll have to give an Argento Fest another try sometime.