DEEP RED (1975)

Critics, cinema buffs, and cult film fans still aren’t entirely in accord with what defines a giallo, but most would agree that Dario Argento’s Deep Red / Profondo rosso is a definitive example and among the finest. For Argento aficionados, Deep Red and Profondo Rosso are two different movies, with the Italian theatrical cut running an additional 20 minutes or so, resulting in the two versions having a very different spirit. For this review, I am referring to the Italian print known as Profondo rosso, rather than the international edit released as Deep Red.

Following the explosion in popularity of Italian Westerns in the late-1960s, the giallo dominated Italian cinema through the early-1970s when the term encompassed general thrillers and murder mysteries. Only in hindsight did it become associated with a specific sub-genre of films that share several defining traits. Key elements to look out for include a cleverly contrived puzzle plot with plenty of red herrings and unexpected twists, suspenseful set pieces with audacious stylistic flourishes building to bloody murder, and nearly always an amateur sleuth on the trail of a ‘maniac’.

The post-war Italian cinema industry was resolutely genre-led, with the peplum rising to prominence during the 1950s. These were biblical epics or sword-and-sandal fantasies inspired by Greek myths, but as interest in this type of movie dwindled comedies remained popular until Sergio Leone’s A Fistful of Dollars (1964) created a huge appetite for the so-called spaghetti western. When that genre finally reached saturation, the industry was on the lookout for the next big thing. That would be the giallo.

Mario Bava had laid the groundwork with Blood and Black Lace (1964) but it was Dario Argento who broke through to the mainstream with his directorial debut The Bird with the Crystal Plumage (1970), which wasn’t an immediate hit. Its initial limited theatrical run in Italy didn’t cause much of a stir but began to attract a cult audience. A few cinemas found they could run it as a late feature to a full house every night. However, it did so well abroad, particularly in the US, that it was given a second chance in Italy with a general release, rapidly earning back its budget twice over and establishing a new template for the Italian thriller.

So, in many ways it could be claimed that Argento started the Golden Age of the Italian giallo with his debut and his fourth entry into the genre, Profondo rosso, capped off the era as the genre seemed to run out of ideas and degenerated into the slasher movie and gratuitously violent ‘video nasties’. After Profondo rosso, Argento veered off into supernatural horror with the classic Suspiria (1977) but he would repeatedly return to reinvent the giallo, most notably with Tenebrae (1982), a knowing homage to the genre.

The seeds of Profondo rosso were sown during the writing of early drafts of Four Flies on Grey Velvet (1971) which changed when he dropped the theme of telepathy, opting instead for the fanciful idea of an image recorded chemically on the retina of a dead witness… here he picks up with telepathy again to provide an inciting incident that puts the viewer on the back foot looking for supernatural solutions.

The opening credits present a conundrum with a montage that contains so many symbols that it could be considered a work of surrealism. There’s a Christmas tree in what appears to be a 1950s-period interior, and we see two shadows cast on the wall, one attacking the other with a large knife which then drops, bloodied at the feet of a child wearing shiny black shoes and long white socks. A distinctive, childish though sinister, tune plays throughout the scene which will return to haunt us at key points in the film. We know the enigmatic visual puzzle must be relevant and contain some sort of clue, but we aren’t afforded time to ponder as the nightmarish scene shifts to a theatre stage where the famous psychic Helga Ulmann (Macha Méril) is demonstrating her talent as part of a panel at a parapsychology conference.

Helga is suddenly assailed by the sense of violently murderous thoughts emanating from someone in the auditorium. It’s as if the opening vignette may have been in the mind of an audience member, perhaps a memory or a Freudian fantasy. She’s so shaken by the experience that Professor Giordani (Glauco Mauri) calls a close to the proceedings. As they leave the theatre, Helga confides in Giordani that she was overwhelmed by so much psychic information that it will take her time to assimilate but she believes that the identity of the murderous audience member will be revealed to her that night. Argento’s prowling camera implies a presence in the otherwise empty theatre, as if someone is loitering in the shadows close enough to overhear Helga’s careless claim.

We meet Marcus Daly (David Hemmings) as he wraps up a session with a jazz ensemble practising in a church. Heading home, he stumbles upon a very drunk friend of his, Carlo (Gabriele Lavia) a fellow musician. As they exchange liquor-soaked philosophy, there’s a scream in the night and Marcus witnesses a woman, who we know to be Helga Ulmann, in a struggle with a dark figure moments before she is smashed through the window of her apartment, the broken pane cutting into her throat. He rushes across the piazza and into the apartment block but, by the time he reaches her, she’s dead. The murderer is nowhere to be seen even though no one passed him as he rushed up the stairs to the scene of the crime.

Of course, the inept police, beleaguered by union action and walk-outs, initially see him as a suspect. This is complicated when Gianna (Daria Nicolodi) a newspaper reporter at the scene snaps a photograph of him and publishes it alongside her article the next morning. Now that he’s implicated as a witness, he soon realises that he has become a target for the killer who believes he may be able to identify them, even though he cannot. He decides to take matters into his own hands and track down the killer both to prove his own innocence and as a matter of self-preservation. However, his investigation places him at the scene of another murder, further implicating himself.

We soon gather that the killer is not simply covering their tracks but, as the psychic correctly identified, is an evil mind addicted to murder—or, more precisely, the state of mind required to perpetrate a murder. Hence, they play the same childish musical passage to evoke the mood while terrifying their intended victims, sometimes employing the use of props such as hanging dolls and one particularly freaky automaton.

So, in addition to the up-front whodunnit, we also have a mystery to solve concerning the circumstances that created such a twisted personality. We are offered a succession of answers to both puzzles, but as soon as we find ourselves considering them, they’re upended by the next potential solution. For what may sometimes feel a little ponderous, the plot surely keeps viewers on their toes.

To garner overseas traction, distributors insisted on an international actor in a lead role. Dario Argento was more than happy to have David Hemmings, provided he lost some weight before shooting started. Reputedly, he saw Profondo rosso as a sort of conceptual reply to Blow-Up (1966) and sharing the same star would guide audiences to that understanding. Argento admired Michelangelo Antonioni’s innovative psychological thriller but felt its denouement was unsatisfying and wanted to do a similar story, but properly.

There are a few striking parallels, as the Hemmings characters in both films know they’ve seen something connected to murder but, for a good part of the stories, aren’t quite sure what that detail was. What did they miss or what aren’t they remembering correctly? Both narratives deal with the unreliability of memories and their power to affect behaviour, even when veiled or suppressed. There’s a discussion woven into both narratives addressing the subjective nature of perception, along with its recall, versus proof that can be shared for others to see and validate. Is truth a phenomenon that emerges from consensus? Clearly not, though so many societal structures rely on this false premise.

Blow-Up had been the breakthrough for David Hemmings, and he was on the rise as an international star, mainly landing supporting roles, such as the brother of Sharon Tate’s character in Eye of the Devil (1966), a film set in a French château that touches upon giallo tropes, featuring a dysfunctional family marred by hereditary superstition, madness and occult rituals. There are echoes of such themes running through Profondo rosso in which an abandoned château-like villa holds an essential clue to a dark family secret. Hemmings had just finished filming Juggernaut (1974), the shipbound ticking-time-bomb thriller and, after a string of similarly prominent, albeit supporting parts, he desired a solid leading role. After his experience making Blow-Up, which hinged on his naturalistic, sometimes inscrutable performance, he was happy to return to Italy.

He must have found Profondo rosso a challenge with its often incongruous dialogue that would sit better in a light drama or comedy. He had to land seemingly casual lines that were diversionary or intended as off-the-cuff bravado to veil his building trepidation. Some of what he’s given seems to parody 1970s Italian macho posturing as gender norms are questioned throughout, especially in his exchanges with the peppy newspaper reporter, Gianna (Daria Nicolodi) who insists on assisting his investigation as she feels partly responsible for placing him in harm’s way with the photo that implied he may know the killer’s identity.

There’s some chemistry between them although they constantly mock each other and, to some extent, themselves. Much of their banter was excised from the international cut of Deep Red because it slowed the action. Even these quieter scenes are psychologically disquieting with their role reversal, unexpected reactions, and sometimes cruel asides peppering the dialogue. Their potential relationship is key to several plot points that just seem incongruous without the development of their dynamic. These scenes surface the conflict of masculine and feminine—between individuals and between the anima and animus of the subconscious mind. The men are often ineffectual while the women are seen as more dynamic, resilient and even physically stronger.

Marco is eager to seem manly and doesn’t take it well when Gianna beats him in an arm wrestle when debating how far their lives are shaped by their genders. However, he’s suitably grateful on the occasions she turns up in the nick of time to save his skin. However, he does begin to wonder how she came to be in the right place at the right time so often.

This was an early role for Daria Nicolodi who had impressed Argento with her strong and sexy supporting role in Elio Petri’s political crime drama Property is no Longer Theft (1973). She has a distinctive style that sometimes isn’t convincing but is always interesting and she draws the eye in every frame she’s in. This trait makes her ideal as she often appears to be hiding something—a dark secret or simply her feminine feelings—presenting her character as a possible suspect. Daria and Dario would begin a romantic relationship while filming and they would go on to co-write Suspiria, the first of several collaborations in a professional relationship that was to outlast their personal one.

Bernadino Zapponi was Argento’s co-writer here, known for writing sex comedies and for his work with Federico Fellini on Satyricon (1969). Though it was his adaptation of “Toby Dammit” for Fellini’s segment in the Edgar Allan Poe-inspired anthology Spirits of the Dead / Tre passi nel delirio (1968) that brought him to Argento’s attention.

Dario Argento wrote his early treatments at his parents’ empty and abandoned house in the countryside near Rome and set his story in the capital. Much of the locations were shot in Turin which attracted him because it was easier to arrange filming permits there plus, he claimed it to boast the highest density of practising Satanists. Satanism was suddenly fashionable in the 1970s—mainly as an excuse for suburban swinger orgies, it seems—and he enjoyed the dark connotations of something occult going on in the background.

Production designer Giuseppe Bassan had just completed work on Argento’s so-called dramedy The Five Days (1973) and must have earned the director’s trust because the aspects of production design are crucial to the success of Profondo rosso. The mise-en-scène contributes to the narrative more than any other film I can recall, with the art and architecture playing key characters in themselves.

We don’t see the murderer until the final reveal, instead their presence is represented by the shiny black leather gloves, performed by Argento in the plentiful point-of-view shots. Other times, the architecture seems to become voyeuristic as the prowling camera hints at a sinister unseen presence in what should be empty spaces. The production design and cinematography for Profondo rosso were not just concerned with looking good on-screen, both had to handle aspects that were key to the plot. Cinematographer Luigi Kuveiller works harmoniously with the location and set details, unafraid to let portions of the screen be consumed by darkness while revealing what the director needs us to see—nothing more, nothing less.

I confess, I just lied. As with all the best gialli, we are shown the solution to the conundrum early on but, through artful cinematic sleight-of-hand, we don’t fully register that the identity of the killer has been shown to us. Profondo rosso is perhaps one of the purest of cinematic experiences and therefore risks complete narrative failure when viewed via home media. One’s first time through is unique because there’s a key reveal within the first 20 minutes that relies on the viewer being unable to make sense of what they’ve seen in the time they’re allowed. This puts them in accord with the protagonist who also feels he saw something important at the scene of the first murder. He believes he’s missed a detail hidden within a work of art but when he returns, he’s unable to find the painting he remembers. A very similar device was previously exploited in The Bird with the Crystal Plumage where we also see a pertinent detail, but the interpretation remains subjective. If one pauses or rewinds to check, the whole wonderful puzzle falls apart and the film is all but ruined.

Luigi Kuveiller had proved himself with his work for maverick auteur Elio Petri on films including A Quiet Place in the Country (1968), Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion (1970), The Working Class Goes to Heaven (1971), Slap the Monster on Page One (1972) and Property is no Longer Theft, where he’d worked with Daria Nicolodi. He’d already worked with Argento, too, on The Five Days and with Profondo rosso he certainly stepped up and delivered with aplomb. So, Argento rehired him for his next movie, Suspiria, and they would work together again on the ultra-giallo Tenebrae—both movies that also have obtrusive scores by Goblin, who first collaborated with Argento on Profondo rosso before becoming a defining feature of his best-known works.

Argento had initially approached Pink Floyd to provide the music. They were amicable but couldn’t offer a schedule that fitted the production, so he ended up going with the Italian prog-rock band instead. He had the idea of the music in his head and built on his experience composing music for Four Flies on Grey Velvet, after Ennio Morricone left the project, he wanted to be part of the process, so temporarily became an extra member of the band, collaborating with Goblin in the studio during the composition of the soundtrack. Their prominent music dominates the score shared with composer Giorgio Gaslini. The music of Goblin contributes so much to the overall identity of the movie that for his next film, Argento started with their music, which he played on set during the filming of Suspiria.

Profondo rosso is arguably Argento’s most accomplished giallo and he intended it to be his last. However, he never quite shook off his giallo affectations and, even as he pursued the fantastical horrors of Suspiria and Inferno (1980) they still retained many of his signature flourishes and genre signifiers showcasing the auteur’s assured stylistic vigour.

ITALY | 1975 | 126 MINUTES | 2.35:1 | COLOUR | ITALIAN • GERMAN • HEBREW

Cast & Crew

director: Dario Argento.
writers: Dario Argento & Bernardino Zapponi.
starring: David Hemmings, Daria Nicolodi, Gabriele Lavia, Macha Méril, Eros Pagni, Giuliana Calandra, Nicoletta Elmi, Glauco Mauri & Clara Calamai.