I last saw this film several years ago on YouTube, and in less than stellar quality. At that time I was not a great admirer of Soavi, perhaps because I was hoping for Dario Argento Jr. and got something different. Since becoming a huge fan of Dellamorte Dellamore (1994), however, I've been planning to re-watch his other films, and now I'm finally getting around to it. This is Soavi's feature debut - before this he cut his teeth as assistant director to Argento, Lamberto Bava, and Joe D'Amato - and here we can see the influence of these various mentors. The flamboyant camera-work and imagery certainly bring Argento to mind, while the premise (an acting troupe gets locked inside a theater with a serial killer) is reminiscent of Bava's Demons (1985). The material isn't so similar to D'Amato's work, but we have him to thank for the film's existence (and for Soavi's directorial career, since he was perfectly content to remain an assistant director), since he produced it and hired Soavi.
As a director Soavi hadn't quite found his own voice yet - he's very imitative of Argento here - but to his credit he conjures imagery worthy of the master. No one who has seen this film will forget the bizarre owl mask donned by the killer (an image that would not be out of place in Franju's Judex), and the scene of him sitting on stage with the posed bodies of his victims, tranquilly stroking a cat as feathers descend on them like snowflakes, is one of the most indelible in the whole of Italian horror. What already sets Soavi apart from Argento is his cheeky humor. The comic relief scenes in Argento's films generally come across as rather clumsy and awkward (e.g. the befuddled mailman from Four Flies on Grey Velvet), but Soavi is consistently clever. The opening scene, for instance, thwarts our expectations to great comic effect. Still Soavi knows how to stage an effective death scene, and he doesn't hold back on the red stuff, but even the most horrible scenes tend to have a touch of black humor. One bit I particularly liked involved one of the characters spilling stage-blood all over the dressing room; as their friend is drilled to death, his blood starts to drip onto the fake stuff. I can't help but wonder if this is a tongue-in-cheek criticism of the phony-looking blood in most Italian horror films.
The cast is quite strong: Barbara Cupisti is a sympathetic heroine, David Brandon is brilliant as the temperamental director (perhaps Soavi was drawing on his experiences with Argento here), and Giovanni Lombardo Radice is pretty amusing as a flamboyantly gay actor. Special praise must be singled out to the actor playing the silent masked killer (IMDb claims that it's exploitation legend George Eastman), who projects great presence simply through the use of his body language - I'd favorably compare him to Lon Chaney.
The experience between my first and second viewings of this little gem is truly night and day. This is not just an astoundingly good film for a first time director, but a minor masterpiece of the genre. Dario Argento must have thought so as well; Opera bears some striking similarities to it, and Argento would subsequently enlist Soavi to direct The Church (1989) and The Sect (1991).
As a director Soavi hadn't quite found his own voice yet - he's very imitative of Argento here - but to his credit he conjures imagery worthy of the master. No one who has seen this film will forget the bizarre owl mask donned by the killer (an image that would not be out of place in Franju's Judex), and the scene of him sitting on stage with the posed bodies of his victims, tranquilly stroking a cat as feathers descend on them like snowflakes, is one of the most indelible in the whole of Italian horror. What already sets Soavi apart from Argento is his cheeky humor. The comic relief scenes in Argento's films generally come across as rather clumsy and awkward (e.g. the befuddled mailman from Four Flies on Grey Velvet), but Soavi is consistently clever. The opening scene, for instance, thwarts our expectations to great comic effect. Still Soavi knows how to stage an effective death scene, and he doesn't hold back on the red stuff, but even the most horrible scenes tend to have a touch of black humor. One bit I particularly liked involved one of the characters spilling stage-blood all over the dressing room; as their friend is drilled to death, his blood starts to drip onto the fake stuff. I can't help but wonder if this is a tongue-in-cheek criticism of the phony-looking blood in most Italian horror films.
The cast is quite strong: Barbara Cupisti is a sympathetic heroine, David Brandon is brilliant as the temperamental director (perhaps Soavi was drawing on his experiences with Argento here), and Giovanni Lombardo Radice is pretty amusing as a flamboyantly gay actor. Special praise must be singled out to the actor playing the silent masked killer (IMDb claims that it's exploitation legend George Eastman), who projects great presence simply through the use of his body language - I'd favorably compare him to Lon Chaney.
The experience between my first and second viewings of this little gem is truly night and day. This is not just an astoundingly good film for a first time director, but a minor masterpiece of the genre. Dario Argento must have thought so as well; Opera bears some striking similarities to it, and Argento would subsequently enlist Soavi to direct The Church (1989) and The Sect (1991).