Deep Red (1976)

With obvious comparisons to Antonioni's Blow Up (with David Hemmings in the lead role), Hitchcock's Psycho and possibly Michael Powell's Peeping Tom, Deep Red is debatably Argento's most sustained and interesting work. A standard of Argento's early giallo pictures, an innocent bystander witnesses a brutal murder and sets out, with the help of a journalist this time (Daria Nicolodi, Argento's then partner – who ever said the Italian film industry was full of nepotism?) to uncover the murderer and shed light on the enigma that propels the narrative.

Stunning cinematography and camera motion, the composition and use of colour and lighting – the play of colour on Gianni's (Niccolodi's) face as she pulls Marc (Hemmings) from the burning villa, for instance – Argento's trademarks – are apparent, as are recurring themes of 'perverse' sexuality, methods of recording and playback and the failure of memory in the minor but vital detail – 'If only I could remember…'

The mystery drives the narrative, but the narrative is not all and the film is not exactly a whodunit. It's also a series of graphic and inventive murders, a set piece of dark and distorted imaginations and viewpoints. The score too propels the film – a mixture of wonderfully dark pounding electro-funk rock (performed by the band Goblin) and haunting lullaby which harks back to a traumatic childhood.

A bloody masterpiece.

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Suspiria (1977)

Simply, a singular virtuoso masterpiece of supernatural horror. This revered and relentlessly baroque horror classic, a fairy tale of covert witchcraft in a bizarrely decorated German ballet academy is the first of a projected trilogy inspired by the opium-addled visionary writings of Thomas de Quincey, although just the one sequel, Inferno, in 1980, has yet emerged. The entire film offers a wholesale assault on the senses, boasting a very loud and ceaselessly ominous Goblin soundtrack, which, composed before the film's production, was played during shooting to frighten the cast into offering appropriate performances!, along with a uniquely lurid visual scheme which, from Suzy's arrival at the academy, is all hyper-vivid primary colours, the whole film having been designed, lit and post-produced specifically to exploit to an extreme degree the inherent lack of tonal nuance in the Technicolor three-strip matrix system commonly used, and outmoded, a couple of decades earlier.

Jessica Harper plays Suzy, the film's heroine whose somnambulistic investigative drive propels the film's narrative, such as it is, possessed of a wide-eyed fascination throughout as if immersed in a dream rather than betraying any obvious horror or sensible compulsion to flee from the extreme ghastliness of the events around her nor from the grotesque characters both on the staff and as fellow students at the academy who surround her.

Deep Red's Daria Nicolodi co-wrote the screenplay, but does not appear in the film; genre stalwart Udo Kier pops up as a psychiatrist, and Alida Valli, who would also appear in Inferno, plays the academy's senior instructress.

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The Stendhal Syndrome (1996)

Despite all manner of graphic violence that has been a part of Argento's work (and horror more generally), there has never been much attention paid to the act of rape – and this is one of the most disturbing things about this recent Argento flick – all the more so seeing he is directing his daughter Asia in these scenes. It has inevitably prompted some to see something darkly Freudian in their real-world relationship.

For this, amongst other reasons, this is a cat out of the bag for Argento, yet is also strangely familiar. There are fewer of the camera flourishes one comes to expect, yet the lighting and colour are classically Argento (although of a different nature to the super-saturated colour in his earlier work), as is the use of construction of space, this time amongst classic Italian architecture, not to mention the haunting Morricone score– again integrally interwoven with the visuals. And it would have to be – as the first 15 minutes plays without a line of dialogue.

Asia's performance is suitably dreamlike as Anna Manni, an investigator on the anti-rape squad who herself becomes the victim – but the ironic twists do not stop there as she pursues and becomes obsessed by him. The one bright point in her journey – her relationship with French art student Mark – is also ruined as she is pulled back into the nightmare she has only just escaped.

The hallucinatory nature of the film is somewhat deceptive – as for once it is indicative of the mind of the victim – the eponymous Stendhal Syndrome, a condition that causes Anna to be overcome by the power of great art sets the tone for the film rather than the psychopath or the killings. It keeps with one of Argento's continuing concerns, the notion of modes of expression and inscribing (from visual to audio modes) and their relation to the criminal unconscious.

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Phantom of the Opera (1998)

Dario Argento's latest is an odd take on the oft-filmed Gaston Leroux tale which he'd long asserted he'd wished to film, especially as a confessed lifelong fan of the 1943 version starring Claude Rains. To some degree he had already done just that in 1987, with the much nastier and more personal (Terror at the) Opera; this, comparatively is (uncharacteristically) far more light, and, even at times, daft a project which, not without its grue, through its rather cheery grotesquerie and bizarre gimmickry could just as well have been a perverse new Jeunet & Caro or Terry Gilliam fantasy, while one scene especially atypical of Argento is most reminiscent of Fellini, if with tongue firmly in cheek!

Certainly, it's a hefty remove from his disturbing and despairing previous feature The Stendhal Syndrome, though like it, it doesn't spare the viewer the spectacle of the involvement of his beautiful daughter Asia in some peculiar sexual situations. Opposite her, a foppishly brooding Julian Sands portrays a Phantom not quite like any previous... Argento collaborated on the screenplay, a-glut with fruity dialogue, with Gérard Brach, whose credits include the Polanski classics Repulsion and The Tenant and, (tellingly) Bitter Moon. Ennio Morricone here supplies his fifth Argento score, and Ronnie Taylor the cinematography; his only previous collaboration with Argento is, oddly enough, on Opera, where it was rather the more audacious – here, the strong visuals omnipresent in Argento's films are privileged more in the Parisian period décor and the lighting than in any ostentatiously gymnastic camerawork. Veteran Sergio Stivaletti handles the special effects.

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Succubus (1967) NOT SCREENING
aka Necronomicon – Geträumte Sünden (Necronomicon - Dreamt Sin)

*Replaced in programme by Dario Argento's Inferno*

A very different film to the goofy Red Lips pair of Sadisterotica and Kiss Me Monster with which it was filmed back-to-back, and originally the recipient of an 'X' rating on release in the US. It seems to begin straightforwardly enough – Lorna (Janine Reynaud) is performing an S&M-inspired nightclub stage act, under the watchful eye of her lover Bill (Jack Taylor). A third, and apparently demonic figure (Michel Lemoine) is also there observing, and offers a pithily cryptic voiceover. From the performance's completion onwards, the dynamics between these three, and between Lorna and all whom she should encounter thereon in is rarely what one might anticipate, as the film eschews narrative logic in an often bizarre series of dream sequences/flashbacks/hallucinatory visions and general nightmarish delirium to great and disturbing effect. It is very far from being one of Franco's more slapdashly made films, with not even a single zoom seeming gratuitous.

A dizzying array of allusions to figures pop cultural, historical and philosophical pervade the film, including filmmakers Buńuel and Godard whose influences are apparent, as well as the Marquis de Sade, whose influence on Franco would become nigh on ceaselessly pervasive in the narratives of his 140-odd subsequent films to date!

Karl Lagerfeld supplied Reynaud's numerous fabulous costumes, and Jerry van Rooyen the terrific jazz score. The cast includes Franco regulars Howard Vernon and the film's producer Adrian Hoven. According to the director, the film is an adaptation of that oft-plundered apocryphal occult tome the Necronomicon, as is reflected in the film's original title for what was a successful European release.

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Sadisterotica (1967) NOT SCREENING
aka Two Undercover Angels, Red Lips

*Replaced in programme by Dario Argento's Suspiria*

When two ambitious women get together to take on the art world, what else is likely to happen? Little other than murder, intrigue and sex obviously. The 'Red Lips' duo start by perpetrating a heist and end up catching the killers in this 'Eurospy' spoof, meandering their delicious way through swinging nightclubs and arty parties in their pursuit of a serial killer, when they notice the resemblance between one of the victims and a girl in a painting by artist Klaus Thiller (Adrian Hoven, also producer). Along the way they come into contact with the wolf-man Morpho (a recurrent character in Franco's films), various cops – a studly young plaything for the duo among them, the art crowd and the elusive artist himself - but no Paul Newman, much to Regina (Rossana Yanni)'s dismay.

Spawning an intermittent run of other Red Lips films, although it has a predecessor in 1960's Labios rojos, this was filmed back-to-back with the next, Kiss Me Monster. Sadisterotica is a far better film, with more sparkle and wit, romping along at a dizzying pace accompanied by its Latin and psychedelic score. Exhibiting luscious photography and the zooms Franco is noted for (often focussing on parts of the female anatomy), the film romps along its merry way proffering a host of in jokes, making fun of all and sundry – the girls themselves, the cops, the killers and the legacy of cinema of which it is a very self-aware part – of special note is the moment when the cop checks into the hotel as a famous spy to remain incognito.

Franco, as he often does, makes an appearance, getting a knife in the back early on – which can make one wonder what sort of power a producer may have over a director.

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Vampyros Lesbos (1970)

One of Franco's most famous films, aided in no small part in this respect in the rediscovery of its quintessential lounge soundtrack by Manfred Hubler and Siegfried Schwab. Snatches of it can even be heard in popular culture vulture Quentin Tarantino's Jackie Brown.

The story is an odd, sunnily inverted take of Bram Stoker's short story, "Dracula's Guest". As with the even more abstracted, narratively ambiguous and surreal Succubus, much is blurry as to what in the film is fantasy and what reality. The late Soledad Miranda stars and smoulders, and in the opening scenes is performing an odd striptease act in an Istanbul nightclub with a female mannequin. Linda (Ewa Stroemberg), a spectator at the club, had been visited by someone uncannily like her in recurring, confusingly Sapphic dreams; subsequent to a trip to Dr. Steiner, a psychiatrist who gives her some peculiar and troubling advice, a business matter directs her to the Iberian island estate of the reclusive Countess Carody, whom it would seem is the very woman of her fantasies. All manner of complications pivotal upon the realisation of these fantasies ensue…

Franco pops up in the role of Memmet, a porter with a curious agenda. English actor Dennis Price is Dr. Seward, one of many Dr. Sewards in the Franco canon, the head of an asylum with a curious agenda. Paul Müller, a Franco regular of this period, plays Dr. Steiner.

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Tender Flesh (1997)

Combining the elements of cannibalism and sex seems a natural progression in this recent Franco film – taking hints from his own oeuvre and the 1932 classic The Most Dangerous Game. When a wealthy group of associates retire for an island vacation, they simply must bring along someone to have fun with, in the shape of Paula (Amber Newman), the only one amongst the group who is paid for her attendance. Finding the situation less than relaxing, she is the object of everyone's attention in matters sexual, diversionary (the climactic treasure hunt where she is the treasure) and culinary. The gourmet delights specialised in by famous French chef Paul Radeck (Alain Petit) include both human flesh and bodily fluids for that extra bit of spice.

Tender Flesh plays out as a satirical comedy-of-manners, exploiting the foibles of the bourgeoisie – suggesting that Franco's career has paralleled Buńuel's in more respects than might be immediately apparent. There are certainly other elements more surreal – most notably the mute sex-slave freak Furia (Analia Ivars), who contributes a sort of grotesque element – not least of which is all in the eating. Long-time partner and filmic collaborator of Franco's, Lina Romay, helps round out the cast.

Interesting again for its self-referentiality – one of the characters is seen in a Fangoria t-shirt – and self-parody – a canned laugh track over the hunt scene at the end, and its carnivalesque feel, it is a recent example of thoughtful cinema from a director who is normally only known for his long running career of sleaze.

That's not to overlook the copious nudity of course…

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