Who killed Dr. Calebresi by shoving him in front of a moving train on a crisp, sunny day in Rome? All he was doing was researching the similarities in the chromosomes of psychopaths and concealing information that he knew about a recent break-in at the medical institute where he works. Who’d want to kill him?
This is a murder mystery, but one directed by Dario Argento (his second feature), which means that it’s weird all over. Our detectives are two American actors. Lean and leathery James Franciscus is an intrepid reporter who has a way with a pick-up line and enjoys a tall glass of milk after sex. Then there’s Karl Malden as a blind man whose best friend is his young niece and who doesn’t know how to mind his own business. They are our guides through this film’s maze of Italian city streets, ultra-70s manor homes, creepy gay bars (edgy stuff in ’71), cemetery mausoleums, upper crust incest and hazardous rooftops. Meanwhile, anyone who has ANY lead whatsoever about the case very quickly dies by the hands of the killer who has an imperfect, but still impressive omniscience, like one of those 80s slasher movie villains who always seems to know what everyone’s doing.
Until the big reveal, Argento always represents the killer with a quick shot of a single, furious, brightly lit eyeball. It’s pretty cool. There are a lot of cool things here–let’s mention the outrageous score by Ennio Morricone, full of smoke and screams and chaos–even if this isn’t one of Argento’s best (Argento himself isn’t too keen on it). The first half is a little on the slow side, but once it picks up it really starts charging.
After the great final scene, you wipe the marinara sauce from your lips and know that you just saw a pretty good little giallo.