If ever there was a time to order Blu-rays of things you want to see on your desert island after civilization's you-know-what, it's the canon of Luigi "The Italian Ed Wood" Cozzi, which is now fully available from one label or site or another. I've already blathered praise for his two masterworks Starcrash and Hercules. Now the lunatic eye slash-cum-time warp-devil-dipped and Pleasance-lipped slippery dippy house bash, Paganini Horror (1989) is available on a stunning Blu-ray (via Severin), so the circle is complete (until we get a good R1 release of Blood on Melie's Moon, I Piccoli Maghi di Oz."The Little Wizards of Oz.") and La battaglia di Roma 1849 ("the Battle of Rome 1849.") I hope you don't think my praise of his crude genius is snide or mean-spirited. In our terrifying times, don't we need to laugh at Italian versions of our basest music class fears, to see them bounced hurly burly into cosmic prisms? Shan't we a universe where time loops are illustrated by giant floating hourglasses and spray-painted physics equations on the walls? It's about time, literally, figuratively and obsessively. No way Cozzi is just going to give us girls in a rock band disemboweled with a bladed violin, the way lesser, hack directors would. Cozzi has bigger things on his mind; the joy comes from the way he never lets budget limitatins stop him from grabbing the cosmic ring.
Maybe you saw the cover for this weird Italian gem, with the skeleton playing violin (left) and drew some cheap late-80s punk (the late-80s Italian kind, ala Ghosthouse -which Cozzi almost directed)-meets-slasher opinion about it. Maybe you figured it would be the usual tactless ladle of topless broads and denim-jacketed idiots offed gorily in some house where money for the electric bill grows on trees. Your conclusions couldn't be more wrong. Busto Arsizio's favorite son delivers all his usual tropes and tics: plenty of strong women in spandex and wild hair, planetary shifts, portentous gazes into nowhere; lasers and wild light effects, godawful dubbing, spiritual homage-paying (the spirits of Jack Kirby, Ray Harryhausen, Alex Raymond, and Bernie Krigstein all watch over Cozzi's shoulder in numb surprise, guiding his every artistic urge)... Man, I am talking myself into watching this all over again.... again?
Bad in many ways but never dull or lacking for color, Paganini Horror reaches a climax at around three minutes in and just keep building from there until we're too far out in space, riding cosmic hourglasses to the moon, to ever return to Earth. Dario Nicolodi gets star billing as Sylvia, the owner of the fabled "House in the Key of G", which she rents out for--in this case--a music video shoot for "Paganini Horror" the new song based on the mysterious last piece of written music by our titular virtuoso. Nicolodi announces Paganini conducted black mass rituals there back in the 19th century. Seems he disemboweled his bride and used her intestines as strings for his Stradivarius! And that's how he hit those weird notes only he could hit. We don't see any of that in flashbacks or anything. Instead, lead singer Kate (Jasmin Maimone) exclaims that their House in the Key of G video will be "like Michael Jackson's Thriller!"Manager Lavinia (Maria Cristina Mastrangeli) hires horror director Mark Singer (Pietro Genuardi, who played the cop in Argento's Opera). A kind of Argento stand-in, Singer prepares by hanging white sheets on the walls, spray painting them with the words "Paganini Horror" and putting the hot bassist Rita in a devil mask. And did I mention the All-seeing eye lamp, and the candles? There's a mention of mannequins as the band members start to disappear, but we don't see near enough of them.
The real crime to this movie is that most beautiful bassist in all the world, Rita (Luana Ravegnini), is the first to die. Why her? Why not literally anyone else in the cast? It seems very spiteful of our murdering Paganini. The doe-eyed assistant manager is next. And if we thought it would be one of those lure-and-slash tales, where everyone is knocked over like dominos, we're soon proven wrong. Holes opening up under people's feet, electric energy pulses through those who fall into it.. Albert Einstein looks on, balefully, from a tacked-up poster; electric shocks zap anyone who tries to escape the house... of Paganini!
As for that final piece of music, well, no one ever called the film's composer Vince Tempura a modern Paganini to his face. He does okay with the non-diegetic part of the score, not so much the Paganini-attributed song the band plays (If Paganini is the Jimi Page of his era, this would be the theme from Death Wish II).
Naturally the knife Paganini's spirit uses has to off the band has a treble clef-shaped handle. Naturally there's a cello case coffin and our heroine winds up trapped in (and it's then set on fire). Not all of the characters die from being stabbed by a steel-hipped Stradivarius: guitarist Elena (Michel Klipstein) gets infected by "a special fungus... like they discovered in the 1800s, on logs... floating along... certain European rivers," notes Lavania, this infected wood "was used to make a special kind of violin, the Stradivarius." Elena becomes a hideous fungus-covered monster, Lavinia says "this is the fungus, for sure... I saw it... magnified... in a TV documentary."
Music is magic. Though parts drag and there are too many stairs, we get way more with Paganini Horror than you might expect.
If a film professor tells you that when childhood flashbacks occur in red bathrooms
it symbolizes the uterus, kill them instantly.
We open on the ominous synth notes dotting along as a strange young girl rides up a foggy Venice canal, her violin in her hand and the look of satanic royalty in the way she sits, centered with the violin case in her lap and an evil confident look on her face, the prow of the boat like the tip of some kind of fast moving sea serpent, snaking through the lonely mist as Vince Tempera's soundtrack pulses like Tangerine Dream got lost in the canal fog. At home, amidst her collection of weird dolls, the music echoes with vocals, the girl picks up a Barbie-sized doll with a brown skull face and long white hair (a ringer for the Paganini spirit to come) and stirs mom's bath with it. A stark red wall is behind them...
After the untimely death of the bassist, the second most unconscionable choice is that Donald Pleasance is dubbed by someone else!! His replacement does an okay enough job - especially in his rant about demons as he climbs up to the top of an under-reconstruction clock tower in Venice and throws all the money he got for the Paganini score to the wind. Watching Pleasance try to keep a straight face while talking to money ("fly away, demons, so the real ones can take your place... so what happens with Paganini will repeat itself.... extracted by the one to whom it belongs, his majesty, Satan!") makes for a pretty well modulated rant, but what's the point of even having the Donald in a film if not for that deliciously silken, fearful but scary, seismographic voice?
All of the dubbing is pretty bad in both versions. Dubbing seems to be Cozzi's Achilles' heel. He seems to have no interest in it, being too busy down the hall painting laser effects onto the celluloid. The result is that kind of lazy mixing where everyone sounds like they're right up on the mic in a quiet sound booth rather than out in the actual environment depicted. Oh well, that's just part of the Cozzi effect. One side effect of it all is the hilarious near-constant screaming of his nearly all-female cast. There is so much screaming that the actresses seem to be running out of breath; so their screams trail off into hysteria. It's like they're barely trying to keep a straight face, the way a child who's been crying for hours starts to almost riff with their crying voice. Is Cozzi making them laugh too much between takes or have they just lost interest?
But what a journey to get to that point! What saves it all and makes it a true gem is--as always--Cozzi's infectious, palpable love and respect for fusing genres, strong women characters, and movie making. When Ravegnini and the other girl band members gaze into the camera for their music video, you can tell they're feeling happy and part of the Cozzi family pack, they're not taking it very seriously but they love it. There's no vibe of having to fight off pervy producers wearing their lustre. These girls glow. Franco Lecca's deep yellow and red-accented cinematography makes everyone seem lovely with natural skin color (rather than the ghastly pale or gaudy tan we sometimes get in Italian horror films) and Spanish style architecture hums in burnished oranges and browns. Too bad when they go outside it's all bad day-for-night that makes everyone look purple and green. Why?
Ugh, why, Paganini, why kill Rita first? Why not get Pleasance to do his own dub? Why the bad day-for-night? Why the bad vibe ending?
Irregardless, there are still enough gateways to other dimensions and strange doorways and all the other Cozzi trimmings to make six ordinary movies, even if full half the film is just one girl or the other walking up and down stairs and down halls, or screaminge. We can't blame the master if some turkey distributor who didn't get the vibe took out all the cosmic cutaways. We sure can wish for a full restored director's cut. Wishing is free.
There's a nice interview with Cozzi at his sci-fi store; and the footage excised by the producer fills in a lot of the blanks (would there was a copy with all the original shots -love the hourglasses floating in space - recycled from Hercules) and an explanation of why that too-trusting kid assistant would shell out a bag of money to some sinister Hobbes Lane type for an alleged authentic Paganini score.
Anyway, Severin has done wonders with what they got (Did the color grading just give out for the exterior shots, or was it supposed to look like that?) All we need now from Severin (here's hoping it's coming soon) is Cozzi's unofficial meta-Suspiria-sequel (recently re-available on Prime), The Black Cat (aka Demons 6: Anus Profundis) from 1990. The Prime copy is full frame and from video, but there must be a better source!
And while we're on the subject, what about that crazy shot-on-video quasi-autobiographical Blood on Melies' Moon? I saw a clip wherein the great one himself ruminates in his bedroom about coming to terms with being labeled "The Italian Ed Wood." I guess I'm not the first to call him that. But hey Luigi, if you're reading this, know that a lot of us fans love Ed Wood way more than a more highly regarded artist like, say, Fritz Lang. I have a billion theories why that is but the main one might be the Brechtian distancing opening us up to the interplay of our own imagination, like having the curtains around your favorite play suddenly flung open, allowing us to see all the man behind the curtain. We get a bit of that in, say, Bergman's Magic Flute or Olivier's Henry V but it's intentional and hence a little pompous compared to the accidental Brechts like Wood and Cozzi (Godard--erasing his auteur footsteps around the sudden exposure of Brechtian mechanics as if Danny Torrance slinking backwards in his own tracks--is the Mr. In-Between.)
Maybe it's all too short with a hyper-ironic, if unsatisfying, ending that makes all the parts click into perfect place, the way some insane carnival ride turns out to be "Take the A Train" all along in a Charles Mingus composition. Maybe it was trimmed of its cosmic portent, maybe Rita died too soon; maybe Donald doesn't dub himself, but the Cozzi magic is still there and this film is meant to be treasured for a lifetime of Cozzi binges. Who knows how long that lifetime will be? Einstein on the poster looking wryly your way knows; honey, you better pounce while you still have teeth.