You can’t talk about the golden age of Italian genre cinema without talking about Mario Bava. He was “a master craftsman,” said Martin Scorsese, “and he knew how to create a mood, where every sound, every movement of the camera, and every object was weighted with mystery and unease.” When Bava began his directorial career, after many years working as a cinematographer, the horror film—which would become his métier—barely existed in Italy, having been culturally frowned upon since the days of Mussolini.
A unique visual stylist and a resourceful problem-solver, Bava was a master of special effects who could eke the maximum value out of every lira at his disposal. The mechanics of narrative were of secondary concern to the pungent atmospherics he crafted through light, color, and sound. His cinema seems to exist in a disquieting netherworld; a baroque dream state pregnant with uncanny textures and wilful disorientation. The three films in this collection take a bird’s eye view of Bava’s final decade, and testify to his singular artistry across all manner of disreputable genres. In 1971 alone, he turned his hand to the then-voguish sex comedy with Four Times That Night, before laying the prototype for the modern slasher with the vicious A Bay of Blood. Three years later, Bava would cap his career with a hallucinatory masterstroke. A bravura work of erotically-charged surrealism starring a Mephistophelian Telly Savalas, Lisa and the Devil (1974) is a labyrinthine fever dream that appears to tap directly into the oneiric fathoms of the supernatural unconscious.

You can&#8217;t talk about the golden age of Italian genre cinema without talking about Mario Bava. He was &#8220;a master craftsman,&#8221; said Martin Scorsese, &#8220;and he knew how to create a mood, where every sound, every movement of the camera, and every object was weighted with mystery and unease.&#8221; When Bava began his directorial career, after many years working as a cinematographer, the horror film&#8212;which would become his métier&#8212;barely existed in Italy, having been culturally frowned upon since the days of Mussolini.
A unique visual stylist and a resourceful problem-solver, Bava was a master of special effects who could eke the maximum value out of every lira at his disposal. The mechanics of narrative were of secondary concern to the pungent atmospherics he crafted through light, color, and sound. His cinema seems to exist in a disquieting netherworld; a baroque dream state pregnant with uncanny textures and wilful disorientation. The three films in this collection take a bird&#8217;s eye view of Bava&#8217;s final decade, and testify to his singular artistry across all manner of disreputable genres. In 1971 alone, he turned his hand to the then-voguish sex comedy with Four Times That Night, before laying the prototype for the modern slasher with the vicious A Bay of Blood. Three years later, Bava would cap his career with a hallucinatory masterstroke. A bravura work of erotically-charged surrealism starring a Mephistophelian Telly Savalas, Lisa and the Devil (1974) is a labyrinthine fever dream that appears to tap directly into the oneiric fathoms of the supernatural unconscious.

Italian Gothic: Three Films by Mario Bava

ITALIAN GOTHIC: THREE FILMS BY MARIO BAVA

You can’t talk about the golden age of Italian genre cinema without talking about Mario Bava. The three films in this collection take a bird’s eye view of his final decade, testifying to a unique visual stylist who could turn his singular artistry to all manner of disreputable genres.

You can&#8217;t talk about the golden age of Italian genre cinema without talking about Mario Bava. The three films in this collection take a bird&#8217;s eye view of his final decade, testifying to a unique visual stylist who could turn his singular artistry to all manner of disreputable genres.