la bambola di satana

The Italian film industry has made some excellent forgeries. In fact, in the '60s and '70s, there was no one better at spotting a cinematic trend - be it westerns, science-fiction or sex comedies - and spitting out dozens of copies with anglicized pseudonyms to flood the market. But La Bombola Di Satana is a forgery of a forgery, awkwardly pounding square pegs into round holes as the filmmakers rearrange the plot points of a traditional gothic thriller into the semblance of a stylized giallo. Yep, they're screwing up a genre they invented!

Actually the credited director, Ferruccio Casapinta, apparently left most of the creative work to others. What's pieced together is a rather tame drawing room mystery involving the inheritance of a large estate willed to Elizabeth (Erna Schurer) by her uncle. But his death has made the household staff quite nervous, including Carol, the governess, who insists that the master of the house intended to sell off everything to a third party. Meanwhile, a masked figure lurks in the catacombs beneath the castle, conspiring to drive Elizabeth out of her new home by means of staged hauntings and psychedelic drugs.

While most Italian giallos made a point of pushing sex and violence to the limit, La Bombola Di Satana plays it frustratingly coy, covering most of Schurer's onscreen nudity with a well-placed arm or convenient bed ruffle. And the torture sequences, actually all part of a drug-induced hallucination, wouldn't make the most conservative baby boomer blush. So what does the film have going for it? Well, its rarity is the big selling point. While most of Argento, Bava, Martino and Fulci's back catalog have made their way to home video, there's a dearth of other contributors to the sub-genre. And for many collectors (including this reviewer) that'll be enough to earn it a spot on the shelf.

There are a few interesting stylistic distractions. The credits play out over still frames from the movie itself, much like the popular Italian photoplay magazines of the time. But viewer beware: these wind up being spoilers since they're pulled from the body of the film. And leading man Roland Carey, who starred in several pornographic films later on, does some admirable stunt work in the final 15 minutes, including some rough 'n tumble fisticuffs and an elaborate swordfight. But for most of its running time La Bombola Di Satana (translated as Satan's Doll) is just one dinner scene and nightgown change after another right up until the final unmasking, which, as pointed out in Julie Kirgo's liner notes, bears more than a passing resemblance to the resolution of every episode single of Scooby Doo.

This one is a bit of a tangent for Twilight Time, whose usual MO leans towards established studio films. But it's a welcome detour, and they've dressed up the 3000-copy limited in some very attractive packaging in addition to an isolated music track and an audio commentary with film historians David Del Valle and Derek Botelho.