With The Case of the Bloody Iris, director Giuliano Carnimeo and writer Ernesto Gastaldi constructed one of the quintessential giallo films from that genre’s peak period in the early 1970s. Though it may lack the operatic excesses of Dario Argento’s “Animal” trilogy, the 1972 film is meticulously assembled with a keen eye to visual stimulation, and conveys its commentary about matters of race and gender at an almost subliminal level. What’s more, the filmmakers knowingly tinker with some of the iconic tropes of the giallo.
The Case of the Bloody Iris’s narrative centers around a 20-story Genovese apartment complex of Brutalist architectural design. Most of the action takes place in three neighboring flats. These settings emphasize the alienation of modern urban existence, as well as the kind of creeping paranoia that stems from living packed in tiny cubes on top of each other. The opening set piece is a masterful study in building tension set in the perfect expression of physical compression and social anonymity: the building’s central elevator.
As oblivious residents enter and exit, a pretty blonde (Evi Farinelli), who we later learn is an outcall sex worker, finds herself menaced by a man in a black trench coat. Carnimeo cleverly frames one shot of her with only the black backdrop of the coat, highlighting her isolation in the midst of a crowded elevator car. Once the elevator empties, out comes the scalpel.
It’s interesting to note that this isn’t the genre’s preferred implement—that would be a straight razor—nor is the killer wearing those iconic black gloves. In fact, they’re yellow, which serves as a sort of visual joke, given that the word giallo is Italian for yellow.
One slashing inevitably brings to mind the demise of Angie Dickinson’s character in Dressed to Kill. An inveterate horror junkie, Brian De Palma likely saw Carnimeo’s film at the time of its release. A comparison between the two scenes reveals something about the directors’ respective sensibilities. Carnimeo’s blocking and camera movement is brisk and efficient, almost Hitchcockian in the clarity of its workmanlike construction. De Palma, for his part, goes all woozy and fever dreamy, utilizing a number of slow zooms and swirling cameras.
The film indulges in the sort of gratuitous nudity that often features in the sexier giallo films of the era, but it also slyly questions the depiction of its female characters as passive victims. Aspiring models Marilyn (Paola Quattrini) and Jennifer (Edwige Fenech) are first introduced at a fashion shoot clad only in body paint that’s meant to mimic chic outfits. Over the course of The Case of the Bloody Iris, Jennifer in particular will adopt more masculine attire, signaling her growing sense of independence from the demands of her cult-leader former husband, Adam (Ben Carrá). Though he espouses a kind of free love that, as we witness it in a “groovy” flashback, amounts to group sex, Adam is as possessive and violently jealous as they come.
Religion also informs the characters’ attitudes to the more open sexuality of the time, encouraging in some a kind of intolerant zealotry, which partially explains the killer’s motive. Issues of gender and race coalesce in the figure of Mizar (Carla Brait), who works in a seedy strip joint as a female wrestler who challenges the male clientele to get in the ring with her for three minutes. If they can stay the limit, or even mange to pin her, they can have their way with her. It’s a contest, we’re told, that she’s never lost. Independently minded and quite literally a strong Black woman, Mizar can only be bested by the murderer when he knocks her out with a cheap shot and trusses her up with cord before putting her in the bathtub.
Throughout the film, Carnimeo and DP Stelvio Massi (collaborating, by all accounts, quite closely on the visuals) exhibit some genuine sophistication, keeping the imagery fresh and interesting through a variety of means. Taking a cue from Mario Bava’s playbook, many of the shots hold an object in the extreme foreground, letting the action unfold in the mid- or background, thus holding the shot in an agreeable sort of suspended tension.
There are also a lot of mirrors on hand here: Several times they’re used to depict the actions of two spatially distant characters in one 2.35:1 Techniscope frame. Such journeyman attention to visual details, as well as a jaunty score from Bruno Nicolai, help to elevate The Case of the Bloody Iris above many of its more slapdash confreres in the deluge of giallo films following in the wake of Dario Argento’s The Bird with the Crystal Plumage.
Image/Sound
Celluloid Dreams presents The Case of the Bloody Iris on both 4K UHD and standard Blu-ray. The sparkling new 2160p UHD restoration really ramps up the film’s vivid color palette, especially those reds and blues. The new transfer also enhances the fine details of the Brutalist architectural décor and those funky costumes worn by Edwige Fenech and Paola Quattrini are more clearly legible. Black levels are even deeper on the UHD, while details discernible within the darkness stand out more fully. Grain levels can get a bit chunky at times, but (according to the commentary track) this is partially due to the Techniscope format.
Audio comes in English and Italian DTS-HD Master Audio mono. There are many differences large and small between the tracks, down to character names, but the Italian proves more literate overall. Both tracks do well by composer Bruno Nicolai’s swinging piano-driven score.
Extras
The commentary track by critic Guido Henkel does a commendable job of going into the film’s location shooting in Genoa and Rome, its themes and visual strategies, the careers of key cast and crew members, and more. In the first of three on-camera interviews, director Giuliano Carnimeo and writer Ernesto Gastaldi (but mostly Gastaldi) cover the former’s early career in westerns, working with producer Luciano Martino, Gastaldi’s ability to churn out scripts quickly, the idea that inspired The Case of the Bloody Iris, and how the film is more linear and realistic than those of Dario Argento. In the second, actor George Hilton discusses his move from Argentinian to Italian cinema, his friendship with Fenech, how he introduced her to future husband Luciano Martino, and his bewilderment at the film’s circular ending. And finally, Quattrini talks about her hesitation in shooting the bathtub prank, her love of Genoa, doing the body painting and subsequent nudity in the film, and how passersby mistook her death scene for the real thing. An image gallery, outtake reel, and several trailers are also included.
Overall
Giulian Carnimeo’s The Case of the Bloody Iris is a quintessential giallo, stylishly assembled, and with something to say about race and gender in the Italian society of the 1970s.
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