Provincial Purples: La Ville des Silences (Jean Marboeuf, 1979)

As it’s been Christmas, I recently watched On Her Majesty’s Secret Service and was once again struck by the gorgeous use of the colour purple throughout the film. Whether it’s in the Christmas presents at Blofeld’s Swiss mountaintop allergy clinic/lair, the deep purple patterned baroque wallpaper at the Hotel Casino exuding a regal elegance, or the carefully chosen costumes and lighting throughout, purple consistently emerges as a colour that just pops. Even the Lazenby-era title sequence incorporates this rich colour, giving the film an unmistakable visual identity that firmly establishes it as a departure from the Connery era.

I’ve always loved the use of the colour purple in production design, but it’s not often employed so boldly or dominantly. This made me think of another film that recently left a strong impression on me, one that also infuses its mise-en-scène with striking shades of purple and pink—Jean Marboeuf’s 1979 crime thriller, La Ville des Silences. 

Set in the fictional Creuzeville, a quiet provincial town ruled by an old industrial family, La Ville des Silences delves into the dark secrets lurking behind its seemingly tranquil facade. When a private investigator (Jean-Pierre Cassel) arrives to probe a series of murders, the town’s carefully guarded lies begin to unravel. With each killing—whether a young environmentalist or a cynical playboy—the detective ventures deeper into the lives of Creuzeville’s families, exposing long-buried scandals and unsettling truths.

The premise of La Ville des Silences feels firmly rooted in the tradition of French thrillers from the mid-20th century, particularly those that eschewed the bustling urban chaos of Paris in favour of provincial or rural settings. This aligns it with a certain strand of French cinema that explored the tension and claustrophobia of small-town life, where secrets and suppressed emotions often boil over into crime and violence. Directors like Claude Chabrol exemplified this approach, with films such as Le Boucher (1970) exploring how the idyllic façade of countryside life often harbours deep and unsettling secrets. 

While I've typically favoured the aesthetics of the French polars of the 1980s, with their neon-lit Parisian streets and visual excesses of the period, I've come to appreciate the more restrained and atmospheric approach of provincially set French thrillers, especially those that deploy colour into these environments in less bombastic ways than their overtly polar counterparts. Take for instance, the more subtle deployment of the colour red in Toutes peines confondues (Michel Deville, 1992) 

La Ville des Silences was lensed by Ken Legargeant, with production design by Robert Giordani, and the film features some rather nice compositions alongside the purple infused aesthetics. I’d be bold enough to say that one scene, featuring Jean-Pierre Cassel in a bright pink jumpsuit and matching hat in a playground, anticipates the films of Wes Anderson. The composition of this shot, coupled with the bold use of colour, called to mind the aesthetic of The Grand Budapest Hotel.

Below are a few images that illustrate the film's use of the colour purple...

If you like what I do here at Hypnotic Crescendos and want to show a bit of support, you can always drop me a few pennies for research materials via my PayPal here

Ambrosio: A Lost Italian Gothic Classic?

It’s no secret that I often extol the virtues of horror cinema (hence the very existence of this blog), but my appreciation for the genre occasionally extends beyond the silver screen. In fact, my fascination with horror in interactive mediums began at the tender age of 7 with The Beast Within: A Gabriel Knight Mystery in 1996. That game’s ability to intertwine Gothic and historical storytelling with immersive, story-rich gameplay left a lasting impression on me, demonstrating how video games can uniquely evoke terror. And speaking of terror, I can still vividly recall the moment I stumbled upon Von Zell gnawing on the meat off a human bone in some godforsaken cave. It’s a memory that still haunts me—almost as much as watching the trailer for Phantasmagoria, invoking nightmares of a moustached villain and a woman set on fire while strapped to a chair.

What’s so fascinating about horror games, though, is how deeply they’re informed by horror films and television, merging cinematic influences with the unique capabilities of interactive storytelling. Take, for instance, the influence of David Lynch’s work on the medium of horror video games. His surreal, nightmarish storytelling has inspired the likes of Silent Hill, where the game mirrors Lynch’s ability to merge the mundane with the bizarre, creating an atmosphere of creeping dread. Whereas Resident Evil draws on a range of influences, from George A. Romero’s zombie films to Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Similarly, the folk horror of films like The Wicker Man finds its echo in games such as Hob’s Barrow—an astounding title that became one of my recent favourite pieces of horror media of this decade. Hob's Barrow evokes a palpable sense of unease, leaning into the unique strengths of video games to transform the player from a passive observer into an active participant in the horror. The game’s mechanics place you in situations where, despite your growing sense of dread, you’re forced to move forward, making decisions that lead you into inescapable scenarios. It’s this sense of control—or rather, the lack of it—that enhances the feeling of helplessness so effective to the game's narrative. 

And since this blog is primarily dedicated to Italian horror, how could we not mention Clock Tower. Hifumi Kono's 1995 game draws clear inspiration from Dario Argento’s Phenomena, modelling its protagonist, Jennifer, on Jennifer Connelly’s character from the film while also incorporating several key elements of Argento’s signature style. Notably, both works feature a mysterious antagonist: Clock Tower’s Scissorman with his oversized shears, directly echoes the killer in Phenomena and their weapon of choice. These characters, combined with shared themes of vulnerability, isolation, and the dread of being relentlessly pursued, highlight how video games often pay homage to the great auteurs of horror cinema creating something that feels both familiar and new. Clock Tower doesn’t merely mimic Argento’s style but reimagines it within an interactive framework,

However, as much as I’d like to wax lyrical on horror games, the real focus of this blog post is to discuss another game that exemplifies the interconnectedness between film and video games in a much more metatextual way; one that uses cinema to explore the relationship between perceived reality and fiction, narrative and gameplay. That game is Sam Barlow’s 2022 interactive film Immortality. Through its unique structure and the exploration of lost films, Immortality invites players to engage with cinema not just as an art form, but as a tool to unravel a mystery that transcends the medium itself. Tasked with reviewing lost film footage, the player takes on the role of a detective of sorts, piecing together fragments of three forgotten films: Ambrosio (1968), Minsky (1970), and Two of Everything (1999). Unlike traditional video games, where players control a character within a narrative, Immortality shifts the focus to the player’s role as a voyeur of sorts, navigating through the footage as though they were watching it unfold in real time. By interacting with specific scenes, objects, and details within the film reels, one uncovers hidden moments, alternate takes, and behind-the-scenes footage, gradually unveiling a complex mystery that connects the films together with the mysterious life of actress Marissa Marcel. But be warned, Immortality is not a straightforward mystery...

Each of the films central to the game's mechanics exists as a homage to its respective time period and genre. Sam Barlow, the game’s director, has painstakingly recreated the filmmaking techniques, visual aesthetics, and production design characteristic of each era, imbuing the project with an undeniable sense of authenticity. From the soft, saturated tones and religious transgressions of Ambrosio, to the gritty, psychosexual tension of Minsky, and the postmodern dualities of Two of Everything, each film reflects its genre as well as the broader cinematic trends of its time, creating a rich, time-accurate experience.

Among the trio of films, Ambrosio captivated me the most, largely due to its connections to Gothic horror and Italian genre cinema. Set in Madrid during the Spanish Inquisition, the film is an Italian production that pays homage to M.G. Lewis’s Gothic novel The Monk, overflowing with religious transgressions, moral corruption, and repressed desires. For aficionados of Italian Gothic cinema, Ambrosio feels like a love letter to the genre, encapsulating the dark, sensuous atmosphere that defined 1960s and 1970s Italian horror. The film evokes the stylistic flourishes of directors like Mario Bava and Antonio Margheriti, largely due to its production design and practical effects underscoring its authenticity as a 1968 Gothic horror piece. Matte-painted backdrops lend the film a surreal, dreamlike quality, while practical effects—such as a flower transitioning from white to crimson red and scenes where lurid red paint stands in for blood—heighten its decadently ominous atmosphere. These elements pay tribute to the rich visual and thematic traditions of European Gothic cinema, faithfully recreating the aesthetic of the era.

The imagery in Ambrosio is crafted with a knowing nod to connoisseurs of such cinema. For instance, the use of back projection in a scene where the lead protagonist falls from a cliff evokes the look of films from the era that often relied on similar techniques, such as Alberto De Martino's The Antichrist. Though these effects may seem dated now, they were a hallmark of the period. Such moments capture the visual language of 1960s and 1970s European horror but also demonstrate an understanding of its technical and stylistic hallmarks which makes this such a rewarding play for fans of the genre, particularly when we peek behind the curtain at how this fictional film is made. 

Ambrosio will undoubtedly resonate with fans of Nunsploitation, a subgenre deeply rooted in Italy’s Gothic horror tradition. Its exploration of religious transgression, moral corruption, and repressed desires mirrors the provocative narratives and sensationalism of films like The Devils or Flavia the Heretic. One particularly striking moment in Ambrosio of Matilda sensuously sucking her finger clearly alludes to Walerian Borowczyk’s Behind Convent Walls, evoking the subgenre’s characteristic blend of eroticism and taboo.

I originally intended for this to be a short post, mainly to illustrate the visuals from Ambrosio, but as always, I couldn’t quite contain myself. There’s plenty to discuss in terms of the film’s themes and how they connect to the other films within the game, as well as the broader narrative. However, to delve into those would risk spoiling the experience for those who want to play, so I’ll hold my wheesht for now and leave you with some of my favourite visuals from Ambrosio. Hopefully, these will offer a glimpse of what I’ve been discussing regarding the fictional film’s influences! If you’re interested in playing Immortality, you can find it on Steam, GOG, and Xbox. Let me know your thoughts! 

Ambrosio (Arthur Fischer, 1968)

Blitzed with Dario Argento: Behind the Scenes of Phenomena

This article is the third instalment in a series documenting lesser-known projects and media related to Dario Argento over the years.

Over the years, Dario Argento has been a frequent guest on various television programs, particularly in his native Italy, where he has promoted his myriad of films and adjacent horror projects. In 1984, as he geared up for the production of his 1985 supernatural horror Phenomena, he graced the screens of Rai 2's variety television program, Blitz. Hosted by Carla Urban, this episode featured Argento in a series of engaging interviews, conducted across various locations, providing insights into his creative process and the making of Phenomena. I've always found interviews like these intriguing, so I've taken the opportunity to write down some noteworthy observations from the segment. My hope is that others will share in my interest and find these insights into Dario Argento's creative process equally fascinating.

The segment opens with a humorous nod to Dario Argento's signature style whilst playfully referencing the accusations of misogyny that had been levied against him by critics. In a scene reminiscent of his own horror films, Argento finds himself pursued through the empty tunnels of the Roman underground, the camera adopting the perspective of his stalker. The tension mounts as our protagonist is revealed to be a brunette woman in red high heels, a detail reminiscent of Argento's 1982 masterpiece, Tenebrae. 

As Argento breaks into a frantic run to evade his pursuer, he boards a bustling train, only to find himself cornered. The interview commences and Argento emerges from the station, arriving at the iconic Cinecittà studios. This is such a fun scene for Argentophiles and it’s always great to see the Roman underground with its distinctive orange signs—an aesthetic that had been effectively utilised in countless films including Carlo Vanzina's Mystere the previous year.

In the company of his first assistant director, Michele Soavi, Argento reviews audition tapes for their upcoming film, Phenomena. Reflecting on the audition process, Argento shares a personal insight into his upbringing, recalling his mother, the photographer Elda Luxardo. He reminisces about observing her artistic process and the individuals she photographed, which instilled in him a appreciation for facial symmetry and its significance in visual storytelling.

In a segment set at the zoo, Dario Argento delves into his fascination with insects, a theme that proves pivotal in his film Phenomena. Expressing his dismay, Argento notes society's skewed perception of insects, often unfairly labelling them as villains due to their tendency to bite or sting. He emphasises that insects' aggression stems primarily from self-defence rather than malice.

Argento's desire to challenge these misconceptions finds expression in Phenomena, where protagonist Jennifer Corvino develops a unique bond with insects, despite other’s clear aversion towards them. This unconventional portrayal of the insect world culminates in the film's ending where the insects ultimately become Jennifer's saviours.

Argento discusses the murder weapon featured in the film's initial set-piece, which prominently stars his daughter, Fiore Argento. With a hands-on approach, he unveils a prototype of the weapon—a pair of oversized fabric scissors with retractable blades, ingeniously designed to simulate the illusion of piercing flesh. Argento demonstrates the macabre effect on himself and the host, Carla Urban, highlighting his penchant for incorporating intricate and visually striking effects into his films.

In this segment, we see Michele Soavi wearing a chimpanzee mask, giving us a fun peek into the creative process happening behind the scenes. The monkey mask suggests that Soavi might be experimenting with effects or brainstorming ideas for the character of Inga, the chimpanzee, in Phenomena. Such behind-the-scenes moments are always nice to see, showing the imaginative process of filmmaking.

In the office space of Argento, the director films a trio of young female musicians. Transitioning from the creative process, Argento briefly discusses the evolving landscape of technology within cinema. He reflects on the profound impact of New American Cinema and its ripple effect on filmmaking approaches worldwide. Argento highlights the transformative nature of technological advancements, and the way they have enabled filmmakers to achieve visual feats once deemed impossible. He contrasts this with the limitations imposed by inferior technology in the past, citing certain films from the fifties and sixties, such as one possibly named Turbo, as examples of visual shortcomings. However, I'm unable to locate a film fitting that name. If there's any additional detail you can provide or if you'd like clarification, let me know. 

In the presence of Daria Nicolodi and a playful kitten, Argento reflects on the multifaceted nature of love, contrasting its ancient roots with its portrayal as mere entertainment in modern times. He muses on how contemporary society is inundated with distractions and other forms of entertainment, diluting the intensity once associated with love. Argento critiques the prevalent sentimentalism perpetuated by traditional entertainment models, suggesting a desensitisation to the concept of love in fictional narratives. 

Observing their conversation, one can't help but notice the nuances of their body language, particularly against the backdrop of the deteriorating relationship between Argento and Nicolodi. It's especially poignant when Nicolodi says she is unable to convince Argento to spend more time with her amidst his contemplations on love. This interaction offers a glimpse into the complexities of their dynamic during this period and the evolving perceptions of love within their personal lives.

The final segment unfolds within a forest setting, where Argento and his team record ambient sounds, focusing on the subtle nuances of disturbed flora. In Phenomena, sound design is of great importance, conveying the chilling atmosphere of the Swiss countryside. Witnessing Argento's quest for authentic sounds reflects his dedication to creating an immersive soundscape that mirrors the film's cold and mysterious nature.

The segment culminates with Argento's palpable apprehension, as he describes the fear he experiences before embarking on the daunting task of filming. His anxious gaze towards the horizon hinting towards the challenges ahead. The scene fades out, leaving viewers with the image of a caged orangutang in the confines of a zoo, hinting at the importance a primate will play in the film. 

This article is a culmination of a trio of pieces I've written this week on some more obscure Argento media and projects. If you'd like to see more, leave a comment or send me an email/DM on Instagram/X. Thanks for reading! 

Images:

Sources: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5XXTFvvvm0M

If you like what I do here at Hypnotic Crescendos and want to show a bit of support, you can always drop me a few pennies for research materials via my PayPal here

Lost Appetite: The Dario Argento Horror Restaurant That Never Was

This article is the second instalment in a series documenting lesser-known projects and media related to Dario Argento over the years.

Deep Red Velvet Cake… Tenebraised beef… Four Flies on Grey Velouté…

If you're wondering why I'm indulging in terrible food-related Dario Argento puns, fear not! They're all tied to today's blog post, which delves into another intriguing but unrealised vision from Dario Argento. Following our previous exploration of his shelved project to creatively direct the 1987 edition of the Sanremo Music Festival, let's now uncover another surprising venture that sadly never saw the light of day...

According to an article in the May 30th 1998 edition of the La Repubblica newspaper, Dario Argento had plans to open a horror themed restaurant with particular focus on his own films. Adopting the Hard Rock Cafe and Planet Hollywood model, Argento’s restaurant would contain film memorabilia and horror decor relating to his extensive horror filmography. 

The restaurant concept was conceived by Argento and his friend, Umberto Ferri. Ferri brought valuable expertise to the table, having spearheaded the successful Transilvania Horror Rock Kafe chain—a Gothic horror-themed pub series that originated in Misano Adriatico, Rimini, in 1997. From its roots, this concept spread its eerie charm across Italy and beyond, establishing venues in Germany, the UK, and the USA by the late 1990s.

The Transilvania Horror Rock Kafe fully embraced its macabre theme through Gothic furnishings and adornments. Its standout design element was the use of coffins transformed into tables, unveiling ghoulish skeletons within. Complementing this eerie setting were other chilling details, including skull-shaped beer tap handles, Gothic candelabras, and an abundance of bats and bones. Not surprisingly, these venues became a reflection of the alternative culture of the time, placing a strong emphasis on rock and heavy metal. The transition to more music-based entertainment under the banner of Transilvania Live incorporated live performances from acclaimed acts like Cradle of Filth. This evolution solidified the venues as alternative gathering places that blended horror aesthetics with a rock and metal musical experience. 

Dario Argento's involvement with the Transilvania Horror Rock Kafe commenced when Umberto Ferri sought the esteemed horror director's guidance in selecting the decor for the new Fiumicino location. Ferri, desiring an atmosphere that would authentically mirror the unsettling essence of Argento's own cinematic creations, welcomed his friend into an advisory capacity, to which Argento acquiesced, offering guidance on various design elements. Argento emphasised the importance of creating a Gothic horror ambiance devoid of gratuitous exaggerations. In the director’s eyes, the outcome was truly extraordinary.

The grand opening of the venue became a gathering of horror enthusiasts, with Argento himself gracing the occasion alongside peers like the brothers Franco and Sergio Citti, distinguished figures in the film industry and longtime friends of Argento. As they mingled and reminisced, indulging in slices of the venue's aptly named Exorcist Pizza, they were joined by an unexpected guest: Pucci, a two-metre python who had become the beloved mascot of the establishment.

Impressed with the final result of the Fiumicino venue, Argento expressed to La Repubblica his ambitious plans to transcend the horror themed pub by unveiling Italy's inaugural horror-themed restaurant. Set to debut in December of that year (1998), the establishment would be located in the historic centre of Rome. While details regarding the interior design remained somewhat elusive, Argento hinted at drawing inspiration from his seminal works to create an atmosphere brimming with his distinctive style. As for the culinary offerings, specifics were still pending, yet it was clear that they would complement the venue's horror curated ambiance.

Despite Dario Argento's intentions, the envisioned Argento/horror-themed restaurant never came to fruition. Further details about this proposed venture have remained elusive, but one can speculate that the costs associated with launching a restaurant, along with the demands of his other creative endeavours, may have ultimately led to the abandonment of these grand plans.

However, It’s fun to imagine such a space existing. Envision stepping into a venue draped in sumptuous red velvet curtains, where black-gloved waiters welcome you into a dimly lit space adorned with candelabras. As you're escorted to your table, ornate mirrors strategically reflect your image akin to the pivotal revelation in Deep Red. The vibrant stained glass skylight, reminiscent of Suspiria, bathes the room in an ethereal glow directly above your table. Here, menus fashioned after the iconic Three Mothers and Tenebrae books await your perusal, while knives cleverly double as straight-edged razors, perfectly setting the stage for a dining experience steeped in the macabre world of Dario Argento. Meanwhile, Pupazzo mechanically crosses the room against a backdrop of Escher-inspired wallpaper, precisely on the hour—a detail straight from my experiences in Frankensteins in Edinburgh during my teenage years. 

In reality, it was far more likely to resemble either the prop-filled basement museum from Profondo Rosso or a simpler setup with film posters and occasional props. Yet, one can't help but dream of the perfect themed restaurant for an Argento fan, where I could sip an Inferno Margarita (a spicy margarita naturally) and a Suspiria Spritz before indulging in Tenebraised beef. However, all hope isn't lost—Argento fans can still visit Cambiare, the Suspiria-themed bar in Tokyo, to whet their appetite for an Argento-themed experience. That is, of course, until the day I win the lottery and bring my own plans to life!

Sources: 

https://ricerca.repubblica.it/repubblica/archivio/repubblica/1998/05/30/dario-argento-faro-un-horror-restaurant.html

If you like what I do here at Hypnotic Crescendos and want to show a bit of support, you can always drop me a few pennies for research materials via my PayPal here

Unfulfilled Symphony: Dario Argento’s Lost Terror at Sanremo

This article is the first instalment in a series documenting lesser-known projects and media related to Dario Argento over the years.

Occasionally during my research for an upcoming piece, I stumble upon intriguing tidbits from newspaper articles that unexpectedly become the foundation for a new article on something somewhat different. This time, as I was reworking my piece on Dario Argento's direction for the Trussardi Action fashion show in 1986 for an upcoming magazine article, it coincided with the week-long event of the Sanremo Music Festival—a televisual tradition in our household, thanks to my husband's love for Italian chart music. Little did I know that these two seemingly unrelated events were connected. 

You might also be curious about the connection between these events. Amidst Argento's unconventional projects in the 1980s, which included a Fiat car advertisement, a fashion show for Trussardi, and an ambitious but unsuccessful attempt at directing a bloodthirsty version of Verdi’s opera Rigoletto, he ventured into creative direction for one of Italy's most beloved television events: the 37th edition of the Sanremo Music Festival in 1987.

Established in 1948 in Viareggio as the Italian Song Festival (Festival della Canzone Italiana) before being retooled and relocating to Sanremo in 1951, Sanremo (Festival di Sanremo) stands as a cornerstone of Italian cultural heritage, renowned for its grandeur and prestige. It holds the distinction of being the progenitor of the Eurovision Song Contest, which as my fellow Europeans can attest to, is a huge event across the continent which often serves as the perfect excuse for a party. 

Yet, to truly grasp the essence of Sanremo, one must understand its significance within Italy itself. Eurovision, while significant, occupies a secondary position in the hearts of Italians, yielding to the cultural stature of Sanremo. Winning here offers the option to forgo Eurovision representation, with victory in Sanremo seen as the ultimate prize. Moreover, triumph at Sanremo — or even participation within it — guarantees not only acclaim but also ensures a trajectory of chart-topping success and unparalleled publicity, making it a significant boost for its performers. 

For its broadcaster, Rai, Sanremo boasts staggering viewing figures in the present day. The final in 2024 drew a peak of 17 million viewers, capturing a remarkable 70.8% of all television watchers! Its enduring popularity across generations stands as a testament to its broad appeal.

The contest has been graced by a myriad of Italian television royalty, ranging from the current host, Amadeus, to Paolo Bonolis and Carlo Conti, and even cultural icon Raffaella Carrà. Guest hosts have included Sylvia Koscina, Anna Falchi, and giallo scream queen Edwige Fenech in 1991 (alongside A Blade in the Dark and The New York Ripper actor, Andrea Occhipinti). However, perhaps the most celebrated host of the contest was the Italian television presenter Pippo Baudo, who holds the record for hosting the contest 13 times.

Andrea Occhipinti & Edwige Fenech at Sanremo in 1991

It was Pippo Baudo, slated to host the 1987 edition of the contest, who approached Dario Argento to inject new life and a modern edge into Sanremo. The news that Argento was in contention to helm the creative direction for the song contest was met with amazement, as it represented a bold departure from the more conventional approaches typically taken when it came to orchestrating the event. 

In a 1986 interview with Adele Gallotti for La Stampa in 1986, Argento discussed the project but remained coy, suggesting that divulging his plans would detract from the excitement surrounding his concept for the competition. However, Argento emphasised his appreciation for music, particularly its ability to evoke emotions in his audience, as demonstrated throughout his cinematic career. Utilising impressive soundscapes to instil terror, Argento asserted that his films were not only cinematic triumphs but also musical ones, underscoring his suitability to creatively direct a music show.

During this phase of Argento's career, he ventured into various creative endeavours. In an interview with the L’unita newspaper regarding his creative direction of Sanremo, he reflected on this aspect, stating:

“The fact is that I like to change, do new things. I did a fashion show in Milan, with Trussardi. I liked it very much. I change a lot. I change places, people, houses.”

Argento highlighted his staging of the Trussardi Action fashion show as evidence of his ability to direct live performances. In this show, he meticulously attended to aesthetic details to create visual drama while also incorporating techniques to evoke fear in the live audience, such as simulating weather effects. These techniques may have been replicated in some form at Sanremo, or through other stage theatrics designed to generate tension. For Argento, the fusion of music and visuals with a live audience was paramount, creating a synergy that intensified the overall impact of the experience—a thrilling sensation he and Baudo believed was lacking in the competition's staging.

Traditionally, Sanremo performances adhered to a rather conventional format, wherein singers would take the stage to present their songs against a backdrop and staging that remained uniform throughout the event. This aspect of Sanremo drew criticism from Argento, as for the director, it was imperative that he worked with each singer to ensure that each individual performance would have its own unique feel as each performer had their own world to share with the audience. Again, this would have marked a significant creative divergence from what audiences had grown accustomed to in the competition.

Discussing audience expectations, Argento stated that, as Sanremo was a competition, he wanted to give back to the public the emotion of a race or a football game, stimulating a neurotic excitement within them in anticipation of the results. Argento also made the bold claim that he aimed to keep the audience in suspense throughout the four-hour duration of the competition. Whether he referred to a single show or the entire week remains uncertain, but sustaining suspense for a full week of four-hour shows would indeed have been some feat! 

However, the project failed to come to fruition. According to Argento scholar Alan Jones, in an article on Opera for Cinefantastique magazine, Argento opted to forego the undertaking of Sanremo in favour of the aforementioned Fiat advertisement. This advertisement marked his debut in the medium and offered him an opportunity to experiment with new filming techniques, essentially serving as a dress rehearsal for Opera without the added expense. Consequently, an Argento-directed version of Sanremo never materialised. 

With the project failing to ever get off the ground, we're left with little insight into what Argento's vision for Sanremo might have entailed. However, it's fun to envision the maestro of horror infusing the unsuspecting Sanremo audience with his trademark blend of operatic grandeur and macabre extravagance, potentially transforming it into a stage of terror and suspense. 

The La Stampa article contains some other interesting snippets, some of which I may revisit in future blog posts. However, one particular question stood out to me. Gallotti asked the director about Opera, Argento’s upcoming production at the time, and whether he was concerned about filming an adaptation of Macbeth, given the play's reputation as a harbinger of misfortune. Argento’s response? That such notions were likely mere coincidences. However, with hindsight, we know that Argento’s production was plagued by problems both professional and personal, suggesting that his dismissive attitude towards the Macbeth curse might have been overly optimistic.

Regardless, Opera would come to symbolise a pivotal period in Argento’s career, reflecting his experience exploring further artistic endeavours in the mid-1980s. The unrealised direction of Sanremo serves as a notable example of these ventures. Though never materialised, it held the promise of blending his cinematic expertise with the world of music in a way that could have been groundbreaking.

Sources:

https://archive.org/details/stampa-sera_1986-10-25

https://archive.org/details/unita_1986-10-23

If you like what I do here at Hypnotic Crescendos and want to show a bit of support, you can always drop me a few pennies for research materials via my PayPal here