Purportedly set in the futuristic year of 1997, Tenebrae (Argento, 1982) unfolds in an alternative version of Rome, decades after a cataclysmic event has drastically reduced the population. Dario Argento has stated that this reimagined cityscape is a place where the memory of the disaster is suppressed, and its lingering impact is reflected only in the desolation of the urban environment. The city appears almost unrecognisable, with traditional Roman architecture decimated and replaced by stark, Brutalist concrete structures. These imposing, utilitarian buildings reflect a society seemingly designed to withstand future catastrophes, their cold, angular forms exuding an air of both resilience and isolation.
In Tenebrae, Rome is futuristic yet oppressive—a place where the scars of its past are buried, and its inhabitants seem reluctant to acknowledge the trauma that has reshaped their world. The city feels unnervingly empty, and the locations used throughout the film, from the desolate streets to the brutalist interiors, are almost devoid of humanity. The starkness of these settings enhances the film’s tension, reflecting a sense of unease that permeates throughout Tenebrae. The absence of life, combined with the sterile, unwelcoming architecture, imbues the film with a cold, clinical atmosphere, heightening the sense of dystopia and foreboding. The locations in Tenebrae aren’t merely scenic backdrops, rather, they are integral to the film’s exploration of alienation and violence, amplifying the oppressive atmosphere of Argento’s post-apocalyptic vision.
One location crucial to the film's distinctive use of architecture is the villa of Cristiano Berti. Berti (John Steiner), a television host and critic, is introduced during a pre-interview run-through with Peter Neal (Anthony Franciosa), where he enthusiastically praises Neal’s latest novel, Tenebrae. "Now, Tenebrae is about human perversion and its effects on society! And I'd like to know how you see the effects of deviant behaviour on our lives!" Berti’s interpretation of Neal’s book, particularly his claim that the killer in the novel is driven by a desire to eliminate corruption, raises questions about his character’s moral outlook. Neal challenges Berti's view, especially when Berti seems to equate aberrant behaviour with homosexuality and sexual promiscuity, suggesting a disconcerting understanding of both the novel and societal norms. Later, Maria (Lara Wendel), the daughter of Neal’s landlord in Rome, falls victim to Berti—the real killer, enacting murders inspired by Neal’s book. Maria’s death serves as a punishment for her transgression of breaking into his villa and "spying" after she unwittingly discovers evidence of his crimes.
Maria’s ill-fated arrival at the villa is the result of a string of misfortunes, set in motion after an argument with a love interest (Michele Soavi). After dismounting from his motorcycle and furiously telling him to “go fuck himself,” she provokes a barking doberman with a stick. The dog promptly escapes over a fence and chases her, forcing her into a desperate run that culminates in her scaling another fence and landing within the grounds of Berti’s villa.
There’s something both alluring and ominous about the estate she finds herself in. The grounds contain a large, inviting swimming pool surrounded by stark white cubic structures, while the villa itself is draped in greenery, punctuated by bursts of pink flowers. Seeking refuge, Maria searches for an entrance, but the dog reappears, attacking her and driving her toward a modest door. She stumbles inside, unknowingly entering the basement—a confined space hiding the aforementioned unspeakable horrors.
Ascending a staircase in the basement, Maria emerges into a vast modernist living area, its open-plan design accentuated by Argento’s use of cool-toned lighting. The shadows cast by the geometric architecture heighten the sense of unease, while floor-to-ceiling glass windows and open walls create a disorienting contrast between enclosure and exposure. The space is striking yet sterile featuring built-in white seating adorned with yellow and black patterned cushions, clusters of lush greenery, and scattered tables topped with books, magazines, and decorative elements. The space exudes a futuristic, almost dreamlike quality, combining luxury with a sense of isolation and unease.
Argento’s camera captures this moment from an overhead vantage point, reinforcing a voyeuristic, almost omniscient perspective. Maria appears small and vulnerable, dwarfed by the vast, meticulously designed interior. The shot emphasises the imposing nature of the villa but also underscores Maria’s helplessness, foreshadowing the terror yet to unfold. Despite her attempt to escape through the sliding doors, slamming them on Berti's hand, he ultimately kills her in the villa's ground.
The villa is revisited multiple times throughout the film. The first return occurs when Berti and his assistant, Gianni (Christian Borromeo), arrive at the house late one evening. Through the sliding glass door, Gianni catches sight of Berti in the living room, before a mysterious assailant strikes him in the head with an axe.
The villa appears again in a starkly different context when Neal joins Inspector Germani (Giuliano Gemma) at the crime scene during the day. In the daylight, the space takes on a strangely serene quality, its modernist elegance momentarily masking the horror that unfolded within the night before. This contrast speaks to the irony of the film’s title, Tenebre—meaning "darkness"—when so much of its visual identity is defined by stark white lighting, minimalist interiors, and an almost clinical brightness. Rather than shrouding its violence entirely in shadow and darkness, Argento frequently exposes it under an unforgiving, hyper-illuminated aesthetic, subverting the typical use of darkness in horror and intensifying the film’s unsettling atmosphere.
Later, as Gianni returns to the scene of the crime, a flashback to Berti’s murder occurs. In that moment, Gianni pieces together a disturbing realisation, just before his death, Berti had confessed, "It was me, I killed them all!”. But who killed Berti?
Whilst Argento’s filmography is filled with cinematic spaces that evoke beauty and terror in equal measure, there is something uniquely disorienting and otherworldly about the architecture of Berti’s villa that makes it resonate with fans of the Italian horror director. Its striking design, with its interplay of open spaces, sharp angles, and unexpected perspectives, creates an eerie and unsettling atmosphere that sets it apart within Argento’s body of work.
Speaking about the villa, Argento remarked:
“I needed a strange villa and I already knew this one. It was the villa of Sandro Petti, a famous architect of the time, who lived there. The scenes set there were all actually filmed in the villa, even those were Wendel finds the photographs; or when you see her leaving from the little door, going down a corridor (which we lowered to accentuate the feeling of claustrophobia) and taking a door that leads to the living room: the whole villa was above all this large living room, with paintings by Mimmo Rotella.” (Argento, quoted in D’Avino & Rumori, 2014, p. 164).
Argento’s choice of location was no coincidence—the villa’s unconventional design enhances the film’s psychological tension, reinforcing the film’s themes of voyeurism, entrapment, and distorted perception.
It also feels fitting that such a striking space was designed by an architect whose work was deeply attuned to the relationship between form, function, and the way people interact with their surroundings.
Sandro Petti, born in Rome in 1927, was an architect, designer, and painter whose work ranged from interiors to nightlife venues. Though originally from Rome, he spent much of his life on the island of Ischia, where he made a lasting impact on its architecture and social scene.
From the 1960s onward, Petti played a key role in shaping Ischia’s cultural landscape, designing notable villas and establishing popular nightclubs like Castillo de Aragona and 'O Rangio Fellone, which attracted well-known figures such as Mina and Lucio Battisti. His work wasn’t limited to Italy, one of his most ambitious projects was designing a fifteen-hectare artificial peninsula in Qatar in the early 1980s for Emir Khalifa Al Thani.
Influenced by his time in Ischia, Petti recognised the importance of outdoor spaces in enriching daily life. He designed landscapes that consisted of gardens, patios, and swimming pools, creating environments that brought tranquility, natural beauty, and functionality. This approach enhanced how people lived and experienced their homes. Petti’s villa in Rome embodies this design philosophy, with the grounds complementing the interior, establishing a synergy between the two spaces. This connection between interior and exterior is mirrored in Tenebrae, where the characters of Berti and Maria move fluidly between the villa’s basement, main living area, patio, and poolside grounds.
As a product designer, Petti incorporated many of his own creations into the villa’s interior, reinforcing a synergy between architecture and décor. As both the architect of the villa and the designer of its furnishings, he ensured that various design elements complemented one another, creating a cohesive aesthetic. Across the films on this list, his distinctive style is evident in the prevalence of materials such as chrome, mirrored surfaces, glass, lucite, and brass, which feature prominently in objects such as lamps and tables. One of Petti’s most striking designs—though absent from Tenebrae—is the acrylic glass obelisk table lamp he created for Maison Jansen, a piece that appears in several other films on this list.
Though conceived in the 1970s, many of Petti’s designs exude a distinctly 1980s aesthetic, showcasing his forward-thinking approach. His work not only anticipated the sleek, high-gloss futurism of the decade but also possessed an almost futuristic quality, making it a natural fit for Tenebrae as well as films like Warriors of the Year 2072.
Petti passed away in 2022 at the age of 95, and in the years leading up to or following his death, the villa, located on Viale Peru in Le Rughe, Formello appears to have been abandoned, as evidenced by various photos and urban exploration videos depicting it as a mere shell of its former glory. While its condition may have changed since, its current state stands in sad contrast to the imposing presence it once had. It’s hard not to lament the inevitable decline of a building that was once a striking example of architectural innovation, reflecting the aesthetic and cultural values of its era.
While Tenebrae is the primary focus of this article—and undoubtedly my favourite example of Petti’s villa on film—it is by no means the villa's only appearance on screen. Its memorable design has, perhaps unsurprisingly, appeared in a variety of Italian productions, spanning genres from science fiction and noir to adult cinema. In this rather comprehensive exploration, I’ll detail these films, examining the villa's role in each, providing descriptions of the films (some of which are lesser-known), and sharing some hopefully intriguing tidbits along the way.
I hope this piece provides insight but also stands as a testament to my admiration for Petti’s design, Tenebrae, and Italian cinema—a love letter over 10,000 words long (you might want to read it in sections!). Although Petti is no longer with us, I intend for this to be a celebration of his vision, demonstrating the powerful ways in which architecture and design shape the cinematic experience.
Acqua e sapone (Carlo Verdone, 1983)
In this light-hearted comedy, Carlo Verdone stars as Rolando Ferrazza, a well-educated literature graduate who, unable to get a job in his chosen profession, works as a janitor at a convent in Rome. When a misunderstanding leads to him being mistaken for a renowned theologian, Rolando unexpectedly finds himself thrust into the role of tutor for Sandy (Natasha Hovey), a famous teenage supermodel who frequently jets across the country for high-profile photo shoots and modelling gigs. Disguised as the theologian, he quickly wins over the girl’s overbearing mother (Florinda Bolkan) but is soon exposed by Sandy herself. Amidst comical misunderstandings, awkward romantic entanglements, and the disapproving presence of her mother-manager, Rolando must navigate a world of high fashion and fragile facades.
Much of Acqua e sapone unfolds within the luxurious villa of Sandy and her family—a strikingly modern residence that epitomises the fashion-conscious, affluent world of the 1980s. The villa’s sleek interiors, characterised by chrome accents, mirrored surfaces, geometric grid patterns, and lush indoor vegetation, create a visual contrast to Verdone’s everyman character and his more modest home life.
Unlike many of the other films on this list, where the villa appears only briefly, Acqua e sapone utilises the space for much of the film, offering angles and perspectives rarely seen elsewhere. For instance, the dining area, which is a lush, plant-filled space featuring a distinctive elongated hexagonal mirrored dining table, surrounded by chrome-legged chairs with a grid-like design that echoes the villa’s overall aesthetic. Additional details, such as the artwork, some of which is Petti's, others Mimmo Rotella's, and decorative pieces—including a small horse ornament—show some of the other decoration on display throughout the villa.
The film is also one of only a handful on this list to explore the villa’s upstairs, specifically the main bedroom. The master bedroom is dominated by a white lacquered bed with an integrated headboard that extends to the ceiling, where a somewhat provocative rounded mirror is positioned above it. The room’s architectural features, including a large window rounded at one end and a circular column beside the bed, reinforce the villa’s bold design language. The scene the bedroom features in, transitions to one of Bolkan’s character gazing out over the villa’s grounds from what one might assume is a window in the same room. However, it is actually a different area of the villa, as we will explore later. In this shot, the villa’s distinctive exterior, with its steeply pitched gable roof, is visible—an architectural feature that makes the residence instantly recognisable.
Like Tenebrae and many other examples on this list, the villa in Acqua e sapone is unmistakably the residence of a wealthy individual. However, in this film, the villa does more than signify affluence, it serves as a visual metaphor for the tension between ambition and authenticity, reinforcing the film’s exploration of pretence and social aspiration.
Warriors of the Year 2072 (Lucio Fulci, 1984)
Warriors of the Year 2072 envisions a dystopian future ruled by television networks, where brutal gladiatorial combat serves as the ultimate form of entertainment. To boost ratings, rival networks stage increasingly violent spectacles, including a deadly motorcycle tournament held in a futuristic Colosseum, where death row inmates battle for survival and the chance to win their freedom. The reigning champion, Drake (Jared Martin), is forced into the competition after being falsely accused of murdering his wife, Susan (Valeria Cavalli)—a crime secretly orchestrated by the network’s AI, Junior.
Fulci’s foray into post-apocalyptic cinema is set in the year 2072, making futuristic locations essential for creating a vision of Rome more than a century into the future. The film’s setting needed to feel both advanced and recognisable, striking a balance between an evolved metropolis and the eternal city’s historic core.
To achieve this, Rome is reimagined and modernised through the model work of Joseph Nathanson and Alvaro Passeri, who populate the skyline with towering skyscrapers—including one resembling London’s Shard— and a modern Ziggurat. Videos projected onto buildings in a Blade Runner-esque fashion enhance the futuristic aesthetic, while iconic landmarks like the Colosseum and the Spanish Steps anchor the city in reality, serving as enduring reminders of its historical legacy.
The home of newlyweds Drake and Susan plays a crucial role in establishing the film’s futuristic aesthetic. The villa’s sharp, angular design and extensive use of glass and chrome create a sleek, forward-looking look—an approach that also defined Dario Argento’s vision of a post-apocalyptic Rome in Tenebrae. This is a house that embodies the future, detached and alienated from traditional Roman architecture, stripped of ornamentation yet more idiosyncratic than the minimalism of modernism.
Unlike other examples in this post, we see only the villa’s main open-plan living space. Yet, as with every film discussed, virtually nothing has been altered in terms of decoration or furnishings. The only notable additions are an assortment of flowers and a mounted futuristic gun on a plinth. What makes the space so compelling is that, despite being designed, presumably, in the late 1970s or early 1980s, it exudes a futuristic aesthetic without any modifications. It’s difficult to find a comparable setting in Italian cinema, which is precisely why it lends itself so well to future-set films like Tenebrae and Warriors of the Year 2072—even though Tenebrae is far more subtle in its approach to depicting a near-future world.
Throughout this rather extensive post, we’ll explore several films that use the villa as a setting. However, outside of Argento’s contribution, few directors employ it with the same level of effectiveness and style as Fulci. This speaks, in part, to the essence of science fiction cinema—where the spectacle of laser beams and the sleekness of futuristic design take centre stage—but it’s also a testament to Fulci’s ingenuity as a filmmaker.
One interesting decision Fulci makes is to relay the murder scene later on in the film through a television screen, which Susan appears to slide down, leaving a bloodied trail in her wake. In addition, we see a point-of-view shot of Drake rushing toward the villa, the glass of the broken doorway shattering in front of us as his hand reaches for the gun. It’s a great technique that conveys the film’s preoccupation with the power of television imagery and our perception of what is truly real.
Fulci infuses the pivotal murder scene at the villa with the unmistakable flair of a horror director. The ominous flickering of lights before Susan is confronted by her assailants, their presence revealed through distorted reflections through mirrored surfaces, creates a suffocating sense of inevitability at what’s about to follow. The tension escalates as her desperate pleas for help are bathed in stark red light (evoking The New York Ripper), cutting to Drake arriving just seconds too late—his horror cemented as her bloodied corpse slides down the window. It’s a masterclass in suspense and brutality and one reflective of the visceral intensity of Fulci’s oeuvre.
While Tenebrae is the only true horror film on our list, Fulci’s brief use of horror imagery is arguably just as effective, particularly in his striking interplay of light and shadow. The way he manipulates darkness as an extension of the film’s mounting dread demonstrates his ability to infuse his film with different genre elements, in this case the signifiers of horror cinema, making the villa setting feel as much a stage for terror as it is for spectacle.
Serie Noire: Neige a Capri (Gianluigi Calderone, 1984)
Série Noire was a television series created by Pierre Grimblat, based on La Série Noire, a collection of crime novels founded by Marcel Duhamel in 1945 at Éditions Gallimard. Inspired by gritty crime fiction, the collection aimed to portray a darker, more realistic view of the criminal world, featuring corrupt police officers, morally complex characters, and a focus on action, violence, and anguish. The series introduced French readers to renowned American authors like Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett, and Jim Thompson, while also fostering French writers such as Serge Arcouët and Albert Simonin. Over the years, the collection evolved, embracing neo-polar writers in the 1970s and responding to new trends and criticisms, but it has remained a cornerstone of French crime literature.
Série Noire, the television series, was a collaborative effort between France, Hungary, Italy, Luxembourg, and Switzerland, featuring 90-minute anthology films inspired by the gritty, noir atmosphere of its literary namesake. Each episode presenting its own distinct crime story. A total of 36 films were produced between 1984 and 1991, many of which were directed by and starred well known names in European cinema.
The eighth entry in the series, Neige à Capri, was directed by Gianluigi Calderone and based on Paul Paoli’s 1960 novel of the same name. Predominantly set at a luxurious villa, purportedly in Capri—coincidentally the very villa this blog post focuses on—the tranquil setting is soon shattered when a drug hijacking triggers a deadly chain of events, culminating in the murder of 76-year-old Dante Corbino (Massimo Serato), an elderly man living with his much younger wife, Clarissa (Philippine Leroy-Beaulieu). As the chaos ensues, Corbino’s death, discovered rather gruesomely with a knife in his eye, raises suspicion among several individuals. Clarissa, the grieving widow, becomes a key figure, though her involvement remains unclear. But there are others under suspicion, including Magris (Luciano Virgilio), the trusted confidant; Lisa (Kara Donati), the former mistress turned secretary; and Jacques (Lorenzo Piani), Clarissa's ex-friend. As the investigation unfolds, it becomes clear that many hidden motives and secrets are at play, and everyone connected to Corbino may have had something to gain.
In Neige à Capri, the villa serves as the home of Clarissa and Corbino, with much of the story unfolding within its walls. Calderone relocates the villa’s real-life location from Rome to the island of Capri, a fitting choice given its proximity to Naples and its ties to the drug trade—an idea reinforced by the title itself, Neige à Capri (Snow in Capri), a reference to cocaine.
The villa’s sun-drenched exterior, with its shimmering swimming pool, white garden furniture, and outdoor dining area, evokes the leisurely yet decadent atmosphere of a high-end Capri home. The villa appears to be situated high above the island, lending it an air of exclusivity and seclusion. As we’ve seen in other examples of the vila on film, the architecture utilises the outdoor environment, with large terraces and open spaces that encourage a transition between interior and exterior living—something that feels inherently Mediterranean.
This entry in our list is notable because it reveals architectural elements of the villa that remain hidden in many other films. For instance, we see characters exiting through mirrored panels in the living room, which unexpectedly function as doors leading to another section of the villa. Staircases descend from the main level into lower parts of the structure, including the basement—famously featured in Tenebrae—but also present here, alongside areas of the grounds not seen elsewhere. Even the distinctive sloping roof becomes part of the setting, as a character scales it, showcasing yet another aspect of the villa’s design.
Perhaps most intriguing is the appearance of an additional bedroom, absent from any other film on this list. A distinctive window within this room, which a character climbs out of, suggests that it is the same window Florinda Bolkan’s character looks out from in Acqua e Sapone, shown through an exterior shot. This window can be seen in various exterior shots across multiple films on this list.
But one of the most striking features of the bedroom is a perspex seat embedded into the floor, serving as a window into the living space below. This unusual and voyeuristic element allows the police inspector to peer down, observing Clarissa and Lisa below in quiet contemplation, or perhaps reflecting on their complicity in the crime.
This kind of detail underscores the villa’s interconnectedness, where spaces transition unexpectedly yet harmoniously through staircases, unconventional windows, and concealed openings. The architectural design fosters a sense of spatial continuity, creating multiple vantage points. Its open-plan structure allows natural light to flow between levels, emphasising the villa’s design while enhancing the interplay of interior and exterior spaces. The repetition of staircases, terraces, and hidden passageways adds to the sense of movement, giving the villa an almost labyrinthine quality that makes it a uniquely dynamic setting perfect for cinema.
The production designer for Neige à Capri, Davide Bassan, the son of the acclaimed Giuseppe Bassan (Suspiria, Tenebrae), likely had a hand in selecting the villa as a filming location, given his father’s previous work there on Tenebrae. Since much of the film is set within the villa, its interiors, and exteriors are featured more prominently than in many of the other films on this list. As expected, we are treated to numerous shots of the open-plan living space, where key scenes unfold against the backdrop of its distinctive design elements. The black lacquer-edged snooker table, imposing white stone classical statues, geometric grid screens, expansive windows, and the instantly recognisable built-in cream sofa—this time notably stripped of its usual cushions—all contribute to the villa’s unique cinematic presence.
I’d argue that Neige à Capri is perhaps the most comprehensive film on this list in capturing the villa’s overall design, showcasing many of its rooms and architectural features—though not in their entirety. It’s also arguably the most obscure, or under seen, film here—except for the ones in our final section. The reasons for this will become clear shortly.
Joan Lui - Ma un giorno nel paese arrivo io di lunedì (Adriano Celentano, 1985)
Joan Lui, like its titular Christ-like figure, has to be seen to be believed. A surreal and visually extravagant cinematic odyssey, Joan Lui is a feverish blend of absurdity, satire, and musical spectacle, written, directed, and starring Adriano Celentano. The film introduces Joan Lui, a messianic figure who arrives in Italy from another world with the mission to expose the hypocrisy and atrocities of Western culture. With a naivety and confidence that border on the absurd, Joan Lui, both a singer and self-proclaimed new Christ, begins his quest to preach love, equality, and a philosophical critique of contemporary society.
As he assembles a group of naïve musicians to help him spread his message, Joan’s journey becomes increasingly surreal. His interventions—broadcasted to the masses through television—are cryptic, filled with elaborate choreography and philosophical musings. His presence begins to stir the population, though his teachings remain mysterious and unsettling. Amidst his spiritual mission, the world around him is on the brink of apocalyptic collapse, with societal and political systems crumbling under the weight of their own contradictions. Joan’s presence offers a bizarre glimmer of hope while simultaneously emphasising the chaos and impending destruction of the world he inhabits. The film, with its bizarre mix of religious imagery and pop culture satire, unfolds like a dream, constantly shifting between music video-style sequences, absurd dialogue, and satirical commentary on religion and politics.
Joan Lui is a film so outlandish that even the most devoted Adriano Celentano fans struggle to justify it, a passion project that also happened to be one of the most expensive films ever produced in Italy. And yet, I can’t help but love this musical oddity, despite not even being a fan of musicals (with the exception of Fiddler on the Roof). Yes, it’s absurd—a feverish mix of Cold War-era apocalyptic doom, over-the-top musical numbers, and commercial dance sequences. Cars crash, bloodied corpses lay on the street, and helicopters hover ominously over Genoa’s harbour, all while Celentano’s Joan Lui plays an electric guitar to an enraptured, dancing crowd. And who could fail to be impressed by a song-and-dance number set in a neon-lit Catholic church, now transformed into a postmodern nightclub? It’s one of the film’s most surreal and visually memorable moments. And that soundtrack? Well it’s an undeniable ear worm, so much so that I still love spinning the vinyl.
Petti’s villa makes a brief appearance in this 2-hour and 43-minute epic—so brief, in fact, that I missed it on my first watch. One reason for this might be that the house depicted seems to be a combination of two different villas, with the grid-designed doors of one mimicking the grid screens of Petti’s villa as the scene transitions between locations. In the scene, the character of the maid crosses the distinctive living room, delivering drinks to Joan Lui and his associate. The table they sit at appears to be Petti’s 1970s chrome and brass lighting table for Maison Jansen, while his chrome and mirror table lamp designed for L'Angolo Metallarte can be seen in the background. The villa’s floor-to-ceiling windows are obscured by cream curtains, concealing the view of the swimming pool and grounds, altering the space's familiar look.
La più bella del reame (Cesare Ferrario, 1989)
Adapted from the best-selling autobiographical book by socialite, writer, and activist Marina Ripa di Meana, the romantic drama La più bella del reame is a sequel to Ripa di Meana’s I miei primi 40 anni (adapted to screen in 1987 by Carlo Vanzina). The film, like its predecessor, continues its exploration of the life of a socialite writer as she navigates the complexities of modern life—from romantic entanglements with men to the contentious nature of friendships and the superficiality of high society.
Petti's villa makes several appearances throughout the film. The first is in a bedroom scene where Marina (Carol Alt) has an intimate encounter with her lover. As the scene is shrouded in darkness, it may not be immediately clear that it takes place in the villa on Viale Peru. However, when compared to the daylight shot of the bedroom in Acqua e sapone, it's unmistakable—the distinctive white lacquered bed, circular column, and rounded feature window all reveal it as the same room. More prominently, the villa's distinctive main living area is showcased when Marina and her friend have a conversation by the pool table, offering a clearer view of its stylish interior. The exterior of the film is also featured, briefly in view during a scene where Marina discovers her lover wrapped in what appears to be a tarpaulin, only to be unwrapped as a present, leading to a passionate kiss. The couple then tumble from the wooden walkway above the swimming pool into the water below. In this moment, we catch a glimpse of the villa's distinctive sloping roof in the background, along with the walkway that stretches over the pool.
Similar to Acqua e sapone, the villa conveys the film’s sense of lavishness, in keeping with its role as a luxe fantasy. It indulges in the decadence of the 1980s, portraying a character who luxuriates in this opulent world while simultaneously reflecting on the ennui it brings.
Le comiche (Neri Parenti, 1990)
Neri Parenti’s Le comiche, starring Italian comedy legends Paolo Villaggio and Renato Pozzetto, is a loving homage to the golden age of silent cinema. The film’s premise is both fantastical and nostalgic, as the duo is magically transported off the silver screen and into modern-day Italy, where they stumble through a series of slapstick misadventures reminiscent of classic silent-era comedy.
True to the spirit of commedia all’italiana, the film thrives on misunderstandings and absurd situations. One particularly memorable gag involves a crematorium that shares an oven with a pizzeria—needless to say, the results are as darkly hilarious as they are disastrous.
The final sketch takes yet another unexpected turn in an already chaotic series of calamities when the pair is mistaken for mafia dons—who, in an ironic twist, happen to be their exact lookalikes. Their misadventure leads them to a lavish villa, where their doppelgängers reside. The duo, ever the wide-eyed bumblers, can’t help but be captivated by the estate’s grandeur—especially the irresistible allure of a pool table.
L’angelo con la pistola (Damiano Damiani, 1992)
Damiano Damiani's L'angelo con la pistola is a gritty revenge thriller that carries a distinctive television production feel, given its origins as a made-for-TV film. Despite the constraints of its format, the film presents a tense narrative of justice and vengeance set against the backdrop of Genoa’s criminal underworld, reflecting Damiani’s focus on crime cinema as a vehicle for social critique.
The film follows Lisa (Tahnee Welch), who, as a child, witnessed the brutal murder of her family at the hands of a gang of criminals. Twenty years later, still fuelled by pain and anger, she works as a waitress in Genoa. When she finds a revolver in the metro, she begins a personal vendetta, starting with the lawyer who secured the release of several crime bosses responsible.
Lisa confesses the murder to Commissioner Cattani (Remo Girone), a disillusioned officer on the verge of quitting. Instead of turning her in, they form an unlikely alliance: Cattani provides experience, while Lisa becomes an avenging angel. They identify key figures of the city's criminal underworld, and Lisa methodically executes them, striking in luxurious villas and golf courses. Along the way, she spares Teresa (Eva Grimaldi), a prostitute who witnesses one of her killings and later becomes her ally. As Cattani is fatally betrayed by a corrupt colleague, Lisa and Teresa turn their sights on the city’s most powerful crime lord. As they stake out the hotel where he conducts his shady dealings, it becomes clear that his days are numbered.
Damiano Damiani’s Nikita, in essence, reworks the themes of Luc Besson’s 1990 classic but filters them through the lens of Italian crime cinema. Like Nikita, Lisa is a woman shaped by violence, transforming from a lost soul into a calculated killer. However, while Besson’s protagonist is coerced into government service and struggles with her dual identity, Lisa’s path is entirely self-determined—her vendetta is personal, not institutional.
Where Nikita balances stylised action with psychological depth, Damiani’s film leans more into the procedural and vigilante justice angle. Lisa’s world lacks the sleek, high-tech refinement of Besson’s, instead grounding itself in the grimy, corruption-ridden streets of Genoa. The mentor-student dynamic between Lisa and Cattani loosely parallels Nikita’s relationship with Bob, though here, the law itself is compromised, making Cattani a far more jaded and fatalistic figure.
The villa on Viale Peru is featured during a scene where Lisa hunts down a criminal boss who resides there. Posing as a prostitute in a short black dress and a blonde wig—an outfit that strongly recalls the styling of Nikita—Lisa executes her target at point-blank range in the villa’s living room before moving through the residence, where she spots Teresa hiding at the top of the stairs. As Lisa follows her, we get a clearer sense of the villa’s layout, including the connection between the hallway and the master bedroom. The scene also highlights the copious artwork adorning the walls.
The master bedroom is seen again later when Teresa is interrogated by the police. Here, an imposing chrome fireplace with a sculptural cut-out piece above it stands out, alongside an ornate table displaying what appears to be an East Asian statuette—both details reflecting the villa owner’s ostentatious taste, befitting of a crime boss in the film. We also see sliding doors, presumably leading onto a balcony, or the grounds, depending on how the different levels of the villa relate to the grounds.
Return From Death: Frankenstein 2000 (Joe D’Amato, 1992)
The last of his horror films before pivoting exclusively to adult pictures, Joe D’Amato delivers a chaotic and low-budget take on the Frankenstein mythos with Return From Death: Frankenstein 2000. Loosely inspired by Mary Shelley's novel but far more indebted to Fulci’s Aenigma, the film mixes supernatural revenge, telekinesis, and a touch of cybernetic absurdity. Featuring a comatose woman (Cinzia Monreale) psychically controlling a resurrected boxer (Donald O’Brien) to enact brutal revenge, the film embraces D’Amato’s signature mix of exploitation, gore, and surreal flourishes—including a recurring hallucination in which the protagonist’s blonde child (the spiritual successor to Giovanni Frezzi) is decapitated twice, for those who enjoy their horror with a side of déjà vu.
The villa makes its appearance at the film's climax, serving as the residence of one of the antagonists, who faces off with Ric the Boxer—now a ruthless killing machine—in a dramatic, electricity-charged showdown. While the interior of the villa is briefly seen as antagonist Hoffner (Maurice Poli) patrols the space with his gun after hearing a noise, the scene transitions to the exterior through the same sliding doors famously featured in Tenebrae, where Hoffner ultimately meets his demise.
Like many films on this list, the villa’s use as the home of a villain—here, Hoffner—reflects the trope of affluent properties often being associated with criminal characters. Whether acquired through the drug trade, ill-gotten gains, or organised crime, these luxurious residences symbolise power, wealth, and a sense of security. This setting mirrors similar portrayals in films like Le comiche, where the Mafia and other criminal elements inhabit grand estates, emphasising the distance between them and the world they exploit.
Power and Lovers (Aldo Lado, 1994)
One of Lado’s lesser known works, Power and Lovers (also known as La chance) is a crime thriller that follows two Sicilian brothers who take opposing paths after their father’s murder. Antonio/Tony (Stephen Dillane) becomes a researcher in London, while Nicola/Nick (Vincent Riotta) rises in the criminal underworld, eventually being hired by a multinational corporation to assassinate a scientist—who just so happens to work alongside Tony. As their fates collide, the film explores themes of ambition, morality, and fraternal conflict. With noir tropes, a femme fatale, and a tense buildup to an unpredictable showdown, Power and Lovers is a compelling thriller with some nice international locations despite budget limitations.
While I believe all the examples in this list situate the villa in Italy—despite geographical shifts, as seen in Neige à Capri, and differences in time, as in Tenebrae and Warriors of the Year 2072—Power and Lovers appears to be the exception, placing the villa, owned by Nick’s boss, in the United States. Once again, the house serves as a symbol of glamour and wealth, but what sets it apart is its role as an entertainment space, whereas in other examples, the villa often appears more solitary. Our introduction to the setting comes through an exterior shot of a lively garden party, where members of the clergy mingle with businessmen and socialites. The villa functions as the perfect venue for such gatherings, with guests naturally filling the main living area as one might expect it was used in real life. At one point, Nick’s boss descends a set of steps in the main living space, entering an indoor pool area. While it’s unclear whether this space is truly part of the villa, the same stairs and door were also used in Tenebrae, leading to the sinister basement where Berti indulged in his eclectic hobbies—offering an alternative perspective of where this door might lead.
Once again, the film prominently features the grounds and swimming pool, allowing for a clearer sense of how the space transitions between indoors and outdoors. Thanks to the daylight setting, the connection between the two areas becomes more apparent, with large glass sliding doors creating a larger space. This design makes it easy to envision how the villa functions as an ideal entertaining space.
While the focus of this post is naturally on the villa featured in the film, Power and Lovers also includes a significant amount of location shooting in London, making it an interesting watch for Brits. The appearance of the Cutty Sark pub, with its distinctive Georgian bow windows, is a particularly enjoyable detail.
And Now for Something Completely Different…
I’d like to preface this section with a disclaimer: I’m by no means an expert in the production of adult films, specifically those made in Italy during the 1980s and 1990s. That said, it seems reasonable to assume that the following list of hardcore films were likely shot over just a few days, using the same performers and locations, then edited into multiple different titles. This would explain the recurring cast, consistent styling, and repeated settings. I also suspect some scenes were recycled across films—but you’ll have to forgive me for not conducting a frame-by-frame analysis to confirm.
Beyond their shared setting, these films are also linked by the presence of Italian pornographic star Moana Pozzi—one of Italy’s most iconic adult film actresses, often mentioned alongside Cicciolina, with whom she frequently collaborated. Pozzi, a significant figure in Italian pop culture, tragically passed away from liver cancer in 1994 at just 33 years old. On a lighter note, something that always amuses me is that in Italy, Disney’s Moana was retitled Oceania to avoid associations with Pozzi’s legacy.
Another key connection between most of the films on this list is director Mario Bianchi, with the exception of A culo nudo, directed by Riccardo Schicchi. Bianchi frequently worked under pseudonyms in his career, my personal favourite being the wonderfully fitting "Tony Yanker" during this chapter of his career. Before moving into pornography, Bianchi was primarily known for genre cinema, directing two entries in the Lucio Fulci Presents series—The Murder Secret (1988) and Sodoma’s Ghost (1988)—as well as cult horror films like Satan’s Baby Doll (1982) and the Traumnovelle inspired Ad un passo dall’aurora (1989), the latter of which I’ve been meaning finish a blog post about for years.
Perhaps one of Bianchi’s most interesting projects was the spaghetti western horror Kill the Poker Player (1972). He also had ties to the legendary Mario Bava, working as an assistant director on Five Dolls for an August Moon (1970) and Hatchet for the Honeymoon (1970). As a screenwriter, he co-wrote Riccardo Freda’s Tragic Ceremony and Francesco Mazzei’s The Weapon, the Hour, & the Motive, where he also served as assistant director.
It’s more than likely that the villa on Viale Peru was used in further adult productions from this era, but this is what I’ve been able to uncover so far. I can’t quite remember how I first discovered its connection to pornographic films (honest!), but it likely stemmed from trying to identify a Moana Pozzi film, which led me down this particular rabbit hole.
If you followed me on Twitter back when I was active, you might remember me posting about finding this location in an adult film, along with a screenshot. Strangely, that specific film doesn’t seem to be among the ones listed below—but it’s entirely possible I overlooked it while revisiting.
That said, when it comes to research for Hypnotic Crescendos, you can’t accuse me of not putting in the work. What started as an attempt to track down a single unnamed film ended up revealing a whole series of productions that used this villa, leading to the list below. Take the dates with a grain of salt—they correspond to VHS release dates, which, in this industry, can differ wildly from the actual filming dates.
One final note on the screenshots from the films below—I’ve been mindful in selecting images to illustrate the villa, avoiding any explicit content, even if it showcases the interior or exterior. So, you won’t find any penetration or anyone spread wide open here. If you’re looking for the full ahem view, I’d encourage you to seek out the films yourself.
Troie in carriera (Mario Bianchi, 1992)
Troie in carriera, or, as it more crudely translates in English, Career Sluts, was directed by Mario Bianchi under the aforementioned pseudonym, Tony Yanker. Bianchi makes full use of the villa, staging scenes both inside and outside. The villa’s distinctive seating arrangement features prominently in a group sex scene, while the pool area and sun loungers serve as the setting for other sexual activities, with the white concrete blocks of the pool area clearly in view. Bianchi decided to make full use of the villa’s pool table for the obvious… cue the obligatory "potting the balls" joke here.
This is one of only two entries in this list that offers a clear view of the bar area, the other is Warriors of the Year 2072, situated in front of the pool table. It follows the villa's design aesthetic, featuring a Corian or quartz countertop with chrome accents and square bar stools in black and chrome. The space is decorated with an assortment of items, including statuettes, a marble sphere, and an oversized lamp. A collection of art magazines or auction catalogs is also visible, though the text on the covers remains unreadable.
Vedo nudo (Mario Bianchi, 1993)
Vedo Nudo opens with Moana Pozzi waking up in the distinctive lacquered bed seen in Acqua e sapone, which reappears in the film’s closing moments, creating a bookended effect. Shortly after, we see Pozzi stepping into a low-ceilinged room through a grid-panelled white door. If you compare this scene to Tenebrae’s sequence where Maria enters the basement of Berti’s villa, it’s clear that both were shot in the same lower level of the villa. According to an interview with Sandro Petti for Davinotti, the only notable alteration made for the production of Tenebrae, besides the lowering of the basement ceiling, was repainting the basement grey. The fireplace visible in Tenebrae’s basement scene suggests that the room originally served a different purpose—especially when compared to Vedo nudo, where artwork lines the walls, giving the space a more decorative feel.
In Vedo nudo, Moana then ascends an angled staircase (also seen in L'angelo con la pistola) into another section of the villa, which I believe is part of the actual building, though I can’t say for certain. The space features a sloping roof consistent with the villa’s architecture and large windows that seem to overlook the lush greenery surrounding the property. The room itself appears to be some sort of office or design studio, furnished with large drawing boards and shelving which might well have been a workspace for architect, Sandro Petti.
To me, it seems that Vedo Nudo was filmed entirely at the villa, unlike some of the other titles on this list. This means we get additional scenes set in the building’s exterior and pool area—the latter captured from a similar vantage point as the shot of Maria entering the villa in Tenebrae. Those distinctive cubed blocks are also prominently featured, particularly given what Pozzi does on one of them… And, perhaps unsurprisingly, the film culminates in an orgy scene in the villa’s main space, involving around twelve people. While the focus is undoubtedly meant to be on the tangle of naked, writhing bodies, I found my attention drifting to the various decorative items and soft furnishings scattered throughout the room.
I’m going to pepper this section with tidbits that I hope you find interesting (because there’s not much to discuss in these films plot wise). One of the most recognisable names to appear in this film—along with many others on this list—is none other than Rocco Siffredi, a true icon of the adult film industry. With a staggering filmography of over 1,500 productions, he has more than earned his rather fitting nickname, The Italian Stallion.
His stage name is a nod to Alain Delon’s character, Roch Siffredi, from Jacques Deray’s 1970 gangster film Borsalino, adding a touch of cinematic flair to his already larger-than-life persona. What sets Siffredi apart from many of his contemporaries was his ability to transcend the adult industry and make an impact in mainstream culture. He has appeared in advertisements, reality television, and has been referenced in countless songs, TV shows, and books.
Beyond adult entertainment, he also made his mark in arthouse cinema. His most notable crossover role came in Romance (1999), directed by Catherine Breillat, a film that controversially straddled the lines between mainstream and explicit content. So impressed was Breillat by Siffredi’s presence that she wrote a role specifically for him in her next film, Anatomie de l’enfer (2003), further solidifying his status as one of the rare adult performers to successfully bridge the gap between pornography and arthouse cinema.
Le voglie anali di Milly D’Abbraccio (Mario Bianchi, 1993)
Granted, I’m no expert on Italian hardcore, but this film appears to have been stitched together from different productions, or at least that’s the impression given by the noticeable variations in quality between scenes. Some sequences look as though they were shot a decade earlier than others, suggesting that this might be something of a compilation. Given the title, it’s possible this was intended as a showcase for Milly D’Abbraccio’s work over the years. Think of it, if you will, as a release tailored for fans of the actress’s anal scenes—now there’s a sentence I never expected to write this week.
One particular scene pool side here also appears elsewhere on this list, likely a consequence of the film’s compilation-like nature. Nevertheless, I’m keeping it included because there’s at least one sequence I haven’t come across elsewhere. You’ll recognise that familiar upstairs bedroom setting, which serves as the backdrop for a sex scene. And remember that mirror I mentioned earlier in reference to Acqua e sapone? It makes an appearance here, in exactly the way you’d expect.
A culo nudo (Riccardo Schicchi, 1993)
The only entry on our list directed by Riccardo Schicchi, A culo nudo, raises a few questions for me. Like several of these films, it appears to include scenes from a different shoot—or at least a different location. While this is likely common in adult films, as someone not particularly au fait with how these productions were assembled, it’s not always clear whether this was the intended result or simply a case of various footage being pieced together to create a different film.
Once again, the swimming pool makes an appearance, with the walkway across it serving as the stage for sexual acts. The distinctive bed we’ve already discussed also returns, this time as the setting for Pozzi and her partner. However, what’s particularly interesting is the inclusion of a room not seen in any other film on this list: a study. While the wooden door has a different engraved design than the one in our next film of discussion, La dea dell’amore, it’s unmistakably part of the villa. When the door is opened, the villa’s signature aesthetic—defined by grid panelling, lush vegetation, and tiered steps—becomes instantly recognisable.
The study’s artworks and decorative objects are also consistent with the villa’s overall style, reinforcing its cohesive design. One detail I especially like is the presence of a Venetian bauta mask, which adds a distinct touch of theatricality to the space.
On the subject of director Riccardo Schicchi, he was a pioneering and highly influential figure in the Italian pornography industry. Best known for his collaborations with Ilona Staller—more on her later—Schicchi co-founded the groundbreaking pornographic and erotica film studio Diva Futura. This was Italy's first dedicated agency specialising in adult entertainment, and it played a crucial role in reshaping the landscape of erotic cinema in the country.
Through Diva Futura, Schicchi introduced a new generation of Italian erotic film stars, known as le dive (the divas), which included Moana Pozzi, Milly D’Abbraccio, and Barbarella, as well as his future wife, Éva Henger. These actresses became cultural icons in their own right, achieving mainstream celebrity status with their work in adult cinema.
The rise of Diva Futura coincided with the advent of VHS technology, which revolutionised the accessibility and distribution of adult films. This period marked the golden age of Italian pornography, a stark contrast to the digital landscape of today, where content is increasingly decentralised and driven by online platforms rather than the star-driven, studio-led model that defined Schicchi’s era.
La dea dell’amore (Mario Bianchi, 1993)
You’re more likely to find this film under the title, The Goddess of Love or Intimità anale, which is decidedly less sensual sounding. As expected, the film delivers the usual array of shagging, mostly confined to the ground level—spanning the villa’s gardens to the main living space. In the screenshot below, you can spot a rather strategically placed bit of tinfoil in said living room scene. There’s also a group scene set in what appears to be a grotto or outbuilding, though I suspect this was filmed at a different location.
This title, like Vedo nudo, showcases the staircase leading to the upper level, complete with that same Perspex balustrade on the half landing. There’s also some rather interesting artwork on display, and I’d love to know more about the individual pieces in the villa as Petti was an artist and an art lover. Though, given the choice of films shot here, one does wonder if his appreciation extended beyond Futurism and into the more… shall we say, carnal forms of artistic expression.
Once again, comparing all of these films, makes me desperate to see a proper floor plan of the property. The layout appears unusual, and I’d love to understand how the spaces connect. Alas, despite the vast resources of the internet—and a flat full of Italian design books and magazines from the period—I’ve yet to uncover any articles, floor plans or photographs of the construction. Given its striking, custom-built design, you’d expect some form of documentation, however, I suspect any records of its construction remain undigitised.
The biggest question that remains for me is: What was the villa’s kitchen like? The space is absent from every film on this list, yet it surely must have existed.
Doppio contatto anale (Mario Bianchi, 1995)
Most of these films, unsurprisingly, lack any sort of plot synopsis. However, according to IMDb, Doppio contatto anale is about "the jealousies and envies between two stars of hardcore cinema—Moana Pozzi and Milly D'Abbraccio—which are dealt with and resolved along an unending orgy." But is that really the case, or is it more a matter of stitching together a narrative from whatever footage was available? I suspect the opening was lifted from another one of these films, and quite possibly, more of the footage was as well. However, it’s always worth bearing in mind that these films sometimes appear in truncated forms. I believe the version I watched lacked opening credits, whereas most of the others include them.
Another film to feature a sexual scene taking place on the walkway across the swimming pool, Doppio contatto anale contains much of what its title suggests. I’d illustrate the swimming pool’s inclusion, however, as you'll see from the absence of screenshots below, I couldn’t capture a single frame that didn’t feature explicit content. There are a few other scenes here set within the villa, including one that I can’t quite place within the space, though the distinctive grid-like screens make it clear that it belongs there.
In the interest of being informative rather than simply cataloguing sex acts, it’s perhaps worth mentioning that outside of her career in cinema and adult films, Milly D'Abbraccio ran as a candidate for the Italian Socialist Party in 2008. Speaking of porn stars and politics, the aforementioned Cicciolina, aka Ilona Staller, has been heavily involved in politics throughout her life. She first ran as a candidate for Lista del Sole (Italy’s first Green Party) before joining the Partito Radicale (Radical Party), through which she was elected to the Italian parliament in 1987. During her time in office, she famously proposed a rather unconventional solution to the crisis that led to the Gulf War—offering to broker peace by having sex with Saddam Hussein. Despite her unique diplomatic overtures, war broke out in 1991, and she was not re-elected that same year.
In 1991, Staller and Pozzi co-founded the Partito dell’Amore (The Love Party), alongside director Riccardo Schicchi and Mauro Biuzzi, advocating for the legalisation of brothels and improved sex education in schools. Their engagement with the politics of the era extended beyond activism—both appeared in Diva Futura - L'avventura dell’amore (Ilona Staller, Arduino Sacco, 1989), a film about a scientist who discovers an Aids vaccine, only to have his research blocked by the Vatican. In response, Pozzi and Staller’s characters—who run a magazine promoting sexual freedom, Diva Futura—intervene to ensure the world learns about the cure.
Beyond their joint efforts with Partito dell’Amore, both women pursued mayoral elections. Pozzi ran for Mayor of Rome in 1993, while Staller campaigned for Mayor of Milan a decade later in 2004. After Pozzi’s death, their libertarian free love movement faded from the Italian political scene, though it was never officially dissolved. Staller later founded another party, Democrazia, Natura, Amore (Democracy, Nature, Love) in 2012 but failed to be elected.
I remember, when I was much younger, hearing jokes about Italy and the apparent pipeline between porn stars and politics—sometimes somewhat inaccurately in relation to Berlusconi and his various female associates who found their way into local government and were considered for various elections. It was almost a cliché, the idea that in Italy, politics and showbiz (in all its forms) were strangely intertwined.
Speaking of Berlusconi, I’m reminded of a moment from a trip to Florence with my dad. We were at a hotel, and the receptionist remarked that his signature looked like Berlusconi’s. Naturally, he couldn’t resist making some god-awful joke about his Bunga Bunga parties, a comment that still haunts me…
But putting aside the scandals and, of course, any questions of corruption—because that’s a whole different discussion—why shouldn’t porn stars be politicians? If we believe in democracy and the right to representation, what makes someone in adult entertainment any less qualified to govern than, say, a reality TV star or a career politician?
Closing the Door on Petti’s Villa
We began by discussing Tenebrae and how the presence of Petti’s villa perfectly illustrates how architecture and design can shape atmosphere, heighten tension, and explore the interplay between beauty and horror in cinema. We’ve now ended with a conversation about pornography and politics in relation to the adult films shot at the location. I suppose that’s the Hypnotic Crescendos way!
While this exploration has uncovered many instances of the villa’s cinematic legacy, I have no doubt that more will surface in the years to come. For now, these are the discoveries I’ve made through my own research and countless hours immersed in the world of Italian cinema. It’s been a true passion of mine to explore this subject—one that’s taken nearly a decade to write—and I hope you’ve enjoyed this in-depth dive into it.
Sources: Si Dario Argento
While sifting through vintage pornography might be your idea of a good time, I have Moana Pozzi’s vulva and Rocco Siffredi’s penis burned into my retinas after this research expedition and I’m so very tired. If you want to compensate me, or support what I do here at Hypnotic Crescendos, you can always drop me a few pennies for research materials (or my fund to buy an original Sandro Petti piece...) via my PayPal here.
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