Classic Horrors Club

Two things struck me during my first-time watch of Four Flies on Grey Velvet (1971.) First was how stylish it is. That may sound silly since it was directed by Dario Argento (Suspiria, 1977), but I don’t mean “stylish” as in gloriously bloody set pieces, but as in the camerawork itself. The fact that it’s so uniquely creative, exciting, and fluid may be due to the director of photography, Franco Di Giacomo, rather than the director. As far as I can tell, it’s the only time Di Giacomo worked with Argento, and for sure they didn’t work together on Argento’s best-known films.

Second was how non-gory it was. I watched a version on YouTube, so I don’t know if it was an original cut and am not sure if that explains why there weren’t any money shots during the kills. It’s as if the film was cut right before we saw the result of a slicing, stabbing, or decapitation. It was noticeable because some of the kills begged for an additional glimpse. For example, and this combines my two points, there’s a terrific scene in which a young woman slides down a staircase. It’s like the camera is resting on her chest. We ride with her and witness every knock of her head against the steps. But…

…when the killer drops a knife from above and we experience a great shot of it falling point-town through the air, we don’t see it land. We see only the expression on the victim’s face. I’m not a gorehound, but I expect a little more blood and guts from an Argento film. If I knew for certain it was an uncut version, I’d buy the blu-ray in an instant, because I really liked the movie. After one viewing, it sticks with me. I’ve seen Argento’s first two films, The Bird with the Crystal Plumage (1970) and The Cat o’ Nine Tails (1971) multiple times and I don’t remember a thing about them.

One reason Four Flies on Grey Velvet is so memorable is that there are aspects of it that I can’t decide if they’re offensive or not. For example, the private detective, Gianni Arrosio (Jean-Pierre Marielle), that Roberto Tobias (Michael Brandon) finally hires when he’s being stalked by a killer is a flamboyant homosexual, complete with raised pinky finger and limp wrist. It’s a caricature, for sure, and I don’t usually read too much into it. However, it did make me squirm a little, as did a gender-bending twist at the end that wasn’t out of place, but at the same time seemed gratuitous.

I’m also uncertain about the performance of Mimsy Farmer as Roberto’s wife, Nina. She was fine at first, arguing with him that he should leave the city to escape the threat against him. Yet when her role takes a more dramatic turn and she turns on the act-ing, her talent felt stretched thin. I might be in the minority on this; I’ve read reviews that praise her performance. To me, Francine Racette as Dalia, who is not-so-secretly in love with Roberto, is more compelling.