Not quite a pure giallo (it has giallo influences all over it, but strays into Don't Look Now and The Wicker Man territory too in terms of themes and structure), The House With Laughing Windows is a generally absorbing thriller directed by Pupi Avati which builds slowly and tensely to a stunning climactic twist.
In a small and secretive Italian community, artist Stefano (Lino Capolicchio) arrives to restore a damaged fresco on a church wall. The fresco shows the gruesome slaughter of Saint Sebastian by two women, maniacally grinning as they plunge knives into his naked torso. The artist who originally began working on the fresco was called Buono Legnani, and Stefano soon discovers that the long-deceased Legnani was a very unstable and twisted individual. His speciality was producing paintings about pain and death – it was his obsession, the thing that excited him above everything else. Bit by bit, Stefano pieces together the shameful secrets of the community, uncovering disturbing rumours about Legnani and his two diabolical sisters. Among the rumours are reports that they used real-life sacrificial victims as 'models' to make Legnani's paintings more authentic-looking. Stefano ends up staying at a creepy mansion on the edge of the village where the only permanent inhabitant is a bed-bound old lady. Here, he is joined by a beautiful young teacher, Francesca (Francesca Marciano), another newcomer to the village with whom he soon falls in love. Events become increasingly terrifying and mysterious for the lovers, until all is revealed in a blood-soaked finalé.
Avati's film is beautifully shot, building towards its climax with a sense of gnawing dread. It's a particularly slow-burning style of film – possibly too slow for viewers who like the action and bloodthirstiness to come thick and fast – but for those willing to adjust to the pace, the build-up pays off handsomely come the end. Performance-wise, The House With Laughing Windows is definitely a notch up from many Italian giallo entries of the era. Everyone registers well, generating just the right balance of fearful paranoia or tight-lipped suspicion depending on which side of the mystery their loyalties lie. Amedeo Tommasi's score is disappointingly weak, adding little to the suspense and, in some cases, even lessening the terror by being pitched at too jolly and jaunty a level. Avati just about gets away with this thanks to his atmospheric set-up of scenes and shadowy lighting, which always hints at unseen danger behind every door. A few plot holes also crop up along the way – the most significant being the lack of an explanation as to why the entire community feels compelled to hide its sinister secret (the vast majority of the citizens have little gain by remaining close-lipped, making their secrecy/compliance a tad unconvincing). A few other unexplained issues arise as the story unfolds, never irritating enough to ruin the film overall but sufficiently noticeable to linger as frustrating 'loose ends'. For its sheer build up of suspense and dread, however, the film remains an exceptional exercise, well worth a couple of hours of anyone's time. And that final twist ending wow, just fabulous and well worth the wait.
In a small and secretive Italian community, artist Stefano (Lino Capolicchio) arrives to restore a damaged fresco on a church wall. The fresco shows the gruesome slaughter of Saint Sebastian by two women, maniacally grinning as they plunge knives into his naked torso. The artist who originally began working on the fresco was called Buono Legnani, and Stefano soon discovers that the long-deceased Legnani was a very unstable and twisted individual. His speciality was producing paintings about pain and death – it was his obsession, the thing that excited him above everything else. Bit by bit, Stefano pieces together the shameful secrets of the community, uncovering disturbing rumours about Legnani and his two diabolical sisters. Among the rumours are reports that they used real-life sacrificial victims as 'models' to make Legnani's paintings more authentic-looking. Stefano ends up staying at a creepy mansion on the edge of the village where the only permanent inhabitant is a bed-bound old lady. Here, he is joined by a beautiful young teacher, Francesca (Francesca Marciano), another newcomer to the village with whom he soon falls in love. Events become increasingly terrifying and mysterious for the lovers, until all is revealed in a blood-soaked finalé.
Avati's film is beautifully shot, building towards its climax with a sense of gnawing dread. It's a particularly slow-burning style of film – possibly too slow for viewers who like the action and bloodthirstiness to come thick and fast – but for those willing to adjust to the pace, the build-up pays off handsomely come the end. Performance-wise, The House With Laughing Windows is definitely a notch up from many Italian giallo entries of the era. Everyone registers well, generating just the right balance of fearful paranoia or tight-lipped suspicion depending on which side of the mystery their loyalties lie. Amedeo Tommasi's score is disappointingly weak, adding little to the suspense and, in some cases, even lessening the terror by being pitched at too jolly and jaunty a level. Avati just about gets away with this thanks to his atmospheric set-up of scenes and shadowy lighting, which always hints at unseen danger behind every door. A few plot holes also crop up along the way – the most significant being the lack of an explanation as to why the entire community feels compelled to hide its sinister secret (the vast majority of the citizens have little gain by remaining close-lipped, making their secrecy/compliance a tad unconvincing). A few other unexplained issues arise as the story unfolds, never irritating enough to ruin the film overall but sufficiently noticeable to linger as frustrating 'loose ends'. For its sheer build up of suspense and dread, however, the film remains an exceptional exercise, well worth a couple of hours of anyone's time. And that final twist ending wow, just fabulous and well worth the wait.