Malombra

Malombra (1942) is a hauntingly atmospheric Italian film that masterfully blends gothic horror with psychological drama. Set in an isolated mansion, the film invites the audience into a world where the supernatural and the human psyche intertwine, creating an eerie and immersive experience.

The plot revolves around a young woman, whose life becomes entangled with the mysteries surrounding her family's past and the strange happenings at their ancestral home. As she uncovers the secrets hidden within the walls of the mansion, the film gradually unfolds its sinister atmosphere, inviting both the protagonist and the viewer into a web of suspense and intrigue.

The beauty of Malombra lies in its ability to create tension through its setting. The dark, oppressive environment of the mansion - with its shadowy corridors and mysterious rooms - plays a crucial role in heightening the sense of dread. The cinematography, combined with the haunting score, makes every scene pulse with tension, immersing the viewer in a world where nothing is as it seems.

The performances are strong, particularly the lead actress, whose portrayal of a woman caught between reality and the supernatural is both compelling and unnerving. Her descent into madness is portrayed with a haunting subtlety, adding layers to the film's psychological depth.

While Malombra may not be a traditional horror film, it excels in creating an unsettling atmosphere that lingers long after the credits roll. The slow-burn suspense, coupled with its psychological exploration of obsession and mystery, makes it a unique entry in the realm of gothic cinema.

In conclusion, Malombra is a beautifully crafted film that will appeal to fans of atmospheric horror and psychological thrillers. It's a hauntingly elegant tale of mystery, madness, and the supernatural, and it remains a classic for those who enjoy a slow, eerie build-up to a chilling conclusion.

This utterly gorgeous Gothic melodrama would be widely hailed as a masterpiece, had it not been made in Italy during the Mussolini regime. A gross injustice, as Malombra - unlike Piccolo Mondo Antico, Mario Soldati's earlier film of an Antonio Fogazzaro novel - contains not one moment of triumphalist flag-waving or Fascist family values. Oddly akin to Rebecca in its atmosphere of death-haunted romance and voluptuous doom, it reaches a peak of visual refinement of which Hitchcock could only dream.

Its star is Isa Miranda (famous, and not without reason, as Italy's answer to Garbo and Dietrich) playing a headstrong but unstable young noblewoman, confined by her uncle to a gloomy villa on the shores of Lake Como. A yellowed and crumbling letter, found in an old spinet, convinces her that she is the reincarnation of her uncle's first wife - another troubled beauty who died a virtual prisoner after being caught in a forbidden love affair. When a handsome young writer (Andrea Checchi) comes to stay, Miranda decides that HE is the reincarnation of the dead woman's lover. Gradually, she lures him into her web of sex and revenge...

What more to say without spoiling the fun? Miranda gives a performance to rival any of the great divas of Hollywood. Only Davis and Stanwyck, perhaps, could play a bad girl so boldly without losing all sympathy. The evocation of 19th century aristocracy, in its full decadent splendour, is visually and dramatically flawless - a model for such later Italian gems as Visconti's Senso and The Innocent.

It helped, perhaps, that Soldati himself was a leading novelist. Blessed with an absolute respect for the classics he adapted, but in no way inhibited by them. He was also the guiding spirit of the now-forgotten 'calligraphic' movement, which brought the Italian cinema to such wondrous aesthetic heights during World War Two, only to collapse before the horror of Neo-Realism. Can we blame Soldati for giving up film-making in disgust and going back to writing novels?

So if you've ever felt (as I do) that Rossellini's much-touted Rome - Open City is the work of an amateur...well, Malombra is the film you have to see!

A nineteenth-century Italian noblewoman, imprisoned in a foreboding lakeside palazzo by her uncle, comes to believe she's possessed by a long ago mistress of the manor who had a similar experience and came to a bad end...

MALOMBRA, exalted silent screen diva Lyda Borelli's 1917 "fin de siècle of Black Romanticism", was dusted off a couple of decades later as a vehicle for Isa Miranda, the reigning movie queen during Mussolini's regime. No expense was spared and the melodramatic manqué was given deluxe treatment by novelist/director Mario Soldati, who crafted an eerie, poetic propaganda-free example of Fascist-era entertainment at its best. Reminiscent of a Victorian-esque romance & revenge "penny dreadful", the phantasmic tale, although well-told, is a dark dream of near-operatic proportions that seems better suited to shadowplay. There's no denying this macabre melodrama with its rococo trappings harks back to silent cinema (where images were everything) but the gloomy Gothic style and tangible aura of unhappiness that hangs over everything is mesmerizing no matter the medium. Beautiful blonde Isa Miranda is equally compelling -all fire and ice- and her period costumes and long flowing curls show her mask-like beauty off to its best advantage.