La Maison aux fenêtres qui rient

*Minor plot details, no actual spoilers*

Antonio, recently reacquainted with his friend Stefano who has come to renovate a fresco in the local church depicting the Martyrdom of St Sebastian, has discovered something he shouldn't. Something is rotten in the Italian backwater, but before he can divulge his suspicions he finds himself on the wrong side of a top floor window and plummets to his death while a shadow lurks behind the curtains. So far, so giallo. The gruesome work of art is apparently key to uncovering some secret harboured by the town's residents, so the bulk of the film is then devoted to delving into the bloody back-story of the deceased Artist and his two insane sisters. The main problem here is that the film finds the central mystery much more mysterious than it actually is, and doesn't seem to realise it's given most of the details away. As the Painter's story unfolds - murky as it is - the important stuff (that the gruesome acts depicted in the artist's work might be real) is either implied by the promotional blurb, the opening credits sequence or already anticipated by our over-active imaginations.

What the film sorely needs in the absence of any real action is some clarification as to what it is we're actually supposed to be intrigued by while we wait for the body count to rise. There is a throwaway line later in the film which goes a long way to informing the story as a whole, and cements in our minds the very real danger at hand, but it comes a bit late in the day. Used earlier it would have given Stefano's amateur sleuthing some much needed impetus (Antonio's is too mundane and isolated a death and seems forgotten almost immediately). What lies at the heart of the film then, once the back-story has been told (and after a lot of to-ing and fro-ing) is Stefano's failure to deduce the identity of the sisters and the consequences therein. So everything depends on the final reveal. These are obviously characters we've already met - that's how these things work - but a real rapport needed to be established between Stefano and the peripheral players to give the nature of the revelation (which has been sketchily sign-posted) a much greater emotional punch when it comes. As a result the effect is diluted. Ultimately the biggest mystery is why the town is keeping its secrets in the first place.

On the plus side, coupled with the brooding atmospherics, it is lovely to look at. The camera work isn't overly elaborate but understated works in the film's favour. There are some nice shots - one in particular where Stefano walks round the side of a house with his back to it, so we discover, a moment before he does, that the title isn't simply a metaphor. A palette of greys and smoky blues blends with the thin winter light, with sparing splashes of crimson and orange ochre (emulating the look of Hitchcock's Frenzy). The artist's monologue which accompanies a retrospective sepia-tinged slaughter during the opening credits and used again later on is effectively lurid (you'll need a shower afterwards, followed by dinner and flowers) and the full extent of one haunted local's involvement with the murderous trio some thirty-odd years earlier lends the film some much needed emotional resonance. Most of all Avati deserves credit for the St Sebastian reference. It seems a pretty innocuous stylistic choice, but there is a significance here which, though not essential, provides one of the true, subtle revelations of the entire film. Provided you put two and two together and know your saints.

The House with Laughing Windows was for so long the 'lost giallo' and consequently it seems a bit of giallo envy has bolstered its reputation as a forgotten masterpiece. In terms of pure film-making that's short of the mark. There are too many uneven moments. Characters disappear ominously, then reappear without acknowledgement. Things go bump in the night which we discover second hand rather than getting to witness, and there's a curious did they/didn't they? (have it off) tryst between Stefano and the town's departing school teacher (if they did he apparently likes to keep not only his socks on but his entire dapper three-piece). That isn't to say it's a total bomb by any means either. It depends how invested you find yourself in the Painter's story, and to some extent how prepared you are to suspend disbelief. If you approach with expectations suitably tempered it'll probably do the business. Just sit back and soak up the quietly unsettling atmosphere without thinking too much, but be warned, a great time is not assured.

Right from the opening credits we know that we are in for something a bit different. An ensnared man is repeatedly stabbed by unknown assailants. The scene is shot in a series of close-ups in a fuzzy monochrome. Simultaneously, a male voice narrates weird musings about his 'colours' and how they run through his veins. It's a standout opening that promises something a bit odd.

Directly after this, we are introduced to the central character, Stefano an art restorer, who is travelling by boat to a remote south Italian community. He is met at the quayside by the mayor Solmi, a midget who resembles a squashed John Saxon. The inhabitants of this community seem to be a bit strange. Stefano is taken to the local chapel where he is shown a recently discovered fresco that he has been tasked with restoring. It's a disturbingly graphic depiction of the sacrifice of St. Sebastian, painted 40 or so years earlier by the mysterious local painter Legnani, known as the 'painter of agony' such was his predilection for capturing images of death. Stefano subsequently receives a number of anonymous threatening phone calls suggesting that he should abandon his work and leave. His friend, the local doctor, takes him aside and warns him that he has discovered something ominous about the community, centring on a 'house with laughing windows' but before he is able to elaborate further he is interrupted. His friend is murdered shortly afterwards in mysterious circumstances. Stefano is eventually driven away from the local hotel and winds up staying in a remote house with a retarded odd job boy from the chapel and a bed-ridden old woman. He also finds an old tape-recording that contains the very sinister narration from the opening credits. I won't spoil the fun by revealing more.

The title and release date of this movie suggests that it will be a typical giallo. But this simply is not the case. Despite adopting some of the conventions of the genre – the mystery maniac and tragic back-story – this is not a body-count movie and there is no black-gloved assassin. The horror is more subtle but, crucially, a lot more frightening than the average giallo. This really is a scary movie. It fuses the aforementioned giallo elements with the weird rural community horror seen in films like The Wicker Man. Although the inhabitants are less weird here, the setting does have a similarly unsettling feel. It's the menacing atmosphere of the film that really sets it apart from most. It's the little details that make the difference, for example, the haunting tape-recording is particularly well used.

The photography is fine and really maximises the locations, which themselves are very well selected, the interior of the mysterious house where Stefano lodges is very effectively used. The music is particularly good, especially the brooding piano piece that accompanies the suspense scenes. The acting, too, is a notch above the average Italian horror. And the gore is kept to a minimum but, as a result, when it does show up it has a stronger effect. I would go so far as to say that this relatively unheralded film is one of the best Italian horror movies. It's an essential DVD for any Euro horror collection.

"The House With Laughing Windows" is a very European film. Unlike the gialli of, say, Argento, this film is not 'Americanized' at all. It reminds me more of films like "Don't Torture a Duckling" in that it takes place out in a small town in the Italian countryside. It adds to the ambiance and I really like that.

The plot is very slow-moving. I'm not even sure if I'd call this film a giallo, but reading other reviews on here, it seems that it is in fact classified as such. It was hard for me to watch this for the first hour or so. I was wondering when it was going to pick up. Not many people get killed. But, I stuck with it and I recommend doing so. If you can stick with it, the ending is freakin' awesome. I was shocked by it; it really delivers. And it gets nice and bloody too. I had no idea who the killer was, and by the time I found out, my head was spinning from the progression of the final few scenes. It ends abruptly and it feels great. It more than made up for the sluggishness of the first 2/3 of the film. It's not unlike many of the newer Asian films in that regard: it moves very slow but the last few minutes are like a twisting train wreck.

In short, I recommend this film to those of you who have patience and enjoy Italian horror.

8 out of 10, kids.

The film is not a categorical giallo as it is often suggested as being, but rather it's more of a entry into the Gothic horror canon, with a incredibly strong sense of mystery that keeps the viewer intrigued even when the pacing becomes sluggish. The film is not exploitative (as most giallo films are) but mature, intelligent, and effective. Indeed, there is no nudity and little violence is present as the picture's primary focus is its complex, labyrinthine mystery that truly surprises the viewer with its unexpected turns of the plot. The film is also heavy on atmosphere, artfully directed by the award-winning Pupi Avati (of "The Story of Boys and Girls" and "Incantato" fame), which really intensifies the mystery, making it not only it spellbinding by also horrific and terrifying at times(especially near the end). The debits I perceive is that the narrative is a tad drawn out and some of the characters aren't as developed as one would hope, but the mystery is so good that it's easily to look past all these minor quibbles. Highly recommended to those who liked slow-burning Gothic mysteries such as "Don't look Now".

After 35 years of anonymity, I want to state that I was asked by the director, Pupi Avati, and his brother Antonio to model for the painting. It took place one May day outside of Rome, and I was paid 35,000 lire (about $50) to have them photograph me for eventual conversion into a painting. I show up at the seven-second mark at the beginning of the film, and I know it's me, not only because I have two slides from the shoot, but because the scars on my knees were faithfully recreated by the (uncredited) artist.

I have been attempting to get listed in the credits here on IMDb and would appreciate any advice as to how I can move from an anonymous role to seeing my name in the cast list. It's not much...though it would go a long way to realizing my dream of being in the movies.