If ever there was a film that
embodied the collective unconscious fears of the male species, it would have to
be Mario Bava’s 1960 directorial debut, Black
Sunday. Known under various different titles, as Italian horror films are
prone to be, this spine-tingling little picture launched a renaissance of
filmmaking in its native country, while simultaneously setting the bar abroad
for what would be the new standard in the genre. What’s more, the film actually
deserves the reputation it enjoys (something that eludes most of its
successors).
In the 17th Century,
Princess Asa Vajda is accused of consorting with the Devil, along with her accomplice
(and possibly brother) Javutich. She is put to death by her own second brother,
the Grand Inquisitor, by having an iron mask lined with spikes hammered over
her face. But before the sentence is carried out, she speaks a curse over him
and all his family. As the inquisitors attempt to burn her body in order to
prevent her return from the grave, a storm thwarts their efforts.
Two centuries later, around the year
1830, she is inadvertently awakened by a doctor and his assistant, and proceeds
to wreak havoc on her own descendants, including Princess Katia, who bears a
remarkable resemblance to the witch herself!
Released in the United States as The Mask of Satan, Black Sunday marked the announcement of a number of new talents to
the world of cinema. First and foremost is the director, Mario Bava, who would
go on to be regarded as the definitive master of Italian horror. Though his
later film A Bay of Blood (aka Twitch of
the Death Nerve [1971]) would be arguably the most influential of his
career, becoming the direct inspiration for slasher films such as Halloween (1978) and Friday the 13th, Part 2 (1981),
Black Sunday remains his absolute
best.
The other major talent gifted to us
by the film is that of actress Barbara Steele. Her unconventional beauty,
combined with an incomparable screen presence, makes it impossible not to be
fixated upon her as she embodies both the innocent Princess Katia, and the evil
witch (or vampire? The film never makes a distinction between the two…) Asa Vajda.
Steele’s career would see her working in wide variety of genres; from Federico
Fellini’s masterpiece 8 ½ (1963), to
Joe Dante’s campy creature-feature Piranha
(1978). Ultimately, her lasting impact originates from her turns in Black Sunday as both horror heroine and
villain.
Much of the effectiveness of the
picture can be found in two aspects. The first and greatest of these is the
overwhelming atmosphere generated by Bava’s unique, arresting black and white
cinematography. Mario Bava began as a painter, and his shot composition bears
all of the requisite birth marks. Every set piece is orchestrated to evoke the
space, the shadows, and the breadth of the surroundings. The film even goes so
far as to stage the audience from the perspective of the evil invading force in
Castle Vajda. As shots pan forward, it seems the camera itself is sinister,
knocking over candles, suits of armor, and portraits hanging on the walls;
gusting through tapestries like some demonic whirlwind.
The atmospheric mood is so pervasive
that the film becomes a sort of tone poem- giving impressions of darkness, of
love, and all-consuming hatred. When the end titles appear, we are left with
many indelible images embedded in our subconscious: Asa bearing a devilish grin
upon her ghastly, yet beautiful visage, beckoning us to “Stare into these
eyes!”; Princess Katia standing in the doorway of a monastery in ruins; and
especially the gruesome opening sequence, complete with branding and perhaps
the most unique execution of a witch ever committed to celluloid. Even here in
his first theatrical film, one can see the forthcoming influence of Bava’s visual
sensibilities on the upcoming generation of directors such as Dario Argento,
Lucio Fulci, and Jean Rollin.
The second – and perhaps more
frightening – aspect is the way that the film preys upon the sexuality and
confidence of masculinity. Men are the principle victims in Black Sunday. But that is not nearly as
scary as the way they are victimized by the witch. At first glance, femme
fatales employing their sexuality in order to lure men to their ends may seem
like an old hat. Indeed the trope finds its roots as far back as Homer’s The Odyssey; in which nymphet sirens use
their beauty and song to draw in sailors and wreck their ships on shoals, where
they would then be easy prey. What makes this theme so terrifying in Bava’s
film is that these men do not simply give in to lustful desires, nor do they
act foolishly. They are often powerless, utterly incapable of resisting Asa’s
treacherous charms. She makes no attempt to hide her intentions, freely
admitting that death waits in her embrace, and still Dr. Kruvajan is ensnared,
his life force drawn out of him with a kiss. A man without control of his
situation, without the power to overcome temptation or beauty, is truly in
terror.
In fact, this terror is not limited
to the characters in the film. As the audience, we find ourselves in an
alarming confusion of feelings in the presence of Steele’s allure. We are
threateningly attracted to her bizarre sex appeal even as we are repulsed by
her evil and the face grotesquely punctured by the mask of Satan.
This says something about the nature
of horror films in general, and why the mass appeal of the genre has stubbornly
refused to ever die since the birth of cinema. Humanity’s attraction to the
dark and dangerous, our love affair with the macabre, frightens even ourselves.
Consider the conservative right with its angry parents crusading to eradicate
such movies as Silent Night, Deadly Night
(1984), or even Billy Graham condemning The
Exorcist (1973), going so far as to claim that an actual demon was
possessing the film reel. Kick and scream as they may, genre pictures never
fail to pack theatre seats and explode the box office.
Barbara Steele’s two-faced siren
song is the embodiment of Black Sunday’s
power over the viewer. Her performance as Katia isn’t necessarily anything
special. It is Asa that we come to see, and here she delivers with gusto.
Darting, twitching eyes… Ear-to-ear, lustful grin… She is quite plainly fun to
watch, and this role alone makes the movie worth the price of admission.
In his indispensable commentary, Tim
Lucas (co-editor of Video Watchdog
and author of the essential coffee-table tome Mario Bava: All the Colors of the Dark) discusses at length the
film’s prominent motif of eyes and sight. And it certainly is everywhere, from
the gaping black voids of Asa’s interred corpse to the inventive camera zooms
through the titular mask. But there is another theme, this one perhaps more
insidious, and at the very least more multilayered: the concealing of something
evil and ugly behind an exterior of beauty.
Consider the quaint farm sitting
adjacent to the old cemetery. Even the graveyard itself seems beautiful, with
exquisitely shot woods surrounding a remarkably well-rendered set. But from
underneath a rotting hand replete with maggots claws its way out the earth as
Javutich emerges to wreak havoc on the world once more.
Another obvious example is the
fireplace in the castle’s great hall. At first glance, it is an expertly
crafted sigil set in classic gothic architecture. Perfect for a black and white
horror story. Nevertheless, it is a secret passage way leading to the dark
heart of the mausoleum. Much in the same way that the painting of Javutich does,
and this is only discovered when it burns…
The film is full of pleasing
facades: the stark gothic architecture of the tomb housing the witch’s body,
the iron masks obscuring the faces of the fiends, and perhaps most famously,
the beauty of Steele’s resurrected countenance hiding the reposing skeleton
beneath! This exact moment is the best shock Black Sunday has to offer, combining all of the momentum and
suspense that has been building over the past hour into the ultimate reveal.
The true nature of the devil finally unveiled.
The resolution after the fact is a
non-issue. Rarely does such a moment leave a lasting impact, yet it is the
image of Asa’s living, yet decomposing body that stays with us after the film
is over. The ghastliness of it leaves the audience, for lack of a better word,
traumatized, so that whether or not the witch is burned seems of little
importance. That a movie can accomplish this feat is a truly special thing.
Ultimately, Black Sunday itself possesses a façade. In this case however, it is
a presentation of ugliness masking a work of beauty underneath. Bava's work in
general holds a sort of notoriety. Horror and a style that is long on
atmosphere but short on plot. The stigma often prevents many would-be viewers
from experiencing the greatness the director has to offer. It is certainly
unfortunate that Black Sunday does not have a wider audience. For those
who have seen it, the treasures to be found in multiple viewings are boundless.
And for those yet to have it thrust upon them, STARE INTO THESE EYES, and behold the cinema of Mario Bava.
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