The evocative formal techniques of the giallo film were a high watermark of “style over substance” cinema, which many have attempted to replicate since its peak period in mid-1970s Italy, but few could equal such levels of enchanting visual expression. Throughout the last decade, we have been experiencing somewhat of a renaissance of directors who likely worshipped at the surreal altars of Lucio Fulci and Dario Argento and who have made concerted efforts to emulate and build upon their uniquely haunting approach to cinema to considerable success. Recent releases such as Yann Gonzalez’s Knife + Heart, Astron-6’s The Editor, and the various works of husband-and-wife duo Hélène Cattet and Bruno Forzani have worn their influences with unabashed pride and helped create this modern revival of the Italian exploitation/horror genre. In a similar vein, we can say Parish Malfitano’s feature debut Bloodshot Heart aligns itself with this resurgence of vivid colours, flamboyant cinematography, and disorienting editing familiar to the giallo genre. On its surface its influences are undeniable, but if we look beneath this stylish veneer we encounter a fundamental confusion over the film’s identity.
The film centers on Hans (Richard James Allen), a mild-mannered driving instructor who lives with his domineering mother (Dina Panozzo) in an existence of repetitive monotony. Allen’s rousing performance as the sheltered and awkward 44-year-old Hans imbues the character with a pitiful sadness tinged with off-putting warriness — a lonely soul we aren’t too sure is that way for a valid reason. Things become more clear and more sinister when his financially struggling mother takes in a tenant by name of Matilda (Emily David), an aspiring musician who is half Hans’ age. Despite this notable gap, Hans quickly and forcibly becomes fixated on the enchanting Matilda and proclaims she is a reincarnation of Sarah, a woman from his past we are treated only to glimpses of in scratchy super-8 footage Hans pores over. In seeing this resemblance, Hans becomes incurably consumed by the unaware and apathetic Matilda, and vows to convince her to love him despite the warnings of his mother who makes it clear Matilda is not the first case of this happening.
As Hans sinks further into his obsession of the 20-something lodger, the giallo influences become more apparent as director Malfitano begins to play with our perceptions through stylistic flourishes. Chronology seems to fade into itself and scenes begin to blur between Hans’ phantasmagoric fantasy and the film’s reality. The narrative begins to take multiple surrealistic detours through visually striking imagery and emphasize drastic, ostentatious changes to the colour, camerawork, and Ola Turkiewicz’s sumptuous electronica score. The psychological charge of the premise, the poignant stylistic decisions, and not to mention the notable decision to write both Hans and his mother as Italian expats in Australia, paints Bloodshot Heart as a knowing giallo takeoff. But as the film develops it becomes obvious this affiliation is only skin deep.
While Bloodshot Heart can replicate the unique formal traits of the genre, in execution its intended effect is much less confident. As Hans’ spirals into his obsession, Malfitano interjects moments of surprising tonal levity that take to the film like oil to water. The film constantly feels like it is teetering into unintentional comedy when it tries to inject a sense of menace, such as a scene when a deteriorating Hans dances by himself to an Italian showtune, captured with a disorienting close-up of Allen’s euphoric face and crosscut with his mother sobbing uncontrollably. Malfitano seemed to have been inspired by the famous dance scene from Argento’s Suspiria where an unstable Suzy Bannion flails uncontrollably as if possessed by an evil spirit, but where Argento inspired anxiety and uneasiness Malfitano creates awkward chuckles.
Perhaps it is due to Allen’s campy performance or the script’s failure to commit to a tone, but Bloodshot Heart feels fundamentally confused over whether it is emulating the giallo genre or trying to send it up. This is not to say that a film cannot have it both ways, but more to say Malfitano leans too far into atonal puerility and inconsistency for either side to be effective. When Hans’ obsession reaches a fever pitch and the film is hurdling towards its conclusion, for example, he doesn’t result to murder as those familiar with the genre would anticipate. Rather, he opts for an ill-advised romantic gesture that seems borrowed from a 1980s rom-com that only achieves in adding more unfitting humor to the film instead of tension. As this third act seems to devolve into straight parody, the film leaves an inconsistent and uneven taste in your mouth as it sputters into an unsatisfying climax that borrows the stylistic flourishes of giallo for a vacuous effect.
There are moments where Bloodshot Heart carries the genre confidence of stellar modern giallo, such as Peter Strickland’s Berberian Sound Studio, and is able to disorient you into levels of discomfort through its unconventional stylistic decisions and subject matter. But ultimately it’s a moot observation when Malfitano’s film loses sight of what made it so compelling as it wades into ill-fitting comedic territory. There is inherent promise in the ways his film can emulate the look and feel of a bygone genre, and once they can emulate the spirit as well I am confident they could produce a truly inspired modern giallo. As a first attempt, Bloodshot Heart remains admirable despite being a misfire.
