Upon viewing Eros D'Antona's "Haunted," one is left pondering the true intentions behind this unique story. At first glance, it seems to slot neatly into the realm of demonic and spiritual horror. Yet, there's a thematic melding of characters and scenarios that occasionally strays from the path the film seemingly seeks to follow during its brief 86-minute run.
A striking feature of this Italian production is its setting within the vast, untamed expanses of rural America - an ideal backdrop for tales of terror and the supernatural. However, the film's failure to leverage the rich offerings of a distinctly Italian setting is puzzling. Europe, and Italy in particular, with its exceptional locales, presents an untapped well of visual, thematic, and narrative gold.
We find ourselves confronted with a production choice that not only baffles but adds a layer of enigma to the film, veiled under the guise of 'error'. "Demonic," or "Haunted," its alternate title, meets its minimalist benchmarks in certain areas, particularly in cinematography and editing, with the director at the helm of both. Roberto D'Antona, who not only takes on the lead role but also contributes to the screenplay and musical supervision, presents alongside Andrea C. Pina's lackluster score, leading us to a production that diverges from mainstream media and digital platforms, resembling more a homegrown project. Notable not so much for its end quality or ambition but because, in essence, it's a venture cooked up and consumed by the two brothers.
The risk with such projects is falling into an incestuous and insular 'modus operandi' that may detract from the work. This is balanced by the advantage of creating a more cohesive and manageable human team, aiming for clearer ideas and better resource optimization. However, this situation should enable - though not guarantee - a successful final product.
Despite the D'Antona "bro's" having a solid narrative premise ripe for exploration, they converge on an arena marked by scarcity and underutilization of equal parts material, technical, and acting resources, with a certain clumsy level of execution. Yet, as we've mentioned, some technical apparatus elements, like photography, are salvaged. Without standing out, the camera work is executed with a certain effective flair and the image's linguistic register is managed with appreciable skill in both implementation and planning.
Within a set confined to the dimensions of a small apartment home, which outlines the narrative arc's unfolding, this limited setting provides the necessary conditions to bolster the narrative pace. Intriguingly, the interior environment of the house, initially meant to be a protective and tranquil space against an unknown and unsettling outside world, (we end up with almost solely views of the street from inside, at the doorway into the dwelling) becomes precisely the emergent site of the spirit or demonic spirits' manifestation that play the role of remarkable antagonists in this story.
This narrative device, placing the house's interior as the main stage of supernatural occurrences instead of the typical dark and unsettling exterior, flips the standard horror trope associating danger with the unknown outside. Here, the home, traditionally a sanctuary, turns into the epicenter of terror. This can be interpreted as a reflection of the protagonist's mental state, suggesting the demons he confronts could be internal projections of his fears, traumas, or repressed desires.
Symbolically, this plot twist might imply that the real threats emanate from within us, not from outside. The house as the microcosm of the protagonist's mind lends itself to multiple interpretations: an internal battle with personal demons, a confrontation with oneself, or a clash with a past that the character seeks, in vain, to leave behind by physically isolating himself.
The protagonist's reclusion in the house can be seen as a metaphor for the psychological withdrawal that often precedes or accompanies a mental breakdown. The house, in this context, is not just a physical space but an extension of the character's psyche, where the boundaries between reality and perception blur. Therefore, the paranormal events could be manifestations of a mind in crisis, seeking to externalize internal conflicts that cannot be resolved on the plane of ordinary consciousness.
This interpretation enriches the film's narrative, endowing it with psychological depth that transcends mere superficial scares. It offers the viewer a more immersive experience, prompting them to question the nature of reality and the possibility that the greatest horrors originate, in fact, within us.
In "The Shining" (1980), Jack Torrance's madness gradually manifests in the isolated confines of the Overlook Hotel, which acts as a mirror to his psychological disintegration. Similarly, the house in "Haunted" becomes an arena for the protagonist's internal battle, with the ghosts serving as metaphors for internal conflicts. In both cases, the buildings are more than mere backdrops; they're active participants in the narrative, enhancing the sense of entrapment and reflecting the disconnect between the characters and their environment. Opting for this resource not only nods to a classic but also sets expectations for an audience familiar with Kubrick's masterpiece, readying them for an experience meant to be psychologically complex and emotionally unsettling.
The set, stripped of any narrative and expressive artifice, as well as decorative embellishment, devoid of gothic elements, and unadorned with surrealistic accessories, nonetheless proves to be quite effective thanks to the camera movements, compositions, and the bonus of lighting and color spectrum utilized. The relative efficacy of the cinematography manages to conjure an intimidating atmosphere that also lends an extra layer to the narrative rhythm; a space that on its own would contribute little to the unfolding of the film's events. Even the performances of the protagonists contribute to an acceptable progression in pacing, despite being mediocre overall in presence, due partly to an underdeveloped level of authenticity and at times, an overpowering excess of histrionics. Moreover, there is a lack of definition in the character and tone intended to be imprinted on their personalities, resulting from the murky intention the D'Antona's aim to transcribe into a rather confusing script that overcomplicates life for itself in developing a fundamentally simple plot.
We understand, then, that starting from such a basic plot, there emerges the necessity to lend it depth and prominence, even positing the possibility that what Max's character experiences in the house is merely the fruit of his sick imagination - a dilemma that the viewer is immersed in more than once during the movie. This is further fed by the repertoire of behaviors that Roberto D'Antona unfolds on stage, unfortunately unclear as to what one would expect from an individual under the coordinates of a haunted house, leaving the audience with the overall impression of something quite grotesque.
The narrative approach, then, seems half-baked, straying from the framework of a conventional haunted house or possessed inhabitant plot, yet not achieving the level of deliberate comedy that Sam Raimi mastered. His "Evil Dead" series, from 1978 to 1991, which turned into blatant horror-comedy by its final installment, with the second being somewhat of a comedic rehash of the first, finds D'Antona wanting to steer us into a realm of sarcastic acidity. If the goal is to establish the film as a sort of parody that shows all signs of being such, it seems to aim for a subtler, more European execution, without the brashness. We observe a critique of lifestyles, ways of coping with existence, repressed sexual orientations, and maladaptive approaches to confronting reality...
The tension and complicity between Max and his visiting friend, with moments of emotional closeness and ambiguous gestures, suggest an unspoken attraction, hinting at an underlying homosexuality. Through extended gazes, mutual physical comfort, and dialogues laden with double entendres, they hint at a deeper, more affectionate connection.
So much so that one might wonder if the intended centerpiece of this production, the horror aspect, ends up being largely, if not entirely, incidental. Even if that weren't the case, the displayed effects - analog and digital - though cheap (and neither good nor pretty), do little to honor the genre. In sum, we have a film that will struggle to carve out a niche among the memorable, and while it manages to entertain in parts, it becomes unclear, incoherent, and so aimlessly ironic in others that it tires in its attempt to be original and authentic, ending up as a franchise-style pasta dish.
A striking feature of this Italian production is its setting within the vast, untamed expanses of rural America - an ideal backdrop for tales of terror and the supernatural. However, the film's failure to leverage the rich offerings of a distinctly Italian setting is puzzling. Europe, and Italy in particular, with its exceptional locales, presents an untapped well of visual, thematic, and narrative gold.
We find ourselves confronted with a production choice that not only baffles but adds a layer of enigma to the film, veiled under the guise of 'error'. "Demonic," or "Haunted," its alternate title, meets its minimalist benchmarks in certain areas, particularly in cinematography and editing, with the director at the helm of both. Roberto D'Antona, who not only takes on the lead role but also contributes to the screenplay and musical supervision, presents alongside Andrea C. Pina's lackluster score, leading us to a production that diverges from mainstream media and digital platforms, resembling more a homegrown project. Notable not so much for its end quality or ambition but because, in essence, it's a venture cooked up and consumed by the two brothers.
The risk with such projects is falling into an incestuous and insular 'modus operandi' that may detract from the work. This is balanced by the advantage of creating a more cohesive and manageable human team, aiming for clearer ideas and better resource optimization. However, this situation should enable - though not guarantee - a successful final product.
Despite the D'Antona "bro's" having a solid narrative premise ripe for exploration, they converge on an arena marked by scarcity and underutilization of equal parts material, technical, and acting resources, with a certain clumsy level of execution. Yet, as we've mentioned, some technical apparatus elements, like photography, are salvaged. Without standing out, the camera work is executed with a certain effective flair and the image's linguistic register is managed with appreciable skill in both implementation and planning.
Within a set confined to the dimensions of a small apartment home, which outlines the narrative arc's unfolding, this limited setting provides the necessary conditions to bolster the narrative pace. Intriguingly, the interior environment of the house, initially meant to be a protective and tranquil space against an unknown and unsettling outside world, (we end up with almost solely views of the street from inside, at the doorway into the dwelling) becomes precisely the emergent site of the spirit or demonic spirits' manifestation that play the role of remarkable antagonists in this story.
This narrative device, placing the house's interior as the main stage of supernatural occurrences instead of the typical dark and unsettling exterior, flips the standard horror trope associating danger with the unknown outside. Here, the home, traditionally a sanctuary, turns into the epicenter of terror. This can be interpreted as a reflection of the protagonist's mental state, suggesting the demons he confronts could be internal projections of his fears, traumas, or repressed desires.
Symbolically, this plot twist might imply that the real threats emanate from within us, not from outside. The house as the microcosm of the protagonist's mind lends itself to multiple interpretations: an internal battle with personal demons, a confrontation with oneself, or a clash with a past that the character seeks, in vain, to leave behind by physically isolating himself.
The protagonist's reclusion in the house can be seen as a metaphor for the psychological withdrawal that often precedes or accompanies a mental breakdown. The house, in this context, is not just a physical space but an extension of the character's psyche, where the boundaries between reality and perception blur. Therefore, the paranormal events could be manifestations of a mind in crisis, seeking to externalize internal conflicts that cannot be resolved on the plane of ordinary consciousness.
This interpretation enriches the film's narrative, endowing it with psychological depth that transcends mere superficial scares. It offers the viewer a more immersive experience, prompting them to question the nature of reality and the possibility that the greatest horrors originate, in fact, within us.
In "The Shining" (1980), Jack Torrance's madness gradually manifests in the isolated confines of the Overlook Hotel, which acts as a mirror to his psychological disintegration. Similarly, the house in "Haunted" becomes an arena for the protagonist's internal battle, with the ghosts serving as metaphors for internal conflicts. In both cases, the buildings are more than mere backdrops; they're active participants in the narrative, enhancing the sense of entrapment and reflecting the disconnect between the characters and their environment. Opting for this resource not only nods to a classic but also sets expectations for an audience familiar with Kubrick's masterpiece, readying them for an experience meant to be psychologically complex and emotionally unsettling.
The set, stripped of any narrative and expressive artifice, as well as decorative embellishment, devoid of gothic elements, and unadorned with surrealistic accessories, nonetheless proves to be quite effective thanks to the camera movements, compositions, and the bonus of lighting and color spectrum utilized. The relative efficacy of the cinematography manages to conjure an intimidating atmosphere that also lends an extra layer to the narrative rhythm; a space that on its own would contribute little to the unfolding of the film's events. Even the performances of the protagonists contribute to an acceptable progression in pacing, despite being mediocre overall in presence, due partly to an underdeveloped level of authenticity and at times, an overpowering excess of histrionics. Moreover, there is a lack of definition in the character and tone intended to be imprinted on their personalities, resulting from the murky intention the D'Antona's aim to transcribe into a rather confusing script that overcomplicates life for itself in developing a fundamentally simple plot.
We understand, then, that starting from such a basic plot, there emerges the necessity to lend it depth and prominence, even positing the possibility that what Max's character experiences in the house is merely the fruit of his sick imagination - a dilemma that the viewer is immersed in more than once during the movie. This is further fed by the repertoire of behaviors that Roberto D'Antona unfolds on stage, unfortunately unclear as to what one would expect from an individual under the coordinates of a haunted house, leaving the audience with the overall impression of something quite grotesque.
The narrative approach, then, seems half-baked, straying from the framework of a conventional haunted house or possessed inhabitant plot, yet not achieving the level of deliberate comedy that Sam Raimi mastered. His "Evil Dead" series, from 1978 to 1991, which turned into blatant horror-comedy by its final installment, with the second being somewhat of a comedic rehash of the first, finds D'Antona wanting to steer us into a realm of sarcastic acidity. If the goal is to establish the film as a sort of parody that shows all signs of being such, it seems to aim for a subtler, more European execution, without the brashness. We observe a critique of lifestyles, ways of coping with existence, repressed sexual orientations, and maladaptive approaches to confronting reality...
The tension and complicity between Max and his visiting friend, with moments of emotional closeness and ambiguous gestures, suggest an unspoken attraction, hinting at an underlying homosexuality. Through extended gazes, mutual physical comfort, and dialogues laden with double entendres, they hint at a deeper, more affectionate connection.
So much so that one might wonder if the intended centerpiece of this production, the horror aspect, ends up being largely, if not entirely, incidental. Even if that weren't the case, the displayed effects - analog and digital - though cheap (and neither good nor pretty), do little to honor the genre. In sum, we have a film that will struggle to carve out a niche among the memorable, and while it manages to entertain in parts, it becomes unclear, incoherent, and so aimlessly ironic in others that it tires in its attempt to be original and authentic, ending up as a franchise-style pasta dish.