Intervista a Roger Vadim (1971)

La seguente intervista allo sceneggiatore e regista francese Roger Vadim, realizzata da Ornella Volta, è stata originariamente pubblicata nel numero 22 della rivista Horror, nel novembre del 1971, alle pagine 30-31. Insieme a Valerio Riva, Ornella Volta ha curato l’antologia I vampiri tra noi: 37 storie vampiriche, pubblicata dall’editore Feltrinelli nel 1960. Questa antologia si apre con una prefazione scritta da Roger Vadim, di prossima pubblicazione su queste pagine in italiano e in inglese.

Per ulteriori informazioni su molti dei film citati, si veda il libro Vampires in Italian Cinema, 1956-1975 (Edinburgh University Press, 2020), acquistabile con sconto del 30% inserendo il codice EVENT30.

Interview with Ernesto Gastaldi (1970)

This is the English translation of an interview with screenwriter Ernesto Gastaldi conducted by Luigi Cozzi. The interview was originally published in Italian, in the Italian monthly magazine Horror, in April 1970. You can find more info about Italian horror movies in the monograph Vampires in Italian Cinema, 1956-1975 (Edinburgh University Press, 2020). If you are interested in buying the book, feel free to use the launch discount code EVENT30 for 30% off.

Ernesto Gastaldi: I have a real passion for science fiction. My interest in sci-fi began when I read Edmond Hamilton’s The Star Kings (1949), a novel published almost twenty years ago. Unfortunately, for filmmakers, there aren’t many chances in the sci-fi genre. However, I hope to make a sci-fi film myself very soon. It is an old idea of mine, I have been thinking about it for many years now. I want to make an omnibus film consisting of four episodes. Each episode deals with the theme of the fantastic and features a famous actor. Jean-Louis Trintignant has already accepted [to star in one of the episodes]. Tomorrow I am going to meet Giuliano Gemma to tell him about this project of mine. I wrote Giuliano’s latest western movie, so I hope that he will act in my sci-fi movie for an acceptable [small] fee.

Luigi Cozzi: You will produce and direct this sci-fi film of yours, then. It is not the first time that you are producing and directing a feature, right?

EG: No, it is not the first time, as you very well know. I have already produced and directed two films: a muder-mystery-cum-love-story [giallo-rosa] called Cin cin… cianuro (1968) and a horror called Libido (1965).

LC: You have been dealing with horror cinema for almost ten years now…

EG: I started my career by directing a 16mm film and a producer decided to trust me. After a training period, I wrote L’amante del vampiro / The Vampire and the Ballerina (1960), a terrible film that almost makes me feel ashamed. But L’amante del vampiro was a useful experience and it made good money at the box office.

LC: If I am not mistaken, you have also worked on a small, little-known adaptation of Le Fanu’s 1872 classic Carmilla, the famous short story that inspired both Carl Theodor Dreyer’s Vampyr, ou l’étrange aventure d’Allan Gray / Vampyr (1932) and Roger Vadim’s … Et mourir de plaisir / Blood and Roses (1960).

EG: Yes, Tonino Valerii and I wrote La cripta e l’incubo / Crypt of the Vampire (1964) for Camillo Mastrocinque. The story of La cripta e l’incubo is based on Le Fanu’s Carmilla, even if the short story is not mentioned in the credits.

LC: I remember La cripta e l’incubo well. Christopher Lee was the protagonist, and the film was quite morbid. I wonder why the Italian censorship didn’t hinder the film… Maybe because La cripta e l’incubo was considered a typical product for the summer season [when nobody goes to the cinema anyway]… It was the same for Antonio Margheriti’s incredible orgy Danza macabra / Castle of Blood (1963) …

EG: Ah, there was a period in which I collaborated with Nini [Antonio Margheriti] a lot. I wrote several films for him… I remember I lunghi capelli della morte / The Long Hair of Death (1964) with Barbara Steele, and a sci-fi film that we started right before the success of the James Bond saga. For Mario Bava I wrote La frusta e il corpo / The Whip and the Body (1963) and I must confess that I was quite disappointed with the finished film. I wrote a Clouzot-style psychological nightmare, but what Bava saw in the story was a baroque, decadent drama, and he exasperated the tones until he reached total implausibility. I am very sorry about it, because Bava is good at his job, he is a great magician. Even more than Margheriti, Bava is excellent at creating tricks and optic effects. Indeed, his father [Eugenio Bava] was one of the most respected special effects creators in Italian cinema. I remember a scene of La frusta e il corpo that was shot on a beach. Bava wanted a castle in the background, so he prepared a glass matte and he put it on the camera to shoot the scene. Bava is crazy about these things, and he is one of the very few who know how to do them.

LC: You have also worked as a screenwriter for Riccardo Freda, the other Italian specialist of the horror-thriller genre [brivido]…

EG: Exactly. Freda is first and foremost an art expert, he has a great figurative taste [gusto figurativo]. I wrote two films for him: Lo spettro / The Ghost (1963) and L’orribile segreto del Dr. Hichcock / The Horrible Dr. Hichcock (1962).

LC: Please, explain L’orribile segreto del Dr. Hichcock to me. I saw the film but I didn’t understand anything. It was a series of unexplained events and it was difficult to understand the narrative thread… You wrote the screenplay, right?

EG: You see, my screenplay was very clear and precise, with all the details logically connected. But Freda decided that a horror film doesn’t need any explanation. According to Freda, the spectators of a horror film are content with witnessing a series of absurd and terrifying events: the audience doesn’t really need to know why all these things are happening. Therefore, Freda ignored all the explanations, all the logical links and all the psychological motivations that I had put in the screenplay. He simply strung together a series of scary scenes.

Intervista a Ernesto Gastaldi (1970)

La seguente intervista allo sceneggiatore Ernesto Gastaldi, realizzata da Luigi Cozzi, è stata originariamente pubblicata nel numero 5 della rivista Horror, nell’aprile del 1970, a pagina 56.

Per ulteriori informazioni su molti dei film citati, si veda il libro Vampires in Italian Cinema, 1956-1975 (Edinburgh University Press, 2020), acquistabile con sconto del 30% inserendo il codice EVENT30.

Interview with Aristide Massaccesi aka Joe D’Amato (1991)

This is the English translation of an interview with filmmaker Aristide Massaccesi conducted by Max Della Mora, Andrea Giorgi and Manlio Gomarasca. The interview was originally published in Italian, in the fanzine DROP OUT, in September-October 1991.

DROP OUT: Why films of yours like Buio Omega / Beyond the Darkness (1979) and Rosso sangue / Absurd (1981) were cut when they were released in Italy?

JOE: Obviously because my films were too violent, or too hardcore, for the Italian market. Generally, we shoot two versions of the movie because certain countries do not want a version that is too violent. Italy, Germany and, in general, European countries do not want too much violence. In countries like the US or Japan, on the other hand, the violent version is very welcome.

D: Your film Antropophagus (1980) is available in three different versions. The violent scenes are the same in the three versions, but the dialogues and the editing [of the other scenes] are different.

JOE: I didn’t know that. I guess that these changes were made by the distributors of the film. The distributors working in this or that country may have changed the dialogues of Antropophagus to make them more understandable to the local audience, or things like that.

D: Rosso sangue is a sequel to Antropophagus. Why didn’t you shoot Antropophagus 3?

JOE: Antropophagus was not commercially successful, and Rosso sangue made even less money than Antropophagus at the box office. So we decided not to make a third movie in the series.

D: Maybe, with a title like Antropophagus 2, Rosso sangue could have been more successful?

JOE: I have never been commercially successful in Italy. My films have always been more commercially successful abroad. So we thought that it was not a good idea to use the title Antropophagus 2 for Rosso sangue.

D: What was the story for Antropophagus 3? We heard that the cannibal was supposed to eat his own brain…

JOE: Yes, that was the idea. The story of Antropophagus 3 is about a cannibal: he seems to be dead, but then he comes back to life and becomes a zombie.

D: What can you tell us about Luigi Montefiori [who plays the cannibal in Antropophagus and Rosso sangue]?

JOE: We are friends. He has also written a lot of screenplays for my films. It has been twenty years now: he writes, I direct. It is a sort of collaboration.

D: Did you shoot some scenes of Killing Birds (1987)?

JOE: Yes, I shot some scenes of Killing Birds because director Claudio Lattanzi, who was very young at that time, didn’t feel like doing it.

D: What about Troll 2 (1990)?

JOE: Troll 2 was shot by Claudio Fragasso in Utah. It was a quite ironic horror, it was quite nice. I don’t think that it will be released in Italy. Maybe in VHS… It was released in Europe, though.

D: What do you think about films like Ruggero Deodato’s Cannibal Holocaust (1980) and Umberto Lenzi’s Cannibal Ferox (1981), in which there are real scenes of violence, especially involving animals?

JOE: I don’t think that the scenes of violence are real in these films, I think that it is just a publicity stunt. Maybe the scenes involving animals are real… But everything can be faked [done with special effects]. For example, in my upcoming film, there is a scene set in a morgue. In the US, you can just go to a morgue and film what you want… but, when I was a cinematographer, I went to shoot in a morgue and I felt sick… I can’t do it, it is too disturbing for me. In fact, in my upcoming film, we recreated a morgue in another location. This is to say that anything can be faked. It is useless to kill real animals.

D: What about Endgame – Bronx lotta finale (1983) and Anno 2020 – I gladiatori del futuro (1983)?

JOE: These two films were made to exploit the success of Mad Max (1979). In Italy, Endgame – Bronx lotta finale and Anno 2020 – I gladiatori del futuro were never released, but they were quite successful abroad.

D: What about Bruno Mattei?

JOE: He is a serious professional, he has always been involved in filmmaking. He started his career as a film editor.

D: You worked with him for Emanuelle e Françoise (Le sorelline) / Emanuelle and Françoise (1975), which is available in two versions in Italy. One version has more sex, the other has more violence…

JOE: Really? It could be. It is always the same story with the distributors. There was a film of mine, I think they called it Blue Holocaust or something like that… Anyway, this film was released in a hardcore version: they cut some scenes and inserted pornographic footage instead… Sometimes I am unaware of what distributors do to my films… It is such a commercial environment, you know… If I made auteur cinema… If I made one film every two years, maybe I could keep an eye on all my films… But I make six films in one year: if I keep an eye on all my films, I go crazy…

D: A French version of Emanuelle e Françoise (Le sorelline) has hardcore inserts starring Brigitte Lahaie…

JOE: That must be an initiative of the French distributor. He made his own film…

D: What about Michele Soavi?

JOE: Since everybody in Italy keeps saying that nobody is giving young directors a chance, I have tried to work with young people like Michele Soavi. I produced films by Claude Milliken (real name: Claudio Lattanzi), Clyde Anderson (real name: Claudio Fragasso), Martin Newline (real name: Fabrizio Laurenzi) and Michele Soavi. Michele Soavi is the young director who has been doing better.

D: Are you still working with Michele Soavi?

JOE: Yes, we are making a film based on a story of his, a thriller on the road, something similar to Robert Harmon’s The Hitcher (1986).

D: Let’s talk about Laura Gemser.

JOE: She is a dear friend. She is not an actress anymore, she works with me.

D: She is a costume designer.

JOE: Who told you?

D: We saw the credits of La casa 5 / Beyond Darkness (1990) and Troll 2. Is her real name Moira Chen?

JOE: No, her real name is Laura Gemser. We invented the name Moira Chen because her real name, Laura Gemser, had already been used a lot, she made hundreds of movies as an actress. So we changed her name, but it was useless. Everybody recognized her.

D: You appear as an actor in a film by Massimo Dallamano [Cosa avete fatto a Solange? / What Have You Done to Solange? (1972)], in the small role of a policeman.

JOE: I was working as a camera operator when Massimo was working as a cinematographer. Then Massimo became a film director and I became a cinematographer. In Cosa avete fatto a Solange? I played the small role of the policeman because the film was shot between Rome and London and we wanted to save money. It would have been expensive to have an actor move from Rome to London and vice versa, so I played the role. It was also amusing for me.

D: Tell us about Emanuelle e gli ultimi cannibali / Emanuelle and the Last Cannibals (1977).

JOE: It was a way of revisiting the Emmanuelle series. I made the whole black Emanuelle series [with Laura Gemser] and the films did really well at the box office. When the black Emanuelle character started becoming less popular we tried to revamp her a bit with the cannibals, and in fact Emanuelle e gli ultimi cannibali was very successful.

D: Was it very gory?

JOE: Some scenes were very strong.

D: What about Le notti erotiche dei morti viventi / Erotic Nights of the Living Dead (1980)?

JOE: The film was distributed in two versions. I was told that there is a version of Le notti erotiche dei morti viventi with hardcore scenes, which I never shot. […] The film I shot was a softcore film. […]

D: What about Al Cliver?

JOE: He looks like an American guy. His face is amazing, but his real name is Pierluigi Conti. He is a carpenter, he is really good at that. He is not a great actor but he has the right face, the face of a suffering, tormented man. And he is super-nice, he is adorable.

D: How many pseudonyms do you have?

JOE: I have a lot of pseudonyms. Joe D’Amato is the one I use for erotic movies, because it has become a sort of trademark now.

D: Compared to your first softcore movies like L’alcova (1985) and Il piacere (1985), the films you are making now have less sex scenes. For example, your film Dirty Love (1988) is basically a drama.

JOE: This is because we had some problems: in Japan, for example, if you want to sell your film you can’t show “the bush” [il pelo] and therefore you have to shoot a “bushless” version, which is difficult… Then, for the German market and for the American market, you have to shoot something that could be aired on TV… As a result, you inevitably end up making all these bullshit films…

D: Would you go back to shooting hardcore movies?

JOE: No, hardcore movies don’t give me any satisfaction anymore. When the hardcore market was liberalized [in the late 1970s and early 1980s], these films were well distributed, but now the market is saturated. Moreover, I was a guy who tried to make hardcore movies with a plot, which was useless because in red light cinemas they used to cut the story bits to make a non-stop-fucking film. So there was no point in making hardcore films my way anymore.

D: Did you work with Giuliana Gamba as well?

JOE: Yes, I produced her first film because I thought that having a woman direct a pornographic film could create a certain curiosity in the audience.

D: What was the title of this film?

JOE: I don’t remember. It was a hardcore movie. Perhaps it was called Le porno investigatrici, or something like that. Alexander Borsky made other hardcore films, his real name is Claudio Bernabei, he was a collaborator of mine.

D: As for Caligola… la storia mai raccontata / Caligula… The Untold Story (1982), the VHS version is heavily censored, while the Dutch version is hardcore and very gory…

JOE: Caligola… la storia mai raccontata was cut when it came out in the theaters as well. Tinto Brass’s Caligola / Caligula (1979) was very risqué, so we had to shoot two versions of Caligola… la storia mai raccontata, for the usual censorship problems in Italy.

D: You have always had problems with Italian censorship…

JOE: In Italy censorship is a big problem because we have seven commissions and you never know which commission will end up rating your film. A commission doesn’t mind violence (for example, Antropophagus had no problems at all), while another commission strongly disapproves of violence but doesn’t mind sex… […]

D: Do you have other horror projects in the making?

JOE: I am starting a new project called Ritorno dalla morte. It is the story of a woman who has paranormal powers. She is in a coma because of a violent aggression that she suffered, and she uses her paranormal powers to control a dead man and take revenge [on her assailants]. The zombie and the woman are connected by a computer. The boyfriend of the woman understands the situation and disconnects the computer, thereby killing the woman and the zombie.

D: Will it be a gory film?

JOE: Yes, but in Italy the film won’t have big chances. We recently made La casa 3 / Ghosthouse (1988), La casa 4 / Witchery (1988) and La casa 5, and only La casa 4 was successful – very successful actually – because it starred Linda Blair. The other two films didn’t go well, like all horror movies in Italy, except for big productions.

D: What are the reasons behind the decadence of the horror genre?

JOE: There was no renewal among directors. Mario Bava died [in 1980] and, apart from Dario Argento and Lucio Fulci, and completely forgotten directors like Enzo Castellari and Alberto De Martino, there were no new guys. Then there was the huge crisis of cinema and the film comedies with Renato Pozzetto and Paolo Villaggio were making all the money, so nobody was interested in making other kinds of films anymore. Italian horror cinema could be good, quality-wise: our horror films can be compared to the American ones. There is just one difference: the American films are very ironic (e.g., Sam Raimi), while we keep on making horror films seriously, as if they were terror films, and perhaps the audience has had enough of that.

D: La casa 5 was supposed to star Linda Blair, like La casa 4.

JOE: We tried to contact Linda Blair for La casa 5, but she had just made Repossessed (1990) and she was convinced that Repossessed was a masterpiece, so she refused our proposal for fear of ruining her career [sputtanarsi]. She was super-famous at the age of fourteen, when she made The Exorcist (1973), then she grew up and nobody cared about her anymore… So now she is very careful and prejudiced in choosing her acting roles.

D: What is your relationship with horror cinema?

JOE: I make horror films because I have a lot of fun making them. I make movies of all genres, but I make horror movies with particular pleasure. Above all, I am a technician, so for Buio Omega the journalists wrote that I had shot a real autopsy. Actually, I simply used some giblets that I bought at the butcher shop. For Antropophagus, too, the journalists wrote that I used a real human fetus. Actually, I simply used a blood-soaked, skinned rabbit. This is to say that I have a lot of fun when I make horror films. I also think that I did a very good job while shooting those scenes, if somebody thought that they were real. […]

D: You are often compared to Jess Franco…

JOE: Yes, it is because we both produce and direct our own films. I have also been compared to Roger Corman. It is for the same reason, I think: we do everything ourselves.

Interview with Ernesto Gastaldi (November 2018)

An e-mail exchange with screenwriter Ernesto Gastaldi about his contribution to L’amante del vampiro / The Vampire and the Ballerina (Renato Polselli, 1960), L’orribile segreto del Dr. Hichcock / The Horrible Dr. Hichcock (Riccardo Freda, 1962), La cripta e l’incubo / Terror in the Crypt (Camillo Mastrocinque, 1964) and Il mostro dell’Opera (Renato Polselli, 1964). This interview was made to gather data for the monograph Vampires in Italian Cinema, 1956-1975 (Edinburgh University Press, 2020). If you are interested in buying the book, feel free to use the launch discount code EVENT30 for 30% off.

Michael Guarneri: I’d like to start with a very general question. As a writer of genre movies active since the late 1950s, what is your opinion about the dichotomy between auteur cinema and genre cinema in the Italian film industry of the 1960s and 1970s? Did you feel discriminated against by the critics at that time?

Ernesto Gastaldi: We screenwriters knew all the critics: most of them were failed auteurs. We used to laugh about their (mostly scathing) reviews of our movies. We knew that genre cinema was important because the money it made allowed producers to try and make bigger, more demanding and prestigious films. We used to distinguish between true auteurs and quaquaraquà [tall-talking posers] like Francesco Maselli. Then Quentin Tarantino came to the Venice Film Festival one summer and kneeled in front of Sergio Martino calling him ‘Maestro’, and all Italian critics suddenly became interested in Italian genre cinema…

MG: Let’s talk about Renato Polselli’s L’amante del vampiro, your official debut as a screenwriter. During my research at the Archivio Centrale dello Stato in Rome, I couldn’t find any production data about the film. Could you tell me something about the producer and the production company Consorzio Italiano Films?

EG: I got to know the producer Bruno Bolognesi and his wife on the set of L’amante del vampiro, in late 1959. I was the screenwriter and the director’s assistant. Bolognesi was a good and honest man, but he was not a professional. Everything was improvised and disorganised, a total mess, including his company Consorzio Italiano Films.

MG: Was L’amante del vampiro a film financed through the distribution’s minimo garantito [a form of pre-financing based on a rough, minimum estimate of the net box-office receipts the movie would collect at the end of its theatrical run]?

EG: Yes, it was. L’amante del vampiro was financed by a regional distributor, who provided the minimo garantito via cambiali [promissory notes].

MG: Do you have an idea of how much the movie cost? A similar vampire film from the same period, L’ultima preda del vampiro / The Playgirls and the Vampire (Piero Regnoli, 1960), cost 37 million lire, according to the cost statement I found in the Archivio Centrale dello Stato.

EG: Yes, L’amante del vampiro cost around 40 million lire.

MG: I’d like to ask you about this sentence from your 1991 autobiography Voglio entrare nel cinema: ‘The vampire [in L’amante del vampiro] is Walter Brandi, who brought the deal. The friend of the vampire must be a young man from Tuscany, as he is willing to invest some money’. In what sense had Walter Brandi ‘brought the deal’? Did he invest his own money in the production of L’amante del vampiro, as he would do a few months later for L’ultima preda del vampiro?

EG: No, Walter Bigari (‘Walter Brandi’ was a pseudonym) didn’t have capital to invest in L’amante del vampiro. He simply introduced his friend Gino Turini to the producer. Turini wanted to be an actor really badly and he was willing to invest a few millions in the film in order to kickstart his acting career. The producer then gave Turini a role in exchange for the money.

EG: No, no, not at all! Walter was a true Don Juan! I don’t know how he managed, but he had sex with one woman after the other. I became a friend of Walter’s later in my career and every time he met a woman who embraced him, his problem was to remember if he had slept with her already. All his relationships with women lasted a maximum of three or four days. Walter’s career was a rollercoaster, with high peaks and deep abysses, both as an actor and as a producer. As an actor, he became a hero because during the shooting of a film at the Passo del Furlo he saved a colleague from drowning. Then he worked as Michel [sic] Sernas’s body double for a while. In the end, he became a producer and he got some success with a couple of commercial movies. Walter was an extraordinary person: his attitude towards life and towards the people around him was always the same, whether he was driving around in a Ferrari or walking around flat broke.

MG: Was Walter Bigari a homosexual in real life? I ask because of the ‘retroactive/active from the rear vampire’ joke that you make in your autobiography…

MG: French actress Hélène Rémy receives top billing in L’amante del vampiro. Was she hired in order to make an Italo-French co-production deal?

EG: Hélène was living in Rome at that time. I don’t think the producer tried to make any kind of co-production deal. In any case, Hélène was useful to reach the foreign market. I guess that’s why she was cast.

MG: Many of the people hired for L’amante del vampiro (yourself included) studied and graduated at the Centro Sperimentale di Cinematografia in Rome. According to the Italian law of the time, hiring personnel who graduated at CSC granted fiscal benefits for the producers, didn’t it?

EG: Yes, it did. As former CSC alumni, we tried to create a union, but we didn’t succeed. The CSC law could have given us the keys to Italian cinema. In fact, this law forced producers to hire in every Italian film one artistic cast member and one technical cast member who were CSC graduates. If the producers didn’t abide by the CSC law, they could lose the Italian nationality certificate and all the connected benefits.

MG: Did you ever shoot any scene of L’amante del vampiro in the Istituto Nazionale Luce studios mentioned in the opening credits?

EG: No, the film was shot in Artena, we were staying in a small hotel over there. The Istituto Nazionale Luce studios were hired only as a formality, to fulfil legal obligations.

MG: Contrary to the Italian Gothic horrors to come, the story of L’amante del vampiro is set in Italy (see the opening pan and the typically Italian names of the characters)… Were there particular reasons behind this autarchic choice?

EG: No, there were no particular reasons. Simply, we were still very naïve. Only later did we start using foreign names, pseudonyms and settings.

MG: Were the dance scenes of L’amante del vampiro an attempt to exploit the success of Europa di notte / European Nights (Alessandro Blasetti, 1959)?

EG: No.

MG: The ending of L’amante del vampiro is a bit unclear in my opinion, as we don’t really know if Luisa (Hélène Rémy) is alive, dead or vampirised. Was this ambiguous ending chosen in order to have a chance to make a sequel?

EG: No.

MG: The title of Riccardo Freda’s L’orribile segreto del Dr. Hichcock was chosen to exploit the popularity of Alfred Hitchcock in Italy and worldwide. The title that you originally chose, though, was Raptus

EG: I was still naïve, I guess. The producers Ermanno Donati and Luigi Carpentieri were not, and they chose the ‘Hichcock’ title instead of Raptus

MG: What follows is the preventive-censorship report on your screenplay for L’orribile segreto del Dr. Hichcock. I’d like to know what you think about it… ‘If we are not mistaken, necrophilia has already been mentioned in other films but, until now, it has never been used as the central theme of a movie. In this sense, the necrophiliac protagonist [of L’orribile segreto del Dr. Hichcock] is a rather original idea. However, this originality was nipped in the bud because, after the first few scenes, the screenplay immediately starts to follow the most abused clichés of the horror genre […]. No remarks to be made about obscenity’.

EG: The criticism is fair enough from a stylistic point of view, but director Riccardo Freda was a genius and the film made a lot of money abroad.

MG: Let’s move on to Camillo Mastrocinque’s Carmilla-inspired La cripta e l’incubo. Sheridan Le Fanu’s 1871 novella Carmilla was published for the first time in Italy in 1960, in a Feltrinelli anthology edited by Ornella Volta and Valerio Riva. Did you read, or were you asked to read, Carmilla before writing La cripta e l’incubo?

EG: My co-screenwriter Tonino Valerii told me about that novella.

MG: Tell me about the idea of having a young-hero character in La cripta e l’incubo. This young male hero is nowhere to be found in Carmilla

EG: What can I say? A young hero was important for the commercial potential of the film.

MG: What would you think if you read an essay in which the lesbianism of La cripta e l’incubo is connected to the crisis of post-war Italian masculinity and the post-war female emancipation?

EG: Now you sound like Francesco Maselli… 😉

MG: In the opening credits of Polselli’s Il mostro dell’Opera, the story and screenplay are credited to you, to Giuseppe Pellegrini and to Polselli himself. However, I remember an interview you gave a few years ago, in which you denied writing the film. If so, why were you credited?

EG: I don’t remember the exact reason. Maybe the producer needed a CSC graduate.

MG: Il mostro dell’Opera had a lot of troubles. It was shot in 1961, but was released only in 1964, apparently because the producer had financial problems. The film was produced by a company called ‘Nord Industrial Film di Ferdinando Anselmetti’ and based in your hometown, Biella. Did you know this Biella-based producer called Ferdinando Anselmetti?

EG: Yes, I knew the poor wretch: he pretended to be a count, but he was penniless.

Interview with Fabio Frizzi (autumn 2016)

An interview with composer Fabio Frizzi about his contribution to Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza (Lucio Fulci, 1975). This interview was made to gather data for the monograph Vampires in Italian Cinema, 1956-1975 (Edinburgh University Press, 2020). If you are interested in buying the book, feel free to use the launch discount code EVENT30 for 30% off.

Michael Guarneri: How did you get involved in the making of Lucio Fulci’s Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza?

Fabio Frizzi: In 1975 I was 24 years old, I was at the very beginning of my career. A few years earlier, I had started studying Law at the University in Rome. My real interest, however, was music, and my ambition was to become a musician. I started as a guitarist and of course I was part of a rock band. My father, Fulvio Frizzi, was an important film distributor. He worked as direttore commerciale [business, sales and marketing manager] for Euro International Film first, and then for Cineriz. Since my father was a prominent figure in the Italian film business, I had the idea of trying my hand at composing music for films. Thanks to my father’s connections, I got into contact with music producer Carlo Andrea Bixio – nephew of Cesare Andrea Bixio, the man who composed hugely popular songs such as Parlami d’amore Mariù, and the founder of Edizioni Musicali Bixio, a company producing soundtracks for Italian movies ever since the 1930s. Carlo decided to give me a chance and his brother Franco taught me the know-how. At that time, in fact, I knew nothing about the technical, material process that leads to the creation of a movie soundtrack. Carlo had me work on TV shows first, to see if I was good enough to be hired for more important jobs. After some successful trials, I made the music for the film Amore libero – Free Love (Pier Ludovico Pavoni, 1974). From 1974, I started to work in the film business on a regular basis, as part of a trio comprising myself, Franco Bixio (mainly a composer) and Vince Tempera (an extraordinary arranger and well-versed in post-production issues). As I was the youngest, least experienced member of the trio, I did a bit of everything, trying to learn as much as I could from my colleagues. Franco, Vince and I made the music for Lucio [Fulci]’s I quattro dell’Apocalisse / The Four of the Apocalypse (1975), and we were immediately asked to work on Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza. Lucio needed to work all the time to make a living, so he was making one film after the other. Back then, hundreds of films were made in Italy every year and for us musicians there was no shortage of work.

MG: Can you tell me about the workflow of the trio during the collaborations with Fulci?

FF: Lucio always had very clear ideas. When we were meeting to discuss the music for this or that film of his, he always used very specific adjectives to describe the atmosphere and the effects that he wanted to create through the music. I remember, for example, that when he wanted some soft, unobtrusive background music he used the adjective ‘transparent’. In other words, the first creative input always came from Lucio: the whole film was in his mind and he had to approve all creative choices in the end, including the music. Practically, my work with Lucio consisted of a series of phases. First of all, while Lucio was shooting the film, I was given the script, which I had to read in order to get an idea of the mood, of the atmosphere of the film. Then I usually met Lucio to exchange ideas and opinions. It was during these meetings that Lucio used to give me the adjectives I told you about. Then, starting from these adjectives, Franco, Vince and I started preparing some music themes, from which Lucio had to choose the ones he preferred. After the film was shot and edited, I watched it on a moviola and did the ‘time keeping’, i.e. I took notes about where exactly Lucio wanted the music within the film (from minute X second X to minute Y second Y, and so on). After that, we recorded the music based on my ‘time keeping’ notes and we had a final meeting with Lucio to check the final result.

MG: In the Italian genre cinema of the 1970s, producers would normally insist on saving as much money as possible, and I imagine it was the same for Fulci’s films. Did the low budget ever affect your work?

FF: Not only was Lucio a very cultured person, interested in jazz and painting, he was also a great artisan. As I told you, he made films for a living. Making a spectacular movie that could earn good box-office receipts proportional to the low budget was essential: the producer would have made profit and Lucio would have had the chance to make a new film straight away. So, yes, saving on production costs was crucial, and Lucio and his collaborators were exceptional professionals, great artisans able to create something exceptional with very little means. The ending of …E tu vivrai nel terrore! L’aldilà / The Beyond (1981), for instance, was shot in a small room but, thanks to the work of Lucio, director of photography Sergio Salvati and plenty of other technicians, it seems to be shot in a boundless wasteland… in the Great Beyond, indeed… As for my work as a composer: of course, Lucio’s films were made with very little money compared to the big Italian and American productions, but we never allowed ourselves to be sloppy. Both as a member of the trio and in my ‘solo’ career, I have always had enough financial means to do decent (and occasionally even very good) work. We usually worked for about one or two months on each project, from first conception to final recording, it never was something that we did in five minutes. And I think that our care shows, if you watch and listen to the films closely. Yesterday I re-watched Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza, and I must admit that Vince did an outstanding job on the arrangements: they sound good even in the crappy digital copy of the film that I watched on Youtube! However, I was a bit ashamed when I saw the scene of the dinner in the house of the Sicilian relatives of the protagonist. You know, I completely erased from my memory that I did this blatant rip-off of the main theme of The Godfather (Francis Ford Coppola, 1972)… We didn’t have the rights for the original because they were too expensive, so I was told by the producer to compose something similar to The Godfather’s score… It would have been better to buy the rights of the original, given my poor imitation! [Laughter]

MG: Do you know the reason why Fulci decided to make Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza? Would you say it was a personal project or a work for commission?

FF: As I told you, Lucio was a commercial filmmaker, in the sense that he made his living with cinema. Directing films was his job – a job in which he made use of both his extraordinary culture and his artisanal know-how. So Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza definitely wasn’t ‘the film of his life’. Lucio needed to work in order to earn his living and solve his own problems: he was constantly pitching his ideas around or being asked to direct this and that, because he was trying to shoot as many films as possible. Back in the 1970s, hundreds of films were produced every year in Italy, and most of the producers were not ‘film people’, film experts, or film buffs, but businessmen, entrepreneurs who decided to enter the ‘film world’, and invest in film production to make money. They exploited some genres that were profitable at that time – western, giallo, horror, etc. But there were also some producers who were totally obsessed by cinema, people who could go bankrupt just to be able to say: ‘This is the film that I produced, this is my film’. Some producers made profit, some went bankrupt, some made loads of films with mixed box-office results and then changed their line of business completely. An example of the latter is Fabrizio De Angelis, who produced several successful horror movies directed by Lucio and then tried his luck in fields other than cinema. For most producers, filmmaking was like betting on horseracing: they had to choose a product to make and place their bets on it. Generally, producers had these long lists of titles and ideas: comedy, horror, western, adventure, erotica, musical, etcetera. These titles and ideas circulated and if somebody liked a certain idea, he would try to develop it and convince a producer to find the money to make it into a film, often in the attempt to exploit the success of a similar movie at the Italian or US box-office. I don’t know exactly how Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza was born: I started working on the project when the film was already in production.

MG: I presume that the idea of having a Sicilian ‘transplanted’ to Northern Italy was due to the fact that Sicilian actor Lando Buzzanca was to star in the film.

FF: I can only make guesses, as I wasn’t involved in the film’s conception. It could be that the film stemmed from a meeting between Lucio and the crazy Milanese guys Beppe [Giuseppe] Viola (a sport journalist), Enzo Jannacci and Franco Nebbia (who became famous in the 1960s as singers and stand-up comedians). Lando Buzzanca was a very popular film comic in 1970s Italy and it could be that he was hired by the producer for reasons of commercial appeal. But you also have to keep in mind that Buzzanca is Sicilian and Lucio also had Sicilian origins. Plus, they had already worked together for Nonostante le apparenze… e purché la nazione non lo sappia… all’Onorevole piacciono le donne / The Eroticist (1972), directed by Lucio and starring Buzzanca.

MG: It could be that Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza was trying to exploit the Italian success of horror parody Young Frankenstein (Mel Brooks, 1974), or of one of the many comedies about class struggle made in Italy ever since La classe operaia va in Paradiso / Lulu the Tool (Elio Petri, 1971) won the Grand Prix for Best Film in Cannes. I am thinking of Il sindacalista (Luciano Salce, 1972) (also starring Buzzanca as a Sicilian ‘transplanted’ to Northern Italy) and Il padrone e l’operaio (Stefano Vanzina as Steno, 1975). Do you remember if Fulci was satisfied with the finished film? In Paolo Albiero and Giacomo Cacciatore’s book Il terrorista dei generi. Tutto il cinema di Lucio Fulci, I read that Fulci was unhappy because the producer hired Buzzanca as a lead and by that time the actor’s popularity was waning. Moreover, I read that Fulci was also unhappy about the film’s box-office result (which seems a bit harsh on his part as the film did fairly well, making about 200 million lira and ranking as the 79th out of more than 400 Italian films released in the same season).

FF: Let’s go back to the horseracing metaphor… Do you have friends who are into betting on horseracing? Even when they win, they always complain, it’s never enough. Lucio was probably unsatisfied because the film didn’t make enough money for the producer to hire him to make another film straight away. As I told you, Lucio needed to work all the time, and ranking 9th out of 400 is always better than ranking 79th out of 400, isn’t it? [Laughter] 200 million could have been a good box-office result for a film made with economy, but it was nothing compared to the billion lira earned in the same years by Fantozzi (Luciano Salce, 1975) and Il secondo tragico Fantozzi (Luciano Salce, 1976)…

MG: Do you remember if, during the making of Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza, Fulci or screenwriters Mario Amendola, Pupi Avati, Bruno Corbucci, Enzo Jannacci and Giuseppe Viola ever mentioned an explicit desire to bring to the screen the problems of mid-1970s Italy, for instance the workers’ struggles, the austerity and the everyday violence of the lead years?

FF: No, I don’t remember them saying anything like this. I have experienced the Sessantotto [1968 revolts] and the contestazione [anti-authoritarian protest] years myself as a young student in Rome, and I can assure you that at the University in the 1970s there were a lot of student protests and young people talking just like the unionist character played by Francesca Romana Coluzzi in Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza. Lucio certainly wasn’t a right-wing person, but I wouldn’t say he was a left-wing militant. I believe (but this is just my personal opinion) that he simply wanted to make people laugh during those very dark and heavy times of our history known as the lead years. At the same time, though, I believe that the film is not purely escapist entertainment. In my view, Lucio used grotesque, farcical, surreal, fantastic and horror elements to make us think about the real-life situation of 1970s Italy, where workers were tricked into giving blood to the capitalist padroni [masters]. So in a way the vampire triumphs in the end: this is certainly no laughing matter! Even if the film is a comedy, it contains serious elements as well.

MG: Tell me about your work on the song Vampiro S.p.A., which sounds very attuned to the post-1968 zeitgeist.

FF: It really is a nice, funny song. But in making it, none of us had explicit political aims. The song was born from an on-set meeting between the trio Bixio-Frizzi-Tempera and Franco Nebbia, who had worked on the film’s script and played the small role of businessman Meniconi. Franco was a man of many talents: musician, stand-up comedian, an extraordinary man, well-read and nice. Today he is mostly remembered for a great song he made in the 1960s, Vademecum Tango. Lucio immediately realised that we (the trio) got along well with Franco, so he told us: ‘Why don’t you guys make a song together for the end credits?’. Thus, the song Vampiro S.p.A. was born and put at the end of the film as a way to summarise the plot.

MG: Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza is told from the point of view of the employer, of the capitalist. Fantozzi and Il secondo tragico Fantozzi, on the other hand, are told from the point of view of the exploited employees. Tell me about your work on the soundtrack of the two Fantozzi films.

FF: Besides the difference that you have noted, there are a lot of similarities between Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza and the two Fantozzi movies, especially as far as themes are concerned (the focus on the workers’ conditions, capitalist exploitation, etc). It could be that Lucio wanted to do something similar to Fantozzi, but changing the point of view, as you said. Surely he wanted to make a smash-hit comedy, just like the films of the Fantozzi series proved to be. As for my work on the first two Fantozzi movies, I worked with actor Paolo Villaggio, who was also the author of the books on which Fantozzi and Il secondo tragico Fantozzi were based. Luciano Salce was a great professional, but he focused exclusively on preparing the shots and directing actors. Villaggio took care of the music: we met and he told me he had fallen in love with this Cat Stevens song from the soundtrack of Harold & Maude (Hal Ashby, 1971). Basically, he wanted something similar for Fantozzi. Starting from this concept, I developed the main musical theme for the film.

Intervista a Fabio Frizzi (autunno 2016)

Una chiacchierata con il compositore Fabio Frizzi a proposito della sua collaborazione al film Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza (1975) di Lucio Fulci. Per ulteriori informazioni su molti dei film citati nell’intervista, si veda il libro Vampires in Italian Cinema, 1956-1975 (Edinburgh University Press, 2020), acquistabile con sconto del 30% inserendo il codice EVENT30.

Michael Guarneri: Come sei stato coinvolto nel progetto Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza (1975) di Lucio Fulci?

Fabio Frizzi: Nel 1975 avevo 24 anni: ero proprio agli inizi, ero ancora un ‘cucciolo’. Tempo prima avevo iniziato l’Università a Roma, mi ero iscritto alla Facoltà di Legge. La mia passione, però, è sempre stata la musica, e la mia massima ambizione quella di diventare musicista: nasco come chitarrista e all’epoca avevo ovviamente un gruppo rock. Mio padre, Fulvio Frizzi, era un importante distributore cinematografico, direttore commerciale dell’Euro International Film e poi della Cineriz. Siccome mio padre era molto noto nel mondo del cinema, ebbi l’idea di provare a comporre musica per film. Grazie alle conoscenze di mio padre, entrai in contatto con il manager discografico Carlo [Andrea] Bixio – nipote di Cesare [Andrea Bixio], compositore di canzoni famosissime come Parlami d’amore Mariù, e fondatore delle Edizioni Musicali Bixio, azienda attiva nel settore della musica per il cinema sin dagli anni Trenta [quando Cesare Andrea Bixio compose la colonna sonora del film di Gennaro Righelli La canzone dell’amore (1930)]. Carlo decise di darmi una possibilità e mi affiancò suo fratello Franco per insegnarmi il ‘know how’. All’epoca, infatti, non sapevo assolutamente nulla del processo tecnico che, materialmente, porta alla realizzazione della colonna sonora di un film. Carlo mi mise alla prova con alcuni lavori televisivi. In seguito, mi occupai della musica del film Amore libero – Free Love (1974) di Pier Ludovico Pavoni. Da quel momento in poi, iniziai a lavorare nel mondo del cinema con continuità, come parte di un trio, insieme a Franco Bixio (melodista che si occupava principalmente di comporre) e Vince Tempera (straordinario arrangiatore che si interessava molto alla fase di post-produzione). Essendo io il più giovane del trio e dovendo fare gavetta, fungevo da tuttofare, cercando di imparare il più possibile… Per venire alla tua domanda specifica, dopo che con Franco e Vince facemmo la musica per il western di Lucio [Fulci] I quattro dell’Apocalisse (1975), ricevemmo subito la proposta di occuparci della musica de Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza. Lucio aveva un gran bisogno di lavorare, si guadagnava da vivere con il cinema, e perciò faceva un film dietro l’altro. In generale, in quegli anni c’era molto da lavorare: in Italia si giravano centinaia di film all’anno, e per noi musicisti il lavoro non mancava mai.

MG: Quale era il metodo di lavoro tuo e del trio, in collaborazione con Fulci?

FF: Lucio era una persona che aveva sempre le idee molto chiare. Quando lo incontravo per discutere della musica da inserire in un determinato film, lui mi forniva degli aggettivi molto precisi riguardanti l’atmosfera e gli effetti che voleva ottenere tramite la musica. Ricordo, per esempio, che quando voleva un commento musicale non invadente usava l’aggettivo ‘trasparente’. In altre parole, il primo input veniva sempre da Lucio, che essendo il regista aveva tutto il film in mente ed era lui, alla fine, che doveva approvare la musica. Nel concreto, il mio lavoro con Lucio si svolgeva in diverse fasi successive. Innanzitutto, mentre Lucio girava il film, mi veniva fornito il copione, che dovevo leggere per farmi un’idea del film in lavorazione e, soprattutto, della sua atmosfera. Poi c’era un incontro con Lucio, una sorta di riunione in cui scambiavamo idee e opinioni, e Lucio mi dava i famosi aggettivi di cui ti ho parlato. In queste riunioni, io prendevo appunti e poi, a casa o in studio, iniziavo a ragionarci su. Noi del trio iniziavamo a preparare alcuni temi, che Lucio ascoltava: ne sceglieva alcuni, ne scartava altri. Una volta che il film era finito e montato, mi recavo a vederlo in moviola, dove mi occupavo della ‘presa tempi’, cioè di annotare esattamente dove, secondo le indicazioni del regista, andava inserita la musica all’interno del film (dal minuto x e x secondi al minuto y e y secondi, e così via). Seguiva l’incisione dei brani della durata prestabilita e il confronto finale con Lucio.

MG: Quindi il tuo lavoro non implicava la visita del set durante la lavorazione del film?

FF: No, infatti. Non andavo quasi mai sul set, non era quello il mio campo. Visitare il set durante la lavorazione del film era un ‘di più’.

MG: Nel cinema commerciale italiano dell’epoca vi era una corsa al risparmio, e immagino fosse così anche nei film di Fulci. Come influivano le ristrettezze del budget sul tuo lavoro?

FF: Oltre che una persona coltissima che si interessava, per esempio, di jazz e di pittura, Lucio era un grandissimo artigiano. Come ti dicevo, faceva film per lavoro, per guadagnarsi da vivere. Fare un film spettacolare che avesse un buon successo di pubblico a partire da un budget modesto significava per il produttore realizzare un guadagno e per Lucio la possibilità di un nuovo ingaggio, cioè di girare il film successivo. Quindi sì, era essenziale risparmiare sul budget, e Lucio e i suoi collaboratori erano dei professionisti eccellenti, dei grandissimi artigiani, maestri nel creare scene eccezionali con mezzi molto limitati. Ti basti pensare al finale del film …E tu vivrai nel terrore! L’aldilà (1981), che fu girato in una stanzetta di pochi metri quadri e, grazie al lavoro di Lucio, del direttore della fotografia Sergio Salvati e di tanti altri, sembra girato in un mondo che si estende a perdita d’occhio… nell’aldilà, appunto… Per quanto riguarda il lavoro mio e del trio, certo, i film di Lucio erano fatti con pochi soldi rispetto alle grandi produzioni italiane e americane, ma l’imperativo era cercare di fare sempre qualcosa che non fosse ‘tirato via’ o improvvisato sul momento. Sia come membro del trio che da solo, ho sempre avuto i mezzi sufficienti per fare un lavoro dignitoso, con risultati talvolta anche molto buoni. Lavoravamo uno o due mesi tra ideazione e incisione della versione finale della colonna sonora, non era una cosa fatta in cinque minuti… E credo che i risultati si vedano e si sentano durante la proiezione dei film. Rivedevo ieri Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza, e devo dire che gli arrangiamenti di Tempera mi sono piaciuti molto: sono veramente molto curati e non sfigurano nemmeno nella copia scadente che ho trovato su Youtube. Mi sono vergognato un po’, invece, della scena del pranzo a casa dei parenti siciliani. Sai, avevo rimosso di aver fatto questa imitazione del tema de Il Padrino (1972) di Francis Ford Coppola… Siccome non avevamo i diritti, probabilmente giudicati troppo costosi dalla produzione, il mio incarico era di fare ‘qualcosa di simile’ alla musica de Il Padrino… Forse sarebbe stato meglio comprare i diritti dell’originale… [Ride]

MG: Ricordi come mai Fulci decise di fare Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza? Diresti che era un progetto personale o un film su commissione?

FF: Come ti dicevo, Lucio era un cineasta commerciale, nel senso che viveva di cinema, era il suo lavoro – un lavoro in cui immetteva tutta la sua straordinaria cultura e le sue capacità pratiche di artigiano. Perciò Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza non era ‘il film della vita’. Lucio aveva bisogno di lavorare per casini suoi: proponeva lavori e accettava lavori per vivere, cercava di girare più film possibili. In quegli anni si producevano centinaia di film, e gran parte dei produttori non erano uomini di cinema, ma affaristi che entravano nel cinema per realizzare guadagni. Seguivano alcuni generi che rendevano – western, giallo, horror, eccetera. Altri invece erano produttori ossessionati dal cinema, capaci di rovinarsi pur di avere la soddisfazione di poter dire: ‘Questo film l’ho prodotto io’. Alcuni produttori guadagnavano, alcuni andavano in bancarotta, molti producevano tanti film (con risultati buoni, cattivi, altalenanti) e poi cambiavano vita, come Fabrizio De Angelis, che ha prodotto tanti horror di successo di Lucio e poi passò a occuparsi di tutt’altri affari. Per gran parte dei produttori di allora, il cinema era come le corse dei cavalli: bisognava scegliere su cosa ‘puntare’ e ‘scommettere’ su un determinato prodotto. Generalmente, i produttori avevano questi listini di titoli e di idee: commedie, horror, western, erotici, avventura, musical, di tutto… Si parlava, si parlava, si discuteva di cinema, le idee circolavano, a qualcuno magari piaceva una determinata idea e la sviluppava, convincendo il produttore a farla diventare un film, complice magari il successo di un film simile al botteghino. Non so come sia nato esattamente il film Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza: io sono arrivato dopo, quando il progetto era già avviato…

MG: Dai documenti conservati presso il Centro Sperimentale di Cinematografia, risulta che la sceneggiatura originale si intitolava Il cavaliere del lavoro Costante Bosisio demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza. Non ho ancora letto questa sceneggiatura (di Lucio Fulci e Pupi Avati su soggetto di Lucio Fulci, secondo il frontespizio), ma presumo che il progetto originale sul cavaliere del lavoro 100% brianzolo sia stato adattato sull’attore Lando Buzzanca, che essendo siciliano non poteva certo interpretare il cavaliere Bosisio (tipico cognome del Nord)…

FF: Ripeto, non so nulla della genesi del progetto, quindi posso solo fare ipotesi. Può darsi che il film nasca da un incontro di Lucio con gli sceneggiatori del film, i ‘milanesi matti’ che si erano messi in luce negli anni Sessanta, ovvero i cantautori/cabarettisti Enzo Jannacci e Franco Nebbia, e il giornalista sportivo Beppe [Giuseppe] Viola. Lando Buzzanca andava forte come comico negli anni Settanta, e può essere stato aggregato al progetto originale dai produttori, per ragioni commerciali. E tieni presente che Buzzanca è un siciliano e anche Lucio ha origini siciliane. In più i due avevano già lavorato insieme ai tempi di Nonostante le apparenze… e purché la nazione non lo sappia… All’Onorevole piacciono le donne… (1972).

MG: Può darsi che Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza fosse una risposta italiana a Frankenstein Junior (1974) di Mel Brooks, oppure un film comico sulla lotta di classe come se ne facevano in quegli anni, dopo la Palma d’Oro a Cannes per La classe operaia va in Paradiso (1971) di Elio Petri. Penso a Il sindacalista (1972) di Luciano Salce (sempre con Buzzanca nel ruolo di un siciliano trapiantato al Nord), Il padrone e l’operaio (1976) di Steno… Ricordi se Fulci era soddisfatto del film finito? Nel libro di Paolo Albiero e Giacomo Cacciatore Il terrorista dei generi. Tutto il cinema di Lucio Fulci, ho letto che Fulci era scontento perchè gli avevano dato Buzzanca come attore, che in quel periodo non era più sulla cresta dell’onda. Inoltre, ho letto che Fulci era anche scontento dei risultati al botteghino del film (il che mi sembra strano perchè il film incassa piuttosto bene, facendo 200 milioni in meno di un anno e classificandosi 79° su più di 400 film italiani usciti quell’anno).

FF: Tornando alla metafora delle corse dei cavalli… Non so se hai mai avuto amici scommettitori: anche quando azzeccano un cavallo, gli scommettitori si lamentano di non averne azzeccati due, e quando ne azzeccano due si lamentano di averne azzeccati tre, e così via. Probabilmente Lucio era insoddisfatto perchè il film non aveva incassato abbastanza per iniziare immediatamente a fare un altro film con lo stesso produttore. Lucio aveva bisogno di lavorare sempre, come ti ho detto. Il 7° posto è meglio del 70°, no? [Ride] Può darsi che la cifra che dici fosse un buon incasso, ma erano cifre ben lontane dai miliardi della serie del ragionier Ugo Fantozzi, di Paolo Villaggio e Luciano Salce, usciti negli stessi anni.

MG: Ricordi se Fulci o gli sceneggiatori Mario Amendola, Pupi Avati, Bruno Corbucci, Enzo Jannacci, Giuseppe Viola menzionarono mai l’idea di fare di Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza un film di satira sulla situazione italiana di metà anni Settanta? Sulle lotte operaie, sullo sfruttamento degli operai, qualcosa di connesso alle tensioni tra capitale e manodopera salariata nell’Italia dell’austerity e degli anni di piombo…

FF: No, per quanto riguarda la realizzazione del film, non ricordo nulla di tutto ciò. Ho vissuto gli anni della contestazione, delle lotte studentesche e operaie, e quando andavo all’Università a Roma nei primi anni Settanta, c’erano manifestazioni ovunque, con studenti che parlavano esattamente come il personaggio interpretato da Francesca Romana Coluzzi ne Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza. Lucio non era sicuramente un uomo di destra, ma non direi fosse politicamente schierato a sinistra in quegli anni. Credo (ma è solo una mia ipotesi) che il suo intento fosse di sdrammatizzare il clima pesantissimo del tempo, perfettamente sintetizzato dall’espressione ‘anni di piombo’. Allo stesso tempo, però, credo che il film non sia pura evasione. Credo che Lucio, a partire da elementi farseschi, grotteschi, surreali, con venature horror, volesse anche farci riflettere sulla situazione reale dell’Italia che tu hai descritto, perchè alla fine del film gli operai credono di fare del bene al prossimo e invece danno il loro sangue al padrone-vampiro, che se lo beve per mantenersi in vita. Quindi in un certo senso il padrone inganna gli operai e il vampiro trionfa, e questo non è un messaggio rassicurante… C’è ben poco da ridere! Così, anche se il film è una commedia, riesce a mio avviso a mantenere una sua serietà.

MG: Parlami del tuo lavoro sulla canzone Vampiro S.p.A., brano dei titoli di coda che sembra quasi ‘sessantottino’ nel dipingere il padrone come un vampiro manipolatore e sfruttatore…

FF: È davvero una canzone simpatica. Ma nessuno di noi aveva intenti esplicitamente politici. Tutto nasce dall’incontro tra il trio Bixio-Frizzi-Tempera e Franco Nebbia, sceneggiatore del film e interprete del Meniconi, sul set de Il cav. Nicosia demoniaco. Franco era un artista poliedrico, musicista, cabarettista, una persona straordinaria, di immensa cultura e grande simpatia. Lo ricordo per questa bellisima canzone che fece negli anni Sessanta, un tango in latino intitolato Vademecum Tango. Lucio si accorse immediatamente della simpatia che correva tra noi del trio e Franco, e ci propose: ‘Perchè non fate una canzone insieme, per i titoli di coda?’. Così, da un incontro tra musicisti sul set, nacque Vampiro S.p.A., canzone che, posta sui titoli di coda, riassume un po’ le vicende del film.

MG: Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza adotta la prospettiva del datore di lavoro, del capitalista. Fantozzi (1975) e Il secondo tragico Fantozzi (1976) di Luciano Salce adottano la prospettiva del lavoratore salariato. Tu hai lavorato su tutti e tre i progetti. Parlami del tuo lavoro sui due Fantozzi.

FF: Aldilà della differenza che giustamente noti e dei diversi esiti al botteghino, le somiglianze tra Il cav. Costante Nicosia demoniaco, ovvero: Dracula in Brianza e i Fantozzi ci sono, specialmente a livello tematico (il mondo del lavoro, lo sfruttamento dei lavoratori…). E può darsi che l’idea originale di Lucio fosse di fare una cosa alla Fantozzi, ma dal punto di vista del padrone. Sicuramente Lucio mirava a fare una commedia dagli incassi fenomenali, alla Fantozzi. Per i due Fantozzi, ho lavorato principalmente con Paolo Villaggio. Luciano Salce era un grande professionista, ma si occupava soprattutto delle inquadrature, della direzione degli attori. Della musica si interessava Villaggio, che aveva scritto i libri da cui i film erano tratti e che era co-sceneggiatore dei Fantozzi insieme a due mostri sacri come Leonardo Benvenuti e Piero de Bernardi. Ricordo che, durante un incontro di lavoro, Villaggio mi disse che gli era piaciuta molto una canzone presente nella colonna sonora del film Harold & Maude (1971) di Hal Ashby. In sostanza, voleva qualcosa di simile per Fantozzi. Così, tornato a casa, mi misi alla chitarra e in 5 minuti trovai il famoso tema di Fantozzi, su cui poi lavorammo fino a farlo diventare quello che senti nel film.

Interview with Corrado Farina (summer 2015)

A talk with Corrado Farina about his film …Hanno cambiato faccia. This interview was made to gather data for the monograph Vampires in Italian Cinema, 1956-1975 (Edinburgh University Press, 2020). If you are interested in buying the book, feel free to use the launch discount code EVENT30 for 30% off.

Michael Guarneri: You directed …Hanno cambiato faccia in 1970-1971. Why did you decide to make a vampire movie in Italy at the beginning of the 1970s?

Corrado Farina: I have always been fascinated by the vampire figure. As a young man, I had liked a lot the vampire films by Riccardo Freda and Mario Bava, and Terence Fisher’s Dracula (1958) too. Moreover, I have always been interested in Vlad the Impaler, a figure suspended between historical facts and legend. In the late 1950s and early 1960s, I was a cineamatore, which means that I occasionally made 8mm films with a group of friends, purely for fun. One of these short, amateurish movies was a parody of the vampire films that were flooding Italian screens in the late 1950s and early 1960s. The title I chose was Il figlio di Dracula, i.e. ‘The son of Dracula’. It was made in 1960, I think. As for …Hanno cambiato faccia, I didn’t really want to make a parody of horror movies. At the same time, though, making a ‘classic’ vampire film would have been too expensive. It was Herbert Marcuse’s 1964 book One-Dimensional Man (which came out in Italian translation only in 1967) that triggered my imagination. Thanks to One-Dimensional Man, Marcuse quickly became one of the leading theorists of the 1968 protests and the ensuing contestazione [anti-authoritarian revolt] years: he wrote about our everyday reality as a world in which technology allows those in power to suck humanity’s blood in order to artificially prolong their lives. This metaphor fitted well with the post-1968 class struggle in Italy: students and workers versus i padroni [the masters, those in power]. However, it is necessary to clarify the concept of padrone. In …Hanno cambiato faccia, Ingegnere Giovanni Nosferatu is not simply a master, a man who has power. Rather, he is il padrone dei padroni, that is to say the master of the masters. He sucks the blood of everybody, to keep alive not himself but a structure of power, a system, an organism that is not made of flesh. Ingegnere Nosferatu is il padrone di tutti i cattivi, the master of all the villains, and it is not by chance that actor Adolfo Celi was cast in the role, since he had already played a supervillain in Thunderball (Terence Young, 1965) and Diabolik / Danger: Diabolik (Mario Bava, 1968). It is possible that while I was outlining the Ingegnere Nosferatu character I had the Avvocato Gianni [Giovanni] Agnelli in mind (both have a walking stick and white hair, for instance). The idea I wanted to express through the Ingegnere Nosferatu character was that of a potere occulto, a secret power, a master of the masters, a member of a sort of financial-industrial-aristocratic elite. In fact, at that time, Agnelli was not a politician, he didn’t hold any political power formally, but he owned everything: industry FIAT and newspaper La Stampa.

MG: You mentioned the fact that you couldn’t afford to make an expensive movie. How much did …Hanno cambiato faccia cost?

CF: …Hanno cambiato faccia was produced by a cooperative called Filmsettanta. Myself, the crew and the cast (with the exception of Adolfo Celi and a few others) were in partecipazione, that is to say we were financing the movie ourselves. The budget was around 50 million lire.

MG: What do you think …Hanno cambiato faccia is: a horror, a satire, a genre movie, an auteur film?

CF: To me, it is a hybrid: it is a genre movie (namely a horror movie), and it is also a post-1968 political film. I like to define it a ‘political-fantastic’ film or, maybe, a ‘dystopic’ film. In a way, it is an auteur film and a satire. It is a patchwork: each spectator can see what he or she wants in it!

MG: Is protagonist Alberto Valle your alter ego? You worked as an advertiser for many years prior to making …Hanno cambiato faccia, so I was wondering if white-collar worker Valle’s alienation somehow reflected your feelings during your career in the advertising industry.

CF: During the 1960s I worked for the biggest and most important advertising agency in Italy, the one owned by Armando Testa. The beginning of my career was wonderful, I wrote and directed about 500 caroselli [brief TV commercials aired on Italian State TV]. Then, I started developing a critical attitude towards the advertising world, as shown by my comic strips titled Il Grande Persuasore, ‘the Great Persuader’, which I made in 1966-1967. I slowly started to see the advertising industry as co-responsible for all the problems that afflicted, and still afflict, the Western world. A period of impatience on my part began, which led to my leaving Armando Testa’s advertising agency. After two years, I moved from my hometown Turin to Rome with my family and, after making a lot of commercials, I finally had the chance to work for cinema – first as an assistant on various film sets, then as a director of …Hanno cambiato faccia, whose treatment I wrote when I was still living in Turin.

MG: You and your friend and co-screenwriter Giulio Berruti were active in left-wing organisations in the 1960s and 1970s? Turin, for instance, was a Lotta Continua stronghold. I ask you because the violent revolt the Valle character talks about at a certain point echoes the post-1968 extraparliamentary left-wing’s rhetoric.

CF: Giulio [Berruti] and I were never active in any political party or organisation, and we were not hanging out with students during the contestazione years. I would say that …Hanno cambiato faccia is an ‘unconsciously 1968’ film. In 1965-1966 I had already made two sci-fi, 8-mm short movies because I was a great fan of dystopic science fiction, or, as I like to call it, ‘sociological sci-fi’: George Orwell, Aldous Huxley, Ray Bradbury, Robert Sheckley, and so on. In the first 8mm short I showed the end of humanity because of humanity’s excessive pride (Man thinks He can control the machines, while it is actually the machines that control Him); the second 8mm short was something similar to Alphaville (Jean-Luc Gordard, 1965). All this is to say that I have been a sort of protester well before the 1968 protests exploded worldwide, and that at that time there was no unified cinema movement, but just a bunch of directors working on a series of ideas that were ‘in the air’, often making films that were quite similar in their assumptions and/or conclusions.

MG: Talking about this idea of being influenced by the zeitgeist, in your film there is a hippy girl who tries to convince petit bourgeois Valle to change his life. Hippy characters start appearing in Italian cinema at the end of the 1960s.

CF: The hippy girl of …Hanno cambiato faccia comes from the American flower children of the pre-1968 period. In my film I mixed the typical hippy character with the Marcusean idea of rebellious youths being co-opted by a vampiric technocracy. At that time I was quite fascinated by the ‘swinging London’ myth, and in 1968 I saw this film called I’ll Never Forget What’s’isname (Michael Winner, 1967), which really impressed me. It was a film about the powers that be ‘re-absorbing’ the rebellion of an individual who wants to get out of ‘the system’. Incidentally, I’ll Never Forget What’s’isname was set in the world of advertising, a world I was increasingly growing weary of at that time, just like the character played by Oliver Reed in the film.

MG: The original ending of …Hanno cambiato faccia is different from the one you actually shot.

CF: Yes, in the original ending – which was probably inspired by the ending of Dance of the Vampires (Roman Polanski, 1967) – Valle and the hippy girl seem to be able to run away and save themselves, but the taxi in which they are travelling is actually driven by Ingegnere Nosferatu.

MG: During your career as an advertiser, you shot hundreds of caroselli, and in …Hanno cambiato faccia you have inserted three fake caroselli.

CF: Yes, one is a satire of the Godardian militant cinema of the contestazione years; one is a satire of Federico Fellini; one is a satire of sexploitation, which was slowly starting to take root in Italian cinema, as in the late 1960s the Italian Censorship Office was not harsh and inflexible as it used to be.

MG: Well, the Italian Censorship Office hadn’t become all that permissive. …Hanno cambiato faccia, for instance, was rated VM18 [forbidden to all those under the age of eighteen] in Italy, ‘for the scenes of sadism and eroticism’.

CF: Yes, but I actually think it was because of the nude scenes only, because of the naked breasts I mean. I remember that in the screenplay of …Hanno cambiato faccia there was a line mentioning a crucifix, uttered in relation to the third, Sade-inspired carosello. Giulio [Berruti] and I removed the word ‘crucifix’ from the finished film because we wanted to avoid problems with the Italian Censorship Office.

MG: Personally, I don’t find the film offensive to the Church as a religious institution, even though on the periodical Segnalazioni cinematografiche the Vatican censors rated your film as gravely offensive to Catholicism.

CF: The ‘basis’ of the Church, in my view, is heroic. Regardless of one’s own beliefs in matters of religion, it must be recognised that many priests did, and still do, great, heroic work. The problem is the high ranks of the Church, which use the moral alibi to influence politics, as decades of Christian-Democrat rule in Italy have demonstrated. Somebody even mentioned to me that Ingegnere Nosferatu could be an allusion to the secret power of Christian Democrat Giulio Andreotti.

MG: But to go back on the main track: you mentioned Sade, who is the main author for intellectuals reflecting on issues of power starting ever since the mid-1960s.

CF: I read Sade’s Justine ou les Malheurs de la vertu (1791) at the end of the 1960s. In the late 1960s I went to Paris to meet Éric Losfeld, the publisher of sexy sci-fi comic-book Barbarella (1962-1964). At that time in Paris there was this publisher called Pauvert, who specialised in books about fantastic and erotic cinema. Pauvert was also publishing Sade’s whole body of work and I read some of the books in the original French.

MG: I asked you about Sade because the central metaphor of …Hanno cambiato faccia (youth rebellion is vampirised and co-opted by the powers that be) reminded me of Salò, o le 120 giornate di Sodoma / Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom (Pier Paolo Pasolini, 1975), which was based on Sade’s writings.

CF: Thank you for the interesting comparison, but the main inspiration for …Hanno cambiato faccia is Marcuse, not Sade.