The Horrible Dr Hichcock (1962) & The Night of the Devils (1972) Radiance Italian Gothic (Review)

It’s that time of year again. The nights are getting longer and darker, all the leaves are brown, and everywhere you go, jack-o’-lanterns and fake cobwebs adorn windows and doorways – the season of the witch is well and truly upon us.

Brand-new Blu-Ray distribution label Radiance Films have had a tremendously successful first year on the physical media scene, and founder Francesco Simeoni has decided to mark Radiance’s first Halloween season with style, presenting us with a pair of under-seen Italian gothic horrors that are sure to delight classic genre fans. Expect graveyards shrouded in thick fog, decaying stately homes that harbour dark secrets within their walls, and all manner of ghosts and ghouls that lurk in the shadows.

Many of you will undoubtedly have heard of Mario Bava, the man rightfully regarded as the grandfather of Italian horror cinema, responsible for such iconic titles as Black Sunday (1960), Blood and Black Lace (1964) and A Bay of Blood (1971) – but fewer are familiar with Riccardo Freda, the director of Italy’s first sound horror feature, I Vampiri (1957), a film which marked the beginning of co-creator Bava’s successful cinematic career, not to mention the Italian horror boom of the decades to come. Though Freda would have a handful of cult Euro-horror titles to his name, none are as notorious as The Horrible Dr. Hichcock (1962), a gloriously gothic tale of all things paranormal and perverse, now available in a gorgeously remastered edition from Radiance Films that contains three separate cuts of the film.

Not to be confused with the similarly-titled The Awful Dr. Orlof (1962) from beloved Spanish sleaze-purveyor Jess Franco, The Horrible Dr. Hichcock follows the titular medical deviate, Professor Bernard Hichcock (actor Robert Flemyng, OBE), whose advancements in anaesthetic medicine have revolutionised turn-of-the-century surgery – as well as his necrophiliac role-play sex games. These ethically and consensually dubious sexcapades result in the tragic death of his beautiful wife, Margaretha (Maria Teresa Vianello). The shock of which leads him to quit his profession and leave the city – but 12 years later, Hichcock returns to his former gothic abode with a new wife in tow – Cynthia, portrayed by Black Sunday star and queen of the Italian gothic, Barbara Steele. Spending long, lonely hours in her husband’s gloomy, cobweb-laden mansion, Cynthia begins to suspect that the not-so-good doctor has sinister intentions towards her – and that Margaretha might still roam the halls of the house at night.

With the film’s title not-so-subtly being borrowed from legendary filmmaker and “master of suspense” Alfred Hitchcock, it’s quite interesting to see that The Horrible Dr. Hichcock is essentially a reworking of said master filmmaker’s adaptation of Rebecca (1940) filtered through the macabre, technicolour trappings of Poe-cycle era Roger Corman. Right off the bat, the first thing you’ll notice about Freda’s film is that it contains bucketfuls of atmosphere – this is an exercise in gothic style that never ceases to delight, with no shortage of chandeliers, billowing white dresses, and hidden underground tombs. There’s a black cat in this named Jezebel, for crying out loud – what more could you want?

Surprisingly tasteful in its presentation yet still deliciously perverse, it’s brilliantly shocking to see just how willing European horror filmmakers were to approach taboo subjects at a time when censorship was rife in Hollywood – The Horrible Dr. Hichcock is a tale of necrophilia, sexual deviancy, and more medical and spousal abuse than you can shake a gaslight at. I can’t say that Dr. Hitchcock is necessarily a feminist film – Steele, whilst brilliant as ever, falls victim to the old literary trope of “woman who faints at the sight of literally anything” – nor do elements of its plot entirely make sense, in a fashion fairly typical of a great deal of Euro-horror; yet, at the same time, it’s an early film which champions a female victim of a toxic relationship as our gothic heroine, and its hazy, nightmarish, surreal tone only adds to what makes it so fun as a piece of moody, aesthetically grand horror filmmaking.

Also on the October slate from Radiance Films is their first title in partnership with Minneapolis-based label Raro Video, who specialise in unearthing and resurrecting rare Italian genre titles. What better place to start than with The Night of the Devils (1972), an early entry in the backwoods horror sub-genre from Mill of the Stone Women (1960) director Giorgio Ferroni?

The Night of the Devils tells the story of Nicola (Gianni Garko), an Italian lumber importer left stranded in rural ‘70s Yugoslavia following a car accident. Kindly taken in by the local Ciuvelak family, who offer him food, lodging and repairs to his vehicle, Nicola grows suspicious when the family patriarch, Gorca (Bill Vanders), insists that the residents of the family homestead stay indoors at night. One week later, Nicola is found wandering through the Italian countryside, dazed and wounded, plagued by sexually provocative and violent hallucinations – but just what exactly happened to the Ciuvelak family? And why is Nicola suddenly so scared of Gorca’s daughter, Sdenka (Agostina Belli), when he had fallen head-over-heels for her only a week prior?

The Night of the Devils is based on A.K. Tolstoy’s classic 1839 story “The Family of the Vourdalak”, previously adapted for the screen as a memorable segment of Mario Bava’s Black Sabbath (1963), starring the great Boris Karloff. The shadow of Bava’s phenomenal rendition obviously looms large over Ferroni’s film, and yet his adaptation of Tolstoy’s tale still manages to entertain and engage, even if it does inevitably pale in comparison to its more famous predecessor. Where Night of the Devils really shines is in the moments where it deviates from the Black Sabbath version, and adds a daring ‘70s edge to the piece; the spellbindingly hallucinatory opening sequence that depicts Nicola’s grotesquely surreal visions of bloodshed following his week in the woods, the sadomasochistic qualities of the supernatural threat that targets the family, an exquisitely gruesome moment of body horror in the homestead, and the cruelly compelling hospital-set finale are all highlights of the film, and reasons why I feel the need to recommend it to all Italian horror fans who haven’t managed to catch it yet.

If you couldn’t get enough of Mike Flanagan’s new take on The Fall of the House of Usher (2023), and you’re looking for a new fix of the gothic (not to mention dysfunctional families), then I urge you to check out these two latest titles from Radiance Films. They’re morbid, moody and full of sleaze, sadism and perversion – and, if you’re anything like me, then you’ll know that’s what makes them so fun.

Robyn’s Archive: the Horrible Dr Hichcock (1962) and The Night of the Devils (1972)