I lunghi capelli della morte (1965)

put some respect on this italian gothic horror queen barbara steele's name

Barbara Steele in The Long Hair of Death (1964) dir. Antonio Margheriti

BBC2 Moviedrome (1988)

The Long Hair Of Death (1964) 

Barbara Steele

The Long Hair of Death (1964)

Barbara Steele in gothic horror.

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Antonio Margheriti, I lunghi capelli della morte, 1964

BLOGTOBER 10/1-2/2023 - BLACK SUNDAY (1960), THE LONG HAIR OF DEATH, NIGHTMARE CASTLE

“Don’t be deceived by her face, look at her body!”

So one of the things that dragged me off my usual Blogtober course this year was a major project on Michele Soavi's DELLAMORTE DELLAMORE (1994), whichis sort of a gift that keeps on giving because there are so many layers to it and so many available interpretations of what it contains. For this work I had to dig a lot deeper into the topic of doppelgängerism than I usually do; this is not a subject I've thought a lot about, maybe because it often breaks down into an Id vs Ego "duality of man" thing full of inevitable conclusions that I don't find that interesting to explore. I like the folkloric notion that if you encounter your own doppelgänger, it's a harbinger of your imminent demise, that's pretty scary. But most of the characters in DELLAMORTE are duplicates of other characters, to more and less obvious degrees--the clearest example of which is Anna Falchi as an unnamed woman who reappears in new incarnations throughout the movie. Because that movie is often identified as the Last Great Italian Horror Film, and is thus understood to survey historic achievements in the genre (while still maintaining its own incredible originality), I thought I should go back and look at the famous doppelgängers played by Barbara Steele in some of her early, influential roles. I mean let's be honest, it would be easy to just accuse Antonio Margheriti's THE LONG HAIR OF DEATH (1964) and Mario Caiano's NIGHTMARE CASTLE (1965) of riding the admittedly inviting jock of Mario Bava's indispensable classic BLACK SUNDAY (1960), but if we treat the continuous duplication of Barbara Steele as an archetypal fantasy worthy of address, that makes for a better conversation.

The superior BLACK SUNDAY concerns the 17th century vampire-witch Asa, who returns to life two hundred years later to usurp the life of her identical descendant Princess Katia. In THE LONG HAIR OF DEATH, a 15th century woman is burned as a witch, and her daughter Helen (Steele) is killed for trying to expose the corrupt underpinnings of her mother's execution. Helen's young sister grows up the plaything of the evil regime whose reign of power is only interrupted when the mysterious Mary (also Steele) arrives at the castle to make trouble. I find the convoluted plot of this movie especially hard to repeat, so I hope I'm getting it right! NIGHTMARE CASTLE doesn't involve anything like reincarnation, which makes it slightly easier to discuss: An evil scientist murders his conniving wife Muriel (Steele) so he can take everything she has, only to discover that she left it all to her identical stepsister Jenny. His plot to drive the fragile Jenny insane and take over the estate is foiled by Muriel's ghost, naturally. In DELLAMORTE DELLAMORE, the self-replicating Anna Falchi signifies that the stunted protagonist is hopelessly deluded by his neurotic frustrations with women; he sees females as being "all the same" because he's blind to anything other than his personal projections, and he cyclically pursues the same drama with every woman he meets. One can't expect that level of psychoanalytic critique from these earlier films, of course, and while there is a lot one can say about the self-replicating Barbara Steele (including just how marketable she was), it's interesting to look at these stories in light of the tendency to identify mind with body.

Each of these movies has some great dialog that (at least in the english translation) has some very amusing things to say about the body and I tried to write them all down. The horror here may stem from the fact that while a woman's true value is in her physical appearance, that appearance can be a source of torment for presupposing men. NIGHTMARE CASTLE's Muriel makes the curiously-worded threat, “You can kill my body, but I’ll never leave you in peace!”, and in THE LONG HAIR OF DEATH, Helen's mother uses similar language in her last words at the stake—"Your bodies will be tortured like mine has been tortured today!” At LONG HAIR's climax (spoiler alert I guess, but this won't make the movie less confusing to the new viewer) the mysterious Mary reveals that she is really Helen with this wonderful body-centric speech about the complicated scam she and her little sister Lisbeth have pulled on the corrupt royal family:

"That’s my body. Death can often reinstate life, but it’s not like that with Lisabeth as she is not yet dead. Now do you understand Kurt, this was planned by us to vindicate our mother... You went to the extreme—murder—all for the sake of possessing me. It’s a pity that you did everything for a body that’s dead. Well Kurt, look at that body. Look well at the body that is really me!”

"Look well at the body that is really me" is something I am tempted to say all the time now, but this is all topped by Asa's triumph over the identical Katia toward the end of BLACK SUNDAY:

“You did not know that you were born for this moment. You didn’t know that your life had been consecrated to me by Satan. But you sensed it, didn’t you? That’s why my portrait was a constant temptation to you, why it frightened you! You felt that your life and your body were mine. You felt like me because you were destined to become me! A useless body without life... Now you shall enjoy a beautiful life of evil and hate—in me!”

There's something interesting going on in all these cases about how personal essence, or at least a person's destiny, is tied inextricably to the body. And actually, another of my distracting October projects focused on Michele Soavi's THE SECT (1991), an exceptionally weird movie by anyone's standards that involves a cult that appropriates other people's faces. I discovered that the film is kind of an adaptation of Gustav Meyrink's 1915 novel The Golem, which is a doppelgänger narrative par excellence, telling its disturbing tale from the point of view of a person who is himself a kind of doppelgänger. The narrator has a kind of transient consciousness that transplants itself into other people, but other doppelgängers exist as well: A lascivious young prostitute is said to be the child of a neighborhood predator, but as the story unfolds, it comes out that she is identical to her mother, who was identical to her mother before her, and there is no actual certainty about the paternity of any of these women. They form a collective, self-perpetuating threat whose weapon is a specific reoccurrant appearance. I don't know exactly what kind of conclusion I want to draw about this hydra-like archetype, but you may have guessed by now that my work on Soavi's filmography has caused me to start seeing doppelgängers everywhere I look, so you can bet this won't be the last time I talk about them!

Barbara Steele in I lunghi capelli della morte (1965)

Me and who?

Prompt 245

Now Danny would openly admit, if only to himself, that he had a type when it came to relationships. If they were strong, if they were a threat to him, then chances were he would develop some sort of crush. It was how he had dated Sam and Valerie (And Johnny & Kitty) when he was a bit younger, and hell, Sam had technically succeeded in killing him, even if partly. 

Attraction towards smart people who could kill him was honestly par for the course for a Fenton or Nightingale anyway. 

And he’d also admit he enjoyed a bit of time travel, learning about times and culture long before his time, to the point that he could blend in in ancient times just as easily as the time he had been born in. That it was natural to mutter in a language lost to time. 

So color him surprise when another man perks up in the bar he had paused to get a drink in, vibrant green eyes gleaming in interest and responds in turn. And not just in the language, but able to keep up when he talks about things that once existed but haven’t been rediscovered yet. 

And one thing led to the other, and there might have been some assassins and some shenanigans that end with them both laughing together in an inn and then more and- Okay he has a type alright, and he’s ticking each box! How is that fair? 

The Long Hair Of Death (1964)

🎬 Antonio Margheriti

katsuki likes to bite you. it’s his weird way of showing you affection. whenever he feels like annoying you (because he can’t live for more than ten seconds if he’s not being a nuisance) but he also wants to you to know he cares, he’ll find whatever part of your skin is exposed and just—bite.

you don’t remember when he started doing it but you’ve never stopped him so he hasn’t stopped. he bites your exposed shoulder when hes walking by and your lounging in the living area of the dorms, he grabs your hand and bites at your fingers when you’re alone and he bites at your cheeks and nose when you get mad at him for ‘being mean’ and teasing you. to which he always replies with “you love it.”

“why do you do that ?” you asked randomly after he bit your cheek again while you were watching a movie in his room. he looks down at you and his brows furrow in confusion “ do what ?” he asks.

“ bite me,” you play with the ends of his hair a little, it’s been getting longer and he’ll complain about it soon(the only reason he hasn’t cut it yet is because you said it looked good on him) “ why do you that ?” he goes quiet for a moment, gauging to see if you were upset, was it suddenly bothering you ?

he frowns. lips already unconsciously forming into a pout when he speaks “ ya don’t like it when i do ?” he tries to sound self assured, but his question comes out whiny. you smile lightly at him, nosing at the underside of his jaw. “it’s not that, dummy. just wonder why you do it.”

his nose scrunches at the nickname but he pays it no further mind. he huffs out a little breath and looks away from you towards the tv screen, a pink tint grows on his cheeks. having to tell you why he does it suddenly makes him embarrassed.

“jus’ feel like it. f’ya don’t mind when i do it why’re you questioning me about it.” you feel his hand heat up from where he has it pressed against your stomach under your shirt, no doubt getting more and more embarrassed having to explain why he has this weird little habit.

you shrug, sighing and nuzzling into him a little more. you press a light peck to his neck and his hand heating up even more makes you smile “i don’t mind it, just never had anyone bite me before.”

“good” he huffs, suddenly pressing you closer to his side. a sudden rush of protectiveness washing over him “get used to it. m’the only one who’s gonna be doing that from now on, got that ?”

“alright” you giggle. you suddenly get an idea and you look up at him. “you wouldn’t mind it if i bit you, then ?” a teasing smirk appears on your face when he almost cracks his neck when looking down at you, wide eyed and cheeks absolutely set ablaze. he sputters and looks away, unable to keep eye contact as he looks to the screen again.

“knock yourself out.” he tries to sound indifferent but his voice cracks a little at the end of his sentence and he cranes his neck to the side a bit to give you more access. you don’t mention either. instead you lean closer to him and nip at his neck lightly. his hold on you tightens for a moment before loosening up slightly and he suddenly won’t look at you anymore. not even when you laugh and poke at his cheek, asking him what’s got him so red in the face. his eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes are so laser focused on the tv you fear he might burn a hole through it. he offers you nothing more than a harsh glare and a muttered out “shush.”