(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
The general downside to being a huge, huge, huge consumer of mysteries – both in print and filmed – is that it eventually grows downright impossible to miss the stitching on fast balls. If it’s true that there are only seven original plotlines in all of the known universe, then it’s safe to suggest that even those seven are chiseled down to maybe a good four or five that have ever been used in whodunnits. As a consequence, it’s increasingly difficult to find anything all that fresh or innovative in the genre with the exception of stand-out visuals, well-editing sequences, and break-out performances. So when none of that happens – as largely is the case with 1976’s The House With The Laughing Windows from acclaimed writer/director Pupi Avati – then watchers might grow a tad impatient here as no bodies pile up, suspense is downright disgracefully absent, and the characters are all a bit too bland for their own narrative good.
Now, I know, I know, I know: if any reader does a bit of research on his or her own, then he or she will find that House maintains a fair amount of respect amongst many who’ve watched, dissected, and written about it before, and I’m certainly not trying to make waves for the purpose of making waves. Art is and always will inspire passions amongst those who witness it; and there are a great many minds who have already penned accolades over the film and why it deserves a second, third, and/or fourth glance. I only speak for myself when I critique; and the truth is this one was a bit of a struggle to endure chiefly because I couldn’t find any appreciable hook to be drawn into what accounts for an exceptionally thin plot. In place of action, House relies on imagery: what’s here is good, but I’m arguing it just wasn’t enough to compel my interest as other films have done.
The general downside to being a huge, huge, huge consumer of mysteries – both in print and filmed – is that it eventually grows downright impossible to miss the stitching on fast balls. If it’s true that there are only seven original plotlines in all of the known universe, then it’s safe to suggest that even those seven are chiseled down to maybe a good four or five that have ever been used in whodunnits. As a consequence, it’s increasingly difficult to find anything all that fresh or innovative in the genre with the exception of stand-out visuals, well-editing sequences, and break-out performances. So when none of that happens – as largely is the case with 1976’s The House With The Laughing Windows from acclaimed writer/director Pupi Avati – then watchers might grow a tad impatient here as no bodies pile up, suspense is downright disgracefully absent, and the characters are all a bit too bland for their own narrative good.
Now, I know, I know, I know: if any reader does a bit of research on his or her own, then he or she will find that House maintains a fair amount of respect amongst many who’ve watched, dissected, and written about it before, and I’m certainly not trying to make waves for the purpose of making waves. Art is and always will inspire passions amongst those who witness it; and there are a great many minds who have already penned accolades over the film and why it deserves a second, third, and/or fourth glance. I only speak for myself when I critique; and the truth is this one was a bit of a struggle to endure chiefly because I couldn’t find any appreciable hook to be drawn into what accounts for an exceptionally thin plot. In place of action, House relies on imagery: what’s here is good, but I’m arguing it just wasn’t enough to compel my interest as other films have done.
Stefano (played by Lino Capolicchio) is an art restoration specialist who is called to a small church in a sleepy little Italian town wherein a wall mural of a man being stabbed to death by women needs a serious touchup. (I’ve read some online research into the theoretical background of the art which suggests that what’s depicted is an act of martyrdom, an important explanation for why such a violent image might be displayed in a temple of faith.) Intrigued as much by the image as he is by its location, Stefano begins the painstaking process of putting it all back together while, simultaneously, getting to know the quiet and disarming folks who live in this rarely trafficked destination. Slowly, he begins to understand that they’re hiding some secret – after all, it takes a certain mentality to live one’s life in the middle of nowhere – and, if he isn’t careful, he realizes he could be drawn into some dark business best left unexplored.
As tends to happen in narrative mysteries, everything appears to be linked to a central question – who was the artist that originally painted the frieze and what exactly was he trying to say – and the small cavalcade of semi-interested parties keep Stefano (and the audience) guessing most of the time. Screenwriter Avati clearly knew how to wrap his puzzle pieces in subterfuge and misdirection, and director Avati followed suit most of the time by draping his riddle with settings quaint enough to keep his audiences searching for clues like a tracker might watch for bread crumbs. The problem with bread crumbs, though, is that they’re not really meant to be hidden – well, except for the villain – so some of what gets rendered in House feels a bit too deliberate (i.e. a faceless hand reaching out from a dark corner suggesting an obvious hidden identity is afoot, a locked cabinet in an attic that begs to be flung open at only the right moment, etc.) – so it grows obvious far too quickly that all is not what it seems in Denmark.
One of the chief difficulties in wrapping up a murder mystery – especially when the protagonist isn’t one necessarily trained in uncovering the identity (or identities) of the grand culprit(s) – is that far too much time gets invested in the main character’s reactions to developments. Emotionally, it gives an actor/actress something to do; and this is where House feels only half-built.
As tends to happen in narrative mysteries, everything appears to be linked to a central question – who was the artist that originally painted the frieze and what exactly was he trying to say – and the small cavalcade of semi-interested parties keep Stefano (and the audience) guessing most of the time. Screenwriter Avati clearly knew how to wrap his puzzle pieces in subterfuge and misdirection, and director Avati followed suit most of the time by draping his riddle with settings quaint enough to keep his audiences searching for clues like a tracker might watch for bread crumbs. The problem with bread crumbs, though, is that they’re not really meant to be hidden – well, except for the villain – so some of what gets rendered in House feels a bit too deliberate (i.e. a faceless hand reaching out from a dark corner suggesting an obvious hidden identity is afoot, a locked cabinet in an attic that begs to be flung open at only the right moment, etc.) – so it grows obvious far too quickly that all is not what it seems in Denmark.
One of the chief difficulties in wrapping up a murder mystery – especially when the protagonist isn’t one necessarily trained in uncovering the identity (or identities) of the grand culprit(s) – is that far too much time gets invested in the main character’s reactions to developments. Emotionally, it gives an actor/actress something to do; and this is where House feels only half-built.
Capolicchio does affable job throughout most of what transpires here; but as this story is constructed the bulk of his investment doesn’t really come until the last reel. He’s good-looking. He seems modestly motivated here and there. And he certainly sells his scenes are a restoration specialist with little gestures that suggest there’s some brainpower at work behind what he’s doing in frame. Mind you: he had a few hooks earlier in the story to ramp up his performance, such as the death of a longtime friend and/or the curious disappearance of a possible love prospect, so it isn’t as if the script fell short on that front. Still, these moments gets wasted as the actor largely just stares stupidly into the distance, never much registering a bit of anger much less remorse when given the chance.
Similarly, the actor spends the second half of the picture paired up with an all-new love interest – Francesca (played by Francesca Marciano) – and even their moments are a bit too plain to earn the investment or attachment of viewers watching closely. Like him, she looks good – probably too good to be cast aside into such backwater pursuits as this dead-end job – and her youthful innocence can be said to justify any lack of interest in affairs which seem beyond her purview. But … when neither of those we’re following seems all that much affected by what’s going on, then why should we invest more than a passing glance? At least, Coppola (played by Gianni Cavina) – a heavy given over to speaking his mind when under the influence of alcohol – mustered up some multiple passions despite appearing at all times as a kinda/sorta patsy not long for this world (and he wasn’t). Had our two main players done likewise then there may’ve been different results here. As it is, it’s all just too dimensionless (until the tables are turned), and I, for one, needed more.
What does work uniquely well across the entire picture is the fact that Avati and his cast and crew manage to build a sense of impending doom for our narrators, one which suggests no one will make it out alive. From darkly lit opening sequence detailing a dark descent into torture (not unlike what’s depicted in the church mural) to the dank interiors of homes surprisingly lifeless even though occupied, House is a house that leans heavily into evoking moods that question what aenigmas this mostly uninhabited village are concealing. In a world wherein small towns might store the biggest secrets, Stefano should’ve realized that the odds were heavily stacked against him earlier – once his restoration work had been curiously undone it’s far too late to act against those who would have his soul – and he should’ve gotten “the hell out of Dodge.” He didn’t; and yet he’s no one to blame at that point but himself.
Similarly, the actor spends the second half of the picture paired up with an all-new love interest – Francesca (played by Francesca Marciano) – and even their moments are a bit too plain to earn the investment or attachment of viewers watching closely. Like him, she looks good – probably too good to be cast aside into such backwater pursuits as this dead-end job – and her youthful innocence can be said to justify any lack of interest in affairs which seem beyond her purview. But … when neither of those we’re following seems all that much affected by what’s going on, then why should we invest more than a passing glance? At least, Coppola (played by Gianni Cavina) – a heavy given over to speaking his mind when under the influence of alcohol – mustered up some multiple passions despite appearing at all times as a kinda/sorta patsy not long for this world (and he wasn’t). Had our two main players done likewise then there may’ve been different results here. As it is, it’s all just too dimensionless (until the tables are turned), and I, for one, needed more.
What does work uniquely well across the entire picture is the fact that Avati and his cast and crew manage to build a sense of impending doom for our narrators, one which suggests no one will make it out alive. From darkly lit opening sequence detailing a dark descent into torture (not unlike what’s depicted in the church mural) to the dank interiors of homes surprisingly lifeless even though occupied, House is a house that leans heavily into evoking moods that question what aenigmas this mostly uninhabited village are concealing. In a world wherein small towns might store the biggest secrets, Stefano should’ve realized that the odds were heavily stacked against him earlier – once his restoration work had been curiously undone it’s far too late to act against those who would have his soul – and he should’ve gotten “the hell out of Dodge.” He didn’t; and yet he’s no one to blame at that point but himself.
The House With The Laughing Windows (1976) was produced by A.M.A. Film. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Arrow Films. As for the technical specifications? Wow. While I’m no trained video expert, I can still assure you that provided video and audio – restored into 4K – are damn fabulous in here: surprisingly, even the nighttime sequences are very clean, something I’ve often sounded off negatively over graininess. This one looks grand universally, so I have to give it props for excellence.
Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?
I don’t normally cover features in any great detail – this is Arrow Films, once again, and they always do a pretty spectacular job, this is no less – but I felt it necessary to add a few words on this package. Here, Arrow gives you not one but two commentaries – both very, very good – but be warned: they’re far more academic in nature than they are film and/or scene specific. A great deal of time is spent discussing the project more as an overview for its time and place in Italian cinema … and there is a lot to learn in here. Generally, I gravitate more toward commentaries that lean heavy on details involving this production: that only happens here to a middling degree, and yet I found both of these tracks pretty damn interesting. They’re both like really informative film lectures; and I give them both an enthusiastic thumbs up. In fact, I enjoyed them more than the film itself. Also, there are other extras – an expansive documentary that shouldn’t be missed by fans along with a few spoken essays – that underscore just why Arrow continues to lead the way in provided physical products highly sought after by film junkies around the world. Truly exceptional. This is truly the kind of release that deserves to win awards, in my humble opinion.
Alas … only Mildly Recommended (but these are seriously some ‘don’t miss’ extras).
About the best that The House With The Laughing Windows (1976) proves is that Giallo can come in alternate shapes and sizes but still comes with a great deal of the visual bloat common to the art from. Sadly, this one leaves even less room for nuance as director Avati occasionally inserts optical references to insure that audiences are following along the central mystery at each step along the way. Still, it’s the kind of project that film scholars, Giallo freaks, students, and academics would, could, and should get behind as some might argue that its occasional paint-by-numbers approach is textbook enough to be studied and maybe even creepy enough to get studied for debating theories over what all of it could mean. Come the ending, however, they’ll all gasp in unison about how well the whodunnit was concealed … even though there really should be little doubt to those of us who’ve been on this sort of thrill ride once before.
In the interest of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray copy of The House With The Laughing Windows (1976) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?
I don’t normally cover features in any great detail – this is Arrow Films, once again, and they always do a pretty spectacular job, this is no less – but I felt it necessary to add a few words on this package. Here, Arrow gives you not one but two commentaries – both very, very good – but be warned: they’re far more academic in nature than they are film and/or scene specific. A great deal of time is spent discussing the project more as an overview for its time and place in Italian cinema … and there is a lot to learn in here. Generally, I gravitate more toward commentaries that lean heavy on details involving this production: that only happens here to a middling degree, and yet I found both of these tracks pretty damn interesting. They’re both like really informative film lectures; and I give them both an enthusiastic thumbs up. In fact, I enjoyed them more than the film itself. Also, there are other extras – an expansive documentary that shouldn’t be missed by fans along with a few spoken essays – that underscore just why Arrow continues to lead the way in provided physical products highly sought after by film junkies around the world. Truly exceptional. This is truly the kind of release that deserves to win awards, in my humble opinion.
Alas … only Mildly Recommended (but these are seriously some ‘don’t miss’ extras).
About the best that The House With The Laughing Windows (1976) proves is that Giallo can come in alternate shapes and sizes but still comes with a great deal of the visual bloat common to the art from. Sadly, this one leaves even less room for nuance as director Avati occasionally inserts optical references to insure that audiences are following along the central mystery at each step along the way. Still, it’s the kind of project that film scholars, Giallo freaks, students, and academics would, could, and should get behind as some might argue that its occasional paint-by-numbers approach is textbook enough to be studied and maybe even creepy enough to get studied for debating theories over what all of it could mean. Come the ending, however, they’ll all gasp in unison about how well the whodunnit was concealed … even though there really should be little doubt to those of us who’ve been on this sort of thrill ride once before.
In the interest of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray copy of The House With The Laughing Windows (1976) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
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