Marcello Mastroianni and Romy Schneider in Fantasma d'amore (1981)

Vittorio Gassman, Agostina Belli, and Alessandro Momo in Scent of a Woman (1974)

Lando Buzzanca, Marino Masé, Marisa Merlini, and Ugo Tognazzi in The Monsters (1963)

Vittorio Gassman, Franco Angrisano, Maria Teresa Albani, Gianfilippo Carcano, Checco Durante, Edda Ferronao, Yvonne Furneaux, Ely Galleani, Piero Nuti, Enrico Ragusa, Simonetta Stefanelli, and Ugo Tognazzi in In the Name of the Italian People (1971)

Shirley Corrigan in The Crimes of the Black Cat (1972)

Vittorio Gassman, Maurizio Arena, Agostina Belli, Lino Toffolo, and Ugo Tognazzi in The Career of a Chambermaid (1976)

Anicée Alvina in Une femme fatale (1976)

Perché quelle strane gocce di sangue sul corpo di Jennifer?

Edwige Fenech in The Case of the Bloody Iris (1972)

Catherine Deneuve and Vittorio Gassman in The Forbidden Room (1977)

Have you noticed? .. Men and women all have our own individual smell; .. women smell of vegetables .. because among all living creatures women are the closest to the vegetable species .. I really believe the transition between animal and vegetable is represented by the woman; women are the link between the two.

So long you two; I'm going on my health stroll.

Can you smell it? A delicate fragrance of celery ..

Vittorio Gassman and Danilo Mattei in The Forbidden Room (1977)

Catherine Deneuve and Danilo Mattei in The Forbidden Room (1977)

Vittorio Gassman in The Forbidden Room (1977)

Anicée Alvina and Danilo Mattei in The Forbidden Room (1977)

Catherine Deneuve, Vittorio Gassman, and Danilo Mattei in The Forbidden Room (1977)

Vittorio Gassman

Catherine Deneuve

Danilo Mattei

Bernardino Zapponi

Dino Risi

Giovanni Arpino

Bizarre events keep occurring in an old mansion in Venezia, and it&apos;s soon obvious that something mysterious is up in the attic.

Anima persa

Page after page after page of dialogue, blank stares, casual &quot;reveals&quot; of Major Plot, and total waste of any potential.

Not all films appeal equally to all viewers. I&apos;ve watched some that are poorly regarded and loved them, and I&apos;ve watched some that are highly esteemed and found them boring, or even hated them. Before sitting for this one I had no foreknowledge or expectations save for that it has seemingly been held in some measure of regard. Imagine my surprise when I pressed &quot;play&quot; on what has been described as a thriller, a mystery, or even a horror-drama or horror-thriller, and was greeted with page after page after page after page after page after page after page of dialogue. There&apos;s also a domineering, misogynist, thoroughly unlikable uncle in there (Vittorio Gassman!), so pointlessly high-minded in his bloviating cruelty that he constantly looks a fool; a kind but submissive and beleaguered aunt (Catherine Deneuve!), who might be the one character with real personality and who is actually sympathetic and likable; haunting bits of audio; and some lovely, tasteful, mood-setting music (thanks to composer Francis Lai). But mostly, for a preponderance of the length, we get lots and lots and lots and lots of dialogue. Any sense of mystery, or the joy of the reveal thereof, is quashed by having everything revealed to us very flatly and casually by the pages and pages of dialogue; the only thrills come from some sudden instances of that audio or, depending on how we define the word &quot;thrills,&quot; from how we bristle at how hideously uptight and mean the uncle is; forget &quot;horror&quot; in any but the most wildly oblique of capacities. As the length stretched on I kept hoping for a reversal of fortunes, but first I saw the digital timer read 40 minutes, then 50, then 60, then 70, then 80, and nothing had changed. The only mystery surrounding &apos;The forbidden room,&apos; if you ask me, is how anyone has ever found it watchable.

Throughout the length there are small scattered moments that seem promising, but each of these are robbed of any potential by being paired with additional pages and pages and pages of dialogue. This emphatically includes the one overarching mystery the title may have been able to claim - filling the last twenty minutes - which marked the strongest potential of the whole tale. Had any care been exercised in crafting the narrative at any other point, employing subtlety and a delicate hand instead of relying on the actors&apos; vocal cords, then maybe that mystery might have had some power. Maybe the &quot;horror&quot; label could have been applied in the sense of being a tragic horror-drama or horror-thriller, as we&apos;ve seen in select rare instances every now and again in cinema. Indeed, there are underhandedly dark, grim truths spelled out for us in the last minutes. Unfortunately, since that subtlety and delicate touch are thrown out the window by (a) page after page after page of dialogue, and by (b) the plainspoken &quot;it&apos;s this&quot; exactitude of a few seconds of a shot that presents at the start that last stretch, all hope this may have had are pretty much lost. Meanwhile, I know what greatness Deneuve and Gassman are capable of as actors, and even as they are almost completely restricted to pages and pages and pages of dialogue I believe we see glimmers of their skill here. On the other hand, between the script and Dino Risi&apos;s direction, Gassman&apos;s performance is sometimes so gauchely over the top that I&apos;m reminded of the bizarrerie given to Christopher Walken in 2003&apos;s &apos;Gigli.&apos; Moreover, while I&apos;m not familiar with Danilo Mattei, starring as nephew Tino, I have to wonder how he managed to have any career after this (from what I gather, his second credit) since he spends nearly the whole runtime just staring blankly at whatever scene partner is reciting their pages and pages and pages of dialogue. As his character pretends at being a painter I suppose there&apos;s possibly some joke here about a &quot;blank slate,&quot; or rather a &quot;blank canvas,&quot; but that joke seems far too clever to assume of writing that&apos;s so thoroughly wasteful of its most useful ideas.

Venice is nice, and so is the art direction. The costume design, hair, and makeup are lovely. Since Tino is just a brick wall for other characters to talk at I can appreciate those small scenes that focus on him in other capacities, serving as a quick break from the pages and pages and pages of dialogue, and which aside from that purpose as a break are otherwise trite and meaningless. Presumably this paid the bills and put food on the table for the folks who participated in its creation, so it has that going for it. I&apos;m a big cat lover, so brief glimpses of felines were welcome. I see what &apos;The forbidden room&apos; could have been if it weren&apos;t weighed down by pages and pages and pages of dialogue, and by uncaring, offhand dispensation of what were supposed to be Major Plot Points, and I admire the results of the thought experiment of &quot;here&apos;s how the movie could have been improved.&quot; I do, it turns out, have some modicum of praise to offer for this, and the fact that I can find a way to a embrace a spirit of generosity in any manner regarding this picture makes me feel good about myself. And yet - strangely enough, these points I&apos;ve offered are not very substantial. For whatever genre labels one may wish to append to the feature by way of description, the skillful, intelligent writing that would have allowed those labels to have any weight is not to be found in these 100 minutes, and I&apos;m ultimately a little surprised that Risi didn&apos;t try to pass it off as a film directed by Alan Smithee. I was almost prepared to say that in my opinion this doesn&apos;t sink to the absolute bottom of the barrel, yet for as confounding as the viewing experience is as the flick squanders all that it might have been, I take back that sliver of kindness.

In closing, to borrow some words from Roger Ebert and his review of Rob Reiner&apos;s 1994 comedy-drama &apos;North,&apos; allow me to quote him and summarize my feelings about &apos;The forbidden room&apos;: &quot;I hated this movie. Hated hated hated hated hated this movie. Hated it. Hated every simpering stupid vacant audience-insulting moment of it. Hated the sensibility that thought anyone would like it. Hated the implied insult to the audience by its belief that anyone would be entertained by it.&quot;

Goodnight.

Page after page after page of dialogue, blank stares, casual "reveals" of Major Plot, and total waste of any potential.

Not all films appeal equally to all viewers. I've watched some that are poorly regarded and loved them, and I've watched some that are highly esteemed and found them boring, or even hated them. Before sitting for this one I had no foreknowledge or expectations save for that it has seemingly been held in some measure of regard. Imagine my surprise when I pressed "play" on what has been described as a thriller, a mystery, or even a horror-drama or horror-thriller, and was greeted with page after page after page after page after page after page after page of dialogue. There's also a domineering, misogynist, thoroughly unlikable uncle in there (Vittorio Gassman!), so pointlessly high-minded in his bloviating cruelty that he constantly looks a fool; a kind but submissive and beleaguered aunt (Catherine Deneuve!), who might be the one character with real personality and who is actually sympathetic and likable; haunting bits of audio; and some lovely, tasteful, mood-setting music (thanks to composer Francis Lai). But mostly, for a preponderance of the length, we get lots and lots and lots and lots of dialogue. Any sense of mystery, or the joy of the reveal thereof, is quashed by having everything revealed to us very flatly and casually by the pages and pages of dialogue; the only thrills come from some sudden instances of that audio or, depending on how we define the word "thrills," from how we bristle at how hideously uptight and mean the uncle is; forget "horror" in any but the most wildly oblique of capacities. As the length stretched on I kept hoping for a reversal of fortunes, but first I saw the digital timer read 40 minutes, then 50, then 60, then 70, then 80, and nothing had changed. The only mystery surrounding 'The forbidden room,' if you ask me, is how anyone has ever found it watchable.

Throughout the length there are small scattered moments that seem promising, but each of these are robbed of any potential by being paired with additional pages and pages and pages of dialogue. This emphatically includes the one overarching mystery the title may have been able to claim - filling the last twenty minutes - which marked the strongest potential of the whole tale. Had any care been exercised in crafting the narrative at any other point, employing subtlety and a delicate hand instead of relying on the actors' vocal cords, then maybe that mystery might have had some power. Maybe the "horror" label could have been applied in the sense of being a tragic horror-drama or horror-thriller, as we've seen in select rare instances every now and again in cinema. Indeed, there are underhandedly dark, grim truths spelled out for us in the last minutes. Unfortunately, since that subtlety and delicate touch are thrown out the window by (a) page after page after page of dialogue, and by (b) the plainspoken "it's this" exactitude of a few seconds of a shot that presents at the start that last stretch, all hope this may have had are pretty much lost. Meanwhile, I know what greatness Deneuve and Gassman are capable of as actors, and even as they are almost completely restricted to pages and pages and pages of dialogue I believe we see glimmers of their skill here. On the other hand, between the script and Dino Risi's direction, Gassman's performance is sometimes so gauchely over the top that I'm reminded of the bizarrerie given to Christopher Walken in 2003's 'Gigli.' Moreover, while I'm not familiar with Danilo Mattei, starring as nephew Tino, I have to wonder how he managed to have any career after this (from what I gather, his second credit) since he spends nearly the whole runtime just staring blankly at whatever scene partner is reciting their pages and pages and pages of dialogue. As his character pretends at being a painter I suppose there's possibly some joke here about a "blank slate," or rather a "blank canvas," but that joke seems far too clever to assume of writing that's so thoroughly wasteful of its most useful ideas.

Venice is nice, and so is the art direction. The costume design, hair, and makeup are lovely. Since Tino is just a brick wall for other characters to talk at I can appreciate those small scenes that focus on him in other capacities, serving as a quick break from the pages and pages and pages of dialogue, and which aside from that purpose as a break are otherwise trite and meaningless. Presumably this paid the bills and put food on the table for the folks who participated in its creation, so it has that going for it. I'm a big cat lover, so brief glimpses of felines were welcome. I see what 'The forbidden room' could have been if it weren't weighed down by pages and pages and pages of dialogue, and by uncaring, offhand dispensation of what were supposed to be Major Plot Points, and I admire the results of the thought experiment of "here's how the movie could have been improved." I do, it turns out, have some modicum of praise to offer for this, and the fact that I can find a way to a embrace a spirit of generosity in any manner regarding this picture makes me feel good about myself. And yet - strangely enough, these points I've offered are not very substantial. For whatever genre labels one may wish to append to the feature by way of description, the skillful, intelligent writing that would have allowed those labels to have any weight is not to be found in these 100 minutes, and I'm ultimately a little surprised that Risi didn't try to pass it off as a film directed by Alan Smithee. I was almost prepared to say that in my opinion this doesn't sink to the absolute bottom of the barrel, yet for as confounding as the viewing experience is as the flick squanders all that it might have been, I take back that sliver of kindness.

In closing, to borrow some words from Roger Ebert and his review of Rob Reiner's 1994 comedy-drama 'North,' allow me to quote him and summarize my feelings about 'The forbidden room': "I hated this movie. Hated hated hated hated hated this movie. Hated it. Hated every simpering stupid vacant audience-insulting moment of it. Hated the sensibility that thought anyone would like it. Hated the implied insult to the audience by its belief that anyone would be entertained by it."

Goodnight.

Bizarre events keep occurring in an old mansion in Venezia, and it's soon obvious that something mysterious is up in the attic.

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Anima persa

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