There are movies that defy logic. Then there are movies that mug it in a dark alley, rob it of its dignity, and leave its corpse propped up in a gothic mansion surrounded by fog, candles, cats, and Klaus Kinski sniffing embalming fluid. Death Smiles on a Murderer is that movie. It doesn’t just throw narrative out the window — it dismembers it, resurrects it, seduces it, walls it up alive, and then smiles knowingly as it explodes into a cloud of 1970s Eurotrash confusion.
Directed by Joe D’Amato — a man whose idea of horror often resembles a fever dream shot through a Vaseline-covered lens — this is less of a film and more of an endurance test for the sanity of anyone who dares try to follow it. And while Ewa Aulin may be the titular object of desire, death, resurrection, and bad decisions, even she can’t save this swirling gothic mess from its own stylishly incoherent doom.
A Plot So Nice, They Told It Thrice… and Still Got It Wrong
If the film has a plot — and that’s a big if, like Loch Ness Monster-sized — it involves Greta (Aulin), who is introduced as a mysterious beauty crashing her carriage near the Ravensbrück estate. She’s taken in, like a stray cat with a trust fund, and quickly becomes the object of lust for both Walter (Sergio Doria) and Eva (Angela Bo). This might be interesting if any of the relationships made sense, or if the characters were written with something approaching human emotions.
But the plot, such as it is, also loops back in time to reveal Greta was once dead, maybe still is, and possibly the result of incestuous necromantic science courtesy of her hunchbacked brother Franz (Luciano Rossi), who seems to have learned reanimation from an ancient Incan medallion and a few scribbled notes inside a cereal box.
There’s also Klaus Kinski as Dr. Sturges, who pokes Greta in the eye with a needle for reasons unexplained, then is unceremoniously murdered by… someone? Maybe Greta. Maybe the spirit of narrative coherence, seeking revenge. Who can say?
Klaus Kinski: The Only One Who Knows He’s in a Joe D’Amato Film
Let’s talk about Kinski. He appears in this film like a house fire in a library: sudden, dangerous, and entirely off-script. His entire existence in Death Smiles on a Murderer is both brief and bizarre, as though he wandered onto set looking for Nosferatu and was handed a lab coat and a syringe. He mumbles, frowns, and applies science like a man testing voodoo on a vending machine. When he dies mid-film, you almost envy him.
Ewa Aulin: The Undead, The Bewildered, The Decor
Ewa Aulin deserves better. Having once starred in Candy alongside Marlon Brando and Richard Burton — a film not without its own crimes — she delivers a committed performance here, despite the fact that the script has her lurch from wide-eyed innocent to vengeful ghoul to party crasher to resurrected hell-bride with all the grace of a drunken séance.
At times she’s romantic. At times she’s possessed. Often she’s just vaguely undead. The movie leers at her but doesn’t give her any internal logic. She’s not a character; she’s an erotic metaphor stretched across a flimsy set made of chandeliers and inherited insanity.
Visuals vs. Logic: A One-Sided Slaughter
Let’s admit one thing: the movie looks good. D’Amato and cinematographer Joe D’Amato (yes, the same person) know how to shoot misty halls, fluttering curtains, and melting faces in soft-focus splendor. If only these visual flourishes supported a story instead of suffocating it.
The tone veers from gothic tragedy to erotic thriller to supernatural revenge opera with all the stability of a drunk man on roller skates. There’s necrophilia (implied), incest (definitely), resurrection (multiple), and a talking cat (probably). The mood is perpetually vague menace with a side of eyeliner.
Dialogue from the School of Shrug
The script, allegedly penned by D’Amato and some unfortunate accomplice, reads like a ghost wrote it mid-seizure. Characters speak in riddles, stare into the middle distance, and deliver exposition like they’re under hypnosis. People know things they shouldn’t, forget things they just did, and wander through scenes as if looking for the cue to leave the film entirely.
Lines like “The medallion… contains the secret… to bringing back the dead!” are delivered with the solemnity of a holy confession — and about as much explanation.
Deaths, Sex, Resurrection… Repeat
In keeping with the giallo genre’s fondness for nudity, gore, and general weirdness, Death Smiles on a Murderer has a parade of murders — stabbings, strangulations, being walled up alive, and killer cats. Most of them are committed by Greta, sometimes as herself, sometimes as a corpse, occasionally as a hallucination. Whether she’s possessed by ancient Incan magic, fueled by sibling-love necromancy, or just really mad, the movie doesn’t say.
By the time she appears as an elderly woman married to the final surviving character (who conveniently doesn’t recognize her), you’ll either be asleep or actively yelling at your television.
Final Verdict: Death May Smile, But You’ll Grimace
Death Smiles on a Murderer is the kind of film that looks good in a still frame but collapses under the slightest narrative scrutiny. It’s a patchwork of ghost stories, softcore interludes, and incoherent backstory, stitched together with fog machines and eyeliner.
For fans of Euro-horror, it might be worth a watch — with the sound off, subtitles off, and brain off. But for those hoping for a story, characters, or an ending that doesn’t feel like an unresolved fever dream, death might indeed be the preferable option.
