Ah, Sette Note in Nero, or as it’s more romantically known in English-speaking lands—The Psychic—a film so thick with giallo conventions that it makes Clue look like Citizen Kane. If you enjoy a slow-paced whodunit that manages to confuse, bore, and occasionally entertain with its Italian style of, “Who needs coherent plot progression when you can just throw in a creepy premonition or two?”—then this movie is definitely for you. For the rest of us, well, it’s like being stuck in a traffic jam of logic where every car is filled with unanswered questions, increasingly bizarre characters, and the faint scent of formaldehyde.
Directed by Lucio Fulci, the mastermind behind films like Zombie (1979) and The Beyond (1981), Sette Note in Nero is his stab at the supernatural giallo. Now, imagine if you could make The Sixth Sense, but instead of a twist, it just sort of…meandered to the finish line with all the urgency of a 2 a.m. infomercial selling “free” ab toners. The film stars Jennifer O’Neill as Virginia Ducci, a woman with so many psychic powers that you’d think she’s trying to open up a side business in ghost busting—if only she could figure out who the hell is murdering people along the way.
The Premise: Dead Women Talking, or Just Doing Their Best to Be Awkward
Sette Note in Nero begins with the genius premise of a psychic who witnesses a suicide (from ahem several hundred miles away, no biggie) and then goes on to see a series of events—because, of course, the universe decided that her psychic powers were a bit too cozy and needed some murder to make them relevant. Enter Virginia, our heroine, who, after a peculiar series of visions (probably the kind you have right after eating a questionable bowl of pasta), starts investigating the mysterious death of her husband’s ex-girlfriend. Of course, her husband, Francesco, played by Gianni Garko, comes off like a walking red flag. He’s mysterious. He’s got more baggage than a suitcase convention. And for some reason, he also seems oddly protective over certain walls in their house, but who’s counting, right?
Here’s the thing. If you’re an audience member, watching this film, you’d likely be hit with two feelings. First, you’ll be desperately clinging to any rational explanation for why Virginia keeps seeing things that are probably best left un-seen. Second, you’ll be asking yourself, “Why the hell is she still married to Francesco?” Like, lady, your husband might be hiding dead bodies, but you know—no biggie, just another Tuesday.
A Giallo Without the Gory Glamour
Sette Note in Nero is giallo, but imagine if all the garish thrills and gruesome murder were swapped for a very Italian, slow-burning investigation about a haunted house... without any ghosts… or murders happening in it. The pacing of the film is so excruciatingly slow you might wonder if Fulci had a bet with his crew on how long they could go without showing a single interesting thing. And don’t even get me started on the psychic visions. At first, Virginia is seeing cryptic flashes of a woman’s murder, then a random assortment of objects (including, but not limited to, a weird wristwatch and a hole in the wall), and I’m just sitting there thinking, “This woman is basically having a mental breakdown, but with style.”
Oh, and how could I forget the haunted wristwatch. It’s ticking, it’s tocking, and apparently it’s haunting the plot with a frequency that is way more exhausting than eerie. I get it, clock sounds in movies are meant to invoke tension. But in this case, it just felt like being trapped in an IKEA showroom, where nothing’s on sale and all you hear are clocks ticking down toward your inevitable frustration.
The Characters: Everyone Is a Suspect, Except the Person Who Matters
Now, let’s talk about the characters, because if you can’t enjoy the suspense, you might as well find joy in the bizarrely caricatured people who populate this film. Take Luca, the psychic researcher who somehow makes investigating paranormal activities look like an afternoon stroll through a snoozefest. He’s constantly walking around with that look on his face, like he’s trying to figure out if he left the stove on at home or if his cat is still alive. Meanwhile, Francesco is so suspicious that I half expected him to moonlight as an international jewel thief or a villain in a soap opera.
But the real winner here is Virginia’s wristwatch. Sure, it’s just an accessory, but it’s the only thing that consistently doessomething of significance. It chimes, it ticks, it chimes again… and for some reason, the audience is supposed to care. By the end of the film, that little timepiece is practically the main character.
The Twist: Something About Walls, More Walls, and Did I Mention Walls?
Let’s cut to the chase. Sette Note in Nero boasts a twist ending that would make even M. Night Shyamalan go, “Wait, what?” After all the visions, after all the dead bodies, and after all the wristwatching, the final revelation is this: it’s Francesco, the guy you’ve been side-eyeing for an hour and a half, who’s the murderer. He’s been hiding things behind a wall, because why not, right? It’s not like we’ve had enough walls in this movie to make us all question our interior decorating decisions. But yes, the walls were the key. Because when you’re making a film that’s about supernatural visions, why not throw in a metaphor for how your emotional walls are preventing you from seeing the truth? Get it? Walls? And they’re symbolic, too!
In the end, Francesco tries to kill Virginia, and by that point, you’re just praying the movie wraps up. If you’re luckyenough to still care, you might find yourself watching the final confrontation in the same way you’d watch a car crash—unable to look away, but also wishing it would just end.
Conclusion: A Giallo That’s Lost in Translation (And Its Own Plot)
In the grand scheme of things, Sette Note in Nero is about as effective as a psychic reading from a fortune teller who forgot their glasses. It’s a film that tries to be suspenseful, but ends up more frustrating than frightening. The pacing is sluggish, the twists are telegraphed with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, and the characters are more shifty than a pair of socks in a laundromat. The supernatural aspects seem so forced that you start wondering if Fulci simply took random ideas from different genres and tried to jam them all together like a kid on a sugar high trying to make a Lego spaceship.
If you’re a fan of giallo, or a Fulci completist, sure, go ahead and waste an hour and a half of your life. Otherwise, this is one trip to the psychic you’ll wish you had not made.
