Romano Scavolini’s Spirits of Death (also marketed under the wildly misleading French title Exorcisme Tragique) wants you to think it’s a sultry, surreal Italian fever dream dipped in trauma, wine, and blood. What it actually is, however, is 98 minutes of dramatic stalling in a drafty castle, occasionally interrupted by stabbing and the slowest descent into madness this side of a discount therapy retreat.
Plot? Sure, Let’s Call It That
We begin with a childhood trauma: little Marialé watches her father murder her mother in a slow-motion sequence that feels like it was filmed through a fogged-up wine bottle. Years later, she’s a shut-in hosting what can only be described as the most boring orgy since Eyes Wide Shut. Her guests arrive dressed for a psychedelic dinner theater production of Clue, and soon the murder-mystery portion begins — but not before we’re subjected to enough strained ennui and chain-smoking to fumigate a disco.
The murders, when they do come, are framed like a gothic perfume commercial, only with more screaming and less coherence. By the time the twist arrives (you’ll see it coming a mile away unless you’re asleep — a strong possibility), you’re less interested in who did it and more in why you didn’t start fast-forwarding 45 minutes ago.
Giallo? Barely.
Despite the giallo label, the movie forgets to include any of the things people actually watch giallo for: creative kills, stylish editing, outrageous fashion, or actual tension. According to film historian Roberto Curti, Spirits of Death doesn’t even start resembling a murder mystery until an hour in. And by that point, you’re just grateful someone’s finally doing something.
It’s not a whodunit, it’s a why-is-this-still-happening.
Performances and Style (Loosely Defined)
Ida Galli (billed here as Evelyn Stewart) does her best as Marialé, but even her haunting eyes can’t breathe life into this listless character. Ivan Rassimov and Luigi Pistilli show up, probably wondering how their agents convinced them to do this. Meanwhile, the supporting cast all look like they wandered in from different movies — one giallo, one soap opera, and one swingers’ retreat.
Scavolini seems to be aiming for something between gothic horror and avant-garde arthouse, but lands squarely in the realm of “baffling Euro-snooze.” The editing is jagged, the pacing is a sedative, and the musical score — if you can remember it — feels like leftover cues from an abandoned ghost train ride.
Final Verdict
Spirits of Death is one of those genre curiosities that lures you in with its baroque poster and giallo cred, then punishes you with scene after scene of half-naked aristocrats bickering in slow motion. It’s neither lurid enough to be sleazy fun nor cerebral enough to be moody art — it’s just… there, sulking in a castle, hoping you mistake stillness for depth.
If you’re looking for a moody Italian thriller, watch The Red Queen Kills Seven Times. If you’re looking for meaningful existential horror, try Possession. If you’re looking for this, well, you probably already regret it.
Watch with wine. A lot of wine.
