There are films that feel like triumphs, films that feel like missteps, and films that feel like the director woke up one morning, pointed at a script, and muttered, “Fine, whatever.” The Cat o’ Nine Tails—Dario Argento’s second feature—is somehow all three at once. A slick, stylish, occasionally absurd Giallo thriller that Argento allegedly regards as his least favorite child, yet paradoxically one of the easiest to love. It’s the cinematic version of a parent apologizing for the kid in a band who actually turns out to be the most talented one in the family.
It’s also the middle entry in Argento’s “Animal Trilogy,” which contains no animals of any thematic relevance whatsoever—unless you count humans behaving like evolutionary rejects with the XYY chromosome. Argento eventually pretended he wasn’t wild about the film, but that hasn’t stopped audiences—especially in the U.S.—from embracing it like a long-lost cult cousin who drinks too much but is great at parties.
And what a party it is.
A Giallo With More Class Than It Knows What to Do With
Let’s begin with the cast, because that’s where The Cat o’ Nine Tails quietly flexes. Karl Malden, who looks like he just wandered off a far more respectable movie set, turns in one of his warmest—and weirdest—performances as Franco “Cookie” Arnò, a blind former journalist with a razor-sharp mind and a sword cane that might as well be Chekhov’s gun on a stick. Malden brings so much dignity and charm to the role that you half-expect him to sue the production for emotional distress.
James Franciscus, meanwhile, plays reporter Carlo Giordani with the kind of polished American smoothness that suggests his agent promised him this film would “really hit in Europe.” It didn’t—but he did. Franciscus and Malden have a legitimately delightful odd-couple chemistry: one man sees everything but misses details; the other sees nothing but catches everything. Together, they stumble into nine leads—hence the title—that function less like clues and more like Argento pulling narrative streamers out of a magician’s sleeve.
And Catherine Spaak, draped in early-70s elegance, glides through the film like a cat who knows exactly who owns the house.
Nine Leads, Zero Cats, Lots of Strangling
In a genre famous for plot twists so elaborate they cause migraines, The Cat o’ Nine Tails delivers a refreshingly straightforward murder spree. We get a break-in at a medical institute. A blackmail attempt. A body under a train. A photographer murdered for knowing too much (and more importantly, for owning the negatives). Bodies pile up like Argento is running a clearance sale on supporting actors.
The most darkly humorous part? Everyone keeps treating this escalating string of extremely preventable murders like a minor inconvenience. Even after a break-in, multiple deaths, an attempt to run Carlo off the road, and another attempt to garrote Franco, the authorities display the urgency of a man choosing between two equally mediocre gelato flavors.
But our investigative duo presses on. They dig into the mysterious XYY chromosome angle—the idea that an extra Y makes you predisposed to criminality. This real-life pseudoscience fad of the era becomes a wonderfully ridiculous narrative engine. Argento treats it with just enough seriousness to make it entertaining, but not enough to suggest he believes any of it. In the film’s universe, fearing an XYY diagnosis is apparently enough to justify breaking into your workplace, deleting your records, and murdering half your colleagues. It’s workplace anxiety taken to a homicidal extreme.
And then there’s Lori, the precocious niece played by Cinzia De Carolis, a child who wanders through the film with a charm only slightly overshadowed by the recurring threat of being kidnapped and/or murdered. It’s a miracle she survives the film without developing the kind of trauma that would make Freud put down his cigar.
The Crypt Scene: Peak Argento Absurdity
If there’s a single sequence that captures why this film is beloved, it’s the crypt scene. Carlo and Franco dig up Bianca’s coffin, open her locket, and discover the killer’s name—only for the killer to slam the crypt door shut and leave Carlo locked inside like a loaf of bread in a walk-in freezer. Meanwhile, Franco duels outside in the shadows, his sword cane finally getting the dramatic moment every sword cane dreams of.
This scene is magnificent not because it’s realistic, but because it commits. Argento embraces the melodrama like an Italian grandmother hugging a returning grandson. The result is both tense and faintly ridiculous—in the best possible way.
A Rooftop Finale Fit for an Opera
The final confrontation on the rooftop of the Terzi Institute is the kind of operatic crescendo Argento would later refine in films like Suspiria. Dr. Casoni—bleeding out from Franco’s cane, desperate, frantic, feral—reveals his crimes and motivations while dangling the life of a terrified child. The wind howls, the sky looms, and Carlo lunges into the scene like a hero who realizes he has exactly one chance to do something useful before the movie ends.
And then Franco—sweet, kindly Franco—kills the villain by knocking him through a skylight and down an elevator shaft. It’s violent, sudden, and deeply satisfying. Sometimes justice comes with a dramatic plunge and a Wilhelm scream you can practically hear echoing.
Lori’s rescue is touching. Franco’s trembling relief is genuine. And for a film Argento dislikes, it lands its emotional beats with startling effectiveness.
Argento’s “Least Favorite Film” Deserves More Love
Argento has repeatedly said this film doesn’t represent him, that it’s too conventional, too plot-driven, too “normal.” And in a way, he’s right. It lacks the supernatural poetry of Suspiria or the neon insanity of Inferno. But this is precisely why The Cat o’ Nine Tails stands out: it’s Argento proving he can play by the rules if he wants to—and still be better at the game than almost anyone else.
It’s also funnier, intentionally or not, than most Gialli. There’s dark humor baked into the straight-faced seriousness of the scientists, the increasingly improbable murder attempts, and the absurdity of the XYY premise. The film doesn’t wink—but it knows.
And Karl Malden, God bless him, gives the film its soul. His performance alone is worth the ticket price.
Final Verdict
The Cat o’ Nine Tails is a stylish, moody, occasionally bonkers Giallo with more personality than Argento is willing to admit. It’s a thriller that balances suspense, accidental comedy, earnest performances, and just enough insanity to keep you guessing. If this is Argento on a bad day, then most filmmakers should wish for worse days.
A flawed gem? Absolutely.
A surprisingly warm thriller wrapped in a cloak of murder and pseudoscience? Definitely.
A film Argento dismisses but audiences adore? Perfect.
Give it another look. Like a cat with nine lives, this film keeps landing on its feet—no matter how hard the director tries to push it off the table.
