There are horror anthologies, and then there’s Two Evil Eyes—the cinematic equivalent of watching two heavyweight directors walk into Edgar Allan Poe’s house, pour themselves a drink, and rearrange the furniture until the floorboards squeak. George A. Romero and Dario Argento split the bill, one handling “The Facts in the Case of Mr. Valdemar,” the other “The Black Cat.” What we get is Pittsburgh in 1990 dressed up as Gothic nightmare fuel, part soap opera, part fever dream, part feral cat PSA.
It’s messy, weird, and uneven—but God help me, it’s also fun.
Romero’s Side: Hypnotism, Money, and the Worst Freezer in Pittsburgh
Romero’s “Mr. Valdemar” is a story about greed, hypnosis, and Adrienne Barbeau proving she could glare a man to death if the script allowed it. She plays Jessica, a trophy wife who, instead of just waiting out her elderly husband’s inevitable shuffle off this mortal coil, conspires with her lover/doctor to speed up the paperwork. Their plan? Hypnotize Ernest Valdemar until he basically signs away his estate while drooling into a pillow.
But Poe isn’t Poe unless the dead refuse to stay polite and buried. So Valdemar dies mid-hypnosis, and suddenly he’s groaning from the basement freezer like the world’s most annoying refrigerator alarm. Jessica, in a move familiar to anyone who’s ever made a bad life decision at 2 a.m., decides to ignore it. Romero leans into atmosphere—the creak of the house, the echo of Valdemar’s voice—and suddenly this silly “hypnosis scam” plot feels like we’re one moan away from a séance gone sideways.
The real fun comes when Valdemar reveals that he’s not just dead, he’s a doorway—an unwilling Uber for the “Others,” a vague pack of angry spirits who apparently drew the short straw in the afterlife. Watching his corpse shuffle around under their control is pure Romero: equal parts scary, absurd, and faintly sad, like a zombie who still has to pay rent.
Jessica eventually gets shot in the head—by her own husband’s corpse, no less—and her lover Dr. Hoffman doesn’t last long either, thanks to some vengeful ghosts who decide the best murder weapon is… a metronome. Yes, the tick-tock you hated in piano lessons turns out to be lethal in Romero’s universe. Somewhere, Poe was chuckling.
Argento’s Side: Harvey Keitel vs. The Cat
If Romero gave us icy irony, Argento went full delirium. “The Black Cat” casts Harvey Keitel as Rod Usher, a crime scene photographer with a drinking problem, a fragile girlfriend (Madeleine Potter), and a deep hatred for one black cat who becomes his arch-nemesis.
Now, Keitel doesn’t just play crazy—he marinates in it. He strangles the cat, photographs himself doing it, and then publishes those photos in an art book like it’s edgy performance art. Imagine flipping through Metropolitan Horrors at your local bookstore and seeing a picture of Harvey Keitel throttling your tabby. That’s Argento for you.
The segment is littered with Poe Easter eggs: pendulums, walls hiding corpses, and the kind of gothic doom that makes you wonder if Pittsburgh zoning laws allow for so much melodrama. The pièce de résistance comes when Keitel walls up his girlfriend along with the damn cat. But cats are spiteful, immortal, and very good at scratching plaster. Soon enough, the cops hear the mewling, the wall comes down, and the reveal is as grotesque as it is hilarious: the cat has not only survived but given birth in the tomb, kittens feasting on the remains of their new stepmom. Poe would’ve written a sonnet about that if he’d thought of it.
The finale? Keitel tries to escape, gets tangled in his own rope, and ends up dangling like a piñata while the cat stares at him with the smug satisfaction only cats can muster. The horror isn’t just Argento’s—it’s every cat owner’s who’s ever felt judged by their pet.
Style Clash: Romero’s Ice vs. Argento’s Fire
Watching Two Evil Eyes is like ordering a split entrée and realizing both chefs spiked it with absinthe. Romero brings his methodical, blue-collar Pittsburgh realism. Argento paints the walls with blood and cranks the operatic hysteria to eleven. The tonal whiplash is part of the fun.
Romero’s segment feels like a Twilight Zone episode stretched past its comfort zone—effective, creepy, but restrained. Argento’s is pure Grand Guignol, a carnival ride where every turn features Harvey Keitel sweating, yelling, or killing something with household tools.
Together, they make a perfect odd couple: the American pragmatist and the Italian surrealist, meeting in the middle with Edgar Allan Poe, who probably would’ve sold tickets to watch the whole circus himself.
Dark Humor Lurking in the Shadows
Two Evil Eyes isn’t intentionally funny, but time has aged it into a horror-comedy hybrid. Consider:
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Romero’s segment has ghosts using a metronome as a murder weapon. Nothing says spectral menace like middle school band practice.
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Argento gives us Keitel not only strangling a cat but proudly displaying it on a book cover, as though Petsmart Horror Photography Quarterly was a thing.
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And let’s not forget the ending: kittens eating their adopted mom. Poe gave us ravens, Argento gave us corpse-eating furballs. Advantage: Argento.
It’s horror with a wink, whether the filmmakers meant it or not.
Performances That Sell the Madness
Adrienne Barbeau gives Romero’s tale some gravitas. She plays Jessica with the right mix of cynicism and panic, like a woman realizing halfway through a bad heist movie that she’s not the lead character after all.
But it’s Harvey Keitel who steals the show, partly because he’s Harvey Keitel and partly because no one has ever committed so hard to hating a cat. He rages, he sweats, he murders with gusto—it’s like Mean Streets relocated to a Poe story. The cat deserves a credit, too. No feline has ever acted with such disdain, such presence. Eat your heart out, Lassie.
Final Verdict: A Bloody, Bizarre Poe Cocktail
Two Evil Eyes is flawed, uneven, and occasionally ridiculous—but it’s also a blast. Romero gives us icy dread, Argento gives us operatic insanity, and somewhere between the two lies the spirit of Poe, grinning through his mustache.
It’s not subtle. It’s not polished. But it’s two horror masters swinging for the fences with a black cat, a freezer corpse, and a metronome. And honestly, isn’t that what horror should be—bold, weird, and just a little bit funny?
