I Vampiri (1957), although gothic to the core, treats vampirism more as a medical condition than a curse from beyond the grave—and that pulls the drama out of the graveyard and into the drawing room.
Strange for a horror flic. But then, I Vampiri is Italy’s first horror film of the sound era; the formula was not in place yet. Perhaps that is why we are faced with a surprising palette of themes— the dangers of drug addiction, references to class distinctions, a serial murderer, a semi-parlor romance, and pitfalls of biochemistry. And it’s set in Paris. Strange indeed.
In terms of production, the film is notable for the work of cinematographer Mario Bava, soon to become one of greatest Italian horror directors. Just ten days into the shoot, the studios checked on progress and, finding that only half the material was in the can, shut down the production. Director Riccardo Freda, possibly intended to use what had already been shot as leverage for a budget and schedule. The project was shelved. The following year, Mario Bava claimed he could complete the production in just a few days. And it happened.
There’s the requisite dark, windy castle. And the beautiful, pale-faced Countess (Gianni Maria Canale). What about the recent murders of young women, found with their blood drained? And what to make of Pierre (Dario Michaelis), a handsome investigative journalist, the only one who can sniff out the truth.
While the police search for a crazed killer—with a focus on heroin addicts— Pierre believes Paris is being savaged by a vampire. He turns his attention to a peculiar family that lives in a nearby castle. We have a little Erzsébet Báthory on one side, and some Frankenstein on the other. Not much Dracula. Strange again.
There’s an immutable casualness to the proceedings, as if this is just another police investigation, no big deal. Life goes on. Horror hates to be normalized; it becomes empowered in ways that slasher films never understand. The result is more dread than suspense. I Vampiri has a strain of crypto-Christianity filtering through the narrative, recognizing evil as a force that must be recognized and conquered with faith and valour.
In the end, the protagonists accept the supernatural. A job well done. So, shrug your shoulders, turn up your palms, and say, “forget about it.”
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