Lamberto Bava's directorial debut is a relatively restrained affair compared to the continuances of the Giallo family legacy he would become best known for, but in terms of gruesome and shocking content Macabre is a tough act to follow, and it's a safe bet that even if the heir apparent had never made another movie after this one, his name would still be well-remembered by genre fans today. Though the meticulously measured pace here is more in line with a straight thriller than a horror film, there's no ignoring Macabre's startling potency as an unsavory slice of of repugnant ribaldry, and the deeply erotic underscoring of the main storyline makes the resolution of the plot all the more unsettling when it arrives.
The film follows the morbid journey of Jane Baker, a bored housewife who regards her relationships with her dull husband and two intrusive children as unwelcome distractions from the adulterous embrace of her younger lover, Fred. After leaving her kids unattended at her house so she can steal away and meet her lothario, Jane shares a passionate carnal exchange with Fred while his landlord listens on in the next room. Meanwhile, Jane's in-the-know sociopathic preteen daughter opts to spoil her forbidden visit by issuing perhaps the loudest cry for help ever heard: the lass sadistically drowns her younger brother in the bathtub. When Jane is contacted at Fred's apartment and told about her son's death, her and Fred race to the scene. Unfortunately for her, and more unfortunately for Fred, the duo is involved in a brutal car accident on the way, which results in Fred being decapitated by a metal guardrail that flies through the windshield.
Mind you, this all occurs before the film even hits the ten minute mark, but the bleak opening that launches Macabre only scratches the surface of the grisly tidings in store for us here.
Jumping forward a year, Jane is released from a sanitarium and quickly engages in a course of conduct that reveals she is most assuredly not cured. She moves into the apartment formerly occupied by her deceased lover and promptly sets up a creepy shrine featuring mementos of their relationship, the centerpiece of which is a photograph of him that she stares at while she pleasures herself. Clearly, her desire for Fred has not abated despite his debilitating deadness, and as her madness takes center stage, she begins having conversations with him as if he were still alive and spicing up their postmortem trysting by shopping for lingerie to wear during their special intimate time. Meanwhile, the amorously interested landlord, who's blind but not stupid, starts to grow suspicious about the amount of time Jane spends up in her room moaning in ecstasy and screaming "Fred! Fred!" over and over again, and he begins unraveling the truth of her sinister secret.
If you already know the final twist in store here, I'm not sure how much impact the film's climactic sequence will have for you. I was lucky enough to see Macabre before I had the reveal ruined for me, so I'll refrain from sharing anything about it in the hopes that you'll have the same chillingly rewarding experience that I did. However, in case you have stumbled across the spoiler, I would like to mention that I'm banging out this write-up after watching Macabre for the second time, and I've discovered that knowing how this tale ends does not strip the happenings of their jarring and visceral power.
Bava obviously studied the work of the genre's masters very closely, and the intricately crafted suspense that drives the film makes Macabre a truly engrossing and memorable experience. The director opts to let the story speak for itself, eschewing flashy camera-work and psychedelic lighting in favor of a more straight-forward and wholly realistic narrative presentation, an approach that serves the material well. You can feel free to grumble about the occasionally intrusive dubbing and the overblown performance by the young actress who plays Jane's daughter, but as a whole Bava coaxes impressive and believable performances out of his leads, which greatly augments the assertive "based on a true story" tag at the beginning of the film.
Don't get me wrong, Macabre certainly isn't perfect and its flaws are glaring. While the payoff for the main puzzle is huge, once the revolting facts are revealed and there are still 20 minutes of run-time left to fill, the climax has almost nowhere to go, so the third act spirals into implausible hysterics. There's also the dicey predicament of the blind landlord, who is repeatedly led on and humiliated by Jane, yet still opts not to call the authorities once he discovers she's bat-guano insane. The final frame is a real head-scratcher too, and while the scene injects one last jump into the movie, it also undermines much of our understanding about the events which unfold here.
However, for most of its reels, Macabre sustains an aura of dread and darkness that borders on brilliance, and the measure of absolute sickness the film achieves is thoroughly impressive. Bava would eventually go onto more widely-beloved works than this, but as far as humble beginnings go Macabre was one hell of a way for him to lose his film-making virginity. The emphasis on story over gore may turn off fans looking for a more splatter-fueled excursion, but devotees who have a sincere appreciation for the more subtle shades of the genre will find a lot to like here. Highly recommended.