La vergine di Norimberga (1963)
Fans of sixties' Italian horror will enjoy La vergine di Norimberga ("The Virgin of Nuremberg"), a lurid precursor to the graphically gory fantasies that were soon to follow. Directed by the prolific Antonio Margheriti under his pseudonym Anthony Dawson, La vergine di Norimberga was originally released stateside as Horror Castle, a title evidently deemed more likely to help the film find its proper audience. Those expecting a "deflowering" theme would have been surprised to discover that the original title is a reference to the Iron Maiden, not the band but a medieval torture device.
La vergine di Norimberga is a gruesome Eastmancolor variant on the "chamber of horrors" theme that may have been first used in Maurice Costello's 1912 silent thriller Conscience. Mary Hunter (Rossana Podesta), the American bride of a German aristocrat (French actor Georges Rivière), arrives at his ancestral home only to be threatened by a hooded figure cloaked in red.
This spectral apparition, identified in local legend as a ruthless figure from the Inquisition era known as "The Punisher," haunts the castle, which conveniently houses a museum of medieval torture instruments and a generous supply of secret passageways. After Mary discovers the mutilated body of a young woman in the museum's iron maiden, the titular vergine, the corpse disappears and she cannot convince either her husband or the local doctor to believe her. Or do they?
Where La vergine di Norimberga truly diverges from similarly-themed films is in its scenes of torture, which are filmed with sadistic glee. In one shocking scene, a rat cage is strapped to a hapless victim's face; she screams in agony as the starving rodent rips apart her nose. In a black-and-white flashback introduced by stock footage, Nazi surgeons methodically strip the flesh from a man's face, rendering him a hideous living skull. These and other scenes of mayhem display a ghoulish fascination with suffering perhaps unparalleled in Italian cinema prior to Mario Bava's 1964 Sei donne per l'assassino ("Blood and Black Lace") and Massimo Pupillo's ludicrous Il boia scarlatto ("Bloody Pit Of Horror"), the latter of which appears to be strongly influenced by Margheriti's film.
La vergine di Norimberga occasionally displays the visual stylishness that Margheriti brought to his better films. The panicked Podesta's nighttime run beneath skeletal tree branches splashed in vivid crimson light are striking, and not dissimilar to the use of abstracted washes of color in the opening scenes of Dario Argento's much later Suspiria (1977). The cinematography by Riccardo Pallottini, whose list of films include many cult favorites, is rich in its use of shadows to suggest impending horror. Impressive studio interiors are paired with outdoor scenes filmed in Rome's Villa Sciarra (also seen in Blood and Black Lace) standing in for the castle's stately grounds.
The first of Margheriti's many horrors, La vergine di Norimberga was assistant-directed by the unlikely duo of French filmmaker Bertrand Blier (Get Out Your Handkerchiefs, 1978) and future gore specialist Ruggero Deodato. It is also the sole horror film credit of Rossana Podesta, who seven years earlier had attained fame as the star of star of Robert Wise's Helen of Troy. Georges Rivière was again wandering haunted corridors the following year, this time with Barbara Steele, in Margheriti and Sergio Corbucci's Castle of Blood. Fans of Christopher Lee will enjoy watching his atypical turn as Erich, a scarrred, sinister manservant.
The film is not without its flaws, unfortunately. Though the surprisingly graphic depictions of cruelty add punch to its overly familiar plot trajectory, La vergine di Norimberga suffers from a script with more holes than the victims of the iron maiden. The poorly dubbed English dialog is occasionally ludicrous, such as when The Punisher spirits away an unconscious victim with the following groaner: "Never fear! You thought I wanted to abuse your body; on the contrary, death is the fate I have in store for you. Ha ha ha hyuck hyuck." Such lines are usually accompanied with the stroking of a waxed mustache.
The internal logic is likewise suspect; though we learn why The Punisher has been driven insane, his climatic anti-war plea is difficult to square with his prior war on women. During the film's action-packed conclusion, repeated cuts to scenes of Rivière threatened by a flooding dungeon ultimately become comical. Riz Ortolani's unorthodox musical score pleases when it pairs the onscreen intrigue with swinging cocktail jazz, but proves tiresome when used to inspire cheap scares.
Despite these weaknesses, La vergine di Norimberga is likely to delight those who revel in gothic horror set in creepy castles, and is perfect viewing for a dark, stormy night in a candle-lit chamber. Shriek Show's 16x9 presentation, presented only in its dubbed English version, is a considerable improvement over the pan-and-scanned VHS release once available through Twin Tower Video.
This spectral apparition, identified in local legend as a ruthless figure from the Inquisition era known as "The Punisher," haunts the castle, which conveniently houses a museum of medieval torture instruments and a generous supply of secret passageways. After Mary discovers the mutilated body of a young woman in the museum's iron maiden, the titular vergine, the corpse disappears and she cannot convince either her husband or the local doctor to believe her. Or do they?
Where La vergine di Norimberga truly diverges from similarly-themed films is in its scenes of torture, which are filmed with sadistic glee. In one shocking scene, a rat cage is strapped to a hapless victim's face; she screams in agony as the starving rodent rips apart her nose. In a black-and-white flashback introduced by stock footage, Nazi surgeons methodically strip the flesh from a man's face, rendering him a hideous living skull. These and other scenes of mayhem display a ghoulish fascination with suffering perhaps unparalleled in Italian cinema prior to Mario Bava's 1964 Sei donne per l'assassino ("Blood and Black Lace") and Massimo Pupillo's ludicrous Il boia scarlatto ("Bloody Pit Of Horror"), the latter of which appears to be strongly influenced by Margheriti's film.
La vergine di Norimberga occasionally displays the visual stylishness that Margheriti brought to his better films. The panicked Podesta's nighttime run beneath skeletal tree branches splashed in vivid crimson light are striking, and not dissimilar to the use of abstracted washes of color in the opening scenes of Dario Argento's much later Suspiria (1977). The cinematography by Riccardo Pallottini, whose list of films include many cult favorites, is rich in its use of shadows to suggest impending horror. Impressive studio interiors are paired with outdoor scenes filmed in Rome's Villa Sciarra (also seen in Blood and Black Lace) standing in for the castle's stately grounds.
The first of Margheriti's many horrors, La vergine di Norimberga was assistant-directed by the unlikely duo of French filmmaker Bertrand Blier (Get Out Your Handkerchiefs, 1978) and future gore specialist Ruggero Deodato. It is also the sole horror film credit of Rossana Podesta, who seven years earlier had attained fame as the star of star of Robert Wise's Helen of Troy. Georges Rivière was again wandering haunted corridors the following year, this time with Barbara Steele, in Margheriti and Sergio Corbucci's Castle of Blood. Fans of Christopher Lee will enjoy watching his atypical turn as Erich, a scarrred, sinister manservant.
The film is not without its flaws, unfortunately. Though the surprisingly graphic depictions of cruelty add punch to its overly familiar plot trajectory, La vergine di Norimberga suffers from a script with more holes than the victims of the iron maiden. The poorly dubbed English dialog is occasionally ludicrous, such as when The Punisher spirits away an unconscious victim with the following groaner: "Never fear! You thought I wanted to abuse your body; on the contrary, death is the fate I have in store for you. Ha ha ha hyuck hyuck." Such lines are usually accompanied with the stroking of a waxed mustache.
The internal logic is likewise suspect; though we learn why The Punisher has been driven insane, his climatic anti-war plea is difficult to square with his prior war on women. During the film's action-packed conclusion, repeated cuts to scenes of Rivière threatened by a flooding dungeon ultimately become comical. Riz Ortolani's unorthodox musical score pleases when it pairs the onscreen intrigue with swinging cocktail jazz, but proves tiresome when used to inspire cheap scares.
Despite these weaknesses, La vergine di Norimberga is likely to delight those who revel in gothic horror set in creepy castles, and is perfect viewing for a dark, stormy night in a candle-lit chamber. Shriek Show's 16x9 presentation, presented only in its dubbed English version, is a considerable improvement over the pan-and-scanned VHS release once available through Twin Tower Video.
[This review originally appeared, in different form, in ecco, the world of bizarre video, Volume One, Number Two.]