‘Shock’ or — Big Time In-Camera Oneirism?
There’s a moment in Mario Bava’s final theatrical feature, ‘Shock’ (1977), where Daria Nicolodi is lying in bed and gazing straight into the camera when, slowly, her hair appears to come to life, to snake and curl around her of its own volition. It’s an unexpected moment that takes the breath away as, during this moment of spectral ecstasy, she seems to have turned into a rapt Medusa and with no discernible effects work at play.
I mention this because for the first half hour or so ‘Shock’ doesn’t appear to have much to offer and might’ve justifiably earned its reputation as one of Bava’s “lesser works”, yet as it goes on the film demonstrates that although this isn’t quite prime Bava that the director always provided some inspired touches to profoundly unsettle and impress.
Dora (Nicolodi) moves back into her former family home with her young son, Marco, and her new husband, Bruno. Dora’s previous husband (Marco’s father), Carlo, died whilst out at sea, seemingly from suicide due to a heroin addiction. However, we soon begin to suspect that Dora might have been involved with Carlo’s death in some capacity and that this could account for why Carlo’s spirit has returned, specifically to attempt to inhabit the form of their young son.
So ‘Shock’ is very much in the vein of Henry James’ ‘The Turn of the Screw’ and Jack Clayton’s ‘The Innocents’ (1961) where the fear comes from the notion of a child possessed by adult sexual lusts and murderous passions (I’m not a parent myself but if I thought my own kid wanted to fuck and kill me then I can imagine I’d be slightly concerned).
These elements are introduced in ‘Shock’ in a fairly unexciting first half which seems to consist more of icky intimations than any explicit horror. That, combined with a surprisingly muted and restrained lighting and colour palette by Bava, means ‘Shock’ doesn’t stylistically smack you in the face other Italian horrors of the time tended to do meaning another fear grips hold of the viewer — that this movie might be boring.
Yet, gradually, Bava does what he does best which is to create a dream-like world entirely within the camera, something that possibly only Jean Cocteau was better at in terms of using in-camera effects to achieve. As soon as that atmosphere is established then the entire film immediately, and rather thrilling, comes together. In fact, the Cocteau reference is relevant for a few reasons because as the ethereal dimension intrudes more into Dora’s life so the furniture and objects in the house seem to come alive in a way somewhat reminiscent of ‘La Belle et la Bête’ (1946).
By Bava bringing this world to life (or death?) by using primarily in-camera effects the result is a film that is often mesmerising and creepy as hell. There’s a phenomenal moment (don’t look up anything online about this movie as this moment is so juicy too many people can’t resist spoiling it) where young Marco rushes down a long corridor to jump into his mother’s arms only for…. Well, I won’t say what happens but it jolted me out of my seat both for the effectiveness of the scare itself plus the genius of its simplicity.
Bava also knows how to use sound and sound design to excellent effect with atmospheric noises, foley, music, etc all frequently sliced, spliced and distorted to further increase tension. If you ever wondered if a wardrobe could sound, and MOVE, in a frightening fashion then ‘Shock’ demonstrates that yes, it most certainly can.
‘Shock’ might not be Mario Bava’s best film but it’s a fantastic example of why his work has such a devoted following and even though it’s not consistently successful when it does work it’s satisfyingly effective. It might also be Daria Nicolodi’s best performance because, after all, you don’t just need the effects and tricks to pull off a piece of movie magic but also an actor who can really sell the gag and Nicolodi knows exactly what she, and Bava, are doing.
Oh, and as for how the floating hair and corridor trick are done? It’s blindingly obvious how both are achieved and you’ll notice almost straight away, but not immediately and that’s the catch because before realisation destroys the illusion you’ll discover and experience a sublime moment, for only a fleeting second or two, where your disbelief is fully suspended and magically floating weightless in the air. That’s Bava for you.
