Diabolik

After Diabolik (John Philip Law) steals $1 million from under the noses of the police the Minister of the Interior (Terry Thomas – an effective guest star appearance as his standard upper class twit persona) announces the temporary reintroduction of the death penalty. Diabolik and his girlfriend Eva (Marisa Mell – wonderfully decorative) then procede to turn the press conference into a farce by unleasing laughing gas into the audience.

At Eva's behest Diabolik next sets his sights on stealing a magnificent emerald necklace belonging to the British trade emissary's wife. Inspector Ginco (Michel Piccoli) and crime boss Valmont (Adolfo Celi – more or less reprising his Thunderball role) have entered into an uneasy alliance against their mutual enemy, know that Diabolik will not be able to resist and lay traps. Diabolik knows they know, but doesn't care and steals the necklace anyway, easily defeating Ginco's security measures.

Valmont then abducts Eva and sets Diabolik an ultimatum: Hand over $10 million and the necklace or she dies. For good measure, he also plots to hand Diabolik over to Ginco once the deal is concluded. But Diabolik is nobody's fool and has more than an inkling of what his enemies are planning…

1968's Diabolik, based upon the popular fumetti – i.e. Italian adult comic – by sisters Angela and Lucian Giussani, was something of a turning point in the career of its director Mario Bava.

Working under the aegis of mogul Dino De Laurentis, Bava found himself granted the largest budget of his career to date, around $3 million dollars. It was a long way from the paltry resources he was used to working with on the likes of Planet of the Vampires. "Do you know what the unknown planet of Terrore nello Spazio was made of? Two plastic rocks – yes, two: one and one – that were left over from a mythological epic at Cinecittá!"

In other words, Diabolik was Bava's shot at the big time. Yet he found the extra resources stifled rather than enhanced his creativity – "the big budget didn't facilitate things for me at all. I found it helped me even less than usual" – and, in what must be an almost unprecedented failure to budget maximise, brought the film in for around $400,000 dollars.

Despite this frugality and Diabolik's commercial success, Bava would only once again work with comparable resources, being granted complete control on the disastrously timed Lisa and the Devil. (A classic, lyrical work, it was release just when The Exorcist was changing the rules of the horror genre.) Did producers figure that by giving him less and less they would get more and more, or did the director decide that he wasn't that sort of film-maker. Whatever the answer – probably a bit of both – Diabolik stands as a testament to Bava's singular talent as an imaginative visual stylist.

Yes, there isn't much substance to the film. In spite of seven credited scriptwriters – including the Giussani sisters – the plotting is full of holes and the characterisations are tissue thin.

Unlike, say, Batman, Diabolik has no back-story. He comes as if from nowhere and acts without obvious rationale or motive. At one point he destroys the tax infrastructure on a whim, but isn't in any way politically motivated. He has no qualms about killing anyone who stands in his way, yet seems more interested in the means than the ends. The chase, with all its attendant excitement and danger, is better than the catch. It's perhaps this very irrationality – or, rather, refusal to act in accordance with the everyday standards of instrumental rationality – that allows Valmont and Ginco to conspire against Diabolik. Like the police and underworld of Fritz Lang's M, they find that they have more in common with one other than with the unknowable, unclassifiable Diabolik. He just does not play by their rules. Even the one aspect of Diabolik's character that is clear – his remarkable fidelity towards Eva – is aberrant, a far cry from the womanising of a James Bond.

The setting is likewise unclear. The money bags may have dollar signs on them, but this isn't the US. Terry Thomas may play the government minister, but this isn't Britain. Must be somewhere in Europe – co-production fantasy land?

All this, coupled with the somewhat uncharismatic nature of John Philip Law's performance – sure, he looks the part and has a sinister laugh but is otherwise a blank surface – mean that Bava's visual stylings have to carry the day, even more so than with Hercules in the Haunted World or Planet of the Vampires.

But how magnificently they do.

With Mell wearing all manner of fetching mini skirts and Law a succession of gimp outfits – shades of Planet of the Vampires – the costumes are a kitsch delight. So too is the production design – his and hers E-type Jaguars, gizmos and gadgets Bond's Q must wish he could have invented, pop and op-art – and psychedelic, candy-coloured visuals replete with trick and trompe l'oeil effects.

Add in an effortlessly cool Ennio Morricone soundtrack – it's a tragedy that the destruction of the original masters in a fire means there's no chance of a CD re-release – and you have what is quite possibly the coolest, grooviest, most shagadelic film ever made. Forget Bond, Batman and Austin Powers, Diabolik is the man…

The real criminals here are the the distributors who have denied Diabolik the restored DVD release it so clearly warrants. In the meantime a bootleg port of the old Laserdisc is the only option and, though preferable to nothing, just isn't up to contemporary standards in terms of A/V quality.

Italian site on the fumetti