Lizard in a Woman's Skin

Carol Hammond (Florinda Bolkan – Don't Torture a Duckling, Flavia the Heretic) is plagued by recurrent nightmares. A crowded train carriage filled with commuters suddenly transforms into an orgy. She falls into the void and finds herself welcomed by a laughing, semi-naked woman (giallo regular Anita Strindberg), whom she first retreats from then lets caress her, then stabs. A pair of white-eyed hippies are watching. Carol's husband (Jean Sorel – Perversion Story, Short Night of the Glass Dolls), father-in-law (Leo Genn) and stepdaughter (Edy Gall – Five Dolls for an August Moon, Baba Yaga) then appear, their throats slit and faces decayhing.

Of course her analyst Dr Kerr (Georges Rigaud – The Case of the Bloody Iris) has a rational explanation: Carol is simultaneously attracted to and repulsed by the woman, evidently her neighbour Julia Durer, and her hedonistic lifestyle.

But then the woman is found dead in her apartment, with Carol's paper knife, scarf and fur coat at the scene and her fingerprints all over the murder weapon.

It seems like an open and shut case for Inspector Corvin (Stanley Baker – Zulu) of Scotland Yard. But surely things can't be this straightforward? And so it proves as a sordid story of blackmail, addiction, affairs and suicide unravels…

Even in a truncated, panned and scanned VHS dupe dating from goodness knows when, it is evident that this 1971 Lucio Fulci entry is an impressive giallo which both demands an audience and a fully restored presentation.

While sometimes over-reliant on a few tropes – extreme close-ups of eyes the worst offender – and gory set pieces, the director here showcases a dazzling array of techniques – free-flowing handheld camera, exaggerated and sometimes harsh lighting, dramatic angles, shock zooms, split screen, undercranking and rapid-fire montage editing – to great effect, always to better convey the story and create the requisite mood.

The effects work is also susprisingly good. While the version I saw didn't include the notorious mutilated dogs, which Fulci and his effects man Carlo Rambaldi apparently had to produce in court to prove that they hadn't really killed the animals, a bat attack – always one of the hardest effects to pull off pre-CGI – convinces far more than its counterpart in the later The House by the Cemetery.

With solid characterisation from a strong cast that is probably the best ensemble Fulci ever worked with, a superior Ennio Morricone score that is finely balanced between wistful romantic motifs and acid-tinged freak outs, and some very well-used London locations, the only real flaw in evidence – beyond the anticipated bad English dubbing for some minor characters – is a slight sense of anticlimax when, after an almost impossibly strong opening 20 minutes laden with surreal and symbolic imagery – note the way, for instance, in which the slightly vaginal designs on the walls of Julia's apartment speak of Carol's repressed lesbian tendencies – the more routine investigative and police procedural elements attain dominance.

In short, about the only area the film seems wanting compared to Argento's Animal Trilogy is that it's title has an even more tenous connection with the plot – I'd certainly place it up there with The Bird with the Crystal Plumage as one of the best of its type.