If you’ve ever fallen down a rabbit hole of 1970s European horror, you’ve probably seen the posters. They’re lurid. They’re colorful. They usually feature a woman looking terrified or a corpse that looks suspiciously like a mannequin. But Death Smiles on a Murderer—or La Morte Sorride all'Assassino if you want to sound fancy at a dinner party—is a weird one. It’s not just another slasher. It’s a gothic, supernatural, time-bending fever dream directed by the legendary Joe D'Amato.
Honestly, it's a mess. But a beautiful, stylish mess.
Most people coming to this film expect a standard giallo. You know the drill: black gloves, a shiny straight razor, and a convoluted motive involving a childhood trauma. This movie skips a lot of that. Instead, it leans into the "Reid-maniac" vibes, blending medical horror with Aristocratic ghost stories. It was 1973. The industry was changing. D’Amato was trying to see what would stick, and what stuck was a plot about a woman named Sibilla returning from the grave to wreak havoc on the people who wronged her.
What Actually Happens in Death Smiles on a Murderer?
Let’s get the plot straight because it’s easy to lose the thread.
The story centers on a young woman who dies during childbirth—or does she? She’s basically buried alive after a carriage accident, and thanks to some ancient Incan formula (yes, really), she comes back. It isn’t a "zombie" movie in the George Romero sense. Sibilla is more of a vengeful spirit inhabiting a physical body, wandering through a high-society setting while the people around her start dying in increasingly gruesome ways.
The pacing is deliberate. Some might call it slow. I’d call it atmospheric.
Klaus Kinski is in this. That’s usually a sign a movie is going to be at least a little bit unhinged. Kinski plays Dr. von Stein, a man obsessed with the idea of reanimating the dead. He doesn't have a massive amount of screen time, but he looms over the film. His presence adds a layer of genuine creepiness that helps balance the more melodramatic elements of the script. D'Amato wasn't known for subtlety, but here, he uses the camera to create a sense of claustrophobia that actually works.
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The cinematography is the real star. It was shot by D'Amato himself (under his real name, Aristide Massaccesi). He used a lot of soft focus and zoom lenses, which was the style at the time, but he had an eye for lighting that made even the cheapest sets look like a crumbling European estate.
Why the "Incan Formula" Subplot Is So Bizarre
Most horror films of this era relied on science or satanism. Death Smiles on a Murderer takes a hard left turn into South American mysticism.
The protagonist’s brother discovers an ancient formula that allows someone to cheat death. This is where the movie shifts from a standard revenge flick into something more akin to a dark fairy tale. It’s a strange juxtaposition. You have these very stiff, formal Austrian characters suddenly dealing with occult magic from the other side of the world.
It doesn't always make sense.
Actually, it rarely makes sense.
But in the world of 1970s Italian cinema, "making sense" was often secondary to "creating a vibe." The film uses Sibilla's return to expose the rot within the upper class. It's a common theme in the genre—the idea that the "civilized" people are actually more monstrous than the undead girl wandering the hallways. The killings are intimate. They’re personal. And because Sibilla looks perfectly normal (and quite beautiful, played by Ewa Aulin), the horror comes from her proximity to the victims.
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The Joe D'Amato Legacy and This Specific Film
Joe D'Amato is a name that usually triggers a specific reaction in film buffs. He’s the guy who made Anthropophagus and Beyond the Darkness. He’s the guy who eventually pivoted almost entirely into adult films.
Because of that, a lot of critics dismiss his earlier work. That’s a mistake.
Death Smiles on a Murderer represents a bridge. It’s one of the last times D'Amato really tried to make a "prestige" horror film before leaning into the gore and sleaze that defined his later career. You can see the influence of Mario Bava here. The way light hits the cobwebs, the use of primary colors in the background—it’s an homage to the masters of the decade before him.
- It was one of the first films to blend the "living dead" trope with the gothic giallo.
- Ewa Aulin, fresh off her role in Candy, gives a performance that is weirdly blank, which actually fits a resurrected corpse perfectly.
- The score by Berto Pisano is haunting. It’s one of those soundtracks that stays in your head way longer than the actual dialogue.
Technical Details and Reception
The movie was released during a crowded time for Italian horror. It didn't set the box office on fire immediately. However, its reputation grew in the 1990s and 2000s when companies like Arrow Video and Blue Underground started restoring these films for DVD and Blu-ray.
When you watch it today, you have to look past some of the technical limitations. The dubbing is, as expected, a bit wonky. The blood looks like bright red tempera paint. But the central mystery—who is Sibilla and what does she want?—keeps it grounded. Unlike many of its contemporaries, it doesn't rely purely on a "twist" ending. The tragedy is baked into the beginning.
There's a specific scene involving a cat and a crawlspace that still holds up as genuinely unsettling. It’s not about jump scares. It’s about the realization that something is fundamentally "off" in the house.
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How to Watch It Today
If you’re looking to dive into this, don't just watch a grainy version on a random streaming site. This is a movie that lives or dies on its visual clarity.
Look for the 2K or 4K restorations. They bring out the richness of the greens and reds that D'Amato worked so hard to capture. It’s currently available on several niche horror streaming platforms like Shudder or MUBI, depending on your region and the current licensing cycles.
Is it a masterpiece? Probably not.
Is it a fascinating artifact of a time when directors were allowed to be weird, poetic, and gross all at the same time? Absolutely. It’s a reminder that horror doesn't always need a massive budget or a complex multiverse to be effective. Sometimes you just need a creepy house, a vengeful ghost, and Klaus Kinski looking like he’s about to explode.
Actions for the Modern Horror Fan
If you want to truly appreciate Death Smiles on a Murderer, you shouldn't watch it in a vacuum. To get the most out of this specific sub-genre, try these steps:
- Compare it to Mario Bava's Kill, Baby... Kill!: You’ll see exactly where D'Amato got his inspiration for the atmospheric, gothic lighting.
- Listen to the Score Individually: Berto Pisano’s work on this film is often cited as a high point for 70s lounge-horror fusion. It changes the way you perceive the film's slower moments.
- Research the "Incan Formula" Trope: Look into how 70s European cinema often used "exotic" mysticism as a plot device. It’s a fascinating, if sometimes problematic, look into the cultural mindset of the era.
- Watch it with Subtitles, Not Dubbed: Even if you don't speak Italian, the original voice performances carry a weight that the often-cheesy English dubs lose.
Understanding the context of the 1973 film scene helps you realize that this wasn't just a "B-movie." It was an attempt to push the boundaries of what gothic horror could look like in a modern (for then) era.