Italian horror is a mess. It is a beautiful, blood-soaked, neon-drenched mess that somehow makes more sense than most big-budget slashers coming out of Hollywood today. If you have spent any time digging through the dusty crates of 1970s European cinema, you have likely tripped over the name Sergio Martino. He’s the guy who gave us Torso and The Case of the Scorpion's Tail. But for many of us, his 1972 masterpiece All the Colours of Darkness (or Tutti i colori del buio) is the one that actually sticks in the ribs. It’s not just a movie; it is a fever dream about trauma, gaslighting, and the occult that feels surprisingly modern despite the high-waisted trousers and heavy eyeshadow.
People get giallo wrong. They think it's just about a guy in black gloves holding a straight razor. Sure, that's a part of it. But All the Colours of Darkness takes that template and shoves it into a blender with Rosemary’s Baby and a heavy dose of LSD.
The Psychological Labyrinth of Jane Harrison
Edwige Fenech. Honestly, if you don't know the name, you aren't really watching cult cinema. She plays Jane, a woman who is basically falling apart at the seams. She’s haunted by a car accident that killed her unborn child and her mother, and she is stuck in a loop of nightmares. This isn't just "movie sad." It is a visceral portrayal of PTSD before people were really using that term in casual conversation. Her partner, Richard (played by the stoic George Hilton), is the typical "logical man" of the era—which is to say, he is incredibly dismissive. He wants her to take vitamins. Vitamins! For soul-crushing trauma.
The film works because it bridges the gap between the slasher and the supernatural. Is Jane actually being stalked by a blue-eyed cult leader, or is her mind finally snapping? That’s the hook.
Martino uses London—specifically a very grey, oppressive version of it—to mirror Jane's isolation. When she meets her new neighbor, Mary, she’s lured into a world of "Black Masses." This is where the film earns its title. Darkness isn't just black. In Jane’s world, it’s the deep crimson of sacrificial blood and the sickly violet of a drugged-out ritual. It’s the visual representation of a panic attack.
Why the Cinematography Changes Everything
Giancarlo Ferrando, the director of photography, deserves a damn medal. He doesn't just point the camera; he makes it feel intrusive. There are these tight, claustrophobic close-ups of eyes—so many eyes—that make you feel like you're being watched along with Jane. It’s effective. It's jarring.
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The 1970s were a weird time for color. Technicolor was giving way to more naturalistic tones, but Martino and Ferrando doubled down on saturation. You see this in the dream sequences. The blood isn't realistic; it’s a bright, primary red that pops against the muted tones of Jane’s apartment. This contrast is vital. It tells the viewer that the "darkness" isn't an absence of light, but a saturation of the wrong kind of feelings.
- The blue-eyed man (Ivan Rassimov) represents the predatory gaze.
- The ritual scenes use a handheld camera style that feels almost like a documentary.
- Shadows are used to bisect faces, literally showing the fractured psyche of the protagonist.
Bruno Nicolai's score is the secret weapon here. If you know Ennio Morricone, you know Nicolai. He was Morricone’s conductor and collaborator for years. The music in All the Colours of Darkness is haunting. It uses a female vocalise—that wordless, eerie singing—that makes the hair on your arms stand up. It’s the sound of someone losing their grip on reality.
The Satanic Panic Before the Panic
It’s interesting to look at this film in the context of history. This came out in '72. The Exorcist was a year away. The Manson murders were still a fresh, jagged wound in the collective consciousness. The "Satanic Panic" wouldn't hit its peak for another decade, but Martino was already tapping into that fear. The idea that your neighbors—the nice people in the flat next door—might be part of something ancient and malevolent was terrifying.
There is a specific scene, the first Black Mass Jane attends, that is genuinely uncomfortable. It’s not just the gore. It’s the ritualism. It’s the way the crowd watches. It taps into a very human fear of being the "other" in a room full of people who know a secret you don't.
Some critics at the time dismissed it as "trash" or "pulp." They weren't looking closely enough. While the plot does occasionally veer into the absurd—which, let's be honest, is a staple of the genre—the emotional core is rock solid. Jane’s desperation to feel safe is something anyone who has dealt with anxiety can relate to. She isn't just running from a killer; she's running from her own memory.
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A Legacy of Style Over Logic
If you try to map out the plot of All the Colours of Darkness on a whiteboard, you might get a headache. The "twist" at the end is a bit of a leap. But giallo isn't about logic. It’s about operatic emotion. It’s about how a scene feels.
Modern directors like Peter Strickland (Berberian Sound Studio) or the duo Hélène Cattet and Bruno Forzani (The Strange Color of Your Body's Tears) clearly owe a massive debt to this film. They took the visual language Martino perfected—the zooms, the focus on textures, the aggressive editing—and turned it into a new form of "art-horror."
Even the title itself has become a bit of a cultural touchstone. It suggests that there is a spectrum to our fears. We don't just fear the dark; we fear what we imagine is inside it. We fear the "colours" of our own subconscious.
Fact-Checking the Cult Status
There’s a lot of misinformation about these old Italian films. People often confuse Martino's work with Lucio Fulci's. While Fulci was the "Godfather of Gore," Martino was more of a stylist. All the Colours of Darkness wasn't a massive hit in the States originally. It often played on double bills in grindhouse theaters under titles like They’re Coming to Get You.
It wasn't until the DVD boom of the early 2000s, specifically through labels like Anchor Bay and later Blue Underground and Arrow Video, that the film got the restoration it deserved. Seeing it in 4K today is a completely different experience than seeing a fuzzy VHS rip. You can actually see the grain of the film, the texture of the velvet capes, and the sheer terror in Fenech’s eyes.
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How to Watch It Today Without Getting Confused
If you are going to dive into this movie, you need to set the mood. Don't watch it on your phone while on the bus. This is a "lights off, phone away" kind of film.
- Look for the Arrow Video release. It’s the gold standard for restoration. The colors are balanced, and the extras give you a ton of context on Martino’s career.
- Watch it in Italian with subtitles. I know, I know. Dubbing was the standard for Italian cinema back then (they didn't even record sound on set), but the Italian voice actors usually capture the hysteria better than the English ones.
- Pay attention to the transitions. Martino uses some very clever match-cuts to move between Jane’s reality and her hallucinations. It’s a masterclass in editing.
The film is a reminder that horror doesn't always need a masked killer with a complex backstory. Sometimes, the most terrifying thing is just the feeling that the world isn't what it seems. That your boyfriend is lying to you. That your doctor is in on it. That the darkness has a color you've never seen before.
Actionable Steps for the Aspiring Giallo Fan
If this sounds like your kind of madness, don't stop here. The genre is a rabbit hole.
Start by watching All the Colours of Darkness as part of a "Martino Trilogy" alongside The Strange Vice of Mrs. Wardh and Your Vice Is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key. You'll start to see the recurring themes: the fallibility of memory, the danger of desire, and the way the past refuses to stay buried.
Check out the cinematography of Vittorio Storaro in other 70s films to see how color theory was being pushed to the limit during this era. Understanding the "why" behind the colors makes the "what" of the plot much more impactful.
Lastly, grab the soundtrack. Bruno Nicolai’s work stands on its own. It’s perfect for a rainy afternoon when you want to feel just a little bit unsettled. There is a specific kind of beauty in the grotesque, and Martino found it. He painted a picture of madness and called it All the Colours of Darkness. It’s high time more people took a look at the canvas.