The House by the Cemetery (Quella villa accanto al cimitero) (Lucio Fulci, 1981)

If the bug-eyed academic paterfamilias in this rambling mess could subject the film in which he lives to the same analysis with which he analyzes his former colleague’s papers, he would undoubtedly toss it in the fire, never to be scrutinized again. The hoped-for surgical psychology of the narrative’s Dr. Freudstein–in which, perhaps, the unconscious of a living being would be grafted to the id of a poor dead soul, and the death drive of said amalgam of desires–is jettisoned in favor of a number of squishy kills, a plastic-bat-on-a-string attack, an invented Henry James quote (you know, to give the film gravitas), and an absolutely hilarious non sequitur wherein a babysitter, on her knees cleaning gallons of blood from the kitchen floor, reminds her employer, “I made coffee.”

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