Atmosphere was always the key to Bava's work; from the darkly Gothic ambiance of a film like The Mask of Satan (1963), to the colourful kitsch of Danger: Diobolik! (1968), the tone and mood suggested by the combination of design, photography, music and performance was always enough to justify the experience, even more so than the obvious factors of character and plot. Although such concerns are certainly apparent in Kill, Baby... Kill (196?), Bava's slow-burning supernatural story of fear and superstition, it is once again that beguiling atmosphere and the director's always inventive, highly memorable stylistic flourishes that make the film resonate on an entirely visceral and immediate level. On the surface, the film is a supernatural story dealing with spirits and possession; but also using the well-worn convention of the cursed town, which here opens up the narrative to further dramatic tensions to help lend the film a greater sense of presence and credibility.
Although effectively a ghost story, the film can also be seen as a loose extension on the Giallo genre that Bava himself partly defined with the hugely influential The Girl Who Knew Too Much (1963). Here, we have a series of vaguely recognisable Giallo-like notions of storytelling, with the central idea of the stranger arriving at an unfamiliar destination where murder and fear set the tone. As the story progresses, this central character must investigate these strange and often violent occurrences, sorting through the potential suspects and indeed, the potential victims, whilst also attempting to avoid the spectre of death. Obviously, the whole thing is turned on its head by the supernatural element, and further abstracted by Bava's continually surreal, nocturnal and progressively more abstract or even dreamlike approaches to music, design and cinematography. The period setting is well realised, with Bava making great use of location shooting combined with his fondness for studio recreations and formidable matte paintings to create a slightly surreal, off-kilter feeling that is further created by the director's fantastic, kaleidoscopic lighting and colour schemes.
There is also that continual suggestion that what we are seeing may in fact be some kind of vivid dream or perhaps even a hallucination; with the continual descent into more abstract realms and curious narrative devises making us unsure of who to trust or who to believe in. Again, it adds to the drama; as the tension created by Bava's always fascinating atmospherics become more and more intense as the film progresses; breaking away from the slow-burning, slow-building narrative tension and tone that we see in the film's lingering first half and giving way to bursts of fantasy and nightmarish abstraction. If it is flawed in any way, then it is in the final act, which wraps up the conflict far too quickly and conveniently, and just as Bava was hitting his stride with those dizzying shots of stairwells, corridors, nocturnal cemeteries and ghostly girls bouncing balls through empty hallways; itself, an obvious influence on director Stanley Kubrick's watershed work of terror and dread, The Shining (1980).
Though some viewers may feel the film is too slow or too restrained by contemporary horror standards, Bava's vision is nonetheless something to behold; from the bold, hallucinogenic colour schemes and creative lighting, to the attention grabbing opening sequence of a young woman impaling herself on a pike, and with all aspects of the film-making process of music, design, performance and production standing out as Bava at his brightest and his best. Kill, Baby... Kill is a great work, slow and atmospheric as much of the director's work is, with the combination of very deliberate storytelling, unique style and intelligent characterisations, as well as the continual reliance on quietly unsettling imagery and seemingly inexplicable phenomenon, which adds to the overall experience.
Although effectively a ghost story, the film can also be seen as a loose extension on the Giallo genre that Bava himself partly defined with the hugely influential The Girl Who Knew Too Much (1963). Here, we have a series of vaguely recognisable Giallo-like notions of storytelling, with the central idea of the stranger arriving at an unfamiliar destination where murder and fear set the tone. As the story progresses, this central character must investigate these strange and often violent occurrences, sorting through the potential suspects and indeed, the potential victims, whilst also attempting to avoid the spectre of death. Obviously, the whole thing is turned on its head by the supernatural element, and further abstracted by Bava's continually surreal, nocturnal and progressively more abstract or even dreamlike approaches to music, design and cinematography. The period setting is well realised, with Bava making great use of location shooting combined with his fondness for studio recreations and formidable matte paintings to create a slightly surreal, off-kilter feeling that is further created by the director's fantastic, kaleidoscopic lighting and colour schemes.
There is also that continual suggestion that what we are seeing may in fact be some kind of vivid dream or perhaps even a hallucination; with the continual descent into more abstract realms and curious narrative devises making us unsure of who to trust or who to believe in. Again, it adds to the drama; as the tension created by Bava's always fascinating atmospherics become more and more intense as the film progresses; breaking away from the slow-burning, slow-building narrative tension and tone that we see in the film's lingering first half and giving way to bursts of fantasy and nightmarish abstraction. If it is flawed in any way, then it is in the final act, which wraps up the conflict far too quickly and conveniently, and just as Bava was hitting his stride with those dizzying shots of stairwells, corridors, nocturnal cemeteries and ghostly girls bouncing balls through empty hallways; itself, an obvious influence on director Stanley Kubrick's watershed work of terror and dread, The Shining (1980).
Though some viewers may feel the film is too slow or too restrained by contemporary horror standards, Bava's vision is nonetheless something to behold; from the bold, hallucinogenic colour schemes and creative lighting, to the attention grabbing opening sequence of a young woman impaling herself on a pike, and with all aspects of the film-making process of music, design, performance and production standing out as Bava at his brightest and his best. Kill, Baby... Kill is a great work, slow and atmospheric as much of the director's work is, with the combination of very deliberate storytelling, unique style and intelligent characterisations, as well as the continual reliance on quietly unsettling imagery and seemingly inexplicable phenomenon, which adds to the overall experience.