[Film Review] Demonia (1990)

There’s a sequence in Demonia (1990) where the stark-naked ghost of a Medieval nun fires a harpoon gun into a man’s chest. For most directors, this would be the absolute peak of absurdity in their movie-making career; however, when it comes to the filmography of Italian horror maestro Lucio Fulci, this is nothing out of the ordinary. To Fulci, a sequence like this was simply known as “the average Thursday”.

Long-time fans of the horror genre will undoubtedly be familiar with the work of Lucio Fulci (1927-1996), a man referred to as “the Italian Godfather of Gore”. Though Fulci dabbled in many areas of genre film, his legacy lies in his lurid, grotesquely gorgeous horror features, titles which leapt out from the horror aisles of any good video store – provided they weren’t already banned, of course. During the ‘70s and ‘80s, Fulci would make audiences squirm in their seats with the notorious likes of Zombie Flesh Eaters (1979), City of the Living Dead (1980), and The New York Ripper (1982). Demonia is a latter-day addition to Fulci’s horror canon, released direct-to-video in 1990, and whilst it might not be nearly as renowned as the aforementioned titles, it lacks none of their bizarre, stylishly ultra-violent spirit.

The film follows a Canadian excavation team stationed in Sicily, led by the esteemed archaeologist Liza (Meg Register), and her former tutor, Professor Evans (Brett Halsey), tasked with surveying the ancient ruins around a crumbling Medieval monastery. Drawn by night-time visions of the horrors of the past, and in spite of the locals’ warnings, Liza decides to investigate what lies within the derelict priory; in doing so, she unearths a crypt containing the bodies of five devil-worshiping nuns, crucified by an angry mob and sealed away centuries prior. With their would-be final resting place disturbed, the malevolent spirits of the sinful sisters begin to pick off teammates and townsfolk alike in gruesome fashion; and, given this is a film made by a director whose arguably most famous work features a woman’s eyeball being pierced with a splinter in graphic detail, perhaps even the word “gruesome” is an understatement.

Demonia, being one of the later entries in Fulci’s cinematic career, could be described as a “greatest hits” of the master’s work; a premonition of doom during a séance, a vicious cat attack, and a memorable sequence of eye trauma all feature throughout the course of the film. Indeed, Demonia bears all the hallmarks of Fulci’s work; gorgeous location scenery, plenty of blood and guts, and a deeply questionable English-dubbed soundtrack. The location in question, the looming accursed monastery in which a good deal of the film takes place, is a true highlight; from its walls, lined with cobwebbed skeletons, to the intimidating gothic presence of its very structure, Demonia’s location feels so authentically dusty and decrepit that you barely even notice the film’s incredibly low budget – let alone the fact that it was never released theatrically. That being said, the film’s deeply debatable English voice work is more distracting than most of its ilk, and unlike some of its precursors, ‘a ‘la Zombie Flesh Eaters, the places where its pacing lulls often feel less hypnotic and dream-like, and more like mere padding between the supernatural hijinks and bloodshed in order to reach a feature length.

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Naturally, the gore scenes are exquisite. Are the seams of the admittedly cheap effects visible? Sure, but that means little in comparison to the sheer audacity and power of the imagery put on display here; the aforementioned “cat attack” scene is a diabolical delight, probably the most on-brand the “Godfather of Gore” has ever been, and a truly gut-churning image during the film’s climax (one which presages 2015’s Bone Tomahawk) is guaranteed to stick with me for a while. The way in which Fulci depicts violence is an art-form in itself, and whilst many dismiss his later work, there’s no denying that his handling of gruesome imagery is masterful here – provoking equally the urge to look away whilst also the urge to gaze onwards in transfixed terror.

It’s also a very funny film, though likely unintentionally so – its confoundingly strange nature makes that somewhat inevitable. In one scene, a character uses the phrase “the whole thing seems to slip through your fingers like a handful of eels”, only one of the many deeply peculiar lines littered throughout the film. When your film contains an angry mob clad entirely in double denim, a butcher being bludgeoned to death by swinging pieces of meat, and a little boy coated head-to-toe in what appears to be raspberry syrup, you can’t help but laugh a little. This is by no means a criticism of the film because its silliness brought me great joy – a film being goofy doesn’t necessarily make it bad, nor does it necessarily hinder its effectiveness as a work of horror fiction.

Of course, as with every horror film, there’s more to Demonia than just schlock and gore. The gender politics are truly fascinating, if relatively unexplored; the small town adjacent to the monastery appears to have an entirely male population, with the only woman in the area living as a hermit on the outskirts of town. There’s even a suggestion that the allegations of devil-worship at the convent were merely rumours concocted by men out of their fears of womanhood. Perhaps the murderous ghosts are more vengeful than sinister, innocents taking out their revenge against the patriarchal world that condemned and killed them? You could say that I’m reading too far into the implications of this silly direct-to-video demon nun splatter movie, and to that I respond – how can you watch a film where a burning nun vomits up mustard, and not consider it worthy of analysis and appraisal?

Demonia might be considered one of Lucio Fulci’s lesser works by some – but, I’ll be damned, it’s still Fulci, loud and proud, and that’s enough for me.

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