In both films, death both threatens to throw a society into disarray and serves as a possible corrective for corruption.
Kino preserves the vibrant and meticulously lurid glory of Kill, Baby...Kill!, with supplements that emphasize Mario Bava’s bona fides as an influential auteur.
Riccardo Freda and Mario Bava team up for a curious (and sometimes unwieldy) fusion of sci-fi and gothic horror elements.
This gorgeous package perfectly complements the bounty of sensory delights offered by Bava’s influential and still extraordinary giallo thriller.
It may be minor Mario Bava, but the film’s sly humor and eye-popping production design provide plenty to recommend it to devotees of European horror cinema, a claim that’s only reinforced by Kino’s excellent Blu-ray package.
The granddaddy of all slasher films, Mario Bava’s brilliant and deceptive giallo arrives via an invaluable transfer from Kino.
Mario Bava had spilled plenty of blood by the time he reached his 1974 swan song, Kidnapped.
Peter Strickland understands the most terrifying subtext of any horror movie and brings it brilliantly to the forefront: the fear that you, and everyone else, are all alone.
The most recent Jean Rollin films to make their Blu-ray debut from Kino and Redemption Films mark a significant departure for the filmmaker.
In terms of demographics, Dario Argento is clearly intended as a text for both newcomers and knowledgeable fans alike.
Lisa and the Devil is easily the oddest duck in Bava’s filmography, sumptuously photographed and exceedingly surreal.
VCI’s new release is a lousy transfer of a very sharp giallo; rent it before buying.
McDonagh goes to town pointing out the many ways that one can appreciate and even find meaning in Argento’s fragmented images.
This grand film shares with Five Dolls for an August Moon and Bay of Blood a crystallization of the director’s worldview.
Doing justice to an essential film, this two-disc edition is a keeper for Mario Bava fans.
Also known as Kidnapped and Wild Dogs, Rabid Dogs nearly became Mario Bava’s “lost film” after a series of production hassles.
The conflict between modern medicine and superstition lends the film a striking moral urgency.
The Whip and the Body is at once frightening and hysterical, a gothic rendition of a D.H. Lawrence tale.