Blood Delirium (1988)

Blood Delirium (1988) Directed by Sergio Bergonzelli

This Italian shocker stunned me with its over-the-top parapsychological take on the concept of reincarnation, but left me even more astonished by its unrelenting form, a bestial exploitation modus operandi through which it brazenly pursues these theological notions. Eclectic Eurotrash maven Sergio Bergonzelli concocts one of the most outlandish tales of artistic and romantic delirium, and the latter’s interchangeable fervent fixation on art perfection and romantic possession. John Phillip Law embodies these deranged ideals as a mournful painter who meets a beguiling woman who happens to be the spitting image of his deceased wife and revered muse. Sybille (Brigitte Christensen) is now the latest kinky artistic inspiration for the mopey painter.

In a confident bifurcated storytelling, Bergonzelli’s immodest film initiates a doppelganger epiphany, shows a whole supernatural phenomenology loaded with an incredible sordid fatalistic matter that announces the subsequent inexpressible madness. Yet nothing, absolutely nothing will ever prepare you for the almighty deafening punch that this madness will throw at you, I mean knock you out. Necrophiliac porn, sanguinary canvas, murderous rapes and gothic mysticism philosophize about the cosmology of death and the immortality of art interacting with the impermanence of the artist. Thematically it’s brilliant stuff. But as far as the genre goes, Bergonzelli takes his Euro sleaze dexterity to extremely filthy exploitation proportions (without euphemisms, he pushes it to fucked up extremes), thus inadvertently downplaying the intellect of his ghoulish allegories.

Fortunately, the sickening sleaze is anchored by the haunting performance of prolific American B-actor Gordon Mitchell as the necrophiliac cannibalistic servant of the painter. His performance is freakishly, downright creepy, serving as the incarnation of Satan on earth. He is a predictable pervert, but Gordon Mitchell plays him with such eccentric gusto that his unexcelled tour-de-force display of malevolence proves instrumental to the entertainment of this Italian horror. Blood Delirium is the odd outlier in the spectrum of European exploitation, customarily these films are either sleazy and schlocky or arty and sleazy, this one strikes as a conglomeration of all of the aforementioned, and it does it so outrageously well it’s downright scary.