The Whip And The Body

Whilst many older horror fans will swoon at the notion of Christopher Lee starring in a film directed by Mario Bava, this high Gothic drama, which was pulled from cinemas by Italian censors following its original release in 1963, remains surprisingly little known. It has been a pleasure to see it retrieved from the vaults for Abertoir 2022 by a team whose dedication to resurrecting older horror classics is consistently impressive. Here you will find that combination of style, charisma and viciousness which made Lee unforgettable as Hammer’s Dracula, but several shades darker, whilst Bava contributes his trademark lush visuals and love of noir, but probes a part of the human psyche usually far off limits.

The film is set in an imposing, isolated castle – where else? – ruled over by an ageing count (Gustavo de Nardo). The count has two sons: the imposing, cruel Kurt (Lee) and the heroic, slightly prim Cristiano (Tony Kendall). The former of these has been away for some years, having been banished by his father after having an affair with a servant girl, who killed herself at the thought of his impending marriage to fellow aristocrat Nevenka (Daliah Lavi). It is hinted that he also did something else to the servant, but nobody is willing to speak it out loud, though her mother (Harriet Medin) remains committed to his destruction. In his absence, Nevenka has become engaged to Cristiano.

Kurt’s return throws everything into chaos. He claims to be there to pay his respects to the newlyweds, and says he’s changed his ways, but it’s obvious to all that, at best, he is hoping to recover his father’s favour for the sake of securing his inheritance. When he confronts Nevenka down on the beach, it’s clear that he also wants something else, and that, despite her professed hatred for him, so does she – something which Cristiano cannot give her. “You always loved violence,” he observes, brandishing a whip. It’s a line which would sound comical in the mouths of most actors, but Lee has the authority to make it work, and Bava’s (uncredited) cinematography concentrates all the wildness of their environment into what transpires between the two.

Multiple versions of this film exist and it is only fairly recently that English language ones have been available with the whipping scenes intact. These are essential to maintaining both the tension and the pacing of the film, and allowing Lavi to show us something of why her character is so overwhelmed by her experiences, swiftly falling back under the spell of her former beau. Perhaps because he is played by Lee, even a fatal stabbing seems unable to stop him, leading to a third act which mingles supernatural terror with psychodrama as Cristiano strives to solve the mystery terrorising the women in the household.

In keeping with the expectations of Italian audiences at the time, there are a number of horror clichés here which threaten to push the film into camp territory, but it nevertheless has a solid core and actors who really deliver. Bava enjoys playing with the tropes on English horror but very much makes them his own, and by switching registers for the sadomasochistic scenes he effectively pulls off the trick of making them seem, whilst they are happening, more real and more sane than the opulent, richly coloured world with which the characters are otherwise surrounded. There is a war going on here between what is primitive and innate and what is concocted, which also complicated the class tensions present within the story. Bava gives his peasants dignity as always, and implies a hierarchy which can only be sustained in the presence of mutual respect.

Much more that just a curiosity, The Whip And The Body is a must for serious fans of Gothic horror, and a chance to see some of its most celebrated creators on fine form.