This one should have Argentophiles dancing in the streets with straight razors and singing the lullaby theme from DEEP RED: Another elusive early work from Dario's surreal and fascinating canon is rescued from obscurity and given an attractive DVD presentation for adoring fans the world over. DOOR INTO DARKNESS (LA PORTA SUL BUIO) is the first of several notable ventures into the small-screen format by the revered director of such genre milestones as SUSPIRIA, TENEBRE, PHENOMENA and THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE. This miniseries, presented in its entirety on a limited edition two-disc set from Germany's Dragon Film Entertainment, offers a nifty peek at the birth of Argento's image as media superstar in his home country, and his eventual international rep as "The Italian Hitchcock" - a handle describing not so much his cinematic style, but his larger-than-life media image.

Shot in 1971 but not aired until two years later, the four-part series was produced for RAI, Italy's (then) only existing TV network, as a way of packaging Dario's unique cinematic vision for a mass audience - something many Italians had already begun to crave, after the release of THE BIRD... and CAT O' NINE TAILS. Packaged much like the popular "Alfred Hitchcock Presents," right down to the oddball hosted intros featuring Dario himself, this project was one of the first to espouse the giallo auteur as Hitchcock's pasta-friendly counterpart, and was enormously well-received by the Italian public.

Although he's not credited with directing any of the four episodes, Argento did direct one under a pseudonym, and had a hand in directing the other three. Dividing his time between this project and the feature FOUR FLIES ON GREY VELVET necessitated some outside assistance, for which he called on his frequent A.D. and long-time friend Luigi Cozzi (CONTAMINATION) to take the wheel in his absence. Cozzi himself provides a rather long-winded introduction to the series and to each individual episode, packing in volumes of interesting anecdotes about the production of each installment. The episodes appear on the discs in broadcast order, as follows:

THE NEIGHBOR, directed by Cozzi, is a simplified riff on Hitchcock's REAR WINDOW, right down to the casting of beefy sword-and-sandal star Mimmo Palmara as a Raymond Burr lookalike whose attempt to dispose of his wife's corpse is interrupted by the arrival of a young couple renting the flat directly beneath his. Cozzi claims in his introduction that Dario considered this the strongest episode; I'm not sure what led him to that conclusion, as it is the slowest paced and least atmospheric of the lot, and climaxes with what I would consider to be the single most annoying sound effect in the history of cinema. It's only noteworthy for containing the first on-camera performance by Argento himself (as a befuddled, ranting motorist who hitches a ride with the main characters), succinct proof that he definitely belongs behind the camera.

THE TRAM, directed by Argento under the pseudonym "Sirio Bernadotte," is the most idiosyncratic of the bunch, filled with the same quirky characters, disorienting cuts and blackly comic touches that surface throughout the director's early giallo works. Indeed, the entire episode - involving a detective's re-creation of a murder on an all-night commuter train - was originally written as a subplot for THE BIRD..., but abandoned due to a tightened shooting schedule. It's the most economically written and cleverest of the four, though the identity of the killer is pretty easy to figure out. Sorry, Dario.

EYEWITNESS, my personal favorite, was originally directed by Roberto Pariante, but Cozzi states in his introduction that Argento virtually re-shot the entire episode, with second-unit assistance from Cozzi. Presuming this is the case, it does indeed showcase many of Argento's trademark visual touches, including close-ups of the killer's black gloves and a jarring but effective parallel-editing style. It also has a pretty good twist in the climax, and a smokingly sexy heroine played by Marilu Tolo, who would become romantically involved with Argento. Strangest of all, the part was originally written for Daria Nicolodi, the director's soon-to-be lover and creative partner, with whom he collaborated on his two most stunning achievements: SUSPIRIA and Asia Argento.

Despite its title, THE DOLL is not a supernatural puppet-gone-amok tale (thank goodness - I'm still trying to get over TRILOGY OF TERROR). Instead, it's a fairly loopy but atmospheric thriller about an escaped mental patient out to avenge a (perceived?) childhood trauma. Argento dares us in the prologue to solve the puzzle within, but it's not really that difficult, so long as you're willing to accept a rather unorthodox portrayal of psychiatric treatment. This is also the only one of the series in which neither Argento nor Cozzi had any direct participation. Cozzi claims the piece was ill-fitting, due to RAI stable director Mario Foglietti's lack of adherence to Argento's signature style. Frankly, I thought it fit in rather well, thanks to some chilling camera work, a creepy harpsichord-tinged score and a brief appearance by Erika Blanc (the sexed-up succubus with the creepy cheekbones in DEVIL'S NIGHTMARE).

Dragon has done an excellent job of packaging of this quaint little gem, including a cool slipcase with liner notes that are probably pretty interesting as long as you're reasonably fluent in German (which I'm not). The prints are in near-perfect condition, with the only visual limitations coming from the slightly murky 16mm negative (actually part of its charm), and the muted color palette. Cozzi explains in his prologue that this is due to RAI originally broadcasting the series in black and white, leading the filmmakers to choose a color range which best suited that format. This results also in heightened contrast, which lends an eye-popping clarity to many of the close-ups and night shots. The mono track is serviceable and clean during all episodes, and the menus are accompanied by a stereo mix of the cool Goblin-esque main title theme in its entirety. English and German subs are available, and seem pretty accurate during the episodes (my Italian's as rusty as my German), but about a third of the information seems to be missing during Cozzi's voluminous sepia-tinted intro segments.

Although it's not creatively groundbreaking compared to the director's later work, and obviously restricted by the television format (including government censorship and technological limitations), this is a must-have for Argento completists, giallo fans or anyone interested in seeing what amounts to a bench-test for many of the themes Dario would bring into play again and again, throughout his memorable early period. It's also historically interesting to witness the birth of Argento's long-standing reputation as a filmmaker whose popularity once rivaled Italy's biggest screen stars.

Just a reminder: you need a PAL-compatible player to view this set. So buy one, damn it!

Buy this disc at www.xploitedcinema.com!