Paranoia

Luridly dotty yarn in which an American lady (Baker) holes up in a lonely Italian villa, suffering from drink and some sort of guilt complex about the elderly husband who died in a car crash leaving her a sizeable fortune. Enter a smooth young man (Castel), calling to her from the bushes and holding out dirt-encrusted arms into which she ecstatically rushes ('Oh, yes! Dirty me!'). Joined by his so-called sister (Descombes) and getting rid of the Mrs Danvers-like housekeeper (Brignone), Castel proceeds to inveigle the poor lady into a mad-making programme of swinging music, drugs and three-way sex. No prizes for guessing that money is the root of all evil, and that the victim, reduced to crawling haggardly from one empty whisky bottle to the next, wends her way to the attic for an agreeably ruthless finale. Good performances keep it watchable, but Lenzi's swinging direction (a mass of hideous mannerisms) keeps it well short of achieving orgasmo.