For every film referred to here, the full length 'director's cut' was viewed, generally using the English soundtrack. In the case of Profondo Rosso (1975), where a complete English soundtrack does not exist for the full 126-minute version, the Italian variant was used.
Horror has long been regarded as an extremely body-centric genre of cinema, perhaps even the most body-centric. There are a number of reasons for this, ranging from the preponderance of graphic shots showing various anatomical parts being mutilated in extreme close-up, to the very visceral reactions that such images seem to kindle in their audiences. (Carol J. Clover, for example, refers to slasher film audiences' expressions of "uproarious disgust" and "fear", "scream[ing] out at the first slash, and mak[ing] loud noises of revulsion at the sight of the bloody stump".)  A long-standing tradition of the genre has been its filmmakers' use of first person perspective, or the 'I-camera', to draw viewers into the narrative and give them a sense of actually inhabiting the bodies of multiple individuals, usually those of the killer and/or his or her victims. The most famous example of such a film is probably John Carpenter's Halloween (1978), which makes the implicit connection between killer and audience, by presenting the entire opening scene, including its graphic murder, through the eyes of its killer.
Of all these works of bodily horror, one of the most visceral is arguably Dario Argento's Profondo Rosso (Deep Red), a film at whose heart voyeurism lies,  and which evokes strong physical reactions in its audience by associating depictions of pain with common experiences.  Like Halloween, the film also makes considerable use of the I-camera technique,  and indeed Chris Gallant describes "psychopathic subjective shots" as "a staple of [Argento's] work".  Unlike the traditional American slasher film, however, the camera in Profondo Rosso operates to a far looser set of rules, frequently exploring multiple viewpoints within the same scene, and even allowing the camera to take on a role of its own, offering the audience views which allow them to see things that could not possibly be visible to any of the film's characters. Argento's film, as will be argued, eschews such filmic conventions as spatial continuity in favour of camerawork that gives the strongest visual spectacle, which has the effect - whether intentional or otherwise - of disorienting the viewer with an 'out of body' experience. Despite this emphasis on visual spectacle, what is seen, both by the characters themselves and by the viewer, is not always reliable, further complicating the situation by rendering the audience's strongest bodily link to the events taking place on the screen - sight - unreliable.
The first section of this study, The Omnipresent Camera, will investigate the film's use of the camera and argue that it assumes a role of its own, allowing the audience to see what no human being in the film could possibly witness, while at the same time withholding specific information. Special reference will be made to the early sequence which takes place in an auditorium, seen partly through the eyes of the killer, but with the camera assuming multiple identities at different points.
The second section, Mulvey, Clover and the Male Gaze, will consider issues of points of view from the perspective of gender, with specific reference to Laura Mulvey's study of the "male gaze" in cinema  and Carol J. Clover's attempts to challenge it with regard to horror films.  As will be seen, attempting to apply this framework to Profondo Rosso is problematic, as the film does not seem to adhere to such rigid principles, in terms both of the point of view that the camera (and by proxy, the viewer) assumes, and also of the lack of a sympathetic male 'stand-in' for the male viewer.
The final section, The Power (or Lack Thereof) of Sight, will consider the fallibility of visual information for both the audience and the protagonist, as well as the ways in which a link between the viewer and the on-screen characters is created through an emphasis on shared physical experiences. In addition to Profondo Rosso, a number of other films by Argento, which make use of the same technique, will be referenced.
Although two brief and relatively conventionally shot scenes precede it, the first scene in Profondo Rosso to make substantial use of the subjective camera begins slightly over three minutes into the film, starting with a slow zoom in on a sign announcing a Parapsychology Conference. This shot is followed by a slow, gliding camera movement through a foyer towards closed curtains. The presence of the camera appears to be briefly acknowledged by an employee sitting in the foyer, thus confirming that the camera is standing in for a person. In effect, 'we' are the camera: we are placed inside the film.
Having passed through the curtains (which open for 'us'), we enter a large auditorium, where three individuals sit on a stage. At this point, the camera comes to a standstill, but after a second begins to slowly zoom in on the speaker on the stage. Already, Argento is using the camera in a manner which complicates notions of subjectivity, since, while the camera moving at walking speed can be believed to be a simulation of someone's point of view, no human eye possesses the ability to 'zoom' in or magnify their sight.
The next shot cuts to a much higher angle, still focusing on the stage, but this time from the vantage point of a balcony. The fact that the on-stage speaker's dialogue continues uninterrupted shows that no time has passed between the two shots. 'We', therefore, could not possibly have moved from one position to the other, so the only possible explanation is that we have moved to someone else's viewpoint. The next shot verifies this, as we switch to yet another camera angle, this time a close-up of the stage, slowly panning across the three individuals and slightly circling around them. This, again, is not a movement that any person could make, unless they were on the stage, which has already been established is not the case.
The scene continues in this way for a while, routinely cutting to different angles, including views of the audience, which appear to be roughly intended to represent the viewpoint of the people on-stage. Already, therefore, we can see that Argento's camera has adopted an extremely loose set of rules with regard to subjectivity. The camera can clearly stand in for the point of view of an individual, but, unlike Halloween's now-famous opening scene, Argento will frequently interrupt it with cutaways to other angles, including those that could not be seen by an actual person in the film world.
Following an incident in which one of the individuals on the stage, the psychic Helga Ulmann, suffers from a panic attack after sensing the presence of the "perverse mind" of a killer in the audience, we return to our original point of view, with the camera assuming the role of the individual who entered the conference at the beginning of the scene. Various other guests move to get out of our way (again confirming that, at least in this shot, the camera represents a physical presence within the film world) as, now frantic and jerky in place of the smooth movements at the start of the scene, the camera rises from its seat and heads towards the toilets. At this point, it becomes clear that we are seeing these events through the eyes of the very killer that Helga reacted to so with such alarm. As Julian Grainger asserts, in Profondo Rosso "the act of seeing is far from neutral": we ourselves are, essentially, being implicated in the murderous thoughts (and later deeds) of the killer. 
A final shot from inside the auditorium once again completely confounds our expectations regarding subjectivity. After having cut from the I-camera shot of the killer heading frantically towards the toilets, we return to a wide shot of the entire auditorium, which features the same framing as the initial shot of the room when it was shown from the killer's point of view. After a few moments, the camera draws back and the curtains close in front of it. On this occasion, however, we know that the killer is elsewhere, so we cannot possibly be seeing through their eyes. This in turn casts doubt on what we saw at the beginning of the scene? Did the opening shot take place from the point of view of the killer, or was it that of some other unidentified observer? These are questions that Argento never answers, and this refusal to connect the subjective camera to a single, identifiable person is one of the main elements that make the film so disconcerting.
Having left the auditorium, we once again enter what is clearly the killer's perspective, as we find ourselves in a washroom outside the toilets towards which 'we' headed in the previous scene. The camera moves towards a sink with a mirror facing it, but again Argento confuses notions of identity, as the mirror is so covered with grime that we are unable to see more than the faintest shadow of 'our' face. Gendered identity is further disordered by the fact that the sink is outside the toilets themselves, so the surroundings are designated as neither male nor female.
The notion of subjectivity is again complicated as we cut to a man walking by in the direction of the male toilets. "Are you okay?" he asks. "Anything I can do for you? Get some help?" Our view of this passer-by is seemingly that of the killer, since he seems to address the camera, and yet, following this question, the film cuts back to a shot of the mirror, showing that the killer has in fact not turned round and is continuing to stare at her reflection. The man heads into the toilets, and a point of view shot shows the killer zipping up black gloves.
The next scene returns us to the auditorium, where we view the stage from behind the cover of a pillar. Because it is unclear how much (if any) time has passed between this and the previous scene, it is once again not immediately apparent whether the camera is standing in for the point of view of the killer or has, once again, assumed its own identity. As Helga Ulmann and Professor Giordani head towards the auditorium's exit, the camera moves to track them, taking care to remain concealed behind the pillar. Helga, once again afraid, remarks that the "evil thoughts" she sensed earlier are still "stagnating in [the] room". The implication, clearly, is that the murderer is still present, seeming to confirm that the point of view that we are currently seeing is indeed that of the killer. Its movements slow and jerky, the camera now begins to head towards the exit, following Helga. The scene ends.
Gallant argues that the "spectatorial uncertainty" in Profondo Rosso stems from "our frequent inability to find our bearings in the diagetic space". The sense that the camera is operating of its own volition, exploring the geography of the film's locations and allowing the audience only to see what it wants, leads to what he calls a "complete lack of control over the image" on the audience's part.  This in itself can hardly be considered unusual - after all, the medium of film is not interactive, meaning that audiences have no choice but to accept what they are given by the camera. What is remarkable, though, is the sense that the camera itself is playing tricks on us. On certain occasions, it deliberately withholds information, such as an early moment in which the camera diverts our attention away from the killer's visible reflection in a mirror through its use of composition and framing. At other times, meanwhile, we are "fed information that the characters within the film are not, placing us in a privileged position regarding the unfolding story",  such as in the sequence in which Marc Daly explores a deserted house, in which the camera continually returns to the major clue of some loose plaster on a wall, which Marc himself has not noticed.
Building upon a concept that he initially exploited in one of his earlier thrillers, The Cat O' Nine Tails (1971), Argento at times intercuts footage showing the killer's point of view with sudden close-ups of her eye. As Gallant argues, "we occupy the position of the killer, seeing what he [or she] sees, but aware at the same time that we are not him [or her], for we too are being watched".  While this tendency to alternate between different subjective points of view is not uncommon in horror, what is unusual about Argento's films is the loose nature of these point of view shots: when we see a close-up of the killer's eye, the shot does not correspond to any human being's vision, so it can only be assumed that, once again, the camera is 'exploring' on its own.
What is most remarkable about the auditorium sequence is that, like the later Halloween, we 'become' an individual within the film world without initially being given any sense of who we are. Right down to gender, we know nothing about who we are supposed to be, and therefore, when it becomes clear that we are the murderer, the effect is shocking. The implication here, it can be argued, is that anyone can be a killer, and Argento achieves this unsettling revelation by effectively placing the audience inside the body of the murderer. A crucial difference between this film and Halloween, however, is that, while the identity of Halloween's killer is revealed at the end of the first scene, the viewer of Profondo Rosso is afforded no such reprieve. In Halloween, when the camera finally cuts away to reveal the killer to be a young boy, the link between killer and viewer is severed, as the audience is able to identify the murderer as someone 'other' than themselves. The effect is such that, even when, later in the film, the camera again stands in for the killer's point of view, we are able to identify the individual from whose point of view we are seeing things, effectively knowing that it is not 'us'. In Profondo Rosso, we do not learn the killer's identity until the final scene, and thus, throughout the entire film, our closest form of identification for the killer is with ourselves rather than an 'other'. 
Profondo Rosso raises a number of questions relating to gender, both through its use of the subjective camera and the way in which the film teases its audience regarding the gender of its killer. Considerable attention has been paid to the notion of the "male gaze" by Laura Mulvey in her seminal essay Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,  an article that has subsequently been challenged by a number of critics, including Carol J. Clover, who, in her book Men, Woman and Chain Saws: Gender in the Modern Horror Film, provides an in-depth discussion of issues of gendered subjectivity in horror.
Clover's discussions of identification, however, are somewhat difficult to apply to Profondo Rosso, since the films which she examines are almost all of the post- Halloween American slasher variety, whose standard model of the "Final Girl" protagonist being stalked by a male killer is diametrically opposed to that of Argento's film. Analysis of the ways in which films like Profondo Rosso differ from the model referred to by Clover could certainly prove to be fruitful, but would be beyond the scope of this essay. Furthermore, setting up Profondo Rosso as an exception to the 'rule' would be somewhat misleading, since Italian thrillers, both by Argento and other directors, frequently use a male protagonist/female killer pairing.
Mulvey's fundamental argument is that cinema is geared around the "male gaze", viewing events through masculine eyes and portraying women in an objectified manner. In criticising this argument, Clover (and others), with specific reference to horror films, points to the fact that the camera adopts the viewpoint of the victim as much as, if not more than, that of the killer. Furthermore, because these victims tend to be female more often than male means that, on these occasions, we are in fact seeing the events of the film through the eyes of women. Despite her criticisms of Mulvey's argument, both do seem to agree that, in the cinematic world, power is defined in terms of masculinity while weakness and submission are seen as feminine traits, with Clover surmising that the Final Girl must become "masculinized" before she can vanquish the killer, who in turn must be "feminized". 
In Profondo Rosso, however, as has already been established, we are not restricted to simply seeing the events unfolding from the point of view of aggressor and victim. It is clear that the camera itself is active as something of an independent entity, favouring neither one nor the other of these two points of view and instead also assuming its own identity as an independent 'investigator'. It would appear, therefore, that is that it is this independent camera 'body' that holds the power in Argento's film, and as such, the dominant gaze cannot easily be figured as either male or female. There appears to be a lack of agency in the characters, with the camera itself commanding far more authority. What seems quite clear, in terms of both the camerawork and the narrative, is that it is more often than not specifically male agency that is challenged. As the film's central character, Marc spends most of the film as a passive observer, not behaving as an active investigator in the manner of most murder mystery protagonists. Indeed, he seems simply to blunder from scene to scene, until he stumbles upon something important by chance, or another character, often the female reporter Gianna, uncovers a vital clue for him.
The film is filled with imagery of male impotence. Quite apart from Marc's apparent inability to make any kind of an impact on his surroundings, and the fact that it is the camera rather than him that controls the investigation, his image of masculinity is frequently mocked. Often, it is Gianna who ridicules him, laughing at his nervousness (traditionally viewed as a feminine trait) and beating him in an arm-wrestling contest after he dismisses her assertion that women can be independent and therefore equal to men. In their heated debates about sexual equality, it becomes clear that Marc has something of a misogynist streak, and Argento's eagerness to humiliate him in these arguments strongly suggests that the audience is meant to side not with him but with Gianna. Male inadequacy is also illustrated in the character of Marc's friend Carlo, who is portrayed as a drunk and in denial of his homosexuality, while his boyfriend is depicted in a decidedly feminised manner, wearing heavy eye makeup and women's clothes.  The boyfriend's femininity is also shown to be a clear source of discomfort for Marc - although, not, it would seem, his sexuality, given that his behaviour towards the decidedly more masculine Carlo does not change following the discovery of the fact that he is gay. The overall impression given of Marc is that femininity is a source of anxiety for him, and when confronted by powerful, assertive femininity, he is inclined to become hostile. 
To summarise, Profondo Rosso does not appear to attempt to align the audience's sympathies with a traditional male-centric point of view, due to the lack of a standard masculine hero to relate to, and of the conventional mechanics of the male gaze. However, although considerable agency is invested in strong, active female characters like Gianna and Martha, the real power seems to lie in an independent camera that is, naturally, neither male nor female.
As Clover has pointed out, in slasher films, the Final Girl's triumph over the killer " depends on her assumption of the gaze": it is when the heroine faces her attacker and sees him clearly for the first time (often also the first time the audience has seen him clearly) that she can finally fight back and overcome him.  The roles are reversed as we now see the aggressor through the eyes of the victim and, as such, the victim becomes the aggressor and vice versa. In effect, seeing is power - something that is, to some extent, true of Profondo Rosso, where, as long as the killer remains an enigma, she represents a palpable danger, not only because the masked assailant could be anyone, but also because, thus far, she has been unstoppable. In the final scene, when the killer is revealed to be the elderly Martha, she loses much of her power, and indeed becomes quite pathetic, crying in an almost childlike manner, while the heavy make-up on her face makes her look weak and sickly.
Where Profondo Rosso complicates this paradigm is in the fact that the subjective camera is not restricted to the killer or her victims. Not only does the camera itself seem to have an identity of its own, the notion that seeing is power is complicated by the fact that what is seen is not always reliable. Indeed, the film's central mystery revolves around the fact that Marc sees a vital clue but fails to comprehend its meaning. Only at the end is it revealed that he in fact saw the killer with his own eyes immediately after the first murder, but mistook her reflection in a mirror for a painting. The audience, too, is misled by this visual trick, despite a second viewing of the film revealing that Martha's face can indeed be seen, for a brief moment, during this key scene. Here, the viewer is placed in the same position as Marc, being in full possession of the information required to identify the killer but not understanding its true significance.
The following exchange between Marc and Carlo perfectly sums up this dilemma:
Carlo - "Maybe you've seen something so important that you can't realize it ... Sometimes, what you actually see and what you imagine get mixed up in your memory like a cocktail from which you can no longer distinguish one flavour from another."
In Profondo Rosso, therefore, seeing may be power, but sight alone is not enough, if one does not properly understand the meaning of what has been seen. Indeed, as if to emphasise the lack of power that we have over what we are seeing, Argento has several characters make references to the fact that Marc has observed something but not understood it, thereby warning us not to implicitly trust what we see. However, he does not do this until the scene in question has passed us by, having essentially moved beyond our control. Indeed, the central mystery of Profondo Rosso, unlike so many stories of its type, is not one that the audience can actually solve, given the distinct lack of logical clues. Therefore, unless we happen to glimpse the killer at the crucial moment, the deduction of this puzzle is beyond our control. 
Grainger calls the film "an Essay in Perception", drawing a clear distinction between the act of looking and that of seeing, in which the former means simply to view something, whereas the latter is to actually understand its meaning.  Likewise, when Helga "sees" that a killer is present at the Parapsychology Conference, her awareness that someone with murder on his or her mind is in the room is ultimately not enough to save her, because she is unable to actually identify them. An argument could be made, here, that the act of seeing is dangerous, since on numerous occasions, such as the example of Helga, and when Professor Giordani finds a clue to the killer's identity written on a bathroom wall, their knowledge of the killer immediately dooms them.
This ploy of presenting both protagonist and viewer with a visual clue, but omitting the reason for its significance, has also been used in a number of Argento's other films. In The Bird with the Crystal Plumage (1970), for instance, author Sam Dalmas witnesses a struggle between two individuals - a man in black and a woman in white - and is convinced that something is very wrong with that he has seen. During the film's climax, it is revealed that, whereas he initially believed that the man was attacking the woman, the woman was in fact the aggressor and is responsible for a series of murders. Argento returns to the same technique in Trauma (1993), in which teenager Aura is confronted by what she believes to be the killer holding up the severed heads of both her parents. Not until it is too late does she realise that the killer is in fact her mother and that, in the aforementioned scene, what she saw was her mother placing her hand above her (very much attached) head to create the illusion of holding it aloft.
Argento uses a similar technique in Tenebre, in a scene in which television critic Cristiano Berti, hitherto the prime suspect in a series of murders, is dispatched by an unidentified assailant wielding an axe. Shortly before Berti is dispatched, a voice is heard to whisper: "Yes, it was me. I killed them all!" Both the audience, and the character of Gianni, who witnesses the attack, are led to believe that the speaker is the axe-wielding assassin, but the film's climax reveals that, in fact, the words came from Berti, and there is in fact a second killer. This mislead works, in part, because of the post-dubbing of the film - a practice that has long been an industry standard in Italy, and one which often gives the impression of dialogue being disconnected from the speaker. The disembodied nature of the dubbing is often used to disguise the killer's identity, supplying him/her with a voice other than their normal speaking one - an effect which would probably seem laughable in a non-dubbed environment. In Tenebre, therefore, the discrepancy between this whispered utterance and the regular speaking voices of both killers is not considered abnormal.
A similar device appears in Suspiria (1977), with Argento, on this occasion, placing an emphasis on visceral connections. In this film, the heroine, Suzy, arrives in the middle of the night at the dance academy at which she has enrolled, and has a chance encounter with a distraught young woman running from the building. The woman screams something to Suzy as she passes her, but due to the noise of an ongoing thunderstorm, Suzy can only make out the words "secret" and "iris". Throughout the film Suzy returns to the question of what these mysterious words mean, and is certain that they have something to do with the sinister goings-on at the school. During the climax, she suddenly recalls the entire utterance: "The secret - I saw behind the door. Three irises - turn the blue one!" Although not explicitly spelled out in the film, the reason for her sudden flash of understanding has to do with the fact that certain conditions have, in some way, recreated the situation in which she originally heard the utterance, namely the time of day and the fact that another thunderstorm is in progress, as well as the fact that she happens to be standing in the very room in which the blue iris is situated. Aaron Smuts refers to this phenomenon as "association provocation", describing its application in Profondo Rosso to heighten the audience's discomfort during the murder scenes by depicting exaggerations of experiences familiar to most people (such as hitting their teeth on a hard surface or burning themselves).  In effect, these associative techniques point to a heightened relationship between the events taking place on the screen and the viewer's own bodily sensations.
Ultimately, these optical (and occasionally aural) tricks work to discredit what both the viewer and the protagonist of the film in question see (and hear), while at the same time emphasising the notion of a visceral link between the film and the viewer - we, like the protagonist, in effect 'sense' something while not understanding its proper significance. That, in all of the examples referred to in this section, the viewer is placed in the same situation as the character who witnesses these events, serves to stress the link between spectator and protagonist, and is yet another example of the audience itself being provided with a 'gateway' in which to inhabit the film and be subjected to the same experiences as its characters.
The argument of this study is that the camera in Profondo Rosso assumes a unique role, operating seemingly of its own volition and offering the viewer a uniquely privileged look at the film world, giving audiences access to information unavailable to its characters. At the same time, however, the camera also withholds information from the viewer, leading to the feeling of a lack of control despite that fact that we are, via numerous subjective shots, placed 'inside' the film itself. This inability to attain command over the events taking place in the film, along with the untrustworthy nature of the film's most favoured element, the visual spectacle, therefore have major implications for its viewers' ability to connect with the characters and the events which befall them. As with Halloween, sight commands a certain level of power, but seeing is also dangerous, and full mastery of what we have seen depends on our ability to comprehend its meaning. These insights may augment the knowledge base of how the body is used and represented in the horror and thriller genres, since, while Profondo Rosso thrives on emphasising a visceral link between the viewer and the film, the viewer is, at the same time, kept 'at arm's length', prevented from forging too strong a connection with the film's characters or their experiences.
1. Carol J. Clover, Men, Woman and Chain Saws: Gender in the Modern Horror Film (London: BFI, 1992), p. 41
2. Indeed, a scene in the film in which the killer's eye is viewed, surrounded by darkness, seemingly detached from the rest of her body, seems to acknowledge the vital importance of the eye. Chris Gallant, "Threatening Glances: Voyeurism, Eye-violation and the Camera: from Peeping Tom to Opera", in Art of Darkness: The Cinema of Dario Argento, second edition (Surrey: FAB Press, 2001), p. 13.
3. For instance, "we all know what it is like to bump our heads against a sharp table-edge and to hit our teeth on a drinking-glass, so Argento couples these two common experiences and shows people getting their teeth rammed against a table corner." See Aaron Smuts (2002), KinoEye: The Principles of Association: Dario Argento's Profondo Rosso, https://www.kinoeye.org/02/11/smuts11.php (accessed 10 April 2006)
4. Additionally, according to Carpenter's audio commentary on the Halloween LaserDisc and DVD releases, Profondo Rosso was a key influence on his film.
5. Gallant (2001), p. 13
7. Clover (1992)
8. Julian Grainger, "Deep Red", in Chris Gallant (ed.), Art of Darkness: The Cinema of Dario Argento, second edition (Surrey: FAB Press, 2001), p. 117
9. Gallant (2001), p. 13
10. Grainger (2001), p. 117
11. Gallant (2001), p. 13
12. Xavier Mendik argues that a later Argento film, Tenebre (1982), creates a similar sense of unease through its refusal to apportion blame for the murders to a single individual (the film has two killers working independently). The effect of this is that murderous intent is not restricted to a single body but is conveyed as being universal. This analysis accompanies the UK DVD release of the film by Anchor Bay.
13. Mulvey (1975)
14. Clover (1992), p. 59
15. Furthermore, despite the character being male, he is actually played by a woman, Geraldine Hooper.
16. The film also codes femininity as a powerful entity, as seen in the various scenes in which the killer is shown applying make-up (a practice which most would regard as 'womanly'). It is interesting, though, that Argento appears to flirt with the idea that the killer might in fact be a feminised male: there is a sense that the makeup the murderer wears is too exaggerated, almost too female to be real. The sense of a 'routine' that the killer enacts (not only through the precise application of makeup but also the music played before each murder) adds to this illusion.
17. Clover (1992), p. 60
18. Grainger (2001), pp. 122-123
19. Ibid., p. 116
20. Smuts (2002)
Clover, Carol J., Men, Woman and Chain Saws: Gender in the Modern Horror Film (London: BFI, 1992)
Gallant, Chris, "Threatening Glances: Voyeurism, Eye-violation and the Camera: from Peeping Tom to Opera", in Art of Darkness: The Cinema of Dario Argento, second edition (Surrey: FAB Press, 2001), pp. 11-19
Grainger, Julian, "Deep Red", in Chris Gallant (ed.), Art of Darkness: The Cinema of Dario Argento, second edition (Surrey: FAB Press, 2001), pp. 115-124
Mulvey, Laura (1975), Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema, https://www.nwe.ufl.edu/~lhodges/vpnc.html (accessed 10 April 2006)
Smuts, Aaron (2002), KinoEye: The Principles of Association: Dario Argento's Profondo Rosso, https://www.kinoeye.org/02/11/smuts11.php (accessed 10 April 2006)
Il Gatto a Nove Code/The Cat O' Nine Tails, Italy/West Germany: Dario Argento, 1971
Halloween, USA: John Carpenter, 1978
Profondo Rosso/Deep Red, Italy: Dario Argento, 1975
Suspiria, Italy: Dario Argento, 1977
Tenebre/Tenebrae, Italy: Dario Argento, 1982
Trauma, USA: Dario Argento, 1993
L'Uccello dalle Piume di Cristallo/The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, Italy/West Germany: Dario Argento, 1970