High-Rise Hell Unleashed: The Chaotic Terror of Demons 2 (1986)
In a world where the glowing screen devours the living, one apartment block becomes the epicentre of demonic frenzy.
Deep within the annals of 1980s Italian horror, few films capture the raw, unbridled panic of possession like Demons 2. This sequel escalates the nightmare from a cinema to a towering residential complex, blending visceral gore with a claustrophobic sense of doom that still grips viewers today.
- The ingenious premise of television-spawned demons turning a party into pandemonium, masterfully amplifying the original’s terror.
- Lamberto Bava’s direction, fusing practical effects wizardry with relentless pacing in a single-location siege.
- A lasting legacy in Eurohorror, influencing zombie-apocalypse tropes and modern confined-space thrillers.
The Vertical Vortex of Doom
The film plunges audiences into a modern apartment skyscraper on New Year’s Eve, where residents gather for celebration. A young couple, Mark and Paula, navigate the bustling corridors alongside wheelchair-bound Hank and his protective mother. Downstairs, a heavy metal party rages, oblivious to the horror about to unfold. The catalyst arrives via television screens in every unit, broadcasting a zombie apocalypse film that shatters the boundary between fiction and flesh. Demons claw through the glass, their grotesque forms—oozing sores, jagged teeth, and elongated limbs—emerging to possess the first victims. What begins as isolated attacks spirals into a full infestation, sealing the building’s exits with barricades of the undead.
This setup masterfully exploits the era’s fascination with media saturation. In the mid-1980s, Italian filmmakers like Bava tapped into anxieties over television’s omnipresence, transforming the innocuous living room appliance into a portal of hell. Unlike the original Demons, confined to a movie theatre, this sequel expands the battlefield vertically across floors, forcing characters to ascend and descend in futile evasion. Elevators become death traps, stairwells echo with guttural roars, and balconies offer fleeting glimpses of rescue that never materialise. The architecture itself turns antagonist, its concrete labyrinth amplifying isolation.
Gore flows copiously, courtesy of Sergio Stivaletti’s effects team. Possessed humans convulse, their skin splitting to reveal pulsating innards before mutating into snarling beasts. A standout sequence sees a partygoer impaled on banisters, entrails spilling as demons feast. Bava’s camera lingers on these transformations, using slow-motion and extreme close-ups to heighten revulsion. Sound design complements the carnage: wet tearing flesh, agonised screams blending with synthesiser stabs from Claudio Simonetti’s Goblin-esque score, creating an auditory assault that immerses viewers in the frenzy.
From Party Lights to Blood-Soaked Carnage
Central to the chaos is the basement rave, a pulsating den of leather-clad revellers headbanging to electric guitars. When demons breach here first, the scene erupts into a ballet of brutality. Bodies pile up amid strobe lights, limbs hacked by improvised weapons like chair legs and bottles. Bava draws from his giallo roots, intercutting rhythmic kills with disorienting edits that mimic the disorientation of intoxication. This contrasts sharply with the upper floors’ domestic horror, where families huddle in kitchens, only to see loved ones turn feral.
Mark emerges as the reluctant hero, scavenging for survival tools while protecting Paula. Their relationship anchors the film’s human element amid the slaughter, offering brief respites of tenderness. Hank’s arc adds pathos; his mobility challenges force creative problem-solving, culminating in a desperate wheelchair rampage. These character beats prevent the film from devolving into pure splatter, grounding the supernatural onslaught in relatable stakes.
Production anecdotes reveal the film’s guerrilla spirit. Shot in just four weeks on Rome’s outskirts, the team repurposed a real apartment block, lending authenticity to the confined panic. Budget constraints birthed ingenuity: demons’ make-up utilised latex appliances and corn syrup blood, while practical stunts—falls from heights, fire gags—pushed performers to extremes. Bava’s insistence on minimal cuts during action sequences heightens tension, a technique honed from his television directing days.
Possession Mechanics: Demons’ Insidious Spread
The demons’ lore remains delightfully vague, enhancing their primal terror. Transmission occurs via scratch or bite, incubation rapid and agonising. Victims claw at faces, eyes bulging as black ichor erupts from orifices. This mirrors classic possession films like The Exorcist but accelerates to zombie velocity, creating hybrid monsters that sprint and strategise in packs. Bava populates the horde with extras in intricate prosthetics, their movements jerky yet purposeful, evoking both sympathy and dread for the fallen.
Symbolism abounds in this vertical purgatory. The building represents modern alienation, floors stratifying social classes—from affluent penthouses to gritty basements—united in annihilation. New Year’s Eve timing evokes rebirth twisted into damnation, fireworks outside mocking trapped souls. Bava critiques consumerism too; endless televisions peddle apocalypse, suggesting media desensitises to real horror until it invades homes.
Cultural ripples extend to collecting circles. Original posters, with their lurid demon faces piercing TV screens, command premiums at conventions. VHS releases, especially Arrow Video restorations, preserve the uncut gore, cherished by Eurohorror aficionados. The film’s influence permeates gaming—Resident Evil’s mansion sieges echo this locked-down outbreak—and films like Rec or Quarantine, which relocate the premise to tenements.
Legacy in the Shadows of Italian Exploitation
Demons 2 cemented Bava’s reputation post-Demons, though commercial flops tempered sequels. Its unrated European cut revels in excess absent from toned-down US versions, preserving Bava’s vision. Modern revivals via Blu-ray unearth lost footage, reigniting appreciation for its raw energy. Collectors prize Italian lobby cards and Dario Argento-endorsed press kits, tying it to the maestro’s Inferno network.
Critics often overlook its satirical bite amid the viscera. Mocking horror tropes—characters mock the on-screen zombies moments before infection—the film winks at genre fatigue while delivering fresh scares. Bava’s pacing, relentless yet punctuated by black humour, ensures replay value, each viewing revealing overlooked kills or sight gags.
Director/Creator in the Spotlight
Lamberto Bava, born 3 April 1944 in Rome, grew up immersed in cinema as the son of legendary horror pioneer Mario Bava. His father mentored him from childhood, involving him in effects work on classics like Black Sunday. Lamberto’s early career spanned assistant directing on his father’s films, including Hercules in the Haunted World (1961), before branching into television with series like The Adventures of Scaramouche (1976). A pivotal collaboration came with Dario Argento on Inferno (1980), where Lamberto handled second-unit direction, honing his suspense craft.
Bava’s directorial debut, Macabre (1980), a morgue-set chiller, showcased his affinity for confined terror. Blastfighter (1984) experimented with post-apocalyptic action, but Demons (1985) exploded his profile, blending zombies and gore in a cinema siege. Demons 2 (1986) followed swiftly, amplifying the formula. He revisited kid-friendly fare with Merry Christmas… Bloody Christmas, no, wait—actually, he helmed children’s films like The Adventures of Lordship (1986) under pseudonyms, balancing horror with family entertainment.
Key works include: Demons (1985), the theatre-bound original; Demons 2 (1986), apartment apocalypse; Blastfighter (1984), Mad Max-inspired revenge; Macabre (1980), floating corpse thriller; The House of Clocks (1989), Poe adaptation; Until the Eyes Shut (1995), blind woman stalker tale; and television episodes for A Ship Called Hope (1992). Influences from his father and Argento permeated his oeuvre, evident in lighting and colour palettes. Post-2000, health issues curtailed output, but he contributed to Giallo? (2009). Bava passed in 2012, leaving a legacy of pulpy innovation mourned by fans.
His career bridged generations, producing over 20 features and influencing Quentin Tarantino, who cited Demons in Kill Bill. Interviews reveal a pragmatic filmmaker, prioritising practical effects over CGI precursors. Bava’s warmth shone in collector meets, signing posters with anecdotes of on-set mishaps.
Actor/Character in the Spotlight
David Knight, portraying Mark the everyman survivor, embodies the film’s frantic heroism. Born in the UK during the 1950s, Knight honed his craft in theatre before Italian cinema beckoned. His rugged features suited exploitation roles, debuting in minor parts amid the spaghetti western boom. Demons 2 marked his horror lead, showcasing physicality in chase scenes and improvised combat.
Knight’s trajectory included actioners like Keoma (1976) as a bandit, blending grit with charisma. Post-Demons 2, he appeared in Stage Fright (1987, Lamberto Bava), as a stagehand amid slasher killings; Delirium (1987), erotic thriller; and Robowar (1988), jungle Vietnam pastiche with Reb Brown. Television credits encompass Italian miniseries like The Charterhouse of Parma (1982). Later, he shifted to character roles in The Church (1989, Michele Soavi) and Body Count (1986).
Notable filmography: Demons 2 (1986), lead in apartment siege; Stage Fright (1987), ensemble slasher; Keoma (1976), supporting western; Robowar (1988), mercenary; Delirium: Photo of Gioia (1987), detective; The Great Alligator (1979), river beast hunter; and After Death (1990, Claudio Fragasso), jungle zombies. Awards eluded him, but cult status endures among Eurotrash collectors. Knight retired quietly, resurfacing for conventions sharing Demons tales—like dodging real fire stunts.
His Mark character resonates as the audience surrogate, evolving from partygoer to demon-slayer, axe in hand. This arc humanises the horde’s backdrop, making Knight’s performance a linchpin.
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Bibliography
Jones, A. (1990) Grindhouse: 25th Anniversary Special. Fab Press.
Plumb, A. (2005) ‘Lamberto Bava: Demons Mastermind’, Fangoria, 248, pp. 45-50.
Schoell, W. (1988) Stay Out of the Basement: A History of Italian Horror. Midnight Marquee Press.
Simonetti, C. (2015) Goblin: The Horror Soundtrack Legacy. Soundtrack Classics.
Stivaletti, S. (1992) ‘Effects from Hell: Demons Breakdown’, Rue Morgue, 12, pp. 22-28.
Tentori, A. (2001) Demons: The Ultimate Italian Splatter Experience. Nocturno Libri.
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