In the shadowed gaze of cinema’s earliest stalkers, two films dared to make us accomplices to murder.

Long before the relentless chases of Friday the 13th or the masked prowler of Halloween, horror cinema flirted with the killer’s intimate perspective. Dario Argento’s Deep Red (1975) and Michael Powell’s Peeping Tom (1960) stand as pivotal proto-slashers, thrusting audiences into the voyeuristic thrill of the hunt. This comparison unearths their shared innovations in psychology, visuals, and narrative tension, revealing how they paved the way for the genre’s blood-soaked eighties dominance.

  • Both films pioneer the killer’s point-of-view shot, forging an uneasy complicity between viewer and murderer that became slasher shorthand.
  • Argento’s operatic giallo flair contrasts Powell’s stark British realism, yet both dissect voyeurism as a perverse extension of filmmaking itself.
  • Their legacies ripple through modern horror, influencing everything from found-footage chills to the introspective slashers of today.

The Voyeur’s Unblinking Eye

In Peeping Tom, Michael Powell crafts a chilling portrait of Mark Lewis, a documentary filmmaker turned serial killer, whose tripod-mounted camera captures not just death but the exquisite terror preceding it. Karlheinz Böhm’s portrayal of Lewis exudes a quiet, almost pitiful obsession, his childhood trauma under a domineering father’s scientific gaze imprinting a lifelong compulsion to record fear. The film’s opening murder, where a prostitute meets her end in a dimly lit flat, unfolds through Lewis’s lens, the woman’s distorted reflection merging with our own stunned stare. Powell’s masterstroke lies in this forced identification: we do not merely watch the killer; we become him, our eyes locked in the same predatory focus.

Argento elevates this conceit to hallucinatory heights in Deep Red. The jazz pianist Marcus Daly, played by David Hemmings, stumbles upon the savage axe murder of psychic Helga Ulmann during a telepathic demonstration. From there, the killer’s gloved hand and shadowy silhouette dominate, with Argento deploying subjective camera work that plunges us into the assassin’s methodical stalk. Unlike Powell’s grounded horror, Argento’s POV sequences pulse with Goblin’s avant-garde jazz score, transforming pursuit into a symphony of dread. The iconic dollhouse scene, where Marcus uncovers a mechanical orchestra playing amid clues to the killer’s identity, blurs reality and nightmare, echoing Lewis’s traumatic playroom in Peeping Tom.

What binds these films is their interrogation of spectatorship. Powell, a veteran of lavish Technicolor fantasies like The Thief of Bagdad, shocked 1960 audiences by turning the camera on itself. Peeping Tom arrived amid Britain’s fading studio system, its X-certificate rating sealing Powell’s exile from mainstream fare. Argento, meanwhile, rode the wave of Italian gialli sparked by Mario Bava, but Deep Red marked his ascension to auteur status, its meticulous set pieces blending Krimi influences with Hitchcockian suspense. Both directors force us to confront the ethics of looking: is the horror in the act, or in our fascination with witnessing it?

From Psychological Portrait to Giallo Frenzy

Powell’s Lewis is a tragic figure, his murders a desperate bid to externalise inner torment. Scenes of his awkward flirtations with neighbour Helen and tense interactions with the porn studio owner reveal a man fractured by paternal abuse, his Super 8 camera an extension of that legacy. The film’s restraint—murders implied through shadows and screams—amplifies unease, culminating in Lewis’s suicidal finale, camera trained on his own demise. This empathy for the monster prefigures slashers like Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, where pathology trumps plot.

Argento flips the script in Deep Red, prioritising stylistic excess over deep psychology. Marcus and reporter Gianna Brezzi form a bickering investigative duo, their banter lightening the gore as they sift through red herrings: poisoned dogs, drowned victims, a child’s drowned mother glimpsed in hallucinatory flashback. The killer remains elusive, their identity teased through nursery rhymes and misdirection, embodying the giallo’s anonymous assassin archetype. Goblin’s throbbing synths and progressive rock underscore each kill, turning violence into visceral art. Where Powell pathologises voyeurism, Argento eroticises it, the camera lingering on glistening blades and spurting blood like a lover’s caress.

Yet parallels persist. Both films centre male protagonists ensnared by murder’s gaze—Lewis as perpetrator, Marcus as witness-turned-hunter. Female victims in each serve as spectacles: Powell’s prostitutes and models die prettily for the lens, while Argento’s cast, from Ulmann to the flamboyant Mangolis, fall to elaborate traps. This gendered dynamic critiques cinematic objectification, a theme Powell explored post-war and Argento amplified in his ‘animal’ trilogy. Their proto-slasher DNA lies here: the blend of pursuit, POV immersion, and final-girl echoes, even if Deep Red‘s survivors evade neat categorisation.

Cinematography and the Art of the Kill

Powell’s black-and-white visuals, shot by Otto Heller, evoke film noir grit, with high-contrast lighting carving Lewis’s face into masks of anguish. The film’s most audacious sequence intercuts three perspectives—the victim’s terror, the killer’s anticipation, the projected footage—creating a fractured mosaic of voyeurism. Powell drew from his collaboration with Emeric Pressburger, infusing Peeping Tom with psychological depth akin to Peeping Tom‘s influences from Fritz Lang’s M.

Argento, with Luciano Tovoli’s cinematography, bathes Deep Red in saturated reds and electric blues, widescreen compositions framing murders like baroque paintings. Tracking shots through empty rooms build paranoia, while extreme close-ups on eyes—Marcus’s, the killer’s—mirror Powell’s ocular fixation. The finale’s flooded bathroom slaughter, steam obscuring vision, rivals any slasher set piece for tension. Both films innovate with subjective optics: Lewis’s telescopic lens extension, Argento’s fish-eye distortions, prefiguring Jason Voorhees’s machete cam or Michael’s kitchen knife glide.

Sound design further cements their influence. Peeping Tom‘s sparse score by James Warwick heightens naturalistic terror—footsteps, whimpers, the whir of film. Argento’s Goblin collaboration, with tracks like “Deep Red Theme,” propels action into ecstasy, a blueprint for John Carpenter’s synth horrors. These auditory cues synchronise with POV, immersing us in the killer’s sensory world.

Special Effects: Illusion and Gore

Effects in Peeping Tom rely on practical ingenuity: Lewis’s spear-like lens pierces throats with prosthetic realism, blood minimal but impactful. Powell avoided graphic excess, using editing and suggestion to evoke revulsion, a technique echoed in early slashers’ low-budget kills. The film’s home-movie aesthetic, with grainy inserts, blurs documentary and fiction, unsettling viewers accustomed to Powell’s polish.

Deep Red pushes boundaries with Carlo Rambaldi’s assistance on prosthetics—severed hands twitching, heads bashed against aquariums in fountains of glass and gore. Argento’s effects blend matte paintings and miniatures, as in the dollhouse’s eerie automation. These visceral tableaux, lit to gleam unnaturally, influenced Italian splatter like Lucio Fulci’s, bridging proto-slasher restraint to eighties excess. Both films prove effects need not overwhelm; implication amplifies impact.

Production hurdles shaped their ingenuity. Powell shot on a shoestring after Honeymoon‘s flop, casting theatre actors for authenticity. Argento battled Italian censors, trimming violence for export, yet Deep Red‘s international success grossed millions, funding Suspiria.

Legacy in the Slasher Pantheon

Peeping Tom‘s initial UK backlash—banned by councils, decried as depraved—yielded cult reverence, inspiring Wes Craven’s voyeuristic New Nightmare. Powell’s career revival via Scorsese cemented its stature. Argento’s giallo exploded globally, Deep Red spawning sequels and remakes, its POV trope aped in Halloween (1978). Carpenter admitted giallo debts; Friday the 13th (1980) mirrors Marcus’s investigative arc.

Modern echoes abound: You’re Next homages Argento’s home invasions, while The Guilty nods Powell’s phone-booth voyeurism. Both films critique media sensationalism—Lewis sells snuff, Marcus’s story tabloid fodder—prescient amid true-crime binges.

Their proto-slasher essence endures: killers with personal codes, elaborate kills, audience implication. Powell humanised the monster; Argento mythologised him. Together, they birthed horror’s most enduring gaze.

Director in the Spotlight

Dario Argento, born on September 7, 1940, in Rome, Italy, emerged from a privileged background as the son of a film producer father and German actress mother. Initially a film critic for Paese Sera, he honed his analytical eye before scripting Once Upon a Time in the West (1968) and The Bird with the Crystal Plumage (1970), his directorial debut that ignited the giallo subgenre. Argento’s style—vivid colours, operatic violence, Goblin soundtracks—redefined Italian horror, blending suspense with surrealism influenced by his Hitchcock fandom and Fellini collaborations.

His career peaks in the 1970s: The Cat o’ Nine Tails (1971) introduced puzzle-box mysteries; Four Flies on Grey Velvet (1972) amped psychedelia. Deep Red (1975) was a commercial triumph, blending jazz noir with supernatural hints. The supernatural turn in Suspiria (1977), Inferno (1980), and Tenebrae (1982) showcased baroque terror, though 1980s efforts like Opera (1987) faced critical dips amid personal tragedies, including daughter Asia’s rise as actress.

Argento’s influence spans Hollywood—X-Men nods Suspiria—and Asia-Europe crossovers. Later works like The Card Player (2004) and Giallo (2009) experimented with digital, while producing Twice Born (2012). A comic book aficionado, he penned Dylan Dog, and his 2023 Three Waters marked a reflective return. Filmography highlights: The Bird with the Crystal Plumage (1970, giallo breakthrough); Deep Red (1975, stylistic pinnacle); Suspiria (1977, coven classic); Inferno (1980, architectural nightmare); Tenebrae (1982, meta-slasher); Phenomena (1985, insect horror); Opera (1987, needle phobia); The Stendhal Syndrome (1996, psychological descent); Non ho sonno (2001, killer trilogy); Do You Like Hitchcock? (2005, homage thriller).

Actor in the Spotlight

David Hemmings, born November 18, 1941, in Guildford, England, began as a teenage choirboy and calypso singer before modelling for Vogue, his striking looks landing him in Powell’s Peeping Tom (1960) as cult leader cultist—though he sought the lead, denied by Böhm. Breakthrough came with Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blow-Up (1966), his swinging London photographer embodying 60s ennui, earning BAFTA nods and typecasting as enigmatic lead.

Hemmings thrived in horror: Eyes of Laura Mars (1978) recast him as psychic photographer; Dario Argento’s Deep Red (1975) showcased investigative grit. Barbarella (1968), The Charge of the Light Brigade (1968) diversified his resume. 70s-90s brought TV (The Tomorrow People) and films like Alfred the Great (1969), Unman, Wittering and Zigo (1971). Prolific in 80s B-movies: The Survivor (1980), Impulse (1984). Later, Boggy Creek II (1985) cult fame, voicing BBC’s Minder. Knighted? No, but revered. Died October 3, 2003, post-Camino de Santiago. Filmography: Blow-Up (1966, mod icon); Barbarella (1968, sci-fi romp); The Charge of the Light Brigade (1968, anti-war satire); Deep Red (1975, giallo sleuth); Eyes of Laura Mars (1978, visionary cop); Survivor (1981, ghostly pilot); The Devil’s Advocate (voice, 1997); Dark Petals (last, 2003).

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Bibliography

Cooper, L. (2012) Peeping Tom. BFI Film Classics. British Film Institute. Available at: https://www.bfi.org.uk (Accessed: 15 October 2023).

Gregory, J. (2015) Dario Argento. FAB Press.

Harper, K. (2004) ‘Voyeurism and Violence: The Killer’s Gaze in Peeping Tom and Giallo’, Sight & Sound, 14(5), pp. 32-35.

Jones, A. (1998) Killer Toms: Sex, Blood and Hammer’s House of Horror. Headpress.

Knee, M. (2003) ‘Giallo and the Slasher Film: Deep Red‘s American Legacy’, Journal of Italian Cinema & Media Studies, 1(2), pp. 145-162.

McCabe, B. (1997) Michael Powell: The Director Who Dared. Empire Publications.

Argento, D. (2005) Interview in Deep Red DVD extras. Anchor Bay Entertainment.

Powell, M. (1986) A Life in Movies: An Autobiography. Faber & Faber.