She's a masochist. He's a sadist. Their souls seem joined at the metaphysical hip. Unfortunately for this star-crossed pair, fate — a suicide, an arranged marriage, then murder — intervenes to tear them apart. But can lust and desire extend beyond the grave? Can even death itself triumph over a romantic bond this powerful?
    Mario Bava's The Whip and the Body is a lush and lyrical gothic romance replete with a castle by the sea, moldy crypts and ghostly apparitions. The Italian maestro (Black Sunday, Erik the Conqueror), directing here under the alias "John M. Old" (the producers wanted to disguise the film's Continental origin for U.S./U.K. distribution), is at the absolute top of his form. Regardless of which name appears in the credits, the film is unmistakably 'Bava' in the meticulous use of lighting and the aesthetic beauty of its compositions. After all, a rose — by any other name — smells as sweet.
    Christopher Lee stars as Kurt, disinherited heir to the House of Menliff. The black sheep of this noble family, Kurt was banished by his father, Count Vladimir (Gustavo De Nardo, a.k.a. "Dean Ardow"), for driving to suicide a servant girl whom he seduced and abandoned. Upon his death the Count's title and lands will pass to his second-born son, Christian (Return of the Blind Dead's Luciano Stella, alias "Tony Kendall"). Kurt has lost more than a title to his younger brother, however; after his departure, the Count arranged the marriage of Kurt's fiancé Nevenka (the luminous Daliah Lavi) to Christian as well. Christian, who's really in love with his cousin Katia (Ida Galli), agreed to the wedding in deference to his father's wishes. Now Kurt has rather ominously returned to the ancestral castle, ostensibly to congratulate the newlyweds and to apologize to his father. What he really wants is to reclaim his patrimony and rekindle his torrid romance with the beautiful — and kinky — Nevenka. She knows full well how cruel Kurt is but cannot resist him. In this case the old adage about women secretly desiring "bad boys", against their better judgment, is all too true. When Nevenka encounters him on the beach the day following his return, a stern-faced Kurt whips the blouse from her back with a riding crop. The noble lady writhes in ecstasy beneath the lash, pain and pleasure co-mingled, both personified in her dark, forbidden lover. "You haven't changed," Kurt muses. "You always loved violence." Once he's got her properly worked up he takes her there on the beach, and the two make love.
    That night Kurt is stabbed to death in his bed chamber. (Bumped off many times on film, Lee has perhaps his best-played death scene here.) The weapon: the very same dagger used by the ill-fated servant girl who killed herself. The embittered mother of the dead girl, the Menliff's maid Georgia (American ex-pat Harriet White Medin), would seem the likely suspect. But she, along with Christian, Katia, and the castle's gimpy manservant, Losat (Luciano Pigozzi), were all outside looking for Nevenka, who's gone missing. Only the aged — and supposedly ill — Count Vladimir was in the castle when Kurt was slain. Christian dares to question his father's innocence, drawing the Count's indignant wrath. In the meantime Nevenka has been found unconscious beyond the castle walls; dress torn, her back is striped from Kurt's whip. Suffering from delirium, she seems to recover her wits in time for Kurt's funeral. But almost immediately afterwards Nevenka begins seeing the ghost of her dead paramour. He appears to her at night, first in a flash of lightning, then in the privacy of her bed chamber. "I've come back for you," the spectral Kurt tells her, lashing her naked back with his whip. At first overcome by fear, Nevenka surrenders to its sting with orgasmic ecstasy. Her lover has returned, come back from beyond the grave to be with her. Or has he?
    The Whip and the Body is a superb gothic horror film, beautiful yet decadent. Its deliberate, dreamlike pace might prove off-putting to viewers accustomed to more frantic fare but I was eagerly submerged within its considerable atmosphere. Painstakingly composed by master visualist Bava, each scene is a gorgeous tableaux of color and/or shadow. It's simply stunning how marvelous this film looks. Genre favorite Christopher Lee — though voiced, unfortunately, by other actors in both the English and Italian-language versions — has one of the best roles of his long career in this rare opportunity to play the romantic (albeit still quite sinister) lead. But it is the well-modulated performance of Daliah Lavi, as the troubled Nevenka, that truly holds the narrative together. In this difficult role she must convey fear and desire, passion and repulsion, often all within moments; Lavi does this beautifully. That she's also absolutely ravishing to look at — with her aristocratic cheekbones, thick black mane, and huge dark eyes — certainly doesn't hurt, either! (Not to mention being exquisitely photographed by Bava. Lee, too, never appeared more cruelly handsome than he does here.)
    Gushing praise aside, the movie's not flawless. There are some plot holes where the "whodunit" angle is concerned, and it truly is disappointing that Lee's own distinctive voice wasn't used. Composer Carlo Rustichelli's lushly melodramatic, old fashioned romantic score is perfect for the film, true... but jaded as I am by years of soap opera parodies, I found it a bit overdone at times — there are a few scenes where no music would've served the film better. But these are very minor quibbles. Fans of early Hammer, Corman's Poe pictures, and readers of Anne Rice's S & M-flavored "Beauty" novels should readily enjoy it.
    I was enthralled.