Wave after wave, these old horror maestros rekindle their slightly squirming fan base to watch the buzz kick shit around the Internet and film circuits. That must be the reason, some sick sadistic fetish for crushed expectations. I mean, why else would Dario Argento be releasing the fetid premature efforts that he is to this day? After Do You Like Hitchcock?,The Card Player, and Mother of Tears, the only consistent aesthetic Dario retained from his glory days of lite-brite wop thrillers was his unbridled narcissism and plucky sense of violence. While these two facets do build a product, the result is not something I'd appreciate from the man responsible for some of the greatest Italian horror films, directing or producing. Without Argento, would Demons have found a budget to play with? The fickle pseudo-science of premonition will not be wasted here in this text space but rather, I'd like to review his latest foray in homicidal angst and othernatural slaughter in his sardonically-titled Giallo. Get it? Let the chortling begin.