The Designated Victim (1971)

Dir: MAURIZIO LUCIDI
Country: ITALY

AKA:
La Vittima Designata
Slam Out
Murder by Design

The Designated Victim is an intriguing Italian curiosity from 1971. Its position within popular Italian cinematic cycles of the 1970’s is highly contestable. A lazy scholar would simply just classify it as a giallo and move on, but its resemblance to that cycle is somewhat superficial. It lacks plot convolution and multiple red herrings, it does not have a narrative driven by deduction and detection, and does not have set piece moments of exaggerated stylisation. However what it does have is the look of a giallo. The film is largely set in the more salubrious reaches of Milan and Venice, and its characters hail from the arts and the aristocracy. This is an expertly realised world of bored and wealthy noblemen, and the machinations and artifice of the world of advertising and photography. We are without a doubt in the culture of the giallo, but structurally The Designated Victim plays out more as a straight thriller, and at times actually looks forward to the Poliziotteschi films that would become increasingly popular. In this case the hybridity of the film and its successful plundering of Patricia Highsmith and Alfred Hitchcock works in its favour. However what really makes the film a standout is the sparks that fly between Tomas Milian and Pierre Clémenti.

Katia Christine as the rather gorgeous Fabienne



Milian plays Stefano Argenti a designer working for an advertising agency who is trapped in an unhappy marriage, one in which his wife controls the purse strings. He is desperate to sell shares in the agency and return home to Venezuela with his mistress Fabienne (Katia Christine) in tow. What makes Argenti work as a character is the subversion of Milian’s macho image. Instead Milian here is submissive, weak, vulnerable, disillusioned and eager for attention and friendship. He finds the latter from Count Tiepolo (Pierre Clémenti), a dandyish aristocrat whom he continually bumps into while taking a short break in Venice. Each encounter is more important than the last, and although Tiepolo appears to be feeble and in need of assistance, his fragilities conceal a dangerously calculating intellect that latches onto the insecurities of Stefano in order to fulfil a murderous scheme. These encounters are made too appear romantic. The music of Luis Bacalov swoons and swells on the soundtrack as the effeminate Count ingratiates himself to Stefano and slowly gets under his skin. Fortunately this homo-erotic subtext remains just that, it is hinted at, but never elucidated fully. The Count is a magnificent creation, cultured and intelligent; he effortlessly ensnares the boorish Stefano. Every appearance of the bohemian and debonair Count lights up the film, and one of the most interesting aspects of the film is wondering what magnificent fashions the Count will be bedecked in next. Clémenti is excellent, giving the character just the right amount of brittle frailty, whilst always maintaining a sense of aristocratic dignity amid his skills as a superb manipulator.

Pierre Clémenti as the decadent Count Tiepolo



With their pact in place and the Count’s side of the bargain complete the film shifts into the territory of the police procedural as Stefano desperately tries to convince the authorities of his innocence. The only problem for Stefano is that his cast iron alibi was yet another scheme by the Count to ensure Stefano’s complicity with their nefarious deal. There is a wonderful sense here of an almost omnipotent force dogging Stefano’s every effort to resolve the situation. The Count is always a step ahead, with another plan in place, and Stefano simply lacks the wit to foil these machinations. Because Milian is subverting the iconic image of machismo he forged in the dust and heat of the spaghetti western he doesn’t even possess the physical attributes necessary to escape his dilemma. Instead he must acquiesce to the Count’s desires and eliminate the unseen sadistic brother who has been tormenting him. There is no space here really for the romantic entanglements of Fabienne, and the female characters are unsurprisingly underdeveloped. However the themes of doubling give the film a sinister and baroque touch which works excellently with the gothic environs of Venice. This is a chilling exploration of the male psyche and the concept of the alter ego, even if the perplexing finale adds confusion rather than explanation.

Tomas Milian as the disillusioned Stefano Argenti



The Designated Victim explodes with style and the director Maurizio Lucidi handles a relatively suspense free plot with assurance and intelligence. The director recognises that the emphasis lies on the two leads and frames and composes them in such a way as to indicate their importance. The screenplay was written by Fulvio Gicca and based on a story by Augusto Caminito, Aldo Lado, Maurizio Lucidi, and Antonio Troiso, with a massive uncredited debt to Patricia Highsmith. The name Aldo Lado will be familiar to enthusiasts of Italian cinema; he was the man behind the superb gialli double Short Night of Glass Dolls (1971) and Who Saw Her Die? (1972). Lado would seem to be the strongest authorial influence here, because all three films have a surprising preoccupation with the psychological states of the protagonists. The Designated Victim is an elegant and tasteful thriller and supremely entertaining, and on its day runs Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train (1951) very close indeed.

© Shaun Anderson 2011