Delirium: Photo of Gioia (1987)

Delirium: Photo of Gioia is the kind of late-’80s Italian thriller that doesn’t just tell a story so much as seduce you with it, turning fashion shoots, neon-lit interiors, and glossy magazine imagery into a feverish nightmare you can’t look away from. Lamberto Bava stages the violence with a perverse, dream-logic flair—part giallo, part erotic thriller—where every tableau feels meticulously composed, like the film itself is complicit in the voyeurism it’s critiquing. Serena Grandi anchors the swirl of lust, menace, and paranoia with a bold screen presence, while the movie’s hallucinatory touches and “how did they even think of that?” set pieces keep the tension weirdly hypnotic. It’s not for the squeamish or anyone allergic to sleaze (the nudity and cruelty are front-and-center), but if you want a stylish, lurid slice of Euro-horror excess that plays like a glossy nightmare on the edge of reason, this is a memorable ride.

Delirium: Photo of Gioia is trying to be a glossy, giallo-tinged sleaze-thriller: fashion-photo decadence, a masked-killer hook, and stylized set-piece murders built around voyeurism and tabloid shock. The problem is the storytelling is thin and often silly in a way that undercuts any real suspense, with thriller mechanics that feel more like excuses to jump to the next lurid tableau than a mystery you can sink your teeth into. It’s also steeped in misogynistic sensationalism—nudity, exploitation, and violence against models are the main engine—so if you want horror that feels remotely empathetic or smart about its subject matter, this will likely leave you cold. If you’re already on board for late-80s Italian trash cinema, there are redeeming pleasures in the pulpy energy, occasional visual flair, and the sheer audacity of the kills, but it’s absolutely not a “date night thriller” unless your idea of romance is regret.