Recitare nell'horror: la tua carriera abbraccia molti generi, ma sei apparso anche in diversi film horror, come "Occhiali scuri", "Eaters", "Zombie Massacre" e "Alienween". C'è una preparazione specifica o un approccio emotivo diverso che adotti quando reciti in un film di questo genere, rispetto, ad esempio, a una commedia o a un thriller?

L'horror è un genere che adoro al cinema, sicuramente uno dei miei preferiti, ma non ho un approccio o una preparazione "speciali" quando affronto un film di questo tipo. Non c'è un'emotività diversa, cambia solo il "registro", perché anche nell'horror ci sono molte sfumature. Credo che un attore debba essere pronto a tutto. Deve essere un attore pensante. È vero, Hitchcock diceva che gli attori sono bestie da dirigere, e in un certo senso aveva ragione: non è sempre necessario capire tutto. Ma credo che un attore preparato, intelligente, consapevole di dove si trova e del perché fa una certa cosa, possa dare molto di più. Nel cinema, l'attore è più "manipolabile" che a teatro: la macchina da presa, il montaggio, la regia possono cambiare il significato di una performance. Quindi a volte un attore dice: "Non ho capito niente di quello che stavo facendo, ma ho detto le mie battute e ha funzionato". È vero, succede. Ma se si capisce il contesto, se si ha consapevolezza, penso che sia meglio. Certo, anche il talento è necessario, altrimenti sei solo un attore molto lucido, ma senza vita nella sua interpretazione. In breve: no, non credo che ci sia un approccio specifico all'horror. È come qualsiasi altro genere, commedia o dramma: devi capire il tono della storia. Che sia più caricaturale o più realistico dipende molto dal regista e da ciò che ti chiede. Il mio metodo è essere "argilla attiva" nelle mani del regista: malleabile, ma coinvolto. Se mi chiede qualcosa, faccio tutto il possibile per dargliela, cercando sempre la verità dentro di me. Se non ci capiamo, parliamo. Altrimenti, mi fido di lui. Sono anche uno spettatore curioso: la recitazione in "Killer Klowns from Outer Space" dei fratelli Chiodo non è certo la stessa di "L'esorcista", che è un dramma davvero "realistico". Per me, un attore deve essere pronto a tutto, consapevole dello spazio in cui si muove e ricettivo nei confronti del regista, che, si spera, sappia il fatto suo. In breve, che si tratti di un film di Bergman o di "Critters", l'approccio rimane lo stesso: essere preparati, ricettivi e non dimenticare mai l'(auto)ironia necessaria per approcciare la nostra professione. Serio, ma non troppo, ecco tutto.

Lavorare con un maestro: Hai recitato in "Occhiali neri", un film diretto da Dario Argento. Qual è la sfida o l'aspetto più affascinante del lavorare con un regista così iconico e come descriveresti l'atmosfera sul set di uno dei suoi film?

Even though I was in front of Dario Argento—and I assure you, I hadn't forgotten—I think he really liked the way I was: my tics, my rapid speech. He liked the restlessness he saw in my eyes, and in fact, he poured it into the character. Working on set was very interesting, also because we had very little time. And as we know: acting in Argento's films, especially his latest ones, is often criticized—and I can understand why. In part, however, this also answers the question of approach: with Dario, you arrive prepared, but then you let yourself be guided. I play a small role—in the span of two scenes: a slightly mean, somewhat brash, and restless policeman. I end up killed, run over by the film's killer's van after shooting him in the middle of the street: the scene is deliberately unrealistic, almost grotesque, and this, like it or not, has always been a hallmark of Argento's cinema. I find it absurd to believe there's only one way to make cinema. Directors, like painters, belong to different schools of thought: not all seek realism. Argento works like this—he uses you like a brushstroke, a color within a larger painting. He's not so much interested in the character's background as in the atmosphere, the tone, the gesture. This is why there's no realistic dialogue in his films: it's a choice, a poetics. I've also been fortunate enough to work with Ridley Scott, who, on the other hand, starts (precisely) from painting, from images he's drawn himself (the infamous "Ridleygrams") to narrate other people's screenplays and make them his own, defying any historical verisimilitude; yet he seeks a much more American realism in his acting. He likes spontaneity, sometimes improvisation (he tends to do very few takes), and then he traps you in his highly personal historical reconstruction and his vision. It's a different approach, just as different was that of, say, Francesco Rosi, much more documentary-like and rooted in reality. They are different schools, different currents. Returning to Argento, it's nice to be guided by his simplicity. It was his first film in years, a project he had picked up from the drawer with his daughter Asia. On set, there was a new energy, a young crew, fresh blood (in every sense)—and this reinvigorated him, regardless of how the film was later received. From an acting perspective, you bring your training and then you let yourself be "manipulated": Dario gives you essential but very precise instructions. To me, he simply said: "Here you're restless, nervous. You can't stay still, you have to move, you have to invade." And he was right: my character is someone who enters someone else's house, insists, overrides the rights of a blind woman, and shoots instead of running away. There's no realism, but there's a mood, a color. Argento works through suggestions, through brushstrokes, and this is a form of cinema in every sense—different, but legitimate.

The Italian Horror Genre: After years of the genre being less popular, it seems that Italian horror cinema is experiencing a new phase. What do you think is the current state of horror in Italy, and what is its potential?

I come from the independent world—and deep down, even today, I still consider myself independent at heart. I started with Licaoni, with whom I continue to collaborate. We've made shorts, feature films, web shorts, and stage productions. We've experimented with everything from comedy to drama, from fantasy to horror. Back in 2003, we made "Last Blood," a horror short loosely inspired by Richard Matheson's "I Am Legend." It was completely dialogue-free, and this choice gave it an international edge: we could take it to festivals anywhere, and we did! We started in 1999 as an association, then became a company. From there, various projects were born, culminating in the feature film "Twinky Doo's Magic World," which is still in its gestation phase. It's practically finished, but between Covid, budget cuts, and various complications, it has been put on hold countless times. It's a very unique film—but I'll get back to that later, when we talk about the future. Let's just say that for almost twenty-five years I've had the opportunity to keep an eye on the horror scene in Italy. And in my opinion, there have been many interesting projects, especially in the independent world... it's just that they often remain there: shorts that never become feature films, medium-length films that aspire to grow but fail. Those who do succeed often—not always—lack bite. There are films that are technically well-made, but soulless, lacking real flair, as if the genre were just an excuse to do something else. Let's face it: sometimes the talent to tell certain stories is simply lacking. There's a huge misunderstanding in the way horror is perceived, especially in Italy. Because it's a "genre," it seems like it's automatically a step backwards from "high-brow" cinema. And what's more, when a horror film turns out badly, there's always the excuse (provided mostly by the filmmaker): "Oh, but it was intentional," "Oh, but it's an homage to the suspended rhythm of the '60s," "Oh, but it's done that way on purpose." But no—sometimes it's simply a bad film, objectively bad. There's this idea that if it's horror, then it can also be poorly made, "it doesn't have to be Citizen Kane." But this attitude doesn't do anyone any good. Not that horror necessarily has to be sophisticated—indeed, it can be dirty, basic (not to mention poor), healthily "irregular"—but it still requires a vision, an awareness of the medium. And I'll add: horror isn't just technique, even if it's perhaps the most technical genre of all. It's a language that thrives (also) on the surface, yes, but also on profound meaning. And above all, it carries a great responsibility, behind the pure pleasure of entertainment: it is the most political genre, the one that speaks most (in)directly about society. It is a perfect thermometer of the times, the genre that most believes in images as a source of inspiration, storytelling, and impact on the viewer. As Brian De Palma said, horror is the best way to experiment technically and, at the same time, to talk about the present. You can tell stories about monsters, killer bees, murderous clowns—your film can even be a silly and amusing "divertissement"—but in reality, in some way, you're always talking about contemporary fears, about what surrounds us. Horror lives in the present.

On the other hand, the problem also arises when it's done only "on the surface" or forcedly and (often) solely "with a thesis": impeccable packaging, beautiful photography, but no substance; Or a message and moral shouted at every turn of the film, confident in hiding behind some virtuous and important urgency that will make the film interesting regardless. These are traps many fall into, and from there, horror goes nowhere, and the worst thing happens to it, as a genre of disruption par excellence: it becomes inert.

So, to answer your question: the state of horror in Italy is unstable. There are promising titles, some truly interesting. I've heard great things about Paolo Strippoli's latest film, "Valley of Smiles" (I haven't seen it yet, but I'm curious: it looks beautiful, and it's also an example of a director who started from the bottom and now works on a larger scale). I believe there are many hidden talents in Italy, and also many who had a chance but then gave up, perhaps due to a lack of support or simply because it's a demanding genre.

In our country, horror doesn't yet have a real audience; it hasn't been accepted. There's an underlying prejudice, and this discourages distributors and production companies from investing in it. But there's also an internal problem: a certain self-satisfied attitude among those who make it. "It's independent, so it's cool regardless." No, just being independent isn't enough to be good. This has become an excuse that risks legitimizing mediocrity. Sorry for the verbosity, but I wanted to explain myself clearly. In short: horror in Italy is alive, but as if it were holding its breath. There's a pulse, talent, but it needs more courage, more vision, and above all, the awareness that the genre isn't (just) a refuge—it's a responsibility.

Scary Scenes: What was the scene from a horror film you've acted in that required the most effort, both physically and emotionally, or that left the most lasting impression on you long after filming?

Look, the most demanding scene I've ever shot wasn't so much an emotional one as a physical one. I'm not talking about mainstream horror, where there's usually more technical preparation: I'm thinking, for example, of "Black Glasses," where there's that scene with the dog attacking me. I actually had a blast filming it. I'd fall to the ground, the dog would "attack" me, and I had to work closely with the trainer.

I love animals; I've always had a great familiarity with them, so I wasn't afraid at all. The dog—or rather, the big dog—was very good, by the way. All I had to do was move a cloth very close to my face to make her react, so it looked like she was actually biting me.

At the end, it looked like she was biting my chin, but in reality, it was all a trick of perspective. It was a very physical scene: I was flying backwards, falling... but I also enjoy falling, so it wasn't a problem. If we're talking about something more challenging, I think of the film "Twinky Doo's Magic World" by Alessandro Izzo, of the Licaoni family, which will be released soon. There, I play one of the robbers locked in a warehouse: a classic, claustrophobic situation of tension, destined to explode. There's a mysterious presence hovering in that place, and little by little, we understand what it is. It's a crazy cross between Stephen King's "It" and other influences, a film that jumps between present and past, with (also) a lot of Italian horror cinema thrown in. There are references, sure, but it's not a sterile homage—it has its own strong, visceral, very "our" identity.

It's also the first film in which we speak in our native language, without filters. We're from Livorno, from Livorno (there are also Roman actors), and we decided not to sugarcoat anything. The language is dirty, real, and subtitles will probably be needed for those unfamiliar with the Livorno dialect (laughs).

I like it because Tuscan, as "Boris" teaches, is almost always used for comedy, while here it becomes something bitter and painful, as is often the case in the Livorno area.

Behind that dialect lies a harsh, lived history, and it comes through forcefully in the film.

There's a fantastical element, of course, but also a lot of truth and gut feeling. My character goes through a very intense emotional journey, and in the finale, she reaches a real breakdown. It's a scene that completely drained me: on set, I felt like I had no energy left, I'd go home and feel like I was melting like a slice of cheese, completely exhausted. It was also physically tough on other projects, like "StellaStrega" by Federico Sfascia: we actors were often covered in "sewage" (those who've seen the film know what I'm talking about...) and we shot in January, in the cold. In those cases, you have to be able to "flip" a switch, because between takes you have to stay ready, focused, but also withstand the physical demands.

It's one thing to shoot a comedy, it's another to cry desperately in the snow. They're two different challenges: one is emotional, the other is physical. And sometimes the physicality weighs more. I also like acting with rubber objects or creatures, because it forces you to use your imagination, to think beyond.

In short, the most stressful—and at the same time the most beautiful—thing was "Twinky Doo's Magic World": a very tough emotional journey, shot during a difficult time for me personally. I brought everything that character experiences into the film, especially in the final scenes.

From Fear to Thrill: Horror films use different mechanisms to scare: explicit gore, psychological tension, jump scares. Which of these methods do you find most effective as an actor, and which engages you most as a viewer?

So, if you ask me which methods I find most effective as an actor, and which ones engage me most as a spectator, I'd say the starting point is the same: listening. For me, acting is a craft, made of presence, rhythm, and truth.

As an actor, I also like to create laughter with the least possible effort. I love dead time, silences, pauses that let the scene breathe—things that are also very important in comedy. I'm a big fan of American and English comedy, Monty Python, for example. I have enormous respect for those who know how to make people laugh, because to do so, you need to have a certain light within you, but also a foundation of tragedy. Laughter often comes from there. That's why silences and empty moments are fundamental to me: they're not an effort, they're an exercise in listening. Acting—in film as in theater—is listening to others. If you're in a scene with a partner, everything you do depends on how much you take from the other actor.

The listening levels are everything: life, the unexpected, the surprise. That's where authenticity is born. If the other actor is a good actor and you really listen, you can replay the same scene twenty times and every time there will be something fresh, something real. As for horror, the principle doesn't change. In fact, in a horror film, the actor is even more of a pawn in the editing. You can be very good, but if the scene is poorly edited or directed, the result is lost. Sometimes you find yourself having to scream at a blank wall, imagining a monster that isn't there. That's where all your imagination is needed, but also the awareness that your work will only be completed in post-production. You can give it your all, but if the scene is poorly put together, you risk looking ridiculous—or, worse still, useless. So no, the acting approach doesn't change: the actor must be ready for anything, whatever the genre. They just have to adapt to the context and stay true to the moment. As a spectator, however, things are different. I like horror, I really love it. I like the genre's icons, the blood, the monsters. But it depends on how you treat them. Gore, for example, can be interesting, impressive, and sometimes funny if it becomes caricature, a liberating explosion, but that's not what scares me. True fear, for me, comes from psychological tension. That sense of subtle unease, of anguish that creeps in and grows even when nothing is happening in the frame... but you feel something is happening. The most powerful horror is always the one in the viewer's mind. A great director knows this: he can even place an effect or a monster in your face, but psychological preparation is what makes the difference. Jump scares can work, sure—but by now you almost expect them, you anticipate them. They make you jump (perhaps even automatically), but they don't stay with you. What you're left with is the unease, the anxiety that doesn't go away even after the credits roll. Well, if you ask me what really scares me—and what I find most effective, even as an actor—I'd answer without a doubt: the carefully constructed psychological tension that arises in the viewer's head, striking a different, personal chord for each of us. That's true fear.

Future Projects: Do you have any future projects in the world of horror films? Is there an idea, character, or type of story you dream of bringing to the big screen?

My first goal is to finally see "Twinky Doo's Magic World" completed. For me, it would be the culmination of an undertaking that faced countless challenges, from logistics to production. It's a film I'd like to share as a success for everyone: for the Lycaons, for the entire team that worked on it, and as a repaying gift for all the pain and joy we put into it, including the acting and dramaturgical challenges. Regarding horror, I don't have a specific personal project in the works right now, but I fervently hope to be able to realize others. My desire is to do something "personal" by collaborating with someone who has talent and the desire to tell an interesting story. It could be esoteric, monstrous, or even just psychological, like "Possession." I'm up for any challenge. I hope the horror genre never dies; I just want it not to fall into complacency.  A horror film, even if it fits into a tradition, must be well-made, and that doesn't just mean aesthetically. It requires deep thought behind it, a critical and non-trivial look at reality. Enough with making horror just "because it's cool"—enough with poorly made zombie films, with the forced display of good makeup, the superficial use of the camera, the clumsy imitation of other production models, and filming in recycled warehouses. This approach is tiring. Horror must start from good foundations. I repeat, even if you try your hand at a simple divertissement but do it well, rest assured that it will still engage with something contemporary. On the other hand, another tragedy these days is starting with the idea of making a "thesis" horror film. Horror that seeks to channel, exploit, or "psychologize" at all costs (the famous "elevated horror") is dangerous.  Many talented directors (like Jordan Peele or Ari Aster, whose work I love) risk creating "monster genres" because, for many, their films become "pretentious horror" rather than necessary. I repeat, horror needs to believe in its images, without being forced into "polished" or having to convey a "message" first and foremost. A giant in this regard is John Carpenter. He is a refined filmmaker, a top-tier director in his approach and vision. He has always managed to tell stories through images in a sumptuous and elegant way, even with often limited budgets (unfortunately due to the disappointing box office performance of previous films). His cinema has always been profoundly and, above all, provocatively political. When he makes a film like "They Live" (one of his most overtly political films, a rant against the Reagan administration of the time), he himself downplays its apparent political significance in interviews. Why?  Because if you focus too much on politics, you risk killing everything else. Horror shouldn't drink solely from the source of the "big message" and the "explanation." The message is already in the images. The viewer should enjoy the journey, be scared, excited, and only then embark on deeper analysis. Carpenter gave birth to his work; it's up to the viewer to elaborate it. He didn't sit down with a compass to decide where to insert the criticism of Reagan. The film emerged as a creative eruption. In short, for me, a great director with a strong vision will most likely make a film that is itself a political act. You shouldn't search for a vision if you have nothing to say. The truth is... not everyone is capable of doing this job. Anyway, going back to the original question: if I could choose a story to tell, I'd love to make a film about werewolves. In Italy, there was a wonderful independent production, "Versipellis" by my friend Luca Ruocco, but in general there's very little about werewolves. I realize it's an extremely difficult genre to make for obvious technical reasons, much more complicated to tackle than the theme of vampirism, which is more frequently explored.

Personal Influences: Given your involvement in the genre, if you had to name the horror film that most influenced you as an actor or that you consider an absolute masterpiece, which one would it be and why?

That's a bad question! There are too many. I'll tell you that, as a teenager who grew up in the '80s and '90s, my roots are primarily North American. I grew up on American horror films. The ones that blew my mind, seen as a prepubescent child, were:

Spielberg's "Jaws." Absolutely. Living in a seaside town like Livorno, I've been traumatized my entire life, but I find it exceptional. That damned Spielberg, aside from "Jaws," has always produced and flirted with horror. He still had so much to give and say, but he always recycled himself as a producer even before directing the genre, as if he entrusted the task of getting his hands dirty to other directors like Joe Dante or Tobe Hooper. "Jaws" needs no introduction; it's a film that's been analyzed in many places and explored from every angle.  For me, as a kid, it was the fear of the unknown, of the abyss, of monsters. I never looked at the dark spots in the ocean, or even just out into the Mediterranean, with the same eyes. It's a film that left a profound impression on me.

Then, I'd say Friedkin's "The Exorcist." I saw it with some friends at a forbidden age, practically in secret, on VHS. Another film that needs no introduction. You saw something you'd never seen before, with a young girl to whom unimaginable things happen. Only later did I read the novel, which is equally beautiful... Obviously, I'm talking about the first cut, the one with the abrupt ending that left me speechless. One of the things I love about cinema is abrupt endings. Another [feature] in which [John] Carpenter has always been an absolute master.

 And then, speaking of my passion for werewolves, an absolute cult classic, I've seen "An American Werewolf in London" over and over again, from about age nine onwards... it was the first film where I laughed and was scared in equal measure, and I was amazed at how he managed it so effectively. John Landis managed to make perhaps the only horror film to date where the subject matter is equally divided at this level. So, at one point you're scared, then you laugh heartily, then you're moved. And another legendary ending.

Non posso fare a meno di menzionare "La mosca". Cronenberg è un regista incredibile, che in seguito si è avventurato (meravigliosamente) altrove e con altre ambizioni, ma quando ancora sperimentava intensamente con il Body Horror per tutta la prima metà degli anni '80 con film come "The Brood" o "Scanners", ha raggiunto il suo apice con "La mosca"... L'ho visto da bambino, lo davano spesso in TV, ma credo tagliato, e l'ho noleggiato per vederlo per intero... La cosa che mi ha sempre colpito del film - ovviamente a parte i fantastici effetti di Chris Walas e le scene impressionanti (il braccio di ferro, l'incubo del parto) è che c'è una coppia, anche nella vita reale, di attori incredibili in Jeff Goldblum e Geena Davis. E - qui entra in gioco una riflessione sul tono recitativo di un certo tipo di film - è che sono attori veri, a tutto tondo: sono attori drammatici nel senso che portano il dramma in modo iperrealistico, immersi in una storia "fantastica". E questo aggiunge un valore enorme al film.

E poi, per chiudere il cerchio, c'è "La Cosa" di Carpenter. Visto e rivisto, è stato l'unico vero film che ha dato forma alle visioni di Lovecraft (anche il primo Alien lo ha fatto in parte), oltre a raccontare una bellissima, eccezionale storia di fantascienza horror. Quando si dice "un film perfetto", "La Cosa" di Carpenter lo è.

Come "Non aprite quella porta", un capolavoro febbrile e terrificante con uno dei finali più belli della storia del cinema. Ve l'ho detto, ve ne racconterei anche troppe. Rimanendo in Italia, mio ​​padre mi fece vedere "Profondo Rosso" quando avevo dieci anni. Mi fa ancora paura. È forse il film più noto di Argento, forse nemmeno il migliore, perché Suspiria è forse superiore, o persino Inferno, ma "Profondo Rosso" mi ha colpito. Sogno ancora Clara Calamai nel dipinto.

E sempre in Italia, per me, il finale de "L'aldilà" di Fulci è stato qualcosa di incredibile quando l'ho visto alle medie, un vero incubo agghiacciante. A mio parere, è stato forse uno dei pochi registi – Argento era così, ma Fulci su scala più ampia – che è riuscito a catturare sullo schermo le visioni da incubo che una persona può avere nel sonno, quelle visioni allucinatorie che ti fanno venire la gola secca, ti svegli e dici: "Mio Dio, era solo un incubo!". E come Fulci, pochissimi sono riusciti a catturarle.

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