The American Backyard (2024) Review

In World War Two era Bologna, a troubled young writer of no particular name (played by Filippo Scotti) chances upon Barbara (Mildred Gustafson), an American nurse and, although they don’t share a conversation, he falls hopelessly in love with her. The following year, with the conflict over, he travels to the Midwest of the United States courtesy of a six-month house swap, where fate conspires to have him live next door to Barbara’s mother Flora (Rita Tushingham). Flora reveals that Barbara has gone missing and the writer promises to find her, which leads him on an increasingly dark search that takes him back to his homeland…

The very thought of a new movie from Pupi Avati filled me with anticipation, as I’m a huge fan of his beautifully twisted 1976 giallo The House With Laughing Windows. Though this is a fictional account of one man’s descent into the world of a truly sick multiple murder case, the crimes in the film are based on real ones, including those of the Monster of Florence. You can easily search for more information on this serial killer but as with all material of this nature, I advise caution.

Shot in evocative black and white, with an unusual premise and disturbing prosthetic work courtesy of the maestro that is Sergio Stivaletti, The American Backyard should have been a faux crime treat but there are various reasons it doesn’t fulfil its promise. Let’s begin with the premise, which takes its cues from Avati’s own novel of the same title. The initial non-meet cute between writer and nurse highlights the central character’s psychopathic state, which will launch him into a quest to find a woman he knows nothing of other than her physical attractiveness and ability to be assertive in a man’s world. The additional information about the writer’s previous time in an institution does little to allay the fears of the viewer as to what this guy might do if he eventually catches up with Barbara.

The titular patch of land comes into play as the writer is guided to look for evidence there, not by the piecing together of clues but by a ghostly voice that suggests that something is not right there. If this is a psychotic episode, its investigative prowess as a side effect is both formidable and difficult to reconcile as a credible plot device. If it’s a psychic link with Barbara, their fleeting time in the same location doesn’t really feel as if some kind of cosmic bond between them.

All that aside, this narrative shortcut sets the writer on a collision course with Barbara’s sister, who has no interest in the disappearance being solved, immediately putting her on the list of suspects in a whodunit which relies less on gathering information, more on character study as our protagonist’s muses about his potential future with the love of his life and interacts with the various people who cross his path, none of whom seem to think he’s as odd a fish as he clearly is.

The oblique approach of The American Backyard’s first half works to a certain extent if you’re willing to suspend disbelief and follow someone who is neither especially sympathetic nor charismatic. I don’t mind admitting that I was more than willing to be dragged along in the hope that this was going to pull something special out of the bag and, about an hour in, I felt the time was right for Avati to spring a game-winning trick. This was, unfortunately, when the story veered off into twenty minutes of courtroom drama, a questionable decision at a point in the tale where grabbing the viewer’s waning attention was imperative.

Yes, this does float a raft of gruesome details about a crime spree that may or may not be connected to our kind-of hero’s investigation but this also has the effect of grinding the proceedings to an almost complete standstill. Eventually, this is used as the launchpad for a final act which promises revelations aplenty but opts for the enigmatic, closing on a final shot which is bold but, I’ll wager, also utterly annoying for more than a few of us who’ve sat through an hour and three quarters of it.

The American Backyard is handsomely crafted in terms of its cinematography and Stivaletti’s capability to shock with a truly nightmarish special effect remains undimmed but it’s the script and the pacing which deal the proceedings a fatal blow, rendering much of it suspenseless and frustratingly dull. It’s beautiful to look at and it aims to bring something different to the overcrowded subgenre marked “serial killers” but the whole enterprise rarely feels focused and its hazy version of a resolution had me longing for the genuine shock of Laughing Windows’ climax. A classy misfire is still a misfire.

Movie Rating:

The American Backyard trailer