In central Europe, some people wanted to consult Mario Bava about parades and proms. Not available online, he always is here, close to the quarry, smoking, amenable to talk and listen: “Where are you putting this dressing gown? Oh, yes, at anytime I will deny the noise, the red alert, because of her drinking. And you-- why are you listening to her? Is it all just an opportunity to discuss flowers and fur?”

Bava reseats himself, going where he wants to go by a boat in the road. The stupid, tranquilized by what they have seen, go away heavy and still scared.