Some questions, perhaps, are better not asked and left unanswered. After a week's viewing of his cinema, I asked myself why--for well over a decade, now--I continue to watch the films of Bruno Mattei. Are they fun, b-movie trash? Maybe, but I find this answer unpersuasive. Lurking on message boards and searching for answers for the few of us who genuinely consider ourselves fans of Mattei's work, I can find no answers. Mattei fans make no apologies and mount no defenses. It's as if there is no redemption to be had. Often, I am like a vegetative hospital patient in front of the screen when Mattei's images flicker past and am totally defenseless. Is Bruno Mattei cinema anti-cinema? I like that term, and it looks cool as I write it; but I prefer to end this query now, before its answers crawl up from the abyss.
La tomba (2004) is one of Mattei's last films. In the new millennium, before his death in 2007, Mattei would helm more films than in the decade before. Most, if not all, were shot-on-video and most, to put it in an understated manner, were highly derivative of other cinema. 
Mexico. The height of the Mayan civilization. One of the Mayan deities, a goddess, is about to be invoked and brought forth into this world. A high priest resides over a sacrificial ritual with his masked consort at his side. Two jewels are placed in the eyes of the statue of the goddess, and now, only sacrifices are needed. The final sacrifice is to be a priestess, someone specially chosen. A clan of Mayan warriors disrupt the ritual and begin battle. If the Mayan goddess is brought forth from the dark abyss, then humanity is doomed. The masked consort flees with the high priest. In a tomb located in the catacombs of the temple, the high priest sacrifices himself. Patiently, his corpse will stay in the tomb. One day, he will rise again and complete the ritual. 
Mexico. Modern day. A group of archaeology students led by their professor (Robert Madison) arrive via bus to begin a survey and study of some ancient ruins. If you've read the paragraph above, then take a guess where they're going and what they are about to do. I'll wait.
La tomba (2004) is one of Mattei's last films. In the new millennium, before his death in 2007, Mattei would helm more films than in the decade before. Most, if not all, were shot-on-video and most, to put it in an understated manner, were highly derivative of other cinema. Mexico. The height of the Mayan civilization. One of the Mayan deities, a goddess, is about to be invoked and brought forth into this world. A high priest resides over a sacrificial ritual with his masked consort at his side. Two jewels are placed in the eyes of the statue of the goddess, and now, only sacrifices are needed. The final sacrifice is to be a priestess, someone specially chosen. A clan of Mayan warriors disrupt the ritual and begin battle. If the Mayan goddess is brought forth from the dark abyss, then humanity is doomed. The masked consort flees with the high priest. In a tomb located in the catacombs of the temple, the high priest sacrifices himself. Patiently, his corpse will stay in the tomb. One day, he will rise again and complete the ritual. Mexico. Modern day. A group of archaeology students led by their professor (Robert Madison) arrive via bus to begin a survey and study of some ancient ruins. If you've read the paragraph above, then take a guess where they're going and what they are about to do. I'll wait. Video has either been a blessing or a curse for modern cinema. Modern viewers have adapted to life beyond celluloid quite well; and most do not see it as a deterrent to an enjoyable cinema experience. Modern technology has advanced quite far; and often, films shot on the video format rarely call attention to themselves. La tomba is one of those rarities. Have you ever seen a really funky-ass-looking television show and wondered why it looked so funky? Lighting for film and lighting for video are two wholly different arts. La tomba appears lit for film (or lit for coverage) and shot on video. Colors appear unnaturally bright and vibrant, and the sets appear even more theatrical and artificial. With every frame of La tomba, while watching, it is difficult to forget that a film is playing out. La tomba really calls attention to itself with its visual style. Therefore, one with little ease can be critical of the sets, the costumes, and the makeup. You can almost see where the latex adheres to the skin on the practical makeup effects. When one of the characters pushes the lid off of the crypt which houses the corpse of the high priest, immediately one does not think of heavy granite. The lid weighs practically nothing, and that actor straining is clearly acting. How about them apples?
Mattei loves casting attractive women in the roles of his films. Their attractive quality seems, at times, the sole reason why he cast them. Two actresses standout: Anna Marcello and Kasia Zurakowska. Marcello gives the best performance in La tomba as the bruja. Upon arrival in Mexico, the archaeological team needs a guide. A disgusting, lecherous man named Professor Santos is the initial guide. He is not able to fulfill his duties (his final scenes in La tomba are sublime). The archaeological team, via the concierge at their hotel, is led to a "healer," or bruja, who could substitute. Enter Marcello. Simultaneously sensuous and sinister, Marcello always scowls. Her character radiates true energy. Zurakowska plays Viola, one of the archaeological students and also was the priestess from the initial sequence whose death is staved off by the Mayan warriors. Not a coincidence. In an endearing sequence, Viola is hard at study in the temple with her portable CD player tucked into her waistband. She’s dancing to her own rhythm and occasionally taking notes from one the murals in the temple. Viola hears a haunting and odd chanting. She pulls her earphones and shakes her CD player. Frightened, she throws the player to the ground. Gasp! There is no music disc inside. 
Incidental note. Most, even those reading this, will never see La tomba. However, if you want to see how beautiful Marcello and Zurakowska are, then do an image search via your favorite search engine for one of their model pictorials. Best not done at work, kiddies. I know little of acting and little of character interaction and little of actor motivation. This, to me, is the oddest thing in La tomba: whenever a character starts screaming or flipping out, usually Viola, another character will run over to him/her and immediately grab and shake them. In fact, the characters will go out of their way to touch each other in almost every conversation. The concept of personal space is truly dead in La tomba.
One of the indisputable and shining highlights of La tomba (of really all of Mattei’s cinema) is the editing. Although it does not appear that Mattei edited La tomba, Mattei has as many credits as a film editor as he does a film director. Of all the things that could be said about his work, directorial self-indulgence is not one of them. Mattei rarely fell in love with his footage. As an editor, he knew when to cut a sequence before it outstayed its welcome. La tomba zips along and seems well shorter than its ninety-minute-or-so running time.
There is so much more that can be said about La tomba: the inclusion of clips from other films (Effectively inserted by the way, in a dramatic sense. The fact that they are celluloid inserts in a video film give them away, however.); the presence of actor Robert Madison (who appeared in some other notable Italian films) who is rugged and handsome and looks like a professional wrestler; and the sublime script and dialogue. Too much has been said already, and I think that I’ve seen La tomba too many times. I will see it many more times: the true mystery, undoubtedly.
Oriana Balasz was a controversial, and now obscure, artist from the 1930s, whose work, primarily film, is closely-guarded by her descendants. Carla (Fata Morgana), an agent for a publishing house, has gone to the Balasz villa to persuade the family into selling the rights to her work. Carla arrives and meets a young woman (Carmen Montes) who claims to be Oriana. She refuses to sell the work to Carla. 
There is an inherent mystery in the premise of Snakewoman. One would intuitively begin to ask questions with the hopes that the subsequent narrative would, at the minimum, provide clues to the mystery. Such as: what was so controversial about her work? why would a family prefer to keep it hidden away from the world, despite lucrative financial offers? Those questions, perhaps, could be clouded with the irrational, supernatural themes: is the young woman really Oriana? how is she still young?
My previous viewings of Snakewoman and my feelings and thoughts about the film were quite different. What I would describe (and will now) is not proper criticism.
Carmen Montes, as Oriana, is a gorgeous and seductive woman. Franco's first shot of her is a fake silhouette. That is to say, with his composition, he wants to outline Montes's svelte figure against a light backdrop; but Franco also wants to draw attention to the wonderfully provocative tattoo which surrounds her body--a large snake. The end result is dim light coming from the background and soft light upon the foreground. The opening scene is both lulling and soothing. Almost perfect atmosphere for an erotic film. 
Mayans's character has a very tenuous connection to the main plotline, and his patient, Levin's Alpha, has an even thinner connection. Franco later reveals who Alpha is seeing in her delusions and has the two meet. When these two characters meet, they fuck. For a long time. For a duration way beyond the threshold of most viewers. This is not a deterrent for Franco. In a humorous touch, Mayans's character is shown in crosscut during the scene, chanting in Latin. I have no idea why, but it almost seems as if Franco is making a religious joke on solemnity. With the Mayans crosscuts, Franco is breaking his solemnity for this erotic sequence, but don't worry, Franco is going to capture it all. 
I cannot tell if it's genuine, but in the background in several scenes of the villa, there is a promotional photo of Marlene Dietrich, taken during her heyday, and it is autographed. It is framed, and occasionally, Franco will begin his scene with a close-up on the photo, and as the scene plays out, the framed photo will blend into the background with the rest of the props and furniture in the villa. The Dietrich allusion has a tenuous connection to the character of Oriana. In later sequences, Franco shows Oriana's film work (in black-and-white). It's fairly explicit and not unlike Franco. However, Oriana's films do not appear like old stag films: they're framed and shot with a reverence and detail to light and dark.
My math may be incorrect, but I believe Jess Franco was in his mid-seventies when he filmed Snakewoman. It is difficult not to see a connection between Oriana's work and Franco's own. What Montes's Oriana says about the fictional filmmaker is possibly applicable to Franco's cinema. During Oriana's first meeting with Carla, Oriana gives a very inappropriate speech about the culo. This speech makes me laugh, because I cannot think of another film maker, save Tinto Brass, so devoted to the female culo. 
Lorna, The Exorcist (1974) (a more apt title is this French one, Les possédées du diable) is another 
The eroticism of Lorna, the Exorcist is carried by Romay's Linda and Stanford's Lorna, and their love scenes are captured by Franco with longing, loving looks, slow embraces, and gentle touching and caressing. Lorna begins with Linda emerging from a balcony to seduce a willing Lorna upon a bed. It's a sequence made all the more powerful upon the later revelation that Lorna is the actual seductress; and Lorna's visits to Linda are in her dreams. Visually this sequence and another where Lorna seduces Linda while taking a bath are treated by Franco at the edges of voyeurism. Each sex scene dares to move one step further into its intimacy, threatening to remove any intimacy at all by revealing all. When Lorna finally confronts Linda and reveals her plans for the young daughter, she tells Linda her tale of first meeting her father and the pact they made before she was born. Lorna and Linda embrace again, and perversely Franco plays on the film's incestuous theme. Apparently, this consummation scene was far more provocative and graphic originally (fact from Immoral Tales) and was absent from my French print of the film. (A still from Lorna from this sequence is included in 
Virtually all of the characters have one motivation and each actor is able to play to his/her motivation with a singular intensity. Delorme's Patrick runs on fear and plays as a desperate man throughout out the film. Laurent's Marianne, like Linda, is a victim of Patrick's pact with Lorna: she doesn't know what to do or what is about to happen. In a particularly nasty scene, she's the victim of one of Lorna's spells in one of the most wince-inducing scenes in Franco's filmography. Lina Romay is fantastic as Linda and is able to genuinely balance the effective and seductive erotic sequences with a wide-eyed performance in the more innocent scenes. Stanford, as Lorna, again delivers with another seductive performance, even all the more brilliant as Franco has her hidden behind quite a bit of bizarre makeup and some impressive costumes. The primary location of the modern hotel lacks the grandeur of the genuine and more ancient locations of Franco's other work, but as the Immoral Tales authors note, the hotel (and Franco's compositions) contributes to the film's claustrophobic and intense atmosphere. Producer Robert de Nesle contributed to the hauntingly beautiful score with 
“A common theme through all of these stories [screenplays by Bright], including Modern Vampires, features a violent, vulgar, and totally misunderstood young lady who Matthew claims is based on composites of the main women in his life.” (quote from a supplemental text biography on Bright included on this Modern Vampires 
Dark Angel: The Ascent is a Full Moon Pictures production; and this statement says a lot for those familiar with the company. Charles Band’s Full Moon Pictures enjoyed its heyday in my teens. I loved the fact that the local video store had at least one title from them a month; and their VHS covers always emphasized the comic-book quality of the films’ style. Full Moon released comic tie-ins with their successful series, like Puppet Master and Subspecies, and collectibles, like toys, were available. Band had a strong commercial sense; and notably, every Full Moon release certainly had a formula for success. What is notable about the majority of these 90s releases is that they are rarely overtly comedic and almost never provocative. Band never wanted to purposefully offend any prospective viewer (at least those viewers who enjoyed crossing the B-movie threshold). For anyone who had seen Freeway, how would a Bright screenplay play out where its lines were delivered often serious and straight with not a hint of irony to be found anywhere? 
Veronica (Angela Featherstone) is a young demon, living with her working parents, in one of the lower circles of hell. She desires more than anything to walk above “under the golden orb” amongst the humans. This is forbidden, however. After a spat with her parents over dinner, she runs away and makes it topside. Veronica assumes a human form. Uneducated in human culture and their ways, she gets struck down by a car whereupon she is brought into the arms of a very pure and kind-hearted young doctor. He treats her and eventually houses Veronica in her home. 
Dark Angel is weird, not because of its premise, but because it’s played so straight. Veronica’s “programming” from her upbringing in hell makes her a vigilante on Earth: she’s killing criminals in the most violent methods, like ripping someone’s spine out. One of the inherent jokes, which is lost in this production, is that Veronica is really the product of a dysfunctional family and community. Her behavior stems from some idea of good and evil, yet her methods aren’t demonic, just misguided. Conveniently, when Veronica wants to fornicate with her young doctor, she’s immune from sin, as demons cannot receive a blessing from God for nuptial bliss. A good opportunity to pop in a sex scene. The dichotomy of the dysfunction vs. the demonic could have been brilliant, but Dark Angel is just too conservative to see it.
However, Angela Featherstone as Veronica is quite enchanting. That is to say, once she takes human form and gets the demonic special effects off of her face. She is able to deliver lines with such genuineness that few actresses are able to muster. Again, just another lost opportunity of this production to capitalize on her talent. 
Natasha Gregson Wagner is Nico (no, not that one, but they do look alike at times), a young woman walking the streets as a would-be prostitute: she gets picked up by her johns, and then she drains their blood. Count Dracula (Robert Pastorelli), who is currently residing in Los Angeles among the vampire culture, is a little pissed at young Nico. She is not being discreet at all with her feedings, and soon enough, she will be caught by the police, revealing to the world the existence of vampires.
The true star of this excellent ensemble cast is Rod Steiger as Van Helsing. Steiger plays Van Helsing as an ego-maniacal Austrian with so much zeal that it’s infectious. Van Helsing, upon arrival in L.A., puts an ad in the local newspaper to find an assistant in vampire hunting. One of the local Crips, named Time Bomb (Gabriel Casseus), answers the ad; and for the money that Van Helsing is offering, he’ll fuck up anyone that Van Helsing wants. The two actors have a terrific chemistry and comedic timing. As Modern Vampires went on, I just started laughing when I saw Steiger’s face. He’s that funny. 
Wagner’s Nico is the heart and soul of Modern Vampires. It’s interesting to watch as seemingly everyone wants to tell her how to act, speak, and dress, while all she really wants is to have some friends and a good time. It’s unsurprising that she’s an outsider and a non-conformist. There is only so much bullshit that one can take before rebelling. Wagner is often endearing and often extremely funny. 
However, this mixing of styles makes it a perfect film for review here. Rob Van Eyck is clearly a director out to steal my heart. Here is his introduction for the film: 
Finally, here is some biographical information about Van Eyck included with the DVD: 
The Afterman's first six minutes of its approximately eighty-minute runtime are really all that are devoted to exposition. Immediately I started to think about how trained I was cinematically and had become dependent on dialogue to either deliver or buttress the exposition of a film. Expository dialogue often removes ambiguity for any set-up in a film, and I suppose this is to create comfort in its viewer. What I found in the dialogue's absence, at least for me, was ambiguity. Verbist's character is first shown at a desk littered with computer terminals while a nearby television displays footage of an atomic explosion. He doesn't seem to be paying attention to either and is more than likely daydreaming. He does have Polaroid photos, and one of them, shown in close-up, depicts an adult female and a young child. He kisses this photo. In a large warehouse, he nonchalantly loots its contents and takes a can of whipping cream to consume. He grooms his beard in a mirror with scissors. In the exposition's most provocative scene, it is shown that Verbist's character houses a corpse in a freezer. As he is sitting in front of the computer terminals, they begin to beep and become animated, and before he knows it, the bunker is set for destruction. He survives and now must venture into the outside world with whatever civilization it holds. 
It is difficult to determine, from these initial scenes what kind of person Verbist's character is. His photo and his affectionate kissing of it imply that he does have a past and memories of someone whom he loves. His grooming of his beard implies that he does either care about his appearance, as if he is keeping some semblance of conformity, or implies that he has some sort of medical knowledge, keeping his beard short to stave off lice and the like. However, these scenes are juxtaposed with his scenes at the computer terminals, which one can infer that they run the operations of the bunker. In these scenes it appears as if Verbist's character has no idea what they do nor is he aware that they reveal, prior to the bunker's destruction, that there are mechanical problems within. He either cannot read or no longer cares what they depict; yet this begs the question, why sit in front of them? Finally, that corpse he houses in the freezer--let's just say, there is a strong inference that Verbist's character is committing a very strong cultural taboo. 
Despite the ambiguity in the film's initial scenes, they do present Van Eyck's themes for The Afterman for its subsequent run time. Verbist's character becomes a corrupted version of the Monster from Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. He is going to learn what is civilization, while Van Eyck questions his viewer as to what is civilization. Many cultural taboos (or behavior once considered taboo) are presented while Verbist's unnamed character has numerous encounters with those outside the bunker. Unlike the Monster of Shelley's tale, Verbist's character does find a bride. Prospective viewers can only wonder what kind of world exists in a post-apocalyptic society. 
Anyway, enough of that shit. Van Eyck has a true artistic sensibility as The Afterman is quite compelling visually. Not only did Van Eyck direct the film but he wrote, edited, and shot The Afterman. There is an overall loving sense radiating from the entire picture, as if what Van Eyck is capturing with his camera is bringing him blissful delight. Characters are presented as desperate and tragic or as totally decayed and corrupted. One of the most brilliant and provocative scenes involves Verbist's character encountering another bunker and sneaking inside. Inside, the interior of the bunker looks like a wealthy villa, complete with an indoor swimming pool. Two extremely attractive females emerge as its inhabitants, and Verbist's character quite enjoys watching the two fuck in the swimming pool. Van Eyck is having quite a bit of fun, too. The two women perform quite the erotic scene, but it shockingly concludes and leaves Verbist's character running from the bunker.
The Afterman's arthouse style and episodic narrative really make the violence all the more disturbing and the sex within all the more erotic. Each sequence gets the viewer excited almost in a tabloid sense--what kind of weird, kinky shit is going to happen next? However, each sequence is amazingly rich in reflection--I've watched it three times since I've received the DVD; and each time, I've taken away more. There's a spiritual quality to the film and an inquiry into human interaction that is well-worth listening to. Unique voices, like Van Eyck, often revel in pissing his viewer off considerably while at the same time challenging his/her intellectual ideas. 
The Belgian DVD is the 25th Anniversary Edition of the film, and its packaging promises a 16:9 (1.78:1) picture, yet my disc is not anamorphic. Extras included are filmography of Van Eyck, "info and message from director," but I believe I quoted above in total Van Eyck's "message" and biographical information (which is taken from the interior flap of the DVD). The actual disc has no menu but does have chapter stops. As to its technical qualities, regarding the disc's video and sound, I would refer you to another site that covers such material. I really cannot complain, as the film's obscurity makes it well worth seeking out. I purchased a copy (from a favorite) 
For those who do not know, Demons is about a group of complimentary ticket-holders who attend a movie screening. The movie is revealed to be a horror film about, what my younger brother eloquently and accurately refers to as, "people fucking with shit that they should not be fucking with": a demonic mask is unearthed by four young people in the crypt of Nostradamus. One of the young four puts the mask on and cuts himself, becoming infected or possessed by a demon. One of the complimentary ticket-holders also donned a demonic mask in the theatre lobby and cut herself. This coincidence is not lost upon two of the complimentary ticket-holders, as this exchange of dialogue evinces: 
The coincidence turns out to be, unfortunately, not a bunch of shit.
One of the complimentary ticket-holders who shows at the screening with his daughter is a blind man. While blind people are free to come and go anywhere that they please, like anyone else, the presence of a blind person at a movie screening is perhaps unusual. He asks his daughter to describe what's happening on the screen as she watches and then relates. The blind man and his daughter are the only two in the balcony seats until the daughter is approached by a man. These two escape from the blind man into a dark nook of the theatre for a romantic interlude. The temporary lovers are among the first victims of the demon invasion. Hearing the commotion below, the blind man searches for his daughter. He is all alone. 
This balcony scenario leads to one of the most subtle and affecting shots from Gianlorenzo Battaglia (Battaglia shot A Blade in the Dark and Blastfighter for Bava, previous to lensing Demons). The blind man shuffles in the dark and among the seats, calling his daughter's name. He steps and hears a crunching sound underfoot. In close-up of his foot, the actor pauses. The blind man steps upon his daughter's pearl necklace which lays broken, inches from her corpse. The dramatic pause and the close-up emphasize that the man knows exactly what he has stepped upon; and this leads him to intuitively kneel down and feel the dead face of his daughter. Why the scene is so affecting is that there is an intimacy created by the inclusion of the necklace. It's as if the pearl necklace has an association that only this father and daughter share. 
What follows soon after this scene is another unique sequence. In an unsurprising move, the blind man is attacked by a demon. Surprisingly, he survives the attack as the demon chooses to only gouge out his eyes and leave him with his dead daughter on the balcony. The rest of the movie goers eventually retreat to the balcony to escape the onslaught of the demons. The blind man greets them and reveals that the curse lies in the theatre, almost as if he has seen something like a mythological blind soothsayer. The scenes within Demons with this character are few but are imbued with quite a bit of sensitivity and depth. One wonders at how much more powerful these sequences could have been with this anecdote: "Had the fifth draft of the Demons screenplay been ready earlier than April 1985, chances are that Vincent Price would have starred. 'The part of the blind man was written for Price,' said Bava. 'The screenplay wasn't ready in time and he couldn't commit himself. If Price had done it, the part would have been more substantial. As it was, we cut it back.'" (from Profondo Argento, by Alan Jones, FAB Press, Surrey, England, 2004, p. 149.) 
The screenplay for Demons is disjointed, but perhaps this works in its favor. Much of the subtlety and richness to the film may be attributed to screenwriter Franco Ferrini: "Dario, Dardano Sacchetti, Luigi Cozzi and Lamberto Bava had all tried their hand at the Demons concept but he wasn't happy with it and wanted someone to look at it with fresh eyes. It was basically a script doctor job for me because the ideas were all there, they just weren't put together with any cohesion. It was always designed to be a horror adventure with lots of action and that was the basic problem, as the action was distributed across many characters attending the ill-fated movie screening in the cinema. It was exciting when they were all being attacked by demons at the same time but that undercut the scariness. My additions to the scenario were devising ways of getting each character alone so the frightening atmosphere could build rather than have continuous slam-bangs. What's character A doing while B is stuck in a lift? And what's C doing in the meantime others in such a confined space wouldn't notice? That took a lot of working out--like moving chess pieces around a charnel house--and I do feel that slant added enormous amounts to the overall box-office success of the movie." (Profondo Argento, p.144.)
One of the best and most endearing sequences in Demons is of the young lovers, Tommy (Guido Baldi) and Hannah (Dario Argento's daughter, Fiore). The orchestra seating of the theatre becomes a death trap when the demons invade, so everyone retreats to the balcony. (Yes, they are trapped in the theatre. The exit was their first thought, too.) During the commotion, Tommy loses track of Hannah. Hannah gets trapped in the orchestra seating and hides under one of the seats. Demons is aided in this aspect of the story by its use of Dario Argento's signature theatrical lighting: unfiltered colors like red and blue, often flashing or shadow-filled. This lighting technique, being overtly theatrical, creates an unreal effect: so when everyone retreats to the balcony, two worlds are really created--one above and one below. Tommy searches for Hannah among the shadows, and by this time in the film, the action has come to a halt. At really any second, one of the shadows can reveal its inhabitants (and kick start the action, again.) Do the young lovers find each other's arms again? Yes. Is this a set-up for their tragic ending? Take a guess. It's a sentimental sequence, yet seriously tension-filled; and perhaps I'm showing my age, but it's a sweet and endearing addition to the film.
Four criminals appear on the streets of Berlin, riding around in a boosted car, snorting coke from its can. Okey-doke. They're listening to Billy Idol, too. Initially, I had no idea what the hell these characters were doing in Demons. But like snorting coke from its can, I took their inclusion as important. They eventually factor into the events at the movie theatre. Yet again, there is a real sensitivity to their portrayal. The sole female among the four is small and blonde and cute and bubbly (her English voice-dubbing gives her this super-sexy, smoky voice which is totally trippy). Eventually, they spill coke all over the car. The four's leader tells them to pick it up, every last bit. With razor blades and thin pieces of paper, almost every gram is collected. What does the cute little blonde use? A picture of herself at one-year's old. She takes a moment to share this with Ripper (the four's leader). The black-and-white picture is actually shown in close-up. 
The four eventually get caught by the police and have to give chase. They take shelter in the movie theatre. (Ha, ha! There's the tenuous connection. I'm making fun of this, but I love tenuous connections and segue ways in films.) The lobby of the theatre is in disarray, and eventually, the four encounter a demon. The three males run quickly away to find an exit, and the young blonde woman pauses. She finds a full-length mirror in a storage room. She pulls her lipstick from her pocket and dons seriously-bright red lipstick. Her lips are shown in close-up. I would pay a lot of money to know what she is thinking at that moment. It is probably both poetic and inspiring. 
Demons is a rousing action horror film, but there's an amazing amount of detail in its fragments. In another signature Dario Argento moment, the desperate group in the balcony find a hidden room by knocking a hole in the wall. What's in there? It's a surprising answer. It's the same answer possibly as to what is causing the demons to appear in the theatre--cursed building, the actual celluloid of the film, or the demonic mask? 
I still agree with my review as a twelve-year old, as I've always wanted to ride a motorbike while brandishing a samurai sword with a pretty girl's arms wrapped around my waist. I still rock out to hearing Motley Crue. I’ve never snorted coke out of a can. There’s still hope, and Demons is still a great film.