Don't Torture a Duckling is an absolutely stunning giallo diversion for Lucio Fulci. Unlike other subgenre heavyweights like Mario Bava and Dario Argento, Fulci takes a decidedly gritty, grounded, and socially perceptive approach to the giallo narrative in this film. There is nothing glamorous about the child murders and borderline pedophilia (a gutsy subplot for 1972) going on here, and Fulci wisely shoots with a staid and lugubrious eye, avoiding flash, melodrama, and directorial histrionics. The proceedings are punctuated by gory and instantly mind-searing set pieces that are bolstered even further by Fulci's jarring sense of realism— the deeply disturbing "witch killing" scene in particular, with its bald-faced brutality, feels like a snuff film. Composer Riz Ortolani bookends these carnage-filled scenes with ferocious reverberating string blasts.<br /><br />The film is capped by a simultaneously lyrical and violent conclusion wherein theology, morality, fanaticism, and superstition collide. It is a deeply effective ending that has the capacity to leave the viewer in a befuddled and disarmed torpor.<br /><br />Fulci couldn't have picked a better location for this film. Don't Torture a Duckling was photographed in and around the ancient city of Matera, Italy. As Matera continues to modernize to this day (highlighted by its shift from an agricultural economy to an industrial one), it is grappling with its UNESCO-sponsored reputation as a receptacle for mysterious paleolithic ghosts. The anxieties of the real-life Materani are reflected by the characters in the film, who, wearing their Christianity on their sleeves, fretfully confront any exotic fringe tradition (namely witchcraft) that strays outside of the norm.<br /><br />Interestingly enough, Matera was also used as a stand-in for Jerusalem in Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ. If anything, this adds even more potency to Fulci's message. Catholic guilt and grisly slayings are such a resonant combination.