And that's not the easiest thing to come out and say as a horror fan. Italian horror is widely regarded as sacrosanct, particular idolisation given to Dario Argento, who many declare to be one of if not the greatest horror director ever. Christ, even Juno was at it, before succumbing to Herschell Gordon Lewis (funnily enough, another cult figure I consider overrated). Those of us who profess to not liking Argento and co invariably face accusations of ignorance, of not properly appreciating 'real' horror. Now, as far as the Italians go, when it comes to Mario Bava I'm on the fence. I can appreciate how he helped pave the way out of the high camp of the Hammer era into the harsher, more realistic 70's; the likes of Black Sunday and A Bay of Blood are good movies that by and large haven't aged too badly, but they just don't mean much to me personally. Lucio Fulci I'm similarly torn on; the likes of Zombie Flesh Eaters and City of the Living Dead do deliver on the gore, much of it still jaw-dropping even after all these years, but you have to sit through endless drivel in order to get to the bloody payoff, and can't help but question if the wait was really worth it.

As for Argento... I've tried to see what I'm missing, I really have. I've watched Suspiria, The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, Opera, Phenomena, The Phantom of the Opera and Trauma, and it's always the same result. Each and every one of them has left me cold. I'm like Bill Hicks trying to figure out MC Hammer: fuckin' don't get it, man. I'm all for the suspension of disbelief, and I like horror movies that throw reality out the window in favour of nightmare logic, but there are limits. There has to be a degree of emotional connection, characters you care about and relate to, plausible human reactions in the face of utterly implausible goings-on. I just don't see any of that in Argento. All I see is absurdly theatrical lighting, camera work and acting, plot developments that Ed Wood would have balked at, and characterization and dialogue that makes your average soap opera look like Robert Altman.

That said, I readily agree that we must be grateful to Argento for a few things. His daughter Asia; getting Romero to make Dawn of the Dead; his daughter Asia; his undeniable influence on the slasher era; did I mention his daughter Asia? And - to get to the point of this article (though I'm sure you all enjoy this meandering waffle as much as I do) - another thing I'm grateful to Argento for is his role as co-writer and producer of a couple of terrific pieces of splatter age entertainment from Mario Bava's son Lamberto; two of the few high-profile horror movies to come out of Italy that put aside ostentation in favour of barrelfuls of slime, puss and blood, in which the near-total incoherence of proceedings is excusable because it's all so very entertaining to watch. Take a bow, Demons and Demons 2, for managing to persuade me that Italian horror isn't all that bad after all.

Coming as it did in the wake of the 1980's video nasty paranoia, there can be little doubt that Demons is in part a wry commentary on the fears that movie violence may inspire violence in the real world. After all, it takes place in a cinema. There's a gala reopening at an old inner city theatre, attended by a diverse bunch of people: two sweet and innocent schoolgirls cutting class to be wooed by two young jocks; a sappy young couple; some shrivelled old couples; and a big bald badass black dude in a Travolta Saturday Night Fever suit with a woman on each arm. They don't even know what they're going to see, but intriguingly there's a motorcycle decorated with a coat of armour, a samurai sword and weird demonic looking mask (echoes of Bava Sr.'s Mask of Satan, as Black Sunday is sometimes known) on display in the lobby. So far, so unremarkable, but once the movie within the movie begins - and turns out to be, shocker of shockers, a corny Italian horror - much weirdness ensues. Things start happening in the auditorium that are uncannily similar to what's happening on the screen. And before you know it, the patrons find they are trapped inside the building as life starts imitating art in a spectacularly gooey fashion.

Now, most of the complaints anyone could have about Italian horror in general still apply to Demons: the characters are tissue thin, the concept is absurd, the aesthetics are lurid and cartoonish. But in this instance it works, because it's all so tremendously entertaining. Sure, as previously stated we can easily interpret the premise as a comment on the media violence debate, but we can just as easily sit back and grin from ear to ear at the ridiculous splatter that's practically pouring off the screen. When the demonic possessions first kick in, it's in the form of pulsating pustules on the skin, inflating like water balloons until they burst like zits filled with mint ice cream. Teeth and fingernails are pushed out of the skin to be replaced by rodent fangs and claws, eyes turn burning white, and the demonised individual is left with no instinct but to rip into any non-demon in as gory a manner as humanly (demonly?) possible. And you know the drill: once they get you, you become one of them, so it quickly turns into a round of 'who'll turn demon and who won't?'

It's quintessential 80's horror: garish, distasteful, and set to a tacky soundtrack of synthesizers, drum machines and stadium cock-rock. Now that's fun, in any language. And that sense of fun barely lets up, not even when the action cuts with annoying regularity to the city outside, following a bunch of joyriding punks who snort cocaine out of, erm, a Coke can while listening to Go West and Billy Idol (yeah, now that's anarchy...). It's an utterly irrelevant subplot that doesn't go anywhere and only serves to pad the running time out, but what the hell. You'll forget all about it once the deliriously batshit final act commences, in which a helicopter drops in, and we learn to our delight that the motorcycle and samurai sword are not just decorative. It's all paving the way to a wonderfully bleak apocalyptic conclusion, and a nice little shock ending that I'm happy to admit caught me unawares.

Demons 2 comes straight out of the school of 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it.' Kicking off at some point in the years following the first movie with no explanation as to how the impending demon apocalypse was averted, the action this time occurs in a high-rise apartment building. Again there's a diverse bunch of people, couples and families and young yuppies, amongst them a couple of the same actors from the original: head joyrider punk as a security guard, and big bald badass black dude, intriguingly having upgraded from Travolta's Saturday Night Fever look to Travolta's Staying Alive look as a string-vested bodybuilder. It's also the screen debut of Asia Argento - but don't get excited, she's about ten years old. The media violence debate allegory is perhaps even more blatant here, as a TV show about the demons lights up every apartment, beaming the evil directly into the home. When a preppy girl's super sweet sixteen doesn't go the way she wants it to, she runs off to her room to sulk in front of the idiot box, and before you can say 'stupid spoiled bitch' she's sprouting fangs and claws and oozing slime. Then the party livens up somewhat.

Beyond that, there isn't a great deal to say about Demons 2 - aside from the changed setting, it's near enough the exact same movie all over again. They've even got another inconsequential outside world subplot, as preppy girl's bad boy ex and his bad boy buddies come along to crash the party. But hey, if you're going to regurgitate a movie almost verbatim, it might as well be one as entertaining as Demons. It's let down a bit by an annoyingly happy, non-apocalyptic ending (bit of a spoiler here - why put a pregnant woman in a movie like this if she isn't going to give birth to a slithering hellspawn?), but the residential setting lends itself well to the concept, the narrow corridors, stairwells and elevators amping up the claustrophobia, and the gloop and gore are every bit as nuts as in the original.

Bava made a third instalment of sorts with Demons 3: The Ogre, but it's one of those name-only sequels that has nothing to do with its predecessors; whereas the first two movies seemed to be taking their cues from the Evil Dead movies, The Ogre feels more akin to A Nightmare on Elm Street, dealing with a beast from childhood nightmares coming back to haunt an adult woman. It's a slow-burning, reasonably atmospheric and effective chiller, but it's clearly not a Demons movie in any way, shape or form; the almost total absence of splatter is testament to that. I understand there's another movie purporting to be Demons 3 out there as well, but I'm quite happy to remain ignorant on the matter.

Hmm, 'happy to remain ignorant' - that pretty much wraps up my stance on Italian horror. If anyone wants to call me a philistine, that's just fine and dandy. I'm not saying I'll never watch another Argento, or that I will never be persuaded that his movies actually rule; who knows, maybe the next time I see one I'll have that epiphany and repent. But I'm not holding my breath. In the meantime, the Demons movies are all the representation Spaghetti horror gets in my DVD collection. While they haven't sold me on their country's output as a whole, they're two great bits of B-movie fun that lovers of gore will find hard to resist. If you're only ever going to watch one Italian horror movie, I say watch Demons. And if you're going to watch a second, watch Demons 2.

Ciao, bella.