Giallo (pronounced jah-loh (often pronounced in English-speaking use as gee-ah-lo)
(1) The
industry (and later the public) term for a series of Italian mystery, crime and
suspense novels, first published by Mondadori in 1929 and so-dubbed because of
the giallo (yellow) hue used for the covers.
They were known as Mistero giallo
(yellow mystery) and collectively as the racconti
gialli “yellow tales”. The term “giallo”
is a clipping of Il Giallo Mondadori
(Mondadori Yellow).
(2) By
extension, an unsolved mystery or scandal (historic Italian use).
(3) By
later extension, a genre of Italian cinema mixing mystery and thriller with
psychological elements and, increasingly, violence.
(4) A film
in this genre.
1930s (in English
use): From the Italian giallo (yellow
(although now used also of amber traffic signals)), from the Old French jalne (a variant of jaune), from the Latin galbinus
(greenish-yellow, yellowish, chartreuse; effeminate (of men)) of unknown
origin but possibly from galbanum,
from the Ancient Greek χαλβάνη (khalbánē)
(galbanum) (the resinous juice
produced by plants of the genus Ferula), from the Hebrew חֶלְבְּנָה (ḥelbənāh), from the root ח־ל־ב (ḥ-l-b) (related to milk), from the
Proto-Semitic ḥalīb- (milk; fat). Over time, the term evolved in Italian
language, undergoing phonetic and semantic shifts to become giallo.
As an adjective the form is giallo
(feminine gialla, masculine plural gialli, feminine plural gialle, diminutive giallìno or giallétto) and
as a noun it refers also to a (1) “a sweet yellow flour roll with raisins” in
the Veneto) and (2) “Naples yellow”; the augmentative is giallóne, the pejorative giallàccio
and the derogatory giallùccio. The derived adjectives are nuanced: giallastro (yellowish but used also (of
the appearance of someone sickly) to mean sallow); giallognolo (of a yellowish hue) & giallorosa (romantic (of movies)).
The yellow-covered books of the 1930s produced giallista (crime writer which is masculine or feminine by sense (giallisti the masculine plural, gialliste the feminine plural). The verb ingiallire
means “to turn yellow). Giallo is a
noun; the noun plural is giallos or gialli (the latter listed as rare).
Arnoldo Mondadori Editore (the Mondadori publishing house, founded in 1907 and still extant) first published their mystery, crime and suspense novels in editions with distinctive yellow covers in 1929. Few were of local origin and almost all were translations into Italian of works written originally in English by US and British authors and not all were all of recent origin, some having appeared in English decades earlier. Produced in a cheap paperback format, the giallos were instantly successful (triggering a secondary industry of swap & exchange between readers) and other publishing houses emulated the idea, down even to the yellow covers. Thus “giallo” entered the language as a synonym for “crime or mystery novel” and it spread to become slang meaning “unsolved mystery or scandal”. The use as a literary genre has endured and it now casts a wide net, giallos encompassing mystery, crime (especially murders, gruesome and otherwise), thrillers with psychological elements and, increasingly, violence.
The paperbacks were often best-sellers and film adaptations quickly followed, the new techniques of cinema (with sound) ideally suited to the thriller genre and these films too came to be called “giallos”, a use which in the English-speaking world tends to be applied to thriller-horror films, especially if there’s some bizarre psychological twist. The film purists (an obsessive lot) will point out (1) the authentic Italian productions are properly known as giallo all'italiana and (2) a giallo is not of necessity any crime or mystery film and there’s much overlap with other sub-genres (the ones built about action, car-chases and big explosions usually not giallos although a giallo can include these elements.
IKWKM may
at times have been seriously weird but as a piece of film it was mild compared
to the most notorious giallo: Salò o le
120 giornate di Sodoma (Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom) an Italian
production directed by Pier Paolo Pasolini (1922–1975) whose talents
(and tastes) straddled many fields. Often
referred to as “Pasolini’s Salò”,
it’s a film people relate to in the way they choose or the work imposes on them;
at one level, it can be enjoyed as a “horror movie” and its depiction of
violent sexual depravity is such that of the many strands of pornography which
exist, Salò contains elements of most. As a piece of art it’s polarizing with the
“love it” faction praising it as a Pasolini’s piercing critique of consumerism
and populist right-wing politics while the “hate it” group condemn it as two
hours-odd of depictions of depravity so removed from any socio-political
meaning as to be merely repetitiously gratuitous.
The title Salò is a reference to the film being
set in 1944 in Republic di Salò
(Republic of Salò (1943-1945)), the commonly used name for the Repubblica Sociale Italiana (Italian
Social Republic), a fascist enclave set-up in Nazi-occupied northern Italy
under the nominal dictatorship of Benito Mussolini (1883-1945; Duce (leader)
& Prime-Minister of Italy 1922-1943) who Adolf Hitler (1889-1945; Führer
(leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945)
had ordered rescued from imprisonment after being deposed as Fascist prime-minister. As a piece of legal fiction befitting its
self-imposed role as Italy’s “government in exile”, Mussolini’s hurriedly
concocted state declared Rome its capital but the administration never ventured
beyond the region where security was provided by the Wehrmacht (the German
military forces, 1935-1945) and the de facto capital was Salò (small town on
Lake Garda, near Brescia).
Salò poster.
Although
not in the usual filmic sense an adaptation, Pasolini’s inspiration was Les 120 Journées de Sodome ou l'école du
libertinage (The 120 Days of Sodom, or the School of Libertinage), an
unfinished novel by the libertine French aristocrat Donatien Alphonse François,
Marquis de Sade (1740–1814) although the director changed the time
and location of the setting (shifting the critique from monarchical France to Fascist
Italy) and structurally, arranged the work into four segments with intertitles (static
text displays spliced between scenes to give the audience contextual information),
following the model of Dante’s (Dante Alighieri (circa 1265–1321)) Divina Commedia (Divine Comedy (circa 1310-1321)). In little more than a month in 1785, the marquis
wrote the text during his imprisonment in the Bastille and while the
introduction and first part are in a form recognizably close to what they may
be been prior to editing, the remaining three parts exist only as fragmentary
notes. After the revolutionary mob in
1789 stormed the Bastille (and was disappointed to find the Ancien Régime had
so few prisoners) it was thought the manuscript had been lost or destroyed but,
without the author’s knowledge, it was secreted away, eventually (in severely
redacted form) to be published in 1904.
Salò poster.
The work
describes the antics of four rich French libertine men who spend 120 days in a
remote castle where, attended by servants, they inflict on 20 victims (mostly adolescents
and young women) 600 of their “passions”, enacted in an orgy of violence and
sexual acts as depraved as the author could imagine; it’s not clear how much of
what he documented came from his imagination or recollections (the documentary
evidence of what he did as opposed to
what he thought or wrote is vanishing sparse) . Like Pasolini’s film, as a piece of
literature it divides opinion on the same “love it” or “hate it” basis and when
in the post-war years it began to appear in unexpurgated form (over the decades
many jurisdictions would gradually would overturn their ban on its sale) it attained
great notoriety, both as “forbidden fruit” and for its capacity genuinely to
shock and appal. The stated purpose of
the 1904 publication by a German psychiatrist and sexologist was it was had a
utility as a kind of “source document” for the profession, helping them to
understand what might be in the minds of their more troubled (or troublesome)
patients. It’s value to clinicians was
it constituted a roll-call of the worst of man’s unbridled sexual fantasies and
impulses to inflict cruelty, allowing a “filling-in of the gaps” between what a
patient admitted and what a psychiatrist suspected, a process something like Rebecca
West’s (1892–1983) vivid impression of Rudolf Hess (1894–1987; Nazi Deputy
Führer 1933-1941) after observing him in the dock during the first Nuremberg
Trial (1945-1946): “He looked as if his mind had no surface, as if every part
of it had been blasted away except the depth where the nightmares live.”
Salò poster.
So for the
profession it was a helpful document because uniquely (as far as is known), it
documented the thoughts and desires which most repress or at least leave
unstated although the awful implication of that was that wider publication may
not be a good idea because it might “give men ideas and unleash the beast within”. Certainly, it was one of literature’s purest
expressions of a desire for a freedom to act unrestricted by notions such as
morality or decency and while those possibilities would seduce some, most likely
would agree with the very clever and deliciously wicked English philosopher
Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679) who in Leviathan
(1651) described life in such a world being “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” De Sade was reportedly most upset at the loss
of the manuscript he’d hidden within the Bastille but resumed writing and
political activism under the First Republic (1789–1799) and in Napoleonic
France (1799–1815) but his pornographic novels attracted the attention of the
authorities which again imprisoned him but, after sexually assaulting youthful
inmates he was diagnosed with libertine
dementia and confined to lunatic asylums where, until his death in 1814, he
continued to write and even stage dramatic productions, some of which were
attended by respectable parts of Parisian society.
Salò poster.
Passolini
followed De Sade in having his four central characters represent the centres of
authority (the Church, the law, finance and the state) in Italy (and, by
extension, Western capitalist states generally) and Salò genuinely can be interpreted
as a critique of modern consumerism, the exploitative nature of capitalism and
right-wing populism. In setting it in
the rather squalid vassal state Hitler set up to try to maintain the illusion
of an ally being retained, Passolini made fascism a particular focus of his
attack but the allegorical nature of the film, politely noted by most critics
and historians has always been secondary to the violence and depravity
depicted. For some amateur psychologists,
Salò was there to reinforce their worst instincts about Pasolini, their
suspicion being it was an enactment of his personal fantasies and imaginings, a
record in cellulose acetate of what he’d have done had he “been able to get
away with it”. Whether or not that’s
though fair will depend on one’s background and the extent to which one is
prepared to separate art from artist; as an artist, Pasolini to this day had
many admirers and defenders.
Salò poster.
Three weeks
before Salò’s predictably controversial premiere, at the age of 53, Pasolini
was murdered, his brutally beaten body found on a beach; a 17 year old rent-boy
(one of many who had passed through Passolini’s life) confessed to being the
killer but decades later would retract that statement. The truth behind the murder still isn’t known
and there are several theories, some sordid and some revolving around the
right-wing terrorism which in Italy claimed many lives during the 1970s. What the director’s death did mean was he
never had a chance to make a film more explicit than Salò and in may be that in the Giallo genre such a thing would not
have been possible because the only thing more shocking would have been actual
“snuff” scenes in which people really did die, such productions legends of the
darkest corners of the Dark Web although there seems no evidence any have ever
been seen. What Pasolini would have done
had he lived can’t be known but he may not have returned to Giallo because, in
the vein, after Salò, there was
really nowhere to go.
Yellow as a color
1971 Lamborghini Miura P400 SV in Giallo Fly and 1971 Lamborghini LP500 Countach prototype (with periscopio) in Giallo Fly.
Despite the
impression which lingered into the 1980s, giallo (yellow) was never the “official”
color of Lamborghini, but variations of the shade have become much associated
with the brand and in the public imagination, the factory’s color Giallo Orion probably
is something of a signature shade. When
Lamborghini first started making cars in the early 1960s (it was a manufacturer
of tractors!) no official color was designated but the decision was taken to
use bold, striking colors (yellow, orange, and a strikingly lurid green) to
differentiate them from Ferraris which then were almost twice as likely than
today to be some shade of red. It was
Giallo Fly which was chosen when the LP500 Countach prototype was shown at the
now defunct Geneva Motor Show, a machine in 1974 destroyed in a crash test at England’s
MIRA (Motor Industry Research Association) facility but in 2021 an almost exact
replica was created by Polo Storico (the factory’s historical centre), the
paint exactly re-created.
Lamborghini factory yellows, 2024.
Over the years, the factory’s palette would change but the emphasis on bright “energetic” hues remained. Customers are no longer limited to what’s in the brochure and, for a fee, one’s Lamborghini can be finished in any preferred shade, a service offered also by many manufacturers although Ferrari apparently refuse to “do pink”. An industry legend is that according to Enzo Ferrari’s (1898-1988) mistress (Fiamma Breschi (1934-2015)), when the original Ferrari 275 GTB (1964-1968) appeared in a bright yellow, it was to be called Fiamma Giallo (Flame Yellow) but Commendatore Ferrari himself renamed it to Giallo Fly (used in the sense of “flying”) which he thought would be easier to market and he wasted to keep a word starting with “F”. Both Ferrari and Lamborghini at times have had Giallo Fly in their color charts.
1967 Ferrari 275 GTB/4 NART Spider (Chassis #09437) in Giallo Solare (left), Lady Gaga (the stage-name of Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta (b 1986)) in Rodarte dress at the Elton John AIDS Foundation Academy Awards Viewing Party, Los Angeles, March 2022 (centre) and 2010 Ferrari 599 SA Aperta (chassis #181257) in Giallo Lady Gaga (right).
Ferrari over the decades have offered many shades of yellow including Ardilla Amarillo, Ardilla Amarillo Opaco, Giallo Dino, Giallo Fly, Giallo Kuramochi, Giallo Lady Gaga, Giallo Libano, Giallo Modena, Giallo Montecarlo, Giallo Montecarlo Opaco, Giallo My Swallow, Giallo Nancy, Giallo Senape, Giallo Solare, Giallo Triplo Strato & Yellow Olive Magno Opaco and one suspects the job of mixing the shades might be easier than coming up with an appropriately evocative name. One color upon which the factory seems never to have commented is Giallo Lady Gaga which seems to have been a genuine one-off, applied to a 599 SA Aperta, one of 80 built in 2010. The car is seen usually in Gstaad, Switzerland and the consensus is it was a special order from someone although quite how Lady Gaga inspired the shade isn’t known. As a color, it looks very close to Giallo Solare, the shade the factory applied to the 275 GTB/4 NART Spider used in the Hollywood film The Thomas Crown Affair (1968) which was re-painted in burgundy because the darker shade worked better for the cinematographer. The car had come second in class in the 1967 Sebring 12 Hours (with two female drivers) and was one of only two of the ten NART Spiders will aluminium coachwork.
Coat of arms of the municipality of Modena in the in the Emilia-Romagna region of northern Italy (left), cloisonné shield on 1971 Ferrari 365 GTB/4 Daytona Berlinetta in Giallo Dino (centre) (the band of silver paint across the nose appears on the early-build Daytonas fitted with the revised frontal styling (the acrylic headlight glass covers used between 1968-1970 were banned by US regulations) and stick-on badge on 1975 Dino 308 GT4 in Rosso Corsa (right). Not all approve of the stickers (unless applied by the factory) and although they seem to be dying off, there are pedants who insist they should never appear on Dinos made between 1967-1975 (which were never badged as Ferraris).
Just as
yellow was so associated with Lamborghini, red is synonymous with Ferraris and
in 2024, some 40% are built in some shade of red, a rate about half of what was
prevalent during the 1960s. The most
famous of Ferrari’s many reds remains Rosso
Corsa (racing red) and that’s a legacy from the early days of motor sport
when countries were allocated colors (thus “Italian Racing Red”, “British
Racing Green” etc) and yellow was designated for Belgium and Brazil. On the road and the circuits, there have been
many yellow Ferraris, the first believed to been one run in 1951 by Chico Landi
(1907-1989) a Brazilian privateer who won a number of events in his home
country and the Belgium teams Ecurie
Nationale Belge and Ecurie
Francorchamps both used yellow Ferraris on a number of occasions. If anything, yellow is at least “an” official
Ferrari color because it has for decades been the usual background on the
Ferrari shield and that was chosen because it is an official color of Modena, the
closest city to the Ferrari factory, hence the existence of Giallo Modena.






















