Subservient to the problem that the director finds himself enmeshed in, Fulci’s consistent inability within the film to function normally on a daily basis, eventually warrants the retainer of a psychiatrist. Perhaps not the best idea in the end.

A more recent portrayal of these self conscious uncertainties is HBO’s Curb Your Enthusiasm. The show’s ostensibly a day to day, living journal of Larry David’s problematic interactions with society as the on-screen and real life writer mingles with any number of unwitting comic foils. While most of the problems that occur within the show’s narrative stem from David’s ineptitude at civility or simple social graces, the premise of the show and its unerring ability create situations in which the protagonist gives himself over to self-exploration and doubt appear to be the updated, comedic version of what Fulci related in his 1990 film.

As the director’s on-screen discontent grows more frequent, so do his visits to the newly contracted psychiatrist, Dr. Egon Schwarz, who’s begun viewing the entirety of Fulci’s film career as a way in which to fully comprehend his patient as a man and creative force – doing this alone makes the character all the more bizarre. What ensues are a series of murders that while unsolved, leave Fulci, understandably, as the prime suspect. It’s eventually revealed to the audience that Dr. Schwarz has taken on the onus of murderer, in part due to the ease with which he’s able to dump the blame on his troubled patient, but most likely just ‘cause he’s nuts. More than a simple betrayal, the doctor’s duplicitous actions again serve to illustrate the supposed problems that can arise from being exposed to violent imagery even while taken in under a clinical environment. But as the metaphysics-come-horror construction draws to a close, with Fulci being vindicated of his supposed transgressions, the final scene finds the director taking a beautiful woman below deck of an astutely named vessel - Perversion. As the camera slowly pulls away, the screams of Fulci’s latest victim become more than audible. The audience was duped, but wait.

In a final and perhaps miscalculated nod to cleverness, Fulci re-immerges to reveal that it was all a scene in a film he was shooting. As a statement of awareness, this last gesture succeeds masterfully, but viewers are then left to contemplate the reality that they’ve been shown over the preceding hour and a half. Concluding the film in such a fashion is unquestionably a way by which to comment upon the validity of media critic’s problematic consideration of the horror genre while simultaneously explicating the director’s awareness and struggle with the oft vacuous odes to blood, guts and everything repulsive the he’s created. As a piece of entertainment, which is one of film’s main goals regardless of a director’s intent, the last moments of A Cat in the Brain succeed, but the brainy conclusion to the narrative could be understood as nothing more than a way to omit spilling a bit more blood.