Directed
by Dario Argento, Starring: Tony Musante, Suzy Kendall, Eva Renzi. Horror,
Italy, 1970, 98mins, Cert 15.
“Right,
bring in the perverts!”
Dario
Argento’s stylishly assured directorial debut was the catalyst for the
renaissance of the giallo, and acted as a significant calling card for one of
horror cinema’s most celebrated cinematic stylists.
Loosely
adapted from Fredric Brown’s pulp 1949 mystery novel ‘The Screaming Mimi’
(previously adapted for the 1958 film SCREAMING MIMI), Argento take, stalking in the
footsteps of Mario Bava’s THE GIRL WHO KNEW TOO MUCH and BLOOD AND BLACK LACE, provided
a revised blueprint for dozens of giallos which followed in its wake.
Sam
Dalmas (Tony Musante), an American writer on an extended stay in Rome to
overcome his writer's’ block, witnesses an assault on a woman in a modern art
gallery for which he is powerless to intervene as he gets trapped between the
gallery’s sliding glass doors. Haunted by a nagging feeling that there was more
to the incident than it appeared, he becomes obsessed with the case and pursues
his own investigation in parallel with the police who are desperately trying to
identify a serial killer terrorising Rome with a string of brutal murders. In
doing so, Sam brings himself to the attention of the killer, and soon it is
Sam, and his girlfriend Giulia (Suzy Kendall) who are being stalked.
There’s much joy to be had in spotting the incidental
details, visual puns and coded clues in the film. The ironic fact that Sam’s
case of writer’s block has resulted in him having to write a ‘manual on the
preservation of rare birds’, and the striking prehistoric-like bird claw
sculpture in the gallery are all winks and nods to the film’s title and hint at
the killer’s denouement.
Many
of Argento’s traits and recurring themes are already present in his debut
feature. The theme of voyeurism is to the forefront as Sam is trapped between
the glass panes he is forced to spectate on the gallery assault as are we the
viewers, all within a glass frame that resembles the ratio of a ‘scope cinema
screen. The misperception of what has been seen, and how the eye can be tricked
(at least initially) is also a recurrent trope in subsequent works. Despite
being an animal lover, cats often don’t fare too well in Argento’s films - here
they are captured, caged, fattened and cooked!
And then there’s the influence of art itself, a painting depicting a
past trauma acting as a psychological trigger, and the physical threat of sharp
pieces of sculpture.
What’s
probably not recognised so much is the amount of humour, albeit mostly of the non-politically
correct variety, in the film. There’s intentional light relief in the form of
endearing Gildo Di Marco’s stuttering pimp “so long” Garullo, the grumpy
reclusive cat-hating artist, and the twitchy informer who wouldn’t seem out of
place in a Pink Panther film or a ‘Fast Show’ sketch. There are also the more
embarrassing character depictions, notably with the gay antique shop owner (whose
overtures towards Sam make Lieutenant Gruber's interactions with cafe owner René in BBC comedy ‘ALLO ‘ALLO!
positively subtle in comparison.) And then there’s the classic suspect line-up
scene, which not only features the headline quote “Right, bring in the
perverts!”, but then manages to top that with Inspector Morosini’s exasperated
reaction to one of the attendees in the line-up: “How many times do I have to
tell you, Ursula Andress belongs with the transvestites, not the perverts!” To
be fair to Argento, sexuality and gender are subjects he does not shy away
from, and are tackled with greater significance in his later works, so I’m
inclined to award him a ‘get out of jail free’ card this time.
Interestingly,
he doesn’t subscribe to the traditional macho male hero image, despite Sam’s
outward appearance. He’s rendered impotent to intercede in the gallery assault,
his writing has faltered, there’s a hint that he may have had a drink problem, escapes
assignation himself by sheer luck on more than one occasion, seems unreasonably
blasé about how his meddling might draw the killer’s attentions onto his
girlfriend, and is clearly bested by the killer. (And what’s with the ticking
metronome behind the bed, is Argento suggesting he is a repetitive and
uninventive lover?)
Accusations
of misogyny are frequently hurled at Argento, to which it must be said he
hasn’t always countered convincingly, but it’s only fair to note that the
detectives (all male), for all their fancy (1970’s style) computer equipment
and scientific analysis, fall hopelessly short in identifying even the most fundamental
fact about the killer.
The
murder set-pieces, orchestrated and perpetrated by the hands of Argento
himself, are less explicit and more restrained in terms of onscreen depiction
than Argento would become renowned for in subsequent outings, yet one sequence
involving ‘sexualised violence’ was still sufficiently problematic for the UK
censor back in the day and resulted in 18 seconds of cuts (now fully restored of
course, and tellingly, the rating has reduced from ‘18’ down to ’15).
The
influence of THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE cannot be underestimated both in
Italy with the renewed interest in giallo filmmaking, but also across the pond,
where it, and subsequent entries such as Bava’s BAY OF BLOOD paved the way and
provided the blueprints for the next
incarnation of murderous mayhem: the US slasher film. With Arrow’s brand new vibrant
4k restoration from the camera negative, it’s quite simply essential viewing.
**** (out
of 5*)
Paul
Worts
This
review was originally published on the FrightFest website.
