The Stendhal Syndrome (1996) Dir: Dario Argento

A particularly nasty late offering from Giallo master Dario Argento.
The plot:
Dario's daughter, Asia Argento, plays Detective Anna Manni, a homicide investigator hot on the heels of a serial killer leaving a trail of butchered, raped women across Italy.
Following the trail to Florence, Anna becomes afflicted by the mysterious Stendhal Syndrome whilst in a museum, a condition that causes disorientation and confusion when exposed to works of art. Apparently able now to step into paintings, Anna has herself been targeted by the serial killer and is led down an inexorable path towards confrontation with the cold blooded killer.
And pretty vicious it is, too.
Argento here appears to have eschewed his more artistic directorial flourishes for some proper, down and dirty, nasty gruel, the feel more akin to Lucio Fulci than his own previous works.
Another new touch is the camera following inanimate objects: pills being swallowed, bullets passing through flesh.
The plot itself is pretty standard, though pepped up with the surrealist addition of the paintings made real, and the really dark thought is that, during the prolonged, savage attack sequences, more often than not it's Argento's own daughter he is filming.
Though not quite of the same calibre as Tenebre, Phenomena or Opera, this is still a cut above most horror out there, and is a study in Argento's misogynistic view of the world.
Solid Italian horror, then.

Four Flies on Grey Velvet (1971) Dir: Dario Argento

Argento's understated stalker thriller is just a tad dull.
The plot: A musician living in Rome is a troubled man. Having killed a stalker a short while ago, now he finds himself the target of yet another stalker.
What a pisser.
Unable to go to the police for fear of criminal recriminations for the death at his own hands, he must attempt to deal with the mysterious menace alone.
And it's all a touch dreary.
The lead character of Robert is played in spectacularly drab manner by one Michael Brandon, never really engaging the viewer.
The plot, though standard giallo fare, feels tired and half-baked and never really convinces.
Coupled with the air of menace Argento is attempting to convey, he also chooses the odd moment of misplaced, misfiring comedy - a stereotypical homosexual character, played for laughs, weird one-liners lost in translation and the like - which doesn't work on any level, given that it simply drains away any tension and fails to amuse.
Though there are brief flashes of the brilliance to come from this director, with some lovely directorial flourishes - the lovingly shot knife blades, the head bouncing down the stairs, the close up of the eyes - this fails to deliver either in terms of intrigue or terror.
Still, Argento was merely developing his craft here and would later go on to produce some of the finest movies in horror's rich history.
A misfire, but a forgivable one.

3 out of 5

Black Swan (2010) Dir: Darren Aronofsky

Just back from seeing Darren Aronofsky's latest mental-fest, Black Swan, and I am truly numbed.
It's not often a film renders me exhausted by sensory overload, blunted as I am by years of watching the most excessive, mind-bendingly hideous and depraved movies I can find, but this was a truly draining experience.
The plot: Natalie Portman plats Nina Sayers, a ballet dancer performing in a troupe at the rehearsal stage for an updating of the ever popular Swan Lake. She rehearses keenly, eager to land the role of the Swan Queen. but the director of the show Thomas Leroy (Vincent Cassel) believes that she is only capable of performing The White Swan; virginal, vulnerable and innocent and unable to plumb the psychological depths required to capture the mentality of The Black Swan.
Nina convinces him otherwise when he makes an inappropriate advance on her, biting him and, in so doing, unleashes a previously untapped aspect of her psyche.
As First Night looms, Nina descends into a miasma of horror and fantasy as the blackened spirit now pulsing through her begins to take hold.
Beautifully shot, with a stunning central performance from Portman, this is visceral and primal, posing a simple question to the audience:
Where is the line between obsession and madness?
I am desperately trying to get through this write-up without invoking the name of Dario Argento as it seems too obvious a reference, but it is hard to deny, Aranofsky's cine-literate style clearly harking back to the Giallo-Meister's finer days, but there is more to this than mere homage as the director throws in shades of Cronenberg's body-horror, dashes of Adrian Lyne's Jacob's Ladder, and even the passing thought of Fight Club on occasion.
Whilst 'Oscar nominees' normally have me fleeing to the auditorium with relief once the credits roll, just glad to be out of there to get away from the reeking pretension, the effect here was a mirror image, the movie glueing me to the seat throughout.
Simply magnificent.

5 out of 5