Dario Argento's The Phantom of the Opera
As unbelievable as it may sound, Dario Argento was once an incredibly gifted visionary who always appeared to be on the verge of mainstream success. Then he entered the nineties and began to go crap. There does not seem to be any explainable reason for this, in fact it’s as if he stopped trying to be brilliant overnight. Even the once great man’s detractors are forced to recognise the inherent technical brilliance of Suspiria and Inferno (both, arguably, still unsurpassed) and the incredible influence of his stylish, menacing early thrillers such as Cat O Nine Tails and Deep Red.
Indeed, those of us who cherish such titles and who continue to argue for the director’s rightful place among the great Italian directors (horror or otherwise) are left with further difficulties following The Phantom of the Opera. It’s flat in almost every way: acting, dialogue, directing... it goes nowhere, has a dreadful villain in Julian Sands (as the title character) and, at times, looks little better than your average piece of direct-to-video shlock. Moreover, while there are no pointless intervals for digital effects related inanity (see Argento’s previous fiasco The Stendhal Syndrome for further details) there remains a severe lack of suspense and thrills.
Asia Argento (now there’s a shock) takes the lead role in this umpteenth adaptation of the classic Gaston Leroux novel. Asia is barely convincing in her part as the attractive opera diva who whets the Phantom’s libido and, as beautiful as she is, her presence is not on a par with such past Argento heroines as Jessica Harper or Jennifer Connelly. What’s more, the director’s filming of his own daughter being taken up from behind whilst fully nude is ever so slightly worrying. C’mon Dario, I love you and all that, but this sort of thing can’t be healthy...
Torn between the roguish ‘charm’ (term used loosely) of the Phantom and the dashing aristocrat Count Raoul De Chagny (Andrea Di Stefano), Asia ends up in the centre of all sorts of bloody mayhem. Sadly, however, Argento’s trademark violent set pieces are often poorly executed. Sands bites off some poor girl’s tongue in Lucio Fulci type close-up and impales her lover on a rock, but there is nothing here to make you wince. The best death is actually played for laughs, with a midget rat catcher crashing his rodent hunting car (!) and being decapitated by a flying blade. Ho, ho, ho and all that.
The opera setting was used far better in Argento’s brilliant giallo Terror at the Opera in 1987, even in spite of this being shot by the same cinematographer. Such Operas as Faust and Monteverdi’s Orfeo are obvious influences in this film (the latter visually), Dario being the cultured type and all that, while Ennio Morricone’s soundtrack is at least atmospheric. Other plus points include daunting and attractive Gothic surroundings for the Phantom to inhabit and an unintentionally hilarious scene in which Sands arouses himself by allowing rats to crawl over his naked chest and down his trousers (honest)!
Not a good film by any manner of means, although there are a couple of picturesque, albeit digitally enhanced, exterior shots and a mildly captivating boat ride. Ultimately though, this a further nail in the coffin of the legacy of the once proud Italian horror film director. Dimension Films might want to watch this carefully before giving the final go ahead to their proposed (and ill-considered) big budget American remake of Suspiria...
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