The title Giallo refers, generically, to a distinctive kind of Italian
horror-thriller film, of which writer-director Dario Argento has been a
leading exponent since his 1970 debut The Bird with the Crystal
Plumage.
As such, it’s a very self-referential title, akin to
Pulp Fiction, and one which is also indicative of the film’s nature,
that it is more for his fan-base in Italy and internationally than an
attempt to reach a new audience.
The big question, even as far
as this audience is concerned, is whether the film can live up to fan
expectation. Or, insofar as Argento’s stock is currently at a low level
in the wake of a string of poorly received films – 2004’s The Card
Player, 2005’s Do You Like Hitchcock and 2007’s The Third Mother –
whether it might actually surpass them for those sufficiently dedicated
to find out.
Amongst mainstream critics, meanwhile, Argento’s
reputation, such as it is, is that of a virtuoso stylist who is not
particularly good with narrative and characterisation, and whose work
is often marred by its gratuitous violence and misogyny.
While
he has tried to address these criticisms, the results as seen in the
likes of 1993’s Trauma and 1996’s The Stendhal Syndrome, have ended up
pleasing fewer fans whilst still failing to curry favour with the
critics.
The one exception, at least as fans were concerned, was
2001’s Sleepless, a film widely perceived as a return to form,
precisely because it presented a kind of retrospective ‘greatest hits’
package that looked back to Argento’s 1970s and early 1980s work. It
also came in the wake of his idiosyncratic 1998 adaptation of The
Phantom of the Opera, a film which few have anything positive to say
about.
It’s at this point that I must declare my own position: I
think that each and every one of Argento’s films has something to make
them worthwhile, and that Sleepless is over-rated compared to Trauma,
The Stendhal Syndrome and The Card Player. I also think that, if taken
as an intentional parody – always an awkward critical position to take,
admittedly – The Phantom of the Opera actually works.
It is
also in this way that I would argue Giallo’s apparent weak points may
be taken as strengths, such that we can laugh with the film’s more
awkward moments rather than at them.
Before accentuating the
possible negatives, however, I would like first to address the
positives. Like Sleepless, Giallo is a film that breaks little new
ground. But whereas its predecessor made a somewhat selective survey of
the high points of Argento’s past films, Giallo looks all around.
Thus,
for example, while we get a nightmarish yet naturalistic re-imagining
of Suspiria and Inferno’s taxi rides – the maniac here is a taxi driver
– we also also have an exciting rooftop chase finale that recalls the
less well regarded Cat o’ Nine Tails.
Argento also continues
to explore his emergent interest in Japanese culture, as previously
seen in The Third Mother’s Gothic Lolita / J-horror styled witch
follower of the mother. Giallo’s maniac, himself given the name
Giallo for a meaningful diegetic reason, draws inspiration from violent
hentai manga and subjects his victims to sadistic tortures that
wouldn’t be out of place in Takashi Miike’s Audition. Disconcertingly
– but ultimately tellingly, via past traumas, involving their
respective mothers, that define both men’s present situations – his
police nemesis also buys a volume of Japanese pornographer /
photographer Araki’s work.
Elsewhere we may note the name of
the overarching production company, Hannibal Films, as in Lektor; the
presence of Polanski veterans Adrian Brody and Emanuelle Seigner, also
of course Mrs Polanski; and, in a more throwaway manner, the returning
the favour presence of a poster for Juno.
The Thomas Harris
reference serves to further highlight the Manhunter-esque relationship
between cop and maniac and to explain away the rather unusual position
the former occupies within the Turin police force.
The plot
can be summarised as follows: Giallo’s modus operandi is to kidnap
beautiful young women whose absence will not immediately be noticed.
One such victim is Celine, a young fashion model; giallo fans will
immediately notice the form’s long fascination with the world of
glamour, dating all the way back to Mario Bava’s foundational 1964
entry Blood and Black Lace. Unfortunately for Giallo, and perhaps
fortunately for Celine, her air-hostess sister Linda (Seigner) has just
arrived in town to pay a visit. Concerned by Celine’s failure to show
up for their rendezvous, Linda goes to the police station to file a
missing person’s report and is there sent to see Inspector Enzo Avolfi
(Brody) in the bowels of the building. He soon realises the “pattern
killer” he is hunting has struck again and they embark on a desperate
race against time to save Celine…
It provides a solid framework for plenty of classic Argento images, suspense, shocks and splatter.
In
the case of the violence, however, it’s also important to note that as
much is suggested as shown. Besides helping answer those who would
argue Argento’s violence is only gratuitous, it’s an approach which
proves beneficial insofar as it showcases what special effects man
Sergio Stivaletti can do rather than what he perhaps might struggle at,
namely convincing in-camera facial mutilation effects, and the desire
of a portion of the audience to see such images.
The other thing
Giallo has is a lot of humour. Humour is, of course, not alien to the
horror film. But it is also something that is difficult to do well, as
criticism of the comic relief moments in Argento’s films testifies. In
Giallo, I think the key thing is that Brody, whose deadpan delivery of
key lines relating to Enzo’s back-story elicited laughs from the
audience I watched the film with, was also the film’s co-producer. As
such, it seems unlikely that he and Argento had a disagreement about
how to portray the character, as with a number of the director’s more
fraught actor relationships, and that this was their intent.
In
combination with Seigner’s involvement, the film thus emerges as
something akin to Argento’s version of Polanski’s Bitter Moon, as
something to be both taken seriously at times and as a self-parody at
others in its commentary on past glories.
How less sympathetic audiences will get the joke is another matter entirely...