Oh, what a tangled web we weave
We all, at some point or another, have had what would amount to a boogey man. A terrorizing entity whose sole purpose is to lead our already sordid lives down an even more cruel and unfortunate path. Whether it be a maniacal child molester with third degree Burns and knives for fingers who stalks us in our dreams, or a cigar chomping, formidable landlord who stalks us for the rent. Fictional or non, everybody has had that foreboding character hovering just shy of our peripheral view, reminding us about the intricacies in the darkest recesses of our minds. In the case of the movie ‘I, Madman’, a 1989 slasher flick by director Tibor Takács (I’d list some other B-movies he’s directed but what’s the point? I mean, you’ve never seen them), our antagonist takes the form of a villainous doctor from an old pulp-styled horror novella who surgically removes his unwilling patients noses, hair and other parts of the face and stitches them on to his own in an attempt to please a woman with whom he’s madly in love with.
The movie centers on a woman working in a used book store named Virginia (actress Jenny Wright), who starts reading a horror novel entitled ‘I, Madman’, a supposedly non-fictional account of a deranged surgeon who stitches his victims facial features onto his own face in an attempt to court a young woman. I mean, nothing we haven’t seen before, right? Wrong! Because now the same gristly killings described in the book are happening to people close to Virginia, and her L.A. County Homicide detective boyfriend (because why WOULDN’T she have an intimate relationship with a Policeman), whom we quickly discover is a man of scientific means, naturally doesn’t believe his girlfriend’s tall tales of love scorned monstrous doctors, opting for the more sensible copy-cat killer approach. What ensues is a rigorous game of cat and mouse, with the dimwitted police squad always one step short of catching our enigmatic and disfigured murder suspect.
Now while this does seem like a rather scornful diatribe of your standard late 80’s slasher film, the movie does have some redeeming qualities. Although ripe with the obligatory tripe included in every 80’s movie; your rigorous sex scenes paired with a skinemax-style soundtrack and sassy co-workers, it also scores some points for its inventive use of lighting and makeup (the former reminiscent of Dario Argento films like ‘Inferno’ and the more wildly received classic ‘Suspiria’). Head makeup artist Bill Myer paints a rather gruesome portrait of Malcolm Brand, the author of the book behind the murders, donning a bloody and stitched amalgamation of his victims facial features in place of his own. The lead actors also sold their roles as damsel in distress and concerned boyfriend quite well (although I think Michael Moriarty would’ve made a much better police detective than Clayton Rohner, the actor chosen for the part), with him providing her both the proverbial shoulder to cry on and the protective figure. All these key factors tie together in a gory and panic stricken package, giving the film just enough authenticity to not be complete garbage, but more of a fun and nostalgic joyride for fans of the horror genres in which it corporates.
“Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive” was a line first uttered into existence in an 1808 play entitled ‘Marmion’ by Sir Walter Scott, and in essence describes the destructive consequences of lies and conflicts and their impact on peoples lives. Throughout the movie, our protagonist is viewed as a liar by her detective boyfriend and his police cohorts, with her having the last laugh in the climactic end. This movie is pretty solid as far as originality goes. I’d give it two and a half stars, Ray Zag says check it out.
No comments:
Post a Comment