Tenebre (1982)

Tenebre is a 1982 giallo film by Dario Argento. Peter Neal arrives in Rome to promote his latest novel Tenebre, only to find that a copycat murderer is replicating the deaths from his book. Neal also starts receiving cryptic messages from the killer, and several of his coterie of comely young female assistants begin to be targeted. Neal and his lone male assistant, the fey Brit "Gianni" stalk the house of an obsessive reporter, believing him to the killer, only to see him get murdered. Gianni goes off the rails and is promptly relieved of his driving duties, however he too falls victim to the killer's knife. As seems to be typical of this type of film, lots of people, generally attractive young women whose connection to the narrative is tentative at best, get killed in grisly fashion. One is nearly killed by an acrobatic Doberman Pincher that chases her right into the killer's lair (can these chicks catch a break or what?). Not sure if the dog was in cahoots with the killer or perhaps some sort of schizophrenic hallucination (a la Son of Sam), either way... Eventually it is revealed that Neal himself is the killer (trip out!), or at least had killed some of the people (I wasn't paying that close of attention), spurred on by a memory of seaside sexual humiliation (he also killed that chick).

Apparently banned in the US for some time (before a highly-edited version under the hilarious moniker "Unsane" was released), Tenebre is the sort of lurid splatter-fest for which Argento is famous. While I didn't find the film terrifically interesting, Tenebre certainly presages the work of notable auteurs like Abel Ferrara and Vincent Gallo, with its combination of fashion, music, and "nastiness." The music is one redemptive aspect of the film as Goblin contribute a devastating soundtrack, most notable for the title track, which Justice would beef up for their hit "Phantom." The soundtrack, which at times sounds as if it was made for a different film, is remarkably modern, balancing the corny, arpeggiated sleaze of italo with a a dark, hollow cynicism.

While I appreciate some of Argento's more impressionistic touches (particularly the Fellini-esque flashback to the seaside rebuffing), the film often feels too vicious to enjoy. I don't mind watching people murder horrifically if there seems to be a point. Argento's films too often feel like the fever dream of a blood-obsessed music video director, the substance, if any, lies in the visuals, or, in the case of Tenebre, the soundtrack, which, in fairness, is ripping. For this one, watching a trailer and downloading the soundtrack would have sufficed.