Phantom of the Opera (Il fantasma dell'opera, 1998)
Dario Argento
Phantom Returns to Opera, Gets Hacked by Disgruntled Patrons
When a director whose previous work you like comes out with a subpar movie, the usual recoil is to recommend the film as one for ``hardcore fans only.'' Unfortunately, I cannot do even that with this horrifyingly disappointing offering from Argento. In fact, the line reads: ``dedicated Argento fans should avoid at all costs.''
At first I thought that the film would have at least one redeeming quality -- Asia Argento. I was wrong: save one scene at the end of the film, where she shrieks her lungs off, her performance was nothing short of amateurish and it's not just the bad dubbing talking. Then I hoped Julian Sands would provide us with some satisfaction in the role of the horribly disfigured phantom. No such luck -- in Argento's version, the phantom is actually a handsome fashion victim with a really bad toupee. This, naturally, explains why he wants to hide in the caverns and murder everyone in sight. The film also boasts a third main actor, who manages to stay peripheral to the plot despite Argento's heroic attempts to include his character as the alternative to the phantom. This he does for the ostensible reason of providing Asia with a separate but equal lover so we can marvel at her agonizing dilemma of choosing between the two. The dichotomy is more apparent than real -- she sleeps with the phantom and barely touches lips with the other guy. But she loves them equally? Yeah, sure -- the first time she mentions her feelings for the ``other'' I thought she meant her maid.
Morricone should really concentrate on westerns; compared with the usual heavy metal soundtracks (or the definitely superior Goblin scores), the music was understated and forgettable. The special effects done by Sergio Stilavetti should have been excellent but apart from one half-eaten (by rats, nonetheless) construction worker, the effects are nonexistent. Okay, okay, at one point the phantom did hover some over the stage. Argento's customary mastery of building suspense and terrifying the viewer with unsettling camera work is also notably absent. Even the director stays aloof, so detached from the picture that the final product lacks passion and looks like everyone was in a hurry to finish it. I found myself hoping that the magnificent Hungarian opera house would collapse on the actors, getting instantaneously rid of the poor suffering souls, whose tragedies I could not comprehend, and delivering the coup de grace to the 100 minute torture session.
In this flick, all talented makers and actors concoct a truly mediocre performance. This is a departure for Argento, a pitiful attempt to make a mainstream movie. In this, he loses his magical touch and delivers schlock of miniscule proportions. 2 out of 10 (only because Asia was very convincing in her hysteria when the other guy was taking her away, both saving her from pissed off patrons of the opera and (conveniently) abandoning her other lover, the phantom, to his gruesome destiny).
December 5, 1999. BLS