Film Review: TRAUMA (1993, Dario Argento)

Stars: 3.8 of 5.
Running Time: 106 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Asia Argento (MOTHER OF TEARS, THE LAST MISTRESS), Christopher Rydell (ON GOLDEN POND, MASK), Piper Laurie (TWIN PEAKS, CARRIE), Frederic Forrest (APOCALYPSE NOW, FALLING DOWN), James Russo (MY OWN PRIVATE IDAHO, THE NINTH GATE), Brad Dourif (CHILD'S PLAY, ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST). Gore by Tom Savini (DAWN OF THE DEAD, FRIDAY THE 13TH). Music by Pino Donaggio (CARRIE, BODY DOUBLE) and Andrea Bandel.
Tagline: "A new dimension of fear."

I can sum this one up for you in just two words: "Minnesotan Giallo." I could probably make the argument that this is Argento's last great film (before they became at best, mediocre, and, at worst, money-laundering operations), but with a movie this ludicrous, that's probably a meaningless distinction, and I could easily say the same for OPERA (1987) or SLEEPLESS (2001). Nonetheless, I apparently like TRAUMA a lot more than most people do.

Based on screenplay co-written by Dario Argento, T.E.D. Klein (one of the great, underappreciated horror writers of the 1980s, whose novel THE CEREMONIES is an all-timer), Franco Ferrini (PHENOMENA, ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA), Gianni Romoli (producer of CEMETERY MAN), and Ruth Jessup (production secretary on EVIL DEAD II), TRAUMA is a delicious slice of You Betcha Message-Movie madness where the twin cities are, apparently, Minneapolis and Rome (feel free to insert a St. Paul/St. Peter's Basilica joke here).

Like most of Argento's gialli, the plot has plenty of twists and turns, a satisfying/relatively surprising payoff, and notably (that is, for the thriller genre at large, not for Argento), one that holds up to repeat viewings and doesn't cheat the audience. See also: DEEP RED and TENEBRE, who also hide their Big Secrets––like Poe's purloined letter––out in the open, if we care to look. 

 

Also like most Argentos, TRAUMA has a black-leather-gloved killer, well-choreographed murders, stylized gore, avant-garde POV shots, childhood trauma, uncomfortable family member nudity, bizarrely specific animals and/or insects being instrumental to the plot, and more than a few nonsensical (Eurotrash) grace notes. New for Argento are the American milieus (though his segment of TWO EVIL EYES was also shot in the States), a semi-understated De Palma-lite orchestral score by Pino Donaggio (instead of his usual Goblin/Simonetti music), and the decision to make this a "Message Picture." (More on that in a minute.)

I'll attempt to guide you through the joys and bafflements of all this TRAUMA without giving any significant spoilers–– so, without further ado––grab your lutefisk, Vikings jerseys, and dopey ear-flap'd trapper caps, cause dontcha know we're about to delve into My Top Ten Minutiae for Argento's TRAUMA:

 

#10. Americana. 

Argento is so clearly taken with/horrified by what the ol' U.S. of A has to offer that he can't bear to look away. In a hotel hallway scene, it's the drunken man in the background in a Shriner cap:

In a corporate diner, it's what passes for food:

 It's the parking lots: 

The concrete architecture and pick-ups with fiberglass truck caps:

And, finally, in what I can only assume is a moment inspired by Argento's first confusing stay in a corporate American hotel, we see the victim unable to fight off the killer at a crucial moment because the room's lamp is screwed to the table

instead of being loose and easily removable––as it apparently should be––for defending against black-gloved, hammer-wielding murderers:

 

#9. The Message Picture Angle. 

Hoo boy, here we go. Asia Argento––Dario's daughter––plays one of the film's dual protagonists. Having witnessed the murder of her parents, she has acquired a number of problems. From the filmmakers' point of view, the most important of these is an eating disorder. You see, she binges and purges.

This, as we all know, is not a cartoonishly simplified, textbook case of bulimia, but rather––according to Dr. Dario Argento and every character in the film––"anorexia."

 

That's right: Argento decided to make a Message Picture about overcoming an eating disorder and proceeded to misidentify the disorder. To those who are not lifetime aficionados, this is the most Argento thing he could possibly do. In Dario Argento's MONK, Tony Shalhoub would express every symptom of OCD, but they'd call it multiple personality disorder. In Dario Argento's TRAINSPOTTING, Ewan McGregor would spend half the movie shooting up heroin but they'd call it a gambling addiction. This is, obviously, incredible. For instance, Argento would rather put way more time, effort, and detail into something like

#8. Butterfly P.O.V.

It's a dizzying scene, completely unnecessary, and yet it's a perfect moment of Pure Cinema.

#7. But Wait, I'm Not Done Talking About the Message Picture Angle.

Oookay, so he keeps going. There are lengthy monologues and montages about "anorexia" which flirt with absurdity,

 

interrupted by images of sad, skinny women on the streets of Minnesota who may not even know what they're being filmed for

as the "symptoms of anorexia" get weirdly specific (every person with anorexia is deeply attached to an unstable mother?)

Oh, did I say "flirts with absurdity?" I meant, "dates absurdity, marries absurdity, purchases a burial plot beside absurdity..."

Err––WHUT? Let's not ponder that last one too deeply.

#6. Christopher Rydell's bland "David Parsons." The secondary protagonist is a mopey dude who makes a living as a horror sketch artist for a local Minneapolis news station.

 

Huh. Didn't know that was a real, full-time job. Guess I'll defer to the expert on such matters: Dario Argento. 

Even though he's an American who has been featured in such films as MASK, GOTCHA, HOW I GOT INTO COLLEGE, and ON GOLDEN POND, Argento pulls a pouty, Eurotrash performance out of him. He sorta reminds me of Marco Gregorio ("Trash" in Enzo Castellari's 1990: BRONX WARRIORS).

He's a grown man with this sketchy day job and a pretty normal life and a newscaster girlfriend until he meets up with Asia's teenage runaway "Aura" and decides to let her move in with him. (Ostensibly, it's because he also has struggled with drug problems––oh yeah, did I mention that Asia's character is also a heroin addict? That's mentioned once and then buried beneath a lot of bulimia––but the whole thing feels a little creepy.) He wears the kind of 90s outfits you'd see on Chandler from FRIENDS. Oh, hey, look, there's a Chi-Chi's in the background.

That'd be a good trivia question: in which Dario Argento film is there a Chi-Chi's? This one.

#5. Brad Dourif!

He has a bit part here as a former doctor going through a midlife crisis, and he's got the six-day stubble and gold chain/earring combo to prove it. He gives his role some sleaze, some comedy, and some pathos.

He, or his agent, must have insisted on the strange credit of "special appearance by."

It's only weird because there are other, well-known character actors of similar caliber and with a similar amount of screen-time. Actors like...

#4. Piper Laurie!

As an Eastern European psychic and Asia's on-screen mother, Piper offers us shades of CARRIE while hamming it up and laying on a thick Romanian accent.

As always, she's fantastic. Horror royalty in this household. Royalty, I say.

#3. And Frederic Forrest. Another oddball American character actor/Oscar nominee being used very effectively.

That's right, there are three Oscar nominees in this movie. It's a shame that Argento's association with great American character actors pretty much dried up post-1993 (are we counting Steven Weber in JENIFER? No, no we are not), cause they really deliver some earnest post-giallo seasoning to the proceedings here.

#2. Meta-Argento. He gets extremely self-reflexive in TRAUMA. To name a few moments, there is sudden and creepy pre-murder doll placement, as in DEEP RED:

(As a whole, it's very DEEP RED-influenced, from opening with a "séance gone wrong" to using the earlier film's bloody finale as a sly inspiration for the murderer's preferred instrument here.)

Hand-acting by Argento, which can be morbidly comic when things aren't going as smoothly as the murderer would prefer (as in DEEP RED, TENEBRE, OPERA, and elsewhere):

A domestic murder which thematically and literally recalls the iconic, extended crane-shot setpiece of TENEBRE (as well as the nature of the victims):

Impassive animal witnesses to murders, as in PHENOMENA, THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE, FOUR FLIES ON GRAY VELVET, and elsewhere (here, it's a gecko):

Impromptu, macabre paper dolls, as in DEEP RED: 

And a random child learning more about the murderer (and earlier) than any other character, which is certainly a post-SHADOW OF A DOUBT ur-Hitchcockian idea which lies at the root of many of Argento's films.

That the child in question closely resembles Macaulay Culkin is simply a reminder that this movie was made in 1993.

#1. Reggae Dance Party.

Without spoiling the end of the picture, I will tell you this: it concludes with a reggae concert/dance party on a suburban Minnesotan porch. The lead dancer is, I believe, one of the skinny girls from the earlier street montage. What this is all meant to indicate is, at best, unclear. But who are we to question the maestro's judgment?

Only now does it occur to me... NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD '90

Only now does it occur to me...  that this is one of the best credit titles that ever was!

That's right:  the 1990 NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD remake was co-executive produced by zombie legend Romero and post-Globus Cannon films impresario Menahem Golan.  Brilliant!

As for the film, it's a mediocre but watchable Tom Savini-helmed retread of the original that contains a few nice flourishes (and a near-Shakespearean performance by Tony Todd of CANDYMAN fame), but in the end is the kind of disposable 80s horror that's best suited for the background of a party.

Junta Juleil's Top 100: #65-61

65. MR. JEALOUSY (1997, Noah Baumbach)

"What would you do if I bit your face now... suddenly?" Gotta love MR. JEALOUSY. It offers astute, biting commentary on romantic relationships, daring to go to places of jealousy, resentment, and self-hatred where even dramatic films (much less comedies!) fear to tread. It offers bold 1930's-style screwball, mistaken identities, a ludicrous bit part by Peter Bogdanovich as Dr. Poke, the finest ever use of Harry Chapin's "Cat's in the Cradle," and tackles OCD, substitute teaching, Gustav Flaubert, and the eternal question of "Do people really spit in the communal coffee creamer?" It's well-populated by genius performances from the likes of Baumbach standbys like Eric Stoltz, Chris Eigeman, Annabella Sciorra, Carlos Jacott, and John Lehr, (and a great one from Baumbach newcomer Marianne Jean-Baptiste, fresh off of Mike Leigh's SECRETS AND LIES). Noah Baumbach himself even gets to prove that he was born to do voice-over narrations. And, of course, the excess budget brought us little-known gem that is HIGHBALL. In all, one of the best-written movies of the 90's, and a film so good that naturally Armond White's response was to call for Baumbach's retroactive abortion. If that doesn't prove you've made a great film, I don't know what does.

64. KNIGHTRIDERS (1982, George A. Romero)

"I'M FIGHTING THE DRAGON!" Yes, you certainly are, Ed Harris. You are, too, Mr. Romero. You have to fight the dragon, gentlemen, for you feel the moral imperative to do so. You live in a world of insanity, your options limited to being crushed beneath it's bootheel, lashing out madly, or retreating into oneself. In a way, this is the definitive counter-culture film. It unfolds with an ensemble-based subtlety that recalls the best Renoir and Altman. It reveals an ensemble of fully-developed, REAL characters trying to deal with existential confusion and a world gone mad, NOT, as the cover art might suggest, a group of medieval-themed bikers pillaging the countryside. Romero has taken timeless messages on brotherhood and sisterhood from the tales of King Arthur and languidly, thoughtfully, applied them to the modern era. George Romero is not merely a horror filmmaker, nor is he, in fact, merely a filmmaker. He is a philosopher, a poet, a sociologist and a true citizen of the world. I salute you, Mr. Romero, a man who unfailingly depicts the true heights and depths of humanity, whether it be in the midst of a zombie holocaust or while good friends bond over a quiet campfire. May you continue to grace us with such compassionate, thoughtful works. Also: Stephen King's cameo as a local yokel and Tom Savini's amazing "80's sell-out" costume receive my highest commendations.

63. THE CHANGELING (1980, Peter Medak)

I wrote previously that:
For the uninitiated, it must be said that the less you know about THE CHANGELING, the better, so I'll avoid revealing anything about the plot. Somehow the median point between Nicolas Roeg's DON'T LOOK NOW and the turn-of-the-century ghost stories of M.R. James, THE CHANGELING is a sheer force of atmospheric dread. Director Peter Medak is a master of effectively using space, foreboding architecture, and ornate interior design– as well as the roaming camera which captures them. In THE RULING CLASS (1972), he nearly turned the expansive Gurney estate into a character- an object of desire for some, and a turgid reminder of a centuries-old oligarchy to others. While it was not a 'horror' film in the purest sense, I feel as if Medak learned much back then, and merely had to subtly tweak his techniques in order to create a seriously sinister mood. The score, by Rick Wilkins, is hauntingly evocative, consisting of ever-flowing, swirling piano, surging and eddying like sudden rushes of air or a gentle, ghostly breaths. The cast is phenomenal: George C. Scott's stoic melancholy, Melvyn Douglas' tortured countenance, and Trish Van Devere's harried energy go a long way toward establishing the atmosphere. THE CHANGELING belongs to the genre which I call 'melancholy horror,' consisting of films like CASTLE FREAK or DEAD & BURIED. It's almost as if a shroud lies draped upon the film- a defeated sigh, a pensive look, a sense of loss. But make no mistake, this film is SCARY. Medak portrays the supernatural in a manner that, for me, is unmatched: to feel the otherworldly as an ominous presence that lingers just outside the frame- Kubrick does it in THE SHINING, Alan Parker does it in ANGEL HEART, Lynch does it in TWIN PEAKS, and Medak does it here. He doesn't have to rely on cheap 'sudden loud noise' scares, he builds a genuine sense of foreboding from the ground up, and takes the material very seriously. Without this film, there would be no RINGU (or, consequently, THE RING), THE OTHERS, or even THE DEVIL'S BACKBONE. It's one of the great ghost stories, unsullied by time, and as long as we fear the unknown, this film will continue to resonate.

62. KOYAANISQATSI (1983, Godfrey Reggio)

The hypnotically transcendent imagery of Godfrey Reggio (and DP Ron Fricke) and the transcendentally hypnotic music of Philip Glass are perhaps the perfect fusion of sound and image in film. Eschewing mere 'words' in favor of a view of the world from perhaps the omniscient vantage point of the "angel of history," Reggio brilliantly illustrates the process by which we are subverting– no, perverting the concept of a genuine, harmonious existence through almost every aspect of our modern society. It's a humbling film, one that places one's own insignificance into an even wider context; it makes our personal time and our personal space seem so very, very painfully small. When the bulldozers first appear after a series of idyllic landscapes, you want to cry "INTRUDER!," you want to destroy them and their faceless mechanical obscenity! It says more by saying less than FERNGULLY, AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH, AVATAR, CAPTAIN PLANET, and every other well-meaning environmental film combined, because it's intent is not to "recycle more" or "save the whales" or "prevent oil spills," its intent is to show us, quite graphically, how, for most of us, our entire lifestyles, from when we wake in the morning till when we go to sleep at night, from cradle to the grave, are (to use some of Hemingway's favorite terminology) inauthentic. It's not a problem that'll be solved through sorting the glass bottles from the plastic ones, nor from turning the A/C unit from high to low; it's a call to reinvent ourselves, to recreate what it means to be a human being in a society that has only been in existence for as long as a blink of the cosmic eye. It's a powerful film, and one of only a chosen few that dares show how irrevocably fucked and how painfully trivial we really are.

61. THE RED SHOES (1948, Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger)

Astonishing spectacle and tempestuous melodrama in a ferocious blaze of wondrous Technicolor. I've sung the praises of Powell & Pressburger earlier in this countdown, but words cannot do this film justice. It's a true pleasure to the point of pain, and if you haven't seen it– goddammit, just see it. Here's a taste for the uninitiated.

Coming up next: Gutter poetry, drug addiction, and James Woods... And no– not all three at the same time!

Previously on the countdown:
#70-66
#75-71
#80-76
#85-81
#90-86
#95-91
#100-96
Runners-up Part 1
Runners-up Part 2

Film Review: THE BURNING (1981, Tony Maylam)

Stars: 3.3 of 5.
Running Time: 91 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Brian Matthews (THE YOUNG AND THE RESTLESS), Leah Ayres (BLOODSPORT, THE PLAYER), Brian Backer (FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH, THE MONEY PIT), Jason Alexander (SEINFELD, JACOB'S LADDER), Fisher Stevens (SHORT CIRCUIT, MY SCIENCE PROJECT), Lou David (THE LAST DRAGON, THE EXTERMINATOR), Larry Joshua (UNFORGIVEN, SEA OF LOVE), Holly Hunter (CRASH '96, RAISING ARIZONA, THE PIANO). Special makeup effects by Tom Savini (DAWN OF THE DEAD, FRIDAY THE 13TH). Music by Rick Wakeman (LISZTOMANIA, CRIMES OF PASSION). Edited by Jack Sholder (director of ALONE IN THE DARK, NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET 2: FREDDY'S REVENGE). Co-written by Harvey and Bob Weinstein (it's the first "Miramax" movie) along with director Tony Maylam (SPLIT SECOND, WHITE ROCK), Brad Grey (who later co-produced JUST SHOOT ME and THE SOPRANOS), and Peter Lawrence (THUNDERCATS, HIGH SCORE).
Tag-line: "Today is not Friday the 13th. But if you see this movie alone... you'll never be the same again!"
Best one-liner: "Man, this guy is so burned, he's cooked! A fucking Big Mac, overdone! You know what I mean?"

While summer weather isn't quite yet upon us, I'm going to use the excuse of high, nearly unbearable levels of humidity to leap headlong into "Summer Slasher Season." Today's specimen, THE BURNING, is by no means an upper-tier slasher (like MY BLOODY VALENTINE or SLEEPAWAY CAMP), but it's still a damned enjoyable film, and one which offers early performances from up-and-coming stars (Jason Alexander, Fisher Stevens, & Holly Hunter), over-the-top gore effects by genre master Tom Savini, and, co-produced and co-written by the burgeoning, wheeling-dealing Weinstein brothers, merits the perhaps dubious honor of being the 4th film ever released by the Miramax Films company.

While the Weinsteins later claimed that their film had been in development longer than FRIDAY THE 13TH (1980), THE BURNING is, at best, a cash-in on that earlier film's success (though by no means whatsoever is FRIDAY THE 13TH a paragon of originality). I mean, look at the tag-line for godssakes. Regardless, Tom Savini signed up to sculpt the gore for THE BURNING instead of FRIDAY THE 13TH PART 2 because he thought that the concept of reviving Jason for sequels was senselessly misguided. (That didn't stop him from returning to collect a paycheck and dispatch Crispin Glover in FRIDAY THE 13TH PART 4, however!)

The plot is about as stock as they come. "It all started with a prank gone wrong!" I suppose you could say that about PROM NIGHT, LEVIATHAN, GHOULIES III, APRIL FOOL'S DAY, etc., etc., but I digress. Anyway, some campers seek revenge on the sadistic groundskeeper, Cropsy.

He accidentally gets set on fire, spills a tub of gasoline that he keeps by his bedside, and dives into the lake in a spectacular display of asbestos-suitery.

We soon learn that Cropsy has survived as the world's most sensitive hospital orderly tells us "Man, this guy is so burned, he's cooked! A fucking Big Mac, overdone! You know what I mean? No way I'd want to be like this freak!" After several years of therapy, Cropsy leaves the burn unit and immediately murders a random hooker, Argento-style. We're talking black gloves, black trench coat, extreme close-ups, and the backwards smash through a plate glass window. The works.


Why he murders this random prostitute remains unclear for the remainder of the film, since the indignities he suffered were at the hands of pranking summer campers, not big city hookers. In fact, the revenge angle isn't even really worked as he seemingly murders campers at random. In retrospect, we are told that pre-burn-victim Cropsy was "really mean."


(We are shown no evidence of this, other than the fact that Cropsy had a few bottles of booze in his shack when he was assailed by pranksters.) In any event, the prostitute murder was probably inserted so that A., Savini could play around in the style of Argento (something William Lustig had him doing quite well in MANIAC), and B., so that there'd be some "early in the game" bloodshed. If we take away the hooker killing and split the film in half, we're faced with the following statistic– part 1 possesses 0 murders and 5 fake-outs, and part 2 possesses 8 murders and 0 fake-outs. Clearly, the hooker-murder is necessary. I apologize, Random Hooker (K.C. Townsend), you were simply collateral damage from that eternal tug-o-war between "slasher film murders" and "slasher film fake-outs." It could have easily turned out the other way, with the killer startled and thwarted by, say, a random alley cat leaping on the windowsill or a young street urchin saying "Heya, mister, did you drop this knife?" Ah, well.

Anyway, we soon find ourselves at a nearby summer camp, soon meeting the motley crew of summer camp regulars.

Like– The Bully!


That's Larry Joshua there as the bully, and he really pulls out the stops for this one. His tormentee is Tony-winner and FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH player Brian Backer.

There's the likable frat boy-type played by Jason Alexander (with hair!), who's entertaining and engaging even within the constraints of a slasher film role.

On the left is Ned Eisenberg, who plays the smooth-talkin' New York guido-type. Then there's Leah Ayres as our female protagonist,

you may remember her as JCVD's hag– I mean, love-interest in one of the finest movies ever made, BLOODSPORT. KUM-ITE, KUM-ITE, KUM-ITE! Er, what was I saying?

Oh yeah– there's young Fisher Stevens, too! (third from left)

He's hasn't quite hit the ("Sayonara, dicknose!") heights he would achieve as he matured, but he's damn great here as a scrappy l'il prankster, fond of shooting people in the ass with pellets and then, as if to pour salt in the wound by displaying a non-pellet-afflicted ass, mooning them.

Holly Hunter's in there, too, but she's mostly in the background. She has a couple of lines, but the DVD was skipping, so you don't get a screenshot.

Rick Wakeman, formerly of Yes, composes a generally atmospheric synth soundtrack which is occasionally bland, occasionally prefigures the "DUNHD-DUNHD...DUNHD-DUNHD" rumblings from Carpenter's THE THING, and occasionally bursts forth with blasts of intricate, quasi-Classical brilliance. As a fan of Wakeman's solo work (I highly recommend the albums NO EARTHLY CONNECTION and THE SIX WIVES OF HENRY THE VIII for the interested), I would have to say that for the most part he's phoning it in here. Still, it has it's moments.

Savini's gore picks up where FRIDAY THE 13TH left off, more often than not dedicating itself to neck trauma. From a practical standpoint, it's extremely impressive, using optical illusions and well-constructed dummy parts to masterfully deceive the eye. Take that, CGI!


The film also features editing from Jack Sholder (his only editing credit) who also directed 80's horror trashterpieces NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET PART 2: FREDDY'S REVENGE and ALONE IN THE DARK.

Anyway, I don't really have much more to say. I can't say that it's a film that inspires or a film that sparks the imagination, but I will say that it's a film that kills about 91 minutes and five cans of Schlitz, and I'm pretty sure that's the purpose it was designed for.

Oh, and here's a picture of Cropsy wielding a flamethrower:


A little over three stars.

-Sean Gill