The lonely, warped world of antique manikin restorer Frank Zito (Elijah Wood).
Frank
Zito (Elijah Wood) runs a shop where he professionally restores antique
manikins with a skilled hand. Unfortunately, Frank is a schizophrenic
whose spells are kept temporarily at bay by oral medication, but when
he's off his meds he stalks the nighttime streets of trendy Los Angeles
for female prey. Traumatized by his wild prostitute mother, who made him
watch her servicing johns when he was a child, Frank developed a
twisted infantile sexuality from observing his mom at work servicing men
with wanton abandon from where he was stashed in a closet, and even on
the street. Frank desires female companionship and nurture, and he
searches for a woman who will provide both and not abandon him, and he
even resorts to a dating website in search of his hoped-for connection.
But Frank's self-perception is literally as genital-free as his
manikins, as evidenced by a glimpse into his mind, and since he cannot
perform sexually in an adult manner, fear and anger take over, and his
razor-sharp hunting knife serves as his none-too-subtle surrogate
penis.
Frank's murderous spree bloodily rages for weeks, with the
slayings all pointing to the same killer due to his habit of removing
his victims' scalps to take home as adornments for the smooth pates of
the manikins he keeps as companions and "girlfriends."
The
victim whose savage slaying most shattered my heart: sweet, bubbly, and
sexually-forward bartender Lucie (Megan M. Duffy), lured to Frank via a
dating site. None of Frank's targets deserved their fate, but her least
of all. A great and truly tragic performance.
Frank
notices Anna (Nora Arnezeder), a French art and fashion photographer
snapping pictures of the manikins on display in his storefront window,
and the pair strike up a friendship, connecting as one artist to
another. Frank falls for Anna and stays on target with his medication in
hope that their friendship will become something more. But the beast
inside Frank cannot be so easily brought to heal, and it's only a matter
of time until the narrative culminates in tragedy for all involved.
Basically
a beat-for-beat remake of the infamous 1980 slasher landmark, albeit
with a few nods toward 21st Century modernity and a location shift from
New York to Los Angeles, the 2012 take on MANIAC is superior to the
original in every conceivable way. Instead of being a simple gut bucket
splatter orgy, the remake replaces the original's squalid look and tone
with sharp cinematography and clever camera compositions that instantly
communicate that this is a French-made arthouse thriller with
Euro-cinema sensibilities. It's graphic, in fact very graphic,
yes, but it somehow lacks the finger-down-the throat queaziness of the
1980 take. This time around, Frank is genuinely sympathetic despite his
horrific crimes, and effect no doubt bolstered by the casting of
cherub-faced Elijah would in the role. He always looks sad, terrified,
and helpless, and unlike Joe Spinell's sweaty, overweight slob
iteration, the audience wants to see Frank somehow stop his spree and
get the help that he so sorely needs, whereas Spinell's version was the
puppet of a script with nothing on its mind other than moving from one
lurid set piece of butchery to the next with no real plot to speak of.
Elijah Wood, on the other hand, was given an intelligent script that's a
character study with accents of some of the most impressively realistic
gore I have yet seen. It's a completely different approach than
practical effects legend Tom Savini's realism-eschewing effects that
favor an E.C. Comics/ carnival spookshow sensibility over sanguinary
verisimilitude.
An horrific tour de force of Théâtre du Grand-Guignol-style gruesomeness.
The
performances are all top notch and marked by their honest vulnerability
and bravery in enacting what's being depicted. Frank's victims resonate
more soundly than the mere slaughter-fodder of 1980, and the love story
builds organically, instead of suddenly being shoehorned in from out of
nowhere with just thirty minutes left to go. We care about what happens
between Frank and Anna, unlike what we got between Joe Spinell and
Caroline Munro. When comparing that element in the two films, I am
convinced that Caroline Munro was cast solely so Joe Spinell could have
her up nubile lusciousness against him as love interest. Her inclusion
amounts to little more than rote and gratuitous padding that derails
what little narrative thrust there is in the original.
Anna (Nora Arnezeder) photographs Frank's work process with genuine admiration, thus laying the seeds of doomed romance.
The
super-depressing atmosphere and overall feel of the 1980 version is
gone, which is fine by me, because that film's unpleasantness
overwhelmed me with its crushing darkness, seeming revelry in its
misogyny. I can take a lot of nastiness, but there's just something so
grubby and "off" about that film that makes me feel bad, and even though
I watch a lot of cinema that contains violence and assorted degradation
of the human experience, I easily parse those works as just
entertainment, luridness and sleaze factor notwithstanding, whereas the
1980 MANIAC struck me as possibly a look into the unfettered and better
left unexpressed inner musings of its creator, a place I was not
comfortable visiting.
Directed
by Franck Khalfoun from a screenplay by Alexandre Aja and Gregory
Levasseur, the remake clearly was helmed by creative minds that
respected its audience and sought to craft a solid psychological shocker
whose mayhem was framed with more in its dark little head than simply
pointing the camera at whatever was set up to explode or bleed during a
given shot. There is artistry on display here that renders the visceral
content palatable despite its hideous excess, and nearly the entire film
is seen from the direct visual perspective of Frank. You'll note that
he is only seen from another's direct viewpoint only a few times over
the course of the narrative, as at all other moments the camera shows us
Frank's world through his POV. If we see Frank's face directly, it's
only via flashbacks, his mind's unstable imaginings, or as reflected in
mirrors or other surfaces.
But
unlike the countless slasher films that allowed us to witness the
horror though the killer's eyes, sensitivity is granted to what we
experience from Frank's gaze, and at no point is there a sense of
getting off via vicarious identification with a murder machine. Frank is
all-too-human and vulnerable with his child's sexuality, and placing us
in his shoes only serves to drive home his tragic helplessness, misery,
loneliness, and implacable inevitable doom. We are there with Frank as
his life spirals down its hellish path, and it's a very effective
grabbing of the audience by the collective collar and shaking us out of
the usual passive complacency of the usual in-the-dark popcorn-munching
enjoyment of simulated slaughter.
So,
I found MANIAC 2012 to be an unexpected gem, a modern classic that
blows its template out of the water in smoldering chunks, and for the
life of me I cannot fathom why it is not more of a steadily discussed
and analyze cause celebre among film buffs in general and horror
aficionados in particular. This one gets my nod as this year's pick of
the litter so far, and I cannot recommend it enough. Provided you are up
for its tragedy and spectacular and visceral charnel house set pieces.
A+
Poster for the theatrical release.
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