Max: Hey whatcha readin from?
Mike: Just reading some Edgar Allen Poe. Getting myself in the gothic mood for tonight's movie.
Max: Aww you don't say. I was just reading some Poe myself in a sepulchre by the sea. That's where I usually go to read ya know? With this chick named Annabell Lee. Anyway, what's the name of our gothic movie tonight?
Mike: Uh, okay. Anyway, there just so happens to be an Annabel in one of the stories. We're watching Two Evil Eyes.
Max: That's the movie with the hypnotized dead guy, and the black cat, right?
Mike: Hells yeah it is! I even brought in a black cat that I had found rummaging through the dumpster outside our theater. Pretty cool right?
Max: Yeah look at him, he is pretty neat, isn't he? Hey, wait a minute, I don't think he likes me...
Mike: He has a little white spot just below his chin. Here. Take a closer look. I think it's a message just for you.
Max: Oh really? Lemme see that... Actually you know what, that's alright. I don't think I really want to see what the message is....let's just roll the film!
Max: In "Two Evil Eyes", two of the world's foremost horror directors, George Romero and Dario Argento, pay homage to the original American master of horror literature, none other than Edgar Allan Poe. Though many adaptations of Poe's work have made it to the screen before (remember all of those Roger Corman/Vincent Price collaborations from the 1960's?), Romero and Argento's 1990 effort is a little different since they decided to shoot two very modernized stories. In "The Facts in the Case of Mr. Valdemar" (Romero) an old wealthy man is dying while his physician and his trophy wife attempt to hypnotize him out of his fortune. In "The Black Cat" (Argento) a noted crime photographer becomes convinced that there is something evil about his girlfriend's newly acquired feline. Eventually he'll stop at nothing to destroy the creature, whether it's at the expense of his relationship or eventually his sanity. These two segments, which play back to back, are complimented by an opening sequence which takes a look at Poe's grave, as well as his ancestral home in Baltimore. I think that this sort of opening, laced in gothic mystery, sets kind of a nice tone for the two vignettes which are about to follow. Wouldn't you say so Mike?
Mike: I loved the old Corman/Price collaborations, and for what it is worth, they are still some of my favorite Poe adaptations. What Romero and Argento have is the modern-day freedom to take Poe’s work deeper into the sickly darkness where Corman and Price could not go in their time. "Dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before." Those words on the plaque shown in the opening say it all. If Poe is the man who dared to dream these terrifying dreams, then Romero and Argento are the ones to bring life to Poe's nightmarish world. The opening, to some, may seem cheesy (there's a brief voice over talking about the genius of Poe), but I feel serves its purpose in unsettling the audience; I mean, who would have thought that the rest of the film would be so frightening when there's an elementary-film-reel quality to the very beginning?
Max: I agree with your description of the elementary film reel. Even though it is super nerdy and cheesy, I think it sets up a childhood expectation that we're about to be told some scary stories. Take our first one, the Case of Mr. Valdemar, for example: kind of a slow build as we see Jessica (Adrienne Barbeau) going about her day to day gold digging. "Is that an accusation Mr. Pike?" she asks the manager of her husband's estate. He's implying, of course, that she’s stealing from the old decaying codger, but of course, poor old Mr. Pike doesn't know the half of it. That's because back at the estate, beautiful Jessica has Valdemar strapped down like a half corpse in the bed. The doctor overseeing him is Jessica's long lost flame, and they’re determined to hypnotize this millionaire into giving them all his money.
Mike: Romero's film is heavy with the theme of money. "That's all anyone ever cares about in the end...money." The characters are obsessed with it, even the bed ridden Valdemar—through statements given by his doubting accountant—would rather take his money to the grave than give any over to his young "bitch of a wife," Jessica. I think Tom Atkins' character (the detective at the end of the film) has the best line in the movie, "Sick stuff always turns out to be rich people," which sums up the horrors that are revealed once Valdemar dies while stuck in hypnosis. Max, every time we watch this movie I find something new that I enjoy (the theme of money which we have never really talked about before), but I also always find something that annoys me. How is it that a dead man, particularly one who has been stuffed in a freezer, communicates to the outside world without moving his lips?
Mike: So, I get that they thought he had died (the machines in his room flat-lined), and they put him in the freezer to preserve/hide his body (the stipulation to getting the money, established by the accountant, is that Valdemar needed to live the entire three weeks while the paper work went through), but what I don't understand is how he was able to still communicate to them? Whenever Robert (the doctor) put Valdemar under hypnosis, he had to move his lips in order to repeat the suggestions Robert feeds him. At what point in the film is it mentioned that you can still communicate to the living—while being dead—without the use of one’s mouth? I have a problem with this lack of an explanation, though the voice that comes from the dead person is freaking awesome and spooky.
Max: I agree, it's so strange...the only explanation I can think of is that once they put his "dead" body in the freezer, he is able to open up some form of communication through his brain. It's not really very plausible, yet at the same time, those scenes where he's lying in the freezer are some of the most poignant and disturbing to me. His corpse looks so iced over and at the same time so rotted through (thanks to Tom Savini, no doubt). Also, that line of his, which he keeps repeating, "There are others—many, many others looking at me. Watching me." That is really quite a disturbing thing for a hypnotized corpse to say (through the brain or otherwise.) I would be thoroughly creeped out and it's no surprise to me that Jessica eventually reacted the way she did by shooting him in the head.
Mike: I didn't get that part either. So, was he really dead? He asks "Wake me. Please wake me," as if he's really saying that he's in this deep vegetative state, but when Jessica shoots him The Others use his dead body to move about in our world. Couldn't they have used his body beforehand? I agree that the scenes with him in the freezer and the ones where he finally starts walking around as a flesh-melting corpse are the scariest by far. However, there seems to be little in the way of explaining how things work in Romero's world. Chalk it up to being a short film and not enough time allotted for explanation. I have the same problem with Argento's The Black Cat. I just felt that there were things that needed clarification, and might have gotten it if the film was allowed to be longer. What's your take?
Max: Yes, I do feel similarly, at least in the case of Romero's Mr. Valdemar. There are some great atmospheric moments, but ultimately, I don't think he ties up the loose ends. On the other hand, where Argento's "The Black Cat" is concerned, this is a film in which I enter not expecting the plot to make very much sense. This is because, typically, Argento doesn't really do "plot", he tells a story the way he wants to tell it. The funny thing to me about "The Black Cat", however, is that for an Argento film, it actually does happen to follow a rather linear story line. I also think Argento made a lot of attempts to incorporate Poe's world into this piece. This begins with the POV shot of the swinging pendulum through the girl's body at the beginning. Though the story may draw the most from the tale of the black cat itself, the photographer, aptly named Usher (Harvey Keitel) walls up his girlfriend and eventually leads the cops to her in a manner reminiscent of the Tell Tale Heart. Ultimately, the spirit of Poe rings a little truer in this piece to me. Even though I liked the theme of money and greed in Valdemar, I feel like that was more Romero's political objective and not reflective of a true Poe story. All that being said though, both of these could stand to be longer.
Mike: I disagree that Argento isn't about "plot," because of films like Deep Red and Suspiria where there is a plot, albeit a bit loose in some parts, but a strong linear line that carries you from point A to point Z with lots of interesting back roads along the way. I love the opening sequence to The Black Cat. Harvey Keitel is, well, the most underappreciated actor of his time. He gets type-cast as this surly, stone-edged, take-no-shit--from-anyone kind of guy, but he does it so damn well. I know I'll get some flak for this, but in terms of getting better with age, I would prefer watching Harvey Keitel over Al Pacino any day. Usher (Keitel) is a great character, and the perfect opposite of Annabel (Madeleine Potter) who comes off as a flaky, came-from-a-commune, hippie. I really feel that the Pit and Pendulum reference, and the other Poe tidbits that Argento drops throughout his segment of the film, creates the perfect dark, gothic atmosphere that is the essence of Poe.
Max: I agree with your point about the interaction between Keitel as Usher and Madeline Potter as Annabel. Like many characters in Keitel's repertoire (think Bad Lieutenant, here) Usher is basically cracking up mentally throughout the film. If he was any more cracked, you could call him a crack head!
Mike: Booooooo!
Max: Take that kitchen scene for example. "ITS A FUCKING CAT! MEOW! MEOW!" I think that's probably the greatest line in the whole film for me. Annabel on the other hand does seem a little "from a commune", as you mentioned, but I think that hippie quality you speak of is actually masking something darker. When Usher looks at her he begins to see a witch. That's evident as he watches her doing her Buddhist chant in front of the mirror. Once the cat and her find one another, he begins to see her as someone other than his girlfriend. She's more like a weird woman who's out to get him. This comes into play in the dream sequence that he has as well. Annabel has mentioned how in pagan times, witches kept familiars, and in this medieval nightmare, Usher imposes her and the cat over this historical backdrop and begins to view it as reality.
Mike: Annabel is such an insensitive character. I'm sure our animal lovers out there are going to string me up, and drop me onto a sharp pike that runs right through me and out my mouth, but I didn't understand why Annabel was so uncaring to Usher when the cat (a stray that she brought in off the streets) was being overly aggressive towards Usher right from the beginning. Am I missing something here? The cat was more important to her than her relationship with Usher? Clearly by her actions alone suggests that things were probably a bit rocky between them (Usher is a bit of a boozer), but I give credit to Usher for at least trying to accept the cat in the house. It's not his fault that the damn cat was, from the start, hell-bent on driving him insane. I just couldn't sympathize with Annabel, and, like Usher, felt no remorse for what happens to her and that Goddamn cat.
Max: Hah. I agree.
Mike: Are we wrong to think that? I think that's the one flaw I see in this film.
Max: Well...I don't think we were wrong to think it, necessarily, but I also don't see it as a flaw in the film. I think in The Black Cat, Argento wants you inside of Usher's mind and seeing things according to his point of view. If you think about it, a lot of the stuff we see throughout the film, including the swinging pendulum at the beginning, are from his point of view. In this same light, we see Annabel that way that he does, as cold and calculating as the stray cat. There are moments we see outside of his point of view, such as when Anabel phones her friend in New York, explaining how her boyfriend has gone mad, but for the most part, we identify with his point of view, even if logically, we know that he's not in his right mind.
Max: I suppose in essence, I see this as a success on the part of Argento. He ultimately forces you to empathize with his killer.
Mike: I guess you're right. Sometimes I want to be able to feel some sort of sympathy to the one who gets killed, because I feel like that should be the moral emotion that goes with seeing someone slain, but, like most horror films, that isn't always the case and not often necessary.
Mike: My real qualm with this film is the pacing: at times (the scene where Usher is trying to cover his tracks to make it look like Annabel left him while they were on vacation), seemed to lull. If I recall correctly, you suggested that we should fast forward through the vacation scene, because you thought it dragged. I think that this might be one of Argento's flaws in his films (much like Romero's is his blunt social messages), because even in his best work there are scenes that slow the pacing down and don't really add flavor to the movie. I don't mind slowing a scene down if it gives something to the film by adding intensity, but when it feels like you're sleepwalking through a scene I think that takes away from the full effect the film would have otherwise created.
Max: Yeah I will admit, as much as I'm a fan of this half of the film and favor it to Romero's contribution, I do think that Argento hit some rough spots in his pacing. The whole cover up/vacation bit is just lame and doesn't do much to move the story forward. On the other hand, there are other scenes that might seem kind of pointless, which I think work. Like when Usher dumps the cat in the garbage and is confronted by the priest, or when he's in the graveyard and Tom Savini (the corpse dentist) is being arrested by the cops. Some of the filler scenes in this movie have severe pacing issues, and some are downright entertaining (even if they are kind of pointless).
Mike: The ending of the movie, to an extent, seemed a bit silly: Usher has killed the two cops who have discovered the corpse of Annabel, and the fucked-up looking kittens feasting off of her rotting flesh, behind the drywall (a great scene through and through), but what I didn't care for were the neighbors (suddenly interested in Usher and the missing Annabel), and the snot-nosed brat (her student) who just appear for no other reason than to confront Usher. As if they really had any reason to, except for that student who, without any just cause (he knows her better than her own boyfriend?) thinks Usher did something to her. What the hell is that all about? I get that it forces Usher to react rushed and flustered, thus causing him to attempt to climb out the window and accidentally hang himself (fulfilling the prophecy of the white mark on the black cat), but I just couldn't get behind it. I feel like Usher should have killed the one cop, and then died trying to escape the other.
Max: The fact that the whole entire neighborhood is knocking on Usher's door at the end is, yes, a tad far fetched, that point I'll concede. I love the prophecy on the black cat and how Usher ends up hanging himself, although having viewed this several times over the years, I do think you are correct that it could have been handled a little more neatly. What's interesting to me about that last bit, is that the discovery of Annabel inside of the wall, along with those mutant cats (and kittens) really just steals the whole entire show. I mean the movie could have ended right there, because that's the part that always sticks into my memory. The whole Tell-Tale Heart conflict Usher is having with the cops, hearing the cat clawing inside of the walls, and then finally the big reveal....that's some straight up macabre stuff right there. It almost makes me wonder what Edgar Allan Poe would think if he were around to see all these adaptations of his work. I feel like maybe he would have enjoyed that ending bit...but I guess we'll never know.
Mike: It's the best scene out of both short films, and, like you said, is the one that always sticks out in my mind when I think of Two Evil Eyes.
Max: Well, this concludes another installment of Screams from the Balcony. The curtain is down, the houselights are up, and now it's time for us both to weigh in with our gruesome bloody nubs.
Max: From my end of the balcony, I give two bloody nubs to this movie. One for each of the Evil Eyes. I was thinking about maybe throwing one nub down (on account of pacing issues in both films)...but I still love this one so much that I don't think I'll be able to do that. One of these nights I'm going to nub something down...but until then, quote the raven, "nevermore."
Mike: It seems to me, in discussions we've had outside of this blog, that we come in to this movie thinking we won't like certain parts, but upon the newest viewing we find things that we enjoy that we didn't notice before. We also find flaws or missteps that we did not quite catch in earlier viewings. Yet, you and I, in the end, can't preach how much we enjoy this movie enough. Our review, because we want to be as honest and true to our readers, has our shared concerns about this film, but whenever I talk to someone about Two Evil Eyes I continue, without hesitation, to recommend it. So, I am going to give Two Evil Eyes, despite any criticism I have mentioned in the review, two bloody nubs up.
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