review

THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE

The roots of the Italian giallo film can be traced back to three films. The first film, Mario Bava's THE GIRL WHO KNEW TOO MUCH, laid out important narrative conventions: the foreigner who witnesses a crime and finds themselves drawn into the role of amateur detective, trying to figure out the identity of the killer before becoming his - or her - next victim; the bumbling law enforcement who always seem to be three steps behind the killer; the ironic use of well-known locales or haute couture as scenes of violent death. The second, also by Bava, was BLOOD AND BLACK LACE. The conventions born this time are those of style: the now iconic giallo killer outfit; the fetishistic detail given to not only the instruments of violence but of the deaths themselves. And the third film was Dario Argento's debut, THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE.


Argento's main role in creating what we can now call the 'classic giallo' is not in creating a new, distinct style or re-inventing the rules of Bava's work. It was in combining them, mixing the diverse elements of Bava's first two films into one cohesive whole. Melding Bava's sensibilities as an artist with his own, Argento created the true template for the giallo, one that would survive through the next decade and a half.


Tony Musante in The Bird with the Crystal Plumage

Borrowing heavily from Frederic Brown's novel The Screaming Mimi, as well as from Antonioni's brilliant BLOW-UP, THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE tells a surprisingly involved and well-devised tale of a writer, Sam Dalmas, working abroad in Italy who witnesses an attack on a woman by a man dressed completely in black in an art gallery. The killer flees, leaving the woman alive but wounded. After a round of questioning by the police, Sam narrowly avoids an attack by the killer - we learn later that there have been a rash of murders plaguing the city. Once at home and in the arms of his girlfriend, Julia, Sam finds his mind wandering back to the scene of the crime, playing it over and over, the action on screen periodically freezing to still frame as Sam tries to unravel the mystery of what he saw. Like Antonioni's Thomas, Sam is convinced he's seen something strange at that gallery. Something not quite right. But he can't quite figure out what it is he's seen.


The key figure of many gialli, the Amateur Detective, is often an artist or journalist. The journalist is usually the favorite of the giallo screenwriter because it allows them to approach the story from very much the same angle that a true-to-life detective would without complicating matters with police procedure. Sam follows leads, uncovers clues, works his way through suspects in a manner that actually puts the film's police force to shame. Many times during the film the police share crucial evidence with him, bounce ideas off of him, seem to rely on him for direction. Only in the giallo would logical lapses like this seem perfectly normal and, indeed, expected. On the other hand, in terms of cinematic narrative, it makes perfect sense. After all, a police officer would think twice about breaking into a suspects house but the amateur detective, in his obsessive search for the truth, doesn't even hesitate. The amateur detective acts as our cinematic surrogate. Our natural instincts for self-preservation might be strong, but our desire to know, to see with our own eyes, is much, much stronger.


Death in The Bird with the Crystal Plumage

The narrative here never stumbles or slows, though it does give way to rather humorous passages such as Sam's encounters with a stuttering pimp or a crazed, cat-eating artist, but moves along at a quick pace. The acting is all uniformly excellent - Suzy Kendall's limp performance is really the only flaw in this regard - and the film, with it's cinematography from future Academy Award winner, Vittorio Storraro, looks amazing. But it will still come off as a downer for fans of Argento's post-FOUR FLIES ON GREY VELVET work. There's no graphic violence and barely an areola is exposed. No, this is classical suspense cinema, borne from Hitchcock, and done with so much confidence and visual verve that one would be forgiven in thinking that there were no possible way of this being a debut feature.


It is important to note that many other directors were dabbling in the genre and a few, chief among them Sergio Martino, were working to create a giallo style of their own. I would be lying if I said that I prefer Argento's approach over Martino's, whose work is much more sexual and psycho dynamic in nature than Argento's, but it is Argento that comes to mind for many people when they hear the word giallo. Perhaps this is because Argento's films appeal more to the traditional horror fan. With their numerous, graphic murders and pulsing scores, they appear more like slasher films than murder mysteries - SLEEPLESS, released in 2002, features several on screen deaths that would make Savini blush - and are therefore much easier to digest for the average viewer. A repeated viewing of a film like DEEP RED reveals it to be, while matching the typical slasher in on screen violence, a much deeper and satisfying creature.


Argento crosses the line between poliziotto, giallo, and slasher with such ease that it's little wonder he's found such a tremendous following amongst horror fans. But for every transgressive movement in his films, for every beheading, throat-slashing, or strangulation, he achieves a scene or two of pure cinematic ingenuity that endears him to fans of the art house as well. This is truly Argento's greatest talent: to make the ugly appear beautiful and make the ordinary seem fantastic. Two traits that would come front and center in his 1977 masterpiece, SUSPIRIA.


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