Phantom of the Paradise (1974)

This story has more twists and turns than a second-rate soap opera.

A great movie, one of the best of this year. There was a bit of confusion at one point in the plot, but nothing serious.

It's funny, it's tense, it features two great performances from two actors and the director expertly creates a web of odd tension where you actually don't know what is happening for the majority of the run time.

There are moments in this movie where the great movie it could've been peek out... They're fleeting, here, but they're worth savoring, and they happen often enough to make it worth your while.

Time has been kind to this glitter rock musical-horror movie from a young Brian De Palma, who both directed and penned the screenplay; audiences in 1974, however, were bewildered by its mixture of decadent camp and Gothic kitsch, and shunned the picture. Plot is a grab-bag of Faust and "Phantom of the Opera" highlights, with music-biz impresario Paul Williams (a latter-day Dorian Gray) stealing the cantata of a sensitive singer-songwriter, but not exactly living to regret it. Williams' super-oily Swan forms an uneasy partnership with the musician, who has been maimed by a vinyl record press (!) and now wears an owl's head helmet over his disfigured face. Williams, who also composed the hit-and-miss score, saunters through the film in gravelly monotone; he never quite cuts loose, which is in direct contrast to De Palma's fruit-loop handling. The mismatch of ingredients can be felt elsewhere, too, particularly in the character of the Phantom (who remains a cloaked enigma). The film, though with flashes of interest, has gloppy, dated color and disappointing musical performances, however its view of world domination via rock music is amusing, as are the various cartoony characters dotting the scenario. ** from ****

This deliriously daft rock musical filters "Faust" through "The Phantom of the Opera" throwing in "The Picture of Dorian Gray" while plagiarizing God-knows how many movies on the way. It's an early De Palma and it contains many of his signature marks. When it came out I thought it fresh enough to choose it as my best film of the year. Now it looks like a period piece but it's a fun movie nevertheless. Paul Williams, Jessica Harper and Gerrit Graham are still very good but the soon never to be heard of William Finley simply can't carry the role of the Phantom. Today it's a cult movie, beloved by those who prefer De Palma's more off-the-wall efforts. Certainly it's no longer 'best film' material but it's still worth seeing.

DePalma at (almost) his best, which is not too good but intermittently entertaining, mostly for the visual aspects.The problem is that everything else is obviously a subordinate concern to the effects and scenes that DePalma (who wrote as well as directed). This holes in the narrative and lack of internal logic are made all the more painful by awkward scenes of exposition that are either unnecessary ("But I'm innocent! Swan framed me and stole my music" is not something that needs to be stated to the audience immediately after showing it) or shoehorned in, putting the brakes on the movie.The lack of internal logic undermines dramatic effect, but that's no surprise, as DePalma's inability in that regard is amply illustrated in his attempts at "serious" movies such as Bonfire of the Vanities and the Untouchables.In his best films (the underrated Greetings and the effectively unpretentious Carrie), DePalma doesn't overreach himself. In most of his movies, however, his "homages" to classic scenes of other movies only serve to underscore that he is not in a league with the filmmakers that he idolizes.Phantom of the Paradise could have been more than an amusing curiosity if the music wasn't so prevalent, interminable, and awful. The music that's supposed to be "good" is the worst sort of sensitive balladeering. The music that's supposed to be trashy rock bastardizations of the "artist's vision" are way more Broadway than rock and not trashy enough: the character Beef deserved better.

A remake of the Phantom of the Opera in a New York setting, in the days of rock and roll and of show business and of records and rock operas. That must have some kind of filiation or descent from the Rocky Horror Show from London, and it does, but not entirely. I just wonder if it is not also inspired by Anne Rice's Lestat de Lioncourt in his rock star episode of the Queen of the Dead. That sure reveals all the shortcomings and drawbacks of show business and the "mythology" that goes along with it. But it has another dimension that has to do with Brian de Palma too. He had to criticize society and its over-exploitation of artists. But that was easy. So he had to criticize the gullibility of performers of any type, particularly women, and of the audience. They believe anything that comes from the honey sweet mouth of a producer. The audience comes to the show only to experience the impossible or the improbable, and they applaud to the death of a person because that's too much, I mean it is real, really real, perfect, etc. They yell and clap when someone gets cut up and sliced on the stage because that smells like blood and blood is good on a stage, any stage, provided it is fresh and hot and they can get splashed with it. The audience also come because in a show like that they can do what they couldn't do on the sidewalk outside the theater and there Brian de Palma remains very suggestive but no more than suggestive. But what makes that film in a way superb is the fact that Brian de Palma uses his camera and his special effects so well that we really don't have to suspend our disbelief when something odd is happening; it is just normal in the odd situation we have been soaked in for a while. There is no innuendo or half measures or maybe some interrogations about the fact the main singer is gay like in the Rocky Horror Show. He is so gay that he edges onto the caricature without really slipping on the other side. And the language within the producing team about it is just homophobic enough to be believable, but not too much though, just what we can hear on a sound stage or in the wings of a theater in such a situation, though certainly no diplomacy about it, absolutely none. Just plain and simple homophobically gross. So it can end in a total slaughter of everyone available on the last night with knives, daggers, electricity, weapons, machine guns, you name it you have it. And it looks so nice, all those dead bodies floating in blood galore. Apart from that decadent artistic perfection, the film is nothing but a remake of two or three films and nothing else. The electric guitars are not noisier that a couple of cimbaloms.Dr Jacques COULARDEAU, University Paris 1 Pantheon Sorbonne, University Paris 8 Saint Denis, University Paris 12 Créteil, CEGID