Angoisse à Dublin

I just finished watching this movie this weekend for the second time, having seen it on TV about six years ago. And it was just as good as I remembered it to be. The plot twists are very very clever, enough to keep you guessing to the end. My g/f commented that it was a bit slow to get started, but once we got into it, she was guessing who the culprit was all the way through.

One other thing - the scenery shown of Ireland is absolutely gorgeous.

Director Robin Hardy's reputation rests almost exclusively on his 1973 cult classic, The Wicker Man. On the evidence of this, there it should stay. Wicker fans whose curiosity has been pricked should step quickly over The Fantasist as if it were a polystyrene pebble, for it holds no weight and will do them no good.

Overgrown Catholic schoolgirl Patricia Teeling (Harris) takes on a teaching post in Dublin, against the misgivings of her suburban relatives. "We don't want you picking up their city ways up there!" Her vocation coincides with a series of murders, perpetrated on young women by a nuisance caller with an especially mellifluous delivery, and who possibly supplements his income penning homilies for Hallmark greeting cards. "I'm the light in your jade green eyes where the sun bursts through and turns our stone grey city into gold. I am the melting feeling in your tummy when you hear music so sublimely beautiful you want to cry." If his poetry (which makes the average Vogon's efforts seem like TS Eliot) doesn't polish them off, the old knife-between-the-shoulder-blades trick certainly will.

"The man of my dreams is an imaginative rock," Patricia tells her flatmate, and soon attracts three unsuitable suitors, one of whom might be the killer. Could it be beardy weirdy English master Robert Foxley (Kavanagh)? He gargles wine loudly in restaurants. Plus, he's got a silly beard. In fact, he looks just like one of those upside-down faces in optical illusion books. And his romantic small talk consists of stuff like "I knew you'd make a good mother, Patricia." That's not good.

Love interest number two is her downstairs neighbour, the nervy American writer Danny Sullivan (Bottoms). He's married, so he's not a great catch. He also does a neat line in dirty phone calls in funny voices (to his wife, he claims). Then again, his wife is shortly bound for the chop. However, this doesn't stop our Pat hiding coins down her knickers so he can divine them with his rod (no euphemism intended). "I guess I just trust him," this latter-day Little Red Riding Hood tells suitor number three, Christopher Cazenove's Inspector McMyler, who keeps blown-up photos of the victims in his cottage, and wants to photograph Pat in the nude. Casual viewers will have figured out by now that Patty isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer.

This is a very silly film indeed; featuring grating overacting and a grating 1980s soundtrack, all tourist board Gaelic flutes and stabbing synths. Level 42 even make a cameo appearance performing the cheesiest white-funk since... well, Level 42 really are in a class of their own.

Lacking a playwright of Anthony Shaffer's stature, the dialogue's in dire need of an editor (sample line: "Death tries its best to rival procrastination as a thief of time"). The cinematography's functional at best, while scenes cutting between the slaughter of a victim and the carving of a roast merely underscore the clunkiness.

Most depressingly (in Hardy's hands) the film also panders to Vatican-friendly genre cliché, with Patricia's potential fate prompted through her burgeoning sexual liberation. Contrast this with the subversive Wicker Man, in which sex is portrayed as a guilt-free, joyous affair through which the protagonist could have saved himself, if only he'd actually had it.

Here, the one fleetingly erotic scene is deftly undermined by the killer merrily using Patricia's bare buttocks as a pair of bongos. What a symphony he could have produced with Willow MacGregor, the landlord's daughter in The Wicker Man!

This film is supposed to be a thriller, but for more than an hour it's EXCRUCIATINGLY boring, despite the beautiful locations. Things become slightly more interesting in the final 10 minutes, which have a peculiar kinkiness. But the ending on the ship is typical slasher stuff.

It was made 13 years later (1986) and was marketed on video in the U. S. as a slasher film which it absolutely is not. I'm not even sure if THE FANTASIST was released in the U. S. theatrically and it is just now making its DVD debut there. Yes, there is a serial killer and a couple of women die but, that's not what the film is really about. The movie is set in Dublin and it deals with one woman's attitudes toward men and sex in then contemporary Ireland.

The central character of Patricia (Moira Harris) is a country girl who goes to Dublin to make her way and to escape her parochial family who have other plans for her. Although she is savvy enough to be wary of most men, she is still on the lookout for Mr Right. While there she becomes interested in an American writer (Timothy Bottoms) and then becomes the target of the "phone killer" who has murdered Bottom's wife along with several other women. Could it possibly be Bottoms and if it isn't then who is it?

Writer-director Hardy takes this scenario and invests it with observations on the nature of relationships from a woman's point of view. He also explores the darker side of sexuality as the titular character is obsessed with recreating a famous nude painting by Francois Boucher of Louis XIV's mistress (who happened to be Irish). This gives the film the elements of an Italian "giallo" but if you've come looking for a typical slice and dice offering than forget it.

As was evident from THE WICKER MAN, Robin Hardy has more on his mind than just a simple crime story. There are a number of eccentric, occasionally humorous touches including a truly bizarre spanking scene. It also has a hurried, unsatisfying ending. Still THE FANTASIST has something to say and should be seen for its social observations if nothing else. It's a hard film to categorize and, as such, will have a very limited appeal...For more reviews visit The Capsule Critic.

I stumbled across this relatively obscure film on a satellite channel the other day, and was eagerly anticipating an enjoyable experience, having been a big fan of director Robin Hardy's previous film (the Wicker Man).

95 minutes later, I was disappointed, although the film does have some redeeming features.

I consider The Wicker Man to be a classic of its type, and certain aspects of that film are carried over into this one - the haunting music, the atmospheric locations, and especially the suppressed eroticism. Also the final twist at the end. But having said that, this film does come across as a pale imitation of its predecessor.

Due to the appalling treatment that was meted out to The Wicker Man by the film industry powers, Robin Hardy retired from the business for over 10 years, and boy does it show here. Some of the editing is appallingly choppy, the characters' dialog is at times incredibly trite, and some of the scenes just don't gel. Examples of the latter are the initial murder, where the victim appears to offer no resistance to the knife wielding assailant, and the relationship between Moira Harris and Timothy Bottoms, which in one scene has her berating him for making pervy phone calls to his wife. then in next scene she discovers his wife's murdered body, and in the very next scene has her defending him aginst police suspicion? Duh???

Another scene that is particularly laughable is the night club scene where Harris and Bottoms meet. The moment when Timothy Bottoms raises his fists to the Mr. Halitosis character almost had me laughing out loud.

Moreover, there is virtually no mystery as to who the main pervy phone caller is, as the voice is easily identifiable as one of the main characters in the film.

However, it's not all bad news. As in The Wicker Man, there is an air of Catholic sexual repression which pervades the whole story, and is handled on the whole very well. I'm not Irish or Catholic, but I found it believable and not just because it gave the film an excuse to show a few bare breasts.

It's just a shame there couldn't have been a bit more suspense to go with it.