Maniac Review

14th Mar 2013

Maniac, Franck Khalfoun’s remake of William Lustig’s 1980 slasher of the same name, follows Frank, mannequin restorer and serial killer, as he stalks the streets of LA acting on his terrible compulsions. You may be thinking, yawn, another horror re-make to add to the pile…but make sure you leave room at the top, because this new Maniac is pretty damn good.

Not the most likely pick for a crazed murderer (even given his creepy turn as Kevin in Sin City), Elijah Wood is the twisted Frank, whose obsession with women (and their hair) leads him to stalk, mutilate and murder girls in his spare time. Though his baby-face may seem incongruous for such a vicious character, we actually see very little of it, due to Maniac’s rather startling innovation: the film is almost entirely shot from Frank’s point of view, with only flashes of his face caught in reflections. It did slightly worry me that the gimmick wouldn’t work, that it would be a deliberate attempt to be different rather than conferring any genuine benefit on the film. In fact, it was very effective. Khalfoun places the audience in the killer’s position: we become the murderer, forced to watch the disturbing act as if they were our own. The claustrophobic, penned-in feeling, listening to Frank’s heavy-breathing, is oppressive and quite terrifying.

Wood is, for the most part, excellent; his wide-eyed prettiness making the character far creepier than Joe Spinell’s sweaty Frank in the original. He is severely damaged, suffering from mummy issues as wide as Norman Bates’ Motel. These, we are given to understand in no uncertain terms, are the reason behind his deviancy. As a knee-jerk reaction, the charge of misogyny could, and probably will, be levelled at the film. But Frank’s apparently profound hatred of women is in no way glorified. His murderous pursuit of sexually aware women is surely his subconscious inferiority coming to the fore. His acts are not titivating, nor are they trivialised. They are presented in all their shocking, horrific reality. These are not deaths to laugh at, they are utterly despicable.

Into Frank’s world of bloody mayhem steps Anna (Nora Arnezeder), whose sunny naïveté seems to soften some of his fractured worldview. It is a testament to the filmmakers that we actually begin to feel some compassion for Frank despite the horrors we have seen him perpetrate. Frank sees Anna as his salvation, and up to a point so do we, as he begins to see himself as real, as human, for the first time. But Anna cannot hold back the black tide of his rage, and Frank slips back into his gruesome cycle of stalk/kill/repeat. It is strange, but Frank and Anna share a kind of innocence. Frank is basically a child, stunted by the mistreatment he faced as a young boy, unable to cope with real life or real emotions and then acting out his wrath and dissatisfaction on his victims. Anna is depicted as almost angelic, all golden sunlight, blonde glow and easy smiles. There is a tenderness that Anna brings out in Frank, however fragile, that lends the character enough depth to be sympathetic.

The effects are spectacular. I can count the number of times on one hand that I have seen blood this real on screen – all done using no digital FX. The mutilation scenes are gory perfection, guaranteed to have you squirming. In fact, four people left the screening I was in (it may have been for some innocuous reason, but I am pretty sure it was the brutality of the film). We are given little or no time to prepare for the carnage, with an opening sequence of shocking violence that sets the tone for the duration: there was an air of stunned silence after barely a minute or two in. One of the final scenes, which could easily have featured in a Walking Dead episode, is just excellent. It manages to stay on the horrific side of Raimi style gore – totally believable and terrifying rather than popping eyeballs funny-gore. It also manages to fall short of torture-porn, a trend that got old very quickly, thanks to the lack of lingering shots of screaming, naked flesh. These kill-scenes are fast and nasty.

The soundtrack from French composer Rob – all synthy throbbing – builds the tension nicely with its doom laden pulse. Obviously paying homage to some of Argento’s favoured scores; for those not genre-familiar, it may have echoes of Drive with its eighties electronic riffs. It matches the landscape of the film well – part grime, part beautiful. The streets of LA are a fascinating mix of graffiti-smeared filthy alleys, lit by flickering neon, and glossy galleries, velvet ropes and sun-lit parks. It’s a visually impressive film, not just technically but aesthetically. The use of shadow, reflection and texture adds an interesting dimension and elevates it above the schlock-horror norm.

Maniac is brutal, bloody and nasty; fascinating and sickening in equal measure. A true horror film that may leave a bitter taste in some mouths, but one that truly deserves screen-time nonetheless.

Can I have four and half stars?

(EDITOR: No!)