Opera (1987)

I start this review with something of a confession: it has only dawned on me in the past few years, really, that my liking for Dario Argento’s work is based on a very small number of his films. And it’s awful – as well as terribly unpopular these days, given the vicissitudes of the likes of ‘film Twitter’ and so on – to have to start a piece of writing on a negative note, but I still can’t help but wonder whether a lot of Argento’s cult following stems from blind luck and happy accidents, rather than a cogent approach and intention on his part from the beginning of his career. Yes, he has a strong aesthetic style, often distilled into a number of notorious key scenes per film, but given time and money, he has never really scaled to the heights of Suspiria (1977) in his subsequent work. This brings me, then, to Opera (1987), made a full decade after Suspiria, and a film that, whilst showcasing some of that Argento magic, flounders in a number of ways which ultimately break the spell.

True to the title, we start in rehearsals for an opera performance – with the leading lady, Mara, none too happy with the ways things are being done, much to the exasperation of the crew and musicians. Eventually, annoyed beyond the point of self-control, Mara flees the venue – straight into the path of a car, incurring injuries which take her out of the performance altogether. In true cinematic style, it’s opening night, but any panic is assuaged by the fact that there’s an understudy, all ready to go. Betty (Cristina Marsillach) goes through the rigmarole of saying she doesn’t want to, but before too long she’s getting into her (bloody weird) costume and preparing to take to the stage.

Things are, of course, going on behind the scenes: someone is stalking the stalls, and once you see the ubiquitous black leather gloves on whoever-it-is, you know that the person in question can’t have good things in mind. Betty successfully gets through a storming debut, but it seems that she already has a stalker fan who is methodically dispatching anyone who seems close to her. Their issues seem bound up with sexual attraction/jealousy, and they have a predilection for making Betty watch whatever they’re doing. This gives us this film’s own key infamous visual, as the killer takes to sellotaping pins beneath Betty’s eyes to stop her blinking and missing any of the brutality. Opera is of course, akin to its giallo cousins, essentially a grisly whodunnit where the audience is encouraged throughout to guess at the guilty, replete with (if you know of some of Argento’s other work) a certain sense that it’ll be someone improbable. Is this correct, in this case? Well, it wouldn’t be for me to say…

There were a few of these ‘performances of performances’ horror films during this era; everything from Waxwork to Demons could qualify. However, Opera’s closest comparison piece is almost certainly StageFright, directed by Argento’s associate and countryman Michele Soavi and released earlier the same year. The links are clear: Stagefright also boasts a mysterious killer stalking around an arts venue, seemingly fascinated by elements of the performance itself whilst picking off the performers and crew in a series of ways which happened to give good set pieces. Opera broadens its remit rather more widely than StageFright in the end, moving the action beyond the opera house and following Betty wherever she goes (which turns out to be quite a long way indeed) but I have to say that I think StageFright has the edge on Argento’s offering. For me, it’s more tightly plotted and coherent, lacking some of the frankly oddball decisions which are perhaps intended to lighten the mood in Opera, but dilute the appeal instead. For instance, why the former leading lady Mara appears in the film as nothing more than a shrill voice and a pair of legs is beyond me; it put me in mind of the ‘mammy’ character from Tom and Jerry, which isn’t a comparison I expected to make here. Then, even given my usual delight in viewing an 80s (or indeed any era) time capsule, the costumes are distractingly weird, the script is wincingly stilted and there are even some weak, clownish moments, which rest uncomfortably with the eventual grisly content. Opera simply underlines for me that Argento depends on atmosphere, with a good eye for key shots which underpin this atmosphere: plot/dialogue so often falls flat.

I can’t deny that the use of macro shots and some ingenious framing have some charm in the film, and actually, so much of this falls to actress Cristina Marsillach, who is put through a great deal of these shots and a great deal of other things too. Had she been less engaged in her role, then I doubt very much anyone beyond serious completists would really be talking about Opera today. Hopelessly, plausibly naive, but also putting in a lot of quite physical graft, Marsillach admittedly does a good turn here. She’s had absolutely nothing to do with the horror genre since Opera, mind; this is a shame, and ours not to reason why, but she seems to be known for this role and this role only outside of her home country, perhaps proving that success in the genre is a mixed blessing at best.

Still, regardless of the fact that Opera has a few interesting moments and a good lead actress, I doubt very much whether this could ever be a film to win Argento any new fans. Existing aficionados of his work will, I am sure, appreciate this clean, tidy print from CultFilms, which also boasts directorial involvement with its 2K restoration and a number of extras, including a brand new interview with Argento and a behind-the-scenes film showing the film being made. For the rest of us, we may like the more stylish and innovative moments here, but perhaps not be altogether engaged by this nearly two-hour movie.

Opera (1987) will be released on Blu-ray on the 21st January 2019 by CultFilms. It is now available to pre-order.