Once again, a film that has suffered as a result of the limitations of genre classification, with many viewers hearing of its subsequent reputation as a horror film of legendary, note only to then feel slighted by the distinct lack of gore, brutality or obvious dramatic tension. Nonetheless, this is a horror film in the best possible sense; or at least, as far as a more mature adult-orientated audience is concerned. Like many great horror films, it works because the thematic set-up has a certain sense of plausibility, establishing a theme of human fragility that reverberates from that opening sequence and eventually ends up colouring everything from the judgement of the central characters, the interference from external forces and the clear lack of any kind of outside influence, as the world of the film and the world of these characters becomes progressively more claustrophobic, or closed in. This notion is perfectly expressed by the continual atmosphere of dread and uncertainty that is suggested by the incredibly drab colour schemes, the dilapidated, almost decrepit locations, and the general overcast, foggy-wet misery of Venice out of season.
Nonetheless, we feel that sense of connection, just as we feel that the fragility of this relationship, and the scene of isolation, or perhaps even alienation - be it from grief, or simply the idea of foreigners in a strange and exotic land - is entirely real and true to these protagonists as actual human beings, even when clearly stylised for purposes of a greater dramatic connection. The use of Venice as the film's primary location works incredibly well, reminding us of the influence of Luchino Visconti's near-infamous Death in Venice (1971) - a similarly morose film about loss and self destruction - and director Aldo Lado's underrated Giallo thriller, Who Saw Her Die? (1972). By setting the film in Italy, director Nicholas Roeg is able to tap into the grand tradition of Italian horror cinema of the mid-to-late 1960's, from Mario Bava to Dario Argento, with the ultimate concern of the film - like Bava's The Girl Who Knew Too Much (1963) or Argento's The Bird With the Crystal Plumage (1970) - being about sight.
With this notion in mind, the film deliberately focuses on characters who, for one reason or another, are unable to see the situation for what it truly is - both in the pre-credit sequence and in the subsequent scenes leading up to that cryptic, heart stopping finale - until it is entirely too late. This is brilliantly contrasted by a secondary character who is unable to see in the literal sense, and yet, is able to perceive the world around her, not only experiencing things that have already happened, but those that are yet to come. The notion of second sight, which is almost the ultimate cliché of films that deal with subjects of a supernatural nature, is here fully explored by Roeg, not simply in the traditional, storytelling sense of character and script, but in his fantastic, elliptical approach to structure and editing, which again, carried over from his previous experiments with the late Donald Cammel on their groundbreaking debut film, Performance (1970).
As with that particular film, which was also centred on the notions of sight and perception, we have an emphasis on moments that at first seem fairly inconsequential, only to later take on a greater thematic importance once the pieces of the film, particularly in light of those final scenes, eventually fall into place. Roeg's film is often noted for three standout sequences: 1) the opening pre-credit tableau, in which a scene of drab domestic existence is literally cross-cut with the death of the couple's youngest child; 2) the sex scene, which is not only exhilarating in the sense of the two characters uniting through the burden of grief, but in the sense of showing a scene of genuine passion that seems tender and true; and finally 3) the shocking revelation of the penultimate scene and the various questions that it raises. As amazing and compelling as these sequences are - and as a testament to the greatness of Roeg's direction and the central performances of Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie - there is much more to the film than these sequences alone.
The film works because the characters are believable; we recognise the situation and how the spectre of loss and grief hangs above these protagonists, creating tension, anxiety and often animosity. As the film progresses, the relationship between John and Laura becomes as central as the growing supernatural elements, illustrating once again that this is a very grown up (horror) film about grown up people. It is rare to see this level of emotional complexity and maturity in film, horror or otherwise, with these two very normal, very unassuming middle-aged characters coming together in one of cinema's most infamous and mostly celebrated expressions of tenderness and passion, as they explore one another's bodies and eventually learn how to continue on in life (as a couple). Again, these are themes that may be missed by a less mature audience (it has little to do with age and a lot to do with attitude) who will be unable or unwilling to engage with the film on this kind of highly personal, sometimes uncomfortable, but always fascinating level.
Nonetheless, we feel that sense of connection, just as we feel that the fragility of this relationship, and the scene of isolation, or perhaps even alienation - be it from grief, or simply the idea of foreigners in a strange and exotic land - is entirely real and true to these protagonists as actual human beings, even when clearly stylised for purposes of a greater dramatic connection. The use of Venice as the film's primary location works incredibly well, reminding us of the influence of Luchino Visconti's near-infamous Death in Venice (1971) - a similarly morose film about loss and self destruction - and director Aldo Lado's underrated Giallo thriller, Who Saw Her Die? (1972). By setting the film in Italy, director Nicholas Roeg is able to tap into the grand tradition of Italian horror cinema of the mid-to-late 1960's, from Mario Bava to Dario Argento, with the ultimate concern of the film - like Bava's The Girl Who Knew Too Much (1963) or Argento's The Bird With the Crystal Plumage (1970) - being about sight.
With this notion in mind, the film deliberately focuses on characters who, for one reason or another, are unable to see the situation for what it truly is - both in the pre-credit sequence and in the subsequent scenes leading up to that cryptic, heart stopping finale - until it is entirely too late. This is brilliantly contrasted by a secondary character who is unable to see in the literal sense, and yet, is able to perceive the world around her, not only experiencing things that have already happened, but those that are yet to come. The notion of second sight, which is almost the ultimate cliché of films that deal with subjects of a supernatural nature, is here fully explored by Roeg, not simply in the traditional, storytelling sense of character and script, but in his fantastic, elliptical approach to structure and editing, which again, carried over from his previous experiments with the late Donald Cammel on their groundbreaking debut film, Performance (1970).
As with that particular film, which was also centred on the notions of sight and perception, we have an emphasis on moments that at first seem fairly inconsequential, only to later take on a greater thematic importance once the pieces of the film, particularly in light of those final scenes, eventually fall into place. Roeg's film is often noted for three standout sequences: 1) the opening pre-credit tableau, in which a scene of drab domestic existence is literally cross-cut with the death of the couple's youngest child; 2) the sex scene, which is not only exhilarating in the sense of the two characters uniting through the burden of grief, but in the sense of showing a scene of genuine passion that seems tender and true; and finally 3) the shocking revelation of the penultimate scene and the various questions that it raises. As amazing and compelling as these sequences are - and as a testament to the greatness of Roeg's direction and the central performances of Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie - there is much more to the film than these sequences alone.
The film works because the characters are believable; we recognise the situation and how the spectre of loss and grief hangs above these protagonists, creating tension, anxiety and often animosity. As the film progresses, the relationship between John and Laura becomes as central as the growing supernatural elements, illustrating once again that this is a very grown up (horror) film about grown up people. It is rare to see this level of emotional complexity and maturity in film, horror or otherwise, with these two very normal, very unassuming middle-aged characters coming together in one of cinema's most infamous and mostly celebrated expressions of tenderness and passion, as they explore one another's bodies and eventually learn how to continue on in life (as a couple). Again, these are themes that may be missed by a less mature audience (it has little to do with age and a lot to do with attitude) who will be unable or unwilling to engage with the film on this kind of highly personal, sometimes uncomfortable, but always fascinating level.