An effeminate fashion designer has a compulsion to murder women who are about to be married, possibly because of some deep-seated Freudian mommy issues. Logic does not matter here. This is Mario Bava territory. Bava excelled at making what he himself called bullshit, and there is no two ways around it, Hatchet for the Honeymoon is bullshit. But it is bullshit directed with intelligence and style. Like all giallo, Hatchet for the Honeymoon is more about the audiovisual fantasia of sex and violence, color and music. There is something achingly beautiful about floating along with the lovely and heart-tugging music and the colorful, soft-focus camerawork. I have long maintained that giallo are ultimately about the moments between the killings, the respite from the blood and guts, those moments where a beautiful woman lounges in the soft light of the afternoon sun while melancholic music plays in the background. Giallo is pop art at its finest, pop art that is trying to reach the height of sensory pleasure. There are two scenes where our murderous protagonist dances with young ladies in wedding gowns, while surrounded by mannicans clad in the gowns designed by his mother has the romantic music swells to a crescendo and the camera spins round and round ever faster and faster. In these moments, it seems as if the world is full only of love and romance, but soon the terror strikes, and it all comes falling apart. Or does it? Bava is at the top of his game in this one, his set pieces are wild and baroque, his montage sinister and manipulative, and his camera voyeuristic and roaming. There is murder, there is sex, there is the supernatural, and even absurd comedy. While it does not reach the level that Bava's earlier giallo, Bay of Blood does, Hatchet for the Honeymoon remains one of the maestro's finest outings.
Comments
Post a Comment