Pop in either of the two latest Dario Argento flicks now available on DVD from Anchor Bay (1992’s Trauma and his latest, The Card Player, from 2004), and you’ll be presented with immediate proof of the horror maestro’s genius in the form of a few trailers of past masterpieces such as Suspiria, Deep Red, and Opera. The experience is analogous to sitting down to The Curse of the Jade Scorpion and being met by a clip reel culled from the likes of Annie Hall, Manhattan, and Sleeper, serving only to underline the yawning quality gap between what once was and what is now. Whatever you call it (Sick Boy’s “Unifying Theory,” the Francis Ford Coppola Syndrome), it seems that often in the arts one can point to a sustained period of brilliant output which is expediently followed by a steady decline toward mediocrity, or worse. And just so, Argento has been taken to task for years now (by fans and detractors alike) for seeming frustratingly incapable of fashioning the kind of visual dynamism or psychological dread for which he was once so universally applauded — the “Italian Hitchcock” stuck, inexplicably, on variations of the Italian Topaz.

Consequently, the two titles reviewed here can only really be recommended for Argento completists. Those willing to pick up the gauntlet will be nonetheless treated to a few sparks of genuine interest, a little insight into where it all went wrong, and perhaps even a glimmer of hope for things to come.

Trauma. Dario jumps the shark. Okay, this is a matter for debate by Argento geeks, but in this reviewer’s opinion, this 1992 “big-budget” American experiment is significantly less interesting and less coherently conceived than any of his previous films. As we learn in the commentary provided by author and Argento chronicler Alan Jones, Dario uncharacteristically, yet quite understandably, bends to the suggestions of producers convinced that they know what will and won’t work in America. The signs of serving too many masters are evident: the film feels like giallo lost in translation, with some kind of commentary on anorexia nervosa tacked on to boot.

The film was Asia Argento’s debut under her father’s direction. She plays “Aura,” the wayward anorexic daughter of a spooky Romanian immigrant medium played by Piper Laurie, who constitutes one of the few solid reasons to endure this film along with a brief turn by everyone’s favorite nut-job character actor, Brad Dourif (whose neck-vein-popping delivery of the line “LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!” was worth my free admission). A motorized garret wire, more than a couple of inexplicably speaking decapitated heads, and a truly WTF “reggae ending” round out some of Trauma’s more curious aspects. The style and competency of the camera work is a given here, yet if some substance must necessarily be sacrificed in order to fully appreciate Argento’s mastery, Trauma asks too much: as impressive as it may seem, what aspect of the film was enhanced by the butterfly POV shot?

The Card Player. Dario is back and in Rome again, where a sadistic killer (no shit, really?) insists on playing video poker with the police for the lives of the young beautiful women he’s abducted. Argento eschews the scarlet hue on which he built his reputation, favoring instead the murky grays of rigor mortised flesh and stale bile offered in a few queasy forensic examination scenes. Far from classic gialli, this is straight-up police procedural territory, trading pretty heavily on the likes of The Silence of the Lambs and CSI. Despite commendable turns by its principal actors (Stefania Rocca and Liam Cunningham), sense or even compelling shock can’t be made out of this alternately absurd (the film’s climax is pure unintentional hilarity) and tired material.

The film tries strenuously to offer a statement on new technologies, focusing a little too insistently on the menace suggested by the killer’s blending of webcam voyeurism and video poker (a game which the film misunderstands entirely). Yet to its credit there is admittedly an aesthetic “updating” on display in The Card Player, aided to a large degree by the work of Irreversible cinematographer Benoit Debie and an efficient techno-ish score provided by longtime collaborator and former Goblin member Claudio Simonetti. The audio commentary provided by Alan Jones is informative, relating the less than stellar lineage of the script and the many different endings intended at different times for the film, which accounts for some of its difficulties. Jones also makes reference to the very strong box office numbers that The Card Player put up in Italy. If the film’s Italian success should puzzle American fans disappointed with The Card Player, they should at least take heart that the man’s rep is still in order back home, suggesting that he should still be able to procure funding and — who knows? — maybe someday cough up a Match Point or two.
—BRAD WESTCOTT