Dir. Richard Attenborough
Written by William Goldman
Starring Anthony Hopkins, Ann-Margret, Burgess Meredith, Ed Lauter,
MAGIC is a 1978 psychological horror film directed by Academy Award-winner Richard Attenborough (GANDHI) scripted by Academy Award-winner William Goldman (BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID, THE PRINCESS BRIDE) and starring Academy-Award winner Anthony Hopkins, Academy-Award-nominated Burgess Meredith, Academy-award nominated Ann-Margret, and the Academy-Award-worthy boobs of Ann-Margret. It’s about a evil killer ventriloquist dummy.
Wait a second, what? Those guys have enough Oscars between them to field a professional baseball team, and they made a killer dummy movie? Does that mean that when James Wan made that ridiculous DEAD SILENCE movie that looked like an adaptation of a Goosebumps book he was actually setting himself on a path to make some of the most classy and beloved films of the next few decades? Maybe Wan can finally make that Gandhi sequel where he comes back to seek revenge against everyone who fucked with him. GANESH SENTENCE, perhaps?
Anyway, obviously I had to see this thing. Problem was, when I first heard about this movie it was impossible. It hadn’t been seen since 1978, when it received some lukewarm praise and promptly disappeared mostly without a trace, precluded from appearing on video due to byzantine legal mumbo jumbo which was not resolved until, as near as I can tell, around 2006. I had searched fruitlessly for this movie in my youth, eventually giving up until the box suddenly and unceremoniously appeared on my netflix queue. I was elated -- a cinematic gem which for years was beyond my reach could and, obviously, now would appear at my door. But could it live up to the obvious greatness that was its destiny?
The
answer, amazingly, is yes. This is a pretty fuckin’ great movie. It’s a
artfully made, well-acted, subtlety creepy little mesmerizer, full of
wonderful touches and memorable moments. It has pretty much everything
you’d want out of an evil dummy movie, but also a lot of things you
wouldn’t expect -- things like emotions, drama, pathos. You know, girl
stuff. In fact, rarely have I ever seen such a pulpy concept pulled off
so classily without completely betraying it’s basic genre premise. I was
worried Attenborough was too classy a guy to really find the meat in a
evil dummy slasher movie, but actually I think he’s kinda into it. He
just finds other things interesting too, and manages to balance the
highbrow with the lowbrow pretty successfully. I guess I should have
known he had some pulpy impulses (he starred in serial killer flick 10
RILLINGTON PLACE and ghost story SEANCE ON A WET AFTERNOON) but man, he
freakin directed GANDHI. His brother narrates nature documentaries. I
mean, the guy’s basically the Man With No Name of classiness, drifting
into town with a monocle and top hat and using nothing but his erudite
diction to teach the rowdy outlaws how to properly appreciate high
culture, opera and aged brandy.
Anyway,
the movie begins with skinny, youthful Hopkins as fledgling magician
Corky Withers. Corky lives with his dying mentor, and has just --after
years of preparation-- performed in public for the first time. Only, it
was a crowded, noisy open mic night, no one way paying attention, and he
was too nervous to effectively sell them on how impressive his trick
are. His moves are flawless, but when stuttering, sweating Hopkins tries
the ultra-difficult “rising aces” trick and no one even notices, he
snaps and flips out a little bit. It’s our first hint that although
Corky seems like a nice, shy guy, he may not be all that stable.
Cut
ahead to one year later: Corky has the place packed, and his
cigar-chomping agent (Burgess Meredith) is close to signing him for a
lucrative television deal. So what’s changed? Only one thing: Corky has
added a bawdy dummy named “Fats” to his act, allowing him to stay the
shy straight man while giving his act a much-needed boost in the
charisma department. Of course, it seems like Corky is almost never
without Fats these days, and in fact Fats has the uncomfortable habit of
talking inappropriately even when he probably shouldn’t, for instance
during business meetings. But you know how artists are, with their wacky
eccentricities. Everyone’s fine with it until Corky suddenly panics at
the prospect of a routine medical exam and secretly flees to a remote
town in the Northeast, where he finds boarding at the residence of an
old high school flame (Ann-Margret). She’s married, but it’s to that
asshole Ed Lauter (hey Ed, Brian Posehn called, he wants his beard back)
so she’s sort of intrigued by this odd duck from her past. And. uh, his
new dummy pal.
Well,
we can all see where this is headed. Corky’s cracking up and trying to
keep it under wraps, and Fats is getting increasingly bossy about
pursuing more aggressive solutions to Corky’s problems. Basic dummy
movie stuff, but Hopkins and Attenborough add an unexpected layer of
sadness to all the out-of-control dummy escapades. Without belaboring
the point, they impress upon us that Corky really is a fundamentally
nice guy. He’s just a insecure, sensitive kid who wants to make a living
doing his magic tricks, but unfortunately the stress of trying to live
his life has caused him to crack. Or become possessed. Or something.
One
nice thing about the movie is that it’s very deliberately ambiguous
about where exactly Fats is coming from. Sort of like Calvin and Hobbes,
the movie never seems particularly interested in explaining the nature
of his reality, instead focusing only on the fact that to Corky, he’s very
real, and to everyone else it’s obvious that he’s just a dummy. Fats
talks on his own, but never moves without Corky touching him -- is he
some kind of malicious spirit that acts through Corky, or is Corky just
hearing his own crazy thoughts filtered through the made-up personality
of someone less inhibited? Attenborough’s not telling, but he correctly
identifies the more interesting strand as Corky’s psychological
instability and hence focuses most of his attention on that. Whether or
not there’s anything else going on here, he wisely (and with unusual
discipline for this genre) leaves to your imagination -- though he can’t
resist leaving in one single gloriously suggestive shot where Corky
gets up from the couch and Fats --normally corpse-still when not being
operated-- follows him with his eyes. Woah, is that a game changer, or
just an isolated window into how Corky sees the world?
There’s
plenty of good creepy dummy action, of course (particularly for you sufferers of automatonohobia, as you can plainly see
from this terrifying early trailer,
which if you believe the real-life ventriloquist in the DVD
interview was only ever shown once before it had to be pulled from the
air for freaking people out). Fats is a particularly unnerving dummy,
--even more so once you realize he’s sort of an exaggerated parody of
Hopkins’ own face*-- but the creepiest thing about him isn’t his
appearance or his screechy 30s-gangster voice (also provided by Hopkins,
though as far as I can tell not through ventriloquism) but the control
he exerts over Corky. Interestingly, he doesn’t come across as entirely
villainous. He’s sometimes encouraging and even helpful, but he’s also
an out-of-control id, your friend who always goes too far. Fats is Tupac
from JUICE, but he’s in your head and he can make you do whatever he
wants.**
This changes the whole dynamic of the horror from what could be a malicious/supernatural angle to one of control. There are
murders here, but it’s Corky’s lack of control over his own actions
which is truly terrifying. He’s helpless, reduced to standing around and
getting his better nature shouted down time and time again. Possession
is always a deeply creepy concept, and here we get to see it uniquely
literalized.*** Corky’s a prisoner in his own head, well aware that what
he’s doing is wrong but utterly unable to stop himself. Which brings us
right back to that undercurrent of sadness which runs at least as deep
as the horror. He wants to be sane, he really does, but that boat has
sailed long ago if there ever was a chance to board it to begin with. He
knows he’s nuts, he knows he’s out of control, he knows this can’t end
well, but he’s completely and utterly powerless to stop himself.
Hopkins’s performance as the stuttering, flop-sweating psycho has all
the desperate tension of a trapped animal, pathetic and dangerous at the
same time and all the while never quite grasping the enormity of it’s
predicament. It’s pretty phenomenal, actually. Hopkins and Fats are the
showpiece here, but it should also be said that Ann-Margret, Burgess
Meredith, and even ol’ Ed Lauter add layers of humanity to their
characters, making them more than just potential victims. There’s an
unforgettable scene when Meredith’s character finally figures out just
how far out into the deep end Corky has gotten, which plays out tense
and awkward and might even be funny except for the look of profound,
quiet sadness that suddenly ages Meredith what looks like ten years.
He’s not horrified, not even afraid -- but it kills him to suddenly see
this promising young man’s hopes and dreams vanish in the blink of a
dummy’s eye. Although I guess it doesn’t kill him as much as being
literally killed, which is certainly one upside.
Attenborough
knows when he has a good thing going, so as director he mostly stays
out of the way, not getting especially fancy with the photography and
never letting the pace get too slack. He’s got some good atmospherics in
the New England location, particularly an isolated lake which feels
simultaneously stagnant and menacing. But really, the only other element
of the production which asserts itself is Jerry Goldsmith’s excellent
and imaginative score. It’s a typical moody orchestral score for the
most part, but whenever Fats is getting up to trouble, this maddening,
atonal harmonica lick clambers over top of everything. It’s nothing by
itself, but its occurrence is so random and out-of-sync with the normal
score that it’s deeply disconcerting (and actually nicely musically
illustrates the dominating, abrasive presence of Fats in Corky’s brain).
Man, when was the last time you heard a score that honestly struck you
as innovative? Probably the last time Jerry Goldsmith gave a shit,
sometime back in the mid-70s before Hollywood broke his spirit.
Apparently,
Gene Wilder was originally up for the part of Corky over the
then-unknown Hopkins, which needless to say causes the mind to
practically reel at the potential (producer Joseph Levine said no). As
great as Wilder would obviously have been, though, I think the
combination of these particular elements on this story at this point in
their careers would be pretty much impossible to top. Everyone brings
their A-game, delivering everything you’d expect from this kind of
high-class professional, and then, amazingly, each also brings something
unique and unexpected which somehow end up still meshing together into a
highly cohesive, deceptively elegant package. The end result is
probably too impossible to categorize for most audiences to easily
embrace it -- to genre for the arty crowd and too staid for the horror
nuts -- but if you’re willing to just accept it for its own weird
dichotomous self, there’s enough power in this sad, eerie and strange
tale to take you just about anywhere it wants you to go. Presto chango!
This is one dummy you won’t mind taking control of your mind.
*Supposedly,
Hopkins asked for the dummy to be delivered to his apartment when it
was completed so he could get a feel for it’s weight and mobility. A few
hours later he called the producers and told them that if they didn’t
come get the thing right now he was going to chop it up. He didn’t know
it was going to look like him, and it freaked him out so badly he almost
quit the movie. When you can make Hannibal Lecter panic at the very
sight of you, you’re probably doing pretty good for a horror movie icon.
**And also he’s made of wood and has Anthony Hopkins' hand up his rectum, so in that sense a little different.
***Actually it also has some things in common with that Not of The Living Dead series I did on Romero. It would fit nicely into that sequence, I wonder if Romero ever saw it?
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