The Fan (1981)
Country: US
Technical: col 95m
Director: Ed Bianchi
Cast: Lauren Bacall, James Garner, Maureen Stapleton, Hector Elizondo, Michael Biehn
Synopsis:
As she prepares for a new musical, an actress of stage and screen is pursued remorselessly by a devoted fan, who is not above slicing up her entourage to get her attention.
Review:
Protracted, distasteful psycho-thriller, influenced by Giallo and the late 70s craze for slasher movies. It all starts off quite promisingly with the camera prowling around the fan's typewriter, accompanied by Herrmann-style slicing strings courtesy of Pino Donaggio, but the banal dialogue and mechanical direction quickly take over. The musical numbers are excruciatingly tacky, Bacall sings flat, and the only person to come out with his dignity intact is Elizondo.
Country: US
Technical: col 95m
Director: Ed Bianchi
Cast: Lauren Bacall, James Garner, Maureen Stapleton, Hector Elizondo, Michael Biehn
Synopsis:
As she prepares for a new musical, an actress of stage and screen is pursued remorselessly by a devoted fan, who is not above slicing up her entourage to get her attention.
Review:
Protracted, distasteful psycho-thriller, influenced by Giallo and the late 70s craze for slasher movies. It all starts off quite promisingly with the camera prowling around the fan's typewriter, accompanied by Herrmann-style slicing strings courtesy of Pino Donaggio, but the banal dialogue and mechanical direction quickly take over. The musical numbers are excruciatingly tacky, Bacall sings flat, and the only person to come out with his dignity intact is Elizondo.
Country: US
Technical: col 95m
Director: Ed Bianchi
Cast: Lauren Bacall, James Garner, Maureen Stapleton, Hector Elizondo, Michael Biehn
Synopsis:
As she prepares for a new musical, an actress of stage and screen is pursued remorselessly by a devoted fan, who is not above slicing up her entourage to get her attention.
Review:
Protracted, distasteful psycho-thriller, influenced by Giallo and the late 70s craze for slasher movies. It all starts off quite promisingly with the camera prowling around the fan's typewriter, accompanied by Herrmann-style slicing strings courtesy of Pino Donaggio, but the banal dialogue and mechanical direction quickly take over. The musical numbers are excruciatingly tacky, Bacall sings flat, and the only person to come out with his dignity intact is Elizondo.