The Strange Colour of Your Body's Tears

Damn, it's been a long time.  Hasn't it?

I haven't forgotten you.  I just didn't know where to begin again.

I went to New Orleans in March with some of my best friends to represent Fatal Games at Filmapalooza.  It was amazing.  Met some great people, went to some awesome places.  Felt inspired to write.  Lost $80 at the casino.  Became a rum and coke drinker.

I may have made some headway turning Coming Distractions into a reality.  I don't know what I am at liberty to say.  But I did finish a 45-page draft of the wraparound story, because I know a 90 minute feature of absolutely nothing but trailers would make even the strongest film fan wanna kill somebody.

Also recently finished another draft of Orchid and sent it out to Shriekfest and the Stage 32 Search for New Blood Screenwriting Contest.  Not a complete re-write, but I added a couple elements and fixed grammatical stuff that I totally missed the first fifty times around.  Glad to have a professor who's willing to re-read and give feedback two years after graduating.

Contemplating my next project.  But first I have to finish this romantic comedy.  I've been letting it torture me too long.  Debating between another giallo or finally sitting down to write my book about the genre.  My professor says whenever I'm ready he'll be glad to meet.  And I've been looking at old papers I wrote for class.  With a little finesse, these could become chapters.

Okay.  Enough about me.  Let's get back to the reason I built this blog: Gialli.

I've caught a few of the neo-gialli coming out.  Tulpa, Bloodbath in the House of Knives, and the most recent, The Strange Colour of Your Body's Tears, two nights ago.

Where to begin with Strange Colour?

I wasn't the biggest fan of Amer.  It was absolutely beautiful to look at, but it felt like three practically wordless short films strung together with the poor explanation of "these are three events in the same girl's life."  I can get down with art movies, and films that don't follow the traditional story structure.  But there still needs to be something more there.

As for Forzani and Cattet's O is for Orgasm short in the ABC's of Death, by the time I reached O in that film, I was spent.  Maybe if I saw it on its own, I'd dig it.  I'm not getting it from Netflix again, though, to find out.

When I popped Strange Colour into my player, I boogied to the music on the menu.  Always a good start.  I set my Philips Hue lights to one of my custom settings (I freaking love Philips Hue.  My room looks like Suspiria every night) and pressed Play.

The film starts promisingly enough.  Arrival from airport ala Suspiria, check.  Coming home to find wife missing, check.  Beautiful cinematography, check.  The film is certainly a treat for the senses.  But soon the plot takes a left turn, and becomes more and more circular.  Sequences are repeated.  First it's effective.  Then it becomes off putting.  Then by the fifth time you see the lead getting out of bed to answer the door in the same fashion, you start to laugh.  People die, or do they?  Dream?  Nightmare?  Drugs?  Padding out running time?  I eventually tried to turn my brain off and enjoy the pretty colors, but then things felt empty.  By the last five minutes, I just wanted it to end.

I eventually came up with an analogy for the film.

Strange Colour feels like this: You're in a dark room, naked.  Barely out of reach is the most stunning woman you've ever seen in your life.  She's naked, too.  Touching herself.  Pleasuring herself.  Everything looks right.  Everything sounds right.  Sometimes her breath grazes your ear.  You just want to feel something, but she won't let you.  She's just getting off in front of you and doesn't care about your pleasure whatsoever.

Stretch that experience to 97 minutes.  You have Strange Colour of Your Body's Tears.

Later.
-Justin