A Cat in the Brain

Forget THE BEYOND--CAT IN THE BRAIN is Lucio Fulci's masterpiece. If Dario Argento is the John Ford of Italian splatter cinema, the lyric poet and publicly acknowledged grand-master, then Fulci was surely its Howard Hawks--the caretaker and solid storyteller who knew how to sink a hole in one with the easiest flick of the wrist. Splatter-geeks somehow seem to have dismissed this picture with a contemptuous shrug--maybe it's too highbrow and "conceptual" for their red-meat tastes. In a stroke of daring even Fellini and Michael Powell never tried in their self-reflexive classics, Fulci plays himself--or rather, a particularly tormented and increasingly unhinged version of himself, driven mad by the combination of guilt and bloodlust triggered by making hyperviolent horror movies. "Fulci" wonders whether he is responsible for a string of gruesome murders breaking out around him...and the movie's combination of a fiendish, id-driven love of cinema, and a shuddering revulsion at its consequences, makes this for me the most painful and personal of all movies about moviemaking. The author's conflicting emotions are played out as nakedly as in VERTIGO or BLOW OUT--only this movie has the illicit fun of its grindhouse origins. Horror afficianados may have given this picture the high hat, but I know it has at least one fan...Jean-Luc Godard.