So... this was like getting a gift basket of 20 totally random supermarket products. And being forced to take one bite of each. Including last-resort foods, like soap and dental floss.
And hey, who doesn't like soap... but I do hate when the waiter yanks a barely- touched Dial away from me before I'm ready for dessert. Every time I was on the verge of liking this movie as something - analog sound nerd porn, fond exposé of bad business practices, a character study in a horrid work environment - it would switch up and go on some tonal shift or experimental freakout.
Until it goes off the rails and starts doing "Persona"-like montages, Berberian Sound Studio is the story of a frowny little British sound engineer who goes to work for an Italian sound studio. The studio is a dark, cruffy box peopled by cash-promising Mediterranean slickos and their shrieking women. And the women shriek a lot. They shriek light–years of decibels. This is because the studio is recording the soundtrack to a 70's horror flick.
You never see any visuals from it, only the actor voice-overs and the sound effects that sound engineers wring out of everyday objects, such as cabbages and watermelons. The vast majority of their effects try to mimic some kind of torture or stabbing, visited upon a shrieking woman.
The British sound engineer - wound tighter than a chicken mummy - starts to lose it when he's forced to participate in the creation of these effects. His mind blurs and goes all Perfect Blue.
There are fantastic performances here - the characters really come alive, but then unfortunately go nowhere. I promise you I can watch slow movies, but there's just no momentum to this film at all. The sound board pans got so tedious. There are more pans in Berberian Sound Studio than in the Klondike River during gold rush times. Pans of slaughtered vegetables. Pans of Mum's letters from jolly Somethingshire. Pans of tape decks and audiovisual nightmare boxes.
The last one is actually a plus: I've never seen such a detailed portrayal of old-school sound recording tech, I even became educated for several minutes. Slow learners will have plenty of time to catch up, because the camera pans slowly.
I guess you just need to be in the right frame of mind. I suspect that this movie plays better the second time, when you can condition yourself to float along, admire the aesthetics and give a couple of pries at the symbolism. But not if you end up finding the shrieks even more grating, or the longueurs even more deadening.
And hey, who doesn't like soap... but I do hate when the waiter yanks a barely- touched Dial away from me before I'm ready for dessert. Every time I was on the verge of liking this movie as something - analog sound nerd porn, fond exposé of bad business practices, a character study in a horrid work environment - it would switch up and go on some tonal shift or experimental freakout.
Until it goes off the rails and starts doing "Persona"-like montages, Berberian Sound Studio is the story of a frowny little British sound engineer who goes to work for an Italian sound studio. The studio is a dark, cruffy box peopled by cash-promising Mediterranean slickos and their shrieking women. And the women shriek a lot. They shriek light–years of decibels. This is because the studio is recording the soundtrack to a 70's horror flick.
You never see any visuals from it, only the actor voice-overs and the sound effects that sound engineers wring out of everyday objects, such as cabbages and watermelons. The vast majority of their effects try to mimic some kind of torture or stabbing, visited upon a shrieking woman.
The British sound engineer - wound tighter than a chicken mummy - starts to lose it when he's forced to participate in the creation of these effects. His mind blurs and goes all Perfect Blue.
There are fantastic performances here - the characters really come alive, but then unfortunately go nowhere. I promise you I can watch slow movies, but there's just no momentum to this film at all. The sound board pans got so tedious. There are more pans in Berberian Sound Studio than in the Klondike River during gold rush times. Pans of slaughtered vegetables. Pans of Mum's letters from jolly Somethingshire. Pans of tape decks and audiovisual nightmare boxes.
The last one is actually a plus: I've never seen such a detailed portrayal of old-school sound recording tech, I even became educated for several minutes. Slow learners will have plenty of time to catch up, because the camera pans slowly.
I guess you just need to be in the right frame of mind. I suspect that this movie plays better the second time, when you can condition yourself to float along, admire the aesthetics and give a couple of pries at the symbolism. But not if you end up finding the shrieks even more grating, or the longueurs even more deadening.