Tagline: Eric Binford lives for the movies… Sometimes, he kills for them, too!
Director: Vernon Zimmerman
Writer: Vernon Zimmerman
Starring: Dennis Christopher, Linda Kerridge, Tim Thomerson, Gwynne Gilford, Norman Burton, James Luisi, Eve Brent
18 | 1h 42min | Comedy, Crime, Horror
Hollywood is often referred to as La La Land, and it’s easy to see why. Not only is it the land of impossible dreams, it is a place where dreams inevitably become impossible. For every glamorous superstar there are legions of lost souls chasing an unattainable obsession. The famous Walk of Fame, twinkling with cinema’s great and good, aches with the tragic desperation of misguided ambition. The world may be infatuated with Hollywood’s shining stars, but more intriguing are those who are infatuated with becoming one.
The term La La Land came into use during the late 1970s, around the time that Vernon Zimmerman’s psychological horror Fade to Black was pitched to Halloween executive producer Irwin Yablans. Yablans had already written a similar script two years prior entitled Alex, elements of which were incorporated into Zimmerman’s finished screenplay, resulting in a curious little movie that would foreshadow the furore surrounding ‘video nasties’ and their supposed influence on the modern horror fan. Fade to Black is the story of a reclusive kid who falls headlong into the realms of fantasy following a series of interactions that push him over the proverbial edge. It is a flamboyant ode to film both narratively and stylistically, but one that harbours a deeply troubled centre.
By 1979, the home video revolution was in full swing, and the general public were able to access an abundance of unregulated exploitation films the likes of which had never been seen. Parents were unable to monitor exactly what their impressionable children were consuming. Depictions of graphic rape, the torture and degradation of women, real-life animal cruelty and what at the time were very realistic portrayals of murder, were a far cry from what audiences had been used to previously. These weren’t classic, fantastical monsters committing acts of pure make-believe, they were regular people committing very believable and accessible atrocities.
Fade to Black instead concentrates on villains from a bygone era, the most modern being Norman Bates, the deeply troubled, borderline-whimsical star of Alfred Hitchcock’s proto-slasher Psycho. That particular moment is a loving recreation of the film’s infamous shower scene. Dressed in one of his many guises, protagonist Eric Binford imitates the scene with a fountain pen, earnestly informing his pretend victim that he only wanted an autograph before fleeing into the night. The fact that he broke into her house never occurs to someone so wrapped up in pretence. It is a comical moment in a deliciously self-aware movie, but Eric will soon graduate to much darker recreations.
The film stars Dennis Christopher as a movie nut who lives with his wheelchair-bound aunt, a curmudgeon who blames him for the loss of her legs and her sister. His bedroom is a closed-off shrine to classic cinema, posters of iconic stars smothering his walls as a projector plays movie prints stolen from his job as a shipper for a Los Angeles film exchange. His pasty visage and obsession with movie facts makes him the perfect victim for arrogant co-workers and malcontent bosses, and when a Marylin Monroe lookalike named Marilyn O’Connor (Linda Kerridge) accidentally stands him up for a date, Eric becomes a little too comfortable in the realms of make-believe. It’s incredible to think how many horror movies took their cue from Hitchcock’s most troubled character.
Movie buffs will appreciate the endless genre nods scattered around like props in a Hollywood backlot. Kerridge was a real-life Monroe impersonator cast for her striking resemblance to the actress, which should give you some indication of Zimmermann’s loving attention to detail, and there are all kinds of trivia titbits to sink your proverbial teeth into. Eric’s narrative is permeated with intercuts from classic movies as he slips in and out of different personas, descending into Cary Grant monologues during everyday conversations and dressing like a hood from a James Cagney gangster flick. He even changes his name to Cody Jarrett, a psychotic criminal portrayed by Cagney in White Heat, and when he pushes his aunt down the stairs, imitating a scene from Kiss of Death, events take a dire and irrevocable turn.
There’s a camp, overtly fictional tone to the movie that is offset by moments of graphic violence, the kind that are staged and lit to reflect the Hollywood fantasy of classic cinema, as well as that existing in our protagonist’s mind. After convincing himself that O’Connor is in fact the real Monroe, Eric takes his obsessions to the next level, adorning a Dracula cape as he seeks retribution on a hooker who glibly questioned his manhood. Dracula is just one of several personas that Eric assumes as his list of victims grows and his grasp on reality becomes ever more tenuous. There’s a scene of almost carnival grotesquery where he hunts down a young Mickey Rourke in full cowboy regalia; a co-worker who welshed on a movie trivia bet. A scene that sees Eric stalk his former boss in Mummy bandages is shot just like a golden age horror movie. When he looks at his reflection, Eric sees not himself but the characters he has been weaned on.
Christopher is hugely impressive in only his second film following his turn as an obsessed cycling enthusiast in Peter Yates’ 1979 Oscar-nominated comedy drama Breaking Away, leaping from giggling schoolboy to manic depressive with dazzling aplomb. There is a sub-narrative featuring cult B-movie legend Tim Thomerson’s post-hippy psychiatrist, Dr. Jerry Moriarty, who sees Binford as a victim of society and not the madman the police captain has him pegged for, but those scenes are mostly tacked-on for expostional purposes. Fade to Black loses its way during the final act, ditching the character study for an overblown stand-off on the roof of Mann’s Chinese Theatre on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Such a cavalier finale proves a fitting end for a character who falls so desperately apart. His ravings may be garbed in theatrical opulence, but the real Eric Binfords inhabit dark corners, however lively their disposition.
Cadging a ride with one of Hollywood’s A-list producers, an excitable Binford pitches a movie idea over a stick of marijuana, one so well thought out that the producer tells him to call him, only to play dumb after stealing his idea and announcing it on live television. Finally becoming Cody Jarrett in more than name, Binford tracks the hotshot down in full mobster garb, spraying him with machine gun bullets while sneering like Cagney at his most opulent.
Most Disturbing Moment
Catching up with a cynical streetwalker who openly mocked him during a previous scene, Binford adorns the Dracula cape and causes an accident that sees her staked through the neck with a piece of broken fencing. Buoyed by images of Christopher Lee, Binford even envelops the dead and stoops down to drink her blood in a moment of jarring fanaticism.
During a confrontation with his soon-to-be-ex-boss, Matt Berger, Eric reveals the extremity of his delusional state:
Marty Berger: You shut up! I’ve been hearing all kinds of things about you lately, Binford.
Eric Binford: You mean like my wedding?
Marty Berger: Now that is one I haven’t heard. I can’t picture the creature who’d want to marry you. Tell me, who is this unlucky girl?
Eric Binford: She’s a famous actress.
Marty Berger: And who may this famous actress be?
Eric Binford: Marilyn Monroe.
Marty Berger: That’s it! Hand over the key to the Vespa, Binford.
Eric Binford: [mimicking James Cagney] It’s Cody. Got it? Cody Jarrett and don’t ever forget it!