Two Evil Eyes

Conceived as anthology in tribute of Edgar Allan Poe, Two Evil Eyes features two one-hour stories: "The Facts of the Case of Mr. Valdemar" adapted by George Romero and "The Black Cat" adapted by Dario Argento. Reportedly, John Carpenter and Stephen King were originally supposed to have their own segments, but scheduling and budget concerns put the kibosh on that arrangement (What would that movie have been called? Four Lethal Limbs?)

In Romero's tale, a dying millionaire (Bingo O'Malley) is hypnotized by his wife (Adrienne Barbeau) and her doctor lover (Ramy Zada) into signing away his fortune, but he dies before everything falls into place. However, his spirit remains trapped in his corpse. 

The original Poe story is a neat little piece but doesn't offer much beyond a man kept alive beyond death under hypnosis, a scientific experiment that turns terrifying for a quick shock ending. Romero expands the tale with its adultery and embezzlement subplot, and he hits on a few of his favorite themes, namely the corrupting power of materialism and capitalism. 

The final image of a blood-stained dollar bill is shot in closeup, and one notes the similarities between the pyramid artwork on the money and the metronome the doctor used to hypnotize Valdemar. The implication is noteworthy: money is hypnotizing, to the point people are willing to put their conscience to sleep to get rich.

Romero previously approached this type of story in his much superior Creepshow, his tribute to the EC comics of the 1950s which also inspired Tales from the Crypt. "The Facts of the Case of Mr. Valdemar" feels like an extended outtake from Creepshow or Tales from the Crypt. It's a just desserts story in which the wicked and the greedy confront supernatural punishment from beyond the grave for their sins.  Even most of the cast is comprised of Creepshow veterans (Barbeau, O'Malley, E.G. Marshall as a lawyer, and Tom Atkins as a cop). 

Unlike Creepshow, Romero does not use the comic book-style cinematography and set design to give the story color, resorting to a traditional presentation that is drab for this material. Apart from Valdemar's talking corpse in the freezer (done with splendid effect by Tom Savini), very little horror happens until the last 10 minutes or so when Valdemar gets up and starts chasing people. Before that, it's a lot of scheming by rather nasty, unlikeable people. 

One can't shake the feeling of been-there, done-that. At 30 minutes in length, this would have been crisp fun. At nearly an hour, it drags.

In Argento's tale, a crime scene photographer (Harvey Keitel) goes progressively mad after his wife (Madeleine Potter) brings a stray cat into their home. Unlike Romero's rather straightforward and story-centric episode, Argento's film is filled with surreal and stylistic touches.

Argento has fun blurring the line between what's real and what's fantasy. As Usher descends into murder and insanity, Argento keeps us on edge about what really happened and what Usher thinks happened, most notably in a dream sequence with a nasty resolution.

Although it follows the rough narrative outline of Poe's story, "The Black Cat" contains numerous allusions to other Poe works, using Usher's crime scene photography to bring in scenes reminiscent of "The Pit and the Pendulum," "Berenice," and "The Fall of the House of Usher." 

The film is also true to the graphic violence of Poe's tale, both against the cat and its human characters. Animal lovers will be horrified watching Keitel perform all sorts of atrocities against his feline nemesis. In an inspired touched, befitting Argento, Keitel uses his violent tendencies for art, using death to create.

Argento includes a number of standout point-of-view camera angles, including the razor-sharp pendulum slicing through its dead victim and handheld shots of the cat's viewpoints. The graphic violence is beautifully staged and contains striking images, particular one shot of a murder victim submerging in a bathtub as the water becomes dark red. 

Helping immensely is an intense performance by Keitel, who's obsessive derangement is often darkly funny. When his wife accuses him of killing the cat, he screeches, "It's a fucking cat! Meow! Meow!"

For a meeting of macabre minds, Two Evil Eyes emerges as a letdown. Romero's entry feels dispassionate, and Argento's, while more stylish and involving, also feels slight compared to his past work. Any horror anthology worth its blood needs at least three stories and some kind of connecting material - a host, a wraparound, segments between the stories, etc. 

Two Evil Eyes feels like it's missing something.