Berberian Sound Studio: B

Witness Toby Jones assume the role of Gilderoy, a soft-spoken virtuoso of sound who is tormented in this grim psychological thriller in which he is hired to toil on a gory Argento-type Italian horror film, the very essence of which eludes your gaze for the entirety of the runtime. Yet despite never laying eyes on the frightening film-within-the-film, the anxiety and brutality that pervade the accursed sound studio alone are enough to rend the nerves asunder! It is this unique horror that caused me to lose my wits and inadvertently imbibe a double measure of the accursed medications prescribed by the court, which now course through my veins like a poisonous elixir. Alas! 

Gilderoy, a seemingly meek soul well-versed in the art of crafting idyllic nature films, ventures forth, unsuspectingly, under the belief that his talents shall grace yet another of these films: a cinematic equestrian escapade! So Dear Reader, you can quite easily imagine the torment that befalls him as he finds himself working on a most abominable film of Giallo carnage! With ease you envision his disgust as he squirts scalding water upon a skillet, striving to recreate the abominable act of an undead witch vaginally impaling her hapless victim upon a red-hot poker!

And this is only the beginning, Dear Reader. Women’s agonized screams are captured, vegetables mercilessly chopped and stabbed, all in service of the ceaseless demand for the symphony of gore that this movie so requires. And then, Dear Reader, like your humble Keeper hunched over my bloody parchment, he stoops over his console, devoting endless hours to the arduous task of blending these vile sounds with the haunting strains of synthesizers and pipe organ chords reminiscent of a bygone era. Unsurprisingly, his sanity and happiness crumble like the ruins of forgotten civilizations. This unholy parallel triggered another unfortunate lapse and I am afraid I have taken a triple dose of my legally mandated capsules… Verily, my oral cavity, bereft of moisture, doth suffer from an insatiable drought, whilst the echoing whispers that once plagued my tormented soul seem to have manifested themselves anew… And somehow amplified!

In stark contrast to his own mild-mannered gentility, Gilderoy finds himself surrounded by a crew of macho Italian ruffians, undeterred by a ten-hour day of chain-smoking, imbibing spirits, and subjecting the female voice talent to their lecherous advances. By degrees, through a combination of the aforementioned workplace toxicity and the antecedents for his hideous sound work, Gilderoy’s gentle nature succumbs. He soon obsessively devotes his talents to dubbing sound for increasingly wicked and depraved scenes, diverging ever farther from the serenity of his previous cinematic endeavors. Ah, dear reader, behold the dire consequences of this tragic calamity: I was driven to seek solace in the intoxicating embrace of Irish whiskey! Alas, I failed to recall the ingestion of a triple measure of my prescribed medications! Hark! Do you not hear the solemn tolling of church bells, Dear Reader? These bells, once mere figments of my deranged imagination, have now assumed corporeal form to ring the death knell of Gilderoy’s innocence! Be you damned if you doubt me now!

I… tire… but persist in this review… The film, a captivating thriller at its inception, swiftly devolves into a tar-pit of surrealism and nightmare logic reminiscent of the spells of the malevolent sorcerer David Lynch. I shall not unveil its secrets, but I implore you, dear reader, to hold tight to your sanity as you traverse the labyrinthine nightmare that unfolds in the final twenty minutes, a macabre dance of metaphor and terror intertwined.

Have you, perchance, borne witness to the bewildering conclusion of Twin Peaks? Pray, spare me your inquiries, for in comparison to this wretched film, the confounding events of that series assume potent coherence! Oh, the wretched bewilderment that beset me did impel me to partake in the inhaling of forbidden narcotic powders, Dear Reader! I confess! Is it a sin to seek respite from this maddening abyss?! And in this demented state, my tongue not quite my own, spewed forth the most venomous invective upon my innocent feline companion when the poor creature momentarily stepped in front of the television! 

One cannot deny the allure of this accursed film, for it ignites within the viewer a newfound appreciation for the arcane craft of sound engineering and the diabolical creativity that lurks behind the scenes of the silver screen. Oh, the wicked delight derived from immersing oneself in the auditory symphony wrought by Gilderoy! For it is in his torment, not the unholy cauterization of infernal vaginas, but his consuming and palpable revulsion and distress, do we manage to revel in the true horrors of this film. Exhaustion doth overwhelm me now Dear Reader, for this arduous review hath occupied me most feverishly for a span exceeding three days and nights. Perspiration cascades from my trembling brow and… what’s that?… Ah, a beckoning voice, doth resonate from the depths of the cavernous unknown, captivating my senses with an irresistible allure. Some dark compulsion compels me to heed its  call, plunging me deeper into the abyss…