As if we didn't know this one was about a writer, it opens with the book Tenebrae itself, which is then thrust into the fire. So, someone is a little disgusted by the book this movie revolves around.
That over-simplistic plotting aside, what we have here in this movie is perhaps one of Argento's best Giallo thrillers with perhaps the best absurdist kills. It's almost Giallo biting its bloody tongue in its cheek.
Like any good Italian "yellow," people die (mainly women) and someone murders and a few folks get wrapped up in trying to solve the mystery before the (usually inept) police can. A special treat in Tenebrae is the role John Saxon plays as Peter Neal's agent, one in which he displays a not often seen talent for comic timing, particularly in regards to his new hat. Seriously, this role alone makes me miss him all over again.
Beginning with the opening scene of Neal's novel being thrown into a fire and burned to ashes, it's pretty clear this movie has a lot to do with readers' perception of the author's work. This point is driven home early in the film when, Tilde, a reporter interviews Neal and puts the pressure on with perhaps the biggest accusation the 70s had to offer.
Tilde: Tenebrae is a sexist novel. Why do you despise women so much?
Neal: Sexist. No, I don't think it's sexist.
Tilde: Women as victims, ciphers, the male heroes with their hairy, macho bullshit. How can you say it isn't?
Neal: Tilde, what's the matter with you. You've known me for ten years, every since you studied in New York. You know very well that I --
Tilde: Look, I'm talking about your work.
Neal: Well, I don't know. Would you like me to tell you that I supported the Equal Rights Ammendment?
Tilde: Okay, so explain the books. Do you write to a fixed pattern? Or do your publishers tell you this kind of sexism sells copies?
The argument is, therefore, "If it's not you, is your publishers then? Somehow, it's never "Maybe I misunderstood your intent." Because, as the movie so blatantly states, that doesn't happen.
As if it were blunt enough from Tilde, even the detective on the case gets to poke his jabs at our poor novelist. Upon interviewing him, the detective mentions that Neal tends to include a lot of sexual deviants in his work.
"It's about sexual deviants. It's about more than that. Well two of the victims are deviants. One is gay. Did I say that was deviant? He's perfectly happy."
The assumption, again, isn't "Maybe I misunderstood the work." It's "if you didn't include stuff like that, maybe a killer wouldn't be using your book as a blueprint for serial murder."
The characters are simply stand-ins for your readers. They're simply saying the same thing your readers are. Thank you for writing it, but it's our turn now to decide what this story is about.
This all brings up to the main statement this awesome, bloody flick makes about the life of a writer -- particularly a famous novelist, but it really applies to us all, from self-published to indie house to New York Times best-sellers.
Take notes. Here it is.
After you publish, you lose all control over the message of your story. The words stop meaning what you say they mean or intended them to mean. The "truth" of the tales becomes whatever the eye (or ear) of the beholder feels like it is. Readers and critiquers take over.
I recently read a bit in Thomas Foster's How To Read Literature Like a Professor that I think summarizes this idea perfectly:
"If I could wave a wand and get rid of everyone's sense of obligation to the writer, I would do it i n a heart. A reader's only obligation, it seems to me, is to the text. We can't interrogate the writer as to intentions, so the only basis of authority must reside in the text itself. Trust the words and the words only. You can never find the motivation behind them. Even if the wirter told you his intent, as a group theire notorious liars and not to be trusted. Plus, writers do thens sometimes because they "just feel right"; that is, not ever choice is made consciously, although that doesn't mean theire's no reason behind it."
I know. I know. That's not fair. Well... tough.
Even in today's social media and writer's blog-driven world where writers have the luxury of saying what they mean between the lines and espousing out loud for all to see the politics and philosophies they hold dear that drives their fiction, even now, we still don't really hold on to that power anymore. The obligation to the writer is nil. The obligation to society to interpret the text is supreme.
But instead of pulling out our hair, we can just grab a bottle of the good stuff and get to work on the next book. At least for a while, we can still have control of that one.
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