13 reviews
- rmax304823
- Feb 6, 2011
- Permalink
- Hey_Sweden
- Mar 19, 2017
- Permalink
In the 38 year period between his first film, folk horror classic The Wicker Man, and his last, The Wicker Tree, director Robin Hardy only made one other film: The Fantasist, a bizarre slasher thriller set in Dublin, Ireland. It's not a good film - the characters are too eccentric, the script is incredibly silly, and the pace is very slow - but it's still worth watching just to immerse yourself in the sheer bizarreness for an hour and a half...
Moira Harris plays lovely 'Oirish lass Patricia Teeling, who leaves the countryside for a teaching job in Dublin; her move coincides with a spate of murders, the killer at first phoning his victims to try and bore them to death with terrible poetry, but opting to stab them in the back when his dreadful recitals fail to do the trick.
Meanwhile, Patricia is looking for the man of her dreams, but only seems to attract oddballs: a hairy man with halitosis (in a nightclub where Level 42 are the house band!); weirdy-beardy English master Robert Foxley (John Kavanagh), who gargles wine loudly in restaurants and wants to rub Patricia's tummy; and American Danny Sullivan (Timothy Bottoms), who pretends to be an Albanian osteopath and talks dirty to his wife over the phone.
After Patricia discovers Danny's wife with a knife in her back, she starts to receive phone calls from the maniac; police inspector McMyler (Christopher Cazenove) investigates.
The nonsensical murder mystery plot makes the film feel a bit like an Irish giallo at times, especially the scene in which Patricia escapes from one of the suspects by climbing out of a window and crawling across the roof of the building (very Argento). However, Hardy's inept handling of the film in general makes it hard to believe that it was directed by the same man who gave us the impeccable The Wicker Man. The finalé is particularly strange, the killer trapping Patricia in his photographic studio, and forcing her to strip so that he can use her bare ass as a set of bongo drums.
So, technically speaking, the film is fairly terrible, but for those who enjoy bad films, it could prove quite entertaining.
Moira Harris plays lovely 'Oirish lass Patricia Teeling, who leaves the countryside for a teaching job in Dublin; her move coincides with a spate of murders, the killer at first phoning his victims to try and bore them to death with terrible poetry, but opting to stab them in the back when his dreadful recitals fail to do the trick.
Meanwhile, Patricia is looking for the man of her dreams, but only seems to attract oddballs: a hairy man with halitosis (in a nightclub where Level 42 are the house band!); weirdy-beardy English master Robert Foxley (John Kavanagh), who gargles wine loudly in restaurants and wants to rub Patricia's tummy; and American Danny Sullivan (Timothy Bottoms), who pretends to be an Albanian osteopath and talks dirty to his wife over the phone.
After Patricia discovers Danny's wife with a knife in her back, she starts to receive phone calls from the maniac; police inspector McMyler (Christopher Cazenove) investigates.
The nonsensical murder mystery plot makes the film feel a bit like an Irish giallo at times, especially the scene in which Patricia escapes from one of the suspects by climbing out of a window and crawling across the roof of the building (very Argento). However, Hardy's inept handling of the film in general makes it hard to believe that it was directed by the same man who gave us the impeccable The Wicker Man. The finalé is particularly strange, the killer trapping Patricia in his photographic studio, and forcing her to strip so that he can use her bare ass as a set of bongo drums.
So, technically speaking, the film is fairly terrible, but for those who enjoy bad films, it could prove quite entertaining.
- BA_Harrison
- Jun 27, 2024
- Permalink
- jessica-147
- May 11, 2004
- Permalink
Director Robin Hardy's reputation rests almost exclusively on his 1973 cult classic, The Wicker Man. On the evidence of this, there it should stay. Wicker fans whose curiosity has been pricked should step quickly over The Fantasist as if it were a polystyrene pebble, for it holds no weight and will do them no good.
Overgrown Catholic schoolgirl Patricia Teeling (Harris) takes on a teaching post in Dublin, against the misgivings of her suburban relatives. "We don't want you picking up their city ways up there!" Her vocation coincides with a series of murders, perpetrated on young women by a nuisance caller with an especially mellifluous delivery, and who possibly supplements his income penning homilies for Hallmark greeting cards. "I'm the light in your jade green eyes where the sun bursts through and turns our stone grey city into gold. I am the melting feeling in your tummy when you hear music so sublimely beautiful you want to cry." If his poetry (which makes the average Vogon's efforts seem like TS Eliot) doesn't polish them off, the old knife-between-the-shoulder-blades trick certainly will.
"The man of my dreams is an imaginative rock," Patricia tells her flatmate, and soon attracts three unsuitable suitors, one of whom might be the killer. Could it be beardy weirdy English master Robert Foxley (Kavanagh)? He gargles wine loudly in restaurants. Plus, he's got a silly beard. In fact, he looks just like one of those upside-down faces in optical illusion books. And his romantic small talk consists of stuff like "I knew you'd make a good mother, Patricia." That's not good.
Love interest number two is her downstairs neighbour, the nervy American writer Danny Sullivan (Bottoms). He's married, so he's not a great catch. He also does a neat line in dirty phone calls in funny voices (to his wife, he claims). Then again, his wife is shortly bound for the chop. However, this doesn't stop our Pat hiding coins down her knickers so he can divine them with his rod (no euphemism intended). "I guess I just trust him," this latter-day Little Red Riding Hood tells suitor number three, Christopher Cazenove's Inspector McMyler, who keeps blown-up photos of the victims in his cottage, and wants to photograph Pat in the nude. Casual viewers will have figured out by now that Patty isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer.
This is a very silly film indeed; featuring grating overacting and a grating 1980s soundtrack, all tourist board Gaelic flutes and stabbing synths. Level 42 even make a cameo appearance performing the cheesiest white-funk since... well, Level 42 really are in a class of their own.
Lacking a playwright of Anthony Shaffer's stature, the dialogue's in dire need of an editor (sample line: "Death tries its best to rival procrastination as a thief of time"). The cinematography's functional at best, while scenes cutting between the slaughter of a victim and the carving of a roast merely underscore the clunkiness.
Most depressingly (in Hardy's hands) the film also panders to Vatican-friendly genre cliché, with Patricia's potential fate prompted through her burgeoning sexual liberation. Contrast this with the subversive Wicker Man, in which sex is portrayed as a guilt-free, joyous affair through which the protagonist could have saved himself, if only he'd actually had it.
Here, the one fleetingly erotic scene is deftly undermined by the killer merrily using Patricia's bare buttocks as a pair of bongos. What a symphony he could have produced with Willow MacGregor, the landlord's daughter in The Wicker Man!
Overgrown Catholic schoolgirl Patricia Teeling (Harris) takes on a teaching post in Dublin, against the misgivings of her suburban relatives. "We don't want you picking up their city ways up there!" Her vocation coincides with a series of murders, perpetrated on young women by a nuisance caller with an especially mellifluous delivery, and who possibly supplements his income penning homilies for Hallmark greeting cards. "I'm the light in your jade green eyes where the sun bursts through and turns our stone grey city into gold. I am the melting feeling in your tummy when you hear music so sublimely beautiful you want to cry." If his poetry (which makes the average Vogon's efforts seem like TS Eliot) doesn't polish them off, the old knife-between-the-shoulder-blades trick certainly will.
"The man of my dreams is an imaginative rock," Patricia tells her flatmate, and soon attracts three unsuitable suitors, one of whom might be the killer. Could it be beardy weirdy English master Robert Foxley (Kavanagh)? He gargles wine loudly in restaurants. Plus, he's got a silly beard. In fact, he looks just like one of those upside-down faces in optical illusion books. And his romantic small talk consists of stuff like "I knew you'd make a good mother, Patricia." That's not good.
Love interest number two is her downstairs neighbour, the nervy American writer Danny Sullivan (Bottoms). He's married, so he's not a great catch. He also does a neat line in dirty phone calls in funny voices (to his wife, he claims). Then again, his wife is shortly bound for the chop. However, this doesn't stop our Pat hiding coins down her knickers so he can divine them with his rod (no euphemism intended). "I guess I just trust him," this latter-day Little Red Riding Hood tells suitor number three, Christopher Cazenove's Inspector McMyler, who keeps blown-up photos of the victims in his cottage, and wants to photograph Pat in the nude. Casual viewers will have figured out by now that Patty isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer.
This is a very silly film indeed; featuring grating overacting and a grating 1980s soundtrack, all tourist board Gaelic flutes and stabbing synths. Level 42 even make a cameo appearance performing the cheesiest white-funk since... well, Level 42 really are in a class of their own.
Lacking a playwright of Anthony Shaffer's stature, the dialogue's in dire need of an editor (sample line: "Death tries its best to rival procrastination as a thief of time"). The cinematography's functional at best, while scenes cutting between the slaughter of a victim and the carving of a roast merely underscore the clunkiness.
Most depressingly (in Hardy's hands) the film also panders to Vatican-friendly genre cliché, with Patricia's potential fate prompted through her burgeoning sexual liberation. Contrast this with the subversive Wicker Man, in which sex is portrayed as a guilt-free, joyous affair through which the protagonist could have saved himself, if only he'd actually had it.
Here, the one fleetingly erotic scene is deftly undermined by the killer merrily using Patricia's bare buttocks as a pair of bongos. What a symphony he could have produced with Willow MacGregor, the landlord's daughter in The Wicker Man!
- Ali_John_Catterall
- Nov 14, 2009
- Permalink
I saw this movie for one reason and one reason only and, probably like everyone else who has seen it, that reason is because the film is directed by Robin Hardy; the man behind the all-time cult classic 'The Wicker Man'. I honestly have no idea how a man behind such a great film as The Wicker Man could end up directing something as crap as this. The Fantasist does not have a very good reputation, and that's hardly surprising as this film is completely boring. It was thirteen years between the release of this film and Robin Hardy's classic, but I actually believe that shooting for The Fantasist began in 1974, only production was slow as the cast and crew kept on falling asleep during shooting! The film takes place in Ireland and follows an Irish woman who moves to Dublin. It's not long before she begins receiving obscene phone calls from a stranger, and (coincidently?) there also happens to be a killer on the loose known as 'The Phone Call Killer'. Most people in that situation would change their phone number, but our heroine is drawn to the mystery caller instead...
The film starts off slowly but any hopes of it getting better are quickly dashed when it becomes quite clear that the pace is never going to pick up. This movie will grind you down; such is the sheer boredom on display. The film could be termed a slasher since people get sliced and diced, but it seems that Robin Hardy wanted it to be a bit more than just a slasher, and it's backfired horribly as there is no interest created around the central premise which absolutely kills it. Robin Hardy also had no luck in the casting department either as American actress Moira Harris fails to convince or generate any sympathy from the audience. The Wicker Man was a largely aesthetic affair with the picturesque island featuring strongly as well as the standout ending; but there's nothing like that here; all the locations are dreary and drab and that adds to the intense torture that is The Fantasist. Hardy probably wanted the movie to be a bit steamy and while there are brief flashes of nudity, the film certainly isn't sexy (though a sequence that sees the killer undress a girl with his knife is one of the few memorable moments). It all boils down to a stupid and predictable ending and overall, I would not recommend this rubbish even to hardcore fans of The Wicker Man.
The film starts off slowly but any hopes of it getting better are quickly dashed when it becomes quite clear that the pace is never going to pick up. This movie will grind you down; such is the sheer boredom on display. The film could be termed a slasher since people get sliced and diced, but it seems that Robin Hardy wanted it to be a bit more than just a slasher, and it's backfired horribly as there is no interest created around the central premise which absolutely kills it. Robin Hardy also had no luck in the casting department either as American actress Moira Harris fails to convince or generate any sympathy from the audience. The Wicker Man was a largely aesthetic affair with the picturesque island featuring strongly as well as the standout ending; but there's nothing like that here; all the locations are dreary and drab and that adds to the intense torture that is The Fantasist. Hardy probably wanted the movie to be a bit steamy and while there are brief flashes of nudity, the film certainly isn't sexy (though a sequence that sees the killer undress a girl with his knife is one of the few memorable moments). It all boils down to a stupid and predictable ending and overall, I would not recommend this rubbish even to hardcore fans of The Wicker Man.
...in that both are surprising takes on their respective subgenres, but whereas The Wicker Man is a pleasure The Fantasist is largely a dud. Despite a shorter running time, it feels like the longer of the two. Nonetheless, a somewhat interesting attempt.
The men whom the lead Patricia meets in Dublin, while spending an experimental year teaching away from her uncle's farm that she's been picked to inherit, are all exceptionally childishly perverse in their own ways. It's unclear why she would give any of them a minute of her time, except that she herself might be "The Fantasist" of the title - not the killer, but out of touch with reality in her own right.
She enjoys making up stories to tell men in bars. Her story delivered to her virgin prospective roommate of having had a single sexual relationship with a man in college that was unsatisfying could likewise be complete invention. Patricia also says she wants a man who is an "imaginative rock," who is "inscrutable." That, at least, might be more on the mark.
The freeze-frame ending leaves some questions. One wonders if Patrick McGinley's novel Goosefoot is as open.
The men whom the lead Patricia meets in Dublin, while spending an experimental year teaching away from her uncle's farm that she's been picked to inherit, are all exceptionally childishly perverse in their own ways. It's unclear why she would give any of them a minute of her time, except that she herself might be "The Fantasist" of the title - not the killer, but out of touch with reality in her own right.
She enjoys making up stories to tell men in bars. Her story delivered to her virgin prospective roommate of having had a single sexual relationship with a man in college that was unsatisfying could likewise be complete invention. Patricia also says she wants a man who is an "imaginative rock," who is "inscrutable." That, at least, might be more on the mark.
The freeze-frame ending leaves some questions. One wonders if Patrick McGinley's novel Goosefoot is as open.
I just finished watching this movie this weekend for the second time, having seen it on TV about six years ago. And it was just as good as I remembered it to be. The plot twists are very very clever, enough to keep you guessing to the end. My g/f commented that it was a bit slow to get started, but once we got into it, she was guessing who the culprit was all the way through.
One other thing - the scenery shown of Ireland is absolutely gorgeous.
One other thing - the scenery shown of Ireland is absolutely gorgeous.
1. If you are filming a movie in scenic Ireland, your lead should be: a).a famous American actress, b). an unknown Irish actress, c).an unknown American actress who is incapable of maintaining a convincing Irish accent.
2. When your villain, "the Phone Call Killer", telephones his victims he should: a). speak in a eerie, sinister voice, b). not speak at all but only breathe heavily, c).talk like Kelsey Grammar's character "Sideshow Bob" on "The Simpsons".
3. If you are making a murder mystery, you should have: a).a multitude of possible suspects, b). only two possible suspects, c).only two suspects, one of whom is such a ridiculously over-the-top red herring that he couldn't possibly turn out to be the killer.
4. At the climax of the movie the villain should: a). stalk the heroine with a big knife, b). chase the heroine with a giant axe, c).use the heroine's bare ass for his own personal set of bongos.
5. If you are director Robin Hardy and you have directed the cult horror classic "The Wicker Man" you should follow it up with: a).another cult horror classic, b). a lesser--but not completely embarrassing--effort, c)."The Fantasist"
2. When your villain, "the Phone Call Killer", telephones his victims he should: a). speak in a eerie, sinister voice, b). not speak at all but only breathe heavily, c).talk like Kelsey Grammar's character "Sideshow Bob" on "The Simpsons".
3. If you are making a murder mystery, you should have: a).a multitude of possible suspects, b). only two possible suspects, c).only two suspects, one of whom is such a ridiculously over-the-top red herring that he couldn't possibly turn out to be the killer.
4. At the climax of the movie the villain should: a). stalk the heroine with a big knife, b). chase the heroine with a giant axe, c).use the heroine's bare ass for his own personal set of bongos.
5. If you are director Robin Hardy and you have directed the cult horror classic "The Wicker Man" you should follow it up with: a).another cult horror classic, b). a lesser--but not completely embarrassing--effort, c)."The Fantasist"
I stumbled across this relatively obscure film on a satellite channel the other day, and was eagerly anticipating an enjoyable experience, having been a big fan of director Robin Hardy's previous film (the Wicker Man).
95 minutes later, I was disappointed, although the film does have some redeeming features.
I consider The Wicker Man to be a classic of its type, and certain aspects of that film are carried over into this one - the haunting music, the atmospheric locations, and especially the suppressed eroticism. Also the final twist at the end. But having said that, this film does come across as a pale imitation of its predecessor.
Due to the appalling treatment that was meted out to The Wicker Man by the film industry powers, Robin Hardy retired from the business for over 10 years, and boy does it show here. Some of the editing is appallingly choppy, the characters' dialog is at times incredibly trite, and some of the scenes just don't gel. Examples of the latter are the initial murder, where the victim appears to offer no resistance to the knife wielding assailant, and the relationship between Moira Harris and Timothy Bottoms, which in one scene has her berating him for making pervy phone calls to his wife. then in next scene she discovers his wife's murdered body, and in the very next scene has her defending him aginst police suspicion? Duh???
Another scene that is particularly laughable is the night club scene where Harris and Bottoms meet. The moment when Timothy Bottoms raises his fists to the Mr. Halitosis character almost had me laughing out loud.
Moreover, there is virtually no mystery as to who the main pervy phone caller is, as the voice is easily identifiable as one of the main characters in the film.
However, it's not all bad news. As in The Wicker Man, there is an air of Catholic sexual repression which pervades the whole story, and is handled on the whole very well. I'm not Irish or Catholic, but I found it believable and not just because it gave the film an excuse to show a few bare breasts.
It's just a shame there couldn't have been a bit more suspense to go with it.
95 minutes later, I was disappointed, although the film does have some redeeming features.
I consider The Wicker Man to be a classic of its type, and certain aspects of that film are carried over into this one - the haunting music, the atmospheric locations, and especially the suppressed eroticism. Also the final twist at the end. But having said that, this film does come across as a pale imitation of its predecessor.
Due to the appalling treatment that was meted out to The Wicker Man by the film industry powers, Robin Hardy retired from the business for over 10 years, and boy does it show here. Some of the editing is appallingly choppy, the characters' dialog is at times incredibly trite, and some of the scenes just don't gel. Examples of the latter are the initial murder, where the victim appears to offer no resistance to the knife wielding assailant, and the relationship between Moira Harris and Timothy Bottoms, which in one scene has her berating him for making pervy phone calls to his wife. then in next scene she discovers his wife's murdered body, and in the very next scene has her defending him aginst police suspicion? Duh???
Another scene that is particularly laughable is the night club scene where Harris and Bottoms meet. The moment when Timothy Bottoms raises his fists to the Mr. Halitosis character almost had me laughing out loud.
Moreover, there is virtually no mystery as to who the main pervy phone caller is, as the voice is easily identifiable as one of the main characters in the film.
However, it's not all bad news. As in The Wicker Man, there is an air of Catholic sexual repression which pervades the whole story, and is handled on the whole very well. I'm not Irish or Catholic, but I found it believable and not just because it gave the film an excuse to show a few bare breasts.
It's just a shame there couldn't have been a bit more suspense to go with it.
Although nowhere near as good as "The Wicker Man", Robin Hardy has made a good stab at penetrating the Irish slasher genre
An interesting plot with some oddball characterisation and great scenery. The Dublin shots bring back memories of a pre-Tiger city. A motley crew of familiar and somewhat unpleasant actors [especially Ronan Wilmot and Jim Bartley] add to the frenetic atmosphere.
Definitely worth 95 mins of your time.
7/10
An interesting plot with some oddball characterisation and great scenery. The Dublin shots bring back memories of a pre-Tiger city. A motley crew of familiar and somewhat unpleasant actors [especially Ronan Wilmot and Jim Bartley] add to the frenetic atmosphere.
Definitely worth 95 mins of your time.
7/10
- analoguebubblebath
- Sep 21, 2003
- Permalink
The plot jumps around a bit so you really don't understand the connections between various characters, and the movie is quite illogical at times. However, there are enough freaky moments to make this worth viewing. "What the Hell?!" popped into my mind many times- in a pleasurable way. The dialogue is great as well. If you want an interesting experience, bear with this VERY odd one.
- monstermonkeyhead
- Dec 27, 2003
- Permalink
This film is supposed to be a thriller, but for more than an hour it's EXCRUCIATINGLY boring, despite the beautiful locations. Things become slightly more interesting in the final 10 minutes, which have a peculiar kinkiness. But the ending on the ship is typical slasher stuff.