Pretty Poison (Noel Black, 1968)

This is absolutely gorgeous to look at although the Batman-bright colors might be the work of screenwriter Lorenzo Semple Jr. rather than Black who enjoyed an undistinguished career forever after. The scenes where Anthony Perkins is inspecting various chemicals under a huge magnifying window possess a fractalized complexity matched by few Hollywood films of the era. Perkins and Tuesday Weld give typically fine performances, raw and remarkable work from two actors who deserved better roles than they got (although the same could be said about B-movie stalwart Beverly Garland, terrific as Weld's doomed mother). And Black displays a knack here for conveying the vacuous comfort of small-town America. In short, everything is at a high level of commitment. I just don't know what to do with it. Films that attempt to explain serial killers are rarely compelling to begin with; they're even less edifying when a filmmaker allows their vacuity to roam free. The pointlessness of it all is no doubt the point which, in a turn common to such portraits, causes one to wonder about the point of watching in the first place.

Grade: B+