The first time I saw Peeping Tom, it was exhilarating. The clever films within the film, puns, raw Freudian imagery, the bold acting and the way the plot unfolds as logically as a fable kept me enthralled through to the end. I tried watching it again last night and I couldn't shake an absolutely crushing sadness that emanates from Mark Lewis. He's like some aborted twin of the director in 8 1/2. But whereas Guido's creative instinct and drive emerged from a house full of women pampering him and a magical incantation that he was told will animate an ominous painting, Mark's is a murderous urge to have some of the control and power denied him by his father. Like a record stuck playing the same sound over and over, Mark has grown into an emotional cul-de-sac where he watches the story of his torture and his revenge every night.
Mark is trying to work his way out of this loop by filming a documentary. If he can create a record of sadistic control over everything around himself, maybe the act of making a story out of his life will at least give him an end to his suffering. The frenzied excitement, practically joy, of his suicide is a miserable thing to contemplate. He says that he's spent a long time preparing his walkway of cameras to capture his final rush to meet the fate he inflicted on so many others. At previous points in the film, he's noted that he expected to get caught and it's clear he's very happy to have been revealed in exactly the circumstances he staged. His documentary is a success.
Mark tries to develop a world outside of the documentary that he knows will kill him. He talks to the psychologist about getting help and his expression clearly indicates that he just can't see giving years of therapy a chance. Mark's clumsy and sincere attempts to develop a normal relationship with Helen fall into the same category - it would be so nice, but he's got something he has to do. Something creative, albeit monstrous, hardwired into Mark has to express itself `regardless of the consequences.'
As with other Michael Powell films, it's not for all audiences. Powell tells his stories with lavish color-coded signals, revels in dramatic extremes, and is unapologetic about pulling dirty tricks like dragging out Moira Shearer's death scene to the point where 1) you fully realize that Mark is an exacting composer and 2) you long for him to get on with it and kill her already.
Like everything else filmed before 1999 (when The Matrix set the current standard for believable CGI and HBO programming made R-rated material ho-hum), the fx/gore do not live up to contemporary expectations.
Mark is trying to work his way out of this loop by filming a documentary. If he can create a record of sadistic control over everything around himself, maybe the act of making a story out of his life will at least give him an end to his suffering. The frenzied excitement, practically joy, of his suicide is a miserable thing to contemplate. He says that he's spent a long time preparing his walkway of cameras to capture his final rush to meet the fate he inflicted on so many others. At previous points in the film, he's noted that he expected to get caught and it's clear he's very happy to have been revealed in exactly the circumstances he staged. His documentary is a success.
Mark tries to develop a world outside of the documentary that he knows will kill him. He talks to the psychologist about getting help and his expression clearly indicates that he just can't see giving years of therapy a chance. Mark's clumsy and sincere attempts to develop a normal relationship with Helen fall into the same category - it would be so nice, but he's got something he has to do. Something creative, albeit monstrous, hardwired into Mark has to express itself `regardless of the consequences.'
As with other Michael Powell films, it's not for all audiences. Powell tells his stories with lavish color-coded signals, revels in dramatic extremes, and is unapologetic about pulling dirty tricks like dragging out Moira Shearer's death scene to the point where 1) you fully realize that Mark is an exacting composer and 2) you long for him to get on with it and kill her already.
Like everything else filmed before 1999 (when The Matrix set the current standard for believable CGI and HBO programming made R-rated material ho-hum), the fx/gore do not live up to contemporary expectations.