Experiment In Terror (1962) ****1/2

1962 was the year that gifted cinema lovers with not one but two relentless, psychosexual, ahead-of-their-time, neo-noirs. One was the well-known and highly regarded Cape Fear. The other is the underseen and underappreciated gem Experiment In Terror, which turned 60 yesterday. Both are masterpieces.

Most audiences primarily know Blake Edwards from his comedies—1961's Breakfast At Tiffany's, the Pink Panther series, and S.O.B. from 1981 (in which Julie Andrews famously appeared nude). With EIT Edwards proved that he could effectively make an entirely serious, dramatic, and tense thriller. Frankly, I wished he'd made more films in this style.

EIT's influence on David Lynch—whether intentional or not—is impossible not to mention. There's the atmosphere of the film of course, there's Lee Remick's character, Kelly, who lives in “Twin Peaks,” and, coincidentally, there's Ross Martin's character's name: Garland “Red” Lynch. There's also the ultra chic and creepy score from the master Henry Mancini—who scored almost all of Edwards' work (and who doesn't get mentioned enough in my opinion)—which one can very much picture Lynch's frequent collaborator Angelo Badalamenti drawing inspiration from.

EIT is a procedural and like many works in that genre it can drag just the tiniest bit at times but there’s still plenty of suspense throughout. Remick’s expressiveness and perpetual doe-eyed look are perfect for her character (though she is no mere victim; she fires back at Red when pushed). Glenn Ford is a stalwart straight-laced FBI agent and serves the role accordingly. As the villain, Martin is superbly sinister, adding lots of subtle touches to a performance that could have easily tipped into hamminess in the wrong hands.

The threat of sexual violence is ever present in EIT and it’s that threat and the hint of what could happen that proves so much uncomfortable and unsettling than anything that would be explicitly shown with less restrictions. The striking closeups and beautiful black & white cinematography do wonders to serve the story and create unease. Edwards expertly weaves a line between stylish noir, dramatic thriller, and at times outright horror/exploitation. It all builds to memorable finale (which 1971's Dirty Harry lifted straight from) and delivers a thoroughly impressive piece of filmmaking that holds up on repeat viewings (I only first saw film about nine years ago and I've watched it four times now).

 

Recommended for fans of Cape Fear (1962), The Girl Who Knew Too Much (1963) (review), and Wait Until Dark (1967) (review).

Blake Edwards Films Ranked