Written by: Everett De Roche
Directed by: Richard Franklin
Starring: Susan Penhaligon, Robert Helpmann, and Robert Thompson
Reviewed by: Brett Gallman
Patrick is Nearly Dead ... And Still He Kills!
If there’s a seminal Ozploitation film, it’s arguably Patrick, the 1978 effort that joined Aussie schlock-master Anthony Ginnane with premier horror director Richard Franklin and screenwriter Everett De Roche, the architect of several Ozploitation scripts. Together, this veritable all-star team shaped one of the era’s most memorable hooks: a coma patient who still manages to kill despite his infirmity. Not content to simply ride the coattails of a gimmicky idea and an awesome tagline, Franklin fashioned a fascinating film that blends Eurotrash psycho-sleaze with Hitchcockian suspense and restraint.
Before he’s reduced to a vegetative state, Patrick (Robert Thompson) is the sort of mama’s boy who goes psychotic when he overhears dear old mom screwing in the room next door. Specifically, he dumps a space heater into her tub and sends her and her lover up in flames. Years later, he’s something of the star attraction at a local hospital where Kathie Jacquard (Susan Penhaligon) has applied to become a nurse. After enduring a strange round of questioning from Matron Cassidy (Julia Blake), she’s assigned the task of tending to Patrick, who’s been kept on life support by a doctor (Roger Helpmann) researching the metaphysics of life. Supposedly, Patrick is completely unresponsive and only occasionally spits out of a reflexive impulse, but Kathie begins to uncover evidence that he’s developed a sixth sense.
What she doesn’t suspect is that he’s also developed an unseemly, almost adolescent attraction to her, which sets up one of cinema’s all-time great, screwy love entanglements. You can’t even call it a triangle since she’s already juggling an estranged husband (Rod Mullinar) and a possible new beau (Bruce Barry), and this bizarre drama builds rather deliberately. Franklin’s careful pacing not only ratchets up the tension but also invests viewers in these characters, particularly Kathie. Despite the title, Patrick is her story, and, while she displays the typical pluckiness befitting a horror heroine, she’s a strikingly mature, independent woman whose plight grounds the proceedings (which is no small task considering the film’s conceit).
But it’s not like Franklin exactly runs away from the conceit either: he realizes he’s dealing with a psychotic, telekinetic coma patient, so the film is suitably deranged when it needs to be. Given Franklin’s adoration of Hitchcock, it’s not surprising that Patrick is a potboiler; however, he also taps into Hitch’s macabre sense of humor in a way that many fellow imitators fail to do. Patrick is wry as hell, especially in the way Franklin playfully mounts his tension—seriously, this guy gets a jolt out of a guy spitting and then goes on to craft one of horror’s best jump scares (literally) during the denouement. In between, he manages several jolts that act as grace notes to the film’s creeping suspense. The journey’s rarely in doubt: Patrick aims to take you some fucked up places, and Franklin is an all-too-eager tour guide who delights in showing off. Several scenes are wonderfully, precisely realized by Franklin’s ability to place the camera in just the right spot, whether it’s for the purpose of offsetting or misdirecting the audience, and it’s a thrilling ride despite the somewhat languid pace.
But as much as Franklin owes to Hitchcock, he undoubtedly owes about as much to his European brethren. Obviously, the film’s very idea is the sort of weird concept straight out of Eurohorror, and Franklin obliges those sensibilities by indulging in the continent’s hazy, dreamlike style, especially one he arrives at the climax. Much of the film is classically mounted with static camera shots and a slow, subtle build-up (a window mysteriously opens here, an apartment is inexplicably trashed there). As Patrick’s telekinesis and sexual frustration become more overt, Franklin’s style becomes more frenetic, marked by fits of cacophony and graphic violence, with one particularly nightmarish, candy-colored sequence resembling the verve of an Argento film. As the 70s wore on, several filmmakers were preoccupied with aping Hitchcock’s style with a fully unleashed Id, and Patrick represents one of the best efforts in that regard.
Admittedly, Patrick isn’t the looniest idea floated from this era, but it’s among the most successful at taking a seemingly impossible scenario and making it work without question. It almost feels like a challenge that Franklin treats as an exercise: just how terrifying or effective can a movie be with a bed-ridden antagonist? Casting a creepy-looking bastard in the role is a good start. Thompson is that and then some. Charged with the task of remaining perpetually bug-eyed and vacant, he nonetheless crafts one of horror’s more enduring characters. Patrick is a case of literal arrested development, with his physical state obviously reflecting his mental paralysis—his actions suggest that he’s still nothing more than a teenager, what with his vulgar outbursts (via typewriter) and his insistence on receiving a handjob. Thompson manages to convey this even with static facial expressions, as you get the sense that he’s getting his rocks off by toying with Kathie. You’d almost feel sorry for him if not for Thompson and Franklin’s ability to keep that menace bubbling right below the surface.
Ultimately, Patrick signaled a bellwether for the Australian horror industry, which experienced a bit of a renaissance as it entered the 80s. Franklin also parlayed his work here into a gig for Psycho II, another film that must have seemed like an impossible challenge to him that he more than adequately tackled. As impressive as that feat was, however, I still don’t think he ever managed to quite top Patrick, a film that’s properly refined, grungy, and gleefully perverse all at the same time. It’s probably the Australian horror flick from this age, and it’s an appropriate headliner for Severin’s recent Ozploitation binge. The film’s first foray into high definition in this region doesn’t disappoint, as Severin’s new transfer is sourced from the original negatives and looks authentic enough (if not a little soft in spots). They’ve also outfitted the disc with several special features, including a commentary and a vintage interview with the late Franklin, the film’s trailer, and some TV spots. An hour’s worth of interviews with the cast and crew is also excerpted from Mark Hartley’s Not Quite Hollywood. All told, it’s a much-deserved upgrade for one of Australia's most infamous and entertaining exports. Buy it!
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