In Diary of a Madman (1963) Vincent Price takes center stage, occupying nearly every minute of a film that suggests a tangible, if invisible, entity is responsible for the enigmatic murderous behavior we occasionally observe in people. This is a leisurely tale that explores the various avenues of recourse available to a French magistrate who is periodically possessed by this mysterious entity, and must endure the consequences of its insatiable thirst for blood and horror.
This is a movie that lets you admire Price, if you are so disposed, for his fine manner, his unhurried pace even when throwing fire at his enemy. Not that the balance of the cast is unequal to the task, but Price is center stage and enjoys, I think, every moment of it.
The staging is elaborate, the cinematography very nice, and the audio more than adequate. The story is predictable in general, but twists may catch you unaware. The real pleasure is watching seasoned professionals plying their craft as they tell this cruel tale, from which we learn that even if we have a reason for the horrible tragedy of murder, it is still a horrible tragedy; understanding the agency does not free us from the mourning, and perhaps even deepens it.
But, still, there is a certain lack of anticipation; we know immediately how this story ends as it is told in one flashback after the protagonist has been buried. The only questions are, how will he die, and will he make it worthwhile?
It’s a good way to pass a snowy afternoon, or an evening with a mild head cold. You may grow impatient with it, though, if you had other alternatives, especially if you prefer your stories to be up-tempo.
