IN A WORLD WHERE MIKE PATTON SLICED AND DICED MUSICAL GENRES, NO ONE WAS PREPARED FOR... THE DIRECTOR'S CUT!!!!!!!

Or so might the tagline for a Mike Patton biopic run. But really, have we ever been prepared? Since Patton permanently shoved Faith No More off the deep end by taking the vocal reigns just in time for their hit-making The Real Thing album, he's refused to stay fixed in the limelight, opting instead to focus on more serious work with his pre-FNM band, the highly experimental Mr. Bungle. And, when not hanging out with John Zorn (having lighthearted chats about Japanese death-porn, presumably), he makes solo records.

Mr. Bungle most recent release, 1999's California, had me wondering whether Patton was finally running out of the disturbing energy that had powered the rest of his work. While still not quite sunny, California showed a mellower, more pop-structured side of Patton, and the imperative force that usually solders together his stylistic mishmashes wasn't quite there.

Enter Fantomas. Taking their name from the psychopathic anti-hero of a series of French thriller novels, the band seems tailor-made to give vent to Patton's dark side, setting Slayer drummer Dave Lombardo and Melvins guitarist Buzz Osborne alongside Bungle bassist Trevor Dunn. Though fitting a single style to the band is difficult, The Director's Cut, Fantomas' second full-length, takes aim at a very narrow genre: film music (particularly those creepy Theremin-tastic horror movie themes).

But wait, wait. Film music? Ideally, a movie soundtrack is just background, enhancing but never overpowering what's happening on the screen. Patton couldn't provide background music for Hiroshima. But, for a second, as a lonely, reedy reproduction of one of the motifs from The Godfather slowly curls out of the speakers, it seems like Fantomas are actually going the unobtrusive route. Then, the bullets hit: the band immediately kicks into Level 12 Spaz Mode, Patton's stutters and hillbilly war-whoops punctuating a buzzsaw speed-metal attack. And just as suddenly, the Mediterranean theme returns (this time floating along on gentle percussion, strings, and an odd, mewling vocal line) only to veer off into few bars of operatic thrash.

So, a few liberties have been taken. That's okay. The Director's Cut is as cinematic as its source material, without bearing much resemblance at all to the type of music normally pegged as "cinematic" (or the source material, really). Both obsessively detailed and brutally frenetic, Fantomas' adaptations translate moving images into disconcertingly vivid music. "One Step Beyond," for instance, shifts in its skin like Lon Chaney under a full moon, moving from stock horror movie effects to resonant whistles and strings. Lombardo enters with a jackhammer snare roll, and Patton's high, keening vocals transform into coyote-caught-in-an-electric-fence howls. Metamorphosis complete, the song prowls off on it own, punctuated by ethereal orchestra hits and cartoonish throat-bending vocal effects.

Lombardo, Osborne, and Dunn all provide expert accompaniment, but it's Patton's utterly unique vocals that make Fantomas distinct. On the theme from Rosemary's Baby, one of the album's best tracks, Patton juggles an uncanny little-girl lisp with a hoarse lullaby tone and a searing screech, above an unnerving mixture of string scrapes and toy percussion. The more playful, almost self-indulgently cheesy "Spider Baby" finds Patton handling both the growling lyrics and the sky-high spy-theme falsettos.

The underlying concept, coupled with the consistently sinister tone it brings to the album, gives a weird sort of logic to Patton's stylistic leaps that he's never quite captured before. The fuzzy, chaotic interruptions in the melody of Ennio Morricone's "Investigation of a Citizen Beyond Suspicion" lead gradually to the song's grandiose, paranoid midsection ("Every piece of skin/ Every mouth you've fed/ Every word you've said/ Every drop you've bled"). A slow dripping sound breaks the tension and brings back the melody, just for it to be suddenly shattered again by a jabbering metal freakout. The progression is almost narrative, maybe tracing a mental breakdown, but like a good horror movie, subtler elements lurk beneath the surface.

If you need any more convincing, just remember this: Fantomas could possibly be the best heavy metal-Henry Mancini cover band. Ever. The Director's Cut does Mr. Moon River twice; first on a relatively straightforward, albeit sexy and beautifully reverbed, version of "Experiment in Terror" that only deviates from its smoky lounge atmosphere long enough to deliver eight bars of crushing, sludgy noise; and then on the album's closer, "Charade." Beginning with a demented samba-beatbox from Patton, "Charade" vacillates between an incredibly smooth, jazzy melody and a spitfire speed-yodel stomp. As the dubbed-in crowd applauds, the melody gently returns with more hyphen-encouraging mayhem. And suddenly, it's very clear how this will all end: "YAD DA DA DADA DA DA DADA YAD DA DADA DA DA DA DADA!"

Sing it, Mike.

-Brendan Reid