Dressed to Kill - 1980
Well, I suppose it is Psycho's turn on the De Palma carousel. And that was the out-and-out question about the director at the time, was it not? Maybe all along. Homage maker or complete thief? What I think is implied in the latter is that not only is De Palma pilfering from ole' Alfred, but he's not even presenting engaging narratives. Hitch was flashy as hell, sure, but his tales were also riveting. From this tree of opprobrium grow all sorts of other derisive branches - style over substance, no original content, or, at worst, trashy pulp artist.
Well, there is plenty of ammo for both camps in Dressed to Kill. This film is a five star affair in terms of visual panache and aural delights, but it is far less than in its storytelling. (In fact, as I'll return to momentarily, it's rather problematic in at least one regard). But, let's begin with the goods. De Palma is throwing his full bag of tricks into the stew here. The split diopter shots (which I learned about in my research on this film for the FIRST time) are pretty astounding. So too are his tracking shots, which just sort of amble along, letting the viewer in on the unfolding drama in real time. De Palma does that Hitchcockian thing of putting very specific details or objects in the frame and drawing our attention to them. Slow zooms abound for that very purpose in Dressed. We could spend pages on the visual repertoire alone in this film.
One of my favorite aspects of much of De Palma's work, and this one in particular, is the lack of dialogue. This is high-level visual storytelling, and much of the first half hour is wordless. In place of dialogue we often have the highly-calibrated chops of scorer Pino Donaggio, whose soundscapes could fill a cavern. This balance of silence and visual narration, punctuated by explosive scoring to highlight key plot moments is pretty masterful "stuff," even if it did not begin with De Palma. There’s a reason the best cover bands can still pack out a bar.
The best scene of the film sits well in this discussion. I am referring, of course, to the museum seduction sequence between Angie Dickinson and her would be suitor. This may be one of the twenty five best visual scenes I've ever witnessed. There are cat and mouse antics, knowing facial expressions, informative zooms and insert shots, the works. And given what has just transpired at the film's outset - a fantasy sequence turned dire in the shower (Hello again, Psycho!) and an exploration of that ennui with the dashing psychiatrist played by Michael Caine - this back and forth is just LOADED with deeper meaning. Since I’ve already mentioned two of the leads, I should note also how impressive Nancy Allen is as a high class call girl who’s a great deal grittier than she first appears.
It seems to me that one other matter deserves mention before turning the corner to criticism. Everyone talks about the Hitchcockian touchstones, but allow me to toss out another - Italian giallo. Can we not consider that Dario Argento and his ilk could have equally influenced this presentation? It can be seen, of course, in its graphic bloodletting and pulpier elements, as well as its overtly sexual content. Even here I think De Palma is often unfairly derided. Some would see his films as denigrating the classiness of the master of suspense, but people forget way too quickly how subtly (or not so) prurient the auteur’s works really were. De Palma simply made overt what was more buttoned up decades before.
All that aside, the trouble is that this film is rather UNlike Psycho in one key regard as well. Put simply, it just does not hide its secrets convincingly. Unlike its predecessor, you’ll probably guess the killer in this one by the 30 minute mark. Now, maybe this is because of all the “twist ending” films in the past three decades. But the fact still remains: If you want a real mystery, perchance you should introduce a handful of would-be suspects at the outset. Beyond this, Dressed to Killdoes borrow from the single worst element of Psycho (I’m essentially swiping from Ebert here), namely the psychiatrist who swoops in at the end and painstakingly explains to us what the heck has been going on.
Then we have the film’s single greatest bugaboo. In brief, in 2020, I don’t know if this picture even gets off the ground. If you have not seen Dressed to Kill, I’d recommend you stop reading at this point. Still with me? On we proceed. Completely melding transexualism and murderous psychosis is, umm, problematic at best. It is certain that all sorts of people have comorbidities, and some of them are tied to or complicated by mental health issues. So, I”m not full embracing “cancel culture” here. I just think in today’s world this is treated with a little more nuance. But, in the end, this is about simple mathematics: A+ cinematography and score, A-grade performances, meet C-grade storytelling in a thriller that, in being so easily deciphered, loses a touch of its thrills. Or, as the we’d say colloquially, “solid B.”
Comments