Product description
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To condemn "Dressed to Kill" as a Hitchcock rip-off is
to miss the sheer enjoyment of Brian De Palma's delirious 1980
thriller. Hitchcockian homages run rampant through most of De
Palma's earlier films, and this one's chock-full of visual
quotes, mostly cribbed from "" and "Psycho". But De
Palma's indulgent depravity transcends simple mimicry to assume a
vitality all its own. It's smothered in thickly atmospheric
obsessions with sex, dread, paranoia, and voyeurism, not to
mention a heavy dose of "Psycho"-like psychobabble about a
wannabe transsexual who's compelled to slash up any attractive
female who reminds him--the horror!--that he's still very much a
man. Angie Dickinson plays the sexually unsatisfied,
fortysomething wife who's the killer's first target, relaying her
sexual fantasies to her psychiatrist (Michael Caine) before
actually living one of them out after the film's celebrated
cat-and-mouse sequence in a Manhattan art museum. The focus then
switches to a murder witness (De Palma's then-girlfriend Nancy
Allen) and Dickinson's grieving whiz-kid son (Keith Gordon), who
attempt to solve the murder while staying one step ahead (or so
they think) of the crude detective (Dennis Franz) assigned to the
case. Propelled by Pino Donaggio's lush and stimulating score, De
Palma's visuals provide seductive counterpoint to his bly
candid dialogue, and the plot conceals its own implausibility
with morbid thrills and intoxicating suspense. If you're not
laughing at De Palma's shameless audacity, you're sure to be on
the edge of your seat. "--Jeff Shannon"
.com
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To condemn Dressed to Kill as a Hitchcock rip-off is to
miss the sheer enjoyment of Brian De Palma's delirious 1980
thriller. Hitchcockian homages run rampant through most of De
Palma's earlier films, and this one's chock-full of visual
quotes, mostly cribbed from and Psycho. But De Palma's
indulgent depravity transcends simple mimicry to assume a
vitality all its own. It's smothered in thickly atmospheric
obsessions with sex, dread, paranoia, and voyeurism, not to
mention a heavy dose of Psycho-like psychobabble about a wannabe
transsexual who's compelled to slash up any attractive female who
reminds him--the horror!--that he's still very much a man.
Angie Dickinson plays the sexually unsatisfied, fortysomething
wife who's the killer's first target, relaying her sexual
fantasies to her psychiatrist (Michael Caine) before actually
living one of them out after the film's celebrated cat-and-mouse
sequence in a Manhattan art museum. The focus then switches to a
murder witness (De Palma's then-girlfriend Nancy Allen) and
Dickinson's grieving whiz-kid son (Keith Gordon), who attempt to
solve the murder while staying one step ahead (or so they think)
of the crude detective (Dennis Franz) assigned to the case.
Propelled by Pino Donaggio's lush and stimulating score, De
Palma's visuals provide seductive counterpoint to his bly
candid dialogue, and the plot conceals its own implausibility
with morbid thrills and intoxicating suspense. If you're not
laughing at De Palma's shameless audacity, you're sure to be on
the edge of your seat. --Jeff Shannon