Body Double (1984)

Body Double [DVD]; Columbia TriStar Home Entertainment, 2004; screenplay by Robert J. Avrech and Brian DePalma; produced and directed by Brian De Palma. Originally produced in 1984 as a motion picture. Music, Pino Donaggio; director of photography, Stephen H. Burum; edited by Jerry Greenberg.

Performers: Craig Wasson, Melanie Griffith, Greg Henry, Deborah Shelton. Summary: a voyeuristic, unemployed actor spies on a neighbor's nightly disrobing and sees more than he wants to. A grisly murder leads him into an obsessive quest through the world of pornographic film-making.

style ***1/2

substance ***

Watching Body Double is not a warm experience. Hardly. In fact it’s a seedy, downright sleazy experience, but that’s part of the fun. And it can be enjoyed with a certain smugness and a minimum of self-inflicted guilt simply because it doesn’t take itself too seriously. Gaudy? Sensationalist? Yes, absolutely. Irresistible? Well, maybe, and maybe not. But it has a high gloss patina and is somehow very easy to watch, in a cringeworthy sort of way – is that perhaps the working definition of a guilty pleasure? In any case for the viewer who fancies this kind of over-the-top thriller, one could do a lot worse on a cloudy, rainy night.

Director Brian De Palma has been called an acquired taste, and indeed considering all the polarized reviews of BD floating around the ‘Net this would seem to be an understatement. His admiration for and borrowing from the original suspense master Alfred Hitchcock has been much commented on so we won’t belabor the issue here, except to note that Body Double, as some of Hitchcock’s films tend to be, is more about style than substance. And the story itself, with its heavy doses of voyeurism, romantic obsession, reality and illusion, and lots of camera trickery, is a kind of commentary on the art, uses, and sometimes abuses, of filmmaking.

Thus Body Double also invokes, albeit faintly so, those cinematic behind-the-scenes critiques of the film industry, so memorably invoked in arguably – in some cases definitely – artistically superior films like Sunset Blvd., The Player, The Oscar and A Star is Born. True, the film ventures perilously close to pornography, and by implication, trash, but somehow it has a quirky elegance that at least partially redeems the tawdry subject matter. Besides, the film never really lapses into graphic porn, since it generally suggests more than it actually depicts.

Whatever his flaws as a director, De Palma has a great sense of camera angles as well as flair for soft, rich colors, and one of the joys of his movies is the fine visuals. Even if the content falters, the story is always presented in a visceral way, edited and filmed for maximum emotional impact. As to the cast, Craig Wasson, one of the most forgettable of actors, here as the flawed (non)hero, is perfectly cast precisely because of his numbing ordinariness and forgettableness, and he delivers a serviceable if not exactly brilliant performance. Both our leading ladies Deborah Shelton and Melanie Griffith are very easy on the eyes and Melanie in particular is appealing as the porn star with a heart of stone.

Eminently 1980s and especially enjoyable for the Hitchcock references, Body Double is a fun watch,  and in its way much recommended, with the usual not-for-all-tastes caveat for this kind of material. It may not be a masterpiece per se and may not even be De Palma’s masterpiece, but it’s a quintessential erotic thriller and certainly deserving of its status as a top-shelf cult favorite.

 

Movies I hate to love: The Hunger (1983)

The Hunger. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer presents a Richard Shepherd Company production; screenplay by Ivan Davis and Michael Thomas ; produced byRichard A. Shepherd; directed by Tony Scott. Originally released as a motion picture in 1983. Director of photography: Stephen Goldblatt; editor: Pamela Power; music: Michael Rubini, Denny Jaeger. Performers: David Bowie, Catherine Deneuve, Susan Sarandon, Cliff De Young, Dan Hedaya, Beth Ehlers.




“You said forever”

  

Guilty pleasure or no, The Hunger is one of my favorite vampire movies. Hunger’s gauzy, velvety look recalls the London fog vampire movies of the early Thirties, and despite the sensationalist themes and their execution, it's mostly about style - and what style! Beautiful people, clothes, sets and music. Seldom has a movie been shot so lovingly. Some commentators see similarities in Hunger to Blade Runner and the comparison is apropos. Both films are dripping in atmosphere and have a fondness for the below-mentioned dark blue tones. BTW did anyone ever notice that: all movie vampires are rich, good looking, dress stylishly, speak with smoothly mellifluous accents, and have a thing for classical music.

As to the principals: it’s impossible to imagine a better actress to portray a modern day vampire than Catherine Deneuve, here fortyish but cast as a 6,000 year old Egyptian vampire. She’s positively (pun perhaps intended) otherworldly stunning, in fact a strong front runner as the most beautiful vampire in cinema history. And David Bowie’s no slouch in the looks department either, the younger, earlier version of him in the film, mind you. In fact in these scenes Bowie and Deneuve look enough alike to be twin brother and sister, which adds to the film’s creepy, kinky feel.

Moreover, Hunger’s topical message about angst over aging strikes close to home in our own times: its themes of everlasting youth and beauty are even more relevant today than they were three decades ago. A curious bit of irony in casting is that in the early Eighties the ethereal beauty of both Bowie and Deneuve was teetering on the cusp of fading, while Susan Sarandon was just peaking both as an actress and beautiful woman.

But getting back to style: the opening six minutes or so is a mind blowing virtuoso piece of editing and cutting. From a purely technical standpoint, it’s arguably the best part of the entire film. However … for better or worse, the lesbian scene with Deneuve and Sarandon - the one we wait two thirds of the movie to get to - is what Hunger is best known for, and well worth the wait. It’s a doozy of a sequence both visually and emotionally. The seduction motif firmly cemented Delibes’ “Flower Duet” from Lakmé, superimposed so suggestively over all the steamy goings on, as opera’s ultimate lesbian moment. But in a movie this gorgeous and with a cast so cinegenic, what’s not to like about lesbian, or in this case bisexual, vampires? 

Aside: The Hunger’s look is a wonder and has a decided preference for evanescent blueish tones. I’m not enough of a vampire scholar to read any symbolism into this but it is rather interesting from a visual point of view. 

Highly recommended, then, with the usual not-for-all-tastes caveat for this kind of material. Another warning: for all that The Hunger is a horror film, it does move at a very deliberate, stately pace. Suave and classy, it’s probably the ultimate synthesis of art movie and horror film we’ve yet to see.

Trivia: interesting that of all the reviews I've read online not one has mentioned all the smoking going on in a medical clinic. Smoking chic was quite the thing in them days. How times have changed.

style ***1/2
substance ***

Further reading: Through Geschwitz’s Lorgnette: Flower Duet; Vampires Wear Yves Saint Laurent: Tony Scott's The Hunger @ The Cristóbal Balenciaga Museum

Drácula es para siempre

Editor’s note: this post is a revised and updated version of a blog post that originally appeared in 2010.

Drácula (1931). 104 min. Filmed at night on the same sets as the original Universal Dracula with Bela Lugosi. Director[s]: George Melford; Enrique Tovar Ávalos [uncredited]. Cinematography: George Robinson. With Carlos Villarías (Conde Drácula), Lupita Tovar (Eva), Barry Norton (Juan Harker), Pablo Álvarez Rubio (Renfield), Eduardo Arozamena (Van Helsing), Carmen Guerrero (Lucía Weston).

style ***1/2

substance ***

Yes, it is better (more or less)

Draculophiles are divided as to which of Universal's early Thirties vampire essays is the superior. Is it the familiar English-language classic, directed by Tod Browning, or its shadow/mirror image, the Spanish-language challenger directed by Melford/Ávalos? The latter film has developed quite a following and is no longer the novelty it once was: it’s very much available via DVD and much discussed both in scholarly and popular sources [1]. Moreover, there's even the occasional theatrical screening.

In the title role of Conde Drácula, the much maligned Carlos Villarías makes a game try, and no, he’s not Bela Lugosi (who is in this role?). But with his tall, aristocratic carriage and rather sinister features he looks the part, and - contrary to the prevailing view - at least in this writer's opinion actually does a pretty good job in the role. Villarías’s hopped up, campy performance actually improves, so to speak, with repeated viewings and fits in with the somewhat overwrought atmosphere of the film. Partisans of the original counter that Lugosi’s definitive performance is the sine qua non which overrides all other considerations, a not altogether illogical argument.

As for the supporting roles, the jury is still out. Much has been made of the women’s sexier wardrobe in the Spanish version, and no doubt the women are more provocatively attired. But their acting is also far more expressive, matching perfectly the film’s sensual, hothouse gestalt. Likewise, there’s a case for Pablo Álvarez Rubio’s hysterically intense Renfield being a match for, or possibly eclipsing, Dwight Frye’s famous turn in the role. Along the way there are a few inevitable clinkers, in casting and otherwise: the mental asylum attendant’s comic relief never really works, and nurses who wear high heels is quite the reach, even for a horror film.

It's also debatable whether the latter's greater length, by nearly one half hour, is a plus or minus. But as for style and general atmosphere it’s pretty much no contest. The English language version creaks along, looking more and more an antique as the years recede. The more fluid Spanish entry, by contrast, seems relatively modern, not only for its stylistic felicities but also its languishing, pre-Code eroticism. As the first sexy vampire film, Drácula anticipates by decades the current popularity of sexed-up vampire fiction and various other forms of paranormal erotic fiction such as werewolf, succubus, et al [2].

Desire never dies

Moreover, in its conflating of sex and vampirism, Drácula paved the way for the next two entries in the Universal vampire series which portrayed the undead in, relatively speaking, more sympathetic terms while managing to sneak in a good bit of sensuality and psychoanalysis. With Dracula’s Daughter (1936) and its homoerotic overtones, our heroine seeks release from her vampiric urges, which she refers to as an obsession. It’s tempting to view said urges as code for her ‘unnatural’ desires which are the true source of her angst [3]. Thus the title character in Daughter is both cinema’s first lesbian vampire as well as and the first neurotic vampire, and her mental state actually looks back to Eva’s conflicted feelings in Drácula.

Louise Allbritton in Son of Dracula

The next entry, Son of Dracula (1943), gives us a similarly offbeat - albeit different kind - of love story, complete with another sexy vampiress, this one with a kinky fascination for the other world and immortality. Likewise Drácula may be seen as the prototype for the more explicit Hammer lesbian vampire films of the Sixties and Seventies. Its prescience might even be seen extending as far as films like The Hunger (1983).

But, as the man said, I digress. While there's much to savor in both early Thirties Dracula's [4], for me, and for now, Viva El Drácula!  

[1] For one scholarly approach, see Robert Harland’s masterly "Quiero chpar tu sangre: a comparison of the Spanish-and English-language versions of Universal Studios' Dracula,"   Journal of Dracula Studies, v9 (2007), pp. 29-38.
[2] With its creative use of shadows and lighting effects, Drácula also may well be the first vampire noir, a trend that was followed up in subsequent vampire films like Dracula's Daughter, Mark of the Vampire, and Son of Dracula.
[3] Commentators have focused on the notorious scene in which the Countess Zaleska seduces the young model. However, an arguably more overt lesbian context occurs later in the film at Castle Dracula, where the sinister Countess has whisked away Dr. Garth’s Gal Friday Janet. In this brilliantly edited sequence, the Countess longingly and gradually bends over the helpless girl, coming ever closer as she’s about to put the (vampiric or otherwise) moves on her. Will the good doctor intervene in just the nick of time?
    Similarly, Dracula's Daughter can also been seen as the first vampire film which more or less equates vampirism with drug addiction.
[4] Right or wrong, with subsequent viewings I further appreciate how good the Spanish Drácula is and regard it as the true first Dracula film. Consequently the English-language version, for all its creepiness, seems more and more a curiosity, a filmed play, if you will, redeemed only in part by Lugosi’s matchless take on the role.

Gloria Holden in
Dracula's Daughter (1936 )