Dressed to Kill (1980)

Angie Dickinson made her breakthrough in 1956 with the film Gun the Man Down. Her career was more prolific in television (she received multiple Emmy nominations) than in cinema, where she was often relegated to paper-thin, even sexist roles (looking at you, Rio Bravo). That was up until 1980, when she was cast in Brian De Palma's erotic thriller Dressed to Kill. The movie is generally held in high esteem nowadays, though there are actually many faults to be found in it. But it is an interesting view, and it offers Dickinson the chance to deliver the best performance of her career. And she does.

Dickinson plays Kate Miller, a sexually frustrated housewife. The film opens with Kate's dream in which she masturbates in the shower before being murdered by a masked killer. Is it a gratuitous, needless scene? Perhaps. But Dickinson digs deep into Kate's loneliness and gives the character a painful depth another actress might have missed. In the morning, she confesses her dissatisfaction to her psychiatrist (Michael Caine) and attempts to seduce him, only to be turned down. Afterwards, she goes to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in which she engages in an unexpected, subtle flirtation with a mysterious stranger. It's one of the best scenes of De Palma's career and his direction is sublime: he follows Kate's emotions in a compelling crescendo of intensity that keeps you hypnotized. And he makes the smart choice of letting Dickinson dominate the scene: the actress is incredible, conveying all of her character's feelings - attraction and excitement along with a seed of doubt and perhaps shame - right across her expressive face. Pino Donaggio's marvelous score underlines every emotional beat without ever becoming overbearing and obstrusive.

Kate and the stranger end up having sex at his apartment. She leaves discreetly in the evening while he is asleep: as she writes him a goodbye note, she finds a document stating that the stranger has syphillis. Heavily distressed, she hurries out of the apartment only to realize that she has forgotten her wedding ring. She enters the elevator to retrieve it - only to find a tall, blonde woman with dark sunglasses who violently slashes her to death with a razor. Up until that point, the film had been a thrilling, compelling depiction of a day in the life of Kate Miller and a surprisingly poignant, sexually charged character story aided by an outstanding performance. Afterwards, it becomes a murder mystery and that's where the problems begin.

Problem number one: the murder mystery is just not especially well written. A mystery does not have to be overly complicated in order to be effective (many movies are guilty of that fault), but in this cause the murderer is fairly easy to guess which makes the whole affair less engaging and compelling than it would have been otherwise. Problem number two: its questionable ideology. A movie should always be analyzed in its hystorical context and it's ridiculous to expect every older movie to fit in perfectly with modern sensitivity. But, as objective one might be, there is no denying that Dressed to Kill's attitude towards transgender people is troubling: not necessarily because it is offensive (and it is), but also because it lacks any sort of empathy or even any attempt to find an understanding of the character in question. Here, transsexuality is a used as a mere plot device, a common trend in 1980s movies which only helped stigmatize trans people. The problem is not that it depicts a transgender person in a negative way, the problem goes beyond that: it conveys a dated, problematic view on transgenderism in general and it does in a way that is atonishingly shallow and careless. And then, the last problem - the acting. As a high-priced call girl who happens upon Kate's body and becomes the prime suspect of the murder, Nancy Allen gives a bland, charmless performance, though to be fair she is not really helped by the poor writing of the character. Michael Caine's performance is little more than sleepwalking: he feels bored throughout, and his work ranks among the worst he's done in his otherwise great career. Supporting performances such as Keith Gordon's as Kate's son and Dennis Frank's as Detective Marano amount to little more than sketches.

What ultimately saves the movie is Brian De Palma's direction which grants it a certain style and elegance. Even though the plot itself is not always compelling, his inspired choices manage to enhance the tension nonetheless. It's the ultimate case of style over substance, though in this case it's actually a compliment to De Palma's ability to elevate the script (written by himself, who was always a better director than screenwriter) through his clear grasp onto the story and his talent at establishing a certain mood and atmosphere. The movie's first half an hour is from a great film - almost everything, from the direction, the score and Dickinson's performance is masterful. Too bad the film quickly loses his way afterwards, even though De Palma's gifts as a director are fully on display and they are more than admirable.

65/100