Review of Dressed to Kill (1980) by Blake P — 29 Oct 2014

If Alfred Hitchcock is renowned for his technically brilliant shower slaughter in "Psycho", Brian De Palma will always have his elevator murder scene in "Dressed to Kill." Labeled as the Master of the Macabre during his prime, De Palma was the answer to Hitchcock's simultaneously stylish and entertaining thrillers during the 1970s and '80s. "Dressed to Kill" shows De Palma at his prime, combining his subtly sleazy ticks with high art cinematography and clever suspense.

Kate Miller (an excellent Angie Dickinson) is an attractive, 40-ish housewife. Blonde, comely, and instantly likable, she is stuck in a bad marriage that promises financial benefits without any emotional or physical perks. She regularly sees a psychiatrist, the sophisticated Dr. Robert Elliot (Michael Caine), but even he can't seem to solve her problems.

In an immensely well-shot sequence that goes for minutes without dialogue, we follow Kate into an art museum. Her eyes wander onto the activities that surround her; but suddenly her pleasantly uneventful afternoon is interrupted when a man sits next to her. He immediately draws her attention, and this leads into a stalk-and-awe sequence that plays out beautifully in its hard-edged tension. The scene ends with a rendezvous in a cab that is out-of-control and breathlessly racy. Realistic? No. But it works flawlessly in the silky gauze of a thriller.

When she leaves his apartment later on, a series of events transform her passionate tryst into something much more dangerous; Kate finds that she's left her wedding ring in the mysterious man's flat. But when she takes the elevator back up, she is slashed to death by a woman that resembles Karen Black in "Family Plot". The scene splatters in every direction, but like Janet Leigh's killing in "Psycho", it is shot in a tasteful and meticulous manner that takes away any seedy trappings.

A woman catches a glimpse of the murderer: she is Liz Blake (the underrated Nancy Allen), a high class hooker. The police despise her, but Liz is determined to make right. She inadvertently teams up with Kate's teenaged son (Keith Gordon), who possesses the brains needed to outsmart the killer.

If "Dressed to Kill" wasn't directed by De Palma, it's hard to even imagine what would have become of it. With a melodramatically over-the-top screenplay and individual scenes that nearly ooze with erotic thriller grime, the film could have been the land equivalent of 1977's trashy "The Deep". But in the same way "Kill Bill" changed the world of the revenge film with its extreme style, "Dressed to Kill" both reinvented and reinvents the idea of a thriller.

It has all the elements needed to get out adrenaline pumping: the creepy stalk-and-slash configurations, the emotive orchestral soundtrack, the shadowy rooms; but De Palma spices things up. He is so intent on making the film look sleek that it ends up making the overall film feel a whole lot less dated and a whole lot more unforgettable.

His ingenious use of split-screens (one of his many trademarks) are so overwhelmingly brilliant that it's a wonder no one ever thought of the method before him. His use of lighting is less focused on realism and more on tone. The eroticism is more a fixture than a gratuity, emphasizing the sex and death 101 popcorn movie ploy. The comparison to Hitchcock doesn't necessarily come from style. It seems to instead stem more from the idea that De Palma is unafraid to let his own inhibitions leak onto the film itself. "Dressed to Kill" is like a comic book. Sure, the substance may not be top-notch, but the presentation is unflinchingly eye-catching.