Review of Passion (2013) by Glenn G — 31 Aug 2013

Brian DePalma has never been interested in presenting reality onscreen. His best films live in a heightened dream state where pristine compositions, self-aware performances, and trashy storylines collide. They're like watching Hitchcock through a heavily-vaselined lens while doing a hit of poppers. DRESSED TO KILL, CARRIE, and BLOW OUT, all movie-movie perfection, knew where to direct your senses and get you caught up in their innate yet compelling silliness.

His latest endeavor, PASSION, is a remake of a 2010 French thriller called CRIME D'AMOUR (LOVE CRIME). Shot in Berlin and starring Rachel McAdams and Noomi Rapace as an Ad Exec and her protege who engage in an erotic, twisty game of power plays and murder. McAdams is fully up to the task of being the icy blonde DePalma heroine, caressing each hoary line with a knowing wink similar to that of Nancy Allen, formerly married to DePalma and a star in DePalma's best films. Rapace doesn't fair as well, with her tightly wound demeanor and overly serious dedication to her character. Watching her melt down in a parking garage is simultaneously wonderful and embarrassing. Unless you're given a script filled with brilliantly vulnerable and true moments like Sissy Spacek was in CARRIE, then a DePalma performance needs to slightly break the fourth wall a bit to truly succeed. McAdams knows this is delicious trash, whereas Rapace is going for Oscar glory. Guess who wins?

None of this is to say that PASSION is any good. It's actually a bit tedious as it's a very long march to get to its dangerous endeavors. There are, however, perverse pleasures to be had , but don't you dare take it seriously for a second. This is a female empowerment fantasy disguised as a bitch-heeled, cat-fightin'` war of wills. DePalma used to be accused of ripping off Hitchcock, but then he started rifling around in his own collection (the nod to CARRIE at the end of DRESSED TO KILL is repeated here). It's as if he's stuck replaying his greatest hits CD on a turntable...and if you can understand that sentence, then you're gonna eat this film alive.

As far as production values, they're a bit lacking. Clearly made on a lower budget than what DePalma was used to in his glory days, there are cheap translights in backgrounds where natural cityscapes would have been used, a terrible London sequence clearly shot in Berlin, and an overall emptiness to the look which in the past would have been filled in with lurid detail and expert slashes of lighting. Cinematographer José Luis Alcaine, a veteran of Pedro Almodovar's films, seems to be doing a slightly less rich imitation of vintage DePalma. It's not bad work, but with fewer resources at hand, it's more BODY SINGLE than BODY DOUBLE.

Ultimately it doesn't matter, because DePalma has a signature style, something rare in a director. His films are like orange juice with the pulp and the whole rind thrown in just in case you forgot how it's supposed to feel going down. Even when he's having a slightly less invested good time as he does this time out, he still trots out enough split screens, twists, and expertly crafted sequences to remind you that it takes an artist to make junk food like PASSION taste this good.