Dressed To Kill (1980) Review

Role: A prostitute (Nancy Allen) and the son of a murder victim (Keith Gordon) team up to find an elusive killer who murdered a bored housewife (Angie Dickinson).

Review: Dressed To Kill was always one of those movies that I heard so much about, knew the cast, knew the basic story and who the killer was, but I hadn’t sat down and watched the film. Not because I had no interest in it; the move had obtained legendary cult status, and I usually get around to those sorts of flicks eventually. No, for whatever reason, it was only recently that I sat down to see what all the fuss was about.

The story…where to begin. It’s crazy. Highly implausible, bold, outrageous, crazy. The basic premise is a team-up to find a killer – but what a bizarre killer. I won’t spoil things, but if you haven’t heard who the killer is – I doubt you’ll see it coming. The movie doesn’t have plot holes, though; it has plot craters. Characters showing up when there was no way they could have known to. A psychiatrist who seemingly lets a killer just walk away. A plot twist that is too ridiculous to believe. De Palma takes basic Hitchcock and gives it a prime dose of sleazy New York 70s flair. Don’t watch this if you want a tightly plotted, believable thriller. Watch this if you want to see how crazy stories got in the late 70s/early 80s.

Because the plot is so over-the-top, I found that when it tried to ground things and give the viewer some logic or coherence, the movie abruptly bogged down. Usually, the explanation wasn’t worth the…ahem…suspense. Even though it clocks in at 105 minutes (and this is the Unrated version), it seems to flow in fits and starts.

The movie’s magnificence lies in how it was made. De Palma crafts some wonderful sequences, including the museum seduction “chase”, the taxi romp down 5^th Avenue, the murder in the Manhattan high-rise, and the final reveal and nightmare scene. Each memorable sequence is wonderfully crafted, with ingenious use of the camera and expert staging. It has a dreamlike, almost surreal quality to it when it’s working at its best – reality has nothing to do with the film.

There is a small amount of gore. I won’t lie, the makeup effects are a little… cheesy, especially in the elevator murder scene, but De Palma does know how to shock the audience, especially for an audience when the film was initially released. There’s also nudity. This would make the…what do they call them? Intimacy co-ordinators?…in today’s movies lose their minds. There must have been at least two Penthouse Pets in the movie, and there’s enough skin to graft on an elephant. Ahhh…. that’s how they used to make movies, I tell you.

The characters are alright. Michael Caine is brilliant as always as the stuffy, professional psychiatrist. Keith Gordon is not annoying as the son of the murder victim (something I couldn’t say for his turn in Christine). Nancy Allen is competent as the prototypical hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold (and man, does she look spectacular in lingerie). Angie Dickinson has the best turn as the housewife – she’s hilarious both in the museum scene and the high-rise scene. Her facial expressions when she realizes just how many mistakes she made in the day while engaging in lusty frolics made me laugh out loud, a rarity these days. Nobody does belligerent cop characters quite as well as Dennis Franz. I won’t say the cast is insanely good (I mean, look what they had to work with), but they try their best, which is all you can ask of them.

In conclusion, I get why this is a cult movie. The over-the-top, sexploitation content of it just screams as one of those movies you enjoy on a Saturday night, oohing and aahing at all the skin and violence. When taken seriously as a smart, sleek thriller, it doesn’t hold up, but I don’t think that was De Palma’s intent; I think he knew exactly what kind of movie he was making, one with homages to one of the greatest film directors of all time, while staying true to the time period it takes place in. In that regard, the movie is a rousing success.