Psycho-Killer

A good old early eighties slasher film with a distinct giallo flavour to it, Double Exposure does what it sets out to do, but adds a little character to the proceedings too. Adrian Wilde is a photographer who suffers from bad dreams, especially those where he's killing the models who work with him. His brother, a stunt man whose career cost him an arm and a leg (literally), offers support but seems to be increasingly bitter and angry at the world. Wilde meets a girl called Misty, but his dreams and failing grip on reality threaten the relationship, and when the models start turning up dead in real life, Wilde reckons he's got a big problem on his hands.

The giallo side of things rears it's head as it become apparent that the true life killer is a photographer, but in the giallo style, just about every male character wields a camera at some point, from Wilde and his brother, the local barman, the psychiatrist and a gay colleague of Wilde's. Some of the killings seemingly take place in Wilde's dreams, and although the gore level is low the nasty level is quite high, especially when one model has her head forced into a bin bag that contains a snake.

So, is Wilde a nutter or is there some other utter nutter muttering in the background (with a camera shutter covered in butter)? I'll leave that up to you to find out, but I enjoyed this film, although I'm kind of getting fed up watching middle aged men getting it on with the chicks, like.

A photographer keeps having bad dreams where he has visions of him murdering many of his models. His amputee stuntman brother tries his best to keep his head afloat as the photographer starts a relationship with the woman of his dreams. Is the photographer really the killer? And will he make his new girlfriend his latest victim?

Double Exposure is a wonky and uncomfortable mix of drama, police procedural, and slasher/giallo cliches. It wants to be a character driven psychodrama, but it's never quite deep enough. It doesn't succeed much as a slasher either due to the poorly paced suspense/attack scenes that tend to end on more of a whimper than a bang. To make matters worse, the final twist is telegraphed from a mile away and triggers more eye rolls than gasps.

That said, Double Exposure looks like about 50 million bucks. There's clearly a ton of talent involved in this film and every shot looks like something from a film that's got a ton of money behind it. When all else fails, just turn off the sound and enjoy how the film looks.

Here's something a little different from Crown International Pictures: a giallo-flavoured slasher with a strong psychological angle and a decidedly nasty edge. DOUBLE EXPOSURE tells the tale of a photographer plagued by nightmares in which he kills a string of young and beautiful women, and a real-life series of killings taking place at the same time. Could he really be the serial killer responsible?

DOUBLE EXPOSURE feels very much like an '80s-era giallo along the lines of A BLADE IN THE DARK or NOTHING UNDERNEATH. It has an unusually vicious edge to it for a Crown International film; it's not that it's particularly gory - and it's certainly nowhere near as gory as your average Italian giallo - it's just that the murders are ruthless and mean-spirited. Being a Crown film, there's ample nudity if you're after that, along with a very low budget that gives a schlocky look to everything that occurs.

The cast give solid rather than unspectacular performances and there are supporting turns for a few familiar faces like Cleavon Little. Michael Callan is pretty good as the weirdo lead, covered in sweat and acting deranged for the most part, although anybody with any experience of this particular genre of films will guess the identity of the killer early on in the proceedings. Nevertheless, DOUBLE EXPOSURE is a breath of fresh air when compared to Crown's typical output (i.e. low budget sex comedies).

A photographer Adrian Wilde (Michael Callan) doesn't know of he is dreaming or awake when people are being killed while he is taking pictures. In the meanwhile he's the 'stud' of them all and all the ladies are falling for him. But in the town girls, some he photographed, are actually being murdered. Of course the question Adrian asks is if he's the killer.

More a thriller then a horror this is rather low on the killings. The first whore being killed looked a bit tame. There's a bit of nudity here and there and even some full frontal but I was never in full force with this flick. I just couldn't care what happened, the killings I did care but Adrian himself I just couldn't care.

The biggest name here is Seymour Cassel as Dr. Frank Curtis. For a slasher made in the heydays of horror and slashers this is extremely low on all aspects to be called a horror. It has more a television film look. Still unavailable on DVD or Blu Ray, only on VHS.

It's only the fact that Adrian is a playboy that makes this a failure. All girls want him and that makes it a bit unbelievable. Almost no blood or gore to see in a period when the red stuff and gore were the big thing.

Gore 0/5 Nudity 1,5/5 Effects 2/5 Story 2/5 Comedy 0/5

First time I saw this film many years ago, I thought it was a pretty fair slasher film, but on second recent viewing, it's waned a bit - while Callan is okay as the central character, a men's magazine photographer suffering from bizarre and murderous apparent dreams, Jim Stacy as his knock-about brother, maimed in an auto-accident, is perhaps the film's highlight. The switch in dominance between Callan and Stacy's characters is interesting to see evolve, but it's a transition that's made difficult to follow due to the film's erratic narrative. Joanna Pettet gets undressed and even has a "When Harry Met Sally" moment with Callan in the back of his camper-van, as the only woman with whom Callan's emotionally fragile character can consummate.

The violence is pretty extreme at times, with sado-masochistic homicide the flavour of the early eighties slasher film getting 'double exposure' here, full-frontal female nudity, mud-wrestling, even Cleavon Little in a minor supporting role as a cranky police chief. It's eclectic. The cast has surprising depth with producer Callan managing to assemble an enviable cast that includes big Bob Tessier as a bar manager, Pamela Hensley as a ball-breaking detective, Seymour Cassel as Callan's shrink, Misty Rowe as Stacy's squeeze, Sally Kirkland as a voluptuous hooker and blink-and-you'll-miss Terry Moore in a flashback dream sequence.

Lairy wardrobe, colourful dialogue, pulsating synthesisers and tricky cinematographic effects momentarily distract you, but the narrative is so inconsistent and the editing (or perhaps scene sequence and continuity) so incoherent at times, that it never maintains any momentum. Highly stylised, the bold concepts and loud motifs (not to mention the substantial cast) should have made for a better movie all things considered, and yet, it's still no Brian DePalma psycho-thriller.