SPOILERS.
This initiated a string of imitations and for good reason. It's worth imitating.
It owes a lot, obviously, to "Double Indemnity," things both important and inconsequential. If Barbara Stanwyck wears a white dress as the femme fatale in "Double Indemnity," so does Kathleen Turner here. If a goofy character from Medford, Oregon, happens to glimpse the hero in a position of compromise in "Double Indemnity," here it is an eleven-year-old girl. Although the witness and the criminal meet later, in both films the witness doesn't remember the criminal well enough to identify him. I think some of the dialog may be copped verbatim too. "I don't care about the money. I'm worried about us." But, no matter if the plot isn't woven out of original cloth. It's a tightly wound story and well executed in every respect.
There's never a moment in "Double Indemnity" when we can doubt we're watching a 1940s movie. It's black and white, the acting is full of the usual conventions, has a sardonic narrative, and Wilder's direction is functional. Here, in magnificent color, we have more naturalistic -- and superior -- performances, and direction that has the camera linger on unanticipated objects like a lamp post at night on the end of a pier, luminescent in the slight fog.
The performances are all good but William Hurt's is exceptionally so. I'll just give one example of what I mean. He, Turner, and Richard Crenna are having dinner together (a marvelous scene) and Crenna tells Hurt that in order to be a success a man has to do whatever is necessary. Too many men hesitate. Hurt smiles and says, "I know guys like that. I hate them. I'm that kind of guy." Both men begin laughing and Hurt suddenly stops, his head jerks slightly, and he stares quizzically across the table at Crenna -- because he has just realized he's going to murder Crenna. It's as if Hurt had just had a raw nerve touched without realizing which mental organ it was connected to.
Crenna is pretty good in a not very prominent but complex role. Turner mainly projects her body heat by breathing through her open mouth. She has the face of Cleopatra and the heart of Brutus. Mickey Rourke appears only in two brief scenes but is unforgettable. Every word he utters, every movement he makes, commands attention without seeming to do so. Watch his response when he warns Hurt that the device that will cause a fire will be easy to spot, and Hurt distractedly replies, "That doesn't matter." Rourke's face twists a little and his lips open in a slight smile and the impression we get is understated amazement.
The sound crew too should be congratulated. If a scene is taking place on or near the beach we can hear the hushed rumble of the breakers. If the scene is in Turner's mansion we occasionally hear the slight tinkle of the wind chimes that Turner has used to draw Hurt to her, the way a fisherman uses a colorful fly on trout. The score is slow, moody, and sensuous like the film itself. (There is only one gunshot and no blood.) Excellent use is made of the Florida locations. Boy, is it hot. And nobody goes water skiing or visits Disneyworld or scuba dives. Florida is just a place they happen to live in. It's positively refreshing to not see the Everglades and the air boats.
I first saw this because I was curious about the relatively explicit sex scenes that TV commercials assured us would be there. Turner: "My body temperature is always a little higher than normal. The engine runs fast or something." Hurt: "Maybe you need a tune up." I've watched it a few times since its release and now relish the smaller moments, like the one when Hurt and Turner first meet. It's a hot night and he's walking along the boardwalk past a band stand where a glutinous trumpet lead is playing "That Old Feeling," and while Hurt stands watching, his jacket slung over his shoulder, a slender woman with long dark hair, wearing a slinky white dress, stands up in the front row and strolls up the aisle past him while he gawks. Or the scene in which Hurt, just putting his murder plan into action, parks his car on a Miami street then watches puzzled as a clown in a toy car drives by, not realizing that he is the clown.
An unsettling thought: Would this crime have been prevented if everyone had bothered to buy air conditioners?
This initiated a string of imitations and for good reason. It's worth imitating.
It owes a lot, obviously, to "Double Indemnity," things both important and inconsequential. If Barbara Stanwyck wears a white dress as the femme fatale in "Double Indemnity," so does Kathleen Turner here. If a goofy character from Medford, Oregon, happens to glimpse the hero in a position of compromise in "Double Indemnity," here it is an eleven-year-old girl. Although the witness and the criminal meet later, in both films the witness doesn't remember the criminal well enough to identify him. I think some of the dialog may be copped verbatim too. "I don't care about the money. I'm worried about us." But, no matter if the plot isn't woven out of original cloth. It's a tightly wound story and well executed in every respect.
There's never a moment in "Double Indemnity" when we can doubt we're watching a 1940s movie. It's black and white, the acting is full of the usual conventions, has a sardonic narrative, and Wilder's direction is functional. Here, in magnificent color, we have more naturalistic -- and superior -- performances, and direction that has the camera linger on unanticipated objects like a lamp post at night on the end of a pier, luminescent in the slight fog.
The performances are all good but William Hurt's is exceptionally so. I'll just give one example of what I mean. He, Turner, and Richard Crenna are having dinner together (a marvelous scene) and Crenna tells Hurt that in order to be a success a man has to do whatever is necessary. Too many men hesitate. Hurt smiles and says, "I know guys like that. I hate them. I'm that kind of guy." Both men begin laughing and Hurt suddenly stops, his head jerks slightly, and he stares quizzically across the table at Crenna -- because he has just realized he's going to murder Crenna. It's as if Hurt had just had a raw nerve touched without realizing which mental organ it was connected to.
Crenna is pretty good in a not very prominent but complex role. Turner mainly projects her body heat by breathing through her open mouth. She has the face of Cleopatra and the heart of Brutus. Mickey Rourke appears only in two brief scenes but is unforgettable. Every word he utters, every movement he makes, commands attention without seeming to do so. Watch his response when he warns Hurt that the device that will cause a fire will be easy to spot, and Hurt distractedly replies, "That doesn't matter." Rourke's face twists a little and his lips open in a slight smile and the impression we get is understated amazement.
The sound crew too should be congratulated. If a scene is taking place on or near the beach we can hear the hushed rumble of the breakers. If the scene is in Turner's mansion we occasionally hear the slight tinkle of the wind chimes that Turner has used to draw Hurt to her, the way a fisherman uses a colorful fly on trout. The score is slow, moody, and sensuous like the film itself. (There is only one gunshot and no blood.) Excellent use is made of the Florida locations. Boy, is it hot. And nobody goes water skiing or visits Disneyworld or scuba dives. Florida is just a place they happen to live in. It's positively refreshing to not see the Everglades and the air boats.
I first saw this because I was curious about the relatively explicit sex scenes that TV commercials assured us would be there. Turner: "My body temperature is always a little higher than normal. The engine runs fast or something." Hurt: "Maybe you need a tune up." I've watched it a few times since its release and now relish the smaller moments, like the one when Hurt and Turner first meet. It's a hot night and he's walking along the boardwalk past a band stand where a glutinous trumpet lead is playing "That Old Feeling," and while Hurt stands watching, his jacket slung over his shoulder, a slender woman with long dark hair, wearing a slinky white dress, stands up in the front row and strolls up the aisle past him while he gawks. Or the scene in which Hurt, just putting his murder plan into action, parks his car on a Miami street then watches puzzled as a clown in a toy car drives by, not realizing that he is the clown.
An unsettling thought: Would this crime have been prevented if everyone had bothered to buy air conditioners?