Body Double (1984) Misogyny and the self satirising artist? (Review)

Indicator Series has launched this Monday with a wonderful statement of intent, elsewhere on the site you can read our review of John Carpenter’s Christine, a release supplemented with the most definitive roster of extras one could hope for. The same is true of their other debut release, Brian De Palma’s controversial erotic thriller Body Double. The 1984 film is not only controversial but a victim of a significant critical mauling with its director unfairly nominated for the worst director at the self-parodic, mean-spirited golden raspberry awards.

Craig Wasson stars as Jake Scully, an up-and-coming actor in Hollywood grasping any role he can get. As the film opens he is playing the vampire in an independent horror film only to learn there and then that he suffers from claustrophobia, fired from the role, he heads home only to find his girlfriend sleeping with another man. This leaves him without work or a roof over his head. Taking pity on a fellow struggling actor, Sam Bouchard (Gregg Henry) offers him the opportunity to house-sit while he has a job out of town. Before Sam leaves, he takes the time to introduce Jake to the beautiful woman who lives opposite and puts on a ‘show’ every night. From this grows an obsession, stalking, and murder. The second hour enters the world of pornography and it is here where Melanie Griffith appears as the iconic Holly Body.

Described as an erotic thriller in awe of Hitchcock’s Rear Window and Vertigo, it can also be discussed as an American cousin of the Giallo akin to White of the Eye. If the Italian sub-genre can be described through any terms it’s an exaggerated riff on the murder mystery, intersected with the slasher and lashings of sex. A concoction that saw its leading lights accused of all manner of things, the peak of which saw the press accusing the likes of Dario Argento as being rampant misogynists, De Palma was subject to the very same accusations, and given certain plot beats in certain titles – it’s an understandable conclusion to draw.

Not to stick to the negative connotations too firmly, the rationale behind affiliating Body Double with that eternally Italian sub-genre also comes down to its structural and artistic merits. The dual prong of cinematography and violence cannot be ignored. De Palma has an interest in the movement of the camera comparable to the king of the Italian genre, Mario Bava. One shot alone in Body Double, from regular cinematographer Stephen H. Burum, is evidence of this kindred style. Early on, Scully is sitting at a coffee shop checking the classifieds for new roles as he is doing this the camera rotates in one beautiful movement in which the lens moves to focus on the newspaper as if to replicate his point of view, in keeping with the core voyeurism.

The violence is housed in one graphic scene whereby the mysterious ‘Indian’ murders the object of Scully’s affection with what is possibly the most phallic drill in cinema history. Maybe. The grizzly and textually forthright image of the tool piercing the floor has ensured Body Double has remained in the dialogue on cinematic violence, through this sexualized violence, a link can be drawn between this and many marquee moments from countless examples of fetishized violence from the sleazier end of the Giallo spectrum. Whether by intent or accident, misogyny is here, and that much is unavoidable. However, there’s a suspicion that De Palma is in on the gag, take how he stops the film for a Franky goes to Hollywood (Relax) music video to introduce Griffith. A filmmaker of De Palma’s intellect knew exactly what he was doing, and in that there’s a subversion which strays along the line that falls so many modern films. Just because you point out something inherent ridiculousness by replicating it, it doesn’t mean that you have risen above those allegations. It’s shallow and disingenuous oneupmanship.

Exposition isn’t the best of cinematic tools when it comes to murder mysteries, some scripts are far too zealous in spilling their guts. While De Palma and Robert J. Avrech’s script reveals the true nature of all of its twists and turns, there are also ample opportunities for creative exaggeration. Body Double by name Body Double by nature, there is a smattering of fantastical flourishes towards the end of the film that peek further behind the velvet rope of the film industry. For example, the ending has a second attempt to get it right. Very clever stuff from a director who was never credited with much intelligence beyond his blocking and camera work.

The other film launched this past Monday by Powerhouse’s indicator brand, Christine, maintained a level of functioning nostalgia in that it can still appeal to a modern audience. Body Double is at the wrong end of that mix, while the score by Pino Donaggio is everything you’d expect from the legendary composer, the soundtrack is a completely different story. If anything, the choice to adopt contemporary music dates the film in a way that no number of nostalgic retro-fetishists would dare be caught near. More akin to finding a parent’s record collection over the cool synthwave that billowed from the door opened by Drive.

Body Double provides ample evidence that Brian De Palma was one of the most invigorating directors of the 70s and 80s with both time and eminent distributors fighting his corner. A zippy, entertaining American Giallo with great staging and bold creative decisions aplenty. However, it all comes back to his attempts to snap back at the accusations leveled at him, for me. Sometimes the claims of misogyny were entirely fair (especially with Raising Cain and Dressed to Kill) sometimes they weren’t – and in the case of this debuting Indicator release, it’s both rampant and not. Schrodinger, eat your heart out.

Thanks for reading our review of Body Double

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