19.11.23
Come for Jeremy Irons’ remarkable dual performance, stay for the surgical, simmering psycho-sexual tension. Dead Ringers has a muted but disturbing tone that contrasts coolly with its distinctive production design and vibrant use of primary colours to do the storytelling. It showcases how well David Cronenberg handles his usual fondness for violence in a controlled style, crafting instead a psychological drama which confronts his persistent preoccupation with the physical and mental declines of the human soul.
It has enough stylistic substance that allowed me to enjoy it for all its unsettling whimsy. Clearly, it’s a divisive film, which has been largely re-evaluated this year due to the release of the Dead Ringers TV show in 2023 starring Rachel Weisz in dual roles as the Mantle twins. Now in retrospect, I feel that the original film is worth checking out for fans of Cronenberg’s more recent work as they will instantly notice his trademarks; the opaque sexual themes, visual potency through mutilation and many semi-dream sequences.
Despite this though, Dead Ringers inhabits a clinical, cold atmosphere throughout, which although suiting the nature of the story revolving around the misuse of prescription drugs and the voracious behaviour of doctors as predatory gynaecologists, does make the unfolding of events drag at times. The female roles are also very thinly written and unconvincing in my opinion. A double dose of Irons in a devilishly unsettling concept does make it a decent enough movie, but if you’re not feeling despondent going into it, you will be when it’s over.