I probably like ‘Passion’ a little bit more than I should, and almost certainly more than it deserves, and I’m not sure I can give a reason why.
Oh, who am I kidding? That’s not true at all. The only reason I’m cutting this misfire any slack at all is because I am a Brian de Palma-holic.
The first de Palma movie in five years is a reason to celebrate, so yes, I’ll readily admit that I’m going soft on what in essence is not a very good movie at all. I can’t recommend it, but apparently even subpar de Palma gets a pass from me, which is an important thing to know about one’s self.
Because let’s face it, us de Palma-holics could give a toss about the details. Story, acting, dialogue… these sorts of things couldn’t matter less. What’s important is how he shoots and edits these events (which are invariably besides the point).
And on that score, the movie mostly comes up short.
‘Passion’ is the story of various shady dealings at what appears to be the world’s most ornately shitty advertising firm, particularly, the sexual and emotional mind games that unfold between beautiful, glamorous executive Christine Stanford (Rachel McAdams) and her protege, Isabelle James (Noomi Rapace).
There’s girl-on-girl kissing, which is decadent and shocking, unless you’ve heard of Katy Perry, in which case, it’s just another Tuesday.
It’s easy to imagine a version of this movie that works, if for no other reason than that one actually exists. ‘Passion’ is a remake of the 2010 French film ‘Love Crime’, which I have not seen. I can’t gauge how faithful an adaptation it is. But, if I were to venture I guess, I’s say that it’s extremely faithful up until the moment it becomes a Brian de Palma movie, which is catastrophically late in the game.
About half the film is shot with no more panache than your average TV movie. Aside from whatever visual pleasures you derive from the lead actresses and glass heavy modern architecture, there’s almost literally nothing to see here.
But then, when things actually start to happen, de Palma responds in kind, starting with a bravura ballet sequence. That, and the aftermath, inject a little life into the proceedings, but only if you’re very forgiving does it excuse the inert nature of the first half.
And so, what we’re left with is a story that, for all its twists and turns, adds up to little more than soap opera nonsense, and not in the good way, because at the very least a half decent soap opera would have camp in its favor.
Though, to be fair, Noomi Rapace’s performance here might be camp of the highest order. I certainly hope so, otherwise, she’s flat out terrible.
I’m still not sure where I come down on the subject of Rapace, who was so electrifying in the Millennium trilogy, and so… bland… in pretty much everything else I’ve seen her in. Here, she lacks the charisma to pull off a somewhat tricky role, and without the usual de Palma razzle dazzle to make up for it, the movies suffers. I suppose there’s some mean spirited fun to be had in some of her more overwrought line deliveries, but mostly it’s just kind of embarrassing.
Rapaces’ sparring partner is the ever luminous Rachel McAdams, who does what she can in the face of such adversity, which turns out to be not a whole hell of a lot. McAdams, talented as she is, simply doesn’t have the heft to make her character seem like anything other than a variation on her bitchy ‘Mean Girls’ character, somehow minus the psychological depth.
And neither one of them are helped by one of the worst musical scores I’ve heard in a movie, ever. The only way I can think to describe Pino Dinaggio’s score is to say that it’s like listening to very loud ham.
There’s just no heat here. No pulse. No thrill to the kink, if you can even call it that. Why bring in Brian de Palma if he’s going to go all ‘Soft-R’ on us?
So no, it doesn’t really work. And yet, I can’t find it in me to out and out reject the movie. The ballet sequence really is fantastic, and almost makes the whole thing worth sitting through. There are some fun fringe performances, especially from Karoline Herfurth as Rapace’s loyal assistant and Benjamin Sadler as a hilariously dickish prosecutor. And the goofy insanity of the last ten minutes is de Palma at his, if not finest, than certainly his most ‘de Palma’.
The bottom line is this: Us de Palma fanatics… we don’t know how many more of these we’re going to get. So you’ll excuse me if I take my pleasures where I can…
