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USA 1998
Reviewed by Richard Kelly
Our synopses give away the plot in full, including surprise twists.
In 1965, the New England town of Northfield is evacuated, then flooded to create a reservoir. In the present, illustrator Claire Cooper lives near the reservoir with her husband Paul, a pilot. Their marriage is fraying, due to Paul's frequent absences and Claire's recurrent nightmare-visions of an abducted child, which she thinks may be relevant to a local murder investigation. Claire's daughter Rebecca is snatched and her body is fished from the reservoir. Realising her visions were premonitory, Claire attempts suicide. She is treated by psychiatrist Dr Silverman, but the visions only get fiercer, and she slashes her wrists. She tells Silverman that the killer is "inside her head".
Paul agrees to have her committed. Claire foresees Paul's murder, but can't convince Silverman to prevent it. In her hospital room, Claire discovers a poem, familiar from her dreams, inscribed by ex-inmate Vivian Thompson. Claire breaks out by following Vivian's own escape route. Inspecting Thompson's file, Silverman learns that the child Vivian was left for dead by his mother during the Northfield flooding. Claire lures Vivian from hiding, and accompanies him to his home, a derelict cider factory where he is holding another child, Ruby. Claire helps Ruby escape and flees herself, pursued by Vivian. The police arrive but fail to prevent Claire plunging to a watery death. Ruled insane, Vivian is recommitted, only to be haunted by bloody visions and Claire's voice.
Plainly, Neil Jordan is not an artist who's much arrested by naturalism. He has a flair for all things fantastic, hence his happy teaming with Patrick McCabe on The Butcher Boy, a film in which any sane man should take delight. So you have to wonder why Jordan continues to make movies for Hollywood studios. Whether the matter at hand be pretty-boy vampires or the birth-travails of the Irish Free State, the results always seem to bear the rabid tooth-marks of preview testing. His latest undertaking amounts to not much more than just another serial-killer thriller, and from Jordan that isn't nearly enough.
The pity is that there's some grand stuff here. Having formerly found a soulmate in the late Angela Carter, Jordan is comfortable with eerie invocations of fairy tales amid a rural bourgeois idyll. Claire Cooper's visions, if compounded of familiar dreads, come forth in great torrents and have a nerve-straining intensity: the boy Vivian chained and thrashing in his watery bedroom-tomb; a fair child and her killer, holding hands in a musty orchard; an apple ominously crushed underfoot. (Kudos must be due to the excellent Tony Lawson, whose editing feels taut throughout.)
A real treat is the sequence where Claire's moppet daughter Rebecca is stolen away from her school production of Snow White. As realised by Jordan and designer Nigel Phelps, the play is an uncommonly glamorous affair, bound to induce envy in any parent who has squirmed away an evening in a draughty assembly hall. The setting is authentically deep, dark woodland, lit with lanterns, and the kids are wonderfully costumed, not least Rebecca as the sprite inside the mirror on the wall. Suddenly, enchantment is translated into terror: Rebecca vanishes, police and a distraught Claire tramp the woods, only to discover a bereft pair of angel wings snared on a briar. A fast track past Rebecca's bewildered classmates finishes on the hapless little Wicked Queen, who earlier made such a lisping tour de force of her jealous tirade to the mirror.
Throughout, Darius Khondji's camera moves with giddiness and guile, seeming to assume assorted personages - even at one point that of Claire's dog Dobie. Claire's premonition of her suicidal plunge into the reservoir packs a tremendous, vertiginous point-of-view punch. Later, grieving Claire confesses to a sense of disembodiment, of watching herself from a distance as the camera watches her from a distance. At other times, we feel the watchful, wraithlike presence of the killer in the camera-eye. The commingling of these intimations duly comes, as Claire sees herself making love to Paul and is joined in the shadows by Vivian. They share complicit whispers, even a kiss - until Claire bites into his lip. Of course, ever since The Silence of the Lambs broke the box office, Hollywood has fed us gifted, wistful killers, whose dearest desire is to murmur endearments in the ear of some fine-boned WASP woman. Jordan flirts with a few variations on this theme of unnatural union, and there's one inspired passage of doubling, as Claire uncannily retraces Vivian's steps out of her asylum incarceration. But finally Vivian wants only to fashion a surrogate family for himself, and when that comes to naught, he settles for just giving Claire a nasty nip.
Since her spirited early roles in Valmont and The Grifters, Annette Bening has looked marooned on-screen as a middle-class mommy. But as Claire becomes an increasingly unhinged and resourceful heroine, Bening serves a reminder of her spark. The supporting players are given only bones to suck. Duplicitous husband Aidan Quinn is marked as dead meat from the start. Stephen Rea plays the sceptical spare-part shrink with a flawless accent. (Clearly, and not unreasonably, Jordan can't stand to be without him.) As for Robert Downey Jr, with his rather sensual man-child mien and ragamuffin demeanour, it was probably inevitable that he would eventually get a go in the cinematic nut-house. But his delayed entrance to the proceedings is the point where the film descends unerringly into formula. One is forced to reflect that few horror films have been as good as Gary Sherman's Death Line (1972) in giving us a lovelorn bogeyman who's both loathsome and pitiable.
As In Dreams unravels, its lineage is laid bare (Freud and fairy-tale psychoanalyst Bruno Bettelheim, Psycho and The Shining), and the plausibles take a pasting. An unpleasant epilogue exposes yet again just how deeply the serial-killer thriller responds to the US obsession with capital punishment. Jordan clearly felt for Patrick McCabe's murderous butcher boy, but this time out his heart is harder - or maybe just not in it. The likely fate of this movie is to wind up in digital double-bills with Jennifer 8 or maybe Candyman. That could be counted a success only if Jordan's present ambition as a film-maker is to become quite nasty. His fans know better, and expect that his next one, an adaptation of Graham Greene's The End of the Affair, will see him in finer fettle.