If the story makes no earthly sense it's because "it was all a dream." In Femme Fatale de Palma once again gets to wallow in his own erotic fear of women, then toss on a preposterously redeeming excuse of a "surprise" ending repairing an essentially irredeemable character.
The two central characters were obviously cast for their physical beauty & then no attempt was made to get good performances from them, much as is done in porno films since nothing matters but the bodies.
Antonio Banderas is a shutterbug who captures an image that can cause considerable misfortune for a sociopathic woman hiding from her past crimes, & who must now play cat-&-mouse with the possessor of the photograph.
Nothing that happens in Femme Fatale rose above the level of masochistic male fear-fantasy, & Rebecca Romin-Stamos was simply not good enough in the role to make that fear-fantasy as interesting as such sexual psychodramas can sometimes be.
But the worst thing is the reliance on coincidences every time the plot turns. If you lose your passport but must get out of town quick, you're sure to run into your exact physical double committing suicide at just the right moment, so no longer needing her a passport & airplane ticket. That's one of several goofy improbabilities passing as plotline.
If the plot didn't hinge on idiotic coincidence heaped upon idiotic coincidence, it might've succeeded as a minor quirky thriller. As it stands, scarsely a moment is believable, & in the end it's all just one shaggy dog story & an assinine cheat.
Neverthelesss, anyone who either shares de Palma's very specific fetish plus doesn't mind dumbass stories that end "it was all a dream" could well find it a sexy involving puzzle-mystery. I assume such a response to this film is possible because a few rave reviews have been generated by folks who can't tell Hitchcock from a hitching post & are willing to swear it seemed masterly to them.
copyright © by Paghat the Ratgirl
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