Brian DePalma is undeniably one of cinema’s truest master craftsmen. Influenced greatly by (almost to the point of ripping off) his hero, Alfred Hitchcock, the 70 year old filmmaker is known for contributing a slew of visually stunning and technically flawless psycho-thrillers throughout the 70s and early 80s that have thus spawned their own imitators and copycats alike. One of his earlier (and lesser known) works, 1973’s Sisters, has been remade for the home video market by director Douglas Buck, an inferior film by comparison yet surprisingly noble and well made considering its troubled production history and limited distribution.
In a nutshell, Sisters tells the story of investigative reporter Grace Collier (Chloë Sevigny), an unwavering and determined young woman who witnesses the murder of naive doctor Dylan Wallace (Dallas Roberts) in the apartment of veteran mental patient Angelique (Lou Doillon). Insistent on breaking the story to the media, Grace is eventually met with resistance by Angelique’s psychiatrist Dr. Philip Lacan (Stephen Rea) and his potentially violent threats that she cease her inquisition into Angelique’s life immediately or serious action will be taken. Despite the intimidation Grace continues her inquiry and discovers a deeper, more disturbing link between doctor and patient that suggests there may be far more to their relationship than meets the eye…
DePalma’s original film was an interesting character study infused with a psychosexual mentality, in addition to showcasing much of the director’s now famous (albeit self-conscious) technical bravado. While not a masterpiece by any means, the Margot Kidder film was very much focused on creating a classical thriller structure in order to generate genuine suspense and shocks, much like the films of Hitchcock and early Roman Polanski. Buck’s re-envisioning, however, is a far more subdued exercise in quiet tension and restrained theatrics, making a very conscious effort to downplay any ambiguity or mystery with regards to the psychology of the ‘sisters’ and their motives for mayhem. Consequently, this less mystifying approach to the story also results in a less interesting movie, making it feel more like it were a made-for-TV melodrama than a mature horror film deserving of serious attention. It’s an unfortunate cinematic byproduct, as almost everything else about the film is well intentioned and commendable…for the most part.
Speaking of which: the police procedural sub-plot. When dealing with a suspense story or any kind of murder/mystery a lot of horror films tend to feel obliged to include some degree of involvement from law enforcement, presumably in order to lend a certain reality to the proceedings(?) Sisters does precisely this and falls into the same trap by never following up the results of officer investigation, instead leaving the authorities in the dark as if they never existed in the first place. There’s also a number of troubling flashbacks that involve a younger Angelique and Stephen Rae (who’s character is fatally underdeveloped) that don’t ring emotionally true in the context of the exposition given, but in the end these segments don’t make enough of an impact to matter anyway.
On the plus side French-born Lou Doillon gives an impressively standout performance as the sultry yet fragile sister, forever clouding herself in a veil of secrecy and darkness. Her casting in the lead role helps bring a particular allure to the character that could have otherwise been lost had a more predictable screen beauty been brought in for the wrong reasons.
Among the plethora of horror remakes still assaulting theaters as we speak, Sisters definitely ranks as one of the lesser reduxes in recent memory, despite some fine performances and confident direction. In the end it’s simply an altogether underwhelming and unnecessary imitation of a greater elder that should have stayed in the concept folder.
Dir: Douglas Buck
Writer: Douglas Buck & John Freitas
Cast: Lou Doillon, Chloë Sevigny, Stephen Rea, Dallas Roberts
Country: USA/Canada
Run Time: 92mins
Rating: MA15+
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