A Perfect Murder

Alfred Hitchcock may not have been in top form in Dial M for Murder; even so, Frederick Knott's adaptation of his stage thriller moved along with elegance and panache, at least from Ray Milland and John Williams, and cool beauty from Grace Kelly. "Drawing-room murder with cold, literate, gentlemanly skulduggery," Pauline Kael called it. The new, very loose adaptation of it, directed by the able Andrew Davis, is somewhat less cold, and a lot less gentlemanly and literate. It is written by Patrick Smith Kelly, whose previous experience consists of studying business at the University of Colorado and doing six years' worth of stand-up comedy in New York City. The film is titled A Perfect Murder, which, of course, it isn't, except perhaps of what was good in the 1954 movie.

Steven Taylor (Michael Douglas) is a millionaire Wall Streeter whose shady deals have left him on the brink of bankruptcy or worse. Emily, his even richer wife (Gwyneth Paltrow), has felt subjugated and neglected by him, and has begun an affair with David Shaw (Viggo Mortensen), a rising young artist, or so she thinks. Actually, Shaw is a scam artist and gigolo, who has been jailed for fleecing rich women, and Steven discovers both his wife's infidelity and her lover's seamy past. Partly to avenge his hurt ego, partly to inherit her fortune, Steven wants Emily dead; he will pay David half a million to kill her in a carefully planned, supposedly perfect murder.

The situation has possibilities. Steven, in his way, loves Emily, which is an additional motive for his vengeance. David, for the first time, feels for his victim, with whom he has great sex, but half a million tax-exempt dollars are pretty irresistible. Emily cares for as well as resents her husband but is passionate about David, and thus thoroughly torn. If only the scenarist were good enough to fully convey and exploit these ambivalences, and if the three actors had what it takes.

What emerges is our realization that a murderous triangle, however dramatic, requires a strong script and cast to be involving. In the New York Times, Stephen Holden wrote, "Douglas, who with each film looks more like a wattled, riled-up rooster, makes Steven a pleasure to loathe." The avian description is apt, though I would have preferred pouter pigeon with ruffled feathers. Either way, the pudgy face, the beady eyes, the hair artfully curling down the neck cry out for chicken coop or dovecote. As an actor, Douglas excels at obsession and shiftiness; for all his fine rage and cajolery, we look in him in vain for the hate-filled lover, the suffering human being.

Viggo Mortensen, an actor best suited to gangster roles (though he wasn't bad as the brutal Marine sergeant in G.I. Jane), is even less appealing as David. His hair longer and scragglier than Douglas's, his face subtly unshaven, his voice tonelessly laid-back, and his skin bedizened with bits of blue paint, he is at best the naive teenager's idea of the macho artist.

Worst of all is Gwyneth Paltrow, an actress whose emaciated, asexual face apparently delights women and gays, but holds scant attraction for any heterosexual male I have discussed her with, especially as her acting is arrested at the level of a debutante performing at a charity benefit. She goes through the motions and emotions dutifully, but no inwardness comes across. So what have we got, with Michael's poultriness, Viggo's paltriness, and Gwyneth's Paltrowness? Not much.

The plot has as many holes as a bag lady's stockings, but I cannot adduce them without giving away too much. Most interesting about A Perfect Murder are the production design of Philip Rosenberg, particularly the fabulous Fifth Avenue apartment overlooking Central Park, and the costumes by Ellen Mirojnick. She is quoted as wanting to seduce us: "Steven Taylor's clothing is all fine, fine fabric. It's hand-tailored from top to bottom, and, inclusive of his leather shoes, everything except for a tie or two was designed especially for Michael." So, too, "almost everything was made for Gwyneth."

Just imagine if that sort of care had Gone into the writing and acting! But this is emblematic of Hollywood: enchanting setting, expensively handmade clothes, and inside-anything but human beings.

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