Editorials
The Self-Aware Meta Commentary in Brian De Palma’s ‘Body Double’ [Sex Crimes]
Considering how long I’ve been writing this editorial series, it’s wild that this is the first entry tackling Brian De Palma. While there’s a history of contentious reactions to his works (primarily from feminists in the 70s and 80s who accused him of misogyny for his often brutal treatment of female characters), aside from Adrian Lyne, De Palma is easily one of the most significant directors to work on mainstream Erotic Thrillers.
Body Double is a solid entry in his filmography. It is also incredibly representative of his filmmaking interests in that it focuses on doubles, deep focus/split screens, Hitchcockian themes of obsession, sex and voyeurism, and, finally, a mystery murder that is more complicated than it initially appears.
For first time viewers, it might be surprising to learn that star Melanie Griffith does not appear until well past the one hour mark, after her doppelgänger, Gloria Revelle (Deborah Shelton), has been brutally murdered. In this way the film is loosely split in two: before Holly and after.
In the first half, claustrophobic actor Jake Scully (A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors’ Craig Wasson) discovers that his girlfriend is cheating on him and moves into the gold standard of Hollywood bachelor pads, courtesy of acquaintance Sam Bouchard (Gregg Henry). The swanky set-up includes a rotating bed, aquarium, well-stocked bar, and – naturally – a telescope to capitalize on the expansive view.
Before his departure, Sam ensures that Jake takes note of one specific sight: a stunning brunette who performs a daily striptease in front of her wide-open windows. But when Jake notes that Gloria is being observed by an “Indian” man (ah, the problematic 80s), he embarks on a voyeuristic odyssey to protect her.
Body Double is famous for several key sequences. First there is Jake’s attempt to tail Gloria when she leaves her house to go to the mall and buy lingerie. It’s a long, drawn-out affair involving migrant tree-cutters, underground parking attendants, and a store employee who is not nearly concerned enough about the dual peeping toms observing her clientele.
De Palma and cinematographer Stephen H. Burum shoot the mall sequence in long or extreme long shots. Considering how innocuous most of this drama is, as characters spy on each other, the direction and editing (courtesy of Gerald B. Greenberg and Bill Pankow) do a masterful job of elevating the cat and mouse affair. All of the running up and down escalators is the visual double of another stair-dominated sequence later in the film when Jake tracks Gloria to an isolated beach house built into the side of a hill.
The other notable sequence is, of course, Gloria’s murder. As Jake watches through the telescope, the woman is attacked in her apartment. As he sprints through the Hollywood Hills, Gloria is first strangled with her telephone cord, then brutally penetrated (offscreen) by a massive phallic drill that literally cuts through the ceiling to leak blood.
It’s a virtuoso sequence: the murder is incredibly tense despite its somewhat inevitable conclusion, as well as its slasher-esque sexualized violence. And while Gloria’s death is brutal and unrelenting, it confirms Jake’s responsibility in the proceedings: as the police note, had he simply owned up to his fetishistic voyeurism earlier, Gloria might still be alive.
While it’s easy to dismiss the detective because he is so smug, he’s not wrong. Jake then basically doubles down on the wrong idea for the last act of the film, when he takes it upon himself to “solve” the case and track down Gloria’s body double.
Enter porn star Holly Body.
It’s an understatement to say that Griffith is pretty fantastic in the role. She brings a spunky feistiness that energizes the film following Gloria’s murder (be prepared to lament her limited screen time). It doesn’t hurt that her introduction coincides with a stylistically fun sequence as De Palma briefly immerses audiences (without warning) in a porn narrative as Jake goes undercover. The film-within-a-film is a completely different movie (by design), but it is so fun, breezy, and, yes, sexy that one wonders if, like Wes Craven, De Palma could have made a career shooting porn.
The introduction of Holly naturally plays into the mysterious (not quite femme fatale) aura of the character. Naturally she becomes Jake’s new obsession, though Body Double fails to flesh her out or give her agency. In this way, Gloria and Holly represent the dual sides of Jake’s obsession with the Madonna (Gloria)/whore (Holly) complex.
While underdeveloped female characters would normally be lamentable, in Body Double it makes sense. The narrative is all about Jake’s ill-advised desire to “play” the hero – a role that effectively contributes to Gloria’s death and nearly gets Holly killed in the climax. It’s pretty self-aware of DePalma and co-writer Robert J. Avrech to play on the former’s reputation for mistreating female characters by making the whole film about the male lead’s insecurities and inefficiencies.
As we’ve discussed in previous entries, Erotic Thrillers owe a great deal to Film Noir, which – thanks to the Hays Code – tended to end by reinforcing a morally black and white view of the world. Body Double refuses this script: not only does Holly disapprove of being forced into Jake’s crusade and nearly being buried alive, but the pair don’t wind up together. And while the end of the film confirms that Jake has overcome his claustrophobia and returned to work, the final scene plays like it is gently mocking Jake’s B-movie role as a pervy vampire who is still working with body doubles.
In this way, Body Double works both as a great Erotic Thriller, and as self-aware meta commentary by De Palma about the subgenre and his own reputation within it. That’s pretty clever.
Sex Crimes is a column that explores the legacy of erotic thrillers, from issues of marital infidelity to inappropriate underage affairs to sexualized crimes. In this subgenre, sex and violence are inexplicably intertwined as the dangers of intercourse take on a whole new meaning.
Five decades ago, Stephen King published the story of a bullied girl with telekinetic powers and forever changed the world of horror.
Carrie follows a high school misfit who seeks revenge for a hideous prank by psychically destroying her senior prom. The name Carrie White has become synonymous with the concept of a formal dance thanks to a flawless adaptation from Brian De Palma. Now fifty years after the film’s release, Mike Flanagan is putting his own stamp on the troubling story.
Rather than a feature film, the writer/director will expand King’s relatively slim debut novel into an eight-episode miniseries for Amazon Prime set to premiere on October 7.
Flanagan is no stranger to the world of Stephen King. A long-time Constant Reader, he first made waves with his daring adaptation of Gerald’s Game (2017), a novel many fans considered un-filmable. His underrated Doctor Sleep merges the disparate plot of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining with King’s original source material, and his 2024 genre-bending tearjerker The Life of Chuck faithfully executes one of the author’s most metaphysical novellas.
He’s currently mired in pre-production for an expansive adaptation of The Dark Tower series, keystone to King’s connected universe, and Warner Bros. recently announced that Flanagan will helm a new version of The Mist, King’s 1980 novella which sees a small Maine town overrun by otherworldly monsters.
Considering the vast array of the author’s previously unadapted material, an obvious question arises. Why reimagine Carrie in 2026? Noting the timeless nature of the content, Flanagan expressed his desire to bring the story of a bullied girl into modern times, mirroring his approach to Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House and Edgar Allan Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher. He explained, “The only way to approach it was to build something new out of the ingredients of Carrie. Otherwise, there’s really no purpose in trying to retread ground that’s been so beautifully walked before.”
His miniseries will maintain the novel’s bloody bookends while delivering “big surprises” along the way.
A New Prom Night Nightmare
The roughly 60-second teaser introduces Summer H. Howell as Carrie White just before the moment of catastrophe. Standing in a prom dress, she smiles at her applauding classmates with an ominous crown perched upon her head. Moments later, Carrie unleashes a rage-filled scream into the night air while promgoers rush for the exit doors. But careful examination of this scene shows Carrie wearing a different, albeit dirty dress as she seems to telekinetically punish her peers.
In an exclusive first look with Entertainment Weekly, Flanagan explains that in his version of the story, “the events of that prom are going to be completely different.” An open trunk emitting a crimson glow does hint at the pig’s blood dumped on Carrie’s head, but it’s likely Flanagan’s formal dance will be a different kind of horror altogether. Despite these changes, the series may end with the widespread destruction outlined in the source material. Unlike any previous adaptations, King’s novel ends with the near-total destruction of Chamberlain, Maine. A flaming street in Flanagan’s trailer promises similar carnage no matter what prank sparks Carrie’s deadly revenge.
The Monstrous Addition of Social Media
On the opposite end of this fiery conclusion is an extreme act of bullying that brings together the story’s main cast. King’s novel begins as Carrie gets her first period while showering in the girls’ locker room. Completely unaware of the concept of menstruation, the sheltered girl thinks she’s bleeding to death. Her classmates respond with vitriolic rage. Led by ultra-mean girl Chris Hargensen (Alison Thornton), they mock the terrified teen while pelting her with tampons. Glimpses of this disturbing event reveal that Flanagan has excised the scene’s nudity while adding a seismic update. As Carrie sobs in the shower stall, Chris and her friends film the breakdown with their phones.
Other scenes note the presence of social media, bringing King’s fifty-year-old story into the digital age.
Flanagan’s adaptation promises to explore the destructive power of social media, an often invisible entity with a potential for harm rivaling Carrie’s own powers. While King’s tormented heroine suffers in front of a small group of girls, Flanagan’s version of the incident will likely become a viral video, potentially circling the globe on social media. Similar to Katt Shea’s criminally underrated The Rage: Carrie 2, which includes elements of revenge porn exploitation, Flanagan’s modern retelling will distinguish itself by exploring the nebulous cruelty of online bullying, a force ten times more powerful than the irl pranks King first envisioned.
A Completely Reimagined White Family
In addition to modernizing these canon events, Flanagan hints at updates to Carrie’s oppressive upbringing at the hands of her mother, Margaret White (Samantha Sloyan). Dead before the novel begins, we never meet Carrie’s domineering father Ralph, known to carry a bible alongside his gun. Flanagan’s White household will be an altogether different beast. In his version of the story, Carrie and her mother have been hidden away in the unassuming home, forced out of hiding by Ralph’s unexpected death. Perhaps we will finally meet this elusive man whose shadow hangs over his wife and child. Considering the White family’s fundamentalist lifestyle, this reimagining hints at tradwife culture and a home ruled by staunch patriarchal control.
Whereas King’s Carrie has been tormented by her classmates since Kindergarten, Flanagan’s Carrie will be a wide-eyed newcomer to public school, eager to make friends and engage with her peers. We glimpse Carrie cozying up to Chris and the equally popular Sue Snell (Siena Agudong) as she navigates a new social scene. Of course, we know this kindness is part of an elaborate plot designed to lull Carrie into a false sense of camaraderie, setting up an atrocious act of public humiliation. These brief moments of feigned compassion put Sue’s own complicity into question. Will Flanagan’s version of the character find the courage to defend Carrie from vicious bullies or will she succumb to peer pressure and join in the mob mentality?
Perhaps the biggest deviation from King’s original text is the relationship between Carrie and her mother. King’s Margaret White is a horrifically abusive religious zealot whose worldview has been hardened by internalized misogyny. She shames Carrie for menstruating, locks her in a closet to “pray,” and regrets not killing her child in infancy. She’s also responsible for Carrie’s social ostracization. Known to berate her neighbors for their “sins,” Margaret forces her daughter to live by an extreme code of conduct and disallows any potential friends lest they corrupt the girl with their worldly ways.
Flanagan’s version of the character is perhaps just as much a victim as Carrie herself. Also trapped inside her home, his Margaret is overly vigilant, her own trauma manifesting as strict control. Describing a more sympathetic depiction of the iconic villain, Flanagan explains, “Our Margaret White is a woman who fiercely loves her daughter and wants to protect her from this world … [She] doesn’t know how to do that and thinks the way to protect her is to close her off; not punitively, but to create this private utopia.”
Despite this potential softening, Sloyan’s Margaret may still have a sharp edge. Though she has appeared in many Flanagan projects, from Hush (2016) to The Fall of the House of Usher (2023), she is best known for her role as the abhorrent Bev Keane in the poignant saga Midnight Mass (2021). Perhaps inspired by King’s Margaret White, Bev is pious and sadistic, willing to punish anyone who does not adhere to her warped approximation of Catholicism.
Flanagan specifically wrote Margaret with Sloyan in mind, likely remembering the actress’s eerie ability to create deceptive empathy and shift our allegiances on a dime.
Expanding Stephen King’s Telekinetic Universe
While most of King’s story deals with an unthinkable prom night in Chamberlain, Maine, large sections of the semi-epistolary novel see experts debating the nature of telekinesis. Do Carrie’s frightening abilities represent a new phase in human evolution or is the prom night carnage merely a fluke? King settles the debate with a shocking denouement in which a young mother recounts her infant daughter’s ability to dangle her crib toys in midair. We’re left to wonder if she will become another tormented girl who surprises the world with metaphysical strength.
Flanagan plans to build out this brief scene while amplifying themes of female empowerment. After introducing our main cast of characters, episode two will open with an unrelated story in which we meet another girl with the TK gene. Each subsequent chapter will expand this world, building out a roster of telekinetic young women. Considering King’s fondness for stories about powerful kids, often described as possessing “the shining,” Constant Readers will no doubt have their eyes peeled for various Easter Eggs nodding to the author’s vast catalogue.
Giving Carrie Her Own Voice
Perhaps the most striking distinction in Flanagan’s new trailer is the extent to which we hear Carrie’s voice. The sneak peek is fully narrated by the titular prom queen as she demands accountability. “I want to know why,” she explains while detailing Chris’ elaborate plan. Aside from the aforementioned coda, King’s book essentially ends with the aftermath of the prom night tragedy, leaving little time for Carrie to reflect. His shifting narrative does bring the reader into her fragile mind, though not before she’s been cowed by relentless cruelty. We watch Carrie sink into bloodthirsty revenge, but never hear a considered desire for justice or repair.
Flanagan’s original monologue allows Carrie to voice her pain and mourn the life she could have had. We’re also treated to a mug shot-style photo of Chris with a bruised and bandaged face, implying that the mean girl will have to answer for her senseless sadism.
Flanagan is known for filling his series adaptations with heartwrenching speeches that cut to the heart of his thematic intentions, and this teaser seems to follow suit. After years of fans, critics, and scholars analyzing Carrie’s pain, perhaps his modern retelling will offer the titular anti-hero a chance to finally speak for herself.
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