La pesadilla

If there isn't much in this modest, sub-Hitchcock thriller worth criticizing it's only because there isn't much in it worth noticing at all. The premise is fascinating: that a drug might be used (or, in this case, abused) to block the chemical in our brains that inhibits muscular action during sleep, allowing us to unconsciously act out our dreams. But the script never aspires toward anything more than a routine psycho-thriller of curiously limited means: the film seems to have been made on two or three sparse studio sets with a very small cast, led by Kristy McNichol as the young test subject who naturally forgets to ask about an antidote. A throw away release doomed the film to a quick, easy death at the box office, which is a shame considering the far worse features being plugged that same summer, and the unsettling streak of sadism didn't help matters: most of McNichol's dreams find her a victim of rape and/or extreme violence.

This is a creepy little film... Kristy McNichol plays Kathy, a flautist and daddy's girl from the suburbs who is invited to join a professional jazz combo with a gig in a downtown restaurant in a big city. No sooner has she rented an apartment in town than she is attacked by a stalker, whom she kills in self-defense. Afterwards she attempts to suppress the memory of the attack and subsequently is plagued by a recurring nightmare where she relives the night of the attack. The rest of the movie deals with her relationship with a sleep researcher who uses her as a guinea pig in his experiments into the dream-life of animals. The scenes with McNichol playing flute and scatting are a little embarrassing (the movie employed technical advisors for scenes involving clinical psychology, and they could have used similar advice in the scenes with the jazz combo). Also, there's not much dramatic tension in a movie where Science is the protagonist and the only real antagonist is McNichol's lingering nightmares (in contrast with, say, "Altered States", where sound scientific theories complemented perfectly the fact that all the scientists were raving nutters). But the atmosphere is certainly unnerving and claustrophobic. The movie shifts from dream-frame to reality-frame often enough so that at the most crucial moments, you're kept guessing whether what you're seeing is real or not. Director Pakula coaxes his usual understated, naturalistic performances from all concerned. McNichol is perfectly cast as the slightly lost, sexually vulnerable young artist out on her own for the first time, and gives a great performance I've never seen her match. Her scenes with her father are affecting and pathetic. Paul Shenar is great, too, as Kathy's Dad; "Twin Peaks" fans will no doubt spend most of the film watching and waiting for the man who played Laura Palmer's possessed father to look in a mirror and see the face of Bob. To sum up: this is not one of Pakula's best movies, but definitely worth seeing--if only for the scene where McNichol meets her psychotic, and armed, self in a dream.

Kristy McNichol plays Kathy Gardner, a jazz flutist who is menaced in her apartment one night by a stranger (Joseph Culp). Later, she suffers recurring nightmares regarding the incident, and in desperation, turns to a sleep / dream researcher named Michael Hansen (Ben Masters) for help. The idea is that she will use some form of "dream therapy" in order to consciously affect the outcome of her dreams.

This material (by writer / co-producer Jon Boorstin) had potential, and certainly the film is creepy at times, but this has to rate as a real off-day for filmmaker Alan J. Pakula, who'd done much better things such as "Klute", "The Parallax View", and "All the President's Men" in the 70s. He doesn't seem particularly invested in the material, and brings no real life to it. In fact, the film is deadly boring and often intensely uninteresting. It indeed moves along at a real snails' pace. Pakula does bring some visual flair to Kathy's dream sequences, but otherwise "Dream Lover" is just too dull to work overall. The sleep center scene in "A Nightmare on Elm Street" was more entertaining in this viewers' eyes.

A good cast (Paul Shenar plays Kathy's father, John McMartin & Gayle Hunnicutt play two family friends) is rather wasted here. Kristy is appealing as always, and Masters gives a likeable performance, but she's been better utilized in other things. Look for the late, great character actor Jon Polito in a small role (minus his trademark mustache).

This over-extended attempt at thrills & chills ultimately goes on too long, and leads to an extremely unimpressive ending. It's too bad, really, because this COULD have been better. The score by Michael Small is one of the films' few virtues.

Four out of 10.

Flutist Kathy Gardner (Kristy McNichol) sidelines her music career with boyfriend Kevin McCann to follow her father to Japan. She has constant nightmares. She is attacked by a disturbed intruder. She kills him in self-defense. Her nightmares get worst and she seeks help from a sleep institute.

This is a paranoid psychological thriller. It's trying to be Hitchcockian or its 80's equivalent, De Palma. It has no tension. It struggles to get kinetic energy. It has moments of intensity but for too long, the movie is sleepwalking through this story. Most of the time, her dreams are not compelling enough. There's maybe a nightmare or two which actually raised the blood pressure. The rest is sleep inducing. It's a muddle. The only blood flow may be coming from Kristy McNichol walking around in her skimpy underwear. This is not good.

Kristy McNichol stars as a young flautist in New York City who is asked to join her teacher's jazz group, which means defying her imposing widower-father and moving into her own apartment in the Village. But an attack on her first night away from home--in which she stabs an intruder--plagues her with a recurring nightmare, sending her to a sleep research center. MGM/UA had no idea how to market this admittedly slow, low-keyed yet ambitious thriller from director Alan J. Pakula--and the film pretty much vanished. Still, Pakula presents to us an intriguing scenario and an interesting take on sleep disorders and, though screenwriter Jon Boorstin cheats in his dealings with the heroine's complicated relationship with her father (it seems almost incestual), "Dream Lover" is a chilly, intriguing, ambitious achievement. McNichol gives a very good performance despite being somewhat miscast; the actress was eager to shed her tomboy persona, yet she's all wrong when dolled up in period costumes or gowns (she also draws the line at nudity, with the camera dropping to her feet when she gets out of bed after sex). Still, the actress gives this psychological puzzle an honorable try, and her dreams--four or five different scenarios which overlap and intermingle at the climax--are fascinating. Michael Small composed the eerie, shimmering score. Pakula was awarded the Grand Prize at France's Avoriaz Fantastic Film Festival. *** from ****