Dream Lover

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.

Well, all-in-all this is a rather lame & pretty disappointing movie. It's not badly made or hasn't any noticeable technical flaws for that matter. It's just that the pacing was too slow and on several occasions the suspense was really lacking. A lady gets attacked in her apartment by an unwelcome visitor (well not really her apartment, since she's still a little daddy's girl, but an apartment she sub-rents from some musician who is out of town). She manages to overcome him. However, she remains traumatized and starts developing some serious mental issues (like in: ripe for the loony-bin). I won't tell much more for those of you who still want to check out this movie, because, well, it is directed by Alan J. Pakula after all, so I'm sure you could do worse picking up a random movie (not that I'm a fan of this director or anything). It has maybe one or two tense scenes and some enjoyable dream-sequences. But that's all, basically. The final scenes in the building in London had something promising going on there, but in the end the conclusion is just disappointing. They really should at least have thrown maybe some incest and a lot of killings in there to spice things up (not that these are things that make a movie good, but hey, if you're out to terrify your audience, then why not make the extra effort?). But no, just pretty lame stuff and secretive dream-research in some basement room is all you will find in this one. So why didn't I flunk this movie? I dunno... maybe I'm just a nice guy. Or maybe it's a better movie than I first thought it was? If I'll ever re-watch it, I'll let you know.

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.

In the opening and closing credits, the filmmakers acknowledge the services of sleep research centers and consultants in the making of this movie. But while there is some educational dialogue about dreams, the main concept - the heroine acting out her dreams - is not as innovative as they seem to think; haven't these people ever heard of the word "sleepwalking"? Kristy McNichol is fine (if one-note) in a demanding role, but director Pakula's pacing is off, the thrills are few, and the finale, with one character apparently transforming into Superman, is ludicrous. (*1/2)

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 ****