Film Review — Dead Ringers (1988)
★★★★☆
The lives of identical twin gynaecologists descend into chaos when they begin a relationship with an infertile actress.
Long before Armageddon and Deep Impact duked it out at the box office, there was 1988’s battle of twin-themed movies. In the blue corner, Ivan Reitman’s Twins, the fun but disposable buddy comedy that made stars Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny Devito an ungodly amount of money. In the red, David Cronenberg’s Dead Ringers, also a tale of two brothers. That’s really where the similarities end, to be completely honest.
But with all due respect to Ivan, Arnie and Danny, I know where I’d rather spend my time.
Very loosely based on the troubling lives of twin gynaecologists, Cronenberg once again satisfies his brilliant but macabre fascination with psychology, sex, and the bodies that tie it all together. Dead Ringers is what you’d expect from the Canadian. An uncomfortable balance between elegance and putridity. But unlike his past gore-filled features, the body horror here is almost entirely internalised.
The film is most fascinating when exploring the bizarre relationship between the brothers, whose frequent switching creates a delightful confusion that curiously continues despite their diverging paths.
Think The Prestige, but with less magic and more vagina.
Jeremy Irons is impeccable in a challenging role, effortlessly capturing the eerie physical similarities but with enough subtle differences to define each performance. Of course, Irons wasn’t even nominated for an Academy Award, nor was co-star Geneviève Bujold who is just as good as the nuanced and tragic instigator of the story.
Dead Ringers might lack Cronenberg’s trademark visceral thrills, but it’s every bit as brilliant as some of his best. An absorbing and intentionally depressing downward spiral that’s hauntingly beautiful on the inside as well as out.
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