Watching Dressed to Kill tonight, I had forgotten what it was like to actually see camera work capture a developing scene, following action in movement, seeing it to its completion, with editing done circumspectly, with a painterly skill. The opening has Victoria Johnson....errrmmm, Angie Dickinson groping and fondling her fully naked and showered body as steam, water, and soap accompany her hands in enjoying the sensation of the flesh as pleasure turns to horror when a man comes from behind as she focused her eyes towards her husband, shaving his face outside the fogging glass. It is a peculiar dream, or maybe fantasy, soon retreating to the bedroom where Dickinson's pleasureless sex with her husband is occupied by radio news. Her hubby gets it done and departs while Dickinson is left unsatisfied. Soon to complain to her science genius son (Keith Gordon), about his staying up all night inventing a "binary numbers machine" and forgetting their planned art museum trip, Dickinson is again left disappointed by a man in the house. Then off to the memorable museum scene once her English psychiatrist (Michael Caine) is briefly tempted by her blunt option to fuck her which is diffused by his "loyalty to his marriage". Third disappointment with a man won't be her last! It just gets worse! The museum is all stylish visual foreplay before directing us to the Psycho Janet Leigh shock sequence (playfully after a STD discovery that would *seem* to indicate Dickinson was shit outta luck, only to meet the edge of the blade). It directs with no audio and Pino Donaggio's melodic orchestral score, only letting Dickinson communicate a lengthy "chase" where a skirt chaser has her as his new target. I wondered how many married and unsatisfied wives this guy charmed out of their undies.

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