Accurately, Doppelganger is not what it first seems — not an erotic thriller, that is. I mean, it is, but that’s not all it is. If you recognize the names of the KNB EFX Group founders in the opening titles, you’re given a big ol’ hint.
Playing against preppy type, George Newbern (Adventures in Babysitting) has zero game as socially awkward screenwriter Patrick Highsmith seeking a roomie to share his L.A. apartment. In walks Holly Gooding (Drew Barrymore, E.T. — heard of it?) to claim the space. Patrick’s so smitten with Holly, he can’t get enough of her … so you think having two of her around might be a plus!
Holly’s spitting image stalks Patrick around town, but this Hitchcocked double is also insatiably plunging knives into people. The first victim is a middle-aged rando played by Jaid Barrymore, Drew’s real-life mother. (Wish fulfillment much?)
Somehow, neither Patrick nor his live-wired writing partner (Leslie Hope, Bruiser) know what a “doppelganger” is. The very idea of an evil twin vexes these WGA wannabes. When she’s not trying to convince Patrick he’s in danger, Hope’s character rattles off hopelessly dopey dialogue like, “Watch your dick, pinhead!”
I can’t say how well Barrymore benefits from Doppelganger alone. But look at it as part of her haughty, naughty parade of the early ’90s (Poison Ivy, Sketch Artist and TV’s The Amy Fisher Story), and all makes sense. She worked hard to rehabilitate her rep as a coked-up child actor. Lest viewers hold any doubt and still think of her as a Firestarter (twisted Firestarter!), the opening credits play over her shrink (Dennis Christopher, Fade to Black) pawing her shirtless bod as she writhes in orgasmic glee.
Need more proof? Thrill as Barrymore dances seductively, knees Danny Trejo (Machete) in the nuts, slow-motion showers in orange-tinted blood and gets crucified on the bedroom wall. And it works.
As cut-rate (pun intended) De Palma, Doppelganger places stakes in the ground of camp and gradually grows campier, dragging your attention along with it. As incredulous as the plot gets and the level of hysterics the performances reach, you’re still ill-prepared for what writer/director Avi Nesher (Timebomb) cooked up for the climax. It’s an all-time howler I shan’t spoil. —Rod Lott