"Double Exposure" is a lurid thriller starring Michael Callan ("Cat Ballou", "Mysterious Island") as Adrian Wilde, a photographer who's begun having nightmares in which he murders his models. And, naturally, these women begin to be murdered in real life in the same fashion (as well as some other people), so we have to wonder, IS he responsible? He certainly does look like he's coming unglued. Callans' performance is indeed an intense one, although he has his lighter moments, too, as he aggressively pursues a new acquaintance, Mindy (Joanna Pettet)."Double Exposure" sometimes goes back and forth between this lighter tone and a sleazier one as these unfortunate women (and one dude) meet their demises. As a result, the incompetent detective played by Pamela Hensley pops in and out of the story. The identity of our deranged killer isn't going to come as any great shock, unfortunately, but until we get there the movie does have its moments along the way. For one thing, it comes up with a true corker of a murder set piece involving a trash bag and a snake - an inspired bit of nastiness. Some other kills are done slasher style. Doses of sex and nudity are adequate; there's a brief bit of full frontal and it's nice that the filmmakers could include an interlude of mud wrestling.The movie does look quite nice in the Panavision aspect ratio (with cinematography by R. Michael Stringer), and the music score by Jack Goga is impressive.The cast is definitely above average for a Crown International production; also featured are James Stacy as Callans' brother (the two are actually believable as brothers, and share a good chemistry), Oscar nominee Seymour Cassel as his psychiatrist, and Robert Tessier as a lowlife bartender. Popping up in other supporting roles and notable bits are Misty Rowe, Frances Bay, Jeana Tomasina, Sally Kirkland, Terry Moore, Victoria Jackson, and Kathy Shower. However, Cleavon Little is wasted in a clichéd role as Hensley's agitated superior.Nothing great, but undeniably easy enough to watch, "Double Exposure" should be sufficient to satisfy the needs of trash movie lovers. Trivia note: it has its roots in another movie of nine years previous, "The Photographer", which also starred Callan, who even had the same character name.Seven out of 10.

Troubled men's magazine photographer Adrien Wilde (well played with considerable intensity by Michael Callan) has horrific nightmares in which he brutally murders his models. When the lovely ladies start turning up dead for real, Adrien worries that he might be the killer. Writer/director William Byron Hillman relates the engrossing story at a steady pace, builds a reasonable amount of tension, delivers a few gruesomely effective moments of savage misogynistic violence (one woman who has a plastic garbage bag with a rattlesnake in it placed over her head rates as the definite squirm-inducing highlight), puts a refreshing emphasis on the nicely drawn and engaging true-to-life characters, further grounds everything in a plausible everyday world, and tops things off with a nice smattering of tasty female nudity. The fine acting from an excellent cast helps matters a whole lot: Joanna Pettet as sunny, charming love interest Mindy Jordache, James Stacy as Adrien's macho double amputee brother B.J., Seymour Cassel as Adrien's concerned psychiatrist Dr. Frank Curtis, Don Potter as Adrien's feisty gay assistant Louis, Pamela Hensley as gutsy homicide detective Sergeant Fountain, Cleavon Little as a hard-nosed police chief, and Misty Rowe as sweet, bubbly model Bambi. R. Michael Stringer's polished cinematography makes impressive occasional use of breathtaking panoramic aerial shots. Jack Goga's ominous rattling score likewise does the trick. Popping up in cool bit parts are Robert Tessier as a gruff bartender, Sally Kirkland as a saucy hooker, Kathy Shower as a fierce female wrestler B.J. grapples with in the ring, and Frances Bay in one of her standard old woman roles. A solid and enjoyable picture.

I had to scan the credits of this movie for surnames beginning and/or ending in vowels because I'd swear it was an Italian giallo. All the signs are there: gratuitous violence and nudity, out-of-control cinematography, a completely ridiculous plot. Michael Callan is a photographer who has incredibly cinematic dreams where he murders his beautiful, half-naked models. When his beautiful, half-naked models start being murdered in real life, both the police and his psychiatrist (Seymour Cassel) begin to suspect that he is the killer. But is it him or is it his creepy brother who is missing both an arm and leg (but still gets to date former "Hee Haw" honey Misty Rowe and mud wrestle Playmate-to-be Kathy Shower)? If you've seen even one of these kind of movies, you already know the answer. Still if you love Italian giallos and 70's and 80's low-budget American exploitation flicks (a select group of people, I know) you'll be in drunken, late-night TV-watching heaven with this one.

Michael Callan plays a smarmy photographer who seems, nonetheless, to be regarded as a perfect "catch" by any woman that runs across him; could this have anything to do with the fact that he also co-produced the film? He's a "hero" whom it's very difficult to empathize with, so the movie is in trouble right from the start. However, it's troubles don't end there. It has the production values of a TV-movie (check out that head made of clay or something, near the end), and the ending cheats in a way that I can't reveal, in case anyone wants to see the movie (highly unlikely). Let's just say that the killer knows more than we were let to know he knows. (*1/2)