Turned Every Single Light on in the house...

I was 19 when this came out, it was the summer of 1980. I don't remember who I went with to see it; I don't remember much of anything except the sheer terror I experienced watching the killing in the elevator.

This film jolted me several times; the chase on the subway train and platform (expertly shot), the climactic scene, and of course the dream at the end. All of these got me to some extent.

But that murder scene. It's NEVER let me go. All these years.

I drove home after that screening. It was the late screening on a Friday Night, I didn't get home until after midnight. Everybody was asleep. I proceeded to turn on every light in the house. I checked behind every closed door. I checked under the bed. I went to bed with the damn bedroom light on.

I was nervously searching for that woman. The killer. The glasses. The wig. The coat. The height.

The razor.

That scene in the elevator freaked me out.

Later, when the movie became available on VHS, I watched that scene many times, and worked to deconstruct it, figure out why it had worked on me so effectively.

It's a damn near perfect piece of horror and suspense.

A big part of it, I'm convinced, is the mirror. That mirror in the elevator. Wow, does it ever go a long way in providing the shocks.

And the killer's face. The glasses. The coat. She gives me the damn willies. She's tall, very tall.

And then that great moment where Nancy Allen is looking in the elevator, trying to put it all together after the initial shock overpowers her. The door slowly closing, the razor right there, and then Nancy seeing the killer in that infernal mirror.

He really catches you off guard, De Palma I mean. The long scene in the museum. You don't realize on the first viewing that you get to see the killer in that sequence, it's a real fun thing discovering that on the second viewing. The whole VD thing, she's in a tizzy, and you're really caught off guard to what's coming. That terror.

It's a brilliant scene. Scary enough for me to dwell on it for over 35 years now.

Brian De Palma; master of my nightmares.