Crimes of Passion (1984)

Crimes of Passion is the kind of fearless, late-night thriller that feels like it’s been plugged straight into the wall socket—part erotic fever dream, part darkly comic satire, and always unmistakably Ken Russell. Kathleen Turner is mesmerizing as a woman split between polished ambition and nocturnal reinvention, while Anthony Perkins turns religious mania into something queasily fascinating, a performance that tightens the film’s grip scene by scene. The movie doesn’t just flirt with taboo; it stares it down, using lurid style and heightened intensity to poke at repression, desire, and the stories people tell themselves to survive. It’s not for the squeamish or the prudish, but if you’re in the mood for a bold, provocative ride that’s smarter than its scandalous reputation, this one earns your attention.

Crimes of Passion is clearly trying to be a lurid, neon-lit morality play about desire, repression, and double lives, with Ken Russell pushing everything into operatic, taboo-baiting territory. The problem is that the story often feels like it’s daring you to be shocked instead of earning its twists, so the tone swings between sleazy, campy, and oddly flat in a way that can come off dramatically incoherent. If you need a tight thriller with a satisfying plot engine and characters that behave like humans rather than symbols in a sex-fueled fever dream, this will likely irritate you more than it entertains. Still, Kathleen Turner commits hard, Anthony Perkins is memorably unhinged, and if you’re in the mood for provocative 80s psychosexual excess over narrative sense, you may find it weirdly compelling.