Laura Mars (Dunaway) is a hugely successful fashion photographer who, understandably, is upset when all her friends are murdered one by one and she starts experiencing detailed daydreams about the killings.
After John Carpenters whirlwind arrival onto the slasher scene, it seemed fair to expect a lot from this psychosexual horror, especially on skimming the cast list. But there the illusion, like Lauras (Dunaway) world, shatters into tiny pieces, impossible to retrieve into anything resembling a pattern.
Initially, the juxtaposition of sex and violence in Marss work seems like it might bring in some social moralising or even cross-genre political satire. Quickly, however, this notion is decapitated and, as Lauras daydreams begin, we strap ourselves in for the body countdown. Too glossy to evoke real sexual tension or, more crucially in this genre, fear, Laura Mars suffers from the over complication of something so simple as serial killing.
Big budget, big names, big box-office. Big deal.