A call-girl witnesses a murder and becomes the killer's next target. Director Brian De Palma is really on a pretentious roll here: his camera swoops around corners in a museum (after lingering a long time over a painting of an ape), divvies up into split screen for arty purposes, practically gives away his plot with a sequence (again in split screen) where two characters are both watching a TV program about transsexuals, and stages his (first) finale during a thunderous rainstorm. "Dressed To Kill" is exhausting, primarily because it asks us to swallow so much and gives back nothing substantial. Much of the acting (with the exception of young Keith Gordon) is mediocre and the (second) finale is a rip-off of De Palma's own "Carrie"--not to mention "Psycho". The explanation of the dirty deeds plays like a spoof of Hitchcock, not an homage. Stylish in a steely cold way, the end results are distinctly half-baked. ** from ****