REVIEW: Dead Ringers [2023]

Rating: TV-MA | Episodes: 6 | Runtime: 60 minutes
Release Date: April 21st, 2023 (USA)
Studio: Amazon Prime Video
Creator(s): Alice Birch / David Cronenberg (film) / Bari Wood & Jack Geasland (novel Twins)

It’s impossible to explain this relationship to anyone outside of it.

The first thought I had upon discovering David Cronenberg’s Dead Ringers was getting the remake treat was, “Why?” We’re talking about a masterpiece of cinema by the master of body horror with an iconic dual performance from Jeremy Irons. What could possibly be improved?

The answer, of course, is a lot. Because “improve” isn’t necessarily the correct word to use in conjunction with Alice Birch’s vision for “Dead Ringers” or remakes in general. Since the original isn’t being erased, you’re able to use its existence and ignite a conversation between the two. This is especially true here because of the subject matter: gynecology. Whereas Cronenberg’s film—inspired by Stewart and Cyril Marcus, as fictionalized by Bari Wood and Jack Geasland in their book Twins—kept the patriarchal history of the profession intact by having its leads be men and therefore having their relationship with their patients be one where they’re reduced to objects for surgery, treatment, or sex, the act of gender-swapping the Mantles opens endless possibilities.

Elliot and Beverly (Rachel Weisz) as women create inroads to commentary on maternal care and motherhood rather than simply misogyny (which is at the heart of Cronenberg’s film considering the psychotic break that occurs is in large part due to Beverly believing the woman he loves is cheating on him, leading to delusions of mutated women—monsters he as a gynecologist must study as entities removed from humanity due to the paranoia born from his battles with rejection and inferiority that have always lingered with Elliot being the more gregarious, “popular” twin). Beverly wants a baby herself and her fight to open a private birthing center in order to avoid the bureaucratic red tape of over-populated and understaffed hospitals is about ensuring all women can achieve that dream too.

Elliot is once again the more sociable and outspoken twin, but she’s also the one who buries her head in the science and research. It may seem incongruous if you have the original film in mind considering Beverly’s shyness and introversion should gravitate towards lab work, but the change is actually an ingenious one that helps us see the differences between these twins on multiple levels. Beverly is compassionate, empathetic, and moral. Elliot is crude, selfish, and power-hungry. Beverly sees their work as a means of protecting women’s bodies. Elliot sees it as a way to play God and render those bodies obsolete. Delusions of mutants become replaced by the potential of gene therapy. Where Beverly’s brilliance paints inside the lines, Elliot wants to eradicate borders altogether.

It’s thus the perfect dynamic to infuse hot button topics. Jennifer Ehle’s Rebecca Parker is a Sackler family stand-in with despicable friends and greedy motivations who offers the money to make the Mantle sisters’ dreams come true. Michael Chernus’ Tom proves a white male scapegoat to use and abuse as the face of Elliot’s extreme scientific experiments without needing to get her own hands publicly dirty. Throw them together and you must question the morality of taking blood money to save lives. Of pushing the boundaries of embryo viability outside the womb and thus creating fuel for anti-abortion proponents to redefine “life.” Horrid people deliver horrid ideas that Elliot embraces with a devilish delight not simply because she wants the money and freedom, but because she also wants the recognition. And Beverly tries to stomach it. Tries to weigh good against bad. Tries to remain human.

Who then is to blame when everything goes off-the-rails? Has Elliot truly been operating in science’s gray areas for her sister alone or is that the lie she tells herself? Has Beverly truly never asked for her to do so? Which is the manipulator and which the manipulated? Introduce Genevieve (Britne Oldford) as a love interest for Beverly and the question becomes whether Beverly is abandoning Elliot or Elliot jealously sabotaging Beverly’s happiness. Every action holds a similarly warring position. Kindness versus rage. Charity versus profit. Unconditional love versus conditional—if the former even exists at all. Because everything is “us” (the sisters) against “them” (one sister and an interloper). The Mantles are in effect a single cell desperate to both remain whole and separate. Except, of course, that the need for space to breathe isn’t always stronger than the need for each other’s air.

The changes Birch and company have instilled are smart and thought-provoking. The direction by Sean Durkin, Lauren Wolkstein, Karena Evans, and Karyn Kusama (whose 5th episode is by far the most memorably nightmarish) impeccable. We move from watching the sisters breathlessly try and work within a system that handcuffs their genius to experiencing their need to compromise with monsters while risking to become ones themselves. We meet their parents (holding their own complex piece to the Mantles’ psychological puzzle), a stand-in for the barbaric origins of their profession (a wonderful Michael McKean), and the enigmatic Greta (Poppy Liu) as their housekeeper and cook who proves a captivatingly intrusive shadow with a maternal mystery all her own. Everything is exaggerated and yet never feels fantastical. The science fiction is grounded in an authentic ethical minefield; the looming danger lost in the schizophrenic blur between reality and illusion.

And Rachel Weisz carries it all with extraordinary gravitas. Elliot’s compulsions (always eating, always seducing). Beverly’s anxiety (always ready to burst when surrounded by cheats, abusers, and opportunists). As the visual and aural structure of the show devolves (the final episode will have you constantly wondering if your phone is vibrating) with scenes seemingly sequenced out of time and memories forever threatening to consume, Weisz must become more and more unhinged in strikingly disparate ways to ensure we always know who is who (even if the ambiguity wants us to question that certainty). That she and the show constantly complement that drama with a demented hilarity only enhances the experience. There’s no looking away. No lulls in the chaos. Much like the twins, we cannot be apart from them for too long.