I wanted desperately to love Brian De Palma's new film Femme Fatale. I felt that his last two pictures (Snake Eyes and Mission to Mars) were huge disappointments despite some visual razzle dazzle. I was very curious going into this picture after seeing huge praise from the likes of Roger Ebert and Harry Knowles, and some truly scathing words from Entertainment Weekly.

Femme Fatale is an intricately plotted mystery involving Rebbeca Romijn-Stamos (in a role that was originally supposed to go to Uma Thurman) as a naughty crook who tries to turn over a new leaf. Unfortunately, her dangerous past catches up with her, and she quickly slips back into her evil ways.

Femme Fatale is a sexually charged thriller in which visual style takes over. De Palma has been down this road before with movies like Dressed to Kill and Body Double. He's constantly accused of ripping off Alfred Hitchcock, but I think he just explores some of the same themes in a contemporary setting. With Femme Fatale, he's fashioned a visual stunner with twists and turns at every corner. While Femme Fatale has been proclaimed a self indulgent mess by many, I embrace De Palma's storytelling skills because he opts to tell most of the story through pictures rather than dialogue. Yes, Femme Fatale is extremely flashy, but it's always a beauty to look at. He also makes great use of his beautiful European locations.

The story ranges from ingenious to downright absurd, occasionally slipping into the realm of cheesy melodrama. But when De Palma goes for the flash, the movie is exciting to watch.

Stamos plays this sexy, predatory vixen to the hilt, but some of her serious delivery is laughable. Thankfully, there's very little of that, and it helps that De Palma knows how to shoot an erotic sequence. The steamy scenes excel thanks to Stamos free spirited attitude. I'm guessing that this actress has absolutely no problems with her sexuality, because she is definitely uninhibited. Antonio Banderas just hangs around to make Stamos look good. There's nothing particularly special about the way he plays his role of a tabloid photographer.

Femme Fatale fails to reach the heights of DePalma's best work (see The Untouchables, Carlito's Way, Scarface, Casualties of War, Blow Out, Carrie, or even Mission Impossible), but thankfully, it's a return to visual form following two forgettable ventures that only offered up a tiny taste of what this gifted storyteller is capable of. And I wouldn't necessarily call Femme Fatale self indulgent. I'd call it passionate film making that doesn't quite reach it's intended goal.