In a forest pitch dark
Glowed the tiniest spark
It burst into flame
Like me
Like me
My name Isobel
Married to myself
My love Isobel
Living by herself
In a heart full of dust
Lives a creature called lust
It surprises and scares
Like me
Like me
Irons gives his best performance on film (and, indeed, the best performance of the ’80s by anyone) as twin gynecologists who disintegrate after an actress disrupts the delicate balance of their relationship. Radiates a deep and numbing chill as it chronicles the descent of the twins into madness and drug-addiction, with peripheral horrors thrown off at random as a result. The absence of his signature flamboyant gore effects only proves that David Cronenberg doesn’t need them anymore (if he ever did) to peel back the audience’s skin and scrape the raw nerves of their sensibilities. In their place, he has substituted imagery that is nearly as ferocious, with scarlet-clad doctors stalking though hermetic operating theaters, the creepy virtuosity with which the film convinces us that Jeremy Irons is two characters instead of one, and the stainless steel “gynecological instruments for mutant women… @