Tommy Lee Jones as Neville in a great performance of a equally great character, alongside his romance with the titular Laura Mars and the soundtrack are the only reasons you should ever watch this barebones slog of a American Giallo that essentially strips down almost everything that makes a Giallo good. You know it's bad when it's more effective at being a Romantic movie than it is being a Horror and/or Thriller.

As a huge fan of giallo, I checked this movie out based on its reputation as being an ‘American giallo’. While it definitely fits the bill with its stylish 70s era backdrop, beautiful women, a mystery killer and a police investigation the movie is lacking the visceral gut punch of its superior Italian counterparts. This movie would indeed be top tier giallo if there was a bit more visceral gore and a better defined killer.

This is an intriguing film but I have a feeling it's been overrated through the years. What a concept -- a chic fashion photographer (played by Dunaway, fresh off of Network) has an unexplained psychic link to a murderer who's going around killing off top fashion models and photographers in late 1970s New York City. That's a delicious-sounding premise and the cast is stacked with interesting faces (a young Tommy Lee Jones, Brad Dourif, a young Raul Julia, Darlanne Fleugel, etc.). But it just doesn't come off. Kershner was not a natural director of thrillers -- and I don't know what director would have been able to overcome the flaws in this bumpy, muddled script (from an original story by John Carpenter that was almost completely revised and reworked). And for a supposed stylish thriller set in the world of high fashion, picking Victor Kemper (director of photography of naturalistic John Cassavetes films, Dog Day Afternoon, etc) as the cinematographer was an odd choice. The look of the film is drab with indifferent lighting throughout -- not appropriate at all to the type of film this is trying to be. A miss!

Insane, but that's why it's watchable. Jones gives a performance that's too good for this movie.

I suppose I could refer to this as one of my guilty pleasure movies - a film that has a lot of obvious problems and gaps in logic but manages to succeed in spite of (or sometimes because of) the things that don't work. I love the concept of the film, and Dunaway's visions have a dream-like, hallucinogenic quality that is quite hypnotic. I wouldn't say it's particularly frightening, but I'd say it manages to muster a good deal of suspense. And Dunaway is giving it her all - she'll never be accused of underplaying a role. True, the scenes when her psychic visions begin and her eyes practically bulge out of her head became a bit unintentionally funny, but it's a game performance. Unfortunately, she and Jones have zero chemistry, and their inevitable romance is easily the weakest link here. The film loses steam in its last 15 minutes or so, including the unveiling of the villain and the melodramatic last scene. But I loved the fashion shoots - they felt very authentic. And I love the theme song performed by Barbra Streisand - I'm a little surprised it wasn't Oscar-nominated. Keep common sense at the doorstep, and just sit back and enjoy - warts and all. - Jeff Marshall, Movie Blogger (Facebook)

Fairly fun and stylish. This late 70's Kershner-helmed thriller attempts to shock with a twist at the end that I don't think would really shock many modern viewers.

Jon Peters should have let Barbra sing the entire song "Prisoner" for the opening credits. The song is better than the movie.

The cast is great the film is not.

Interesting premise. Bland, melodramatic execution.

Starts off with a genuinenly terrifying concept. This quickly becomes dull with over use and the film degenerates into a story of tacky excess which compared to the squalid New York streets of the time is pretty stark. Dunaway's acting is hammy to say the least and the inexplicable denouement is quite frankly rubbish.

"Critics Consensus Eyes of Laura Mars hints at interesting possibilities, but they're frittered away by a predictable story that settles for superficial thrills."... This may be true, but I liked it and it scared me... maybe a little more psychologically... It was the first time that I thought about, "How well do you really know someone"???

Why was Robert Ebert so harsh? I thought this movie was super capt

A conceptually interesting but inconsistent semi-supernatural thriller, The Eyes of Laura Mars is a jarring combination of cheesy, soft focus, generic slasher horror, vivid pop montage, and subdued psychological terror. This problematic disjunction plagues every aspect of the film, from its red herring packed plot to its incohesive visual style to its erratic soundtrack, which includes eerie ambient music, realistic soundscapes, contemporary pop-rock, and a schmaltzy theme song performed by Barbra Streisand.

The undeniable centerpiece of the film is a fashion shoot featuring The Michael Zager Band's hypnotic disco oddity, "Let's All Chant". Much better than most critics care to admit.

Underrated thriller that for all its flaws has stood the test of time and can still startle and intrigue. Affecting performances by Faye Dunaway, Raul Julia, Darlanne Fluegel and others.

Kinda slow to begin with but then it pics up and just when I think I’m going to hate it I find myself in enthralled. Plus the film is late-70s chic to the max

Decent thriller. An obvious nod to giallo. Not quite as stylistic as the Italian films, but still pretty interesting. Even if it's a bit dull and cliche.

It was very suspenseful and had some good plot twists plus it was a capsule of the disco era Manhatten great cast

Great ideas that display pretty accurately what everyone at the time was thinking about nyc - high fashion and trash are too close for comfort. And then the convoluted story kicks in. A few thrills and some interesting visuals keep things going, but you have to let go of the plot holes and silliness, despite the serious mood it tries to create. 2.5 blue eyed winks out of 5

"Eyes of Laura Mars" is the kind of film that sounds good on pencil and paper but ultimately gets lost in the translation to the silver screen. It is a vehicle for Faye Dunaway, whose titular fashion photographer is being terrorized by psychic visions of horrific murders. The visions themselves are not fragments of the future a la "That's So Raven" but in-the-moment experiences that force Laura to see life through the killer's eyes during his most bloodthirsty moments. Laura's work combines sex and violence with opulence perhaps only equalled by David LaChapelle - don't rule out a photograph featuring semi-nude Veruschka look-a-likes surrounded by German shepherds and post-explosion muscle cars. Because the film is set in the 1970s, much of the population is, of course, disgusted by her disregard of good taste; the killer's obsession with modeling his murder scenes after her spreads is fitting. But before long, it becomes ever apparent that, while the madman could easily spend the rest of his life targeting those closest to Laura, the woman he is dangerously infatuated with is the broad he'd like to Catherine Tramell the most. "Eyes of Laura Mars" has been touted as a fine example of American giallo by the biggest of, ahem, giallo nerds (me being one of them), but such a title seems to be thrown around as an act of desperation rather than a genuine one, retaining none of the cool of the cult subgenre yet magnetizing all the recurring melodramatic faults. It could be a film of sizzling noir edges - the imagery surrounding Laura's occupation is the best onscreen depiction of the sex-and-death-101 trope I've ever seen put to film - but it is much too Hollywood to be anything other than a white woman in trouble cheesefest. With a story straight out of a hallucinatory De Palma masterpiece, one can imagine the film it might have been had it put all its attention on sleek style and thrilling scenes of terror to further its whodunit status. But no: it is more hell bent on an unconvincing romance between Laura and a detective (Tommy Lee Jones) that goes from passing glances to breathy "I-love-you's" in a time period shorter than a gnat's attention span. I can only sob at the way it chooses the path of a modern Joan Crawford vehicle; I don't mention De Palma for nothing, as he could have made the film something really special (picture the split-screens, the genius close-ups, the neat cinematographic effects!). But we're stuck with Irvin Kershner, who doesn't see the gold in front of him and directs the film with a disappointingly bland palette. Even Faye Dunaway, one of the most quintessential actresses of the 1970s, makes for an unimpressive lead, pulling out all the stops necessary to overact a role with Doris Day-in-"Julie" heft. "Eyes of Laura Mars" dumps a truckload of wasted potential onto us. And no, we don't find out why Laura was given the enigmatic ability to live life through the killer's point-of-view at the worst of times. It's ridiculousness trapped in a laughable sandwich.