Domino ★★

Brian De Palma’s “Domino” was a troubled production story for the ages: underfunded, shot by the seat of its pants, and cut to ribbons without the director’s approval or supervision. But that’s the least of the issues with the final product. There’s little indication this low-rent, high-minded terrorism shlock ever had any hope of being a better film than the version now making its way to VOD and a few sad movie screens. Too much of the material is intact to suggest that some kind of late-career masterpiece has been lost along the way, and too many of De Palma’s fingerprints are still visible to believe that additional money or context would have yielded a substantive thriller that’s more than the sum of its parts.

On the contrary, the most damning thing about “Domino” is that it reaffirms what all but the filmmaker’s most deluded fetishists have long since concluded: The world has caught up with Brian De Palma — his fascination with voyeurism and violence have been sublimated into the stuff of everyday life — and the guy is basically just circling the drain. After all, few things could be more damning than a De Palma movie that has more references to his own work than it does to Alfred Hitchcock’s.